extraordinarytourist

[fanaticsnail]

"I am trying my best, my lady"

Masterlist here, Sapsorrow masterlist here

Your words this time halting as you felt the firm press of a forehead against your own. Mihawk’s eyes were closed in a harsh snap, the wrinkles of his crow’s feet laying prominent against the apples of his cheeks as he rose his right hand up to collect your jaw. All manner of professionalism left your body, your arms relinquishing their presence laying outstretched beside you and instinctively falling to the nape of the neck laid before you.

You felt his darkened locks graze against your fingertips, your eyes closing in response to this unrestrained caress. As you allowed a moment of silence to fall beneath you, the only aspect of the embrace falling between you were the elongated, shared inhale and exhale of air between your breath.

“I am trying my best, my lady,” you heard his voice utter in a tone only meant for your ears, a whimper caught within his mouth at the title, “but your demands are-,” he paused pressing further into your embrace, his body almost becoming flush with your own, “seemingly impossible.”

Why write another part when you can attempt to scribble that one scene you've been hyper fixated on since you wrote it? Okay! Now that that's out of the way, time to get into the writing!

[annebd]

have you ever written a thing and had no idea where it was gonna go because you didn’t actually have a plan and then you were somehow still surprised (but pleasantly) at where it ended up anyway? yeah, me too. this is super short, just a little slice-of-life domestic maxiel moment.

They’re at the farm in Perth, nowhere to be and nothing to do for ten full days before they have to head back to Milton Keynes for the start of testing. They spend the first night sitting on the back porch, sharing a frankly terrible delivery pizza and a bottle of Daniel’s shiraz- out of disposable paper cups because Daniel can’t be bothered to unearth his actual wine glasses and because Max always claims the taste is the same as in proper glass anyway. They go to bed early, too jet lagged to do anything more than share a kiss goodnight and cuddle together under the quilt that Daniel’s nonna had given him when he’d first moved to Italy- a small reminder of home. Nowadays, the quilt stays on the farm, a reminder that this, actually, is home.

In the morning, Daniel awakens to a streak of sunlight shining brightly across his face. The quilt is thrown haphazardly across the foot of the bed, kicked off during the night as the warmth of the Australian summer melted across them in sleep. He stretches big and yawns, scratching lightly at the peach fuzz on his lower belly that he’s finally allowing to grow back in. The giant antique clock on the wall across from the window (his mum had made him buy it- said he needed some kind of interior decoration in his place, and Buffalo Bills merch emblazoned with Josh Allen’s name didn’t count) tells him that it’s just after ten. He reaches out a hand: the other side of the bed feels cool- Max must have been up for a while already.

With a groan, and a refusal to acknowledge that hopping out of bed at 35 involves much more moaning and creaking knees than it did at 22, Daniel gets up and stumbles his way towards the living room. He follows the faint sound of Dutch cursing and an even fainter whiff of coffee. Max hates coffee- says it makes him gag- but whenever he’s up first, he makes Daniel a cup exactly the way he likes it, with the tiniest splash of creamer and an even tinier bit of sugar.

He rounds the corner to the living room and sees the source of the cursing. Max has set up his Playstation and is in the middle of a FIFA match.

“Honestly, Daniel, they’re terrible. Look at this,” Max says crossly, waving his hand at the TV in a gesture that Daniel takes to be an all encompassing indicator of terribleness. “How can they be so bad?”

He’s not even looking in Daniel’s direction; the sofa faces away from the passageway to the back of the house. It’s one of the things Daniel loves about him. Max doesn’t need any preamble to a conversation. He knows that if he starts, Daniel will simply catch up.

Daniel shrugs, climbs over the back of the sofa to plop comfortably next to Max. “Dunno, Maxy. Can’t all be rockstars like you.”

Max glances at him quickly, a small frown in his brow as he assesses in an instant whether he thinks Daniel is teasing him, warring with a smile at the inherent compliment anyway. “Yeah, well, of course it takes lots of practice. Maybe they are just not putting in the time.”

“Maybe so,” Daniel agrees. He leans over to grab the cup of coffee that Max had made for him and takes a sip- perfect as always. He sinks a bit lower into the couch, getting comfortable. “Any plans for the day? Other than kicking some randos' arses in FIFA?”

“I though that we could—” Max cuts himself off to interject a string of cursing in Dutch as his player onscreen clearly does something other than what he’d intended. He mashes at the controller furiously, and a moment later, Daniel sees the screen light up with a goal. Max nods, satisfied, and continues “maybe invite Isaac and Isabella to spend the day here. Always, you’re talking about wanting to take them out on the dirt bikes. We can do that together.”

Daniel nods. “Sounds good. I’ll give Michelle a call- maybe we can swing by and pick them up. Say hi to Mum and Dad on the way.”

Max is already absorbed back into his game, but when Daniel stands to go grab his phone (slightly less groaning as he stands from the couch, no less knee creaking), Max reaches out a quick hand to squeeze his thigh gently. “Good morning, by the way.”

Daniel smiles. “Good morning, baby,” he says, and leans over to peck Max lightly on the lips.

[foxaftershocks]

A Chance Encounter (Lars Pinfield x f!Reader)

Synopsis: A run in with an ex was not something you wanted.

Words: 2.5k

This is kind of an extension of my other fic Ghost Boy. It uses the same reader character with Lars.

“I don’t see why I have to do this.”

Lars grumbling wasn’t new, but it was making you need to hide your smile. Your fingers tightened around his, pressing your face into his shoulder, letting him lead you through the street.

“It’s just drinks with some of the others,” you said, “we can’t live in the lab.”

“We could go home,” he muttered.

You laughed then, muffled in the material of his jacket. You knew Lars wasn’t the most social person, but the offence he’d taken at the thought of grabbing a drink with some of the people from the lab was a step too far. You loved your nerd, even when he made it clear he didn’t see the need to talk to other people.

“One drink,” you said, “you can manage that, right?”

“I guess,” he replied.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

He looked down at you, perking up enough for more giggles to tumble over your lips. His expression softened and he pulled his hand out of yours, sliding his arm around your shoulders. Whenever he showed you affection you melted, just a little bit, enough to fold yourself against him.

“I’ll get a reward?” he asked, bending towards you, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Only if you behave, ghost boy” you shot back.

His lips pressed to your temple, a soft rumble in his chest reminding you how much you revelled in his joy. Your arm curled around his waist, finding its way under his coat, seeking out his warmth.

The bar was loud when you arrived and you knew Lars would be complaining about it. You took his hand again, tugging him through the crowd. His hand tightened in yours and you looked back over your shoulder at him. It wasn’t frustration on his face, but a level of anxiety you weren’t used to with him. You paused, ignoring the complaint from the person behind the two of you.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

“Fine,” he replied through gritted teeth.

“Lars.” You cupped his cheek, forcing him to look at you, “talk to me.”

“Not a big fan of crowds,” he said, eyes darting around the bar.

“You should have said something. We don’t have to stay if you’re uncomfortable,” you said.

“It’s only one drink, right?” he asked, finally looking at you.

“We don’t have to,” you replied.

“One drink should be alright,” he said.

You reached up onto your tip toes to press your lips to his. His arm slid around your waist automatically, the way it always did when you were close enough.

“Why don’t you find the others and I’ll get us that drink,” you suggested, pushing back from him.

It was easy to track his movement through the crowd with his height as you moved in the opposite direction towards the bar. You shuffled through the crowd, squeezing through what gaps you could find. Pushing your way to the front, you caught the eye of the bartender. He held up a finger, finishing one transaction before sauntering over to you.

“Hey, could get a glass of the shiraz and a rum and coke?” you wrested, raising your voice to be heard over the noise.

He flashed you a charming grin and a nod. You lent against the bar, one elbow resting on the slightly sticky surface, eyes scanning over the crowd to find where Lars had ended up. Tucked away in one corner, you could see him, blond head bowed as an uproarious laugh went through the group from work.

“Well fancy seeing you here.”

Your head snapped around, a face swooping into view. A startlingly familiar face. You found yourself rearing back, not enjoying the surprise.

“Liam,” you breathed.

His stupid smiling face was blocking your view of Lars and the begins of panic fluttered in your stomach. The years you’d spent getting this man out of your life came flashing through your mind. He wasn’t awful, he could just be kind go a dick, and so wrapped up in a lot of your social circles. You’d even ended on amicable terms. But then you’d moved to New York to untangle yourself from him. And now he was here.

“I was going to tell you I was in town but then I thought surprising you would be so much more fun,” he said, leaning on the bar in front of you.

Yeah, he hadn’t quite gotten the memo that you guys weren’t friends anymore. Over a year without talking and now he thought he could surprise you.

“How’d you… how’d you know where to find me?” you asked, pressing a hand to your stomach, hoping something would begin to make sense again.

“I didn’t. This was a surprise. I was going to go find the Ghostbusters tomorrow and ask them to help,” he said, “I’ve been watching your videos. They’re really good.”

“Thanks,” you replied faintly.

“Are you here with them now?” he asked, still smiling at you like you’d just made all his dreams come true by existing.

“No, not the Ghostbusters. Just some people from the lab,” you said.

“Cool, cool. Hey, come join me. We can catch up. How’ve you been? We all miss you back home. No one’s really heard from you in ages,” he said all in one breath, making your head spin.

“I wish I could but I’m here with people,” you said.

“Just tell them you want to catch up with an old friend.” His eyes swept over your body, “you look great.”

You did your best to suppress the disgust the feeling his appreciative gaze made you feel. Your whole body rejected it and you found it hard to believe you’d ever once enjoyed it. Biting back a scathing response, you looked away, trying to catch the eye of the bartender.

“So what have you been up to?” he asked, stealing back your attention.

“Oh, you know,” you said, “working. Enjoying the city. Going to bars.”

“So are you seeing anyone?” he asked, eyes sweeping over your body again.

Two glasses were placed down in front of you, your order finally arriving. You flashed a smile at the bartender, tapping your phone to pay for it.

“Well, it was nice running into you,” you said, picking up both glasses, “but I have to get back to my friends.”

“Stay for one drink,” he pleaded.

“I really can’t. I’m here with people,” you said.

“I’ve missed you.”

The guilt. He was always so good at wielding guilt to get what he wanted. You paused, the familiar feelings making you falter. His puppy dog eyes only made it worse.

“Everything okay?”

You blinked, reminded of where you were and what you were doing. A soft hand landed on your waist, pulling you back against a body that made you feel electric. You lent into Lars, glad for his steadying force.

“Hi,” Liam said, the surprise evident on his face. He’d never been good at hiding his emotions. Not from you.

“Who’s this, love?” he asked.

“Oh uh.” You never could have prepared for this moment, “Lars, this is Liam. Liam, this is my boyfriend, Lars.”

You turned, passing the glass of wine over to Lars, looking up into his face. He was staring at the other man, expression hardening. It wasn’t often he looked like that, that expression usually reserved for Gary when he was messing about in the lab.

Or you when you asked him to film a video with you.

“We’re just catching up,” Liam said, “we’re old friends. She’s probably told you all about me.”

“I can’t say that she has,” your boyfriend replied.

His hand slipped down until it was resting on your hip, almost possessive as he held you. Liam’s eyes slipped down to it, disappointment and hurt flashing over his face before he tried to school his features. And yet those damned puppy dog eyes remained.

“So she never told you we used to date?” he asked.

“I did tell you about him,” you said, snatching Lars’ attention, “he’s that ex from my college days. Remember? Caused a lot of fights?”

“Oh, he’s that one,” he said.

His fingers tightened on your hip and you had to wonder what was going through his mind. Glancing to the side, Liam had taken a step towards you, fingers clenched at his side. The look on his face was confusion and heartbreak mingled together and you weren’t sure you had the energy to deal with him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

“Liam, we haven’t spoken in over a year. I didn’t think I had to tell you anything about my life. We don’t talk,” you said.

His shoulders slumped under your words and guilt was claiming its way up your throat and the need to apologise was growing and the pressure was building and-

Lars’ lips pressed to your temple, breaking you out of the spiral you were finding yourself in. You blinked, turning away from him, into the safety offered by your boyfriend’s arms.

“Can we talk?” Liam asked, his hand landing on your shoulder.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Lars said, his voice hard.

“Please?” That soft voice always used to be your undoing.

You squeezed your eyes shut before you turned back to him.

“We have nothing to talk about, Liam. We’re not friends. We don’t have a place in each others lives. It’s better if you just leave it be,” you said to him, vocalising how you’d been feeling for so long.

“But I still care about you,” he said, sounding lost.

