#Wine Enthusiast Magazine

[sanguineterrain]

restroom attendant | jason todd

Summary: Tonight is the worst night ever--you just got dumped on your birthday, and all you want to do is cry in the restaurant bathroom in peace. That is, until, the Red Hood bursts in. This city just won't cut you a break.

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!reader 

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings/tags: humor, mild angst, reader's ex-bf cheats and dumps her, jason is such a silly goose, flirting, meet ugly, canon-typical violence, awkward jason, comic relief dick grayson.

A/N: this is probably the silliest fic i've ever written LOL! i hope you guys enjoy it. please support your local jason todd enthusiast and reblog :)

the divider

Tonight sucks. 

With a shaky hand, you attempt to soothe your swollen eyes. You’ve probably been in here for about twenty minutes. Your Uber has definitely left, as has your now ex-boyfriend of three years. 

Yoga instructor. It’s always the yoga instructor. They’re always fucking the yoga instructor.

You swallow a mouthful of tears and phlegm and try not to let the wet sink touch your dress. All you’d wanted was a little class on your birthday, maybe have some wine and play footsie under the table with your boyfriend. But no. That would’ve been too easy for you. 

You’re starting to think this city is cursed.

The door slams open. The force of it shakes the bathroom, rattles the mirrors. You spin around.

A man slides across the floor and smacks his head on the opposite wall. Red Hood appears in the doorway, the eyes of his helmet glowing eerily. 

Yep. Definitely cursed.

"Let's try this again," Hood says pleasantly, reloading his gun with a fresh magazine. "And in the interest of making myself transparent: when I ask you a question, Jerry, I expect a truthful answer."

He stalks over to Jerry and heaves him up by the lapels of his suit jacket. Hood's biceps bulge as he holds Jerry against the wall. You squish yourself against the sink. Water soaks the back of your dress. 

"You're crazy, I didn't do anything!" Jerry shouts, feet barely scraping the floor. 

"Volume, Jerry. People are trying to enjoy their meals.”

“Let go of me, Hood! I wasn’t anywhere near the Iceberg Lounge!”

“Yeah, see, words are coming outta your mouth, but they don't match the fact that I have three people who put you at the scene. How can we remedy this inconsistency? Any ideas?"

Jerry squirms, but he's no match for Hood's strength. Your heart pounds in your chest.

"Don't give me to the cops!" Jerry begs. 

"Cops are the least of your worries right now," Hood snarls. "You're damn lucky Nightwing wants to talk to you, Jerry, or your head would hurt a lot more."

Slowly, you reach for your purse, trying to pull out your phone. Instead, you knock it to the floor. Tears gather in your eyes because this night just can’t cut you a break.

“Motherfucker,” you whisper. 

Hood turns, those frightening white eyes now on you. Jerry also looks at you, legs still dangling.

“Hey,” Hood says without a sign of struggle. “Shit. Y'alright? Did I swipe ya?”

“No,” you say, voice shaky.

His posture softens. “Okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. Don’t be afraid.”

“I believe you. But, um… you're in the women's bathroom.”

Red Hood gives the room a onceover. 

“Huh. So we are. Dunno how that happened.” He shakes Jerry by the collar. “Why’d you run into the women’s bathroom, asshole?”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Don't kill me!” Jerry wails. 

“Shut it, Jesus. I'm not gonna kill you. Not yet, anyway.” 

“It's fine, I was just leaving,” you say, bending down to get your purse. 

“Hey, no, don't let me push you out,” Hood says. “Sorry. I'll be gone in a couple minutes.”

Hood adjusts his grip so Jerry's face is against the wall, arms and legs restrained. Then he zipties Jerry and sits him down hard on the floor. Hood presses a button on his helmet. 

“Yo, N, I'm at Prescott's. Yeah, with Jerry. No, I didn't tell him to run in here, he did that all on his own! Well, I chased him for ten blocks, so I’d prefer if you’d keep your bitching to yourself. Thank you… Okay, we're in the women's bathroom, so—well, I didn't do it on purpose! No, I’m—will you just come here? There’s a side window.” Hood presses the button again with a grunt. “Dickhead.”

“Are you gonna erase my memory?” you ask. 

Hood jerks, turning back to you.

“What? Hell no, I'm not gonna erase your memory. I don't do that shit, I promise.”

You slump against the sink. “That's too bad. I would prefer it.”

He looks up from Jerry’s last ziptie and pulls it extra tight. Jerry whimpers. 

“How come?” Hood asks.

You shake your head. “It's nothing.”

“Hm. Doesn't look like nothing. If you're in danger—”

“I'm not in danger. I…”

You glance at Hood. You can't see his face, but his body language seems genuine. From what you've heard, Hood isn't known for mincing words or doing things he doesn't want to. And he’s good to Gothamites. Well, the law-abiding ones, anyway. He’s even been endorsed by Batman.

What's the harm in telling him about your disastrous night? Not like you'll see him again. Or Jerry. 

“I got dumped,” you say. 

“Ah.” Hood nods. “Been there.”

Somehow, the idea of Red Hood getting dumped is weirder than him beating up a guy in the women’s bathroom of Prescott’s.

You sniffle, and wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. 

“Yeah, um. It was our three year anniversary today. He took me here, told me he was in love with his yoga instructor, and then left.”

You tear up thinking about it. Hood makes a quiet noise.

“Shit. Well, I haven't been there,” he says. “But I know infidelity. I'm sorry. Dudes are trash.”

“And it's my birthday today,” you blurt, sniffling. 

“Happy birthday,” Jerry says, clutching his stomach. 

“What a fucking asshole!” Hood snarls, and lets go of Jerry, who crumples like a sack of potatoes. He’s out cold in a second, frozen on the floor.

Your brows rise. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. It’s his first time in Gotham.” Hood shrugs. “Anyway, where was I? Right, your asshole ex. Like it's not enough to publicly dump you, and then he goes and does it on your birthday? Who is this guy? I'll go talk to him right now.”

You laugh a loud, snorting laugh. It bounces off the tiles. 

Hood tilts his head. “What’d I say?”

You catch your breath and wave your hand. 

“No, nothing, I’m sorry. I’ve just had a crappy night and that’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever offered to me.”

“I mean it,” Hood says. “I’ll scare him if you want.”

“As tempting as that is, I don���t want to be an accessory to a crime.”

You also don’t want to put your ex in the ICU, no matter how much he might deserve it. Best to let the universe do its thing.

“You’d be acquitted, don’t worry.” Hood leans against the stall. “I’d never letcha go to jail.”

You smile, your ears growing warm. “You don’t even know me. What if I deserve it?”

“Nah. I got a good sense about people. I can tell you’re sweet. Probably don’t even run through red lights.”

“I try not to,” you say, heat spreading to your face. 

“Yeah, a good girl. I figured as much.”

Your eyes widen. Hood coughs and rubs his neck. Even his coughs sound intimidating through the helmet, but that’s negated by his scrunched-up posture.

“Fuck. Sorry. That wasn’t a come-on,” he says. “I mean, it sounded like one, but I’m realizing what a creep I am, flirting with you in a bathroom with a zip-tied criminal. Sorry.” He shakes his head. “I hate myself.”

You grin. “It’s okay. You made my night better, actually. Thanks.”

“That’s a testament to how terrible your night’s been if I made it better.”

You shrug. “Could always be worse. I bet Jerry had an even shittier night than me.”

“You’d win that bet. But I—”

The window swings open with a clunk. Nightwing pops his head in. He looks at Hood, then you. 

“Uh,” he says. “Evening. What’s going on?”

“What’s going on is it took you almost ten minutes to get here,” Hood says, back in Vigilante Mode. “Did you get lost?”

Nightwing smiles with all his teeth. “I was actually cleaning up your mess at the Bowery, Hood. You’re welcome.” 

He looks at you. “Hi. Sorry about this. I hope we didn’t ruin your night. If there’s anything we can reimburse you for…”

You shake your head. “It’s okay. My night was already sunk. Don’t worry about it. Thanks for keeping Gotham safe.”

Nightwing laughs. “The pleasure is ours.”

“Alright, enough chattering, Dickwing,” Hood says. “Take him.”

He lifts the unconscious Jerry, pushing him up to the window. He does so effortlessly, his jacket riding up to reveal his skin-tight jumpsuit. 

You look away before he catches you staring. There’s definitely something wrong with you. 

Nightwing takes Jerry and waves at you. Then he disappears.

“So, uh,” Hood says. “I gotta go.”

“Oh! Right, of course. Sorry to keep you.”

“Now what’re you apologizing for?” he asks, and it almost sounds like a tease. You wonder what his smile looks like. What color his eyes are.

“Well, I really didn’t mean to keep you…”

“You didn’t keep me,” Hood says, and you can hear the warmth even through his decoder. “This is probably the best arrest I’ve ever made.”

He starts to climb through the window, then stops. He digs into one of the pockets of his belt and pulls out a scrap of paper. 

“This is my number,” he says. “Well, it’s kind of the vigilante hotline. But you can reach me here, in case you ever need help.”

Hood walks over to give it to you. He smells like gunpowder and oranges. He’s even larger this close, the width of his shoulders dwarfing you. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly. 

He nods and backs up, clapping his hands.

“Right. So I’ll go… Bye.”

Hood looks at you for a moment more. Then he hops up onto the window sill and slides out, somehow graceful despite his bulk. The window closes. 

Your dress has dried, which is nice. You walk out of the bathroom. It’s a miracle no one else has come in. 

You get your coat and this time, when you see the empty seat across from yours, you don’t burst into tears, which is progress. You call another Uber and go to wait for it at the front. The hostess approaches you.

“Ma’am?” she says, and holds out a small, plastic container. In it is a slice of tiramisu. 

“I didn’t order this,” you say.

“It was called in and paid for by a Mr. R.H. He wishes you a happy birthday.” 

“Oh. Thank you.”

You’re definitely leaving a five-star review on Yelp.

[kelcemenow]

Anything.

Pairing Travis Kelce x Reader

Words 2539

Warnings Strong language, some fluff and lots and lots of smut. I went a bit heavy on the foreplay but I just can't help myself!

Another anon request that I just had to do! "Hi there. I loved your most recent fic and was wondering if you would be willing to write a smut where the reader (female) promised travis that if he won the superbowl that he could do anything he wanted to her?"

"Anything?" Travis' eyes widened and his mouth gaped open slightly.

"Anything." You repeated, but without the questioning tone. "You win that Superbowl baby, and you can do anything to me."

Travis froze for a second before laughing and rubbing the back of his neck, "Oh baby, you don't know what you've done."

You leaned forward so you were only inches away from his face, "And when I say anything, I mean anything."

His eyes darkened and he leaned in to kiss you but when his lips grazed yours, you pulled back and continued eating your dinner. Travis' eyebrows lowered in confusion.

You pointed your fork to his plate, "Eat your dinner big guy, you've got an important game next week."

Travis didn't move for a second or so, keeping his gaze on you, hoping for a change of heart. You continued eating your chicken, not making eye contact with him. After a moment, Travis breathed out a laugh and started shovelling his food quickly into his mouth.

"Right, I've finished, can I have a kiss now?" He pushed his lips out.

You smiled at his begging expression, placing your hand under his chin and bringing his face to yours for a gentle kiss. Travis hummed in contentment before you leaned back and returned to your plate, flipping the page of your magazine.

"You're going to be sorry. You'd better have a strong coffee on the morning, baby. Imma have you up all night." His eyes lowered down your body.

You continued to read your magazine, "You're that confident that you're going to win?"

"Baby! Do you know who I am? I am the-"

"Yes, yes, the fastest tight end to reach 10,000 receiving yards." You said quickly, "Now, could you add another few yards and get the laundry out of the dryer, please?"

Travis shook his head and laughed, "You keep me humble, babe."

You smiled down at the article you were reading. You liked to keep Travis on his toes and he enjoyed your playfulness. You had been dating for around a year, so it was still relatively the early stage of your relationship. You met soon after the previous season, as a friend of Isabelle Butker, the wife of Travis' Chiefs teammate Harrison. She had invited you to a barbeque at her house and you spotted Travis.

