#Grazing Platters

[kiwiaok]

andrew minyard actually and I will DIE on this hill

[life-spire]

See more delicious food.

[therealcoolfooddude]

(via Chicken Wing Platter) These chicken wings are extra special because they are slow cooked until the meat just falls off the bone

[staceybombacey]

It has to be aesthetically pleasing 💁🏼‍♀️

[bryonyashaw]

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A post shared by Lifestyle, parenting, food blog (@bryonyannie)

𝗠𝗶𝗻𝗶 𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗰𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲 𝗕𝗼𝗮𝗿𝗱 🧀

A charcuterie board is an appetizer typically served on a wooden board or stone slab, either eaten straight from the board itself or portioned onto flatware. It features a selection of preserved foods, especially cured meats or pâtés, as well as cheeses and crackers or bread! Thought I'd do a little kids version alongside cake and strawberries 🍓

While "charcuterie" technically means a range of different cured meats, these platters go beyond salami and prosciutto, typically featuring various cheeses, crackers, spreads and produce!

They seem to be popular party pieces - for starters, they're extremely flexible: you can adjust the ingredients for different preferences, scale the portions up or down based on the number of guests and make them as affordable (or high-end) as you'd like. You can even tie them to a certain theme, like a color, geographic region or season. But perhaps the main reason they're a must for entertaining is that they require zero culinary skills to assemble.

8 ways to make a great board 🥖🧈

1) Choose soft, pre-sliced meats (like pro (like prosciutto or jamón Ibérico), and a couple harder meats that require cutting (like a log of salami or soppressata).

2) Place harder cheeses, like a block of sharp cheddar or Manchego, alongside harder meats.

3) Add at least one spreadable cheese (like chèvre) or a dip (like tzatziki or hummus)

4) Throw in some complementary snacks. I'm talking crackers, jam, bread, pickles, fruit, honeycomb and whatever else you fancy.

5) Dress it up - beyond serving it on a pretty wooden butcher block or a marble cutting board, consider working in other decorative elements.

6) Tiny label tags are helpful and cute, while little bowls and plates to hold preserves or fruit add colour and dimension to the spread.

7) Pick the right size board.

8) If its for the family (kids especially) then keeping it simple is key - you can never go wrong with string cheese, crackers and juice boxes.

Also - if you are wondering how to pronounce charcuterie, you are not alone on this, lots of people want to know how to properly “say” charcuterie?  It’s pronounced “shahr-kyu-tuh-ree

[gibbonscatering]

Garden Fresh Vegetarian Platter: A Colorful Celebration of Flavor - gibbonsCatering

Discover our Garden Fresh Vegetarian Platter—a delightful mix of vibrant, seasonal vegetables and flavorful dips that creates a stunning presentation for any occasion. This vegetarian platter features an array of colors and textures, showcasing the best of fresh produce. Perfect for gatherings, our vegetarian platter not only pleases the eye but also satisfies every palate with its delicious offerings. Enjoy this vegetarian platter at your next event!

[thedanesuk]

Rectangular Palm Leaf Grazing Platters – The Danes

Buy Rectangular Palm Leaf Grazing Platters, Our range is made from natural fallen and dried pressed palm leaves. Biodegradable, compostable, and toxin-free.

[lovelyghst]

would i be crazy for saying ghost enjoys (mostly) clothed sex more than anything. well, more for him than you.

like, just being able to get you down to your cute bra and panties, propping you up on his desk so he can thumb at the swollen, little bud beneath the cotton you wear. humming when the fabric starts to get wet and sticky, playing with the puffy thing as he pleases.

you contradict him in every way; pretty, pink lingerie hugging your frame a stark contrast to the black, heavy-duty cargos that hang off his hips and an equally dark, though certainly not loose, t-shirt to show off his broad shoulders. soft skin up against his rough exterior, gentle lips pressed to his scratchy beard. your clothes intricately detailed, light and lovingly cared for, while his are embedded with smoke and gunpowder and an overwhelming need to devour you whole. you’re far too sweet for him, he thinks.

he drinks in your sounds, the soft little hums that spill from your throat when your jaw falls lax shooting straight to his dick. his lips even twitch into a smile when your hands fist at his shirt, your hips nudging forward a bit when his knuckles graze your nerves teasingly.

he snickers at your giggles when he has you unbuckle his belt for him, just ‘cause he finds it amusing when your fingers struggle a bit with the leather in your dazed state. a tender grip on your wrist guiding your hand into his boxers rather shamelessly, having you knead him to a full erection before you’re finally allowed to take it out.

he usually hands you whatever you’d like and on a silver platter, without the need to even ask, but sometimes he makes you earn it. he promises it’s for your own good, sweetheart. you can’t complain.

