#Soda syphon

[monzamash]

still tasting you lando norris x you (older piastri sister) rating – 18+ (sex, coarse language) requested by @sublimebarbie for monzamusings ✨

“I’m about to act up if we don’t get out of here soon.”

Lando's voice was hushed and close, barely audible over the loud music but you heard him; you heard the suggestion in his tone - eyes dark when you peered into them, scorching through your soul. 

The room was a blur – bodies everywhere, EDM vibrating through the floor and syphoning up the ceiling, making your head spin. The shots on the way in didn’t help your sense of direction, the tequila tasting bitter on the tip of your tongue as you followed your brother; a chain of McLaren employees all fighting their way through the dense crowd. It was loud, raised voices trying to figure out where we were being dragged. Truthfully, it was almost too much. 

Until you saw him. His navy button down shirt stuck to his tanned skin, black thick-rimmed sunglasses shielding his bloodshot eyes, bright toothy smile reflecting the flashing lights. He was the embodiment of ‘dance like nobody’s watching’ with his arm raised in the air, singing along to a remix of No Diggity. Carefree, giving zero fucks until he saw you. 

To the outside looking in, you two were friendly - he was your younger brother's teammate, after all. But in the shadows, there were unspeakable acts of pleasure occurring that had you both sworn to secrecy. Quick glances, ghosting touches, passionate make out sessions behind motorhomes and late night rendezvous in hotel rooms. It was the whole ‘sneaking around’ cliche and you loved it. 

Especially when he looked at you like that. 

Like you’d hung the stars in the sky, like there was nobody else in the room but you. He was ravenous and completely enamoured; rendered speechless every single time. 

Granted, you looked hot. Intentionally. You craved his undivided attention and you had it in spades. He’d slipped away from the DJ booth as soon as he saw you lining up for a drink - chatting away with his PR manager and pretending like you couldn't feel his searing presence behind you. 

“Hey guys,” Lando cooly greeted, smiling brighter than the sun.

“Hey hun, I'm ordering drinks - what do you want?” Sophie asked, waiting a beat for Lando’s answer and getting nothing in return, “Lando?”

“Huh?” he mumbled, tearing his gaze away from you to his media manager who was still waiting for his drink order, but now with a sly smirk on her face, “Couldn’t hear you over the music.” He tried to play it off and she simply hummed in agreement and turned back to the bartender.

“Smooth,” you whispered playfully, pulling him into a friendly side hug, “Congrats on the win… must feel amazing.” 

Lando nodded and ran his hands through his hair - you'd noticed he always did that when he was nervous. His cheeks would flush, eyes would dart to anywhere but yours and his fingers would find the frayed ends of his gorgeous curls. All tell tale signs that he was into you. 

“Yeah, it does…” he agreed, nodding and chewing the inside of his cheek, “Not as amazing as you look but still pretty good.”

He could turn it on when he wanted to. And it made you blush as your idle hands playfully swatted him away until you spotted your little brother strolling over to the two of you with a smile. 

“Hey mate,” Oscar greeted happily, patting his teammate on the shoulder, “Celebrating?”

“Absolutely,” Lando enthused and held up his vodka soda with a grin, “Is Lily here?”

“Yeah she’s talking to someone. Thought i’d just come over and make sure my sister wasn’t annoying you again,” he winked, knowing that you were the least annoying person he knew. 

So you rolled your eyes and started to walk away, “Rich coming from you, kid.”

Oscar simply laughed, none the wiser to your arrangement with his teammate, “Don’t have too much fun and remember which side of the garage you’re related to, yeah?” “Yeah, yeah.” you brushed him off and slyly grasped Lando’s wrist, dragging him off into the sea of sweaty bodies and debauchery. 

It didn’t take long for his hands to find a place on your swaying hips, entranced by the way they moved to the music reverberating through your chest. It was hot, in more ways than just the temperature rising in the room as capacity hit. Lando’s breath swept across the back of your neck as he leaned in, so close to pressing his lips to the soft spot between your ear and shoulder that gifted him with the sweetest sounds he had ever heard.

It took every ounce of will power to save it for the bedroom. 

But he was fighting a losing battle. 

“I’m about to act up if we don’t get out of here soon.”

You couldn't stop the smirk tugging on the corners of your lips as his confession washed over you. So you spun around in his arms and leaned in a little closer than "friendly".

But you didn't care – you needed him.

“Then take me somewhere and do something about it.”

That’s all it took. Five little words had you pressed up against the wall of the lavish bathroom. The lighting was dim, nothing but a single sconce illuminating the copper walls and the gorgeous vanity you were perched upon. It was clumsy, all teeth as you kissed the man holding you up, legs sprawled and mewls slipping from your ruby lips. Tongue tied and breathless, all the things to make a quickie, a quickie. 

“So fucking tight,” Lando grumbled as he pumped two fingers into you, the dampened string of what resembled a pair of panties haphazardly pulled to the side.

“Need to fuck me good then, hey.” It was a taunt fuelled by carnal need and desire - Lando simple nodded and lazily nipped at the skin exposed on your neck. 

“Gonna fuck you so good, baby.”

He was painfully hard, which made unzipping his ridiculously tight trousers even harder than usual. But he managed to do it without missing a beat, fingers still delving into the depths he craved to feel squeezing his aching dick. He’d thought about it all day, even had to have a cold shower because of how fucking obsessed he was with the way you felt around him, clenching like you were now around his thick digits. 

“We’ve gotta be quick so leave everything on,” you whispered with a devilish glint in your hungry eyes, fiddling with his belt buckle.

Lando wasn’t going to protest, in fact he loved the idea of having you like this - fully clothed with only your cute, black lacy panties pulled to the side for him to slide into. He couldn’t wait any longer. His trousers and pants were hastily shoved down just enough to free him, the slick coat of excitement cooled by the air and sending a chill down his spine. Until he removed his fingers and ran himself through your folds, eliciting the sound of an angel, heaven sent.

“We good?” he asked sweetly and you nodded with pleading eyes, sealing a layer of consent before nudging his tip into you. 

A chorus of moans harmonised between the two of you, pleasantly satisfied by the intimacy as he shuffled forward with a gentle huff. It felt too good to have him inside you, filling you up with a delicious fullness you constantly craved from him. It’s all you needed after a long day of yearning and discreetly glancing across the garages - all you could think about was this moment, where it was just you and him; so outrageously turned on that you couldn’t wait to get back to his hotel. Desperately devoted.

“Feels unbelievable, baby,” you praised in a breathy moan, head tilted back against the already steamed up mirror hanging behind you.

“Having you like this is a fucking dream,” Lando practically growled as he pulled down the top of your dress and kissed the tops of your breasts, “So beautiful.” 

Everything felt heightened as you relaxed against the vanity, fully trusting his tight grip and letting go of all inhibitions. That’s how you felt with Lando - walls down and no longer scared to feel it all with someone. And god, it felt good to purge all the pent up lust and aching to have him like this, panting and whispering filth into your ear; every word and jut surmounting to the knot in your stomach snapping to ribbons all at once. Your rushed words pathetically coming out in a whine.

“Lan… Baby I’m gonna- fuck, I’m so close.” 

“Shhh, I got you darling, come ‘f me…” he sweetly whispered, easing you over the edge as his fingers caressed the bundle of nerves between your thighs like precious cargo. 

You chanted his name over and over and over again, fingernails clutching his clothed back for leverage as you convulsed in pleasure, shockwaves hitting every nerve in your body as he spilled into you with an exasperated groan. He was beautiful, all flushed and fucked out as he pressed his forehead to yours, weary eyes locked in once again. 