"Isabelle, who's that?"

He was chatting to some other players excitedly.

"Oh, that's Travis." Isabelle nodded as she opened a beer from the cooler, "He's great, I think you two would get along, actually."

You narrowed your eyes, "If you're saying what I think you're saying, no way."

"What?" Her head snapped up quickly, "What do you mean? I'm an excellent matchmaker!"

"That guy you set me up with a couple of months ago? He ordered a salad for me and then started lecturing me about why women should stay and home and take care of the children instead of go to work!"

"Okay, okay...fair enough. But seriously, just go and talk to him."

You picked up your glass of wine and looked over towards him. He was talking enthusiastically with a couple of guys you recognised. He seemed to be focused on the conversation but his eyes suddenly found yours and you felt your breath hitch as he smiled before continuing with his discussion.

You tilted your head to the side, "Hmm, I think I might."

That was almost a year ago. And now you were in your home in Kansas City, getting ready to leave for a week in Arizona for the lead up to the Superbowl. Travis didn't seem nervous, but you knew there was still time. This was the biggest game of the season He had won in 2020, but lost the year after. You really wanted him to win his second ring, to experience the celebration with him. You knew it would be a difficult game for him as he was playing against his brother, Jason, meaning the entire Kelce family were there and the result, whatever it was, would be bittersweet for whoever was on the losing team.

After you had finished dinner, both you and Travis checked over your bags that you had packed for the week in Arizona, but your thoughts were consumed with what plans Travis had for his winning night.

______________________________________________________________

Your heart was in your mouth as the red and gold confetti filled the sky. The stadium erupted into noise and the entire viewing suite jumped to their feet. Patrick Mahomes' wife Brittany threw her arms around you and Isabella grabbed onto both of your hands as she jumped repeatedly in the air.

"Oh my God, oh my God!" You screamed as you could feel tears forming between your eyelids.

Isabella quickly pulled you both out of the suite, "Come on, we need to get down there."

The three of you, followed by other players families, whizzed through the corridors to get onto the field as quickly as possible. The atmosphere was electric and your head was spinning with the vast amount of people piling onto the field. Your eyes were darting around to locate Travis but as you were searching, you saw the two brothers sharing an emotional hug.

"Congratulations, go celebrate."

Travis looked at his big brother, "I love you, man."

Jason winked and nodded his head towards you and Travis turned around quickly. As soon as he spotted you, his eyes lit up with tears and he came running to you, picking you up and spinning you around. Camera flashes blinded your eyes so you closed them and pressed a firm kiss onto Travis' lips.

As he lowered you back down onto the grass, you stared up at him, "I am so proud of you, baby." You placed your hands onto the sides of his face as he stared lovingly down at you, "So proud. You did it, you won. I love you so much."

Travis leaned down to meet your lips with his again, "I love you too, baby."

You felt his hand lower to grab your ass firmly, squeezing the supple flesh. Your own hand grasped at his toned biceps and you watched as his chest rose and fall hastily.

"You're not too tired are you, big guy?" You hands ran along his arms as you looked up at him.

He leaned down so his mouth was close to you ear, "Not a chance, I'm getting out of here as fast as I can."

______________________________________________________________

"You...are amazing. I...love...you so much." You said in-between breaths as Travis was latching onto your neck, leaving wet lazy kisses across your skin.

His hands were roaming your clothed body, grasping at the fabric and pulling it so he could have access.

You pulled away from him and walked slowly to the hotel bedroom, his hungry eyes following every step you made. As you reached the bed, you spun on the spot and sat on the edge, looking up at your 6 foot 5 inch man.

"So, you remember our deal?" You asked, a husky rasp to your voice.

Travis nodded and silently made his way to his suitcase, his broad back obstructing your view as to what he had pulled out of it. You waited patiently until he turned to face you, a long black piece of material in his hand.

"I'm going to make you feel so good, baby." His head shook slightly as he spoke, his words laced with lust.

You tilted your head as he came closer to you, "But this is your treat?"

"Watching you squirm as I make you cum is a treat for me."

Your thighs tightened and your pussy throbbed at his words.

He climbed onto the bed behind you and pulled your hair to one side, placing soft kisses on your neck and shoulders, your skin tingling at his touch. Your eyelids fluttered closed and you gasped gently. You leaned back slightly and rested on his chest whilst Travis placed one hand up your jersey, searching for your breasts. His fingers grazed your right nipple and you felt a jolt of pleasure through your body.

Just as you were melting into his touch, he quickly moved away from the bed and walked around to face you. You looked up at him, your pink swollen lips parted and his eyes darkened further. You smiled when he placed the black fabric over your eyes and tied it into a knot at the back of your head.

Suddenly, your world was black and all you had to rely on was your other senses. You felt Travis' hands run up your thighs and as you stood up, he gently pulled down your tight, ripped jeans and you carefully stepped out of them. All of the sudden, you felt Travis' lips on yours, gently and almost ghosting over your mouth. You leaned forward for him but he wasn't there. You could hear movement on the bed behind you but you stayed where you were, wanting to be under Travis' full control.

You felt his breath on your neck behind you and he pulled the jersey you were wearing over your head so you were left in your lace bra and thong. Travis let out a small groan at the sight of your ass and you heard him shift again on the bed behind you. He placed a gentle grip on your arm and guided you down onto the bed so you were laid on your back. After a couple of seconds, his hands slowly removed your thong as his lips kissed your stomach and hips, getting closer to your pussy with every kiss.

You let out a sigh, your chest quivering and struggling to control your breathing. Travis blew gently on your exposed clit, and the cool air made you throw your head back in preparation. He had always been good with foreplay, he knew exactly what to do to drive you crazy but you knew this night was going to be different.

You parted your legs slightly and Travis' wet tongue drew a stripe up your folds, flicking your clit at the end. Your legs tensed tightly and then opened further so you could allow him better access. Travis got to work immediately, his tongue expertly exploring your pussy. His movements were gentle but firm, and you could occasionally hear him humming, the vibrations running through your body. A tightness built up in your lower stomach, causing you to arch your back off of the bed and a low guttural sound to leave your lips. Travis ran his hand up your stomach, reaching for your chest. His fingers found your left breast, nipping at the skin, pinching your nipple and tugging at it. You hissed at the slight pain, enjoying the sharp sensation that flooded your body.

He removed his tongue and replaced it with his fingers, gently pushing them inside of you. You felt his frame cover yours, his mouth kissing your neck and chest. Your breathing became uneven and you curled your toes, holding onto the orgasm that was building up inside of you. Travis must have noticed as he lifted his lips to your ear.

"Go on baby, that's it. Let that perfect pussy cum for me."

His low growl in your ear made you completely release, a wetness covering his fingers with force. You heard Travis gasp, and then felt him speed up, pumping his fingers in and out with an impressive pace. You squealed as you released some more, your cum spurting with force.

Travis quickly flipped you over so you were lying on your front. He moved behind you and lifted your hips upwards, steadying yourself on your knees. You pressed your cheek into the bed, letting your torso relax. You arched your back as he returned his tongue to your vagina, lapping up the juices that were covering your folds. Your muscles quivered and your body writhed with pleasure.

"Mmm, you taste so sweet." He breathed into your pussy.

You bit down on the pillow next to your face to stop yourself from screaming and Travis responded by grabbing at your thighs, digging his fingers in and flicking your clit with his tongue. Your back arched even further and your throat croacked.

"Travis...baby...I need your dick." You panted, "Please...uhh...p-lease."

His hands moved to your ass, slapping his hand across the skin. You moaned at the sting but continued to beg for him.

"Fuck me, Travis...do what you want to me...fuck me, baby."

Travis chuckled and lifted himself up onto his knees, his thick erection perfectly positioned at your entrance. You bucked backwards slightly, pushing his tip against your wet lips. You could feel your pussy pulsating and with one easy motion, he slid himself inside of you, causing you to gasp at his size. Your walls stretched around him and you whined as you adjusted to him.

He started slow and gentle, letting you feel every inch of his cock. He rested his hands on your back before he tangled them in your hair, grasping at it to pull you upwards and onto your hands. You clutched at the bed sheets, tightening your fists as you took his length. He grunted with each thrust, his sounds fuelling your second orgasm.

Quickly, he pulled his member out and flipped you back onto your back before removing your blindfold. You blinked and your eyes adapted to the light. He smiled when you locked eyes with him, finally gazing upon his handsome and strong features. His mouth parted and he bit down on his bottom lip as his dick plunged into you, your cum spilling out. Your eyes widened as he repeatedly thrusted with a powerful force. He pressed his forehead to yours, steadying himself as he increased his speed. Contrary to earlier, you screamed this time with no care for how loud you were, making wild sounds to signify your intense pleasure. Travis breathed through gritted teeth, the muscles in his arms bulging and flexing with each movement.

You vision started to get blurry as you sensed your next orgasm. You licked your dry lips and grunted Travis' name before you felt a release of ecstasy wash over you. Every muscle in your body seemed to tense then relax, your breathing even more rushed and manic than before. You turned your head slightly but Travis placed a large hand on your chin and pulled your gaze back to him, his urgent expression prolonging your climax.

After some laboured thrusts, Travis tightened his grip on you and his body contorted as he released his cum into you. Your walls clenched as you felt him pulsate, his ejaculation filling you up. He collapsed slightly, but was careful not to put his whole weight on top of you. Instead, he held himself up by his elbow, stroking the side of your face with his other hand.

His face was red and speckled with beads of sweat. His eyes bore into you as he smiled, "You are perfect, baby."

"Nobody is perfect, Travis."

He narrowed his eyes, "You are. I love you so much." He pushed some rogue hairs away from your face with his thumb and kissed your forehead, "I would do anything for you."

"Anything?"

______________________________________________________________

I am really enjoying getting requests these days! You all have such wonderfully creative ideas! I also wanted to check whether people would want me to start a standard taglist? I have one for my Touchdown series, but wondered if I should have a regular one for all of my writing?

[lostloveletters]

Something Borrowed (Michael Corleone x Reader)

Summary: Michael Corleone is the last person you expect to see at your best friend Connie’s wedding, and the last thing you expect to happen upon seeing him again after so many years is spending the night together. Maybe, it'll turn into something more.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. No hate to Kay, she’s my girl, but wedding scene Michael drives me crazy🤭 She’s off living her best life elsewhere in this. Also, it was a lot of fun writing pre-everything Michael. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Sexually explicit content involving unprotected sex. Light play fighting.

Champagne and giggles overflowed at Connie Corleone’s wedding to Carlo Rizzi. Plenty of red wine was passed around in pitchers for the old guard, of course. For you and the other women conscious of not staining the rainbow of cocktail dresses and flowing gowns that dotted the backyard, you opted for lighter fare in tall flutes that sparkled in the early autumn sun. 

Perhaps you were a bit too enthusiastic about the drink offerings, having already exchanged three empty champagne glasses for ones filled to the brim with glittering gold when the bride engulfed you in a hug. With a delighted laugh, you returned the gesture, kissing her cheek.

“I wanted to say thank you one more time for coming!” Connie exclaimed, her cheeks flushed pink from the excitement of the day. “God, it breaks my heart we couldn’t have gotten you a bridesmaid dress in time, but you look gorgeous.”

“Me? Connie, you look like a princess.”

“I feel like one,” she giggled.

“When you see your gift from me—I’m sorry it’s not more, I haven’t—”

“Stop it!” she scolded. “You came all the way from Europe just to be at my wedding. I couldn’t ask for a better friend.”

You didn’t bother correcting her. Her version of events sounded much nicer than you just got lucky with when the Red Cross put you on a boat home. “Anything for you.”

“I won’t keep you. This is probably the first time you’re eating real food in years. Mama, Sandra, and Theresa made most of it.”

Connie was right. You tried to savor your plate, packed with pasta drowned in homemade sauce, antipasto and crusty bread, and sandwiches that towered with fresh cold cuts. The Corleones knew a thing or two about good food, and had the means to pull the strings for the unfathomable ration books such a feast required.

A familiar yet unexpected voice startled you when your fork pierced a piece of mozzarella. “Is this seat taken?”

