#baccarat tumbler

[from-the-clouds]

lost in the fire - kendall roy x f!reader

| masterlist | succession sideblog: @kendollroyco | my kendall playlist

chapter summary: your boyfriend works too much. a oneshot, but if we're being real, i was thinking about kendall and the reader from thinking of a place, because i miss them. pairing: kendall roy x f!reader words: 4.6k warnings: SMUT (18+ only). soft dom Kendall. Somewhat unhealthy/jealous/co-dependent relationship but this is a Succession fic so like…what do we expect? Alcohol consumption - I don't know what Kendall's definition of sobriety is but he drinks a cocktail in this. a/n: i'll get back to tlou but i've had this partially written for like a year at this point. It started out as more of a manic Ken on a power trip type of fic but then it got really soft and fluffy because I am feeling touch-deprived lately so I’m sorry if I didn’t deliver enough evil ken for ya’ll. :/ OOPS!

**ALSO! I got rid of my taglist. Please follow @ftcwriting and turn on notifs if you would like to be notified when I update my works :) **

"We're like the Lewis and Clark of fucking." - Kendall Roy

Teetering down the hallway, you attempt to quell the outrageously loud click, click, click of your stilettos against the marble floor by shifting most of your weight into the ball of your feet and shuffling forward. It only makes it harder for you to balance while you attempt to put on the flashy gold hoop earrings your friend had insisted you’d wear. Of course, being quiet didn’t really matter, because you were the only person inhabiting the Hudson Yards penthouse. 

As usual, you are running late. Famously, you always underestimate how long it will take to get ready for social events – your friends could attest to that. It is a bad habit that, despite years of trying to correct, you can never quite shake. 

Beelining for the double doors of the multi-million dollar home, you are interrupted by your name being called out in a sing-songy voice. There is a blur of movement out of the corner of your eye, and you turn towards the familiar sound to find your boyfriend rounding the corner, a drink in hand.

The sight of him at home is rare these days, that for a second, you aren’t even sure if it’s really him. Maybe the place is being  haunted by an eerily similar lookalike, or it could be some new ridiculous billionaire technology that he’d invested in– holographic messaging, or something similarly dystopian that you’d roll your eyes at when he tries to explain it to you. It’s fuckin’ next level, I’m telling you. I’m a fucking tech pioneer. You can practically hear him trying to sell you on it despite your distaste.

“Ken?” you cling to the clutch under your arm, unable to stop the shit-eating grin that works its way onto your face. “Hey. When did you get home?”

“Hey yourself,” he answers, poorly hiding a bemused smirk behind Baccarat crystal. “I just got in.”

That much was clear, even though his briefcase and coat had already been cleared away from the table in the entranceway, and his suit jacket draped over the back of a barstool. “Are you going out?” He lowers the tumbler and leans against the counter, but still keeps it close, one finger sliding along the rim. 

“Yeah,” you approach Kendall cautiously. “...did you get my text? I thought I’d get ready here, we’re going to that place around the corner.”

He’d given you a key to his flat, even though the relationship was still pretty new – but decidedly not that new, given your history. Things were still moving quickly though, if you compare him to your past flings.

Kendall’s eyes close briefly in recognition, his brows pulling together as though he is scolding himself. “Oh, uh-huh, yeah….right.” It’s then, and in closing the space between you, that his haggard appearance becomes clear. You’re one of few who would probably even notice it. To the untrained eye his white dress shirt is impeccable, crisp and stark as usual – save for the lack of cufflinks, which you notice he’s discarded on the counter alongside his drink. His tie is still fastened tightly around his neck in a perfect half-Windsor. But salt and pepper stubble is sprinkled across his jawline, faint red hazy in the whites of his amber eyes. 

Work has consumed him in the last few weeks. It’s been nonstop. And he is still home earlier than you have expected, even though the sun had gone down long ago.

Kendall’s hand wraps around your waist and you lean against him, accepting his affectionate peck on the cheek. “Hey, honey.” The cedar notes of his cologne, the acidity of the vodka on his breath, and the weight of his arm around you makes your stomach flip, even as he draws back, releasing you so he can sit on a barstool. It’s probably for the better, as the impulse to throw yourself into his arms and abandon your plans will become impossible to resist if you don’t leave soon.

It would be a lie to say his career hasn’t put a strain on things lately. Business trips, dinner meetings, weekend conventions all seem determined to keep him away from you. For the past few weeks, you’ve been deprived of him, forced to accept only minutes of his time – mostly sweet nothings and apologies whispered as falls into bed beside you, then presses of his lips on your cheek, still half-asleep in the early hours of the morning as he leaves the next day. You have been forced to savor those moments, even though they are hardly substantial. But you know yourself, you aren’t better off with someone else. He has always been what you wanted.

Still, lately you have been thinking about all his failed past relationships. There is certainly a…pattern. You’ve seen enough, and sometimes it feels like you are purposely ignoring the signs – Watch Your Step!, before falling into a pit of daggers. 

He needed a break or he’d burn out, but you’ve learned when to bite your tongue and save those suggestions for when you are sure they won’t erupt. And you both aren’t always good at keeping arguments good-natured. 

Kendall shifts in his chair so he can look you up and down – this time up close. “Is this what you’re wearing out?”

“Uhhhh, yeah,” you answer hesitantly, feeling your face heat up. 

“Turn around,” his resting facial expression is already kind of indignant, but you can tell right now that he’s definitely frowning. 

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he says. “I want to see.”

You shrug, but obey, unable to hide the way your lips quirk when you are back facing him again, hands on your hips. All you have to do is read the look on Kendall’s face to know that he doesn’t approve. And even though there is no way in hell you are going to change, the slight blaze in his narrowed eyes makes you think this is about to become a controversy. 

“Do you have a problem?” you ask, feigning innocence, glancing down at the getup. The red dress barely covers your ass – is far more revealing than anything you’d normally wear, accompanied by stiletto heels that lace up your calves. Sure, it’s a lot, but you look good, and you’re going out. 

“You’ll definitely be getting a lot of attention,” he conveniently doesn’t answer your question.

If you weren’t wearing lipstick, you would’ve bit your lower lip to keep your composure. Instead, you tilt your head and give him a coy smile. “You should come with me.” 

Kendall glances down at the countertop and shakes his head, the comment causing him to drop the subject of your attire entirely. “I can’t. I’ve got a meeting first thing.” To be fair, he avoids the club scene most of the time, so it’s not a well-thought-out offer. Too much temptation. “But you look good,” he concedes. 

“A work meeting on a Saturday?” you ask, ignoring the compliment. “Fuck,” you reach to take a sip from his tumbler. The vodka he keeps here is always chilled to perfection, so smooth it tastes like it’s melting off a glacier. “It’s that bad?”

He takes the beverage from your hand when you return it, shrugging before throwing the rest back, then standing to pour another. “Just the usual, la-dee-fuckin-dah….corporate bullshit.”

You frown and stare at your shoes, flexing your foot and inspecting its soles.

“Those heels don’t look very comfortable,” he remarks as he passes you.

“They aren’t.”

“Well then I’ll guess I’ll have to take you shopping to replace them.”

You feel yourself flush. “Let me know when you can fit me in your schedule.” 

“Uh-huh,” Kendall ignores your jab, changes the subject. “How’s your job?”

“Same as yours. La-dee-fuckin’-dah corporate bullshit,” you repeat his words from earlier, lowering your voice slightly to mimic his cadence of speaking. 

The sound of his warm chuckle makes your stomach flip again. “You want me to, uh, pour you one?”

“No, I should probably get going.” You sigh, pulling out your phone to text your friends that you are running behind, and you hear the clink of ice against crystal.

Then, his voice, deep and husky, directly against your ear. “Who’re you texting?”

You jolt in surprise at his sudden proximity.  “Fuck! Sorry,” you clear your throat. “Uh….the group chat.”

Kendall’s arm reaches past you to place his drink on the counter, and you feel his fingertips brush the hair away from the nape of your neck. Then, his lips follow, pressing there gently, his thumb trailing down your arm and then back up again. You shiver at the contact, and it dawns on you how touch-deprived you are.

“Pretty girl,” he murmurs against sensitive skin. His hands land on your shoulders and begin to knead at the taut muscles there. You try to keep yourself tense, even as you feel your phone slipping out of your hands, the drafted text all-but forgotten.

But instinctually, you shift backwards to feel the weight of his chest pressed against you.“You’re all wound up,” Almost chastising. Every part of your body below your bellybutton clenches. It’s those hands, his hands. Hands that used to wrap around your throat, thread into your hair, hold your wrists in place. Pin you down, spread you open…. While you think about them, you let him work at the tension that he is partially responsible for, nodding and letting out a long exhale.

“Just a little.”

“When are you gonna quit that job?” he asks you.

You first, you want to say, but let the retort die before it could leave your mouth. “Hmmmmm,” you pretend to mull it over, but you’re only half-aware of things he’s saying to you. “I don’t know.” 

“What kind of uh, feminist would I be if I let a girl as hot as fucking you have to worry about a job?”

You can’t help but snort, turning your head so his forehead bumps against your own. “Is that how feminism works?” 

“Uh-huh,” he chides, breath tickling the shell of your ear. “Fucking whatever. I wish you’d just let me look after you.”