“Some of our best yet, I reckon,” Lando whispered, his smirking lips ghosting yours. 

You chuckled and gave him a quick kiss as you slid down off the vanity, readjusting your panties to their usual position. There was a short beat before you glanced back up at him with a smile, fingertips instinctively tracing the angles of his sharp jaw. 

“Oh, we’re just getting started, baby.” 

a/n – something a bit different! i've always wanted to explore a lando x older piastri sister because well, this fic series exists and older reader stories just hit harder and are a lot easier for me to write. so let me know what you think!

click here for more writing...

[smokeygrayrabbits]

vash is an old man. and a hoe. and a dumbass who doesn't learn his lesson. and a optimistic romantic.

vash is so in love with humanity. always running to their side, following them through the desert no matter how many times he gets burned, or shot or stabbed or abandoned. after the fall, he latches onto the ship 3 people. they take him in, they become his family. but he can't stay with them. he only puts them in danger by hanging around by syphoning off of them. a waste of space and resources and time. a plant who only takes, and he has so much to do. so much to repent for. so he goes out to find others. and he helps them too. repairing tech, building towns, taming the Thomases and hunting worms, all of them learning to live again, together. vash grows to love humanity even more than he ever throught he could. he'd read their stories and seeing their work on the ships, learning from their curiosity and their cultures. art and language and science and discovery, but now he sees them as people, he learns the old women on the corner makes the best donuts, but hates the cold. he learns that the little boy who lives in the third house down likes to watch the glowing worms and loves his mom. he lives with them and loves them, but vash has always had a habit of getting . . . too attached. he falls in love with every person he meets, and then he has to go they chase him out. run out of town by flames and bullets and angry, terrified screams. he loves every days and everyone, but sometimes he falls a little too hard. there was the barmaid with the green eyes and the laugh like the popping of a soda bottle that neither of them ever got to hear. there were bullets and a sad smile with a scarlet drip drip drip from the upturned corner of the softest lips he'd ever kissed. there was the inverters son who wanted to touch the stars, with his mechanical wings and flying machines that vash helped him build. with flames and crashing and shattered bones. a broken feather falling from the wing, from where vash had lovingly tucked it as a good luck charm.

vash tried not to get too attached after that.

and it worked! . . . until he met the the daughter of the local baker and the gun woman who'd been terrorizing the nearby towns, not that he was supposed to know that. her eyes were so full of life and passion and anger, so mad at the world that turned it's back on her father, yet still kind enough to save a stray dog from the cruel kids who decided to spend their afternoon chucking rocks at it. vash tried to keep her at arms length. he really did. but she took one look at him and decided he was a shady asshole who needed to be kept and eye on, and what was he supposed to do with those flaming eyes on him all day?!

nothing ever happened between them. she said she couldn't love someone with a death wish couldnt stand to be loved by someone who couldnt love himself. so he left. and she grew old.

she still writes him, every few towns he'll find a letter from her, all addressed to 'the angel with the watercolor eyes' in beautiful loopy handwriting. he can't forget. he doesn't want to.

he visits her, sometimes. she's old and grey now. dried out in the way a life in the desert does to someone.

it breaks him to go back there. to return to the one town that never chased him out in a hail of bullets.

he goes back.

she isn't there.

but there's a pair of twins with her flaming eyes, and they gasp at the sight of him.

'look! it's grandmas angel! I told you he was real!'

[constance-emmeline]

The Countess and the Marchioness’ Maid

Preface

This overview of the English social class system may enhance your enjoyment of this story:

Unless you are:

 The Monarch, King or Queen ruling over all [Address: Your Majesty]; or a

 Duke or Duchess [Your Grace]; or a

 Marquis or Marchioness [Your Grace]; or an

 Earl (or Count) or Countess [My Lord or My Lady or Your Ladyship]; or a

 Viscount or Viscountess [My Lord or My Lady or Your Ladyship]; or a

 Baron or Baroness [My Lord or My Lady or Your Ladyship]

You are a commoner.

Note: The only ranks featured in this story and its sequel are Marchioness and Countess.

Here’s the story!

At just twenty-five years of age, Felicity, known as ‘Lissy’ to those close to her has become a Marchioness ... and her life-long friend … since private and finishing school ... a Countess.

The Countess is spending the summer at the Marchioness' country estate.

The Marchioness employs a number of staff - of course - to run an establishment of this size: a Housekeeper, Cook, two Housemaids, two Chamber Maids, a general Apprentice reporting to the Housekeeper and a 'Personal Maid' whose main purpose is to act as a companion, confidante - and friend - to the Marchioness.

The estate grounds - which include a church, purchased by her late dowager aunt ten years ago from the Church of England for a token sum of one pound - are managed by a contractor. The Marchioness realises she should appoint a Business Manager in the near future to manage the activities of this contractor, as well as assist her with her properties in London and France and her other business interests and investments.

In these elevated circles, it is expected - and accepted - that a Personal Maid is a life-long appointment. Of course, at least since the late twentieth century it was accepted that a maid may marry - bear children, even - but the level of commitment remained the same: for life.

It was also clearly understood that under no circumstances whatsoever should any sexual activity take place between mistress and maid because it was felt that this might constitute an abuse of power. Sexual relationships between women and the holding of confidential information on a wide range of business and personal subjects were never a good mix and in particular, the Courts were very loth indeed to become entangled in trying to rule on such matters. Let alone the almost infinite possibilities for unpleasant conflict such issues could cause.

The Marchioness of course understood and happily accepted that - like herself - her Personal Maid enjoyed certain sexual proclivities and that in recent months appeared to particularly flourish in the company of the Countess. The Marchioness resolved to support this relationship ... for both the Countess, Letitia – known as ‘Tish’ to her friends and family – her friend and her Personal Maid, Amanda ... just twenty-one years of age now. No one had any wish to shorten Amanda’s elegant Christian name.

And so, as the sun set on another lovely July evening, the Countess - as was her wont - took herself to one of her favourite areas in the grounds offering a quiet and peaceful view across much of the Marchioness' estate.

The Countess had enjoyed a bottle of Chablis and as the light started to fail, became aware of the approach of the Marchioness' Personal Maid. She stood up to greet the Maid.

The immaculately dressed Maid carried a wicker basket containing a syphon of soda water, two cut glasses and a small bottle of brandy from the Marchioness' cellar. The Maid had also bought a shawl for each of them, should the evening turn cool.

"Your Ladyship?"

"Amanda?"

"Your Ladyship, Her Grace felt that you might enjoy some refreshment and for me to then assist you in returning to the house or if you prefer, to your room?"

"Thank you, Amanda" replied the Countess.

The Maid's white lace trimmed pinafore and black silk dress rustled gently over her white nylon lace trimmed petticoat as she poured a glass of brandy and soda for each of them.

Both ladies sat down and the Maid noticed - as she drew her hand across the Countess' thigh after she handed the Countess her glass - how smoothly the Countess' dress moved over the petticoat beneath.

Instinctively, both ladies sat closer. Both were aware how much they enjoyed each other's company - and it was not lost on either of them that the Marchioness may have engineered this opportunity for them to spend some time together.

They sat quietly, enjoying the moment. The Maid replenished the glasses a second time and they smiled at one another.

After forty-five minutes or so, the drink consumed, the Maid suggested she help the Countess back to her room? The Maid packed up the basket carefully, including the empty Chablis bottle and glass and offered the Countess her right arm.