“And I’m sorry for that. But someone who cares for me wouldn’t hurt the people I care about the way you did. They wouldn’t lie to me the way you did. They wouldn’t treat me with the disrespect you did.” It all came out of you in a rush, “you liked the idea of me than the reality. You liked that I made you look so good. You liked using me as free therapy.”

The expression on his face was like you’d slapped him.

“You’re my best friend,” he said, “I thought… I thought there was still a chance for us.”

“And I think you have your answer,” Lars snapped.

Liam finally looked away from you, something ugly marring his face when he saw Lars. His arm slid around your body, holding you close, glaring at the other man. If you weren’t careful it would turn into a tug of war with you playing the part of the rope.

“I’ve moved on,” you said, before a proper fight broke out, “you should too. Find someone else to be your best friend because I quit.”

You turned, one hand on Lars chest pushing him back, feeling proud of yourself. You didn’t always stand up for yourself so when you did, it felt like a big deal.

“Yeah? Well everyone back home only ever says what a bitch you are,” he called to your retreating back, “I was the only one who ever stood up for you. Guess I can stop doing that now since you’ve proven you’re exactly what they all say. A stuck up back stabbing bitch.”

Lars shoved past you, pushing the glass of wine into your hand. You blinked and his fist was up, slamming into the side of Liam’s face. You gasped before dropping the glasses back onto the bar and forcing your way between the two men. Both hands on Lars’ chest, you shoved him back.

“Lars,” you said, not sure if you were angry or proud of him.

“Don’t you talk about her like that,” he snarled, pointing at the man over your shoulder.

“What the fuck?” Liam demanded.

“We should get out of here,” you said to Lars.

“Please do,” the bartender said.

“Come on, ghost boy, let’s just go home.”

You were so aware of the people watching, phones turned in your direction. He pulled his glare away from Liam, looking down at you. His jaw was clenched and you knew his anger was simmering, so close to popping.

“Alright.”

He slung his arm around your shoulders and you led him out of the bar, not even bothering to spare a glance back at your ex and his bruised ego.

You let him stew in his anger for a few blocks. The way he was muttering under his breath was familiar and yet usually he didn’t resort to punching people. Eventually, you had to break the silence.

“So much for one drink,” you said.

“I can’t believe you dated that guy,” he said.

“I know. I made some bad choices in my youth,” you replied.

“How dare he say those things about you?” he growled.

“I know, ghost boy, but you can’t go round punching people who say shit about me. Otherwise you’re going to have to track down a lot of commenters from our social media,” you said, “plus, you tried to get me fires so…”

“I think I’ve more than made up for that,” he said.

You stopped him in the street, forcing him to look at you. His jaw was working and you could feel how the anger was still coursing through him. You shoved him against the wall of the closest building, hands resting on his chest keeping him there.

“Thank you for sticking up for my honour. Honestly, ghost boy, no one’s ever done that for me before. But I can’t have you getting arrested for assault. Assholes like that aren’t worth it,” you said.

“He thought he still had a chance with you,” was all he said.

“And he was wrong,” you said.

“He better be,” he muttered.

You shoved him again. His hands settled on your hip, pulling you closer to keep you from doing it again.

“That was such a stupid thing to do, ghost boy,” you said, head falling forward until it rested against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said, lips brushing your temple.

“But also kind of hot,” you admitted.

A surprised laugh fell from his lips and you looked up at him, squinting in the face of your own hypocrisy.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” you said, “but also you are so getting your reward.”

“That sends a very confusing message,” he said.

“I don’t care.”

Pushing up onto tiptoes, you pressed your lips to his, sinking into his warmth. The hands on your hips tightened, hauling you against his body. Your tongue licked into his mouth and you kissed him deeper until the wolf whistling started.

“Home?” you murmured against his lips.

“I want my reward,” he replied.

“C’mon then, ghost boy.”

Threading your fingers through his, you tugged him in the direction of your home, ready to give him the reward he definitely deserved.

[cevansbrat0007]

Handsy

Summary: Andy always seems to have trouble keeping his hands to himself during your movie nights...

Warnings: Smut, Andy Barber Being a Menace, Oral (fem rec), Wrestling, Edging, Over-stimulation, Funishments, Begging, Manhandling, Light Daddy Kink, Jealous Andy, Cursing, Bad Movie Titles, Questionable Actor Names, Minors DNI

A/N: Part of my ongoing Growing Pains Series. Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are appreciated. All mistakes are my own.

___

“C’mon, baby!” Andy shouts as he sets a bowl of popcorn on the living room coffee table. “You’ve had me waiting in here all by myself for almost an hour!”

“It hasn’t even been fifteen minutes.” You grumble as you wander into the room a few minutes later carrying two glasses. “And I brought you a little something too.” You go to hand him his before leaning down to place a sweet kiss on his soft, full lips. “Consider it a reward for all your patience.” 

“Fuck that.” Comes Andy’s husky growl as he places the drink next to the popcorn. “I need a little more of that sweetness right there.” He tries to capture your mouth again, only to get frustrated when you pull away. 

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” Poking your tongue out at him, you dance over to a nearby armchair. You take a moment to get settled, twisting your body in such a way so that your short legs are hanging over the side. 

“I repeat…” He peeks at you over the rim of glass as he takes a careful sip of the amber liquid, doing his best to keep it from sloshing over the side. “What are you doing?”

You shrug innocently. “Um, I’m about to watch a movie with my man. Now, stop playing and hit start already.” A light thrum of anticipation has you practically bouncing in your seat as you wait for the opening credits to roll. 

You’d been dying to see A Dark New World for ages – you had always been a sucker for a good alien invasion flick! 

“No.” 

You’re in the middle of reaching for your Shiraz when you hear him utter that one terrible word. 

No? What the hell did he mean, "no"?

“Andrew, sweetheart, please start the movie.” Pursing your lips, you cast him a sideways glance, attempting to gauge whether he’s being serious or not. 

“No.” Your man stubbornly grunts again before crossing his thick arms across his broad chest, prompting a low growl from you.

You’d already missed out on seeing this in theaters. And you would be damned before you’d allow yourself to be denied again whilst in your own home. Well, not “yours” technically, since you were spending the evening at Andy’s. 

But your man was really pushing for you to think of his place as being yours too. It had been almost impossible to miss the smile on his face the first time you had slipped up and accidentally referred to his space as “home”. 

That, however, was a story for another time. 

“Honey…please don’t do this to me right now. Because I can promise you that if I don’t see my favorite actor, Lloyd Evans-Drysdale, running across this screen” – you gesture at the television mounted on the opposite wall – “in the next five seconds, there will be hell to pay.”

Andy lifts one tawny brow in challenge. “I’m not doing a damned thing until you get your little ass over here where you, and it, belong.” He briefly uncrosses his arms long enough to pat his lap. 

Oh hell no! You weren’t falling for that one again.

“As inviting as that sounds, I’m afraid I’ll have to pass.” 

Maybe if you rushed him right now, you could take him by surprise and snatch the remote before he even knew what was happening.

As if anticipating your move, Andy slightly widens his stance, his palms coming to rest on his muscled thighs. “Why?” The impatient growl rumbles out from somewhere deep in his chest.  

“Oh, Andy Bear…” You offer him a strained smile as you begin to stretch, starting with the smallest, most unassuming poses you can manage so as to avoid arousing further suspicion. “I think we both know why.”

Okay, new plan. Obviously, you knew he’d already rented the film. And you had the login for his Amazon committed to memory. At this point, you weren’t above locking yourself in the bathroom and streaming the fucking thing on your phone. 

“I’m afraid I don’t.” Oops. Someone was beginning to sound awfully grumpy. 

“Ha!” A snort bubbles its way out of your throat before you can stop it. “You always get super handsy every time we try to watch something together. Yeah, I said it.”

Andy’s gorgeous blue eyes widen in surprise at your calling him out over his apparent inability to keep his hands to himself.  

“That’s right.” You continue as you stand up, ignoring the fact your man is growing increasingly unhappier by the second. “Happens every fucking time, buddy. You are an absolute menace. And normally I don’t mind, but this time Evans-Drysdale is involved, so…”

“Who even still gives a fuck about that guy?” He scoffs. “Thought he went and retired or some shit.”

You forgot just how touchy your boyfriend could be whenever you threw his fictional rival in the mix. In fact, you’d learned a long time ago that you were better off not even mentioning him at all. Especially not in bed.

Never ever mention Lloyd Evans-Drysdale while in bed with Andrew Barber. Because doing so might result with you being edged within an inch of your life. 

“I do!” You exclaim, suddenly feeling the need to defend the man who had, at one time, been the star of practically all of your fantasies – that is, until you’d met and fallen for your sweet Andy Bear. “And what’s not to love about him? He’s a great performer, he does all his own stunts, he loves dogs, and –” 

“And here I thought he was just some over-hyped actor who was allergic to shirts.” Andy mumbles into his bourbon before taking a drink. “My mistake.” His eyes you warily as you begin to approach him.

All you wanted was to get your hands on the fucking remote and put an end this madness!

“Big Man, can we please play the movie now? Pretty please?” You offer him your best pout as you reach out your hand, intending to swipe the controller from his grip. “With sugar on top?”

“Is this what you want?” Andy holds the device above his head, dangling it just out of reach. “This thing right here? 

“Gimme!” And then you lunge – letting out a rather impressive battle cry. 

But then the handsome bastard dodges, sending you crashing into his much bigger body.

“OOF!” You both grunt at the same time as the force of the impact sends you sprawling backwards on the couch in a tangled heap. Believing him to be stunned, you decide to embrace your inner spider monkey and shimmy your way up his torso. 

“I said gimme, damn it!” You hiss as the two of you continue to grapple for the remote. Out of instinct, and desperate for a win, your teeth find their way into his shoulder. And then you bite down.

Hard. 

“Ow!” You shriek when one of Andy’s hands manages to connect with your ass with a sharp crack.

You release him, only to do it again, this time digging your fingers into his side, pinching him with verve and vigor. 

“Fucking brat!” He snarls, flipping your positions as he expertly wrestles your flailing limbs. “Hold still before I – ouch! Stop fucking pinching me, little girl!”

Instead of responding, you go to hook your leg around his trim waist so that you can try to maneuver him on his back once more. But that quickly proves damn near impossible since you’re dealing with two hundred twenty-something pounds of solid freaking muscle!

“Quit now, Barber, and we can end this whole thing peacefully!” You give up on pinching him in favor of going for his beautiful face, squeezing his jaw with just enough force to make him look ridiculous. “C’mon! I just want a couple of hours to quietly lust after my favorite movie star! Is that really too much to ask, you gorgeous hobgoblin?! Argh!”

“Hell yeah, it is! Cuz' if you think that I’m gonna just sit idly by and watch my as my lady drools over some fucking muscle-bound dimwit who probably can't string two sentences together...then you are dead wrong, baby girl.” Andy manages to shake off your hold before nipping at your hand, making you yelp. 

“There’s nothing wrong with a little, safe objectification every now and again, my darling Andrew!”

“I think you’re missing a very important fucking piece here, sweetheart.” He growls, blocking you when your knee almost grazes his goods. Fed up with your squirming, he relaxes his body so that he’s laying on top of you – making you to take his full weight. And then he makes surprisingly quick work of capturing your hands, pinning them above your head with minimal effort.

“Damn it, Andy!” You shriek as you struggle in his hold, bucking your hips this way and that. He decides to repay you tenfold by grinding his rapidly hardening cock against your panty covered pussy. “Why must you always be so freaking difficult?!”

You knew you should’ve put on a pair of shorts before joining movie night. And maybe some sweats. Or, perhaps, a whole goddamned snowsuit! 

You force yourself to bite back yet another moan as Andy continues to torment you with his exaggerated, lazy thrusts, reveling in your helplessness. 

“Because you’re mine, woman.” His free hand goes to grip your chin, making it impossible for you to break his captivating gaze. “And the only fucking man that my woman is allowed to lust after, long for, and/or safely objectify is me. That’s it. And I refuse to fucking share you.”

You go to reply, only to be caught off guard when his eager mouth slants possessively over yours. And he doesn’t hold back as his tongue sweeps past your lips. Andy groans into the kiss, taking his sweet time while he seeks to conquer every last shred of free will you own.

“God, Andy! I–I…” You rasp as he trails a series of savage love bites along the delicate curve of your jaw before nibbling his way down your throat. “Shit!”