he carefully urges one of your legs up and onto the desk, knee bent with your foot planted right on the edge for better leverage, a more depraved sight. rubs the pretty tip of his cock up against your wet spot, the only intimate bit of him exposed as his fingers are curled tightly around his shaft, guiding his movements.

and he fucks you just like that; your panties pulled to the side, further ruining the perfect pair as he gradually pushes into your sweet cunt.

he’s benign at first—slow and careful as he gives you time to adjust to the stretch, hardly moving much at all as he lays kiss after kiss to your forehead as a means of grounding you—but it isn’t long before you’re crumbling into that world where you’re dizzy, dumb on his cock, and the only noises coming from you are sharp huffs punched straight from your lungs. he isn’t too fast with you, but he’s fucking deep, and big in every sense of the word.

he holds you delicately compared to it all, with his hands at your waist and hips, giving you a faint squeeze in allotted intervals that seem to match up with his groans. similar to that of a cat preparing its sleeping place.

you know that’s what he plans for later, anyways. your pussy always knocks him out.

and sure, he’ll let you hike the hem of his t-shirt up just enough to stare down at his pretty abs, to rake your nails across his navel as he renders you speechless on his cock. he might even have you take it off for him completely if he’s going for multiple rounds with you.

but otherwise, that’s the best you’ll get from him on most days.

perhaps it’s the power dynamic, or maybe he simply feels more comfortable like that; either way, you know it’s fucking hot.

[bunnys-kisses]

Hi love can I get a tiramisu with a side hot coffee (w baby trapping) made freash by Max Verstappen ty 💛

bakery menu (complete)

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu! i have tons of items to choose from and i'd love for you to check them out! any driver is available (must be 18+, duh) so please feel free to throw your orders my way <3 i love the way your mind thinks, lovely anon. that's one way to get competition off the track! i hope you love the fic!

tiramisu (“my little slut to ruin.”) + coffee (rivals au) served by max verstappen (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, driver!reader, rivals au, baby trapping, (technically) unprotected sex, jos verstappen jumpscare, missionary & mating press,

max knew the hunger of racing. it was almost a blood lust. it was a fire in the belly of a driver that pushed them to such limits that it would kill some. formula one drivers were all striving to be the best. max knew this quite well, spending years in a shadow he could never escape. he yearned for approval but it always came to him like a bitter pill. but, not you. you were the track's princess, praise came to you on a silver platter.

and it annoyed the hell out of max. many prayed for his downfall both on a driving level, but also on a personal level. people wanted him to fail, but those same people wanted you to fly high to a second world championship.

so when he saw his own father smiling at you and give you a firm hand shake followed by a pat on the back after a spectacular win. max knew there was one thing to do.

make sure you never stepped foot on the track again.

"c'mon, schat." max said as he leaned against the doorway of the motor home on the track. he saw you walk by back to your teams. he crossed his arms and watched you on shaky legs.

you made a face, "treasure?" you laughed, your voice bounced a little down the row of motor homes for the weekend, "max verstappen, do you forget who i am?"

he snickered, "currently you look like a shaky deer. why are you in heels, you never wear heels?" the two of you butt heads often. you seemed to get under each other's skin often enough.

"it's called going on a date, max. have you heard of those? plus, shouldn't you be fucking some grid bunny tonight? we are on your home turf, might as well trap some poor girl with your bastard."

he laughed louder, "funny. were you having a night on the town? i bet you opened your legs to whatever manager you could find. whoever would give you the biggest contract." his words were biting and so were yours. while it was always better to catch flies with honey than vinegar.

it was easier to catch a rival with vitriol than kindness.

you got your heels off and threw them one after the other towards him before you stopped over bare foot to get in his face. you got onto the small porch and he was all smiles.

"do you have-"

"of course. after all, you're not the first grid bunny of the weekend." then pulled you into the motor home with a slam of the front door. before you could chew him out for that term being used towards you. he had you pressed against the door of the motor home with your leg wrapped around his hip and his large hand pushing up the already short skirt of your dress.

he had no interest in any of the fans with his face plastered across their fat tits. while the women of his home country were beautiful, his eyes were set on the snapping jaws of another driver.

his lips down your neck, teeth grazed across your pulse point and it made you shudder. nipples grew hard under his touch. he started to grope your breasts and you moaned out loud in the near empty motor home.

clothes were shed, leaving you vulnerable. it was a surprise that you made it to the bed. for a brief moment as you dragged him to the bedroom, max thought he was going to breed his future wife on the linoleum wooden floor. and max may have wanted you bred asap but, he wasn't going to hurt your poor elbows and knees. his wife deserved the best, you were going to be doing a big thing. giving birth to the next legend of the track.