"Amanda" ... "Your Ladyship" ... and that was all that needed to be said as the Countess took the Maid's arm and they slowly made their way to the Countess' bedroom on the second floor of the west wing of the house, visiting the ladies’ room on the ground floor as they went.

Once there ... inside the room ... the Maid's basket carefully placed to one side, with the unworn shawls too ... they stood and looked at one another.

The Countess offered an enigmatic smile and the Maid smiled back.

It was evident the Countess wished the Maid to stay ... and the Countess reached to close the door ... and lock it shut.

For the first time, the Countess made a pass at the Maid, reaching out her arms to offer an embrace ... and to her delight it was accepted!

The Maid sighed her pleasure and the two women embraced ... the Countess' arms around the Maid's shoulders, her beautifully manicured fingers feeling the Maid's bra straps ... the Maid's arms around the Countess' waist, feeling her bottom ... feeling how the Countess' dress moved so freely ... sensuously ... over her petticoat.

Both ladies started to wet themselves with clear viscous secretions from their sexual organs as they were overcome with carnal lust and sexual desire, fuelled by their love for each other which had become firmly established by now.

Each felt their vulva swell and sensuously fill their knickers at their crotch; each felt their breasts swell similarly, firming so comfortably into their bra cups as their nipples hardened too.

"Please help me take off my dress, Amanda?" asked the Countess and she then assisted the Maid likewise with her pinafore and dress.

They stood quietly now, facing the other.

They looked so lovely in their pretty white petticoats - white nylon lace trimmed full slips each with adjustable ribbon shoulder straps and falling below their knees - and other matching underwear.

The Countess wanted to reassure the Maid and so offered her right hand to the Maid and her heart rate increased further as her hand was gently, so gently taken by the Maid's left hand in acceptance.

"May I?" asked the Countess as she stepped forward and still holding the Maid's hand, tenderly kissed each of the Maid's cheeks.

"And now to bed?" suggested the Countess, releasing the Maid's hand, peeling back the duvet and indicating the Maid should make herself comfortable.

"Your Ladyship" replied the Maid, dutifully, respectfully and compliantly lying in the bed.

The Countess thought how lovely ... pretty ... the Maid looked ... in her pretty white lace trimmed petticoat and told her so, bending to kiss the Maid's forehead ... before walking around the bed, getting in and making herself comfortable, lying on the Maid's right and then pulled up the duvet.

The Countess felt - quite rightly - that she had seduced the Maid into her lesbian love nest.

"Oh, Amanda!" whispered the Countess.

"Your Ladyship!" responded the Maid as she began to make some very precocious advances while the two women continued to make themselves comfortable beneath the duvet ... so happy now, together.

"Amanda!" exclaimed the Countess as the Maid reached inside the Countess' petticoat and on, to stroke her thighs and stocking tops ... teasing the Countess by pulling at them ... as well as the Countess' suspender straps ... then interfering with the Countess' knickers in a delightfully meddlesome and quite provocative way ... and then as the Countess knew the moment to arch her back and lift her buttocks removing them ... delicately ... and with a little flourish.

"Amanda! You tart!" whispered the Countess as the Maid started to edge her labia, quickly finding her clitoris and then very skilfully, generating a clitoral orgasm that left the Countess wriggling in ecstasy and struggling for breath.

The Maid felt she was here to serve the titled lady and continued to manipulate the Countess' vulva before delicately reaching further into the Countess' fanny and stroking her vaginal walls until the 'tell-tale' pulsations came to indicate that an unstoppable vaginal orgasm had been generated.

The Countess knew this too and moaned with pleasure as the Maid stroked her breasts ... how lovely they felt beneath her white lace trimmed slip and bra.

And then, the Countess was consumed by the absolute power of her second orgasm. Her breathing was characterised by her rapid audible intakes of breath, a sound of such sensuous, sexual femininity.

Recovery took place over the next few minutes and the Countess allowed her thoughts to become clearer before starting to make reciprocal advances to the Maid.

With the Maid now resting on her back after her achievement, the Countess placed her left hand on the Maid's right breast. She squeezed it, gently. She stroked it, the Maid issuing a gentle sigh to indicate her pleasure. The fabric and lace trim of the Maid's slip felt so sensuous to the Countess, especially in the way it either rested on or moved so smoothly over the matching underwired bra which nestled prettily beneath. This turned the Maid on further, too.

The Countess enjoyed taking a few moments to then lightly run the nail of her index finger back and forth along the bra cup wire beneath the Maid's breast, which the Maid found incredibly sensuous, so much so that she audibly caught her breath in such a beautiful, feminine sound and also felt that sensuous feeling of becoming really quite wet as she also anticipated the Countess' advances migrating to her vulva and her other sexual organs.

The Maid was not disappointed! The Countess tenderly kissed the Maid's right cheek and moved her hand from the Maid's breast, allowing her fingernails to move down, stroking the Maid's abdomen and causing the Maid to shudder with pleasure and anticipation.

"Amanda" whispered the Countess as she started to gently agitate the fabric of the Maid's slip over the Maid's matching lace trimmed knickers beneath.

The Countess found the way the Maid audibly caught her breath as she experienced such sexual pleasures incredibly attractive and now the Countess enjoyed that sensuous personal experience of becoming wetter herself as her sexual organs discharged the characteristic viscous fluid into her now knicker-less crotch as her body and mind responded to the sexual stimulus she continued to receive.

"Oh, Your Ladyship!" intoned the Maid as the Countess stroked her thighs, catching her breath with delight at how her slip felt so sensuous as the Countess stroked its sumptuous white nylon fabric, agitating and drawing it gently across the fabric of her black nylon stockings.

The Maid then shuddered with pleasure as she felt the lace trimmed hem of her slip being lifted - so tenderly - as the Countess prepared to reach towards the Maid's vulva.

The time had come for the Countess to tease the Maid ... as the Maid had teased her ... by precociously pulling gently at the Maid's stocking tops and suspender straps: and to then titillate the Maid - as the Maid had titillated her - by stroking the Maid's vulva beneath her knickers; tugging gently at her knicker elastic and in a tender, unhurried manner making it quite clear to the Maid that her knickers would soon need to be removed.

And so, they were!

"Amanda, your knickers, now, please!" whispered the Countess as she continued to gently manipulate, stroke and stimulate the Maid's vulva: indeed, the Countess could already feel how moist the crotch of the Maid's knickers had become as the Maid committed to their sexual intercourse together.

"Of course, Your Ladyship" responded the Maid, obligingly arching her back and marvelling at the Countess' dexterity and speed in the manner of how her, the Maid's knickers were taken from her, almost imperceptibly, in just a moment – even more skilfully than the Maid had relieved the Countess of hers.

The Maid now knew she would be fucked by a titled lady and sighed her compliance, indeed submission ... complete submission, anticipation and pleasure. The Maid wriggled involuntarily with sexual excitement as she realised that she, a commoner was the sole subject of this female aristocrat.

The Countess also knew that the Maid expected to get fucked, now and having thrown the Maid's knickers from the bed, resolved to give as best she could ... to this pretty, fair-haired, blue-eyed girl ... and started to feel, to 'edge' the Maid's distended 'flaps' of her labia ... the majora and minora forming the petals of such a pretty flower!

The Maid gasped with delight and pleasure and as the Countess accessed her clitoris, gasped again ... and once more as she felt the inevitable orgasm ... her first at the fingers of the Countess ... start rising from her prettily manicured toes ... the 'Fire of Venus' lighting up her pelvis ... her fingers, manicured in matching gloss pearlescent pink tingling, her blood running cold (so sensually!) in her arms and shoulders as her blood supply was drawn to service her sexual organs.