“Michael,” you practically gasped, taken aback by his even attending the wedding in the first place, but also how good he looked in his uniform. Cap tucked under his arm, medals and decorations on his chest, the photos you’d seen in the magazine didn’t do him justice. Finding yourself again, you gestured to the empty seat across from you. “Go ahead.”

“I can’t remember the last time I saw you, but you look great,” he said, his gaze fixed on you as he set his plate and glass down. He took you in, the girl he’d grown up seeing around the house and at school, now, without a doubt, a woman.

“You too, Captain,” you said, nodding toward the double bars on his uniform.

He snickered at your little joke, making you feel a bit more at ease in his presence. “I’m surprised you aren’t in the wedding party.”

“Honestly, I wasn’t even sure I was going to make it until a few days ago. I only just got back to New York on Thursday,” you said.

“You volunteered with the Red Cross, didn’t you?”

You nodded. “I was in England, and then France after the liberation.”

“Clubmobile, right?”

“Did Connie tell you?”

He shook his head, smiling the slightest bit. “All the pretty girls worked the Clubmobile.”

A mortifyingly girlish giggle escaped your lips. You quickly brought your glass to your mouth, though the champagne in it was likely the culprit of your embarrassing reaction to Michael’s compliment. Averting your eyes to the dancing guests, you tried to ignore the warmth that spread across your face.

You allowed yourself to look at him again a few moments later, relieved to find he was still sitting in front of you, amused, maybe even endeared, by you.

“You’re such a jerk, Michael,” you mumbled, only because he was your friend’s older brother, and when you were younger and starry-eyed and figuring out what it meant when your heart wouldn’t quite beat right around a boy, it was him who those tender emotions were kindled in secret toward—until you had your first real boyfriend.

He grinned at your remark, and the two of you ate and caught up in between his various family members stopping by the table to say hello. You weren’t sure what to make of his seeing you before any of them—flattered, a bit confused as well, but he laughed at your jokes and moved his seat closer to yours, so you must have been doing something right when he finally asked, “Do you want to dance?”

“I’d love to,” you said.

The chaos from Johnny Fontaine’s unexpected arrival and impromptu performance subsided when Michael led you out to dance. He held you close, the way soldiers had at the dances the Red Cross put on for servicemen, all to boost morale, or, as the war went on, to offer a break from reality. Among the many rules meant to be followed—and typically broken in one way or another in the haze of war—was to keep some emotional distance from the enlisted men, for your sake and their own, but with bodies so close together, tender touches and soft whispers over songs of twilight and moonbeams, it was tough not to be caught up in romance’s alluring snare.

Even then, with the war behind both of you, something about being in Michael’s arms made you truly understand why some girls risked their assignments for a man. There was something in how he looked at you, different from your childhood together, even from a few minutes prior. You felt breathless despite the slow song you swayed along to.

“Did you like Paris?” he asked quietly, throwing you for a loop.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Paris?”

“You were in France, weren’t you?”

“Not Paris.”

“Where in France were you slinging doughnuts, then?”

“Little villages a few miles out from the front, mostly. More cows than people, but nice enough once the fighting stopped, and it was finally quiet—as quiet as it could get, anyway,” you said. “When Connie wrote you’d been wounded, I couldn’t help but think the worst. Plenty of guys out there—well, that article sure put me at ease. All the girls were jealous when I said I knew you.” You smiled. “I’m glad you’re alright, Michael.”

He glanced at your lips, and for an aching moment you were sure he was going to kiss you, but instead he gave you a smile, one that was real and made your heart flutter nevertheless, but left you disappointed.

“Where are you staying since you’ve been back?” he asked.

He seemed familiar with the hotel you were staying in when you mentioned it, offering to drive you back after the reception ended, and Connie and Carlo left for their honeymoon. 

“It’s only until I can find a boarding hotel that has space,” you said. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be the Barbizon, but I’m not moving back in with my parents.”

“Here’s to that.”

The rest of the day and into the evening, Michael hung around you, unless he was pulled away by members of his family, each instance an annoyance to him. You knew they weren’t exactly supportive of his enlisting, but the situation couldn’t have been that bad, not since he was home, safe and sound at his sister’s wedding.

The Corleones, though endlessly kind to you, always been an odd family, and you learned through your friendship with Connie not to ask too many questions.

But Genco Abbandando was dying, and Vito insisted Michael go with the rest of the Corleone men to pay his respects to the elder. When you offered to take a cab back to your hotel, Michael promised the visit wouldn’t be long, suggesting you wait at the house with his mother until he returned to drive you into the city.

Your foolish desire to spend more time with him led to your waiting in the Corleones’ kitchen for a little over an hour, when you likely would’ve been showered and in bed in your hotel room by the time he arrived back for you, in one hell of a hurry to get you into his car and presumably get away from his family.

“Do you ever think about leaving New York?” he asked when the house was out of view.

You laughed. “Michael, I only just got back.”

“That’s not what I mean. The war—it wasn’t going to be forever, but it let you see what life could be like away from all of this, didn’t it?”

“Of course it did. I’m honestly not sure what I’m going to do with myself now,” you said. “How about you? Are you going back to school? Dartmouth, I mean.”

He nodded. “I start again the spring semester.” At a red light, he glanced over at you. “New England’s nice. Better than French cow country.”

“And do you suppose I could study in the department of pouring coffee and serving doughnuts?”

“You’re smart. I think you have a real future,” he said, the sincerity in his voice startling you. “All of that back there, that’s not for us. It never has been.”

You were silent for a few moments. “I guess you’re right.”

The city lights twinkling in the distance took the place of the stars they blocked out from the sky, growing larger as Michael crossed the bridge into Manhattan, the center of the universe. You’d never tell a soul how you cried just a few days prior upon seeing it again for the first time in years.

Besides his talk of the future, Michael kept the conversation light, and you could’ve sworn he was flirting with you. Working the Clubmobile, you learned quickly how to pick up on it, some men laying it on thick while others were irresistibly smooth. Michael could’ve easily just been teasing you, the way a friend’s older brother would, but when he pulled up to your hotel, either your ego or curiosity prompted you to invite him up for a drink.

You sobered up on the drive into the city, enough to remember you didn’t have any drinks in your room. The two of you would have to go to the hotel bar for that, but then you and Michael wouldn’t be alone, not how you wanted, anyway.

To your relief, he agreed.

With Michael in uniform, few questions would be asked by hotel staff as to why you suddenly had a man with you when you checked in on your own. It would have been easy to lie, claim he was your fiance who had only just gotten back Stateside. But you supposed you and Michael already looked the part, walking arm-in-arm through the lobby without an issue.

Your confidence soared on the elevator ride up to your modest room, which you let Michael into, knowing he wouldn’t judge the state of your accommodations.

“Mind if I make myself comfortable?” You didn’t wait for his answer, pulling your blouse from where it’d been tucked in your skirt. Slipping out of your heels, you sighed softly in relief.

“It’s your place,” he said, setting his coat over the chair in the corner and loosening his tie.

You grabbed his cap from where he set it down and placed it on your head, tilting the brim over your face a bit and posing in front of him with a hand on your hip. “How do I look?”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, giving you a once over, “I swear I saw you pinned up in some guy’s tent looking just like that.”

You laughed, taking the cap off and flinging it aside. “Oh, I don’t even know why I invited you up here!” Your laughter faded as something in your stomach turned sour, the situation feeling achingly too good to be true. Alone in a hotel room with Michael, the two of you entirely capable of making your own mistakes on the off chance he wanted you too. “Or why you even agreed to come up.”

“I didn’t come up here to drink.”

“No, you did it to be nice, because we’ve known each other for so long…” You sighed, sitting next to him. “I always figured you thought of me as your kid sister’s annoying little friend or something.”

He shook his head, saying your name softly in either protest or reassurance. His hand cupped your face as he turned it toward him, his thumb rubbing soft circles in your cheek. “Not for a long time. Especially not tonight.”

You kissed him, hands gripping his shoulders, closing your eyes as you melted in his embrace. Your skin feverish at his touch, you shuddered when his hand slipped up your untucked blouse until his fingertips reached your bra.

To say you hadn’t fantasized about Michael would have been an unconvincing lie to anyone who dared ask, but even in your wildest dreams, it was never quite like this, so bold and irreverent in the face of the tradition the two of you had just spent the day celebrating.

“I came up here because you’re beautiful,” he confessed against your lips, “because you’re the only familiar face I saw at my sister’s wedding that didn’t make me wish I were somewhere else.”

Silencing him with another kiss, your fingers raked through his soft black hair as your body pressed flush against his, unsure if you could withstand hearing more of his tender words without falling to pieces. You couldn’t, not so early in the night, but his desire grew difficult to ignore when he pulled you onto his lap. The pressure against your pussy made you moan, and with a hasty desperation, you shimmied out of your panties as he unbuckled his belt, freeing his hard cock within a few moments.

You slipped a hand between the two of you, pumping his length, feeling the way it twitched at your touch and gasping when Michael’s hips bucked. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, a whisper of an intent to devour you.

“I need you, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Need to feel you.”

Lifting your hips, you whimpered upon feeling his head brush your clit as you positioned yourself, slowly lowering as he filled you, cock throbbing against your walls that clenched around him. He assuaged the pain of taking all of him with a gentle kiss and soft praises, urging you to take your time, that you had all night together.

All night. The promise he would stay, at least until the morning, sent a teasing wave of pleasure through you. Gripping his shoulders, you tried to keep a steady pace as you rode him, wanted to show him that staying would be worth his while. He’d been right in the car, you wouldn’t be a virginal, wedding white bride. The both of you had seen and experienced too much to be considered innocent any longer, but it was something you shared, that no one else from that day would have understood.

Your thighs ached as you neared your climax, desperately chasing it despite the exhaustion that was creeping up on you. Crying out in frustration, you buried your face in the crook of Michael’s neck.

“I’m close,” you whined. “Michael, I—”

“I’ve got you,” he assured you, his hands making their home on your hips. 

Your eyes fluttered shut as you let him guide your body, his thrusts doing most of the work while you rocked against him, seeking the friction against your clit that would bring you to release. It caught in your throat, a broken groan from your lips to his ears as you came, clenching around him, pleasure rolling through you, rattling your body like thunder. You barely caught your breath when he came, shuddering against you, practically cradling you against him as he filled you.

With a whimper, you lifted yourself off of him and rolled back onto the bed. Placing your hand on your chest, you felt your rapidly beating heart beneath your fingertips, focusing on it as it slowed the following minute or so and ignoring the stickiness between your legs, the evidence you slept with your best friend’s older brother. 

Michael leaned over, brushing back the hair that stuck to your face. “What are your plans tomorrow?”

“Looking through the classifieds for a job,” you said honestly.

“Wanna put it off for a day?”

“With what money, Michael?”

“I’ll give you a line of credit.”

You grabbed one of the pillows from behind you, throwing it at him with a laugh. “Jerk!”

He grinned, pushing it aside to grab for one of your arms. You put up a weak fight, your breathless laughter giving away his almost certain win.

Having pinned you down beneath him, he pressed you for an answer. “So?” He kissed you. “What do you say, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “I guess I can clear my schedule for a dashing war hero like you.”

“Dashing, I like the sound of that,” he murmured, bringing his lips to yours again, softly, with a tenderness that promised more for tomorrow, and even the day after, if you’d have him. 

You smiled. “Me too.”

[user2772636]

Douzième Fille

12th girl

××《☆》××

××《☆》××

Years have gone by. It's now 1971. You've peaked in your career. You've become well known. But what happens when an all too familiar face returns, now more drawn to you?

===

Joseph Descamps x Reader

Warnings: steamy ASFF???, angst, swearing, alcohol consumption, shlut shaming (fuck that old man), implied smut in the end (i didn't write smut yall im nervous)

===

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Chapter nine: You belong to me

===

You and Joseph called consistently. Phone bills got higher, but both of you could care less. Both of you sent letters, pictures, and postcards like you promised.

Joseph often sent you pictures of him and George. He sent you postcards from Italy, Germany, and some cities in France.