"schat." he said softly his mouth to your ear. his strong arms wrapped around you and pulled to his chest. his hands then went to your breasts where he groped the flesh, near bruising them. they were only going to get prettier once you got pregnant. he felt lucky tonight.

"max. fuck." you groaned before you managed to pull yourself away from him and get onto the bed. you propped yourself up on your elbows as you gazed at him. he eyed your beauty as he got closer to you and the bed. his cock at full attention.

oh yeah, you'd never step foot in a car again after tonight. well give it a few weeks and then you'll be off the track for good. he got between your legs on the bed. he got those lovely thighs around him as he continued to gaze at your figure.

"pretty thing." he said, "should i be worried that another man touched you tonight? or were you a good girl?"

you looked at him, "you're not my husband. max. you don't own me."

max smiled before he leaned over you, his bare cock almost slipped into your slick hole as he grabbed a condom from the box in the nightstand. you were trying to get out from under him before he slipped in without protection. a condom was what you thought was your savior. but, max had pricked little holes in it earlier, when he found out you'd be back to the track late.

you watched him get the condom on, the low light made it almost impossible to notice that there were small tears int he tip of the condom. with enough force of his hips, max could probably tear through it. you held onto his forearms as he rubbed his cock up against you for a few moments before he sank inside your sweet cunt. it made him groan and feel a heat in him.

"perfect little thing. i bet you thought about me while you were out. thought about all the thing i'd do you that's why you came in here, right? because you knew you'd get that cunt fucked out."

you felt your ears burn as he continued to rut against you. you dug your short nails into his arms as he thrusted against you. his cock was like a bully, just like the rest of him. but it made your toes curl as you laid under him.

max verstappen was your rival and now he was too busy gorging on your cunt like he owned it. like you were a couple. but, little did you know. the plan was going well in max's mind. it wasn't a difficult one anyway. he just needed his achy, thick cock inside of your gooey cunt and finish inside of you. the rest was biology's doing so he could take his hands off the wheel for that.

and if you weren't pregnant there was a whole other leg of the season plus the off season to really make sure it took. but, you strived for perfection, it was written in your dna. so you'd be good and take him the first time. let his baby sprout in your sweet womb. no need to think about racing when you're caring for his child.

"jij bent de mijne." he said like a promise as he picked up the pace. his cock shoved into the softest parts of you. for such a bitch on the track, your pussy was gummy soft and just pulled him in.

you whined and arched your back. max enjoyed the heavy rise and fall of your pretty breasts. oh, you were beautiful. maybe he was lucky, giving you a baby now. not allow anyone else on the grid to get a taste of you. because you were the kind of woman that men got addicted to.

he picked your hips up further and started to really work at it. your legs were over his shoulders while he fucked you with such vigor that you couldn't find it in you to grip onto the covers under your back. your toes curled while he pounded into you. heat flashed across your body and you felt like you were on fire.

you panted and moaned while max was determined to breed you. you'd be such a pretty mother to his children. did you think he was stopping at one? no. because with you he was going to breed champions and that fact made pleasure lick up in his stomach. he watched you squirm a little as you neared climax and it made max hot all over.

yeah, it was only right that he bred you. keep you off the track and at home with the kids. no need to step on anymore toes in formula one. retire with grace and raise his kids. put that hot feminine body of yours to good use, grow them well in your soft womb. be good for your husband.

he leaned further, pushing you further into yourself to kiss you hotly on the lips once more. he felt your cunt tighten around him as you panted heavily. he had you in a full mating press as his cock bruised your sweet insides. poor thing, marked forever by your rival. the kissed between you two were hot and left heat dripping through your body. his cock felt heavy between your legs. pushing you to your limit. that was a good future mrs. verstappen. you climaxed, he watched bliss crossed your face as you tensed up then relaxed. your heart hammered in your ears as you laid under him, knees to your chest and over his shoulders while his leaky blunt cock head hit against you.

he came soon after, but even when he stilled to a stop. he kept the position to make sure every last drop knew where to go. now wasn't the time for mishaps. he knew that the condom was fully torn at the tip. there was nothing protecting that pretty cunt of yours.

sorry, schat, that was the game. and as max looked into your dazed eyes, he thought that you didn't mind. when he put your legs down and got you on your stomach.

you whimpered a little and he shushed you with heated kiss. he didn't even try to pretend he changed the condom before he was back to being inside of you. you two had a long night together.

max hungered for a lot of things, but as he listened to your sweet whimper and moans, he hungered for one thing. your cunt happily drooling down his cock.