You are unable to find your voice to answer, because you remember through your needy haze that you are running late, and when he says things like that, it certainly doesn’t help you regain composure. It’s only after you straighten, trying to pull yourself out of the trance he’s worked you into, that you discover how close he has pinned you to the countertop.

“Ken-” you try to protest, but the way it comes out sounds more like you’re pleading.

“What is it?” Kendall asks, returning his lips once more to your neck, beginning to work them tenderly up the column of your throat, which makes it impossible for you to finish the rest of the objection. “I’ve missed you so much,” he pulls you back against him by your waist.

“Me too,” you sigh. “But I-,” you’re cut off when he grinds against you, already half-hard, and your pelvis hits the granite lip of the countertop. It hurts, just for a second, but the pain is quickly replaced by warmth. Kendall pulls his hands away and you’re only held in place by his hips, the metal of his belt buckle cool against your sacrum. The dress you’re wearing is so thin it feels like there’s nothing separating him from your bare skin. 

“You what?” he prompts when you remain silent. You know him well enough to hear the self-satisfied smirk on his face, and his nails rake up and down your arms.

It’s a little petty, but you are hesitant to give yourself over so easily to him. To abandon your evening, just because he’s finally decided to see you at a reasonable hour. Of course, if your friends knew you were late because you were with him, they wouldn’t care. Kendall had been a well-kept secret until it was impossible to deny his existence in your life. But they were all a little too supportive of the relationship, since it meant they suddenly had guaranteed access to any club VIP section - and you perpetually pick up the bill. Not to mention the first-class, luxury accommodations they get on girls trips. 

There was more to it than just being late, though. You had always been willing to do anything for him, even before you were dating. He told you to jump, you asked how far? He gave you one pleading look from underneath those thick lashes – and you folded. And Kendall is very aware that he’s your weakness. So you constantly try to convince him otherwise, lest he get too comfortable. And really, after his neglectful behavior, did he really deserve you without any opposition?

“Kendall,” you manage to turn slightly. “I’m going to be late.” Wriggling some more in his grip, but it’s only enough to bring you face-to-face, looking up into his stormy eyes. 

He studies you carefully, like he might let you leave if he senses enough conviction. “I don’t care.”

You might’ve laughed, if it weren’t for how stern he sounds. It almost scares you. Almost. Hoping to soften him, you fit your thumb into the dimpled fabric of his tie, and use it to drag him forward, offering a tender kiss on his cheek. Returning the embrace, his stubble scratches your face as he smiles against you. He reaches behind you for another sip of his drink and his unoccupied hand slides down your back, squeezing your ass through the silky fabric. 

You are burning, fire licking up your arms, your neck, your face. It’s too much, to have him so close and not be able to have him. All the tension building with nowhere for it to go. When he pulls back, you lean forward.

It’s a little rough at first, because you are so desperate, tasting the vodka, drawing his bottom lip between your teeth. Kendall is the one who softens you, cradles your jaw to draw you closer, opens his mouth and deepens the kiss, so deliberate and practiced that you’re unable to speak when he pulls away. 

“Tell me something,” full lips so close to yours that they brush your own when he speaks, your eyes fluttering shut. His touch coasts up your sides, up your arms, landing on your shoulders. “Who are you showing off for in this?” Kendall hooks his pointed finger around a spaghetti strap of your dress, and lets the elastic snap back against your skin. You savor the sting it leaves behind.

Admittedly, there’s a third reason why you’re being so withholding. He’s so spoiled, so used to getting what he wants, whenever he wants it. Not just from you. And when he doesn’t get it, he becomes petulant, fiery. You’ve learned that if you piss him off just enough, you don’t have to ask him to fuck you within an inch of your life. He just does. 

So, you decide to poke the sleeping bear, shrugging and crossing your arms like it’s nothing, giving him a demure smile. “You wouldn’t know him.”

Kendall’s nostrils flare as his hand rises to grip your jaw – tightly. “Uh-huh.” Even if you’re only joking, the very idea of you dressing up at all – let alone like that –  for anyone except himself, pisses him off.  “Fuck you.”

“You’d like to, wouldn’t you?” you try to keep your voice even, but it sort of loses the steadiness you were hoping for when he hooks a finger behind your knee, dragging it up across the expensive, soft wool of his slacks to peg around his hip.

The bruising kiss that answers is clearly intended to erase the smug look on your face, and it works – your breath hitching, the hand on his tie tugging him closer. Kendall seems to speak without saying anything at all, grabbing your opposite thigh and lifting until you are perched on the edge of the countertop.

It’s getting real, but you still haven’t decided if you are actually going to stick around. The way he looks right now, however, swings the pendulum farther into the side of staying in – red lipstick left behind on his cheek, shirt wrinkled, tie hanging loosely around his neck. You wanted to make him look even more wrecked. 

Kissing him again, his hands begin to roam, tugging the dress off your shoulders and freeing your tits. “Shit,” He dips his head to sloppily mouthing at the newly exposed skin. “Knew you weren’t wearing a fuckin’ bra.”

“Ken,” you squirm when he latches onto one of your nipples, pinching the other between two fingers. “I really need to get going.”

“Not yet,” he hums, the vibration of his voice against your skin makes the space between your legs ache. “If you’re going to go out in this fucking dress,  I don’t want you to forget who you belong to.”

You squirm in his grip – not because you want to get away from him – but because you want to see if he’ll pin you in place, be even rougher. He does. He is. “Stop that. This isn’t a fucking negotiation.”

Well, okay.

He kneads into your thighs now, one of his hands dipping beneath the skirt of your dress that’s already so short he’s only an inch or so away from your already-soaked panties. 

“Fuck,” You tilt your head back to look at the ceiling, like you might find some self-control there, some will to resist him, but it’s about as cold and uninspiring as the rest of the apartment. “Please.”

Kendall lets out a dark chuckle,  pushing aside your thong and brushing his knuckles against your damp cunt. He loves to tease, and right now is no exception. His touch isn’t enough to satisfy, so you press yourself forward to seek it out yourself. You don’t dare meet his eyes, which you can feel are watching you intently, admiring how you keen and arch and whimper in frustration. Still, you aren’t quite ready to beg. 

Thankfully, you don’t have to. Without warning, he pushes two fingers inside you, groaning as he does, his thumb finding your clit.

“Yes, Kendall, that’s–” you don’t finish the thought because you aren’t entirely sure what you actually have to say. His digits curl, attentive, practiced – tuned in to  exactly what you like, what you need.  You grip at the fabric of his shirt that’s bunched around his elbows. Despite how intense meeting his gaze right now will be, you turn to look at him anyway, surprised by the affection and warmth you find in his eyes. 

“You try so hard not to be,” he says while he continues to stare you down. “But you’re always so fucking good for me.”

Your stomach flips, partly in shame, partly because of how good it’s always felt to be seen by him. Throbbing around him, feeling your pleasure build, but he withdraws his fingers from you before it can crest. An embarrassing noise leaves you, squeezing your eyes shut. 

The clink of his belt unbuckling immediately snaps you back to reality, and you hike your dress further up your hips, shimmying out of your thong. It’s pitiful, the way you don’t want to delay any longer the feeling of him inside you. 

He strokes himself in his hand, lines his cock up, and pushes a piece of hair off your face. 

“You want me?” he asks, and you bob your head enthusiastically. “Tell me, then.”

“I want you, Kendall. Please, I want you so bad.” 

“Yeah you do,” he mutters, and wastes no time jerking forward to enter you. 

Though you’d had him plenty of times you never could quite get used to the feeling – he’s big, of course, and it’s always electric, the blood in your veins buzzing, your hands tightening on his shoulders. 

“Relax, honey,” Kendall says, feeling the way your body tenses at the intrusion, placing a hand on your sacrum, one between your shoulder blades to steady you.

He presses his hips forward until they are flush against your own, bottoming out inside you, pausing. It’s welcome at first, a chance to catch your breath, to let out a shuddery exhale - temporarily appeased by the way your cunt stretches to accommodate him, and he’s so close to you after so much time spent away. You’re embarrassed at how badly you’ve needed this, how reliant on him you’ve become, but he always feels so good. 

Kendall stays still for long enough that you grow frustrated, and you use his tie to pull him closer, loosening the knot and rutting against him until he presses his thumb into the crease of your hip and thigh so hard you are forced to stop. Once you do, he starts to move, thrusts slow but deep, lips pressing hastily between panting breaths. 

“Fuck, it’s been too long,” he laments.

Despite everything, you can’t help but talk back. “You don’t say?”

Kendall doesn’t like that at all, his hips snapping at a punishing pace, which seems more like a reward than anything else, his hand clasping your jaw roughly, forcing you to look at him. 

“Don’t speak to me like that,’ he warns.

An involuntary, low moan leaves you. It’s overwhelming – always is. You aren’t used to sex with someone you feel so connected to, or with a lover who is so attentive to your needs, who effortlessly strikes a perfect balance between rough, passionate, and tender. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, fingers fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, anxious to run your hands through the smattering of hair on his chest, feel the warmth of his skin under your palms. Even if it’s not possible, you want to be closer to him. Needy. So needy. You’ve heard it from him before, and would probably hear it again. He is right, and in moments like this, you can never bring yourself to care. You like it.