“You know better than to forget who you fucking belong too, baby girl.” His fingers weave their way under the thin fabric of your t-shirt to cup your breast, molding and kneading your sensitive flesh. “And then you tried to withhold your cuddles.” His sharp teeth nip and suck at your pulse point. You had little doubt that you’d be covered in his marks by the end of the night. “All over some limp-dicked prick named Drysdale.”    

A soft whimper catches in your throat as the pad of his thumb begins toying with your nipple, his sensual ministrations making you shiver.

God, your man was good with his hands. Fucking menace to society!

“Apologize.” Andy whispers as he returns his attention to your mouth, letting his plush lips skim over yours in one featherlight kiss after another. “Tell me you’re sorry for attempting to deprive me of all these luscious curves, when you know full well that I like to have a little something to hold onto during our movie nights.” 

“I…I…ooh!” You whine when his hand leaves your cleavage to slip between your thighs so he can lightly pinch your aching clit. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Daddy!” He enjoys the sound of your apology so much that he does it again, and this time it’s accompanied by a dark chuckle. 

The fucking sadist! 

“I’m sure you are, sweet girl.” Your man hums before finally moving to sit up, taking you with him. “But I’m afraid you’re gonna have to do better than that if you expect me to sit through this shitty film after all this.”

Having said that, Andy then gently deposits you next to him on the couch before standing up.

“Show me how bad you want to watch your little movie, baby. Prove to me you’re willing to do whatever it takes to make me happy again.” 

Heaving a small, breathy sigh, you slide your thumbs into the waistband of your panties -- slowly sliding them down your hips before letting them hit the carpeted floor below. Your boyfriend’s nostrils flare as his hungry eyes stray to your weeping cunt. 

“Keep going, princess. Be my good girl and give Daddy what he wants.” Comes Andy’s downright devilish purr. Wanting desperately to comply, you spread your thighs wide in a sweet, submissive offering. “There we go.”

Of course you allow him to look his fill. And only when he’s satisfied does he finally hit “play”.  

“Thank you.” You murmur as your focus briefly turns to the television, but at no point do you attempt to close your legs. You had a feeling that your Big Man was nowhere near finished with you. 

At least not yet. 

His wicked grin letting you know that you’re about to earn every minute of the entertainment you’d been pushing for all evening. 

___

One Hour Later…

“Ungh!” Your muffled cry splits the air as another spasm rocks you, effectively drowning out whatever the hell was happening on screen. “Oh, God – please!” Your hips jerk of their own volition as Andy continues to feast on your quivering pussy.

“I’m not gonna tell you again.” He snarls from his place between your parted thighs. “You’re the one who complained about my being too handsy, so that means you had better do a good job of holding yourself open for me.” His harsh tone brooks no room for argument while he watches you struggle to keep your tired arms hooked under your knees -- a thin sheen of sweat coating your skin as your entire body begins to tremble once more.   

His thick fingers dig into the material of his couch cushions as he goes back to enjoying his meal, humming in pleasure as his tongue traces feverish circles over your pulsating clit again and again. 

“I know, baby girl. I know.” Andy briefly pauses long enough to blow a cool puff of air across your overstimulated bundle of nerves. “But remember you brought this on yourself.”

“Fuckfuckfuck!” You hiss as your eyes threaten to roll into the back of your head, your empty walls greedily clenching around nothing.

“You better not – don’t you dare cum!” He orders, even as he feels you threatening to shatter into a million beautifully broken pieces.  

But it’s too fucking late.

Part of the reason you hated when Andrew used edging as a punishment was because you had such a hard time behaving for him. You almost always came without permission, no matter how hard you tried to fight it.

And unfortunately, this time is no exception. 

A hoarse sob spills from your throat as you spiral into bliss, unable to stop the surge of white hot electricity as it courses through your veins.

“Nooo!” You wail as you attempt to scramble away from his tender assault. "Please, no more!" But your handsome tormentor proves to be much too fast for the likes of a little brat like you.

“Well,” Andy murmurs, leveling you with a disappointed gaze before picking up the remote and restarting the movie. “I guess we’ll just have to try this again. And since you can't seem to cooperate…” He wraps his powerful biceps around your thighs, trapping you in his fervid embrace. 

“Looks like Daddy’s gonna have to use his hands after all, huh?”

Well, fuck!

END

[mnoirwrites]

Lucky boy

This is sexual fantasy about consenting adults, written for persons over the age of 18.

by MaverickNoir, July 2024

He cannot believe his luck. Sharing a lazy autumn afternoon with two fabulous, sexy women, that he adores.

M is a redhead. Her smile is his earliest memory of her, passing on the sidewalk outside the university bookshop. Since that moment she could make him do most anything with that smile. Her laugh and energy is intoxicating. She has an ass he finds himself staring at after many years of marriage. Especially in yoga pants, or in the purple striped skirt she has on today.

R is darker, in colouring and sense of humour. She can make him kneel by raising an eyebrow. When she turns on her bedroom voice it arouses him instantly. Her lips and cleavage make him weak. She has taught him many ways to submit.

The ladies met the day before for the first time over tea and cake, which led to gin and tonics. He had been nervous and acted that way. Their sensibilities and humour clicked though, and they soon seemed like old friends, sharing inside jokes that he was not privy to.

The three of them had the holiday house to for the weekend. With its high French doors and sweeping views over the leafy hills. He had prepared them lunch, a beef strip salad with soya vinaigrette. Two glasses of the finest Cape Shiraz were had by all. Red wine during the day was his idea of decadence and he relished it.

After lunch he carried their espresso coffee and Belgian chocolates to the verandah with a swagger, satisfied with the success of the meal. The ladies were lounging on deck chairs, basking in the soft autumn sun. The season coloured the landscape in warm yellows and reds, and the day was warm and pleasant.

As he set down the treats on the side table, he noticed R’s summer cotton dress pulled high over her thighs to tan her legs. Her edgy tattoos on display. Pulling away his gaze he realises she was watching him with a smirk, and his ears turn red.

‘Thank you, Pet,’ R says. M blows him a kiss. He aims for the third deck chair. ‘Before you settle in we have need of some entertainment with our dessert..’. He picks up the shift in her tone. It is subtle but his body knows it and responds. ‘How can I… assist in that regard.’ Both women laugh at his sudden change in demeanour. R seems to ponder deeply, as she places a piece of chocolate in her mouth. ‘Show us how well you’ve practiced edging yourself Pet’.

Not for a moment does he hesitate. He is aware that the neighbour’s Bedroom window has a view over their verandah. But he is much too aroused by the erotic quality of the situation. So he strips down, hurriedly. Kneels when she orders. Strokes for them and adjusts his style and speed as they require. Excruciatingly slowly at first, and like a horny dog when they tell him to, maintaining eye contact when told. When precum lubricates the length of his shaft and his balls tighten, they tell him to stop.  He is throbbing and his heart is racing.

M motions him over. He instinctively goes to her on hands and knees. She hikes up the sexy skirt and spreads her legs. He stares at her white panties, docile, awaiting instruction, unaware he is licking his lips. He hears R laugh, far away. ‘What do you say,’ M asks him in a mocking voice. ‘Use your words.’

‘Please? please...’ She pulls him roughly by the hair, directly into her pussy. He licks hungrily over the thin material, until she pulls it to one side and lets him suck her lips into his mouth and taste her. ‘So eager…’ he hears R say. When a whispered  ‘Fuuuuuuucck…’ escapes M’s lips her voice is low and he knows he is doing it right.

He stops suddenly, in alarm when he feels his ass cheeks pulled apart. R is behind him. She spits onto his asshole and uses a toy to spread her saliva all around in slow circular motions. He momentarily wants to protest, the knowledge of the neighbour flooding back, but it feels too good and moans instead. Then M slaps his face. Not very hard, but it catches him unaware. She’s never done anything like that before. ‘Did I tell you to stop?’

 He laps at her again, hungrily, his lips and nose covered in her scent. Up and down her delicious pussy. He moans into her cunt as R slips the remote controlled prostate vibrator inside him. He hasn’t been fucked recently so it stretches him. His little hole accepts it and R slaps both ass cheeks in turn. ‘Good…’ SLAP…’ boy’ SLAP.  M cums with his tongue deep inside her. The moan are low, the way he loves to hear them. She clasps her thighs around his head and pulls his face so deeply into her that he momentarily wonder if he’s going to suffocate. He is not used to her being so aggressive. She releases him and lays back on the deck chair, all laughs and giggles. He gasps air, and licks his lips again, enjoying the view of a task successfully completed.

At that moment R starts up the remote vibrator and he nearly doubles over at the intensity of it. He swears under his breath and thanks her as his cock flexes with the vibration. ‘May I… stroke it some more please…’ She heightens the speed and he closes his eyes, knuckles white on the pavement. ‘Fuck…. please…’ He just hears them laughs. R puts her foot on his shoulder. ‘Show M how much you enjoy having your ass vibrated and stretched,’ He doesn’t hesitate in kissing R’s feet, licking her toes, it feels so good to touch her, the pleasure of the vibrator putting him in a complete sub-state. He hears them discuss him, but the words are lost in the fog of arousal. After several minutes she pulls her foot away. ‘That’s enough. Fucking Slut.’  She changes the vibrator setting again and he groans.

‘Now you will wait on your knees, with hands behind your back’.  She takes aways the vibration abruptly and he straightens up, waiting on the two Goddesses, breathing hard. He is taken aback to see that M has joined R on her deck chair and is kissing her neck. R slips her top over her head, then sensually takes M at the back of her hair and guides her mouth to her full breasts, holding his gaze. M hungrily licks all around R’s nipples before sucking on them, each in turn, her hand sliding along the inside of R’s thigh, over the tattoos, and under her dress. He can’t believe his eyes, his wife in a scene from his fantasies. He watches R open her legs to give better access. M looks over at him and tastes R on her fingers. R gropes his wife’s ass, slaps it, as their tongues intertwine, and begins slipping the white panties over her hips, the skirt high over her middle. They are consumed with each other, completely oblivious of him. M’s panties drop to the floor. The two beautiful people cum as his precum pools on the paving. He becomes aware that his knees are aching.

‘Oh, my M, look at your panties lying forgotten on the floor... Collect them will you Pet?’ He crawls over, glad to move his burning knees, and holds them out to M. ‘No. No, I think not... Have you ever seen him in panties M? Hmm. Did you know how much he enjoys wearing them? Our little panty boy?’ M laughs. ‘I have not.’ He slips them on but his cock (her… their.. cock) keeps slipping out. Feels his face turn red as the women laugh hysterically. ‘Take the plates into the house and wait,’ says M. Her voice has taken a commanding tone.

******************

His forearms rest on the kitchen counter and his hands are cuffed. R came prepared. She’s offered to teach M how to use a crop correctly. M is exceedingly eager to be taught. His legs are spread apart as he bends over and waits to become the subject of her training. Three times he is told, WIDER. With light taps of the crop to his inner thigh each time. M’s first few strokes of the crop are not much more than taps either. R encourages her though. ‘You know, he deserves a decent cropping. He confessed such perverted things to me. He likes it, I promise.’ Suddenly M finds some inner malice. The crop burns his left ass cheek. Then the other. Again. Again. When it hits between his cheeks it stings and he cries out. It also hits the vibrator which is still lodged inside him and somehow causes it to activate. The combination of pleasure and pain clouds his mind. The burn of his ass is excruciating. When she strikes his testicles he loses his footing and collapse to the floor. ‘Tut tut, what an unacceptable fuck toy’.

They send him to the Bedroom, where he removes the vibrator and waits on his hands and knees on the bed as instructed. It was very challenging to remove it while cuffed, he had to reach between his legs with both hands. The afternoon suddenly feels long as he watches the sun stretch against the wall. He is exhausted and aching.

When the women enter the room they are transformed. M has on a red bra and panties. R all in black. Each wearing a strap-on dildo!  This sight of these gloriously sexy women dressed in such dominant fashion make him curse out loud. ‘Such a lucky boy, don’t you think M?’ ‘The luckiest…’

Their animated conversation, the matter-of-fact discussion about how to fuck him catches him off guard. They stroke the length of their cocks, comparing inches, girth. Then walked around him and compared it to his. R weighs his balls while M tests how hard the shaft is. They joke about who should have his whore mouth first. Who should take his hungry asshole. Whether he would be able to cum from penetration alone. They made him stick out his tongue and taste R’s dick. Then M’s. Then both at the same time. R milks some of his precum and spreads it all over the head of her strap and has him clean it. ‘No teeth Slut… Haha’ He sucks them off hungrily, to prove how much he likes it, how much he wants to please them, and they laughe at how easy he is.