-

"think he's going to do it?" max asked, his arms crossed over your rounded middle. his head on your shoulder as you both watched your eldest son do a second lap on the track.

you looked at him and replied, "of course he will. he's our son." your son, remko was eight now and had taken to the track like nothing else. maybe max's plan didn't work when he made you retire years earlier due to being pregnant with your son. you would eventually step on the track again, first watching your husband win three more championships and now your son taking an interest in it.

you turned back to your son as he hugged the curves of the track. you worried your bottom lip a little. it was a little too much hugging for your liking. you rubbed your lower back. maybe it was the pregnancy emotions getting to you. making you worry.

your career ended after two championships. something you held with pride. you were married to max now, had a son and expecting another in a few short months. as max rubbed your middle and kissed your cheek. you did get one thing out of it though, a promise from your young son that while he would race under the verstappen last name, he'd happily race under your country's flag.

so while you couldn't bring your nation joy, you'd be nothing but smiles when your son held the flag high in due time. some would've considered that max trapped you with a baby (or rather two). but those same blue eyes and charming smile still lured you in. even though you had your doubts about that night being an 'accident', there was nothing you could really do now. both your boys needed their father.

"i love you." max said, hand wide across your swollen middle.

you looked at him, your rival turned husband. as your son crossed the finish line for his practice, you kissed your husband on the lips. the time of the laps were called and you said to max, "i love you too." then watched your husband pull away to congratulate remko on a good practice.

knowing your luck both of your kids will be in racing. and you knew if max had his way, the entire future grid would have the verstappen last name. <3

[goxjo]

Do you think Sukuna would have Vessel!Reader look at themselves in the mirror as he touches them? Just make them watch him touch themselves as a sort of payback when they make him do nothing but watch them? btw I still fucking love your fics!

he absolutely would, this is golden <3 and thank you, I��m glad you love them!!!! ;; I also wrote a little sukuna x vessel! reader + mirror kink drab here if you would like to read <333 it’s one where reader and kuna are on more agreeable terms lol

++ this is late, I know. please accept this filth as an apology!

RYOMEN SUKUNA X VESSEL! READER

+ warnings. no pronouns, f anatomy! reader, hard dubcon, demon possession (it’s kuna), body horror, dom / sub themes if you squint, fearplay if you squint, ‘enchain’ binding vow has different terms, mirrors, cunnilingus uwu, v! fingering, squirting on his ‘mouth’, ~600 words, 18+ only, MDNI

♥︎ based off of no secrets,

You had to tease him. Had to parade your little pussy like meat to a dog, watch yourself through the floor length mirror whilst lying down on your bed with a leg propped up as you spread out your folds. You did this knowing all he could do was watch. And watch. And watch as you played with yourself silly.

One moment was all he needed. He waited for you to slip — waited for when you’re at your absolute weakest to the point of exhaustion for when he decides to give you a taste of your own medicine.

“Enchain.”

To others, his voice is enough to send shivers down their spine; but to a vessel, his voice is akin to the bellow of a beast that stops you dead in your tracks, that moment when you know you’re done for. His words reverberate throughout your body, freezing cold the first few seconds, knocking the breath out of your lungs, panic spreading like wildfire through your veins, pumping sulfur to your heart instead of blood. And then, everything goes black.

”Wake up, you. I need you to bear witness to what I’ll do to your body.”

You know those black lines decorating your body all too well. You want to inspect them but all you can do is watch and feel. Through the mirror, you see you but not quite you. It’s the never-ending cycle of taking charge and then losing your hold of the reins. One minute you’re in control, the next you’re not. And once again, you’re a bystander in your own body.

“My god that voice still churns my stomach to this day,” you answer back, somewhat grateful for the ability to at least speak while he has hold of you.

Sukuna lets out a huff, black fingernails tracing every curve and swell of your chest like it’s something he hasn’t done before. He looks at your reflection as if he hasn’t eaten in a long time, and in front of him is the world’s finest delicacy served on a silver platter, all for him to devour.

“My, such bile for someone who’s dying for these fingernails to scratch their walls.” He pinches a nipple, feeling you wince at the touch. “So sensitive.” He chuckles, amusement in his laughter over finding you on the receiving end of this torture. “I can feel your need gnawing at the bars, desperately looking for relief.”

“Sukuna, don’t you dare — don’t — mm — ohh!” Your moan finishes your sentence for you. He scratches stripes along your wet slit, preventing you from threatening him any further. And you want to tell him to fuck off, to stop, “stop, s-stop…” Stop making you feel so good, stop playing with your clit like that, stop making you wet, stop making you moan, don’t, don’t stop making you hot, don’t stop, hurry up and make you cum, “don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop — Ohhh~!”

He hits the best spots, creaming you better than your own self-operated fingers ever could.

“‘Don’t’ what?”

“Don’t stop!” And he doesn’t. You feel his devious smile prickle the hairs on your nape as if he’s standing behind you.

“Pray for it.”

“Pleaaaase, Sukuna,” you whine.