He’s watching you so intently, and the rest of the city might as well be too. He basically lives in a fishbowl, you’re surrounded by windows that offer panoramic views of the glittering lights of the city. The only reason you have any privacy at all is because of just how high up you are, no one else can actually see you right now. Even if they did, what could possibly happen? Kendall loves to take advantage of this – he’s taken you up against the cold glass windows, has let you sink to your knees in front of him out on his balcony. 

“What are you gonna tell your friends when they ask why you were so late tonight?” he asks. “Gonna tell them you were letting me spread you open on the fucking counter?”

“God,” you stutter out, always shocked by the things that come out of his mouth when takes you like this, voice deep and firm, enunciating each syllable like he’s giving a speech – frustratingly collected. It makes you ache that much more. “I missed you,” you whimper, pulling his shirt off his shoulders. As much as you want it fully off, not just hanging loose around his elbows, you don’t want him to release you from the bruising hold he’s got you in. This would have to do. 

“Uh-huh,” Kendall answers by fucking into you even harder, his pelvic bone kissing your clit with every thrust, and your nails etching crescents into his biceps. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

His head falls to your shoulder in a brief moment of humility, lips working on your neck, and you feel your release fast approaching. In moments like these, you don’t doubt how he really feels. He gives it all away, tries his best to make it up to you, and it’s so easy to forgive him.  Kendall’s fist wraps around one of the stiletto heels of your shoes, lifting your leg to hook over his shoulder and drive his cock deeper into you. He’s perfect, feels perfect, there’s no one else who makes you feel the way he does. When his thumb begins to rub delicate circles around your clit, you’re gone.

Your body tenses up for so long, you actually think you might’ve psyched yourself out. And then everything releases. Kendall coaxes you through your orgasm, deep voice muttering things that are either unintelligible or that you wouldn’t dare to repeat out loud, and you cling to him while your cunt pulses in waves. It lasts for a long time, or at least it feels like it does, he slows just to fuck you through it, so you can both savor how good it feels. That’s it. That’s my good fucking girl. When he tries to kiss you, you oblige, but it’s open-mouthed and sloppy since you’re struggling to breathe and can’t stop whispering his name. 

“Ken, you’re so good, it’s so good–”

You know he likes to be praised just as much as you do. He cuts you off with a deep kiss, moaning into your mouth and vibrating every nerve in your body as he follows you over the edge, spurred on by your own release. He buries his cock inside you as deep as he can, you feel warm and full and complete. 

For what feels like a few minutes, you remain tangled with one another, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You can feel the soft puffs of his breathing against your skin, which is now damp.

Eventually, he draws back, kisses your cheek and tucks himself back into his underwear. You pull the straps of your dress back into place and when you push yourself off the counter, realize your legs are trembling and you wobble.

Kendall reaches to steady you. “Go sit down,” he squeezes your arm and you barely manage to stumble to his couch before you’re slumping against the cushions and struggling to unlace the strappy heels you’ve still got on. 

He joins you a moment later, placing a glass of cold water on the coffee table and kneeling to help you out of your shoes. You can only imagine what you must look like, because he looks disheveled, shirt still hanging open, pants unbuttoned, your lipstick still smudged on his cheek. Exhausted as you are, it makes you want him all over again. 

He settles next to you, pulls you to his chest, and you wrap your arms around his waist, leaning up to whisper softly in his ear. “Ken,” he turns his head slightly, cheek pressed against your forehead. “I love you.” 

From this angle you can only see the corner of his eyes, the way they crinkle as he looks down bashfully, eyelashes nearly touching his cheeks at your admission, words he so rarely has heard before. Words you have vowed to repeat until he believes you – because sometimes you think he doesn’t. Still, he answers. “I love you, too.” You close your eyes a moment, your heart rate returning to normal, and take in one final deep breath. Content. 

“I don’t want to keep you from your friends,” Kendall says eventually, hands in your hair, tugging gently so you’ll look up at him. 

“Right,” you nod. “Honestly, I don’t know if I even want to go out anymore.”

“But you got all dressed up,” he smirks.

“Look where it got me.”

He laughs. “Uh-huh. You knew what you were doing what you fucking put that shit on.”

You don’t deny it, feeling your cheeks grow warm. It’d be too easy to stay with him, to slide across his lap and kiss him until he takes you again. But your phone dings on the counter, and you know you can’t abandon your friends entirely. You sigh, pulling away from Kendall and looking him in the eyes. 

“Don’t worry,” he encourages. “I’ll wait up for you.”

[tryin2writehere]

Gentlemen Fanfic (Eddie x Susie)

PEOPLE IN GLASS HOUSES

1

Susie Glass’s layers rivaled an onion, but with hardened surfaces like the earth’s own fucking mantle. A polished design of layered wools, tweed, velvets and silks, as though they could literally armor her against a consistent onslaught of fatuity-prone workmates. Eddie spent long moments dealing devilish ideas of unfurling her from these layers. He often soothed himself with the notion that a personal union could be possible without imploding their professional partnership.

 

He found himself seeking signs like a meteorologist to predict her temperature, (cooly aloof with a sixty percent chance of snark.) When she warmed, and her eyes revealed a playful gleam, it could set him on the edge of reason.

Like he called her forth with desire alone, the outline of her body emanated on the decorative glass frame of his study. Before she was even fully in the room, he smiled, “Hello Susan.”

“Evening Edward,” she returned and sashayed across the room in a perfectly tailored blue plaid suit he’d never seen. She planted herself in a chair across from Eddie. 

The low light glinted off the amber bourbon Eddie poured into baccarat tumblers, “did you hear back from Brussels?”

“Our Belgian friends have a different timeline in mind and no sense of urgency. I reckon we’ll hear sometime next week.”

“Do you speak any Flemish?” The most successful way, he found, to get to know Susie Glass, was micro-information obtained in seemingly innocuous questions.  That and surviving nazi twat machine-gun fire.  

“Very little.  Mostly vulgarities, really.  I get by with French.  You?”

“Not a word,” he rounded his desk, sat on the edge, and handed her the drink, eyeing her on-business demeanor. 

She sipped, looking up at him through thick eyelashes and fringe, and his chest tightened slightly.

“Jack is doing well?”

Her countenance visibly lightened with her brother’s name, her azure eyes suddenly balmy, “he is indeed. Fortuitous you mentioning him.”

“How so?”

“I’ve a meeting tomorrow afternoon with an unpleasant but necessary gym owner. Thought you might like to join me.”

“I would like to join you, yes.  A gym owner?”

“I’m looking to acquire a few more locations.”

“For Jack?”

“He isn’t ready to train, and I need to keep him busy, keep his mind occupied while he’s recovering.  GlassKnuckle is a fine place, but his pride…he needs a bit of a fresh start. He’d be a good coach really,” she paused and smirked. “He’d be a shit awful manager, but I can outsource that to a degree. It’s the only environment I reckon will keep him contented until he can train again.”

Eddie nearly asked if fighting again was even a realistic possibility, but thought better of it.  He didn’t want to squash the hopeful glimmer in her eyes or again draw attention to his own culpability in Jack’s condition.

Instead he asked, “who is this unpleasant Gym Owner?”

“Sugar Walsh.  He owns three locations, and rumours abound he’s looking to unload them and retire.”

“What time tomorrow?”

“Two o’clock. You available then?”

“I’m not, unfortunately. I’m taking Chuckles and Junior to the doctor.”

“The doctor?” she leaned forward in concern.

“Just a scheduled check-up for the baby, but she asked me -“

“Of course,” she nodded, “you’re a good brother.”

“Mm. Yes, I try. Can we reschedule?”

“Had better not. As I said, he’s unpleasant as it is.”

She stared into her drink, her posture stiffening slightly, her body weighted again with some unknown problem-to-be-solved.

“Susie?”

She glanced up at him.

“Is there something -”

“- nothing I can’t handle,” she blinked softly.

“Of course,” he nodded again. “We should return around four pm tomorrow; would you like to have dinner with me, and we can discuss some overdue security upgrades?” 

“Dinner with the Duke of Halstead.  What shall I wear?”

“Something blue.  Compliments your eyes.”

“Hm. Blue it is.” She swallowed the last of her drink and was gone before he could conjure a chaste enough reason for her to stay.

[alj4890]

Say It

(Ethan Ramsey x F!MC) in a Choices Open Heart One Shot

As requested by @hopelessromantic1352 with the quote: "Say it!"

A/N Alright my sweet friend. Here's your last request for Ethan and Chris. Once again, I'm going back to Book 1 for you so Tobias can't interfere LOL.

Masterlist

"Chris?" Ethan stood there shocked at seeing her at his door. "What are you doing here?"

"Can I come in?" She asked a touch hesitantly.

Without a word, he stepped back and allowed her inside.

He followed her into his kitchen, curious as to why she would bother to come see him of all people. After all, he was the one to disappear on her. After everything that happened between them and with his failure to cure Naveen, he'd hoped to never have to face her again.

How could he possibly stand to see the disappointment he'd caused in those expressive eyes of hers?

"Can I get you something to drink?" He offered, reaching past her for the half empty bottle of scotch he'd been nursing the night before.