You often send pictures of yourself, Callum, and photoshoots. You sent him postcards from Milan, New York, Copenhagen, and more. Mostly fashion capitals in the world.

Every letter you'd send each other would contain your days, food you tried, people you met, places you've been. But in the end of each one, there'd be the same sentence.

"I love you. See you soon."

It always said that.

Years pass, the calls get less consistent, the letters talking about your days now talk about your weeks, then they start talking about your months.

You talk about college now, parties you've been invited to, alcohol you tried.

Less and less postcards. Only three to five would come in a year now, the only thing written in them is the place they've been to.

Seven years have passed. It's 1971 now. You're 23 years old. The phone ringings have stopped. The letter boxes are empty.

Joseph was now merely a memory. Something you've locked inside you. He's beginning to collect dust.

You write in your notebook about your day. You sit on your matress, only an underwear on and some sheer shirt. Your hair is up in a messy clip, bangs blown on your forehead.

Safe to say you're famous. You've been in countless magazines, influencing famous celebrities. For example, Jane Birkin with your full bangs. You actually have her number. It's in the room... somewhere.

Life in Paris has been... alright, you could say. Sure, it smells like piss, and sure, it's filled with rude people, but you grew up here, so might as well accept it.

Callum's been a big help. He's a famous photographer and car enthusiast now. He's done almost all of your photoshoots. There were some rumours that developed about you two being an item, but you quickly shut that down.

A knock is heard on your flat's front door. Callum walks in, a paper bag in hand, and a lit cigarette between his lips.

"Pretty girl," a nickname he never seemed to want to let go, "your wine is here."

You get up from your place, strutting down some steps and kissing Callum's cheek in greeting. You head to the bag placed on the kitchen counter.

"Fuck yes. Thank you, Callum. You're an angel." I place them in a gift bag, saving them for a future event.

In three days' time, a gala was to happen. It would be filled top to bottom with riches, designer clothes and items, jewels, and anything else that screams luxury. And what you're most excited about is the fact that it's a masquerade.

You, for one, were invited to this gala. The people who were invited are sort of a VIP. Only close friends of the host would be there, and knowing the host, they were luxurious as well.

Your dress was ready. Your gift was ready. Everything was ready. Even your plus one, who is very obviously Callum, was ready. Everything would be perfect.

But you were nervous. Something deep inside your gut was telling you something would happen, and you couldn't tell whether it was a bad sign or a good one. You were hoping for the latter.

It crawled through your skin. You weren't one to get nervous, especially after all the exposure to the media in the past couple of years. So this wasn't exactly normal.

Your heart was exhilarated. Your mind was all over the place. What if you didn't look your best? This was a question you haven't asked yourself in a long while. You've been so self-assured, but what changed it now? That gut feeling sucked.

You take your mind off it. You'd rather talk about your plans for that evening.

The dress you, Callum, and your stylist picked was an archive of Audrey Hepburn's 1956 film Funny Face. It was fluffy around the bottom, the end cutting off in the middle of your calf. It was off shoulder, drop waist, coloured white with accents of pink and blue for the flowers imprinted.

Some things to add on were long white silk gloves, your mask that covered anything but your eyes, along with a pair of white kitten heels, pearl earrings, and hair pieces. It reminded you of when you were young. You, in high school with your puffy skirts, pearl jewellery, and kitten heels.

There was something bugging you. Something you're missing. It was a nostalgic memory. It's something you were trying to figure out, but before you could, Callum's arm wraps around your shoulders.

"You alright, pretty girl?" He asked, worry etched in his tone.

You simply smile at him. "Yup. All good."

××《☆》××

You were riding around Paris in your vespa, the wind blowing through your hair and messing it up. It was an hour before midnight, the air colder, and the streets lit up with lights.

You wanted some air. Something about what happened earlier made your mind jumble over what it could've been. You needed to stop it from running around. It would've kept you up all night.

Your coat was on, keeping you warm. You had borrowed it from Callum, using the excuse of the fact that it was bigger, meaning it would keep you from the cold. Which was true.

He barely even used it anyway. It didn't even smell like him. Callum smelt like new cars, cigarettes, and hair gel. This coat wasn't too far, but it wasn't that close. It smelt like cigarettes, yes, but also expensive cologne. Callum doesn't wear that type of cologne.

It got your mind running again. You roll your eyes to yourself. You thought this would help. You speed your Vespa up, making it around l'Arc de Triomphe, turning to a road and going straight ahead.

The wind blew harsher, your nose getting irritated from the cold. You guess Callum's coat wasn't enough. You make some turns again till you get to Pont d'léna, now making you ride face to face with the sparkling Eiffel Tower. You got here in time for it.

Your awe for the tower never really faded even after seeing it almost every day for the past several years. Many people wish to see it for the first time again, but you, it will always feel like the first time.

You turn your head back to the road when you go right, on your way back to your flat. Your neck hurts a bit from craning it to the tower, but most of the time, it's worth it.

Again, you feel nostalgic. There's a tall figure standing on the side of the road looking up at the tower. His hair was messy, so as yours, and he was smoking a cigarette. He had something wrapped around his head. You couldn't quite focus on what he looked like exactly from the speed you were going.

You turn your head to the road again. What was that? It was probably a man you've seen around the streets, or somebody you worked with. You shrug it off and continue your ride home.

××《☆》××

It was the morning of the gala. It would start somewhere around six in the evening for dinner. You woke up early for the day.

You're outside a café with Callum, sipping on piping hot coffee and eating your pastries. Every once in a while, a flash is seen in the corner of your eye. Fans or paparazzi, you pay it no mind.

"Is there anything else we need to do or get before we prep for the gala?" You say, putting your cup down gently onto its plate.

"Nope. You seem a lot more nervous than usual. Is there something you wanna change up?" Callum asks, taking a puff out of his cigarette. You shake your head.

"Yeah, I don't know. I've been feeling it since yesterday. There's just... I think something's gonna happen. Something big." You shrug, crossing your arms and leaning on the table. Callum nods, leaning forward too, mirroring you.

"Ah, well, is it good or bad?" He questions, butting of his cigarette. You think for a while, reminiscing on the feeling.

"Actually, it might be good. That's why I'm nervous, you know? I don't want anything to get messed up. Because if something bad were to happen, well..." I shrug, hissing. Callum chuckles.

"Well, alright. We'll double-check everything so it goes smoothly for you, pretty girl." He pats your arm, reassuring you. You grab a hold of his hand, squeezing it and saying "Thank you."

It was afternoon now. You began to prepare for the gala. Your team came in a few minutes ago, and they begin working on you. You're sitting in your chair with your makeup artist fixing you up when the phone rings.

"Callum, can you get that, please?" I shout towards him. He comes out of the kitchen and into the living room we were in. He picks the phone up. You had a clear vision of everything. He leans against the wall, greeting the caller.

Then, his face shifts. It morphs into something you can't read, but Callum seems to hold in a smile. When he notices you looking at him, he turns his back towards you. Instead of speaking in a normal volume, he began to whisper.

What the fuck was that? Who could the caller be? It's probably one of his hookups, for sure. You let it slide. You'll ask about it after.

When Callum hangs up, you immediately call after him.

"Callum, who was it?" Callum turns around, hands in his back pockets and lips pursed. He does this when he's trying to hide something. You raise your brows.

"Just... someone special." He flashes a quick smile and then runs out of the room. Oh. You were right.

"Someone special" was a code name for one of the boys he fell in love with during your time here in Paris. You both were still in college. He was from the architecture department. Things happened, and things fell apart.

But then, you weren't so sure. Every time someone special called our place after their relationship, Callum was always sad after. Maybe something new happened?

When the clock hit five, everyone was on their way down stairs. You were fully prepped now, in your makeup, and dress with your jewellery and heels. Your mask was on, and you put on a large white fur coat.

Upon exiting your apartment complex, bunches of paparazzi blocked by barricades took pictures of you with their bright flashes. Callum and your team huddled around you, trying to get you safely in the car.

You get in your vehicle, and Callum had made an arrangement that he was to drive it. Nostalgia has filled your senses these past few days. You wonder what would come next.

When you arrived at the venue, wlaking through high ceiling halls and large oak doors, the room was filled with masked people, all dressed in various colours. They stood, laughed, and talked, all while drinking their preferred drinks.

It was a bit chilly in here, and you started to regret leaving your coat in your car. You didn't want to ask Callum to go with you to get it, seeing him already in conversation with the guests. You decide to go to the bar area instead.

You get your drink, fiddling with your hands as you wait. The ballroom was elegant, so much more brilliant than you thought it could be. Though, it felt rather lonely. You shake off the feeling once you receive your poison of the night.

Then, an announcement was heard. Everyone was to grab a partner to accompany them to dance. You promised Callum to enjoy the night, and you guess a dance could fulfil that.

You opted to a man who was sitting in the same bar you were in. He brought you a sense of familiarity for some unknown reason. He was slouched in his seat, ash brown hair a bit messy. He was turning his glass in circles.

"Hello." You greeted. When he turned to you, your eyes widened in wonder. He only had one eye hole, the rest of his face covered like yours. He blinks, and you could slightly hear him breathing.

"Hi." He says simply. You scan him, and there's a feeling in you that you definitely knew who this was, you just couldn't pinpoint it.

"I know I'm not in the position as a woman in this economy," you roll your eyes, "but, would you like to dance with me?"

His back straightens, and you think you've made him uncomfortable.

"Oh. I'm so sorry for even think-"

"Yes." He cuts in. He offers you a gloved hand as he stands from his barstool. You're surprised. He's taller than you imagined.

You take a hold of his hand. It's warm. Familiarly warm. He leads you into the middle of the ballroom, other guests already forming into formation. He gently takes your risks into his hold, moving up to his chest. Again, it's so familiar.

He drifts his hands to your sides and clutches it a bit. You feel as though you knew these hands. Like you've memorised the lines on the palm, the way the fingertips swirl, or how the muscles twitch and the joints move.

The orchestra starts to play, and you start to move. There's a flow you follow, and it feels so easy. You hadn't even known there was choreography, but the man you were with did. And he showed you through it.

You couldn't stop looking. Even if your neck started to hurt from looking up, even if you twirled, even if your eyes started to dry. You couldn't stop. And you didn't want to.

His eyes stayed on you all throughout the dance. The way he held you, the way he felt. He was so warm even if his body was covered in multiple layers of fabric. You could feel it. Like you've sunk into his skin.

When the dance ended, and he asked you to go with him, you agreed. You didn't know what he looked like. You only feel like you knew him, but you weren't sure. But even with that running through your head, you agreed.

The outside was cold but warmer than inside. You still shivered as you did before. Just then, a coat is wrapped around your shaking shoulders. You look up at the masked man. He took his coat off, now only dressed with a white button-up and a vest matching his pants. His already messy hair messes up even more now. It's in perfect condition to run your hands through.

You both make your way to the large railing of the balcony, taking a seat on it. It viewed the beautiful Eiffel Tower, its lights sparkling in the night. The wind blows once again. It's peaceful.

You turn your head to the man, and you almost fell over the rail. Sitting in front of you, his face finally unmasked, was Joseph Descamps. Out of all people, you didn't expect your first love to be sat in front of you. Seven years have passed, and he's still beautiful.

Your eyes began to sting as you lifted your hands to your face, discarding your own mask. He smiles, his pretty pink lips curving upward. He looks down, fiddling with the inseams of his pants. Again, it's familiar.

"Hi, Y/N." He whispers gently, taking a hold of your shaking hand. He takes your gloves off, putting them aside. He connects the tips of his fingers to yours, then encapsulates it in his warmth.

You can't speak. You can't breathe. You can't stop your heart from beating the way it was now.

"Seven years, and I finally see you again." He shows his teeth in his smile, and again, you can't stop looking.

"Still not talking?" He asks with a teasing tone, tilting his head.

"Did you know?" You asked, your voice so low you were surprised he even heard. Of course he did. He payed the closest attention to you.

"Know what?" He raises his eyebrows, anticipating your next words.

"That it was me?" He chuckles and shakes his head.