And then, as she climaxed, the Maid caught her breath once more.

The Countess granted the Maid little recovery time as her glossily polished red finger nails continued to work the Maid's fanny ... to fuck her properly ... to 'really give her one' ... to screw the Maid.

Upon entry of the Countess' fingers into the Maid's vagina, already quite dilated by this sexual and equally, emotional and loving experience, the Maid shuddered ... and shuddered again ... in rapture ... "Your Ladyship!" she whispered.

The Countess of course felt the Maid start 'to come' before the Maid realised that she would come soon herself. Inevitably, the Maid's vaginal walls responded to the Countess' gentle and sensuous fondling and started to pulsate with such increasing power and frequency that the Countess thought it wise to withdraw her fingers and by this point too, her hand.

The Maid duly came, marking the moment with a series of shuddering, audible intakes of breath, both her feet kicking up the duvet with delight ... as she realised ... accepted ... celebrated that the Countess had fucked her ... and over the next two minutes, as the orgasm - this fantastic disruption to her sexual organs and consciousness - naturally faded away ... how turned on was she still by the fact that she had been fucked while wearing (most of!) her lovely, favourite underwear: fucked in her petticoat, an item of clothing still considered by many to represent the ultimate expression of femininity.

The Countess kissed the Maid and stroked her breasts. She fucked the Maid in this manner four times more over the next two hours. The Maid was beyond ecstatic. “Your Ladyship!” she whispered from time to time, “Oh, Your Ladyship!!” and was so turned on each time the Countess told her she was such a tart!

But the Maid was also tiring. She fought to compose herself and marshal a commensurate response.

She remembered a snatch of conversation she’d heard a while back. It was in the Marchioness’ private parlour. There was a visitor called Tabatha, who was always so kind to Amanda: always bought her chocolates and at Christmas, she’d given Amanda two sumptuous full slips with built up shoulders: one in white and another Tabatha described as ivory. The Maid only wore them on Sundays. They were longer than the petticoats she wore otherwise and the Maid loved how their lace trimmed hems showed beneath her dresses and how content and feminine she felt in consequence.

It was evident to Amanda that the Marchioness and Tabatha were not just friends, but almost certainly lovers – or had been previously. They were talking about a medieval lesbian technique known as ‘The Butterfly’ where one lover would gently describe a circle with a finger-tip on the vaginal walls … first one way, then the other … in a particular area, just below the cervix. It took an incredible level of skill by one party and arousal in the other to drive the degree of vaginal dilation necessary. Pause and repeat. Thing was, receiving party didn’t know when the butterfly might fly again. Held in suspense, longing, so desperate! A classic tease! Sexual torment!

This would start an inexorable pulsation of the vaginal wall which would at first be imperceptible to the receiving party. A skilful lover would feel it first and with it established, with draw their hand and fingers and do other things, anything at all to agitate the receiving party’s sexual organs. Clitoris usually favourite. Once the receiving party felt the pulsation and recognised its increasing frequency, they knew they ‘were in for the ride of a lifetime’ as the pulsations became so close they generated a single muscular response into a massive orgasm, from the feet, hands and head to the receiving woman’s core: the ‘Fire of Venus’ burning!

But this wasn’t all, Tabatha was saying. This invasion and consequent disruption will so agitate the cervix that if that can be reached after the first orgasm has subsided and the receiving party has made some recovery, it only needs ‘just a touch’ to the cervix to generate an orgasm even more powerful than the first.

“If you want more thrill than that, Lissy” Amanda heard Tabatha say, “You need a fucking surgeon – not a lover!” Both women laughed and Amanda discreetly slipped away.

So tonight, this first time in bed together, that is exactly what the exhausted Maid gave to the Countess.

Half an hour or so later, the Countess whispered hoarsely to the Maid: “I am so fucked! Whatever was that you did to me?! Your touch! You fucking tart! You whore! Wherever did you learn to do that shit, you bitch! I love you, Amanda.”

“Your Ladyship” said Amanda. “I love you too. I love it when you ‘talk dirty’ to me, it turns me on so. I’ll do this again if I may and perhaps it will be even better as I gain experience! But I urge you: we must both sleep now … please?”

But the Countess was already asleep, on her back, her breathing slow and even.

Having satisfied herself the Countess was comfortable, the Maid allowed herself to sleep.

Or at least to rest. She slept fitfully. She ached all over. But she felt so fulfilled, so loved. Loved up.

Shortly before daybreak, the Maid awoke and slipped away. The Countess continued to sleep soundly.

The Maid put her dress and pinafore over her arm and left the room as quietly as she could.

As the door clicked and locked shut, the Maid realised to her dismay that not only had she failed to recover the wicker basket with its contents and the shawls, but that she was without her knickers! Shit! She could hardly knock on the door and … assuming that would rouse the sleeping Countess … ask for them back!

She felt like a slutty tart standing there in a state of undress and hurried away to her quarters, thanking providence that hers were secured by combination lock. Once there, she collapsed into her bed, pausing only to set her alarm for 7:30am, an hour later than usual. She couldn’t serve the Marchioness on no sleep, surely! This way, she’d get around three hours: enough … barely … but sufficient!

The Marchioness sensed Amanda’s tiredness. She understood and was pleased. “Take the afternoon and tomorrow off. Perhaps you and Tish would like to have some time together. A picnic in the bottom field, by the spinney? I’ll instruct the area be cleared and secured. As for me, I’ll get Nicola to sort me out!”

“Your Grace” responded Amanda, gratefully. The correct form of address in every circumstance. English aristocrats are completely unimpressed by ‘gushing’ thanks, they know that those who serve them well are appreciative, grateful. They also tend to feel that thanks which seem too fulsome may be insincere. But they do like to be addressed correctly … respect is so important!

As she progressed along the long corridor towards her room, the Maid encountered the Countess unexpectedly.

“I’m wearing your knickers!” said the Countess

“I’m not wearing any knickers at all!” replied the Maid.

“You tart! You shameless hussy! You dirty cow! You’re causing me to make you knickers wet, or should I say even wetter than they were before! You slut! I shall never give you this pair back or ever wash them and I will always keep them safe! I love you so! My room at 7:30pm, Amanda?

“Your Ladyship” replied Amanda, “I look forward to joining you. Her Grace has granted me this evening and tomorrow off … for us to spend time together.”

And so it was. Courtship took off. The Countess sought the Marchioness’ permission to propose marriage to her Maid. Once the Maid understood the Countess had obtained the requisite permission, she accepted immediately.

It was the perfect match.

The Marchioness and the entire estate, Tabatha too were delighted.

The church had not seen such a ceremony of such gaiety for well over one hundred years.

Nor had the estate hosted such a lavish party for so long.

What happens from that point is described in the sequel story “The Marchioness takes a Wife.”

[miamimagicoz]

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[foodreceipe]

Medicinal Soft Drinks and Coca-Cola Fiends: The Toxic History of Soda Pop

Soda’s reputation has fallen a bit flat lately: The all-American beverage most recently made headlines due to an FDA investigation of a potential carcinogen, commonly called “caramel coloring,” used in many soft-drink recipes. This bit of drama follows other recent stories that paint an unflattering picture of the soda industry, including New York’s attempt to ban super-sized drinks, the eviction of soda machines from many public schools, and a spate of new soda-tax proposals. All these regulations are designed to mitigate the unhealthy impacts of Big Soda, such as increasing childhood obesity, in the same way restrictions were slapped on cigarettes in years past.