"Yes." She snatched it out of his hand then searched his cabinets for a glass.

Ethan's eyebrows lifted. He didn't think he'd ever seen her nervous before. Yet with the way she was acting, he'd swear it was himself putting her on edge.

She poured a good three fingers of scotch in a Baccarat glass tumbler. Without looking his way, she lifted it to her lips and downed half of it.

"Easy there." He said with a great deal of surprise. "You're starting to drink like I do."

She reached for the bottle again after finishing the last dregs in her glass. Glancing at him, she poured another large amount.

"Hold on." He took the glass from her. "What's going on?"

"You honestly don't know?" She asked.

"What?" He drank a few gulps then handed it back to her. "About your upcoming hearing?"

Her nose wrinkled as she leaned against his counter to sip what remained. "Yes."

He sighed, running his hands down his face. "I heard about it when it happened."

Chris's head shot up.

"You knew?" She bit out. "You knew and didn't bother to call and check on me? You arsehole."

Ethan cursed. "What in the hell could I have possibly said to you?"

"Anything!" Chris snapped. "You could have said I'm sorry you're going through this! Or how about asking me if I needed anything? Hell, I'd have preferred a kiss my arse than silence!"

Ethan glared at her. Snatching the glass out of her hands he finished off her drink then refilled it.

"Welcome to a lifetime of disappointment, Chris." He mocked in a toast to her. "Because I'm not the man who can give you what you need."

Chris took the glass and bottle away from him. Before he had a chance to argue, she dumped the remains in his sink then whirled towards him.

"What is wrong with you?" She yelled at him. "My life is crumbling and you stand there as if you don't care!"

She gripped his collar and gave him a violent shake. "Are you the heartless bastard everyone claims?"

"You think I don't care?" He growled, tearing her hands off of him.

Stepping towards her, he pinned her between himself and the counter.

"You certainly act like you don't." She replied defiantly.

"Damnit Chris!" Ethan yelled back. "I begged Harper to let me testify in your hearing. I argued with her for over an hour when she refused."

She shoved him away from her. "I don't believe you."

Ethan released a string of expletives over her stubbornness and that quick temper she possessed.

"She knew I shouldn't testify. As soon as I got up there, everyone would see why I was fighting so hard for you, which is why I can't."

Chris's chest rose and fell with each furious breath. Her cheeks were flushed as her eyes darted over him.

"Everyone would see what?" She demanded.

"You know damn well what they would see." He snapped.

"No. I don't." She hissed, stepping forward once again. "Be a man and say it!"

When he remained silent, she gripped his shirt once more. Before she could stop herself, the words she'd held back for so long came rushing out.

"Say it, Ethan! Say you don't want me! Say that I mean nothing to you!" She ordered, voice cracking with emotion. "Say that you don't think about Miami every single night like I do!"

Her eyes drifted down his body.

"Say that you want me to walk away. Forget everything between us. Find someone new."

She lifted her eyes back to his.

"Say you want me to touch and kiss someone else the way I only touched and kissed you."

She gave him a hard shake.

"Say it so I can move on!"

He grabbed her, mouth slamming down on hers, and backed her against the counter once again.

Her hands slid up his chest, arms winding around his neck as he lifted her up onto the granite surface. She pulled him closer, locking her legs around him as the anger fueled kiss went on.

"I'll never say it." He swore against her lips.

His once cold blue eyes burned with desire. Hope, one that she'd never let die, began to flicker a little more strongly with his harshly spoken words.

"And you know why I won't."

"Then tell me you want me." She pleaded, needing him to finally admit it.

He softly groaned as he kissed her once more. She moved restlessly against him. The intensity of his next kiss made her yearn for what was always out of reach when it concerned him.

"God, I want you, Chris." He said a touch breathlessly. "I've always wanted you."

She cupped his heavily stubbled cheek and brushed the corner of his unforgiving lips with her thumb. A sad smile formed the longer she looked at him.

"Why do you still fight it?" She asked.

"Us?" He shrugged, turning to kiss her palm. "I have no idea."

"Then stop." She pressed her lips to his for a tender kiss then slowly moved them down his throat. "Stop for me."

His head dropped back, eyes closed with the feel of each caress. His hands slid into her silky red hair as she continued the achingly sweet touches his heart had yearned for so long.

"Chris." He moaned under her hands. "I think we should--"

"Unless your next words are to tell me to get into your bedroom, I don't want to hear it." She snapped.

A harsh laugh slipped from his lips. He loved how even that temper of hers could not only set him in his place but also make him want her even more.

"Get in there." He ordered, his tone laced heavy with desire.

Chris smiled through another kiss before sliding off the counter. As she walked into his room, she dropped one piece of clothing after another like a trail of bread crumbs so he'd be sure to follow.

Ethan did so without any hesitation whatsoever, ripping his own clothes off to join hers, eyes never leaving her body.

After all this time fighting against it, he was finally giving in to the inevitability of them.

[timourbeltranarchives]

Baccarat crystal tumbler for Channel.

Circa 1940

[developerwith1]

A Symphony of Style: Introducing Harmonie Glassware by Baccarat

Ever wondered what makes a drink more than just a drink? Imagine your favorite whiskey enveloped in a vessel that not only enhances its flavors but also transforms your entire sipping experience into an orchestra of sensory delight. This is the magic of Baccarat's Harmonie glassware—a true symphony of style that elevates every moment. Let’s delve into the world of Baccarat whiskey glasses and discover why they are more than just glassware; they are a statement of elegance.

Why Harmonie Stands Out

Baccarat Harmonie glassware, known for its unmatched clarity and unique vertical cuts, adds a touch of sophistication that goes beyond mere aesthetics. Like a well-tailored suit, these glasses enhance the personality of your whiskey, making each sip a refined experience.

The History of Baccarat Glassware

With roots stretching back to 1764 in Lorraine, France, Baccarat has been synonymous with luxury and craftsmanship. Their journey from creating window panes to becoming an icon in the crystal industry is a testament to their dedication to excellence.

Crafting the Perfect Whiskey Glass

Every Baccarat glass goes through a rigorous process of craftsmanship involving the finest materials and artisans who understand the balance between durability and design. This meticulous process ensures that each glass isn't just a tool but a masterpiece.

The Design Elements of Harmonie Glassware

The hallmark of the Harmonie collection is its continuous vertical cuts, which not only catch the light beautifully but also offer a tactile sensation that enhances the grip, making your whiskey tasting both a visual and physical pleasure.

How to Experience Whiskey with Baccarat

To truly appreciate whiskey, you need a glass that complements its complexity. Baccarat glasses are designed to open up the bouquet of aromas and intensify the flavors, ensuring that each tasting is an immersive experience.

Caring for Your Baccarat Glasses

Baccarat glassware requires a touch of finesse in care. Hand washing with warm water and a mild detergent, followed by air drying or using a soft cloth, will keep your glasses in pristine condition.

The Art of Glass Making at Baccarat

Baccarat's glass-making art involves a perfect blend of traditional techniques and modern innovation, ensuring each piece is both timeless and contemporary.

Choosing the Right Baccarat Glass for You

Selecting a Baccarat glass is like choosing a fine wine—each shape and cut has its own charm and purpose. The Harmonie tumbler, for example, is perfect for those who appreciate a whiskey's full aroma and flavor.

Baccarat Glasses as Collector's Items

For many, Baccarat glasses are more than just drinkware—they are treasures that signify status and taste. Collecting these pieces can be as rewarding as savoring the finest spirits.

Where to Buy Baccarat Harmonie Glassware

Authentic Baccarat Harmonie glassware is available through select luxury retailers and directly from Baccarat boutiques. Ensure you purchase from accredited sellers to guarantee the authenticity of your glassware.

Unveiling the Baccarat Brand

Baccarat is more than just a brand; it’s a luxury experience that embodies French elegance and art de vivre. Each piece tells a story of its heritage and luxury.

Reviews and Testimonials

Hearing from satisfied customers who rave about their Baccarat experience can be the best way to understand the impact of these exquisite glasses on the whiskey-drinking ritual.

Pairing Spirits with the Right Glass

Matching the right spirit with the right Baccarat glass can amplify the drink's flavors and aromas. Whether it's a robust bourbon or a delicate Scotch, there’s a Harmonie glass designed to bring out its best qualities.

FAQs about Baccarat Glassware

Got questions? Whether it’s about care, cost, or craftsmanship, understanding the ins and outs of your Baccarat glassware ensures you make the most of your investment.