Then M takes him from behind. Holding his hips she slowly slides into him. He moans with every inch she gives him.  ‘I always love the feeling, when you hold my hips while you fuck me …  Did you know that? Thought you should experience it.’ Then she drives all the way inside. Pulling him over her cock, back and forth, mechanically impaling him. ‘Take it, cock Slut, Take it.’ He hardly recognises her voice. Or he does, but the words don’t compute. R takes a turn. She doesn’t ease in into him. He takes the extra girth in gasps. After three minutes he collapses for the second time that day. She turns him over and pushes his legs against his chest. He has lost his erection and she makes him stroke with cuffed hands as she takes him again until its at least almost hard. Then they both seem to lose interest and leave him, stretched and used on the bed.

 ****************************

When he wakes the house is quiet and the sun nearly set. He is naked and sore and wanders around until he finds a note on the Kitchen table.

‘Gone out for Sundowners. Clean up and be ready to eat ass when we get back.’ He looks at his wrists, still cuffed, and considers how best to take a proper shower in this way.

END

[queserasora]

ABARAI RENJI X FEM READER | NSFW WORD COUNT: 5k CONTENT WARNING: you know it: alcohol consumption, it is what it is, renji is so mean like i will fight him but i don't have the muscle, nipple play, biting lots of biting like ridiculous, renji likes to slap ass and pussies too, ya know for fun cause it's cute and shit, vaginal penetration, for as long as this damn thing is you WOULD THINK they did more, but no, degradaaatiooon i guess????, he's mean so really that's all i can say, oh yeah maybe size kink, renji got a big [censored] A BADLY WRITTEN SUMMARY: Y/N really thought she could until she couldn't. There's nothing else to it. You just gotta read it, folks.

You had been watching him since he entered. It was compulsory; some kind of involuntary reaction. You tried to reason with it, tried to understand the explanation behind the sudden acceleration in your heart beat. You frown at your thoughts, swirling your wine glass. The maroon liquid spinning inside beckons you to look for him again. You admire the fiery mane of hair as you bring your glass to your lips for a taste and find yourself disappointed.

This was your favorite, from a bottle of St. Henri Shiraz, full-bodied and heavy on your tongue; still it barely whets your palate. What you’re craving is something else, something new; thrilling and exciting, like the dark geometric tattoos on his forehead, or the teasing beginning of one peeking out from his v-neck shirt.

You drink again from your glass, hoping to stave off the gnawing hunger. 

It is still inefficient; a waste of your time, just like any continued further attempt would be. At this point, you consider it necessary to leave your spot at the bar. You leave your glass behind. No further souvenirs were needed. Heels clicking on the floor, you squeeze between him and the empty stool by his left.

“Do you mind?” you ask him, practicing your most innocent voice as you drop yourself on the stool. He doesn’t glance at you, but somehow you feel it–his appraisal of you. It was quick, and left you wanting more.

“I don’t care either way,” he spoke gruffly, bringing a glass of sake to his lips. The last thing he wanted was to be tangled up with a human in his gigai body. Renji was just looking for a night to clear his head, away from everyone he knew. If he had intended to keep company he would have invited Rukia or even harassed Ichigo–but the orange haired idiot was busy with college now; a grown man.

Renji’s smile is derisive, as he does his best to hide it behind the glass. His smile threatened to be destroyed at the feel of a hand traveling over his thigh; nails trailing gently until they found his knee.

He feels his muscles react despite the urge to resist. They flex under your touch. He swallows and turns his head slightly to look down at you. You notice the enticing sharp lines of his jaw tense in restraint. It was enough to goad you on.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush,” you interrupt his thoughts like an elephant in a china shop–frail ceramic inhibitions shattering into an infinitesimal number of pieces.  Until there was nothing but dust, nothing to put back together. He swallows, not for the first time since you sat down, apprehensive words. 

“I wasn’t expecting you to,” Renji says at last with a casual roll of his eyes. You notice that he still refuses to look at you head on, so you dig your nails into his bony knee. He flinches. An exposure of teeth when he hisses sends goosebumps fleeing over your already heated skin. He looks at you now, brows furrowed, annoyance circling darkly behind his eyes.

Your hunger grows.

“I want you,” you tell him, leaning forward, aware that your cleavage was barely contained in your tight dress. You hoped it was enough to entice him. His eyes linger on your breasts, and you watch him struggle to pull them away. When he looks up at you, his lips are slightly parted, as if he was weighing the words on his tongue. You hum at the thought of it. Curiosity fills you with fantasies about the taste of his tongue, the feel of it on your skin. “Once. Tonight.”

In the back of his mind, he is aware this is a horrible situation to be in. It felt slightly immoral. In a body that was not truly his, he desired you. He felt the dip at the pit of his stomach, felt a growing thickness between his legs. He takes in a sharp breath as he looks at you, observing your fiery gaze. He wants to admonish you but his mouth is a bloody traitor.

“I won’t be held responsible for anything,” you tell her, curling your top lip. Irritation was heavy on his voice, as he tried his best to stop himself from devouring your mouth right then and there. “If you understand…” His voice dies as he swallows thickly again. It is difficult, so he finishes the rest of his sake in one shot.

You watch him throw his head back, and picture yourself licking and sucking up the column of his neck. Your thighs rub together, and you grow tired of it; waiting and waiting for him to decide.

When he finally stands, you seize his wrist. There’s resistance at first, as you do your best to drag him away from the bar. He mentions something about the check, but you ignore him. This was your usual spot as you lived within walking distance. The bar owner knew you. If anything, they’d put it on your tab.

The walk to your place seemed longer than usual as you fought the urge to put your hands all over him. His shirt clings to his muscles in a way that you could see them flex when he moves. You try your best to forbid it–your naughty hands, but they are on his biceps as you pull along, assessing, measuring. He was strong, and the look he gives you through his lashes as he looks down at you is hot enough that you almost imagine your clothes burning away.

He snatches your wrists, and pulls on you roughly. You collide against his chest, and gasp at the feel of his hard body. “Keep this up,” he hisses as he swoops towards your face, his nose inches from yours. “And I’ll just pull you into an alley.”

You are much too old to feel this way, much too wise to think your knees feel weak but you feel your strength leave you. You were a creature of comfort, but an alley didn’t seem entirely bad at the moment.

With a promise to behave, he lets you go, and you lead him at last to your apartment. 

As you fumble with the keypad, something you’re quite embarrassed to even think about, you try to think up your next steps. Should you offer him a drink? Or would that be a further waste of time?

He seems to believe so, as he takes you in his arms the moment the door closes. His hands are in your hair, long fingers tangling in between dark curls. His tongue slips past your lips meeting no resistance. He is determined, but not eager, brushing against your tongue. You moan when he curls his tongue around yours, claiming it for a suck. He tastes of sake, and regrets.

Something prickles behind your eyes, but you push it away, deepen the kiss. Your hands roam freely now, over the planes of his muscular abdomen. They rise to his chest and you squeeze the flesh and muscle, absolutely devastated that your hands are not big enough, not strong enough to mark your territory further. So you dig your nails into his chest as he kisses down your neck. You feel him hiss, his hot breath bouncing against your marred skin. One of his hands travels from the back of your head, to dance over the small of your back until it reaches your ass.

He returns the favor, digging his fingers painfully into an ass cheek.

“Easy,” he tells you against your pulse. He nips and sucks until he feels you shudder in his arms. “I’m not that forgiving.”

The taste of danger, heavier than the red wine you drank, lingers on your tongue as he kisses you again with your face in his hands. You reach for him, blinded by the shimmering light in his hair but you grasp nothing as he tosses you back on the bed. You try to sit up to meet him but he is faster, pinning you underneath him.

You gasp as he grabs your breasts, kneading and gripping. You bite back a whimper. He frowns at you, and shakes his head once. “Now why would you do that?” he asks you. His tone was serious, chilling. You barely breathe as he releases your breasts to grasp the front of your black dress instead. A single moment of violence was enough for him to tear your dress in half with his bare hands. Your shout turns into a gasp as the blast of cool air touches your heated skin. The sound of fabric ripping haunts your ears. Fear and desire mix into a deadly concoction. Still, you swallow it all just like the sight of him above your trembling body.  “There we go,” he sings, a crooked smile tugging his plush lips. “You shouldn’t hold back. I want to hear you fall apart.”

You want to be mad; truly, you do. The dress had not been cheap, despite its light fabric. Sometimes, you paid for a brand name more than the quality. It had been her mistake, just like her choice to go bra less. She was left vulnerable, exposed. He did not hesitate to exploit any weakness, not in battle, nor in bed. His long tongue laps at an erect nipple, soft and explorative at first. When you moan, and arch into his kiss, long, hard and wet he is convinced that he made the right decision.

Tonight was the perfect time for a day off.

Your skin is addicting, sharper and more intoxicating than any drop of alcohol he had ever consumed. Your breast feels soft, and perfect under his large hand. He grips it tightly, and wonders if he will have enough time tonight to explore the rest of you; all of you. For all your boldness, you had become malleable under his touch. He smiles mockingly down at you, as you moan not for the first time, when he flicks a nipple with his thumb.

“You’re all bark aren’t you?” he asks you, and ignores the irony; ignores how in a way he can relate. He leaves a wet trail as he kisses down your sternum, and down to your belly, nipping playfully at the soft flesh under your belly button. Your nails are in his hair, and he tilts his head pulling away from you. He frowns up at you, with a mild sense of irritation. It doesn’t last long, lust taking precedence. “Don’t mess up the hair,” he tells you, and it only makes you want to do it more. You gingerly touch the pins in his hair, keeping half it up, in a silent thank you. Because of them, you're able to watch him as he runs his tongue over the string across one hip–the thin strings that keep your thong in place. The sight of his tongue, long thick and red made you even hornier. You whimper, and your eyes threaten to close when he parts your legs. He turns his mouth to your other hip, eyes closed as one hand finds your heated core. He slides a thumb, gently at first, over your fabric covered slit. Even through the thong, he feels your wetness. He hums as he drops kisses on your pelvis, tongue running along the elastic of your underwear.

“You’re not wet enough,” he states with another curl of his top lip. You swallow as you watch him pull back to stare at your cunt. It was true that you still had your underwear on, but watching him watch you with such a clinical expression was embarrassing. His frown deepens and he tilts his head. “How disappointing.”

You jolt at his words, and push him off of you. Your hands are on his thick chest and you push with all your strength, until you topple over him on the bed. “How dare you,” you hiss, straddling him. He watches you in surprise, chest rising and falling as his breath hitches. It takes a moment, a second of silence, before he smiles; big, bright and genuine. It is loathsome how it fills you with a strange sense of warmth, so you dig your hands into his hair and pull. You force him to look at you, as you put on your best mean face. “Whose fault is it that I’m not wet enough according to you? Maybe you don’t know what you’re doing.”

He laughs at you, even as you tug on his hair one more time. He brings a large hand, and curls his fingers around your thin wrist. You know in a battle of strength you could never beat him. You seize the opportunity of surprise and swoop down to bite his lower lip, with enough strength and viciousness to draw blood. He hisses into a heated kiss, smearing blood on both your mouths. 

The taste is coppery, metallic and you pretend your mouth is a furnace as you suck on his tongue, melting all his hardened edges so that you can mold him into something powerful; something beautiful.

It is lust and delusion that brings you to grasp his shirt in a pathetic attempt to rip it open, to expose the chest you so desperately want to kiss. His laugh echoes in the room, and you feel the sting of embarrassment on your cheeks. You glare at his mouth, now open as he gasps when you slip your hands under his shirt. Your eyes flutter just the feel of his muscle, at the sensation of his cock growing even harder and bigger underneath your throbbing pussy. You needed a defense, a solution; so you pull the front of his shirt all the way up and shove it in his mouth.

He amuses you, bites down on the fabric with a mischievous glint in his eyes. You ignore his absolute cheek in favor of exploring his skin instead. Ink was stark against his tanned skin, a road map of untold stories. You bring your mouth to them, tasting the secrets embedded in his tattoos. He flinches underneath you. You hear him moan as you drag your nails gently down his sides. You kiss up the middle of his chest, and move over to his collarbone. You drop feathery kisses that make him shudder. 

Your touch is light, teasing. Your mouth is a con artist, flapping its gums to sell him empty dreams. He wakes up from this false reality at the feel of your teeth under his collarbone. He bites down harder on his shirt, groaning. Drool wets the fabric and he closes his eyes as you continue to bite down his chest. You are ruthless. Your objective is clear as day to him. This is his punishment, he thinks with a muffled shout bite down on his nipple, once again leaving a mark on his skin; purple and red next to black ink. 