He kneads your clenching hole with his open palm until a wet muscle comes out of it.

“Ffuuuck!” you cry out, his tongue flicks at your throbbing clit, teeth grazing your puffy lips before nipping your sensitive bud. Two digits enter your hole, pumping you crazy with his tongue still latched on your clit, using his hand (your hand) as your own makeshift sex toy. You want to throw your head back, roll your eyes, arch your body but he makes you stare at your own reflection, stare at your intense need to come undone.

“Haaaa, don’t stop Sukuna, don’t stop, Su — Suku—” Your pussy clamps twice shooting out warm fluid soaking your hand — cumming in his mouth.

“Next time you tease me, something else is coming out of this hand.”

[life-spire]

@ andreagaribay

Shop this aesthetic.

[munson-blurbs]

Emperor Geta x Concubine!Reader

Summary: The emperor catches you in the library, going against his direct orders, and there is a price to pay for your disobedience.

WC: 1.2k

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), unprotected p in v, degradation, mention of spit, breeding kink if you squint, jealousy, Geta is horrible but we like it.

A/N: "Augustus" is the term that a concubine would use to address the emperor. Thank you to my favorite history nerds, @lokis-army-77 and @offensiunculae, for their help in ensuring accuracy.

Divider credit to @saradika

“What are you doing in here?”

The sharp voice drew you from your reading. You tried closing the book and hiding it beneath the marble table, but you knew you’d already been caught. There was no safe place to lay your gaze. If you looked at him, he would yell at you for daring to look an emperor in the eyes; if you looked away, he would berate you for your cowardice.

You chose the latter option, heart catching in your throat as Geta’s footsteps drew closer.

“Aren’t you supposed to be preparing for the gala?”

“I–” You steadied yourself, hoping your words didn’t fall apart before they could even leave your tongue. “All of the preparations are finished, Augustus.”

That was the wrong answer. You should have excused yourself and found another task, if only to keep busy. His fingers, free from the calluses that marred the hands of gladiators, gripped your chin with a possessive force.

“Look at me when I speak to you, concubine,” Geta snapped. His dark eyes radiated flames that scorched you with a single look. “You know you are not to be here. Ever. You are to stay in your quarters until you’re summoned.”

You nodded, humiliation heating your body. “My apologies.” 

Geta ignored you and yanked the book from your grasp, turning the pages with careless abandon. He never cared for reading, or for education; why would he, when power was handed to him upon a silver platter? 

“What purpose does this serve you, concubine? Are you so dissatisfied here that you need to lose yourself in other worlds?”

“No, Augustus.” The lie was too fast, and you knew he caught it, in spite of his remarkable ability to only focus on his own needs.

The emperor’s smile was wicked. “After all I’ve provided for you,” he purred, “you can’t even offer me the truth?”

Tears stung in your eyes; a sob lodged in your throat rendering you unable to speak. It was no matter for Geta, who insisted upon capturing your words for you. “It’s her, isn’t it?” A chuckle emanated from his diaphragm. “You had me all to yourself for some time, and now you have to share my affections.” His thumb brushed your chin again; this time, you could have sworn there was an ounce of compassion in his touch.

“Yes, Augustus.”

Geta tossed the book aside. “And so your solution was to directly defy my orders? Is that how you sought my attention?” He leaned in so his forehead pressed against yours. “This library is off-limits for concubines.”

“So I’m meant to sit around and wait for you to summon me?” The retort could have earned you a smack to the face, and you braced yourself for the impact. 

Yet it never came.

Instead, Geta’s smirk deepened, his hand enclosing your wrist. “That is exactly what you are meant to do,” he growled. “You are nothing more than a common whore, and yet you are audacious enough to expect the treatment of a wife.”

“That is not what I–”

“Tell me what you believe you deserve.” His words clipped yours. “To be adored? Revered? Worshiped?” The last suggestion drew a heinous laugh. “You want me whispering in your ear, making remarks of your beauty and the desires you stir within me?”

Honesty mingled with shame as the tears slipped down your cheeks. 

“Say it.”

“Yes!” Embarrassment strangled your confirmation. “I want you to myself. I want us to share a marriage bed. I want you to tell me that you need me.”

One tooth scraped over his lower lip. “That’s what I thought.”

A gasp escaped you as he tugged you closer, nose grazing yours. If you lacked the knowledge of prior experiences, you might have anticipated a kiss. 

“Bend over the table.”

You did as he ordered, bracing your forearms on the cool marble. Geta gripped the hem of your tunic, pushing it above the curve of your ass. His palm hit your flesh with enough force to bruise; though you couldn’t see his face, you knew your yelp brought to it a smile. 

“This is all you’re good for.” He fumbled with his own garments, hissing as his erection made contact with the air. You heard him spit on his cock, rubbing the saliva over the shaft. “And you know it, too. You may fill your head with these inane writings, but you know you simply want to be filled with me.”