Conclusion

Indulging in a set of Baccarat's Harmonie whiskey glasses is not just about drinking whiskey; it’s about embracing a lifestyle of elegance and luxury. Each glass is a piece of history, a work of art that enhances your enjoyment of the spirit. So why not elevate your whiskey experience with a touch of Baccarat magic? Cheers to a symphony of style in every sip

[mystarmyangel]

240101 YoonA gave her stylist Baccarat tumbler and it costs USD600

[thefrugalistalife]

A 2022 Christmas Gift Guide for Everyone You Know

christmas gift guide

If you’re like me, you’re scouring all the websites wondering what to buy folks, I have some ideas for you. Here’s a simple Christmas gift guide for everyone on your list: Food Zacapa Rum x Baccarat An exclusive set of Baccarat’s Harmonie Tumblers with a personalized engraved bottle of Zacapa Rum’s Zacapa XO. Available nationwide starting Dec. 5. $350, TheBar.com.   Confetti Snacks Add a couple…

[forummains]

Vintage crystal whiskey glasses

Take a tour of our vintage glasses shop and see for yourself. Vintage crystal whiskey glasses, currently trending high on Chairish's personal wish list, abound, too, with vintage Julia Crystal amber-cut highball glasses, Verdure glasses, and stemless wine glasses all ranking high. Its not just about the offset base of the Crystal Whisky Glasses, handcrafted from pure glass. Among our many favorite pieces gracing the site are Balloton amber-colored tumblers, rainbow pint glasses, 1960s-era imperial glass pitchers and tumblers, and hand-blown citrine lowball glasses. Glassware that is not like every other glassware. Take up the hunt and find an array of extraordinary glasses from Baccarat glasses, Dorothy Thorpe cups and cocktail glasses to Georges Briard antique whiskey glasses. Get the best deals on Vintage Whiskey Glasses when you shop the largest online. Whiskey Decanter Set for Men with 4 Drinking Glasses and 9 Whisky Stones for Cognac, Bourbon, Rum, Scotch, Liquor Crystal Clear Decanter Sets - House Warming New Home Whiskey Gifts for Men Dad Him. Share a hearty Cin, cin! with ornate Italian-style vintage rocks glasses, pour an old-fashioned into an antique cup loved by designers for generations, or simply source the latest piece for your drinks glasses collections. New, vintage and antique options are on tap, pardon the pun, in our lineup of vintage crystal whiskey glasses, amber glasses, midcentury modern glasses, and more. Bid on (6) Vintage Crystal Whiskey Glasses sold at auction by Joshua Kodner 369 on 17th April (6) Vintage Crystal Whiskey Glasses. Today the Glencairn Glass can be found at every distillery in Scotland, Ireland, Wales as well as most in the USA.Raise a toast with the perfect vintage whiskey glasses. 90 / piece Libbey Signature Kentucky Bourbon Trail Whiskey Glasses, 8-ounce. Designed by Raymond Davidson nearly 25 years earlier, its development involved pulling together the master blenders from the five largest whisky companies and asking them to perfect his initial design. The glasses are created in polygon shape of heavy crystal with rich gold decor. Catalog Cold Cup Wraps Decals Libbey Glass Wraps 16oz Libbey Heavy Base. Bring whimsy to your glassware A classic lens design, this whiskey glass has been hand-blown and hand-engraved and inspired by vintage glassware style. In 2001 Glencairn Crystal solved the problem of identifying the ideal glass for whisky. Yet whisky, the worlds most complex spirit can be found served in anything from hiball tumblers to Paris goblets. Vintage Crystal Whiskey Glasses Set of 4 Double Old Fashioned Scotch GlassBEST VALUE: This complete set of 4 luxury whiskey glasses crystalware will ensure. Any malt advocate will love this glass!Ĭhampagne, Brandy, Wine. With the tapered mouth, you are able to really smell all of the nuances the whisky has to offer. These are great to use for any of your Single Malt Whisky's, Irish Whiskey's, and also your single barrel bourbons. p>New Vintage crystal whiskey glass set of 4 by Thomas OBrien for Reed & Barton A set of four lead crystal 5oz. The Glencairn Whisky Glass is a revolutionary whisky glass that really lets one savor the taste and complexity of fine whisky. Buy Premium Set of 2 Hand Made Vintage Crystal Scotch, Bourbon & Whiskey Rocks Glasses with 24K Gold Rim, Thick Weighted Bottom, Old Fashioned Glassware at. Shop for latest Heating and Cooling Appliances designed by Padmini at best prices in India from Pepperfry. Etched Laser Art is proud be a USA based, official reseller of the the iconic Glencairn glass! Padmini Heating and Cooling Appliances Online.

[baccarat-simulator]

Baccarat simulator

[galleryuchiumi]

初めて買ったバカラの大振りのタンブラー。これから侘しいホテルでの一人飯に使おうと思います。手前の小さなものは、ローマ時代のブロンズの鳥の残欠です。これもブロンズ色の出方がとてもいい感じです。 #baccarat#tumbler #rome #fragment #galleryuchiumi https://www.instagram.com/toru_uchiumi/p/Buy47p0nTMl/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=npinne4ftcg3

[highdio]

‘The glass design features the characters’ “Stands.” A “Stand” is the power of one’s heart is designed to be like a talisman. One of these is a stone mask, which symbolizes eternal life.’  -- Hirohiko Araki

Trying to wrap my mind around this JOJO x Baccarat Crystal collaboration. Wine glass: ¥ 77,000, tumbler: ¥ 71,500. Available October 5th, in celebration of Baccarat’s Harcourt tumbler’s 180th anniversary.

[minah-delacroix]

At any price (Part VI)

Universe: Dynasty AU

Characters: Minah and Tyler

Word count: 1,7 k

Blame someone

“You can’t punish the guy for trying to move on” Tyler grunted as he followed Minah through the driveway of Delacroix Manor, lined up with luxury cars and clusters of chauffeurs conversing and smoking behind them. The woman could feel Tyler’s eyes boring holes in the back of her head, but she was too focused on the obnoxious feeling of the cool December air hitting her exposed skin to care “I don’t even know why you’re acting up” he continued, making Minah momentarily stop and look over her shoulder with a frown “You weren’t even interested in Sungjae when you had him wrapped around your finger” Minah rolled eyes and continued walking, heels clicking on the pavement. “That’s why I introduced him to Ashleigh”

Minah stopped abruptly, Tyler’s words causing her to look at him skeptically for the briefest moment and then huff furious.

“Wait, you introduced them?” Minah made a pause, thinking to herself before putting the pieces together “That night at the club-” she scoffed free of any amusement “So this is all your fucking fault!” She spat, ignoring what seemed to be hurt flashing in Tyler’s eyes. Minah’s first instinct was to slap him for sabotaging her relationship and meddling in her personal life, but she eventually took notice of her surroundings and decided that she needed to act like a Delacroix.

“If you have to blame someone, then yeah, it is my fault,” Tyler said impatiently “I was just trying to push him away”

“What do you have against Sungjae?” Minah’s voice came as a cross between disbelief and rage

“For fuck’s sake, Minah, I’m talking about you!” Tyler made an exasperated gesture and massaged his forehead with a hand, but Minah still looked puzzled so he gave her a look that almost made her feel like the dumbest person on Earth. “I love you” he finally confessed.

It took Minah a minute to process Tyler’s words. Of course, she’d known he liked her since they were two careless teenagers attending school in some remote place in Switzerland, but she’d always thought it was some sort of silly infatuation. At most, she represented a challenge for the irresistible Tyler Lee. ‘Love’ was a heavy word. Especially when Minah had the clear remembrance of Tara suspecting her brother was secretly seeing someone. Among the evidence Tara had gathered, there were several family plans and work meetings canceled, receipts for expensive luxury items, and intriguing visits to exotic places like the Bahamas, Saint Tropez, and Singapore. Minah didn’t really give it too much thought before, but there was something off about this sudden confession. Or at least Minah desperately wanted something to be off because otherwise, things were about to become awfully complicated for her. For all of them.

“But you’re seeing someone” Minah tried to reason, but the genuinely surprised expression on Tyler’s face made her falter. “Tara said you were. The trips to the Bahamas and Singapore-“ she trailed off. Thinking about the time Tyler canceled an important appointment at the very last minute and disappeared mysteriously only for him to show up two days later looking like he’d been partying in L.A. or gambling in Las Vegas.

“Since being unavailable seems to be the only way to get your attention, then yeah, I was with someone” Tyler conceded, making a near helpless gesture with the hands “And she was hot. Very.” He blurted, looking as though as he couldn’t believe he’d pronounce those words “But she wasn’t you, Minah. She was not the girl I’ve been madly in love with since I was a kid”

______

The ride to Lee Manor was painfully quiet and awkward. Minah’s brain replayed Tyler’s confession over and over and over as though trying to dissect it apart, trying to find a crack where probably there was none.

She recalled being fifteen when she first met Tyler. He was a year older, captain of the polo team, and had girls practically eating out of the palm of his hand. He’d started to pursue her from the moment he saw her —one of the reasons she never took him seriously—, then Maude Olivier came into the picture and dated Tyler for the rest of their high school years. There was nothing too memorable about their history, except the wild parties and follies of youth. Though now that she gave it some thought, Maude’s hatred for Minah had always felt a bit too personal to be downplayed as a simple family feud between the Olivier’s and Delacroix’s.

Tyler’s confession was definitely a turning point for them. Whatever Minah chose to do afterward it was meant to affect greatly her friendship and business with Tyler and probably Tara as well.

However, there was something she knew needed to be done first.

Minah typed two quick messages.

From: Minah Delacroix

To: Suho Kwon

So I could be wrong, but there are

two people stuck on the roof. 

So maybe you can help them out if 

you’re feeling in the holiday spirit. 

I know I am 😏

From: Minah Delacroix

To: Mr. Rausing (CEO of IN-Eco Corp)

I visited Ashleigh at work and I heard 

you’re having problems financing 

your cotton farming project in Peru. 