"Of course I did. I mean, I recognised you with one eye. I think I'd recognise you blind." He moves closer, bringing your hand up and placing a kiss on your knuckles.

You laugh. You lift your free hand up and cup his cheek. He leans into it, head laying heavy on your palm. He looks up at you, his eyelids heavy. Fuck.

He closes his eyes, taking his other hand to clasp at your wrist. He kisses your palm, leaving some wet patches from his open mouth. He trails his kisses up to your pulse, and you can't help but grab on his hair.

"Y/N, I've been looking-" Callum says as he runs towards the entrance of the balcony, stopping in his place at the sight of you.

"Oh, you finally met." Finally? You furrow your eyebrows, trying to figure out what he meant. Joseph pulls away from your hands, keeping his eyes on Callum. You turn my head back to the man in front of me, raising an eyebrow.

"What does he mean finally?" You ask Joseph. Callum walks towards us slowly, hands clasped behind his back.

"Uh..." Joseph looks to Callum. Callum raises his hands up. Joseph looks back to you, licking his lips before answering. "I planned it... sorry?"

"Planned it? Sorry? Joseph, why are you saying sorry? This is the best thing ever." You exclaim, and the two men just look at eachother.

"Not to ruin whatever the fuck you guys were doing just then, but the host wants some pictures, so..." He gestures to the door. You purse your lips in disappointment but nod. You get up and straighten your skirt, wiping off any wrinkles.

"I better go." You take your gloves and mask from where you were seated. "Can I see you after the gala?"

Joseph nods. "I was already planning on it." After prepping fully, you just stand there. You then lift your hand. "Bye."

Why was that so awkward? You'll save your self-beating bit later. Before you could even walk a step, Joseph takes your wrist again. You turn around to be met with a kiss on the corner of your lips.

"You look as gorgeous as the day you left." He whispers and presses another kiss on your cheek. They're beet red, you can feel it. He walks away, waving a bye to Callum, too. Callum slowly turns his head to you, then ushers you to go with him.

"What was that?" There's a cheeky smile on his face, and you try to hide your growing one.

"I don't even know."

××《☆》××

He was... clingy. The host, you meant. He was tall and built, but he was honestly so annoying. He kept bragging about his riches and talking about himself. The only time he shut up was when he took a sip of his whiskey.

You look around subtly, trying to keep yourself from rolling your eyes in front of the man, even though he could barely see them from your mask. Speaking of, he didn't wear one. This might've just been a party to make him somewhat the centre of attention for standing out.

"Dance with me, darling." You grimace. You're very glad for these masks. That nickname will be the death of you. And in a bad way.

"I don't feel like dancing. My feet are starting to hurt." I shrug, pointing to my ankles. You thought you were so smart, but he was just so insistent.

"Well, why don't we go upstairs? My office is free, and, you know," He comes disgustingly closer. You can smell his bad breath from his rotting yellow teeth. "I can help you with the aching."

Before you could retort, an arm wraps around your waist, keeping you still. You would've pushed away if you hadn't recognised his touch or his scent.

"Excuse me, sir. I must bring Ms. Pardine home immediately. She is busy tomorrow. And most definitely busy tonight." He turns his head towards you. He felt so tense. Like he was keeping something within him. A feeling so strong.

The man huffs like a child. "And who are you supposed to be?" He crosses his arms. He looks so immature, even with that saggy and wrinkley face.

"A close... friend." Joseph's hand slid down to my hips, clutching it slightly. He tugs you in closer, making you lose balance and place a hand on his chest. You refuse to look his way, or even anyones.

The other man scowls, disgust now visible in his face. "What a slut." He mumbles, finally leaving you alone. Joseph's grip on your hips tightens, and it starts to hurt you a bit.

"Joseph." You say, trying to gently push his hand away. He immediately lets go, turning to you worriedly.

"Shit. Sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." He rubs your hip to relax it, but you don't relax one bit. Your heart hammers in your chest, and there's a feeling deep in your stomach.

"It's alright. Just take me home." I caress his neck before grabbing his hand, moving through the crowds of people. You try to look for Callum, but when you find him, he's talking, or quite literally eye fucking some guy he was conversating with. He can get home, you guess.

Joseph takes you home in his car. This felt weird. Not badly, just that you've never been driven by him. It felt comforting. You could get used to this.

You tell him the directions to your place, and when you make it, you pause.

"Come in?" You turn your head. Your masks were already long gone, and all you could see was his beautiful face again.

"Are you sure?" He asks, voice shaking. You can't believe he's still nervous with you, especially with that stunt he pulled with your wrist on a public balcony. You'll tease him about it soon.

"With you? Always." So then you went up to your room, and as soon as you did, his hands were on you again. He backs you up until your back hits the wall behind you. You're both breathing so heavy it's the only thing you could hear in the entire flat.

"I missed you. And I need you. So fucking much." He whispers, one hand cupping your face and the other roaming your waist. Your legs go wobbly, so you take your heels off, making you shorter than you already were standing in front of him.

"Fuck." You mumble. "Kiss me already."

He smashes his lips against yours feverishly, and you could taste everything he had that night. Wine, whiskey, cigarettes, and even strawberries. His tongue swipes your lips as he lets out a groan.

He pulls you closer, kneeling a bit to grab your thighs, then carrying you with ease, all while he loses his breath from kissing you. He lets go of your face to let his hands roam the area, not wanting to accidentally hit your wall.

"Bedroom?" He asks, parting for only a millisecond before placing his pretty pink lips on yours again. You have to fight the urge not to drown in him.

"To the left." He nods, continuing to kiss you as he reverts his way to the left side of your flats. You bump a few things on the way, like some side tables and magazines.

You finally make it to the bedroom, and he lies down gently onto your bed. He slows his lips, savouring the way you tasted. It makes you squirm in anticipation, and you feel a smirk on his lips as he continues. He parts away, a small string of saliva accentuating it. He pants before he speaks.

"I wasn't lying. I really fucking need you. Please. Please, tonight." He whimpers, arms wobbling from where he placed it to hover over you. You just can't say no.

One nod sealed the deal for him, and his lips were on you again. This time, it's on your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, your eyes.

He pecks down to your neck. Everything inside you feels so fuzzy, especially when he kissed and sucked on those sensitive parts. He lowers down to your shoulders, and you can feel the bruises forming. You love the way it feels. You love the way he feels. You love him.

××《☆》××

End - Chapter nine: You Belong To Me

Next - Chapter Ten: I love you

××《☆》××

WHAT'S UP GUYS??? So, like this is nice (i need him so bad OMFGGGGG) totally can still breathe after that last scene (i can't i want him pls omg) so like hope you enjoyed THAT cliffhanger. It's better than my old cliffhangers, right? But overall, i hope you enjoyed THE WHOLE chapter bcs its real nice, and it's all me. ONE CHAPTER LEFT!!!

[1eoness]

uhmmmm actor leon kennedy?? mayvbe

cw: dom! ooc leon kennedy x sub afab reader | no specific leon | he's kinda weird here idk | creampie | praise | mild degradation | wee bit of size kink idk

[to clarify, i am a minor (17). anyone <17 and anyone >17 uncomfortable with interacting pls dni}

a/n bc i love rambling : so uhmmm when i was writing this there was an electric explosion right outside of our house so the power's out in our neighborhood and im back in this damn cafe LMAOOO

a/n : (update lol)i wrote this like monthssss ago (wtf this sucks).. so im back nd im gonna post this bc why the fuck not it's still rllyyyy bad and a lot of word repeating but yeah just felt like posting lol

synopsis : actor!leon kennedy has been in the gig too long to deal with nepotistic, wide-eyed girls like you. yet much to his exasperation, you're just too much of a greenhorn in the showbiz world.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ -you can fucking skip this part idc- ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

you've only ever heard his name maybe once or twice in one of the magazines in your mother's bar. you must've read it over and over again, having to see his name and face habitually to endure the excruciating hours of working behind the bar with your phone in a locker. you weren't particularly enthusiastic about films or Hollywood or WASP families, either. but it was better than nothing.

it started like this. you were wiping the cedarwood slab that dewed with beer, when the woman who sat across you (having drunk maybe 4 pints) reached over with her veiny, grisly hands. the acrylics tapped at your temples when she held your awkward face.

said "woman" was your aunt who just got back from monaco. and she's been urging you to work with Pierce. whoever that was.

you were well content with the life you had right now. but sometimes—often in front of your vanity— you did find yourself fantasizing about the 'big city'. you caught yourself in a cliche dream but the idea was invigorating, the mere machinations of those opportunities dangled above your eyes like meat on a stick.

"..oh, but.. i don't think it's practical, you know?" you excused as you dismissed the billowing thoughts in your head. even if you had the physical assets that aligned with the director's vision, it would still feel wrong. some people go to literal schools for this stuff, don't they?

but she remained persistent. and after a low, lighthearted sigh, she continued her persuasion. "..y/n, you're a diamond in the rough." your aunt neared you, holding your hands together in a friendly hold. "..let me make it a reality for you."

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ -♡- ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

so. were you a natural? hell no.

you're wearing a costume that you can't even touch without the stylists getting mad at you. you got harped on and poked at for so long you were starting to get a migraine. the studio refused to let up on you, jabbing at you passive aggressively until you curled like a millipede. honestly, you were more pissed than sad!

and leon? god, he was a total fucking hottie. and he was totally cold.

the director announced an hour break to everyone just before they'd jump straight to the next scene. you remained sat on one of the props, hands clasped on your lap, contemplating the choices you've made over for the 7th time today. you were fidgeting like you were anxious. you forgot how breaks felt. the luxury was there, five star hotels, velvet cushions and robes and office gossip and dinners with imported wine and cheese. but it felt like hell. working with leon was the only thing that made it even ten percent worth everything, but even he doesn't seem to like you. why was everyone so mean? fucking fair enough, you were beginning to hate this place so much you might ask for a cigarette yourself.

the petrichor mellowed through the film set, nibbling her skin with chill. nights in raccoon are cold, you needed to keep mind of that in case you decide to open your front door without a jacket. the alleyways were diffused by vapor lighting and LED signs. you also had another superficial thought. what do people on set usually do when they're on break?

you whip your head up, legs swinging slightly as you scanned the area. most of them are either adjusting equipment, going through script, or smoking one. you turned your head to your right without expecting much.

you saw leon leaning against the wall, next to the director, sharing smoke (you're beginning to see this is a trend) and cheap laughs. you were mildly surprised, not realizing they were both adjacent behind you, and you felt goosebumps rise when your eyes landed on leon. you quickly looked forward again. you didn't want to move away.

you missed leon's subtle smirk to himself when his gaze flicked to the crown of your hair. he took a puff of his stick, still sounding like he was talking to the man beside him. his eyes didn't leave you and the way you sat there like you were going to spend the remainder of your break spacing out.

leon's voice was nonchalant behind you. to you, it was faint chatter. "...life will chew you up and spit you back out before too long, but that's..."

...

was he talking to you?

leon wasn't too nice on you while you guys were on set, but he wasn't so directly mean either—emphasis on directly.

he's earned word of you from both your aunt and the director, obviously. he doesn't look like the type, but sometimes he has a knack for gossip. that's just how the nature of stardom works, doesn't it? name number #1 did this that tto name number #2, someone divorced someone, someone slept with someone—and the whole world goes aflame. he could care less about where you came from, why you're really here or who you were connected to. but something about you was thought-provoking. contrasting you, he worked for where he was. you just sat there looking pretty and snagged the role right away. maybe that sort of incompetency and oblivious audacity made you stand out from the rest. he found it pathetically attractive. you're an artless girl.

your head swiveled over your shoulder, looking behind and up at leon.

leon's eyes met your gaze halfway. "aww. is this your first big time acting gig, baby? no need to be nervous, it'll be alright." a tinge of mockery sweetened the husk of his voice. the director, who you now know is 'pierce', snickered at leon's subtle sarcasm.

the director tells him he's going to announce everyone to continue, since he wanted the rain to 'sex things up'. heaven's dew tapped lightly on the concrete as the director mounted his back off the vandalized walls, leaving you and leon alone in the same space. oh god.

for a minute you sat there quietly, letting the tension sink in upon the director leaving. you tentatively take another glance at leon. he wasn't looking at you anymore, and his hands were out his pockets as he swipes the little box open. soft brown tufts wisped when he shook his head to get the rain off his hair.

you got off the table. you walked to leon. you'd say your feet were moving on its own.

his head shifts to your direction. his bangs falling over his face. a gust of wind breezes by, and he smells deep, musky. like cardamom. cedarwood.