He had insulted you, pushed you down, and you rose like judge and jury. In his clouded thoughts, full of desire and pain, Renji thinks to himself that indeed, Justice was a woman.

His breath is ragged as you move further down to his rib cage. He tries to contain the shuddering, icy fingers of anticipation dragging beads of sweat on his skin. He tries to steady himself when he feels your teeth graze against his skin, but he is still not prepared for the onslaught. You bite along his rib cage, time and time again leaving a crescent shape of marks.

A moon of bites to match your bark. He laughs silently, shoulders shaking as he tries to contain it. He had already insulted you once, and was paying the price. He couldn’t think of what would happen next. Your hips start moving against him, and his head lolls, a moan dying in his throat. You are definitely wet enough now. He feels you soaking through his pants. His hips buck at the feel of your heat, at your teeth pinching the flesh over his belly button. 

He thinks he can take it, he thinks you’ve had enough of the torture but when you move to the side of his waist–he panics. He mumbles something but it isn’t fast enough. You bite down with a growl and his back arches, a shout that turns into a moan. His shirt soaks further with his spit, it now oozes down his chin and pools on the hollow of his neck.

You hear him mumbling, but choose not to listen. This was his own undoing, you think feverishly making up excuses as you bite under his belly button, once, twice; two marks just because. Your hands shake as they undo the buckle of his belt. It takes some effort but you manage.

“See?” you tell him, a tremble in your voice you despise makes you flush further. “You just don’t know what you’re doing,” you continue, rubbing your legs together. Slick slides down your inner thighs. It should embarrass you. You should feel shame at the way your pussy throbs, as if it was pleading to have him inside you. When you bring the zipper down, you’re taken aback, a small gasp leaves you before you can swallow it.

He chuckles at you, propping himself up by the elbows to watch you. He spits out the shirt from his mouth, but doesn’t bother to wipe his chin. “What now? Cat got your tongue?”

You look at him, and find it difficult to swallow. He had felt big, very big, when you were grinding your cunt against him but now that there was nothing but the fabric of his underwear between your eyes and his cock it became evident that you had underestimated his size.

You grit your teeth, and clench your jaw. You were no punk. This was nothing. You tell yourself this as you pull his pants down and he helps you, feeling charitable. Not that you deserve it, you think as you take in the sight of the marks left on his skin, growing darker and darker the more time flies by. He tosses his shirt and looks over at you as he sits up with amusement dancing behind his eyes. His smile is lecherous, and you notice how he grips the bed sheets tightly. Was he holding back? Was he laughing at you? You’re not sure. 

You soldier on, heart in your throat, and slide a tentative hand over the print of his cock. He looks heavy, and he feels heavy as you cup his balls. His eyes flutter close, a happy hum coursing through his body. You slide your hand over to feel his length, and you’re amazed at the girth. You were no petite girl, your hands were far from small. If you were to grip him, wholly, you had the feeling your fingers would not touch your thumb. 

“Scared?” he breathes out as he watches you grip his tip over his underwear. He blows his hair out of his face noisily. You hate how attractive that mere gesture was so you ignore him, and pull at the waistband of his boxer briefs. He tilts his head but concedes, lifting his hips so that you can pull them down. You dare not look until they’re over his ankles, until you toss them on the floor.

When you find the courage to look between his legs, you think you may have overestimated yourself. His cock is hard, a thick vein running and curling around his length. His balls looked as heavy as they felt. His tip, red, angry glistening with precum taunted you. Erect, it was flush against his belly, up to his belly button.

You can’t help it. You can’t help the hand that goes to your mouth. You can’t help your widening eyes, and the way your whole body freezes and burns at the same time. You definitely can’t help the feeling of growing wetter, hotter, the way your pussy clenches at nothing at the sight of him.

He is watching you with mild amusement, head tilted. He looks at you, lashes fluttering briefly. “That’s enough,” he says decisively. He takes action by grabbing your ankles. He pulls you towards him until you’re underneath him, caged in between his big arms. “I told you, didn’t I?” His breath is moist and warm against your cheek. He licks one, then the other. “I can’t be responsible for anything tonight. Your loss.”

His grip is strong on your hips as he flips you over, hands kneading your ass. You whimper, and grip the sheets on the bed. You think to protest, maybe ask him to go slow but you feel a sting that blooms into pleasure. You moan despite the embarrassment, feeling yourself get even wetter if it was at all possible. His hand grabs at your cunt possessively, and he rubs his fingers roughly over your underwear.

“There we go,” he says in a soft tone, encouraging, full of praise. “You know,” he begins, his tone playful, leaning down to bite up your back. You tremble under his assault, a moan following each sink of his teeth. “You might just be wet enough to take all of me. What do you think? Are you feeling greedy tonight?”

Your mouth goes dry. You open and close it, stammer like a fool, and he laughs again. You feel it against your ear when he leans down. His hands are on your ass again, rubbing circles. “I’m waiting,” he sings, licking the shell of your ear. 

“Uh–Well, I–” You begin and you feel your eyes water from shame. This was your undoing. You thought you were above it all. You thought you could be in control but even after everything, he somehow managed to get the upper hand. He chuckles darkly against your ear. His teeth bite down on your earlobe before he sucks on it. He releases it to mock you–to throw your stammering words back at you.

“You sound ridiculous,” he tells the crook of your neck. You feel him smiling there, as he pulls your ass cheeks aside to rub his erection between them; up and down. “Do you want me to fuck you or not?”

You take in a ragged breath. His hand is on your neck, and he squeezes thick fingers around it. “Yes,” you breath out between gasps, finding it deathly arousing to feel his thickness rubbing on your ass. 

You feel him move away, feel the bed creak. You dare to look over your shoulder, and watch him with your bottom lip trapped between your teeth as he pumps his cock. His tongue is out, licking his bottom lip, eyes dark, lids heavy with barely controlled desire. 

“Show me,” he commands, his thick cock in his hand. He moves his hand slowly up his shaft as you falter. He watches you turn slowly on your back as he squeezes his tip. He bites back a moan, wanting to save it for later. His precum is smeared on his hand and he stills for a moment, as you lay on your back. You push the fabric of your thong to the side, exposing your puffy pussy. 

Renji draws a sharp breath, a hiss that turns into a low growl. He crawls over you, stealing away your breath and what's left of your senses. The sight of him is devastating. His broad shoulders make you feel prisoner to the heat between your bodies. He brushes his nose against yours, a terrifying form of intimacy that confuses you. “Good girl,” he murmurs against your lips. He clashes against you, a feverish mouth that takes no prisoners. His hands are in your hair again, messing with your curls and you can’t be bothered to be upset at how he pulls at them, how he grips and curls them around his fingers. He kisses you until you feel like he can kiss you deeper than your mouth, past your throat and lungs. He kisses you until you think you can die from this act alone. When he comes up for air, he is gripping your wrists.

“Here,” he says, bringing them to your ankles as he helps fold your legs enough to reach. “Hold these.” 

You don’t think you have any right to refuse, or rather, any weapon to battle him with. The idea of having him inside you feels like a necessity that justified any risk. You hold your ankles as you whimper, feeling him adjust his fat tip around your entrance. He rubs it against your folds, and up your slit to your clit. A moan wafts out of your mouth, a wanton song past midnight. He snickers and he slaps your cunt with his cock.

“I think…” he drags his words, the same way he drags his tip down your pussy again, to push gently against your opening. Your eyes fly open from where you had shut them in anticipation. “I really think you’re a little…” He hums pensively, pushing his tip in, slowly. He pushes a bit more, and you back arches. He’s not even halfway but the width of him makes you feel so full you fear splitting in half. “A little too greedy for your own good.”

He finishes his words as he continues to push slowly inside you, inch by inch. You’re amazed at his sudden bout of gentle consideration just as you’re amazed at his size. You can’t help clenching around him, and you hear him curse under his breath. Your stomach contracts, forcing your body to make small jittery jolts as you cling to his biceps, nails digging so hard they leave half moon marks.

“Fuck!” he hisses. His teeth are white when you look up at him, gritting as he tries to keep control. “Hey,” he says softly, voice shaking. “If you keep that up. It won’t be good for you.”

“Shut up,” you tell him, unable to think of a clever retort. What you could only think of is the feel of his thick cock inside you, settling in too comfortably as if it belonged there. You move your hips tentatively, and your eyes close, a moan shaking your body. You hear his laugh again as he starts moving against you, slow and purposeful at first.

“God damn,” he hisses, again. You hate the way he clenches his jaw. The sight of teeth, canines a bit too sharp and long, had never been arousing to you until now. “Your pussy is greedy too, huh. You can barely take me in but you keep sucking me back in for more.”

You are far too gone to be embarrassed. You release your ankles, and wrap your legs around him instead. Surprise is evident in his face by the way his brows rise, the slight widening of his eyes. You loop your arms under his, to hold on to his shoulders. Your breathing is scalding against his chin, you kiss desperately up his jawline as he moves again–thrusting into you with renewed fervor.

“Just do it,” you say quickly, a voice that sounds unhinged. “Just fuck me.” Your hands cling to him, and he scoops you up into his embrace. There is no apology, although he thought about it, as he angles his hips.

He pounds into you with more force than he needs to. He is aware of it when you cry out, when your nails pierce skin. He feels your fingers slip against his back, feels the heat of his blood smearing between his back and your palms. It isn’t enough to stop him, or guilt him. His eyes close at the feel of you, wet, tantalizing completely erotic. He looks down at your face, the sight of your disheveled makeup–mascara smeared over a temple, lipstick leaving a purple tint on your chin. He loves it. He smiles at you even as he continues to fuck you. 

“You’re a fucking mess,” he says loudly as you moan, an orgasm flooding your body like riptide. 

You can’t think. You can barely breathe. All you know, and all you need is for him to keep going. The pain is worth it. Every time he pushes in, you feel as if he will kill you, split you, eviscerate you but the moment of pain and fear is quickly followed by a new kind of pleasure.

You moan into his neck, kissing and sucking as best as you can but your strength is not even enough for that. His movements become sloppy, rogue thrusts slamming into your hips hard enough to leave bruises the next day. He grips your thighs as if you had no feelings, hard and merciless. You whimper, reach down with one hand but he is gone before you can.

He pulls out, and you feel eerily empty. He gives you no time to gather your thoughts before he grabs a fistful of your hair. He pulls you up, forcing you on your knees. His cock is coated in your cum, when he shoves it at your face. Eyes that can barely see, unfocused and hazy, take in the sight of his tip, the way Renji furiously pumps up and down his shaft.

You are not yourself, you think, as you open your mouth, tongue hanging out. 

He cums all over your mouth and face. You flinch as a drop hits your eye. You close them tightly, as he still cums some more, feel the heat of it sliding down your face. You hear his laugh as you kneel there, not daring to open your eyes.

“Stay there,” he orders you, and his footsteps fade. Your breathing is loud against your eyes. Your body feels heavy, achy and used. The footsteps come back, and you feel a cold wet rag on your face. He washes your face roughly, not an ounce of tenderness to the gesture. It surprises you then, when you open your eyes to see him smiling at you–a little softly, almost demurely. 

You have no words, and suddenly it feels awkward. Before you can say something you regret, he takes your face in his hands and kisses you. Apprehensions disappear at the taste of his tongue, he kisses the corner of your mouth, taking your hands to clean them too. “I was right,” he says, frowning down at the dried blood on your palms. “You are a fucking mess.”

[yoursweetestnightmarelover]

Juzi part two head cannons/mini fic

Uzi laying in her room, looking up thinking about last night remembering the sensation of J's tongue gliding along her neck fresh in her processor, Uzi shuddering her hand moving to her neck It felt nice... UGH, Uzi then moved her hands covering her eyes, WHY COULD'NT SHE GET THAT BEAUTIFUL DRONE OUT OF HER HEAD. Uzi rolling on her side, grabbing her blanket and pulling it over her, trying to go into sleep mode.