His words sent lust rippling through you, amplified only by the head of his cock nudging at your entrance. You felt yourself stretch around him, his wanton moan the only betrayal of his dominance. 

One hand grabbed your waist and the other wrapped around your neck, squeezing as he yanked you closer. 

“Is this what you’ve been brooding over?” He delivered another swift spank when you whimpered your yes. “You’re so pathetic, resigning yourself to an object. My object.”

You clenched around him at the identifier. His object. No matter that he was not yours. You were his, at least in this moment. 

Geta rocked himself with pounding thrusts that sent his pelvis colliding into your rear. “Say that you’re pathetic. That you’re weak for me. That you would do anything for my seed.”

You found your voice in time to comply. “I’m pathetic, Augustus. I’m weak for you. I would do anything for your seed.”

He laughed at this. “I could do anything I wanted and you would let me, so long as I attend to you.”

“Anything you wanted,” you echoed. Your climax was building; just a few more moments until it shrouded you in pure pleasure. “Anything for you.”

“How utterly pitiful.” Grunts punctuated his taunt. “I might be inclined to feel sorry for you if I possessed that capacity.” He withdrew until just his tip was inside you and promptly slammed back in. Empty, so horribly empty, and then deliciously full.

Geta’s groans echoed throughout the library, growing louder as his own orgasm neared. “Take it, take it all, my little whore.”

He spilled into you with harsh, sloppy thrusts. The hand around your throat restricted your airflow to its minimum; you ached to cry out his name, even his title. He only loosened his grip once he was completely spent.

He held you in place as he caught his breath, carefully pulling out so the evidence of his release stayed within you. “Ready yourself for the gala,” he said tersely. “I will send for you when the time arrives.”

“Yes, Augustus.” You moved to leave, but your insecurities hooked their talons into you and drew you back. “Does she also get your seed?” His other concubine. The other woman he kept around to bring him pleasure.

Confusion marred Geta’s smug expression for a second, but he quickly composed himself. “She hasn’t earned it.”

You nodded, trying not to let pride swell your head. She hasn’t earned it, but you have. “Thank you, Augustus.”

His acknowledgment was an unintelligible grumble, but you could have sworn he let his gaze linger for a beat longer than he had before.

--

Tagging some people who might be interested:

@happilyeverafterforme @daisy-munson @strawbbzombwie @mrsjellymunson @eddiesxangel

[freakassfemme]

dealer!crush!ellie making you nervous at a party

a/n: sfw drabble that's cliche, not reviewed, and hurriedly scribbled in 20 minutes. lots of 'it's in the eyes'. harry's emerald orbs bore into you esque shit. enjoy

You didn't know why you assumed Ellie wouldn't be at a party like this. It was a frat, and those were always Ellie's best customers. She was their chosen dealer, supplying them with a seemingly-endless amount of weed that had every letter in the Greek alphabet begging her to attend their party that Saturday, not someone else's.

So, you kind of felt stupid when you pranced in behind your friends, already tipsy from pregaming in your ridiculously tight dress and gogo boots and nearly ran face first into her back.

"Oh, shit, fuck -- I'm really sorry," you said, the words uncontrollably tumbling out of your mouth like vomit as you continued, your face still at her shoulder-level until the shock wore off and you finally looked up.

Ellie smirked down at you, leaning against the wall next to her as she held up her cup a little too high up, just above your head, keeping it clear of you.

"Damn, you're a little dangerous there, huh?" She said, raising her eyebrows as her eyes raked over you, ogling your appearance like a piece of candy left out on a platter for her, eat me written so delicately across the expanse of your exposed cleavage.

"Yeah," you giggled out, pushing a piece of hair out of your face. The strobing lights caught on the glistening spit of Ellie's tongue as she licked her lips, taking another sip as her gaze returned unabashedly to your face, still waiting for any leverage she could latch her fangs on to.

After an awkward pause, you cleared your throat.

"So, um, how's business?" You said, trying to make some conversation, but it came out too formal, to standoffish.

You averted your eyes, cringing and mentally cursing yourself, but your cheeks turned pink as you looked right at Ellie's arm, propping herself up against the wall in a way that had her bicep practically bulging out of her tight black tee shirt.

"Business's fine," she murmured against the lip of her cup. "You don't seem the type to really care about that sorta thing, though."

Fuck, you were staring.

You looked back up, blushing even darker when you saw the knowing look in her eyes, her teeth grazing the plump baby pink of her lower lip. Your mind raced as you fidgeted with your hands, trying to come up with anything to play her acknowledgement off in a way that wasn't even more embarrassing, but the words weren't even in your throat, let alone on the tip of your tongue. All your brain was mashing together was a terrified chorus of fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck--

"Relax," she said after a moment, chuckling as she leaned down some to your height. "'M not interrogating you, it's not my business what you do."