" if anyone's givin' you trouble on set..." leon looks down as he slips a cigarette in his mouth, rummaging in his pocket for his lighter. "you come to leon... 'kay?"

his hush voice was honeyed whiskey when it wooed at you, applying simple emphasis to his two-syllable name. leon, leon, how that name would sound in bed. there's a slight tease to his eyes, before diverting his attention to his cigarette, casting an orange glow in his palms when he flicks the lighter on with his thumb. his presence was prodding, inviting you with every inch of his body language. this man was blazing and you were a fucking moth.

he likes the way you're looking at him right now. your eyes are batting at every subtle sculpt of him. you can look away but he knows you're still thinking about him.

such a sweet thing, this one.

he decides to be 'friendlier', pitying the fact that you're obviously having a hard time socializing with the crew. "what's your favorite movie, doll?"

"mm.. i liked kill bill. and pulp fiction." you converse casually.

a name rolls off his tongue. "quentin tarantino." he nodded in what seemed like approval, watching a puddle.

you blink. "what?"

he glances at you and he doesn't reply, before leaving that wall all to yourself.

...

leon's tongue trickles with the taste of vouvray. you were art in the shadows, the honey lighting of the dimmed lamp doing nothing to illuminate leon's hotel room. your lips are glossed with his saliva, evidence of your breath went after he made out with you.

you're barely holding it, all while his big hands purchased at your flesh, drinking in the way you straddled his boner. the subtle friction where you were able to feel how big he really is intimidated you, blooming excited butterflies, your stomach fluttering at each soft push of your hips. you watched with your palms flat on his stomach, the soaked fabric of your panties collecting and staining all over his boxers as you stifled a needy whimper. "y'need it now, baby? oh, don't go soft on me now... i'll take care of you, just tell me."

his pretty baby, sitting on him and too shy to plead from the big shot. leon's hands languidly travel your skin, palms massaging up your sides. "...i-i wan' it.. i want you.. please.." you murmured hazily, leaning down to give him a soft kiss to compensate for the bashfulness that rode over your speech.

"is that right, sweetheart?" he bit his lip gently at the teasing sight, loving the way you sounded needier by the minute. "oh, baby, go on. it's all yours, yeah?.." he crooned, patting your thigh gently.

"easy, baby.. oh, there you go.. atta girl.." he groans prettily when he's muttering you through it, eyes delectably gazing at the way you sink on his length. it was cute to him seeing you not knowing what to do with your hands. but he watches you settle them on his built torso, and he could only look at you in adoration. god, he was so fucking thick and you were so highly strung..

leon's touch stroke at your knees. you aren't moving, and he looks almost amused seeing you try to render just how he feels inside you. "i can't.." he heard you murmur before you giggled quietly, to which made him chuckle as well. but the flustered laughter dies down. the actor groans, feeling your fluttering grip around his cock, making it his instinct to hold onto your waist.

it didn't take long before you started getting loud. your arousal lathered up and everytime you pump down a creamy squelch. "mhmmm... uhh, keep going.." leon whispers, and his eyes stared at where your bodies met. you could hear a soft whimper from him—vocally begging your sweet little self to go faster.

leon watches you trying to change the speed. poor girl, you looked like you were already starting to ragdoll. you resisted stopping, unable to with the way he'd rub into the right spots. leon took your small, depleted whine as a sign for him to initiate. he was just letting you have your fun. just until you'd get a bit frustrated. by this time he'd already lit another cigarette and the stick perches between his lips.

"..tiring, ain't it, sweetheart?" leon coos, feigning pity for you, fingers clutched at your hips like its his favorite thing to hold. he started to thrust up into your sopping little cunt, pulling a weak mewl out of you. there might be nothing he loves more than watching your supple frame as it bounces atop him.

"mmm.. aww 's okay, baby.. leon's got you.. mhm, that's right." he responds to every quaint sob you make. his stamina was stubborn as he gradually shifted his pace.

"nice and quiet, baby... don't want th't fucker 'pierce hearin' you..." leon almost feels like a sick fuck, pretty lips grinning slightly as he moans. "god, fuuuuck... mmmhh... uh- f-fuck!" leon almost whines before giving you a harsh thrust, as if he were desperately trying to make you his cocksleeve. if you were going to take it so well then you shouldn't be surprised at how he's gonna force you down, and keep you in place while he sluts you out.

you're murmuring something, and the words fall like blabber to his ears.

leon smiles endearingly, as if he isn't fucking you stupid right now. "mhhh.. wanna cum? you wanna cum?" leon asks as he tries to make sense of what you're saying.

and you gulp, gasping through your watering voice. "w-wanna cumm.. give it t'me-"

he tries not to laugh.

"c'mon, let me make you cum... i'll make it feel good.." leon murmurs before you could feel him pound into you, a whine dripping like syrup from your voice. your body barely keeps up. you feel tight and it's making leon's head tilt back a bit. "oh, there you go, sweetheart... atta girl.." he mumbles hazily as his mind starts to get messy.

"like that? uhuh? mmmh?~" leon moans back almost mockingly at each pleasured whine that spilled your voice. you're mindlessly pawing at whatever you can reach on leon, turning him on with your helplessness. "takin' me nice and well-..." he growls as he starts to piston up into your cunt brutally. you look cuter when you're stuffed with leon's thickness, when you're crying on what you begged for.

"leon, c-cumming" you lolled out in a low moan, head leaning slightly. "i'm gonna cum.."

he responds with a groan, hips rocking upward as he feels you clenching around him. "go on, baby, give it to me. 'm right here,"

he has you shuddering when you cum, the vibrating sensation jolting to your brain as it reeled in pleasure. it takes a few shallow thrusts to keep you satisfied but it's hard to tell when you're already sniffling and twitching on top of him. you wipe your face as you draw a few breaths. leon reaches to warmly take your wrist, thumb pressing onto your skin, feeling your heartbeat.

he watches you gather your bearings before generously caressing your hair once. you help yourself off leon's shaft and a heavy-sounding breathe escapes him in wonder.

leon whispers something once he leans into you and chucks his half-dead cigarette into the ashtray. "c'mere.." his one arm tucked around your back and eventually the other to your leg as he makes you lie down. he treats you with some sort of delicacy, at least until he doesn't.

leon tugs you closer with his arm hooked loosely under your knee, pulling your princess body in for a few intimate kisses to calm the both of you. he tastes mildly bitter. you hummed in his mouth when your lips lock together, eyes fluttering while you felt weak. leon starts muttering as he asks if anything hurts, if you're okay, if you're gonna stay here for the night. for a moment he doesn't say anything and he's just gazing down at you languorously while he breathes. he kisses one of your eyelids before he shifts.

maybe leon liked you better like this, on your fours, limping against the satin bedding as you cried and panted in a way that seemed like suffocation. his thick fingers tug at your hair once, your only teary view being the couch and the TV that dimly mirrored a reflection of you being held down be leon as he rammed into your dribbling hole tenderly. your legs occasionally kicking up against him, hitting him with your ankles as you found it hard to not writhe. he watches you peek over your shoulder, the expression in your eyes instigating struggle. "what?" leon tugs at your hair again, fighting the toothy smile from his face as he fucked you brainless. "didn't think i could make a whore out of you?"

leon lets go of your hair to rut into you with urgency. the bed was starting to jut out small squeaks from leon's rhythm. he leans closer, chewing on his lip as his eyes narrowed in pleasure. a soft growl emanates from behind you, skin on skin, breathing near your ear. the rough hands that were once planted near yours on the mattress start to grip your forearms like handles. he watches your back contort.

you jolt up as leon yielded you to his body, impaling you with his girth in a routinely fashion, urging you to cry louder. "oh, baby.." he whimpers lowly as he starts to feel himself lose control again.

"fuck, i can't.." you wail out, head hanging low briefly. he notices.

"ready to pass out, honey?" he pants softly.

you weakly shook your head.

"good girl." leon bit his bottom lip, whispering out a needy 'fuck' as he slammed into you while pulling you back. he felt satisfied by the way you yelped. his brows furrow, expression tainted with a lustful and crude color as he almost began to drool. brown strands started to get in the way of his vision. his breath is suddenly hitched, water lining his eyes as his voice turned up a note. he hisses, head tilting to the side. "fuck, fuck,-" his gruff words start to match with his thrusts. "take it- all-, yes, baby, that's a good- fucking- mnnnghh..."

it takes leon a while to recover, moaning lowly and riding his orgasm, watching you spasm beneath him while he spills inside you without much restraint. he tiredly fucks his load in you before he gives out and huffs a spent whine. he catches a glimpse of it. you're leaking white.

you're breathless, fatigued, sweating, and almost thoughtless as you catch some oxygen back in your lungs. you could feel yourself pulsating around his twitching shaft as waves of pleasure traveled your burning body. his arms loosen of their sensual hold before they catch you, pulling your weary form down to spoon with you momentarily. you can feel each other inhaling. exhaling.

a phone rang. it wasn't yours, you could tell by the ringtone. your eyes flit to see pierce's name on a default iphone screen. "i need a drink." leon exhales roughly, leaning over to kiss the shell of your ear before he reached for the bedside table to grab for his phone. he slipped out of the sheets with his phone on his ear.

[sorcerous-caress]

Re: making homemade porn w your loser elf bestie FNSKFKSODKE GOD YOUR BRAIN IS SO HUGE AND WRINKLED!!! I deeply enjoy how one of this biggest degenerate losers in the forum falls off the face of the planet for a few weeks, comes back with a human partner, and suddenly the whole forum is like “our human 👁️👁️”

Now I am thinking more about bullying him for the camera. Sipping the thought of sitting astride him while slowly grinding on his cock and watching how red his face gets like it’s fine wine. Delighting in how his eyes get hazy and he babbles so desperately in whatever language his poor porn rotted brain can conjure up in the moment. He’s so cute when he’s losing his mind over the way your insides feel wrapped around his dick while the camera peers between your legs and watches him barely slide in and out of you. A witness to how just a bit of tight human hole makes such an elegant, graceful creature fall apart at the seams and lapse into an animalistic state. Yeah sure the two of you may take inspiration from the large amount of suggestions you get, but honestly this is your favorite way to have him <3

As an aside I NEED more of your thoughts on the people on the forum getting on his nerves and making him, dare I say, possessive? 👀 It’s one thing for him to willingly show you off, it’s another to have others so brashly ask to borrow you. I wonder if we would ever accidentally get a peek at some of the online messages that refer to him as our boyfriend 👀

(I also have some cute fluffy ideas for this pornbrained loser but this ask is already so long, I sowrry 🙈)

—🩵 Anon

"O u r Human 👁 👁" XKSJKSJXJAKAJX i love your humour

Honestly, if he also stayed a lone loser on the forum and never met you, then he'd have the same reaction to someone else bringing a human there.

He is aware it was mere fate and chance that you chose him, pure luck. That's why he doesn't feel bad about being a bit selfish and never fully showing you the forum or suggestions.

Like yes, these people are his community and were there for him when normal elf porn websites removed their human category after some some public backlash. These forums were the only reason he could even experience sexual pleasure anymore.

But now he has you. A whole real human to himself. One so willing and enthusiastic about sleeping with him, he would be crazy to pay attention to anyone else.

On the fluffy side, you were also his first ever real friend, before he knew you were human. He really has spent his days with brainrot as he fell deeper and deeper into the porn addiction, his views on actual humans morphing and mixing with fantasy. The thing that helped bring him pleasure was also becoming an addiction that made it akin to impossible to make any friends.

But he met you online, also by fate, and the two of you clicked. Played video games together or chatted by texts for hours deep into the night. He has replied to the weird memes you've sent him at 3am almost immediately since he never has the need to sleep.