J flying to an abandoned camp tracking a drone, her HUD showing her a trail of what look to be boot prints They were leading to a frozen lake After a few minutes of following them, she arrived to the lake ledge with a picnic basket with black ambrosia flowers on the top and a purple haired drone next to it Uzi then said "You took your sweet time" J was confused she was hunting a drone Uzi shouldn't be here J attempted to say something but was interrupted by Uzi "are you going to stare at me, or are you going to move your sweet ass over here" she chuckled and patted the space on the blanket next to her. J blushed Uzi would NEVER say something but as if compelled to sit next to Uzi she moved sitting down next to her, she again attempted to ask what was going on but instead said "well this is the last time I get you something" she said as she pulled out a CD of some anime out from in-between her suit and dress shirt Uzi eyes sparkled, "H-How did you get this? I looked everywhere for this" Uzi asked, "I have my ways" J responded "Well uh I-I feel like my gift is out classed but here" Uzi said handing her the basket J opened it reveling two bottle of a reddish black liquid J uncorking one of the bottles and grabbing a wine glass pouring the liquid into the glass J sniffing the liquid it smelled sweet like oil, but there was something else sniffing it again it smelled smokey? It was familiar, but she couldn't place her finger on it J taking a small swig of the liquid, It, It, was delicious sweet like oil but a small hint of pepper and spice. "Uzi, what is this?" the drone asked, Uzi looked nervous, "do you not like it?" Uzi asked in a sad tone, J saw this, and it made her heart break without think further she said "No, No, I love it I really do It's just I never had anything like this It's delicious" J said trying to reassure Uzi "It's an oil wine mix I made with the help of N you always say that you miss being able to drink your favorite type, so I made a synthetic version that you could drink without getting sick" J was stunned how, how did Uzi know all of this taking another sip It then finally click where she had tasted this before it was Shiraz she was stunned J had nearly forgotten the taste of it J's body moving on its own "Its perfect" J said embracing Uzi she never wanted to let go after a few minutes of holding Uzi in her embrace Uzi said "you know I have a surprise for you buut~" "But?" J said Uzi quickly escaping her embrace Uzi ran off saying "YOU'LL HAVE TO CATCH ME FIRST" J activating her wings flying after her Uzi dodging her dive J switching her hands to claws digging into the ice then pushing herself forward to Uzi just as she was about to catch her Uzi dove out of the way sliding on the ice Uzi managing to stop herself and get up running again after several minutes of this chase J had finally caught Uzi who was laying on the ice J on top of her "so what's the surprise is it you~?" J said in a sultry tone "Nah that's for later" Uzi said J getting off of her as Uzi reach into her pocket "J when we first met I hated you, and you hated me but, over time we both got to know each other, and you showed me something that I thought was never possible for someone like me, I will always remember our first date which was at this very lake and I have been thinking a-about you and me and I wanted to ask J will you be my w-" J was suddenly woken up crashing to the ground after standing back up from the surprise crash landing "what the he-" J's processor immediately was flooded with her dream a blush on her visor "WHAT THE FUCK" J shouted at the top of her voice box waking up N and V

Also shout out if you understand the flower language IDK if color is accounted for that flower but from what I have seen in my research it doesn't

[benevolentgodloki]

9 Fandom Peeps to get to know better

Tagged by @vorpalinas (aaa thankee :D)

3 ships you like: Making me choose three is just cruel. Frostiron and Strangefrost are my topmost Loki ships right now. I think Bloodweave (Astarion and Gale) occupy my brain almost as much.

First ship ever: Probably Jareth and Sarah from Labyrinth.

Last song that you heard: Mammals by Lorne Balfe

Favourite childhood book: I probably had an absolute favourite that I can't think of right now but I love so many books. I'll say the Discworld series as a whole. I know that's teen and up years really but I loved a lot of stories I can't remember if I had one fave??? Might have been one of those fairytale collections that fell apart from overuse.

Currently reading: Re-reading Hogfather by Terry Pratchett

Currently watching: Just caught up on Doctor Who (still feeling hit and miss about when I like it, Ncuti is amazing, writing not always so grand). Just finished Zone Blanche and about to start the next season of Killing Eve.

Currently consuming: Dark orange chocolate

Currently craving: The glass of shiraz sitting next to me

Tagging: @ironifiicd @therebetterbepie @paragonrising @the-mjolnir-owner @victoriousfidelity

@ravarui @alyafae @mischieftomake @aeterna-auroral-avenger

[masked-alien-lesbian]

KTAW Day 3: Wine/Languages

Wine Aren't You Mine?

Kiara Theron x f!OC brief mention of Liam x Riley, Hana x Raelyn and Penelope x Ezekiel

The lunch Lord Breckenridge hosted for Kiara went well, nothing outwardly stood out to her. His manners were excellent, his conversation was engaging and he was the sort of man her parents could hope for in a son-in-law but...

"How did the date go?" Riley's text message blink back at her from her phone. Kiara bit her lip. She was grateful for Riley's attempt at matchmaking but every date missed the mark somehow. And the reason for that filtered through a row of grapes in her vineyard.

"Jag släppte dig men jag kommer att älska dig för alltid." [I let you go, but I will love you forever.] Kiara turned the corner and saw the most beautiful woman she ever saw singing in her own native language. When Allie looked up, she abruptly stopped and seemed to light up from the inside from the sight of Kiara.

"Your Grace! A good evening to you! You look ever so beautiful as usual." Allie says blushing at her own attempt at flirting.

Kiara smiles back, Allie had came to work at Castelsarrelian vineyards at Monsieur Bêron request. Hailing from Sweden, Allie had studied from the best in Italy before being snatched up, trained and became the head viticulturist after Monsieur Bêron retired. Kiara's mother worked with Monsieur in hauling all the finest French soil to start up their vineyards, Allie was the one who made sure it kept thriving.

"Hallå Ms. Larsson. How are you?" Kiara asks, delighting in the obvious attraction her viticulturist has for her. Allie may have thought she was being sly with her crush on her boss but Kiara had studied people and social cues at a very young age and she noticed how shy Allie became around her, how she blushed and stumbled over her words when Kiara looked at her. Kiara knew nothing could come from this relationship, it was inappropriate but she still found herself itching to touch the Swedish born woman's jaw, to lift her chin, to--Kiara mentally shook her head to clear it.

"I'm well! I was testing the pH levels of quadrant C's soil. After that intense storm we've had, some of the other quadrants soil was swept in quadrant C." Allie says clearly in her element.

"You work hard for me, Ms. Larsson, I'm ever grateful for you, tack. [Thank you]" Kiara says watching Allie's eyes lower coyly.

"Of course, anything you need of me, is yours, your grace." Allie says sending warmth to shoot through Kiara. She needed to get away before she lost her composure. She clears her throat and step back.

"I appreciate it, Ms. Larsson, I will allow you to get back to your work--"

"Wait, please your grace," Allie interrupts, a light touch on Kiara's wrist and big pleading hazel eyes, Kiara suddenly realized she'd throw everything away for this woman and that terrified her.

"The special Malbec that Monsieur cultivated should have aged properly, I was thinking we could taste it and make sure, and perhaps serve it for your parents' anniversary party next week."

"The wine from the last crop Monsieur Bêron oversaw before his retirement? Has it really been that long? That would be a nice touch for mother and father." Kiara says thoughtfully. Allie beam.

"I'll crack a bottle open with some refreshments. Meet me in the wine cellar in five!" Allie says before taking off excitedly.

Kiara looks over the tray of prosciutto, Asiago Tarragon and the bottle of Malbec, all proper appetizers that would pair well with a Malbec. Allie pops the cork and pours the both of them a glass. One taste and Kiara knew it was going to be a hit at her parents' anniversary party. It was a fruit bomb, round, smooth, fleshy...Kiara's eyes swept over Allie's lips.

"So? Your opinion?" Kiara inquires. Allie shrugs, swirls the Malbec in her glass.

"It's good. Definitely a crowd pleaser."

"But not your favorite?" Kiara asks. Allie grins.

"Give me a Shiraz any day of the week. Rich, full-bodied, velvety..." Allie says her eyes fluttering up to meet Kiara's. Kiara takes a sharp breath but let's it out when Allie changes the topic.

Even though Kiara has always tried to keep boundaries between her and the viticulturist, it was just so easy to talk to Allie. Soon she was talking about Riley's matchmaking attempts.

"I-I don't know. Perhaps I'm just too busy to maintain a relationship." Kiara trails off.

"Or perhaps, you're afraid."

"Excusez-moi?" Kiara says an eyebrow raised. Allie smiles kindly.

"You're afraid of opening yourself up to someone, of being vulnerable." Allie looks down and bites her lip. "Perhaps you're afraid of what other people will say or perhaps," Allie breathes out a shaky breath, "perhaps you're concerned that the one you want isn't able to provide for you and Castelsarrelian?" Kiara shakes her head in the negative.

"No, you ARE enough Allie, I-" Kiara trails off as she realized she finally voiced what was between her and Allie. She close her eyes as she mentally face palm but her eyes shot open when she felt Allie take her hands.

"It's rare when you find that one that lights up your soul, you know. If you let it slip away, it can be your biggest mistake." Allie says, Kiara looks away biting her lip. " But I'll never push you, I have too much respect for you." When Allie let go of Kiara's hands, she felt bereft. Kiara looked up to see Allie gathering the plates and their leftovers.

"I'll return these to the kitchens and head on home. Goodnight, your grace, må dina drömmar vara trevliga." [May your dreams be pleasant] Allie says smiling wistfully at Kiara before slipping out of the cellar.

Alone, Kiara contemplates the conversation she just had with Allie. So...they both have feelings for each other...a duchess and her viticulturist...it's not proper, the power imbalance alone, and yet...despite many people's disapproval...Kiara felt an ache that demanded her to go after Allie. She stood up sharply. Perhaps Allie could report to Joelle instead of Kiara. If Penelope could marry a vet, Hana could marry a previously undiscovered artist, and King Liam could marry a waitress, then Kiara could court a viticulturist. And with that firm decision, Kiara went after her.

@kiaratheronappreciationweek

@lizzybeth1986

@sazanes

[fanaticsnail]

Hi! I hope you’re doing well! I just wanted to say that I adore your Sapsorrow series with Mihawk and can’t wait for the rest! Remember to take breaks and time for yourself! ❤️

Thank you so much for your ask, and for your incredible patience.

Unfortunately, I had been experiencing a serious bout of writers block for the semi-finale of the Sapsorrow series. I had the whole chapter mapped out, wrote the first 3,000 words, and then I was so unhappy with it I had to put it down and leave it.

It was a horrible chapter, truly. Mihawk, his governess-wife, and you all deserved so much better than what I had written.

I am under no such plight now. @feral-artistry hit me with some bardic inspiration and I am ready to roll it out. I have bought a bottle of Shiraz, and I plan on having a glass while I get this chapter done properly - the Mihawk way.

@since-im-already-here, the original muse for this plot, has steered me in the right direction with her beautiful music suggestions. I promise at least one, if not both, chapters (and a small drabble) will be out by the end of the fortnight.

[jomiddlemarch]

The Black Widow

“I think I’ve been too hard on Blaise’s mum, all these years,” Hermione said, her shoulders slumped instead of maintaining her usual impeccable, McGonagall-inspired posture, her chin held in the hand that wasn’t curled around a cup of tea. It was actually a very fine cup of masala chai that Padma had made using the Patil family’s own karha recipe and Hermione had chosen it over a glass of Shiraz and the two fingers of bourbon that had also been offered and perhaps foolishly declined. She took a breath, tried to let the scent of the spices soothe her.

No dice.

“Maybe you’re, I don’t know, exaggerating a bit?” Padma said carefully.

“She means you’re being more dramatic than Celestina Warbeck and Sarah Bernhardt put together, darling,” Theo said. They were her two most rational friends, Theo a hatstall for Ravenclaw, Padma properly Sorted and also Second Wrangler for her year at Cambridge. It had made sense to come to them and not, say, Harry, who was pants at validation, or Ginny, who only ever wanted salacious details and sulked when Hermione wouldn’t share, or Luna, who might say something daft or something that was as sharply acute as an Unforgivable, with the additional burden of being Unforgettable, and who was also in Svalbard. It had made sense and yet now Hermione was considering she could have just gone to any wine-bar in Soho and gotten sloshed without any incisive commentary.

“Incisive, I like that,” Theo said as Hermione had evidently voiced that bit of her internal monologue aloud.

“I always said she must be a dreadful person and now I’m the dreadful person,” Hermione said. Was there a slight moaning quality to her tone? She had come seeking tea and sympathy. “I should have understood the cards were stacked against her and that she couldn’t fight the patriarchy of the Wizarding world by herself—”

“I’m not discounting the point about the patriarchy, but I don’t think you and Madame Zabini are much alike. Nor are your circumstances,” Padma said.

“She means you haven’t murdered any of your men,” Theo said, peering at Hermione through his glasses. “In case you were too addled to make out what she meant by circumstances. You’re still a Gryffindor, you often need things told to you point-blank. Or at wandpoint, but that seems unnecessary.”