“The drink became symbolic of America, and even freedom in a way. It made Coca-Cola more than just another fizzy drink.”

Faced with all this bad press, it’s hard to believe that the “evil” soft drink actually began as a health product, touted for its many beneficial effects. In fact, soda got its start in Europe, where the healing powers of natural mineral waters have been prescribed for hundreds of years. Bathing or drinking the water from these natural spas was thought to cure a wide variety of illnesses. Tristan Donovan, the author of Fizz: How Soda Shook Up the World, says that the ailments treated with bubbling spring waters constituted a “ludicrously big list,” everything from gallstones to scurvy. (In reality, the beverage did little more than settle an upset stomach, without any adverse side effects.)

Despite the broad appeal of mineral water, packaging and transporting this effervescent liquid proved difficult, so chemists set out to make their own. “It took until 1767 for the real breakthrough to happen when Joseph Priestley, the British chemist who was the first to identify oxygen, figured out a way to put carbon dioxide into water,” says Donovan. Priestley’s process used a fermenting yeast mash to infuse water with the gas, resulting in a weakly carbonated drink. Proponents of the bubbly beverage’s healthful properties were thrilled.

Top: A Coke advertisement from 1907. Above: Early soda machines required oversized cranks to manually carbonate water, like these devices from the 1870s.

In 1783, the Swiss scientist Johann Jacob Schweppe improved on Priestley’s process with a device for carbonating water using a hand-cranked compression pump, launching the now-famous Schweppes company. Yet it was still virtually impossible to get carbonated water to market without losing its fizz, as drinks in corked stoneware bottles tended to go flat quickly and glass bottles weren’t widely available. Charles Plinth solved part of the problem with his soda syphon in 1813, which could dispense bubbly water without compromising the remaining mixture’s carbonation, though syphons still had to be refilled at a facility that actually produced the carbonated liquid.

Finally, in 1832, the English-born American inventor John Matthews developed a lead-lined chamber wherein sulphuric acid and powdered marble (also known as calcium carbonate) were mixed together to generate carbon dioxide. The gas was then purified and manually mixed into cool water with steady agitation, creating carbonated water. Matthews’ design worked either as a bottling unit or a soda fountain, since it produced enough carbonated water to last customers all day. But America’s weak glass industry still wasn’t able to support large-scale bottling plants, so the simplest way to sell soda water was at public fountains.

Left, a Schweppes ad from 1937, more than 150 years after the mineral water company was founded. Right, early carbonated waters were sometimes sold in rounded “torpedo” bottles, forcing them to lie flat so the liquid contents would dampen the cork, preventing it from shrinking.

“If I were going to single out one person as creating the carbonated drink industry, I would give credit to Benjamin Silliman, even though he eventually failed financially,” says Anne Funderburg, the author of Sundae Best: A History of Soda Fountains.

An illustration of a French soda water apparatus, featuring soda syphons and carbonating machines below the counter, circa 1830s.

“Silliman was a chemistry professor at Yale College, and he wanted to supplement his small paycheck while also doing something altruistic for mankind. Silliman believed that carbonated waters could be used as medicine, so he set up a business in New Haven, Connecticut, selling bottled carbonated water.” Though Silliman had little success selling the drink at his local apothecary, he decided to expand his business, designing a larger-capacity carbonation apparatus and securing investments to open two pump rooms in New York City.

In 1809, Silliman started selling his soda water at the Tontine coffeehouse and the City Hotel, elegant establishments that catered to an elite clientele (the Tontine was in the same building as the New York Stock Exchange). In addition to their supposedly beneficial products, these early soda fountains were designed to create an uplifting environment, adorned with marble counters and ornate brass soda dispensers. However, Silliman continued to focus on the medical benefits of his soda water, while his competitors recognized that the social aspects of drinking were potentially more appealing.

In their heyday, soda fountains were elaborately designed places for rejuvenation. Left, the counter at the Clarkson & Mitchell Drugstore in Springfield, Illinois, circa 1905. Via the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum. Right, an 1894 ad for an ornate fountain produced by Charles Lippincott & Co.

“People who had better business sense than Silliman set up their pump rooms like a spa: You came to drink your carbonated water, but you hung around reading the free books and conversing with other intelligent people who were also there to drink carbonated water,” says Funderburg. “They understood that you could make a real business out of it, where Silliman treated soda more as a medicine.” Though the servers at Tontine recognized that customers preferred soda water as a mixer, it remained a slow seller, and eventually Silliman was forced out of the industry. Even as Silliman’s company failed, the soda trend was catching, and successful fountains soon popped up in other cities like Philadelphia and Baltimore.

Because carbonated water was still viewed as a health drink, the first soda shops were situated in drugstores and closely linked with their pharmacies. “Part of the reason they became so entwined is that the process of carbonating water and making syrups or flavorings was something pharmacists already had the skill set to do,” Donovan explains. “They were the obvious people to take this on, and they started adding in ingredients they thought were health-providing. Sarsaparilla was linked to curing syphilis. Phosphoric acid was seen as something that could help hypertension and other problems.” Long-standing favorites like ginger ale and root beer were also initially prized for their medicinal qualities.

According to Darcy O’Neil, author of Fix the Pumps, pharmacists initially used sweet-tasting soda flavors to mask the taste of bitter medicines like quinine and iron, as most medication was taken in liquid form during this era. Plus, many pharmaceutical tinctures and tonics were already mixed with alcohol, which made even the most pungent medicinal flavors enticing. “Many of the elixirs and tonics contained as much alcohol as a shot of whiskey,” writes O’Neil. “This was popular with both the imbiber and pharmacy. The imbiber could get an alcoholic drink at a fraction of the bar’s price because there were no taxes on alcohol-based ‘medicine.’”

Acid phosphates like Horsford’s, seen in these advertisements from the 1870s, gave many soda fountain drinks a distinctively tart flavor.

Besides booze, sodas of the 19th century also incorporated drugs with much stronger side effects, including ingredients now known as narcotics. Prior to the Pure Food & Drug Act of 1906, there were few legal restrictions on what could be put into soda-fountain beverages. Many customers came to soda fountains early in the morning to get a refreshing and “healthy” beverage to start their day off right: Terms like “bracer” and “pick-me-up” referred to the physical and mental stimulation sodas could provide, whether from caffeine or other addictive substances.

Pharmacists were soon making soda mixtures with stronger drugs known as “nervines,” a category that included strychnine, cannabis, morphine, opium, heroin, and a new miracle compound called cocaine, which was first isolated in 1855. “Cocaine was a wonder drug at the time when it was first discovered,” Donovan explains. “It was seen as this marvelous medicine that could do you no harm. Ingredients like cocaine or kola nuts or phosphoric acid were all viewed as something that really gave you an edge.

“Cocaine was a wonder drug at the time when it was first discovered. It was seen as this marvelous medicine that could do you no harm.”

“Recipes I’ve seen suggest it was about 0.01 grams of cocaine used in fountain sodas. That’s about a tenth of a line of coke,” he says. “It’s hard to be sure, but I don’t think it would’ve given people a massive high. It would definitely be enough to have some kind of effect, probably stronger than coffee.” While the dosages were small, they were certainly habit-forming, and soda fountains stood to profit from such consistent customers.