"No, you're right," you admitted after a moment, happy with any words coming out of your mouth, even if they admitted how lame you were. "Kinda have my head stuck in different clouds, I guess."

Ellie snorted, rolling her eyes. She held this sort of lazy boredom in her soft smirk and hooded gaze that made you feel plain stupid, like she knew more than you. That she was so high and mighty she couldn't even be bothered to like, fucking stand up straight or give you the time of day. You were surprised she was still even talking to you, let alone that she knew who you were --

"You've heard about me?"

Again, word vomit. It lurched out of you before you could stop it, and out loud it sounded like the same voice you used in your head to narrate your god damn diary. You felt more stupid, and you wished you had your own drink to hide behind.

And jesusfuckingchrist, Ellie full on grinned down at you. She had a strand of hair falling out of the front of her half-up/down/left/right shit thing she's always had going on, the one that made you sometimes wonder if she even knows how to do a real ponytail, and then after that thought you always realized you were staring at the back of her head in the middle of --

"English, right?" She said, tilting her head some. "You sit like, two rows behind me?"

"Yeah, when you show up."

Good god, you should've taken it easier earlier. Who thought multiple rounds of shots was a sane pregame?

Ellie seemed almost surprised at your banter though, and her laugh seemed to stutter a bit as she admitted defeat, putting her hands up in mock surrender. The drink in her hand sloshed a bit as she did so, but she didn't seem to care.

"Damn, you noticed?" She said, almost weirded out for a second, and you could tell. "Do I look good from the back or something?"

It's so embarrassing, and you desperately tried to claw yourself out from the uncomfortableness of it all.

"I mean, yeah, you always look good," you said, attempting to direct the conversation elsewhere, something you could actually work with before you made yourself an excuse to skip class every Tuesday and Thursday morning. She didn't seem very impressed. Maybe you were laying it on too lightly? "Now, too. You look like, really good."

"Really?" She said, a glimmer of something in her eyes seeming to catch on to what you were so pathetically trying to make happen.""S just my usual."

"Your usual is really hot," you said, still fiddling with your hands as you gave her a hopeful smile, trying to really put it on thick.

Her eyebrows raised again, and she set her drink down in the table next to her. Her jaw was sharper than a butcher's knife, and you were trying not to salivate like a freaking dog at her exposed neck when she turned back, grinning.

Yeah, Ellie got your lame ass pick up.

"Yeah, you think so?" she asked, taking a small step forward, like she was testing the waters, unsure if you would match her energy or run away like the scared little fawn you looked like right now. Ellie's smile seemed to only grown bigger, a bit darker even, as she watched you suck in a small breath, your antsy hands dropping to your side.

"Cause, I've always thought you were really hot," she said, much more quietly. Her voice was like velvet, its richness mixing with the adrenaline coursing through your veins like it had been replaced with a warm chocolate, and you melted under her words.

"Yeah?" You asked, sighing almost dreamily below her.

"Yeah," Ellie murmured. "Didn't want to make you uncomfortable, though. Seems like I make you nervous."

She added a small laugh to the end of her sentence, like it was supposed to be a joke. And god, you knew you were a bit ditzy, but you weren't that stupid, so both of you knew how painfully obvious your reactions were.

"Little bit," you whispered, though you didn't mean to. Her strong arm crowding you in, the scent of her cologne (What was that? Cedarwood maybe? Some lavender?) and the way she was almost pushing you back into the wall all seemed to pull the words out of you like a puppet on strings.

"I make you nervous, sweetheart?" Ellie asked, her eyes lighting up at your admission, fueling her ego. She took in a heavy breath, licking over her teeth as she bore fucking holes into your face.

When you couldn't speak again, she shook her head, reaching back for her drink. She took a sip, watching you expectantly, tauntingly, like she thought you'd collapse under the silence any minute. Then, when it really seemed like you might, she leaned in until you backed yourself up fully against the wall, your bare thighs hitting the coldness with a small squeal.

"Here," she mumbled, holding her solo cup to your lips. Her other hand pushed a bit of hair behind your face, caressing your jaw as she tilted the cup for you, letting you stare up at her like she hung the fucking stars in the sky.

"This'll help your nerves."

[musouie]

── .✦ 𝐀 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑

précis: suguru, a servant of your household, wrestles with the complex feelings of loving a noblewoman.

contents: pining, suguru!pov, implied classism, internal classism, envy, forbidden longing, resentment vs yearninggggg, historical romance, 1900s au, fem!reader, 1.0k wc

It was easy to despise beautiful things. 