“He’s right,” Padma said. “Though to be unfair, there’s no confirmation about several of Madame Zabini’s husbands’…demises. There was no body recovered for the last one and she’s always spoken fondly about Blaise’s father. She’s allowed to have some bad luck and there have been two wars—”

“Come off it, Padma, the witch is a bloody menace and even Riddle was scared of her. That’s why Blaise didn’t have to get the Dark Mark,” Theo said. “Tom was into Dark magic, but Madame Zabini knows the Old Ways.”

“Fine,” Padma said. “Still, Hermione, it’s not the same.”

“First of all, no one you’ve dated is dead,” Theo pointed out.

“Anthony said I was a life-ruiner,” Hermione replied. 

“As if he had a life worth ruining, the tosser,” Theo said, scoffing. “So full of himself.”

“Ron got cursed at the Final Battle because he was trying to protect me,” Hermione said.

“He’s been getting free rounds of drinks off that injury for the past twenty-odd years,” Padma said. “If he’d listened to anyone, he could have had it repaired at St. Mungo’s that first week instead of relying on a field dressing by a fifth year Hufflepuff. He’s only still got the limp and the scar because he waited and then it was permanent.”

“Bill said that too,” Hermione admitted. 

“And just because Viktor Krum hasn’t been heard of in about nine years, that’s nothing to do with you,” Theo said. “I know you’ll mention that last letter of his, where he wrote about Ioanna and her amber halo, but really, that could mean any number of things. And also, again, not confirmed dead and not at your hand.”

“McLaggen had it coming to him,” Padma said and sniffed. “You were helping out all female-presenting creatures and beings when you hexed him.”

“I don’t feel that bad about him,” Hermione said.

“Good. That’s progress, love,” Theo said. “You’re not still counting Snape, are you?”

“I mean, I let him die, Theo. I was right there—”

“You had a crush on him during sixth year but I don’t see how he counts as one of you men. I think he would rather have died again, more gruesomely, as Nagini kibble, than have a relationship with any student, let alone a Gryffindor like yourself,” Theo said. 

“You couldn’t have saved him,” Padma said more softly. “You were with him when he went, his portrait said as much. He doesn’t bear you any ill-will. Quite the contrary, I think he’s a bit fond of you now, though he’d say this was a bunch of bloody sentimental shite. And probably take one hundred points from Gryffindor and call you a silly cow.”

“Death has not softened him up much, has it?” Theo said. “Good old Snape. Or Bad old Snape. Whichever. That was his thing, double-agent, et cetera, wasn’t it? But he’d never see himself as one of your victims.”

“I appreciate you are both trying to cheer me up,” Hermione said. She took a gulp of the chai, which was at the perfect temperature, because Padma had used the good Charmed china. 

“We are trying to reason with you, brightest witch of our age,” Theo said.

“Neville—” Hermione said, breaking off.

There was a moment of silence, respectful, sincere, thoughtful. Sort of like Neville had turned out to be, besides being the Prophecy’s spare, the slayer of Nagini, champion wearer of Fair Isle jerseys and well-worn cords, strider of moors, Sprout’s successor. Hermione’s former almost-fiancé.

“It never would have worked out,” Padma said.

“I know. I just loved him so much, he was so dear,” Hermione said. “When he proposed, it was like a dream—”

“He fell in a bog and broke both his legs,” Theo said. “Again, Not Dead. Perhaps terminally embarrassed, especially since he lost the ring in the bog and now the bog kassapu won’t give it back and Madame Longbottom is furious—”

“His gran didn’t mind that much,” Hermione said. “But she did say it was a sign. And that because Neville broke his legs in an enchanted bog, it wasn’t something St. Mungo’s could heal up easily and I wasn’t to think twice about refusing the offer. Neville said the same thing.”

“I suppose you could wait for him,” Padma said. “You are a witch. Another couple of decades—”

“We agreed it was for the best, ending it. We’ll stay friends, close friends, but he saw what was happening,” Hermione said. She’d often been told, dismissively by Slytherins, that one could read her face like a book; at the moment, it must be a torrid, fraught romance, albeit one without any ripped bodices or irascible, secretly wounded dukes. 

“It’s not like you and Draco planned to meet at St. Mungo’s,” Theo said. “It’s not like you orchestrated it for him to be on-call when you and Neville arrived and for him to be the one who sat up with you the whole night while the other Healers stabilized Nev. It’s not like you tried to fall in love with each other, former rivals and adversaries who had more in common than they’d admit until they couldn’t any more, wouldn’t—”

“Even though the rest of us could see it coming from a mile away. Years before. Since that first night at the pub,” Padma said. “Harry saw it. George Weasley’s had a bet going since you went to the loo that night, the pot could buy a lovely holiday villa in the Algarve by now. Minerva—”

“You call her Minerva now?” Theo whistled. “I thought that was reserved for the brightest witch here.”

“I advise some of the more gifted Arithmancy students who are beyond Vector’s skills,” Padma said. “Hermione might have done, but she had that Potions torch to carry and then Bill roped her into the side-gig at Gringott’s. Minerva told me she didn’t want to be called Professor by a colleague, certainly not one who made a better pot of tea than she did.”

“She said that?” Hermione exclaimed.

“I made the masala chai. She’s not stupid,” Padma said. “She said she’d wondered about you and Draco since the Yule Ball and that if Dumbledore had simply managed the Voldemort situation better, we could all have spent our Hogwarts years waiting to see if the two of you would get together.”

“Oh my,” Theo said, laughing. Hermione made a face, scrunching up her nose, then shoved back the hair that had come loose from the combs she’d used to pull it back.

“I guess the truth is, I’m afraid,” Hermione said. “I’m thirty-eight years old and I’ve never had a successful romantic relationship, they’ve all been unmitigated failures, well, maybe I get a pass on Neville, but otherwise it’s all been utter shite and I don’t want to mess anything up with Draco. I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want to be the Black widow and Walburga has been giving me the evil eye since she heard—”

“There it is,” Padma said.

“You cannot let that blasted portrait bother you,” Theo said. “Draco ought to be able to shut her up, heir to the House and all.”

“You’re not going to mess anything up. At least, you won’t do it by yourself. This is about you and Draco, what’s between you. What you make with how you care about each other,” Padma said. Theo nodded.

“And for the record, Draco has done a superlative job of keeping himself alive in situations that would have killed any lesser being. He survived Riddle as a houseguest. He survived Bellatrix changing his nappies. He survived Lucius finding out you’d beaten him in every class and Harry winning the Tri-Wizard Tournament,” Theo said. “You can’t take him out, darling girl, even if you try.”

“You should talk to him,” Padma said.

“I don’t know, he’ll think I’m being silly or that he has to take care of me,” Hermione said.

“You are being silly and he does have to take care of you,” Theo said. “So, yes, he’ll think that. But I am confident that he will express himself most eloquently on the topic.”

“How care you be so sure?” Hermione asked.

“Because this isn’t the first pot of masala chai I’ve made that one of you hasn’t drunk this week,” Padma said. “You’re the more secure of the two of you though—he went to Harry first.”

“And then to Millie,” Theo added. “She has not become more patient with age. It was a near-fatal error.”

Bonus image of my Madam Zabini fancast:

[blueiscoool]

Ancient Iranian Carving Seized at a London Airport

An ancient sculpture illicitly carved from a rock relief in Iran will soon go on display at the British Museum before being repatriated to the National Museum in Tehran.

Carved in calcareous limestone, the sculpture depicts a standing male figure with an ornamental headdress. The piece likely hails from the 3rd century C.E. when the Sasanian Empire ruled greater Iran, according to the Guardian.

“It belongs to a period when Iran was the center of a powerful empire stretching from Syria to the Caucasus and Central Asia, and with its capital at Ctesiphon, south of present-day Baghdad,” St. John Simpson, an archaeologist and senior curator the British Museum’s department of the Middle East, told the paper. “The Sasanians were powerful rivals of Rome, and famous today for their fine silverwares and cut glass.”

The relief was seized at the Stansted airport outside of London, where border officers pulled the item aside because of its suspicious packaging—an unpadded, slapdash crate held together by nails. Inside was the carving, which had recently been excised with an angle grinder.

“We almost never come across a case of something being cut out of the ‘living rock,’” Simpson said. “That’s a level of brutalism that surpasses anything.”

Exactly where the carving came from remains a mystery, though context clues may help to narrow the list of potential locations. Roughly only 30 Sasanian rock reliefs are known to exist today, and almost all them came from the small Fars Province in southwest Iran.

Simpson suspects it “comes from somewhere in the Shiraz area” of the province. “Stylistically, it is similar to one known in the region,” he explained. “I think it probably is part of a big sequence. There might be more bits out there.”

The subject of the piece is similarly difficult to determine. “The lack of an inscription makes it impossible to identify the person depicted, but his dress and diademed headdress signifies him as a person of high rank,” the curator said. “His gesture of greeting and submission, with a raised bent forefinger, is a feature of Sasanian art when figures are in the presence of royalty, which suggests that this was part of a larger composition, with the king to the right and perhaps other figures behind.”

Interpol and the National Crime Agency have both investigated the object, but no arrests have yet been made. An internet auction site in the U.K. was listed as the package’s destination address, but the company claimed not to be expecting it.

Because of its poor padding, the relief broke in two pieces during transport. Conservators have since put it back together.

“The British Museum is committed to contributing to the preservation of cultural heritage in the U.K. and globally, partnering with law enforcement agencies to identify illicitly trafficked antiquities,” read a statement from the museum. “Objects seized in this way are brought to the British Museum for identification and cataloguing.”

The London institution obtained permission from the Iranian government to display the carving for three months. After that time, it will be repatriated to the National Museum in Tehran.

Simpson called the newly repaired piece “stunningly attractive,” before weighing in on its potential worth.  

“The valuation could be anything, really. We’re talking £20 million to £30 million-plus,” ($25 million to $37 million) he said. “There’s never been anything like it on the market.”

By Taylor Dafoe.

[willowsvalley]

Warren - Guinness

Bryony - Shiraz (wine)

Malcolm - Scotch

Francesca - Declined a drink

Hester - Was never offered one

Warren picks Guinness immediately. He stutters a bit, but it’s what he wants. He’s almost surprised that he says it, but it's not because it’s not his usual order- it IS his usual order. That’s likely why he’s so shocked. He hasn’t gotten his usual order in so long. He was stuck with supplements, frozen meals and old pizza, along with terrible tea or instant coffee- for months at this point. Guinness might’ve been his favorite for different reasons before, but now, it’s his favorite because he missed it.

Bryony’s much more confusing and interesting. Shiraz is originally referred to as an Iranian city, Shiraz, and the wine produced there, but that is context from ages ago. Currently, it’s a slang term to refer to wine produced by the Syrah grape, grown in mostly America, Australia and New Zealand. Its very acidic, very chocolatey and has dark flavors as a dark red wine. It’s not popular in the UK, which could be a hint towards Bryony’s background- she might not have grown up in the UK. It could be a taste preference, sure, but it could mean she’s from a region where Syrah (or Shiraz) is more popular, like the U.S., France, or Oceania.

Malcolm is an old soul. Scotch is a very popular drink among those in the UK and Malcolm does not oppose traditionalism in that sense. He’s probably been drinking it all his life and doesn’t plan on changing it now. It’s also very possible that he was, in fact, several drinks ahead of the others at the table as Bryony noted. Not much to say there other than Malcolm loves scotch and scotch loves him right back. It is, however, interesting to note that he knew the pairings for shiraz and insisted he also have a glass (as well as everyone else at the table). He’s either an alcoholic or a connoisseur.

Francesca’s drink order suits her character absolutely perfectly. The meeting at the Boat and Bridger, while in a rustic and hospitable setting, was completely professional and work-focused. The hesitation in her voice before she answers indicates she was tempted to join her colleagues in drinking during the meeting, but she decided against it. Francesca is now acting director, in a meeting with Malcolm Landry who was the previous acting director and Warren Godby, a scientific breakthrough. She needs to be at her absolute best during this meeting and no matter how mad Malcolm acts or how frustrated she gets with the sadistic Bryony, her mind must be clear and alert, and she knows that. I absolutely adore Fran.

Hester. Poor Hester. I didn't even know she was there until she spoke, they all overlooked her and barely addressed her throughout the entire meeting, only bothering to talk to her when she had something to offer. Bryony seemed interested in her when she finally recognized her existence, but before then, it seemed like no one even noticed she was there. We don’t know what she would have order, if she would have, even, because Clive’s eagerness to show off got in the way. God, these people are dicks.