Throughout the mid-19th century, soda fountains spread clear across the U.S., and a niche health drink became a beloved American refreshment, capable of competing with the best cocktails in the world. Soda throwers or soda jerks, as they were later called (after the jerking arm movement required to operate the taps), had to be just as skilled as bartenders at mixing drinks; in fact, many bartenders started working at soda fountains once the industry was booming.

“Around that time, it became obvious to the medical profession that there weren’t any health benefits to carbonated water on its own, so people started selling it as a treat,” says Funderburg. “It’s hard to put our heads around how much of a treat cold fizzy water was back then. People didn’t have mechanical refrigeration, so to have a cold drink was a big deal. They flavored them with chocolate or fruit syrups, and citrus fruits like lime and lemon became favorites.”

By the early 20th century, soda fountains were an integral part of neighborhood drugstores, such as this counter in the People’s Drug Store, in Washington, D.C. pharmacy, circa 1920. Via Shorpy.

Presumably, as soon as carbonated water was commercially available, people were adding their own flavorings to spice things up. “The earliest advertisement I’ve managed to find for something we would call soda was from 1807, and that was a sparkling lemonade being sold in York,” says Donovan. “It could have been a fairly new idea, but people had flavored still water for years beforehand.”

Lemon drinks made up the first of many flavor fads to hit the soda industry, likely because un-carbonated lemonade was a familiar refreshment. According to O’Neil, lemon syrups were already used as a base flavor for many medicines, so concocting a tasty drink with these was natural. Beyond lemon, all manner of citrus-flavored sodas were enjoyed in the mid-1800s, in part because their essential oils were easy to extract and preserve. Other fountain staples included orange, vanilla, cherry, and wintergreen, although shops were always testing new recipes looking for the latest hip drink. Most soda mixtures were made using a sugary simple syrup, but popular flavors were often far more tart than today’s sodas.

One of the most complete records of these innovative cocktails is DeForest Saxe’s 1894 book entitled Saxe’s New Guide, or, Hints to Soda Water Dispensers. In its pages, Saxe illuminates his own experience working a soda fountain, detailing tips for pouring sodas, keeping them cold, and making an extensive list of drink recipes. From a “Tulip Peach” to a “Swizzle Fizz,” or an “Opera Bouquet” to an “Almond Sponge,” Saxe covered the wildest new flavor sensations in addition to the classic egg creams and flavored phosphates. But despite their fantastic names, Saxe’s recipes notably avoid the medicinal ingredients many soda fountains relied upon to give their drinks a kick.

An illustration of proper mixing form as published in Saxe’s 1894 book.

By the turn of the 20th century, many Americans had begun to recognize the dangers of serving unregulated medications in such a casual manner. In 1902, the Los Angeles Times published an article titled “They Thirst for Cocaine: Soda Fountain Fiends Multiplying,” which focused on the questionable ingredients in popular drinks like Coca-Cola. However, Donovan says that judging from the small quantities of cocaine in actual recipes, it’s doubtful that there were many soda-addicted fiends.

In the 1890s, Coke was directly marketed as a medicinal drink.

In fact, Coke was developed while looking for an antidote to the common morphine addictions that followed the Civil War: Veteran and pharmacist John Stith Pemberton concocted the original Coca-Cola mixture while experimenting with opiate-free painkillers to soothe his own war wounds. The company’s first advertisement ran on the patent-medicine page of the Atlanta Journal in 1886, and made it clear that Coca-Cola was viewed as a health drink, “containing the properties of the wonderful Coca plant and the famous Cola nuts.”

Of course, these were also the properties of your basic uppers: Cocaine is a coca leaf extract, and the African kola nut is known for its high caffeine content. Once the Pure Food and Drug Act of 1906 required narcotics to be clearly labelled, the majority of Coca-Cola’s cocaine was removed, though it took until 1929 for the company to develop a method that could eliminate all traces of the drug.

However, at the turn of the 20th century, the harshest public criticism was reserved for a different devilish drink — alcohol. As temperance groups rallied against booze, they helped propel teetotaling customers into American soda fountains. In 1919, the year before Prohibition took effect, there were already 126,000 soda fountains in the United States, far exceeding the number of bars and nightclubs today. “Soda had always played up the temperance link,” says Donovan. “Even before Prohibition, sodas like Hires Root Beer were presented as non-alcoholic drinks and marketed that way. Lots of fizzy-drink companies encouraged the temperance movement, and they were generally quite pleased from a business perspective when Prohibition came in. Their sales rose. People couldn’t go to bars anymore so they turned to soda fountains instead.”

https://medium.com/hunter-oatman-stanford/medicinal-soft-drinks-and-coca-cola-fiends-the-toxic-history-of-soda-pop-9f8c8965cfcd

[paincorpsrarefinds]

Vintage ACC Soda Syphon Retro Bar MCM Czechoslovakia Crystal Please Read

COLLECTIBLES: Seller: toysandtreasure (100.0% positive feedback) Location: US Condition: Used Price: 120.72 USD Shipping cost: 19.99 USD Buy It Now https://www.ebay.com/itm/115779309755?hash=item1af4fc10bb%3Ag%3APmAAAOSwwihi8yEI&amdata=enc%3AAQAIAAAA4Jzqyw9GSJ0Bm4r2ak1CtueRGo20Cj58slN6XzEebaj5Xxw0ZaeunVIEMDSIsxf%2FGkA84G9u81XLXAPKMLJhgaC0JEKdwE4yyrHPgZFO3dUMCo%2BQPJYMdqXsefetLd%2BrnKGl5aQ45elyink%2BG36Mre2V1IFNcwL8vOCIr9H9egg1G4q5qyPRBxVdjE8qic9mSIGYkgJHXDHmX3bsSNBreCt4aiDV1%2FBCKNq5tYXnV6QD9vvhzFQZDiZMkPdplsClRCXEdbZVevlDJ51CMpMcYWE350NfmVMvRykoosnI69nK&mkevt=1&mkcid=1&mkrid=711-53200-19255-0&campid=5338779482&customid=&toolid=10049&utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=tumblr

[questionanswerblogpost]

Are whip cream chargers CO2?

The real difference is the actual gas that you are using – a soda syphon cartridge is a pressurized canister of carbon dioxide (CO2) For More-  Nitrous oxide near me whereas a cream charger is a canister of Nitrous Oxide (N2O). It is the different properties of these two gasses that give them entirely different culinary purposes.

[cityinanotherway]

[remuses13-blog]

Vintage Sparklets Red BOC Seltzer Bottle / Soda Syphon and Mesh Syphon One Vintage Sparklets Red BOC Seltzer Bottle / Soda Syphon Made in England One Mesh Soda Dispenser Sold without cartridge http://nemb.it/p/2Es1xStNg/tumblr

[nwolf6]

OC profile!!

i was tagged by @parviocula and @onlymeandlife thank you!!! so much!!! i only now got to sit down and write it oof

i'm tagging: @evilpol @vos-videmus @ghoulcouriersix @leather-nomad @pinkydude @visixv @ssevth and whoever wants to, but also no pressure!!

:::General::: Name: Eleanor J[redacted] Alias(es): Eli, El, Crash Gender: female Age: unknown (probably around 31-34) Birthdate: unknown Place of birth: unknown (probably Night City) Hometown: unknown (probably Night City, nomad through late teenage years) Spoken languages: English, bits of Spanish Sexual preference: pansexual 💗💛💙 Occupation: street racer, assassin, depending on the price takes regular mercenary gigs too

:::Appearance::: Eye colour: artificial violet (the reminiscent of her natural, cold, violet colour) Hair colour: black Height: 175cm/5’8” Scars: A palette of multiple, quite awful looking scars over her whole back, hips, as well as sides and belly. The slices create odd shapes and patterns, giving impression as if cables once ran under her skin. Apart from those, there’s a few smaller ones - the most significant one being three vertical scratches over her right breast, souvenir from a car crash.