Thought it over and I am willing to help.

Use me

“I knew you’d be here burning the midnight oil” Later the same night, Minah walked into Tyler’s study room. She found him sitting in front of his computer dressed in his signature dark blue silk pajamas with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his hair didn’t look as nearly as immaculate as it did in the party and he’d put on his Gucci reading glasses. He looked so different from the collected and perfectly refined man he schooled himself to be on the daily that for a second Minah hesitated before walking further into his office. 

“I need to work harder if I have to keep up with you” Tyler hurried to close his laptop and when he did Minah realized there was a half-empty 1k bottle of scotch on the desk with a Baccarat tumbler next to it. There was also a book that looked suspiciously like their high-school yearbook. Tyler covered it up placing that morning’s newspaper on top of it. “What do you need Minah?” He asked, jaw visibly clenching. 

“I just came to say I’m sorry” Minah could feel herself sinking in size as Tyler’s eyebrows furrowed, looking at her as though he’s trying to bit down his emotions. Minah inhaled deeply and then gave a few steps toward the window. She saw an Aston Martin pull up the driveway of the manor and thought she could recognize Daniel sitting in the passenger’s seat. “I don’t know why I brought you up to that roof” Minah didn’t dare to look at Tyler so instead she observed Daniel making out with the man in the Aston Martin until she heard the sound of Tyler’s Antonio Citterio highback chair and noticed him approach slowly. 

“I do,” he said with a sour smirk “You were trying to get over that assistant”  Though his voice was calm, Minah could recognize spite lacing Tyler’s words “Only that’s been harder than you thought, so you were using me” his expression tight with a seriousness Minah couldn’t quite decode if it was a product of anger or disappointment. Both probably. 

Minah looked down, feeling the guilt overtake her. She played with the hem of her ruffled georgette pajamas simply because she couldn’t even look at Tyler. She was perfectly aware that she’d done nothing but take and take from him in a never-ending succession of selfish acts. She did the same with Sungjae and ended up pushing him away forever. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing Tyler too. “I-“ Minah attempted to mutter some sort of half-assed apology, but the words died in her throat. 

“So, use me,” Tyler said, confidently coming forward. The golden frame of his glasses glowed under the dim light coming from the crystal chandeliers, briefly distracting Minah from her plain confusion. When she came back to her senses she noticed Tyler stood in front of her. 

“What?” The tension between them was thick, but Minah still managed to keep her composure, though the way Tyler’s eyes darkened caused Minah to gulp almost imperceptibly

“You were only with that guy because it was easy for you” Tyler’s eyes looked right into Minah’s “Convenient” he added “You don’t have time for a real relationship because you’re too busy conquering the world” Minah deliberately took a step forth, then they were only inches away from each other. “Where else could you find someone with the same schedule?” He rolled eyes at the same time his hand brushed against the skin of her thigh “But you know? I could fit you in” Tyler’s expression shifted, as he moved behind Minah, his breath on the back of her neck “If you fit me in” 

Minah was about to respond with some witty remark, but she gasped when the pads of Tyler’s fingers came in contact with her neck and gently moved her hair onto one shoulder. Minah pivoted on her heels to face him but was taken aback when she realized she practically threw herself into his arms. They were closer than she had anticipated. “Are you possibly suggesting you want to be my rebound?” She managed to conceal her surprise and went on

“Isn’t that why you’re here so late?” Tyler raised a brow.

Minah chuckled and shook her head, there was something particularly annoying about the high regard Tyler had of himself, but truth to be told, he wasn’t entirely mistaken. As a matter of fact, Minah knew that something was bound to happen if she stepped into Tyler’s study room. And she still went to look for him. Nevertheless, she hopelessly tried to find an excuse “But we’ve agreed to keep this strictly business-” 

“And we’re at work, aren’t we?” A soft chuckle escaped Tyler’s lips before he closed the gap separating him from Minah and crashed his lips against hers in a flurry of desperation. 

Before any of them noticed or did anything to stop each other, Minah was lying half-naked on Tyler’s presidential desk, his mouth gliding a path down her body.

...

[developerwith1]

The Art of Whiskey Enjoyment: Baccarat's Harmonie Glasses Unveiled

There's something uniquely delightful about the ritual of sipping whiskey; the rich aroma, the smooth taste, and yes, the exquisite glass that enhances every sip. Baccarat, a name synonymous with luxury and finesse, introduces its Harmonie collection, setting a new benchmark for connoisseurs. Let's dive into why Baccarat whiskey glasses are not just a tool, but an integral part of the whiskey enjoyment experience.

Baccarat Harmonie Glasses

Imagine your ideal evening—a gentle fire crackling, a plush armchair, and a good book. Now, add a glass of fine whiskey in a stunning Baccarat Harmonie glass. This isn’t just a glass; it’s an invitation to indulge in a moment of tranquility and taste. Baccarat whiskey glasses are crafted to turn each whiskey sip into a celebration of life’s finer moments.

A Symbol of Sophistication

What does your drinkware say about you? Baccarat glasses are more than vessels; they're a statement of sophistication and elegance. Each glass from the Harmonie collection speaks volumes of the owner’s taste and appreciation for luxury, making an ordinary evening extraordinary.

The Harmonie Collection: What’s the Buzz?

The Harmonie collection is Baccarat’s ode to the modern lover of whiskey—a seamless blend of classic craftsmanship and contemporary aesthetics. With its straight lines and pristine clarity, the collection promises to enchant anyone who lays eyes on it.

Design Philosophy: The Beauty of Lines

The Harmonie collection stands out through its use of simple, vertical lines that run seamlessly from top to bottom. This design is not just visually striking; it also enhances the golden hues of whiskey, allowing for a visual celebration of the spirit’s rich, amber tones.

Crafting the Perfect Sip: The Role of a Good Glass

Ever wonder why whiskey tastes better in a high-quality glass? Baccarat glasses are designed to distribute the whiskey perfectly onto the palate, enhancing the richness and complexity of the flavors. It’s like listening to music in a concert hall—the right acoustics (or glassware, in this case) can turn something good into something magical.

How to Choose the Right Baccarat Glass

Choosing the right glass involves considering the whiskey's character. The Harmonie tumbler, with its wide, open rim and sturdy base, is perfect for robust, full-bodied whiskeys, as it allows the aroma to breathe and develop before the first sip.

The Perfect Serve: Tips and Tricks

To truly enjoy a whiskey in a Baccarat glass, consider the temperature and the pour. A splash of water can open up new flavors, and the right amount of spirit poured into the elegantly cut glass ensures that each sip is as perfect as the last.

Matching Your Whiskey with Harmonie

Pairing whiskey with the right glass can be likened to pairing wine with the correct glass—it’s all about enhancing the experience. The Harmonie glasses, with their unique design, are particularly suited for whiskeys that are smooth and rich, complementing their inherent qualities.

Maintaining Your Baccarat Glasses

Taking care of luxury glassware requires a gentle hand. Washing Baccarat glasses by hand with warm water and a mild detergent, and drying them with a soft cloth, will keep them sparkling and ready for your next toast.

Where to Find Baccarat Harmonie Glasses

Baccarat Harmonie glasses are available through luxury retailers, both in-store and online. Owning a piece of this collection is owning a piece of art that enhances every whiskey experience.

Baccarat Glasses as a Gift Idea

Giving a gift of Baccarat whiskey glasses is like giving a piece of lasting luxury. They make perfect gifts for weddings, anniversaries, or any occasion that calls for something truly special.

The Legacy of Baccarat Crystal

Baccarat’s legacy dates back to 1764 in Lorraine, France. Known worldwide for their impeccable quality and stunning designs, Baccarat remains a symbol of French art de vivre and has been at the forefront of glassmaking innovation for over 250 years.

User Experiences: Why They Love It

Hear from users who swear by their Baccarat Harmonie glasses. Many describe it as the ultimate whiskey experience—enhanced flavors, perfect weight, and an unbeatable aesthetic.

Conclusion: Elevating the Whiskey Experience

Choosing Baccarat Harmonie whiskey glasses is not just about choosing drinkware—it’s about choosing to celebrate every moment in a grander, more memorable way. Whether you’re a seasoned whiskey aficionado or a newcomer eager to explore, Baccarat offers more than just glasses; they offer an experience, a journey into the world of luxury and taste. Why settle for ordinary when you can make each sip extraordinary

[hargrcaves]

–– in conversation with @hispaniae​ ; antony &&. teodosio

emboldened by the belief that alcohol could solve just as many problems as it created ( one crucial caveat: cheap booze not invited ), antony had hounded the pop-up bar until they’d made him a drink that could distill the highkey uncomfortable vibes out of any awkward situation. sure, fine. they’d gotten drunk and slept together that one time –– and sure, it was worse because teo was the one person he would usually call in this exact situation. and yeah, he knew that in the middle of that hazy, booze tinged moment, he’d probably been the first one to lean in –– but that was a conversation he was going to avoid for as long as he possibly could. so picking up the glass tumbler ( it better have been baccarat ) , antony collapsed into a seat next to teo. 