[ceceliaahathaway]

@msmelissalin Event: A Beginner Advanced Baking Class: Chocolate Soufflé Dated: 20th of March, 2024 Location: The Avenue Cookery School, Fulham

She was turning over new leaves. Yes, since getting back home to London, Cece had decided, a new year a new Cece. What did she have on the cards tonight? A cooking class. She was finally going to make Adam his favorite dessert: Chocolate Soufflé. Though, it did seem a bit ambitious for a beginner class, but she was sure the instructor wouldn't give them anything they couldn't handle. "Hi, hello! I'm here for the Chocolate Please Don't Deflate class." She let out a tiny chortle. That had been a good one. Alas, it got lost on whoever was checking her in, "Bench Six, you'll be cooking with Melissa tonight." A partner? How jolly. She never liked to drink alone and she'd brought an entire bottle of Shiraz with her, "Thank you."

After walking over to her bench, she started setting up, wanting to make sure everything was ready and poured for when her partner showed up. She'd been told drinking would be okay. She was going to need it to. With all this recent blackmail business she needed an out and tonight that was a nice oak-y red and a hopefully sturdy soufflé. Humming to herself, Cece didn't realise that her partner had shown up till, she was twirling around with two glasses in hand. "Oh perfect this is for you!" Wait a second. She knew this woman. Melissa Lin. Sure, she'd heard about her dealings, but she wasn't talking about that. "Oh, it's Melissa right? I'm not sure if you remember me, but you joined me for brunch one afternoon. We had a delightful conversation about Diors latest line.."

Snap, snap. She found her eyes widening as the instructor (correction: head chef) walked into the room and got their attention with the snap of his fingers (not exactly the most polite---) She was snapped back into silence. "Welcome Chefs," cute, "today, we will build upon the lessons from last year and venture into the realm of mastering the infamous chocolate Soufflé…" wait.. last year's classes. Was there pre-reqs to beginners classes nowadays? Pulling a face, Cece leaned in closer to Melissa, "well I don't know about you, but the last thing I cooked successfully was microwave popcorn, so this should be.. fun." At least there was wine.

[mygainyear2024]

Day 47-48 From Coimbra, now in Porto

I sit writing with my second (make that third and then fourth) glass of a young port (5 years old). A gift from the airbnb host, from her family's vineyard.

Yesterday I caught the train from Coimbra to Porto (I arrived so early and then almost missed it as I was paying attention to the destination and not the train number. My train was going on to Braga and so arriving on time, whereas I was looking at the Porto train arriving later and the Uber driver told me the trains are often late so that's the story I told myself. I don't know what made me realise the train that was coming into the station was the one I needed to be on. I was sitting in the waiting room. I ended up sprinting across the tracks behind the train with two suitcases and a backpack. I just jumped on the first carriage, well maybe not jumped, as the steps are above the platform and a couple helped me lift up those cases. I breathed a sigh of relief. The conductor said "don't worry, so many people run for the train!")

After upending my belongings all over the apartment (it's the most disappointing one so far - fewer cooking facilities and no washing machine and quite cramped) I head for my first coffee recommendation off the Kava app and it did not disappoint - Protest Kitchen - I even love the name. They make me a perfect latte with fresh milk, and I can taste the flavour of the beans and what the hell, I also order a cinnamon roll with nuts and syrup, divine! As I've already shared on my FB page, it was a Harry Met Sally moment. I got some supplies from the reliable Pingo Doce supermarket chain and then headed for the gym (a little difficult to find but well worth the perseverance as they're having a special, only €10 for the whole month of May and they have gyms in Lisbon where I'm heading next). It is incredibly crowded and the bikes in the cycling studio look as old as some of the buildings in Porto, but it's only €10!

I get a chance to meet up with Michelle Loch (my coach mentor from 2011 and "neighbour" from Taringa days) and a group of her friends who are about to embark on an eight day hike around the Douro Valley. Now why didn't Eva (Upwork) think of that hike! We have a drink down by the Douro River and then head to a lovely restaurant, the shiraz is delicious. Sadly it's a tad cold here and has been raining on and off. And quite noticeably from the places I've already been, there's also too many tourists and crowds and they're all getting in the way of my pictures LOL!

The airbnb host gave me a long list of things to do and eat, as did today's Sandeman's walking tour guide. That added to the long list in the calendar section of my iphone, and now also I've set alarms to remind me! I am not going to scratch the surface in one week. I read a post that recommended just taking Porto as it comes and that's what I'm going to do. Accept that the list won't all be ticked.

After trying one of the best pastel de nata recommendations this morning and, according to the airbnb host, the best éclairs in the world this afternoon (I don't agree), there are so many restaurant recommendations, and most places are already pretty full or with queues out the door. So tonight I have some simple tapas and a large glass of red wine at the newly opened TimeOut markets next to São Bento station and then what the heck, I google best gelato in Porto and find Gelataria Portuense. I think I'd rate this the best gelato so far. I had the peanut and caramel and café and black sesame.

[del-sol-diminutives]

The Big Lemonade Stand Scoop!

Porto del Sol’s summers are always hot and sunny. This summer, Huey Seabreeze and Muddy McBurrows concocted a plan both cool and delicious. Lemonade!

“Now you boys have everything you need, don’t you? Extra cups and lemons and —“ asked Heidi McBurrows.

“Yes, Mom! We’re all ready to go.” The boys had been planning for days over the McBurrows’ coffee table, from borrowing and decorating the cart to testing lemonade recipes until they both had one they agreed on.

“All right, sweetie. You two have a good time.”

“Thanks, Mom!”

“Thanks, Mrs. McBurrows! We’ll do our best!”

The first to arrive at their little stand was the town mayor, Lionel Grand, and his son Lawrence. 

“Well, boys, what’s all this?” Lionel asked, examining their stand with great interest.

“Lemonade, Daddy! Can we have some? Please?” Lawrence asked shyly, burrowing into his father’s side.

“I think we can, if these fine young men will sell us some.”

“Of course, Mr. Grand!” Muddy passed out the cups that Huey poured.

“Please enjoy them, sir!” Huey gulped nervously. Their first customer was the mayor? This was make-or-break!

“This is delicious, isn’t it, Lawrence?” Lionel asked.

“Oh yes, Daddy! It’s really yummy! And nice and sweet on a hot day like today.”

“Well, thank you, gentlemen,” said Lionel. “We’ll be sure to tell everyone we meet today how wonderful your lemonade is.”

“Thank you, sir!” both boys exclaimed, and waved as their first customers headed into town.

“That was sure nice of him,” Muddy mused aloud.

“It was!” Huey said, wiping down the cart. He glanced back up, and his eyes widened. “Oh boy. Muddy, look!”

The mayor certainly had made good on his promise to tell people. Within minutes, the boys had a line that wrapped around their cart and continued down the riverbank. Everyone from town seemed to have decided to come out for a treat!

“Very fine lemonade, this. Good job, boys,” said Merlot.

“Thank you, Mr. Redwood!” Approval from the vintner and his wife was even better than the approval of the mayor! Everyone knew how hard they worked to make the delicious wines and juices Porto del Sol was famous for.

“Yes, indeed. Keep up the good work,” Shiraz assured them. “It’s wonderfully refreshing.”

“Thank you, ma’am!”

The line behind the Redwoods burst into a murmur of excitement, above and beyond the ongoing chatter as people waited. Everyone sounded enthusiastic about the boys’ little enterprise, especially with the Redwoods’ stamp of approval.

They served and served, and finally had to break out their reserved extra jug of lemonade. “It’s a good thing we made a lot before we set up,” Huey told Muddy.

“For sure,” worried Muddy. “After Samuel and Karen, here come the Pickleweeds!” There were seven in the Pickleweed family, and every single one of them was here.

“Oh boy … I hope we have enough!”

Huey wiped his forehead and breathed out a “phew!” The Pickleweeds had come and gone, and he and Muddy could see the end of the line. It looked like they had just enough to serve the Persians and Martha.

“Here you are! Thanks so much for coming by,” Huey passed out glasses to the Persians, while Muddy busied himself juicing more lemons and pouring more water.

He paused, and Huey could hear him mutter, “Uh-oh.”

He didn’t get a chance to ask Muddy what was wrong, because Hector and Isabella showed up just at that moment. “Hi Huey! Mom sent us to get some lemonade for Dad, please!” Hector said.

“He’s so busy working today, and it’s so hot. We’re bringing him his lunch, and a big thermos of your lemonade would really hit the spot.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” said Huey. “Muddy’s making more, but we should have just enough left to fill up that thermos.”

“Thanks, Huey! Thanks, Muddy,” the other kids chorused, and waved as they headed for Charles’ farmland.

“What was uh-oh?” Huey asked, once the Hunter-Smyths had gone.

“We forgot to bring more sugar!”

“Oh no! What’ll we do?” Now was not the time to panic! They both fell silent for a moment, trying to figure out what next.

“The Chocolates are just around the corner,” Muddy suggested. “Maybe Mrs. Chocolate will let us borrow some.”

“That’s a good idea,” agreed Huey. “If you’ll finish getting the rest of the lemons squeezed, I’ll go ask.” He pattered off before Muddy had a chance to say anything, and returned a few minutes later with a small blue canister. 

“She said we could take the whole jar and bring it back when we were done for the day,” he said excitedly. “Now we don’t have to worry about running out!”

“Phew! Well, let’s get this put together before anyone else shows up!” It was a good thing they scrambled, because —

“Hi guys! Smile! Freya wants to interview you for the paper!” Sherry said, just as they set down the fresh pitcher. She snapped their photo with smiles all around.

“That’s right! We overheard you asking Mom about the sugar, and your lemonade stand sounds awesome! Tell us all about everything! We’ll make it front-page!” Freya enthused.

The boys looked at each other in amazement. From the mayor, to the vintner, to the paper! Okay, it was Freya’s little Daily Chocolate that she hand-published, but even so, that was big! And Freya’s dad posted the paper up in his cafe, so people besides the kids would see it, too. Hopefully Freya would write them a nice article.

Muddy started explaining how they’d planned their enterprise, while Huey fetched her a tall glass of their freshly-made lemonade.

“I’m so excited to try it! Everyone’s been saying it’s so delicious and s—s——

“SALTY!” howled Freya. “You’ve been sabotaged! This is the crime of the century!”

Sherry put her hands up. “Freya, please, stop and think. They got the sugar from your own mom. There’s no way she would sabotage — “

“Someone must have sneaked into our house! That’s even worse!’ Freya started scribbling furiously in her notebook.

Huey took a tentative sip of the lemonade. Freya was right; it was terrible! The boys looked at each other anxiously, and Muddy wiped away sweat from his forehead. Front-page might not be good for them after all!

“Freya, dear, calm down,” said a familiar voice.

“Mrs. Chocolate!”

“Hello, boys. Hi, Sherry,” she beamed, and turned apologetically to Huey. She was carrying an identical blue canister to the one Huey had brought earlier, but it was a size larger. “I’m sorry, Huey. When I told you to take the blue canister, I didn’t tell you which one. The sugar is in the bigger one.”

“Oh, that’s what happened!” Huey looked flustered, but relieved. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Chocolate. I must have used two cups of your salt!”

“That’s all right! Let’s make up a new batch,” she suggested, offering the boys the other canister. They quickly set to work.

“Aw,” Freya groused quietly. There was no sabotage, just a misunderstanding. She drew a disappointed line through her Lemonade Stand Larceny title. Sherry patted her on the shoulder. “How about Lemonade Stand Luxury?” she suggested instead, as Muddy passed them each a newly-mixed lemonade.

“Aaaah…” Delicious. It was so delicious; cool and refreshing just like everyone else had said. “I think we can do that,” Freya decided, her disappointment vanishing under a wave of sweet lemonade. She nodded enthusiastically at Huey and Muddy. “Just you wait and see!”

“Thanks for helping us, Mrs. Chocolate,” the boys said gratefully. Not only had she saved them from a lemonade disaster, she’d saved them from Freya roasting them in the paper. What a relief!

“It’s my pleasure. Good luck with the rest of your day, boys!”

———————

The rest of the day went smoothly. Freya flopped nearby and scribbled furiously while Sherry snapped photos, and other friends came and went, getting fresh glasses of lemonade to top off their day. Finally, worn out and tired, the boys started packing up.

“That was a great day,” Muddy enthused. “Even with the mix-up!”

“It sure was, but I’ve learned my lesson,” Huey agreed. “Always, always taste-test before you serve anything to Freya!”