:::Favourite::: Colour: various shades of pink Hair colour: the natural black on her, no preferences towards other people - although she does enjoy naturally auburn hair Song: R E L, Artemis Delta - Night City Food: lasagna Drink: cherry soda

:::Have they…::: Passed university: never attended one Had sex: yes Had sex in public: yes Gotten pregnant: no and won’t (infertile) Kissed a boy: yes Kissed a girl: yes Gotten tattoo: not yet, gets one thanks to Johnny (the game canon one) Gotten piercings: basic earrings, also nose trill and brow piercings Been in love: she thought so, a few times Stayed up for more than 24 hours: god, constantly

:::Are they…::: A virgin: no A cuddler: depends on the person, but usually no A kisser: yes, she adores kisses in all forms!! Scared easily: no Jealous easily: no, but she w i l l act like a baby Dominant: no Submissive: big yes In love: wait for her to realise Single: pre-game canon yes, post-game canon no

:::Random questions (TW: self harm/suicide mention)::: Have they harmed themselves: yes Thought of suicide: yes Attempted suicide: not directly, but she has a tendency of picking out gigs with no thoughts on going back Wanted to kill someone: more times than she’d like to admit Have/had a job: yes Have any fears: quite a few, fears, fobias and anxieties, water being her greatest enemy

:::Family::: Sibling(s): unknown Parent(s): unknown Children: none Significant other: Robert J. Linder (post-game, in my headcanon) Pet(s): none

screenshot by wonderful syphon!!

[eurovintage]

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[miamimagicoz]

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[whipking]

Buy Whip Cream Chargers for Rastaurants

Whip King importing and distributing small compressed gas products, including cream chargers Nitrous Oxide (N2O), cream whippers/dispensers, soda chargers Carbon Dioxide (CO2), soda syphons and other related accessories within New Zealand. For more Details, visit: https://whipking.co.nz/collections/whip-cream-chargers

[princessjae92]

What if Kai Parker wasn't the sociopathic monster we, and he, have come to believe? What if all those years of isolation scrabbled his pretty little head with truth and fiction? A fiction he tricked everyone with(including himself) for one reason... because he loved his family.

He watched them come into the world, one after the other and though he wasn't allowed to hold them, play tag with them, he loved them.

His brother Joey became his confidont, his friend, even after years of differences somehow the ugly truth pushed the two brothers together.

They always new the merge was going to be a hard moment, but to discover that not only did they plan on Kai and Jo not merging at all (you know just incase the abomination didn't die) the only reason the rest of them existed was to replace the eldest twins; placeholders, spares.

It kind of broke Kai, he always new his father detested the mere fact he was born a Syphon, but he worked so hard, studied and trained (as much as he could without his own magic), he tried damn it!

He tried so hard.

Even after he'd smashed up his father's office in a fit of rage, he still huddled and almost begged for some sort of understanding, some sliver that proved his father loved him.

He didn't find it.

Then there's Joey.

Kid didn't know what hit him; 16 years old and he was nothing, he was a throwaway.

It felt heavy and hard in his chest.

He hated them.

So they came up with a plan, they were going to get the fuck out of this messed up family. One way or another.

Telling the younger ones was too dangerous, kids can be shitty liars, and they knew Jo could never find out.

Geminis perfect Glinda?

Yeah, no.

It was scary, actually it was fucking terrifying and Kai couldn't stop shaking, making the knife in his hand rattle against his rings.

Joey got it all ready, the spells they'd spent nearly two years perfecting. It was time.

Dad was gathering the outer sectors for the merge, to convince the rest of the coven to suspend his children's birthright.

The boy's knew, took to keeping a close eye on the old man's mail, especially coven business.

Kai was almost paranoid in the belief that their father would sent them a letter to sanction his death.

His nerves had been building all week, he knew what he had to do.

Joey was just about to head into the twins room, the worn spells he spilt soda on and the elixir it took more than a year to get right in hand, when he heard the car tires against the dirt road.

She wasn't supposed to be home, those were the rules, the night before was for preparation and acceptance, they couldn't damn well do all that in the same house. She'd been sent to an elder by their father, after all every advantage is always an advantage, he'd told them.

She'd screamed so loud when she saw what she believed with pained horror to be truth.

Her siblings torn open and displayed tauntingly.

Kai rushed the stairs as her keys scratched against the outer door, meeting Joey in the hall just in time for their sisters heart piercing scream.

They were so close.

The spells were proving their worth, that's for damn sure.

Each sibling resting comfortably in a dreamless coma-like-sleep. Unaware of the glamour spell that keeps their would be corpses from the effects of Kai's unsteady hand. He'd been nervous about that, that's why he'd wanted the preservation spell, just incase he slipped, he dropped them, he just wanted them safe.

When Josette raced up the stairs, screeching ceriius names into the dark Kai turned to her.

He couldn't tear his eyes from her face, he just couldn't, the widening eyes they shared staring in nothing less than shock, perhaps a little sadness.

Then he felt her buckle, that's the moment he acknowledged the growing stain on his sisters shirt.

He saw the blood, real blood. Because he'd fucking stabbed her, he screamed and shook her as she fell to floor.

Joey had to drag his temperamental brother back through the hall, perhaps that why Joesette never saw him, or perhaps hit has to do with her 'deranged' brother screaming that it was fault, that she shouldn't have come back...

"WHY DID YOU HAVE TO COME FUCKING HOME?!"

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

Hi guys, this was going to be a paragraph, 'I had an idea' thing. Obviously I got a little carried away. Anyway hope you don't hate it, much love.

[thisisthe-way]

Torn

The soft flicking of keyboard keys echoed against the walls of Bakugou’s apartment as he typed up the rest of his reports.

His brow furrowed as he growled, the muscles in his arms spasming as he jerked his fingers back from the keyboard.

He flexed his fingers, his eyes slanted downward angrily.

“Kacchan!!”

Bakugou’s eyes snapped toward Midoriya and he snapped, “Get out of here, Deku!! I don’t need your help!!”

“Watch out!!” Midoriya cried as a large villain, his Quirk that of a rock Gollum, grabbed Bakugou by both of his grenade bracers as he launched himself st the creature. The villain roared and crushed the bracers like soda cans, as Bakugou’s arms slid out and he started launching explosions at the creatures face with his bare arms and hands.

Deku roared as he launched himself against the villain, knocking him down, the enemy rolling into wall of the building across the street.

But he stood back up, yelled loudly and started to rush Midoriya. Despite knowing that the One-for-All hero could handle the battle himself, Bakugou leapt between them, shooting off stronger, hotter explosions, blasting over and over until he felt the very fibers of his muscles tear and stretch, breaking and shredding as he gasped, quietly, and pulled back, his ears picking up one finely, “SMAAAASH” from behind him as their combined strength finally bested the rock villain.

Bakugou sat on the asphalt, his arms completely destroyed, though not outwardly, simply from stubborn pride. When Midoriya came to help him up, he pretended he was fine, swatting the man’s hand away with normal arm movements, causing intense pain.

Now, Bakugou sat at home finishing the reports he was supposed to have done in the office before end of day, but the pain had been so excruciating that he had to take breaks between typing, and he didn’t need his boss seeing him and insisting he needed to take more time off. He had already taken enough the last time he got hurt.

He’d just work through it. 