                     –––– “ had this made special for you, ” he began, his smile far too honeysuckle sweet considering the drink was basically expensive lighter fluid with a hint of fresh pyrenees raspberry. if it didn’t take the edge off of –– whatever this was, whatever this gnarled, tangled awkwardness happened to be, at least he’d get to see teo’s reaction. “ all the initiates have to drink one, i don’t make the rules. ”

[reinakahara]

Hypnosis Mic Division All Stars Hoodstar Romaji Lyrics

Lyrics・Composition・Arrangement：invisible manners（Hirayama Daisuke, Fukuyama Sei）

Sing by: Division All Stars (CV. Kimura Subaru, Ishiya Haruki, Amasaki Kouhei, Asanuma Shintarou, Komada Wataru, Kamio Shin'ichirou, Shirai Yuusuke, Saitou Souma, Nozuyama Hiroki, Hayami Shou, Kijima Ryuuichi, Itou Kento)

♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫

I'm a Hoodstar

Chou real na Star

Kono machi de ichiban no Bad Boys

Check yourselves sou sing a start

Sugu junguri ni buttobasu!

◆

Bukuro wa orera no Hometown

Otto gomutai gohatto Calm down

Yo katte wa sasenai wakatteru hazu da ze

Toppoi yatsu mo janaippoi yatsu mo

"Hey" teka "naa" teka shinnee kara

Karakara no nou ni wa you wa nai hanashi da

Buster Bros teki ni mawashite

Baka bara maiten no omae no hou janee?

Tada tada tada akireru Achilles ken sarasu

Zakotomo aite no mainichi ni akiteru

Man ga ichi nimo shouki wa nai

Omaera ni mattaku motte kyoumi wa nai

◆

Check it out

Ka ni mo kaku ni mo ikuze baby

Boggietown Walking down Bukuro represent

Houketa aite ja mouke mon da ze

Yoku manandoke orera On the stage

◆

I'm a Hoodstar

Chou real na Star

Kono machi de ichiban no Bad Boys

Check yourselves sou sing a start

Sugu junguri ni buttobasu!

◆

Konton to konton no aida de

Hontou no kanjou wa Control funou na you da

Kyoukaku kaku arubeshi nante

Kuchi de iu hodo kantan janee yo

Donkusai yatsu wa Sacrifice ja nai

Keishichounai choukai kakugo de bakko

Never back down baka bakka dakara na

Wack na bakudan shori my work da

Fujouri na renchuu boobytrap

Hameru agaku mo naku wananaki naku

Doku mo nai ga marude ajike mo nai

Doctrine nakushite kimi no shouri wa nai

◆

Check it out

Ka ni mo kaku ni mo ikuze baby

Boggietown Walking down Yokohama represent

Houketa aite ja mouke mon da ze

Yoku manandoke orera On the stage

◆

Division Rap Battle de negai wo kanaete yaru ze

Kibun wa Bouncy Don't stop your music

Tobira akeru kagi wa Rhyme Junkie na gaki no waruagaki

Cheap na Pride ja tachimachi ni kuwarechimau ze

Ryuusenkei egaiteku Delivery, Flow de kirihiraku kono ibaramichi

Teka nani shi ni umare utau ka wo Sono me sono mimi de tashikame na

◆

I'm a Hoodstar

Chou real na Star

Kono machi de ichiban no Bad Boys

Check yourselves sou sing a start

Sugu junguri ni buttobasu!

◆

REMIX!

Horeta hareta wa pret-a-porter

Iyaiya boku wa Haute Couture desu

Cotton Candy wa Made in Ramuda

Amakute niga~i Femme Fatale da

Enjikiru haitokuteki taishou

Shouwaru de Noir na Jekyll to Hyde

Hikari no sangenshoku RGB

Ramuda Gentaro nokori wa Baka da♪

Oi dare ga baka da sore yori mo Baccarat

Uma demo shika demo inushikachou da

Motode wo choudai my posse? Okay!

Bai no bai kaeshi ubaikaesu ze kyoudai!

◆

Check it out

Ka ni mo kaku ni mo ikuze baby

Boggietown Walking down Shibuya represent

Houketa aite ja mouke mon da ze

Yoku manandoke orera On the stage

◆

I'm a Hoodstar

Chou real na Star

Kono machi de ichiban no Bad Boys

Check yourselves sou sing a start

Sugu junguri ni buttobasu!

◆

Hanahada okashi na hanashi

Daga naka ni wa mare ni subarashii

Ah Clinical Indicator

Iwaba Original injiten da

Honjitsu no Eventer nonbee ni kanpai

A gui gui gui gui gubi gubi gubi gubi Good!

6oz Tumbler kibun wa Hennessy

Shot Shot Shot tanoshiissho?

Shouganee na Hifumi Liver taisetsu ni (´・ω・｀)

Chigaihouken kihon wa jiko sekinin no machi

Giraggira nano demo perappera na

Ore mitai nano demo nomikomu Shinjuku Town

◆

Check it out

Ka ni mo kaku ni mo ikuze baby

Boggietown Walking down Shinjuku represent

Houketa aite ja mouke mon da ze

Yoku manandoke orera On the stage

◆

Division Rap Battle de negai wo kanaete yaru ze

Kibun wa Bouncy Don't stop your music

Tobira akeru kagi wa Rhyme Junkie na gaki no waruagaki

Cheap na Pride ja tachimachi ni kuwarechimau ze

Ryuusenkei egaiteku Delivery, Flow de kirihiraku kono ibaramichi

Teka nani shi ni umare utau ka wo Sono me sono mimi de tashikame na

◆

Ima ya fuzaketa nichijou wa

Nodo tsubusu ka nou hishageru ka

YOU are welcome to wa ikanai ne

Chinmoku wa shi ni tsunagaru Drive

Hae ga muragaru ano Hype

Taegatai kono Killing Time

Aikan hiki subete ga kyouki

I can kick it wamekinasai

Kozaiku ja tsutomaranai

Style no funsouchi

Kyou wa Neighbor asu wa yaiba

Maenomeri na Destroyer

◆

Alright

Division Rap Battle de negai wo kanaete yaru ze

Kibun wa Bouncy Don't stop your music

Noise mo kainaraseba ii no sa

Cheap na Pride ja tachimachi ni kuwarechimau ze

Saikou no Bounty dou nattemo ii sa

Koitsu shidai sa Hypnosis Mic

◆

Kabe ni kakareta uso ni tsuba wo haki nakiwameitecha oitekaren ze

Ten to ten wo tsunageru kono Mic High-end renkosuru orera no Rhyme

Ryuusenkei egaiteku Delivery, Flow de kirihiraku kono ibaramichi

Teka nani shi ni umare utau ka wo Sono me sono mimi de tashikame na

[vocaloidcomments]