The things that shone, that flowed, that bloomed amongst the bleak — that made artists falter and poets weep — bound the miserable together.

Perhaps, that was why Suguru despised you.

He despised your lips, stained with the blush of cherries, and the sweet, fleeting scent that lingered on your skin.

He despised your hands — slender, warm, and impossibly delicate — hands that seemed to belong to a world gentler than his own.

He despised your voice, lilting like a bird’s song, soft as the breeze that warms the bitter cold.

Most of all, he despised that even if you had nothing, like he, your beauty would still be enough. 

(This was a lie and he knew it. What he despised most of all was that his loathing was built atop a craving — a palpable thing that made his teeth ache and his bones tremble; he could hardly bear it, this furious tenderness.)

He watched you dance, bathed in candlelight, and he wondered what life might have been like with a face and hands like yours (or your face in his hands, or your hands on his face.

To embrace your light, or to shadow it. How could anyone not wish to do one, or both?)

An ugly thing, deep in his soul, festered — feeding off the shame he felt for simply existing in your general direction, for loathing you yet longing for you the way he did.

And like all beautiful things — you felt it. Faltered in step as your eyes flitted to his, wide and probing, searching for a way to right the wrong of someone yearning for you in such a twisted, impure way.

Your twirling slowed — then ceased, and you waltzed over to where he stood, a smile curving your rose-hued lips.

“Enjoying the ball, Suguru?” You reached towards the silver platter that balanced in his hold, retreating with a glass of wine, fingers grazing against his ever so slightly as they slipped around its stem.

He watched you take a sip; daintily, with your head ever-so-slightly craned and throat bared to him. “Please,” he chided, voice a measured strain, “do not address me so casually. Mr. Geto will suffice, Miss.”

“Oh, Suguru, what need have we for such formalities among friends?” you cooed, placing down your now empty wine flute upon the tray. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

(How typical of a spoiled noble to misunderstand their lack of courtesy; how typical of a blazing star to not realise she burned her surroundings.)

He withheld a scowl, replaced it with a tight-lipped smile instead. “Except I, a mere butler, am most certainly not your friend, Miss.”

“Sugur—” His gaze narrowed. “Mr. Geto. Would you not like to be my friend?”

“It would be most improper.”

The orchestra played a new tune — a lively thing, that people joyously gathered and scattered for on the wooden floor. You continued to hold his gaze with your own, brows raised as you murmured:

“That was not my question, Mr. Geto.”

Your tongue glided across your bottom lip, caught a stray drop of wine, and Suguru’s mouth watered. He’d only had a single glass and yet, his head swam. Or perhaps, it was something else that was catching him off-kilter, disorientating him in the way that you did.

(Because it was no accident, he noticed — the way the pads of your fingers slid away from the glass and glided against his; no accident, the subtle curve of your hip that pressed against his waist when you drew near. The way the velvet of your dress trapped his shadow, like a moth grasped between fingers.)

He took a chance to step away — tried not to notice the way the plush curve of your bosom swelled, as if taking a sharp breath, though your face betrayed nothing of the kind.

He allowed his gaze to trail you, like a guilty voyeur, a starved man eyeing a delicacy, a secret he had always wanted but was forbidden to taste. Just like you wanted him to. (Beautiful things survive off attention, after all. Be it perverse or pure, as a rose blooms on a dead man’s tomb.)

“I suggest we not tarry here further, Miss,” he hissed between clenched teeth. “People may speak.”

“Hah. If I was worried about ‘people’, Mr. Geto, I would not have asked.”

(How typical of a spoiled noble to misunderstand their lack of courtesy; how typical of a blazing star to not realise she burned her surroundings.)

A sharp intake of air tore his lips apart, like a sudden storm ripping off the last of an autumn leaf, and a cold rush flooded his nostrils. “I must see to the other guests now, Miss,” he replied tersely. “Please excuse me.”

He bowed, clasping the silver tray to his chest as if clutching for his heart — to staunch the flow, before it could spring forth and ruin him. You followed his form as he stepped back, the fabric of your dress dipping at the apex of your thighs with the movement; a brief promise of the hidden warmth below, a glimpse of bare skin just within the threshold of shameful.

“A pity, Mr. Geto. It appears there is not a glass empty enough for our conversation to come to its end,” you murmured, as people spilled around you, flitting back and forth across the ballroom in a breathless flurry.

“Unfortunate,” he agreed.

Your lips thinned. He watched them purse. Saw the slight rounding of your eyes that usually preceded a flash of mischief, a flame that threatened the darkness, that sought to pry it open and swallow.

“The wind, Mr. Geto. You are as elusive as the wind.”

And even the words that spewed from your lips were beautiful. His legs nearly bucked.

To despise a beautiful thing would be his tragedy.

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