He heard the click of the lock on his front door, and his red eyes slid toward the front door, a tiny smile playing in his usually scowling lips when he saw Uraraka come through the door with a bag. 

“Hey!!” She cried, “I brought dinner! How was your day?”

“A day,” Bakugou replied, standing up and stepping toward her, holding out his hand to take the dinner bag from her. He didn’t anticipate that it might be heavy at all, and when it hit his hand, sharp pain shot up his arm, causing him to yell and drop the bag, the containers of ramen within spilling everywhere.

Uraraka’s eyes immediately widened in concern as he gripped his forearm. “Katsu! What’s wrong? What’s wrong??” She knelt to examine his arm, finding no physical signs of damage. “Katsu?”

“It’s n-nothing. Probably just a random muscle spasm,” he mumbled. “Sorry about dinner. If you’ll clean that up, I’ll make something.”

Uraraka frowned, watching him, eyes full of suspicion and concern. “O....okay, anata.” She frowned down at the soup, chewing her lip thoughtfully, anxiously, before trailing down the hall to find the cleaning supplies.

As Uraraka began to scrub the soup stains out of the carpet, and heard another yell and a growl, and then clatter and shatter of dishes. She jumped up and immediately ran into the kitchen, where Bakugou was kneeling, squeezing his fists open and closed as his entire set of soup bowls lay shattered on the floor, the high cabinet they were being kept in still open.

“Bakugou Katsuki, Tell me what the hell is haplening, right now,” Uraraka cried, concern and frustration heavy in her voice. “What the hell is wrong with your arms?”

“What are you, my mother?! Nothing!“ He snapped back, glaring up st her with red eyes glistening with unahed tears of pain.

“Tell me now or I swear I’ll call Deku-kun,” Uraraka threatened. “I saw the articles online; I know he helped you take down that villain.”

“He wouldn’t know anyway,” Bakugou growled, having kept this particular secret pretty well under wraps through most of their school years. Only three people knew about it, and they were all U.A. faculty.

“Katsuki, what’s going on—I thought we were past keeping stuff from each other,” Uraraka whispered, touching his forearms. “What’s going on? Why can’t you tell me?”

“Because I can’t afford to take anymore days off! This is not what pros do—they work through shit! All Might worked through his fuckin’ stomach being ripped out of his body!!” He roared back, and winded when he tended the muscles in his arms too much in his anger. “Fuuuuck.”

“Katsuki....” She asked again, gently, touching his cheek when a tear fell. “You’re obviously in a lot of pain. Please?”

“I have to be number one. I have to pass Deku. I have to pass Hot-Cold—I can’t—I can’t—“ He groaned, clearly suffering physically. He looked up st his girlfriend with a pathetic, pained expression.

“Katsuki,” she said for what felt like the hundredth time.

He sighed and continued to open and close his fists. “I...shredded the muscles in my arms.”

“WHAT?! Katsuki!” Uraraka shrieked, immediately pressing gently into the muscle and immediately noticing the difference as her boyfriend hissed in pain. “Oh my god, I’m taking you to the hospital. Right now! Right now; get up!”

“No!! They’ll make me take time off!” He barked, eyes flashing dangerously.

“Bakugou Katsuki, Get your ass off of this damn floor and follow me or I swear I will float you all the way to the hospital on a string!!” Her eyes flared with just as much angry passion.

Somehow he knew she wasn’t kidding. Groaning and griping, he stood, arms now hanging limp in front of him so he didn’t have to try and use the muscles, he nodded reluctantly, and followed his girlfriend out of the apartment.

/////

“Kiiiiiissssss.“

Recovery Girl removed her healing lips from Bakugou’s arms and gave him a stern look. “We talked about this when you started doing intensive training with All Might and Aizawa, didn’t we?”

“Tch,” Bakugou scoffed, glancing away.

Uraraka frowned from the corner of the room. “Recovery Girl?”

“Bakugou and Midoriya are more alike than they like to admit,” the healing hero said, her voice slightly playful before she turned to Uraraka. “It’s s good thing the hospital called me in. Bakugou’s Quirk, Like Midoriya’s, is extremely powerfull. Harness it correctly, with the right training and equipment, it can be a useful tool in a battle.”

She looked back at the young man, as if expecting him to offer the rest of the information willingly.

He scoffed again and crossed his arms over his chest, before lifting one hand and staring intensely into his palm. “Sometimes, if I use my Quirk at full force for too long without my grenade bracers to syphon the power, it...messes with the muscles in my arms.”

“And your bracers got crushed like tin cans in your fight today, didn’t they?” Recovery Girl asked, handing Uraraka an iPad with pictures of Midoriya and Bakugou after the battle. And Bakugou was sans bracers.

“It almost happened in my fight with you first year,” Bakugou said, suddenly, realizing he’d never told her. “You fought so hard that you pushed me almost to my limit.”

“....that blast,” Uraraka said, looking up st him from the iPad. “That blast at the end of the match was all you had, wasn’t it? You—you’re always...so reckless!! It’s not this important to be the best, Katsuki!”

She turned the iPad and pointed at the article. “You tried to upstage Deku-kun and nearly ruined your arms permanently!!” She looked down at her feet. “We talked about this. You’re not just you anymore. You care so much about beating Deku that it makes you forget you’re supposed to care about us.”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Recovery Girl said, realizing they needed to talk, before exiting the exam room.

Bakugou glanced up at her from his seated position on the exam table. “Ochako...”

“No!” She snapped, slamming the tablet down. “No. Katsuki, you need to fix this. You don’t care enough about me, or yourself, to realize how damaging this is.” She lifted her eyes, and they were full of tears, and somber determination. “And until you do, I think maybe we need to take a break.”

His eyes widened suddenly and he stood up, towering over her suddenly. “What?! Ochako, no, we don’t need a—“

“This is the second time you’ve decided being some arrogant hot shot hero is more important than your life. Or our life together,” she replied, taking a step back from him. “I can’t...I can’t be here to watch you destroy yourself. It would kill me.”

Bakugou’s hands began to spark, involuntarily, and he followed her step with his own, moving close to her again. “Ochako, don’t—“

But it was too late. She had turned and gone without even an explanation from him.

Maybe because they both knew what his answer would be. He had tried to turn it off—the jealousy and arrogance. The need to be number one. To an extent he had, and it was easier around her.

But Deku’s face still managed to piss him off. Deku jumping into his fight.

Maybe he did need to work on some things. But he didn’t know how he could do it without her. Sterling himself, decided, he rushed after her, using his natural physical prowess (and no Quirk) to catch up to her and wrap his arms firmly around her from behind, burying his mouth and nose in her hair.

“Okay,” He whispered. “You’re right. I—I need you. I need us....more than I need to be better than Deku. And I....I’ll do whatever it takes to fuckin’....figure myself out. But I need your help—don’t go, marui kao. Don’t go. I was a way worse person without you—I can only get better with you.”

“That isn’t true,” she whispered back, leaning one of her round cheeks against his arm, not looking up at him. “You’re already a good man. You just feel like you have someone to be good for now. Look, I don’t want you to stop being you. I just don’t want you to disregard your life so much in battle that you act reckless. You’re worth so much more than that.”

She finally tilted her head back and looked up at him. “To me.”

He sighed against her hair. “I know. Deku’s dumb nerd face still pisses me off. But I guess I can imagine your dumb cute face instead and maybe I won’t blow my arms open anymore.”

She laughed a little and shrugged, leaning back against him. “Well,” she murmured, “It’s a start.”