You became another source of happiness for him, a true blessing he thanked Corellon for everyday.

He was so excited to meet you, preparing an entire day of fun things you can do together. But you just had to be the most attractive human he has ever seen, huh?

And yet you didn't reject him or think he was weird when he couldn't keep his obsession from showing, your insides felt so amazing as you held him close and whispered praises into his ear with every thrust.

Indulging him with your body and making him almost pass out from happiness, his heart was immediately yours to do whatever you wished to with. Even if you squeezed it and stepped on it, he'd thank you and find it the hottest thing ever.

The forums became a thing of the past, his human magazines that he spent so much of his salary on collecting and getting every new edition the day it dropped, are now forgotten and collecting dust.

He's very clingy and is a sad mess whenever you leave his apartment to go back to your home, you haven't invited him over yet so he has to helplessly wait until the next time you come over.

Coaxing you to stay whilst eating you out, using every trick in the book he can think of to convince you on why it's better to just spend the night at his place. If you want to stuff then he is ready to drive you there and back here just to get them, you don't have to lift a finger and be his lovely passenger princess.

Although, now his salary goes into funding this homemade porn new habit of his. Buying only the best of the toys for you, the highest quality vibratiors and lingerie that's tailored to your body.

He gets off using them whenever you're not around, watching a past video of you fucking yourself with these toys as he does the same. Just the idea of them having been used by a human gets him on the edge, but the fact you were that human specifically is what gets him to cum whilst crying your name.

You're very eager to film with him. He notices the way your lips curl from humiliating him on camera, softly bullying him as you tease and edge his cock. Making him fuck you with the slowest pace possible and turning him from a respectful noble high elf, into a desperate needy pathetic whore who needs his cock inside you to function.

Elves known for their grace and wisdom. The fact he has lived way more than a century and yet you reduced him to an animalistic state as he fucks you with all of his power.

High elves call sex lovemaking instead, consider it to be a joining of soul that's full of love passion and gentleness like no other. Yet he is leaving his marks along your body, squeezing your thighs so hard until his handprints stay there, kissing and sucking on your neck and throat so he can spend the whole night admiring his work while you sleep.

Sometimes during your sleep, you do hear a wet sound besides you, heavy breathing and a muffled moans as he strokes his cock, rubbing at the head to quietly get off. He doesn't dare touch you while you sleep, merely laying besides you in agony at never being able to get off on his own no matter how many times he fucks his own fist.

Your smell is everywhere too, that human scen that your kind is blissfully unaware of. He can smell it on his clothes that he lets you borrow, pillow cases and sheets.

Even his home office isn't free from it, as much as he tries to keep that space neat and tidy in case of a video call work meeting, he just couldn't refuse your request to tie him to his office chair and suck him off while he tries not to cum.

He gets the same heated feeling between his legs whenever he sits in that chair since then, clearing his throat and hiding his tenting hard cock under his desk from the camera on his work laptop. Keeping the facade of being a calm, collected noble elf.

More on the fluffy moments, he found out he likes having his ears petted gently because of your curiosity that one time. Usually elf ears are off limit since the pointer they are, the more a show of pride they represent.

Elves are discouraged to touch their ears or anyone's because of that, since they were children. Parents would tell their kids that their ears would flop or stay in weire shapes if they let others touch them.

But you just did it one day, without regard. Asking if you can try something and just reaching out towards his face. At first he panicked when he realised it was his ears, but then it felt...good.

Your touches were gentle, comforting. He found himself relaxing and leaning into you, not even caring if this is considered inappropriate. Human hands are really soft and round in comparison to elves, almost like these hands were made for the sole purpose of petting things.

Another time, you two found each other by mere chance at a supermarket while shopping. He usually avoids all humans and never looks them in the eyes, but he couldn't look away from you since the second he recognised you.

The two of you spent the afternoon shopping for groceries together, getting to know each other's food preference and actually having a good time. It reminded him that he never lost the friend he made in you, that sex never made you view him differently.

He took note of a particular snack or drink in your cart. The next time you went to visit him, he had it in his fridge for you. He isn't very good at cooking, but sometimes he shares elven dishes with you.

They're heavy on the vegetables and spices, and each dish prefers complexity rather than simplicity. He knows the tastes might be too intense for humans so he prepared a watered down version of it for you.

You make the mistake of kissing him after it, and just the taste of the original dish on his lips sends your tastebuds into alarm. One flavour after another invading your sense, it's like everything all at once was pushed to the limit. He confesses that magic is involved in making that dish to intensify the spices, but he rubs your back as you chug water afterwards to try and wash it out.

One time, you accidentally mixed your glasses and took a sip of elvish alcohol, a single small sip. You were hungover for three days after and had to take time off work. He stayed by your side in bed and nursed you back to health. Thankfully, the cantrip he was born with does alleviate pain and refresh the mind.

He admits he finds it adorable, how humans are oversensitive to so many "normal things". Like a fresh breath of life trying things for the first time.

As for the possessive side, he'd probably get really defensive about you on these forums. Claiming since he is your "boyfriend" then he has every right to be protective of you and never allow anyone else the chance to contact or meet you.

He doesn't think less of you for sleeping with him or being friends with benfits. It is one of the many things he really admires about humans and find unimaginably hot. Even if you never start a relationship with him, he will die happily knowing he was your boytoy for all of your lifetime.

What he hates is the potential that he might lose you to someone else. That other human enthusiasts like him no doubt also find these things hot about you and would want a piece for themselves.

And it's making him more possessive of you, feeling more entitled to the videos you two film. Half of them he doesn't actually share on the forums and just saves for himself. He took editing courses on the side to learn how to fully make your identity untraceable so that none of them gets the chance to find you let alone your online accounts.

[holmesxwatson]

A Study in Celluloid: A Producer's Account of Jeremy Brett as Sherlock Holmes by Michael Cox

"I was looking forward to my first meeting with a classical actor who had a marvellous voice and the appearance of a Sidney Paget illustration from The Strand Magazine. Granada wanted a name who would be acceptable in the US market so that the series could be sold there in advance of production. Jeremy satisfied all the criteria but that did not mean that he would automatically accept. He had an actor's understandable fear of being trapped in one part, never to be offered anything else afterwards particularly this part. He had done his homework and knew that the later career of Basil Rathbone had been cruelly restricted because he was so indelibly associated with Sherlock Holmes. We talked about my plans for a series which would be faithful to Conan Doyle and made to the same high standard as the other classic adaptations for which British television was becoming famous. He was interested, enthusiastic even, but not of course prepared to commit himself irrevocably until there were dates and figures on paper. So we talked about everything else under the sun and began to find that we enjoyed each other's company. We drank a lot of wine between the four of us and spent about £100 of Granada's money, which was quite a restaurant bill for 1981. Towards the end of the evening a very damp and rather bedraggled flower girl asked the manager if she could try to sell pots of plastic flowers to the last customers. Jeremy bought the remains of her stock and was not just charming-which any handsome actor might have been -but genuinely interested in how the girl was supplementing a student grant, what she was studying and when she was going to get into some dry clothes. She had come in feeling like Eliza Doolittle at the start of Pygmalion and went out feeling like Audrey Hepburn at Ascot." --Michael Cox, A Study in Celluloid

buy the book from Wessex Press (x)

companion audio CD of Michael Cox's keynote from the Sherlock Holmes Review symposium 1987 from Wessex Press (x)

entry on Goodreads (x)

[thevikingwoman]

I could not let this be, so here is part two of Meryta and Emmanellain. This part is explicit.

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV | Words: 2359 | Read on Ao3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Meryta Khatin x Emmanellain de Fortemps | start of HW | fluff/romance Rating: Explicit. New relationship, first time together, sweetness, smut, oral, handjob

Reprieve - part 2

Meryta and Emmanellain rush down the hall, giggling and holding hands. Meryta isn’t sure this is wise, but she’s very tired of worrying. Emmanellain is sweet and handsome, hapless overconfidence notwithstanding. Thanks Nhamaa – or perhaps Halone – the hallways are empty.

Emmanellain fumbles with the handle of a door, and she sneaks a kiss to his cheeks as he swings the door to his rooms open, gesturing for her to enter. She looks around curiously, hand in his. There are shelves with books, and some thrown open on a side table. A sitting area with a velvet divan, vases with flowers, ink and paper on a desk, crumbled leafs beside it.

“Here we are, pretty girl. My chambers are quite splendid, of course.” He pulls her further into the room, and he amends, “I am certain Father provided you with lodging befitting a hero, of course –”

Meryta stands on her toes and kisses his jaw. Emmanellain bends to capture her lips with his and she loses interest in the décor as he wraps his arms around her and lifts her up, bracing her against the wall. The door falls shut.

Impatient, she pushes his coat off his shoulders, its heavy fur hitting the floor with a thud. It’s probably the latest fashion, but Emmanellain doesn’t seem to care right now, and neither does she, the layers of rich cloth far too much between them. He kisses her jaw, her throat, his soft lips eager against her skin. She shivers with every touch of his lips, want pooling in her belly. She kisses him back, her hands roaming across the velveteen clinging to his shoulders, round to fiddle with the buttons on his shirt.

“I want – ”

He nods and she works the buttons, popping the buttons open impatiently. His skin is soft and smooth and she kisses it as it’s revealed, his shirt hanging open. She’s not had a lot of opportunity for intimacy since she came to Eorzea, and then only hurried moments. She’s not had much before that either, but the partners in her youth were much more like her, scaled and hardened. Now, she roams her hand over his chest and his softer belly, excited by the feel of him.

“Meryta, pretty girl –” Emmanellain kisses her, enthusiastically and messy and his arms give out as she slides to the floor. She has to look up at him, and he looks flushed, his eyes wide and soft. It’s his turn to push her jacket to the floor, the leather landing in a heap behind her. His hands move down her back and settles on her ass, gripping firmly through her heavy trousers. She wants him closer, wrapping her tail around him to pull him in, as she reaches for his face, his lips. She wants them on her again, their softness and the warm taste of the wine he’d had at his party.

He stumbles as she pulls him down to her, one arm going wild, knocking into a pedestal. Meryta barely catches the vase that comes tumbling down, flower decorations spread over the floor.

“Let me –”

“No Meryta I beseech you, I’d rather –”

He kisses her again, and he pulls on her shirt. She allows him to pull it over her head, and lands on top of the flowers, and then Emmanellain lifts her and carries her in three steps to his bed, avoiding a pile of magazines left on the floor.

“You look splendid on my bed,” he says, and grins, quite proud of himself. “You would look better with less clothes, I believe.”

She laughs and props herself up on her elbows. “You think?”

“Ah I most assuredly know, but to be certain there is but one way to find out.”

His eyes are bright and she complies with his audacity, shimmying her pants down her legs and unclasping her breastband.

“Meryta,” Emmanellain breathes, and he crawls into his bed, his shirt hanging loose off shoulders and his hair freely around his face. She pulls him close and kisses him. She likes the way he looks at her, all happy affection, free of the world’s burdens. Like she has the right to be happy, here in his bed.

He sits up next to her, and runs his hands down from her face to her neck, gently touching her scales. She shivers with the touch, and he startles and withdraws.

“Please, it’s nice,” she says. Her scales are sensitive and she wants his hand back, so she takes it puts there.

“I’ve never, uh – “ He blushes and touches lightly, down her throat and her shoulder, tracing the patches of jadeblack scales, “— with an Au Ra. Is it – is this fine?”

“More than fine, Emmanellain. You can touch as much as you want.”

She grins and Emmanellain blushes deeper, a lovely flush across his cheeks. He is still tentative, carefully exploring her body with his hands, but it feels nice and calming. She encourages him, arching and sighing into his touch. She traces two fingers over the shell of his pointed ears, curious herself.

“It’s softer than I expected, I must confess,” he mumbles, and kisses her shoulder, the scales above her breast. He kisses her nipples next, and it’s no longer calming, lighting rushing through her veins with his sudden boldness. She arches towards him, an ache between her legs. She wants his hands there, or her own, and her tail pulls free from under her to wrap around Emmanellain’s arm. He startles and she almost wants to apologize, but he lets out a low groan and continues exploring her body, every touch pulling moans from her.