In the early light of a May dawn this is what the living room of my apartment looks like: Over the white marble and granite gas-log fireplace hangs an original David Onica. It’s a six-foot-by-four-foot portrait of a naked woman, mostly done in muted grays and olives, sitting on a chaise longue watching MTV, the backdrop a Martian landscape, a gleaming mauve desert scattered with dead, gutted fish, smashed plates rising like a sunburst above the woman’s yellow head, and the whole thing is framed in black aluminum steel. The painting overlooks a long white down-filled sofa and a thirty-inch digital TV set from Toshiba; it’s a high-contrast highly defined model plus it has a four-corner video stand with a high-tech tube combination from NEC with a picture-in-picture digital effects system (plus freeze-frame); the audio includes built-in MTS and a five-watt-per-channel on-board amp. A Toshiba VCR sits in a glass case beneath the TV set; it’s a super-high-band Beta unit and has built-in editing function including a character generator with eight-page memory, a high-band record and playback, and three-week, eight-event timer. A hurricane halogen lamp is placed in each corner of the living room. Thin white Venetian blinds cover all eight floor-to-ceiling windows. A glass-top coffee table with oak legs by Turchin sits in front of the sofa, with Steuben glass animals placed strategically around expensive crystal ashtrays from Fortunoff, though I don’t smoke. Next to the Wurlitzer jukebox is a black ebony Baldwin concert grand piano. A polished white oak floor runs throughout the apartment. On the other side of the room, next to a desk and a magazine rack by Gio Ponti, is a complete stereo system (CD player, tape deck, tuner, amplifier) by Sansui with six-foot Duntech Sovereign 2001 speakers in Brazilian rosewood. A down-filled futon lies on an oakwood frame in the center of the bedroom. Against the wall is a Panasonic thirty-one-inch set with a direct-view screen and stereo sound and beneath it in a glass case is a Toshiba VCR. I’m not sure if the time on the Sony digital alarm clock is correct so I have to sit up then look down at the time flashing on and off on the VCR, then pick up the Ettore Sottsass push-button phone that rests on the steel and glass nightstand next to the bed and dial the time number. A cream leather, steel and wood chair designed by Eric Marcus is in one corner of the room, a molded plywood chair in the other. A black-dotted beige and white Maud Sienna carpet covers most of the floor. One wall is hidden by four chests of immense bleached mahogany drawers. In bed I’m wearing Ralph Lauren silk pajamas and when I get up I slip on a paisley ancient madder robe and walk to the bathroom. I urinate while trying to make out the puffiness of my reflection in the glass that encases a baseball poster hung above the toilet. After I change into Ralph Lauren monogrammed boxer shorts and a Fair Isle sweater and slide into silk polka-dot Enrico Hidolin slippers I tie a plastic ice pack around my face and commence with the morning’s stretching exercises. Afterwards I stand in front of a chrome and acrylic Washmobile bathroom sink—with soap dish, cup holder, and railings that serve as towel bars, which I bought at Hastings Tile to use while the marble sinks I ordered from Finland are being sanded—and stare at my reflection with the ice pack still on. I pour some Plax antiplaque formula into a stainless-steel tumbler and swish it around my mouth for thirty seconds. Then I squeeze Rembrandt onto a faux-tortoise-shell toothbrush and start brushing my teeth (too hung over to floss properly—but maybe I flossed before bed last night?) and rinse with Listerine. Then I inspect my hands and use a nailbrush. I take the ice-pack mask off and use a deep-pore cleanser lotion, then an herb-mint facial masque which I leave on for ten minutes while I check my toenails. Then I use the Probright tooth polisher and next the Interplak tooth polisher (this in addition to the toothbrush) which has a speed of 4200 rpm and reverses direction forty-six times per second; the larger tufts clean between teeth and massage the gums while the short ones scrub the tooth surfaces. I rinse again, with Cepacol. I wash the facial massage off with a spearmint face scrub. The shower has a universal all-directional shower head that adjusts within a thirty-inch vertical range. It’s made from Australian gold-black brass and covered with a white enamel finish. In the shower I use first a water-activated gel cleanser, then a honey-almond body scrub, and on the face an exfoliating gel scrub. Vidal Sassoon shampoo is especially good at getting rid of the coating of dried perspiration, salts, oils, airborne pollutants and dirt that can weigh down hair and flatten it to the scalp which can make you look older. The conditioner is also good—silicone technology permits conditioning benefits without weighing down the hair which can also make you look older. On weekends or before a date I prefer to use the Greune Natural Revitalizing Shampoo, the conditioner and the Nutrient Complex. These are formulas that contain D-panthenol, a vitamin-B-complex factor; polysorbate 80, a cleansing agent for the scalp; and natural herbs. Over the weekend I plan to go to Bloomingdale’s or Bergdorf’s and on Evelyn’s advice pick up a Foltene European Supplement and Shampoo for thinning hair which contains complex carbohydrates that penetrate the hair shafts for improved strength and shine. Also the Vivagen Hair Enrichment Treatment, a new Redken product that prevents mineral deposits and prolongs the life cycle of hair. Luis Carruthers recommended the Aramis Nutriplexx system, a nutrient complex that helps increase circulation. Once out of the shower and toweled dry I put the Ralph Lauren boxers back on and before applying the Mousse A Raiser, a shaving cream by Pour Hommes, I press a hot towel against my face for two minutes to soften abrasive beard hair. Then I always slather on a moisturizer (to my taste, Clinique) and let it soak in for a minute. You can rinse it off or keep it on and apply a shaving cream over it—preferably with a brush, which softens the beard as it lifts the whiskers—which I’ve found makes removing the hair easier. It also helps prevent water from evaporating and reduces friction between your skin and the blade. Always wet the razor with warm water before shaving and shave in the direction the beard grows, pressing gently on the skin. Leave the sideburns and chin for last, since these whiskers are tougher and need more time to soften. Rinse the razor and shake off any excess water before starting. Afterwards splash cool water on the face to remove any trace of lather. You should use an aftershave lotion with little or no alcohol. Never use cologne on your face, since the high alcohol content dries your face out and makes you look older. One should use an alcohol-free antibacterial toner with a water-moistened cotton ball to normalize the skin. Applying a moisturizer is the final step. Splash on water before applying an emollient lotion to soften the skin and seal in the moisture. Next apply Gel Appaisant, also made by Pour Hommes, which is an excellent, soothing skin lotion. If the face seems dry and flaky—which makes it look dull and older—use a clarifying lotion that removes flakes and uncovers fine skin (it can also make your tan look darker). Then apply an anti-aging eye balm (Baume Des Yeux) followed by a final moisturizing “protective” lotion. A scalp-programming lotion is used after I towel my hair dry. I also lightly blow-dry the hair to give it body and control (but without stickiness) and then add more of the lotion, shaping it with a Kent natural-bristle brush, and finally slick it back with a wide-tooth comb. I pull the Fair Isle sweater back on and reslip my feet into the polka-dot silk slippers, then head into the living room and put the new Talking Heads in the CD player, but it starts to digitally skip so I take it out and put in a CD laser lens cleaner. The laser lens is very sensitive, and subject to interference from dust or dirt or smoke or pollutants or moisture, and a dirty one can inaccurately read CDs, making for false starts, inaudible passages, digital skipping, speed changes and general distortion; the lens cleaner has a cleaning brush that automatically aligns with the lens then the disk spins to remove residue and particles. When I put the Talking Heads CD back in it plays smoothly. I retrieve the copy of USA Today that lies in front of my door in the hallway and bring it with me into the kitchen where I take two Advil, a multivitamin and a potassium tablet, washing them down with a large bottle of Evian water since the maid, an elderly Chinese woman, forgot to turn the dishwasher on when she left yesterday, and then I have to pour the grapefruit-lemon juice into a St. Remy wineglass I got from Baccarat. I check the neon clock that hangs over the refrigerator to make sure I have enough time to eat breakfast unhurriedly. Standing at the island in the kitchen I eat kiwifruit and a sliced Japanese apple-pear (they cost four dollars each at Gristede’s) out of aluminum storage boxes that were designed in West Germany. I take a bran muffin, a decaffeinated herbal tea bag and a box of oat-bran cereal from one of the large glass-front cabinets that make up most of an entire wall in the kitchen; complete with stainless-steel shelves and sandblasted wire glass, it is framed in a metallic dark gray-blue. I eat half of the bran muffin after it’s been microwaved and lightly covered with a small helping of apple butter. A bowl of oat-bran cereal with wheat germ and soy milk follows; another bottle of Evian water and a small cup of decaf tea after that. Next to the Panasonic bread baker and the Salton Pop-Up coffee maker is the Cremina sterling silver espresso maker (which is, oddly, still warm) that I got at Hammacher Schlemmer (the thermal-insulated stainless-steel espresso cup and the saucer and spoon are sitting by the sink, stained) and the Sharp Model R-1810A Carousel II microwave oven with revolving turntable which I use when I heat up the other half of the bran muffin. Next to the Salton Sonata toaster and the Cuisinart Little Pro food processor and the Acme Supreme Juicerator and the Cordially Yours liqueur maker stands the heavy-gauge stainless-steel two-and-one-half-quart teakettle, which whistles “Tea for Two” when the water is boiling, and with it I make another small cup of the decaffeinated apple-cinnamon tea. For what seems like a long time I stare at the Black & Decker Handy Knife that lies on the counter next to the sink, plugged into the wall: it’s a slicer/peeler with several attachments, a serrated blade, a scalloped blade and a rechargeable handle. The suit I wear today is from Alan Flusser. It’s an eighties drape suit, which is an updated version of the thirties style. The favored version has extended natural shoulders, a full chest and a bladed back. The soft-rolled lapels should be about four inches wide with the peak finishing three quarters of the way across the shoulders. Properly used on double-breasted suits, peaked lapels are considered more elegant than notched ones. Low-slung pockets have a flapped double-besom design—above the flap there’s a slit trimmed on either side with a flat narrow strip of cloth. Four buttons form a low-slung square; above it, about where the lapels cross, there are two more buttons. The trousers are deeply pleated and cut full in order to continue the flow of the wide jacket. An extended waist is cut slightly higher in the front. Tabs make the suspenders fit well at the center back. The tie is a dotted silk design by Valentino Couture. The shoes are crocodile loafers by A. Testoni. While I’m dressing the TV is kept on to The Patty Winters Show. Today’s guests are women with multiple personalities. A nondescript overweight older woman is on the screen and Patty’s voice is heard asking, “Well, is it schizophrenia or what’s the deal? Tell us.” “No, oh no. Multiple personalities are not schizophrenics,” the woman says, shaking her head. “We are not dangerous.” “Well,” Patty starts, standing in the middle of the audience, microphone in hand. “Who were you last month?” “Last month it seemed to be mostly Polly,” the woman says. A cut to the audience—a housewife’s worried face; before she notices herself on the monitor, it cuts back to the multiple-personality woman. “Well,” Patty continues, “now who are you?” “Well …,” the woman begins tiredly, as if she was sick of being asked this question, as if she had answered it over and over again and still no one believed it. “Well, this month I’m … Lambchop. Mostly … Lambchop.” A long pause. The camera cuts to a close-up of a stunned housewife shaking her head, another housewife whispering something to her. The shoes I’m wearing are crocodile loafers by A. Testoni. Grabbing my raincoat out of the closet in the entranceway I find a Burberry scarf and matching coat with a whale embroidered on it (something a little kid might wear) and it’s covered with what looks like dried chocolate syrup crisscrossed over the front, darkening the lapels. I take the elevator downstairs to the lobby, rewinding my Rolex by gently shaking my wrist. I say good morning to the doorman, step outside and hail a cab, heading downtown toward Wall Street.