His shirt drags across her belly as he moves, and he has far too many clothes on still, her thighs bucking against the silk of his trousers.

“You too,” she mumbles, and pushes his shirt off his shoulders, her hands wandering over his tall frame. She wants it off, she wants him as naked as her.

He obliges, sits up and shrugs out of his shirt, tossing it haphazardly behind him. He takes off his trousers with a flourish, treating them much the same as the shirt. He stands, pale and naked and blushing, and she pulls him down beside her, tail flickering to his waist. She reaches and kisses his sweet lips again, and his chest next and it is Emmanellain’s turn to sigh – which turns to a wince as her hands roam lower.

She frowns and pulls back, a black-blue bruise visible on his flank.

“Pray, are you injured? Does it hurt?”

“Oh, it is but a minor bruise. It was worse though,” he stretches and shows her, his hands extending to his back, his lips pouting. “The vanu were quite rough.”

“I am sorry I was not faster, Emmanellain. I should not have let you go off on your own.”

She traces his skin lightly, right above the bruise on his ribs. His skin is so soft and pale.

“You came, you’re a true hero.” He chuckles, as if he’s telling a joke. “It is much to my chagrin than I was much less of a hero than I thought, and more the embarrassment Father believes me.”

His arms fall beside him, and he looks away. She wants to bring back his boundless joy, for her to soak in and forget her own troubles.

“I should have foreseen the danger. The beastmen, the Primal... those are not simple problems.” She can hardly forget it, leaping through the sky. She does not want to think of it, but if the time comes, she will deal with it. She folds her hand in his and reaches to kiss him. “I doubt your father expected you to deal with a Primal, Emannellain.”

“I would not be so certain,” he mumbles, kissing her back. She wraps her arms and her tail around him, drawing him closer.

“No matter, you came for me like the hero you are.” Emmanellain perks up, his mood seemingly shifting like the wind, and he grins widely. “You should be treated as such.”

“I did what I had to – but had your brother and Cid not shown up… “

He pays her words no heed and pushes her back on his bed, now hooking his fingers in her smalls and tugging. She obliges and lifts her hips, allowing him to slide them down her legs. His hands wander across her legs, and she forgets what she was going to say.

He settles between her legs. “Mayhap I’ll be a hero to you too, you most assuredly deserve it.”

He looks at her, far more intent than she expects, as he’s randomly touching her legs, her belly – watching her face as she reacts to his touch, lighter and firmer across skin and scales. Emmanellain’s gaze slide lower. Heat pools in her belly and her face flushes under his attention. His hands are on her hips and he lowers his head, his breath warm against her skin, his mouth but an inch from her sex. He kisses the inside of her leg, sending shudders through her spine. Oh.

“May I?”

She nods, and he kisses her thigh again, and brushes his hand over her scales, the delicious pressure making her sigh. She spreads her legs, letting him see how she wants him. She wonders if he would mind her hands in his hair. It’s dark and smooth and tempting; she wants to mess it up. She wants to pull him closer, to where she wants him and his mouth.

She doesn’t have to wait though, his kisses moving to the apex of her legs, and his tongue darts to taste her. Despite her want, she still lets out a gasp of surprise, her hips lifting off the bed. Emmanellain doesn’t relent, holding her hips and licking up her slit, then down. He presses his tongue against her most sensitive part, and sucks and licks again, a blur of changing sensations, then easing back.

“Good? My hero, pretty girl, beautiful – ” he gasps, looking up at her under long, dark lashes.

“Yes, please, I want – ”

He’s back and she can’t help herself, her hands burying in his hair, the soft brown strands too inviting, her need for him, to guide him, too much. Emmanellain doesn’t seem to mind at all, redoubling his efforts, pressure and suction and heat.

She just feels – her world narrows to the feeling between her legs, his hands on her hips, and she moans and pleads, his name on her lips as she bucks against him, his hands no match for her strength. One of his hands finds it’s way between her legs, and his fingers in her cunt, his mouth still on her. It’s good, her whole body writhing, her tail curling away from her to slide against Emmannelain’s back. He moans at that, and crooks his fingers and she falls apart, waves of pleasure washing over her.

Emannellain pulls back and grins again, self assured and happy, licking his lips. She feels languid and boneless, and smiles back. He moves up her body, kissing her belly, her chest, her mouth. She kisses him greedily, licking the taste of herself from his lips.

“Very heroic, aren’t I?”

“Verily.”

She wraps her arm around him, pulling him close. His hardness is against her thigh, and she presses against it, to hear him groan. He ruts against her, eager and erratic. Impatiently, Emmanellain moves his hand between them and grips himself, seeking more friction.

“You enjoyed that,” she grins, mayhaps pleased herself, and she reaches for him too, putting her hand above his, moving it deliberately down and up. Emmanellain closes his eyes briefly and sits on his knees next to her, giving her room to move and grip him firmly.

“Quite so,” he says, as he lets his own hand drop and reach for her, his thumb running over her scales. She tries to find a rhythm, absorbed in the motion and intensity of his face, the velvet hardness beneath her hands – she uses her other hand too, her hands small against his full length. Faster, slower, a twist at the end, and he’s soon shaking, his eyes caught in hers, his jaw clenched and his hands scrambling over her body.

“Oh, I – Meryta!” He comes like that, white ropes over her belly, down her hand. She lets up the pressure, moves her hands gently and lets him fall forward into her, the mess smeared between them. Emmanellain grins sheepishly, his face flushed as they messily kiss again.

“So handsome,” she whispers and he blushes deeper. She decides she likes the look on him. He kisses her jaw, and then scoots off the bed.

“Oh – I should… sorry!” He grabs his shirt at random.

“Don’t be sorry –”

“Here, let me, ah, let me,” he says as he gently wipes her belly and then her hands, careful and uncaring for ruining the fabric. Meryta finds she doesn’t care much either.

After cleaning himself too, he carefully sits on the bed. He opens his mouth, as if to say something, and closes it again. A flick of uncertainty sparks in her gut.

“Are you…?” She hopes he has no regrets, as she certainly has none. “Should I leave?”

“No! I mean – unless you want to? My bed is certainly big enough, and you still look wonderful in it.”

“No! I’d love to stay, I just wasn’t sure, my own rooms are... somewhere.” She’s not been to this part of the manor before, endless corridors and halls but it’s probably not far to go back and perhaps that would be expected. She’d like to stay, though, next to his soft body and softer hair, not alone in her own borrowed bed and constant reminder of why she needs the charity of the Fortemps family. Not that she’d voice it quite so.  “I am perhaps too tired to move.”

“Wore you out?” He smirks, and crawls next to her, his arm across her body. “I’d like you here.”

Relief flooding her, she tucks herself closer to him, mindful of her horns.

[rullakebu]

The Fiendish Furrier 2: The Critic (F/M, tickling)

“Ugh, so boring,” Bruno burst out loud in disgust, scanning the screen before him.

…

Bruno Graham, a renowned yet infamous fashion critic in the city, had just heard word that some furrier had landed a major interview and a display of her new line of fur clothing in Vogue magazine. Bianca Nyberg, she was called. Having heard of her and seen some of her ads in the city, he had to check the section out.

The lean dark-skinned 32-year-old, sporting a well-groomed fade haircut, poured himself a glass of his favorite red wine and took a seat in his lofty office chair. The heavy rainfall poured against the massive windows of his penthouse, the loud sounding almost like drumming. The apartment offered a generous view of the city, its lights and neon signs illuminating some of the pitch-black midnight horizon.

“Let’s see, then…” Bruno thought to himself, pressing the power button of his computer.

The screen lit up and Bruno quickly surfed his way onto Vogue’s website, the white simplistic design along with the black logo lit up the dim room. The interview was on the frontpage, conveniently. “Fluff overload: Meet the furrier making waves in the fashion community,” the article heading read.

“Heh, big promises,” Bruno uttered, taking a sip out of his glass, twirling it and the wine swirling inside.

Click.

Displayed on Bruno’s bright screen was now a picture of a Nordic looking lady with platinum dyed hair in a shag cut. Her blue eyes were piercing, almost hypnotizing. For the photo she had chosen an all-black ensemble, consisting of a black sweater and a long leather skirt. Draped on her shoulders was a long black fox fur stole, flowing down and adding a touch of opulence to her outfit. Her lips were a bright shade of red and her nails were black and long. Her appearance dripped with elegance and sophistication.

“Meet Bianca Nyberg, the 46-year-old furrier from New Helsing. Known for her exquisite craftsmanship and eye for luxury, Bianca has made a name for herself in the world of high-end fashion. Her boutique, nestled in the heart of New Helsing's chic fashion district, is a haven for those seeking unique and meticulously crafted fur pieces,” the article read.

“Is that so? I’m not impressed just yet.” Bruno thought to himself, sipping the red wine.

“Bianca's journey into the world of fur began at a young age, influenced by her family's long-standing tradition in the trade. Over the years, she honed her skills, combining traditional techniques with contemporary designs.”

As Bruno scrolled through the article, a GIF of Bianca Nyberg played seamlessly, adding a dynamic element to the feature. Bianca gracefully lifts the luxurious black fox fur stole from her shoulders. With elegance, she brings the stole closer to the camera, its plush texture becoming more prominent with each frame. The soft fur envelops the lens, momentarily obscuring the view and creating an intimate, almost teasing experience.

“Bianca’s clientele includes a mix of local celebrities, fashion enthusiasts, and influential people who appreciate the artistry and timeless elegance of her creations. Beyond her boutique, she is also a vocal advocate for animal welfare, actively promoting and supporting sustainable fur practices within the industry. Bianca Nyberg is not just a designer; she is a visionary, continuously pushing the boundaries of fashion while maintaining a deep respect for tradition.”

“Ehh, whatever. Let’s see the line,” Bruno decided.

He scrolled down the long walls of text, looking for the photos of the new line. His eyes skimmed over the detailed descriptions and interviews, eager to catch a glimpse of Bianca Nyberg's latest creations. As he neared the end of the article, his anticipation grew. Finally, he reached the photo gallery showcasing the new line.

The first image was a stunning full-length finn raccoon fur coat in a deep emerald green, the plush material glistening under the studio lights. The model's elegant pose highlighted the coat's tailored fit and luxurious texture.

The next photo featured a sophisticated jacket with a modern twist—an asymmetrical cut and a mix of black leather and silver fox fur. The jacket exuded a contemporary edge while maintaining an air of classic refinement.

A series of images followed, displaying a variety of fur stoles in vibrant colors and unique patterns. One stole, in particular, stood out—a deep burgundy piece adorned with intricate golden highlighting on the fur, draped elegantly over the shoulders of the model.

In another striking shot, a model wore a sleek leather skirt with a fur hem, paired with a cozy fur-lined sweater. The combination of materials and textures created a harmonious and stylish ensemble.

The final photo was a group shot of models showcasing an array of accessories: fur hats, gloves, and handbags, each piece meticulously designed and crafted. The diversity in the collection was evident, with every item reflecting Bianca's signature blend of tradition and modernity.

Bruno would disagree, however. “Really? All this talk over this? Nothing new, nothing revolutionary, nothing special. These are like any other fur clothes. Not only that but fur is steadily going out of style,” Bruno thought as he leaned back in his chair with a visible expression of disapproval spread across his face.

He leaned back in, taking time to analyze every single piece with precision. “Ugh, so boring,” Bruno burst out loud in disgust, scanning the screen before him. He furrowed his brows, tapping his pen against the desk as he dissected the collection, unable to hide his disappointment. To him, the designs felt uninspired and lacked the innovation he had hoped for in the latest fashion trends.

Bruno quickly opened Word, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he prepared to voice his opinion on his popular blog. The familiar blank document seemed to invite his thoughts, and he started typing with a mixture of frustration and urgency.

Scrolling through Bianca Nyberg's new fur collection, I was struck by a profound sense of disappointment. Despite the considerable buzz, this collection fails to deliver anything remotely groundbreaking or noteworthy. Here’s a closer look at why this line falls short:

The first piece, a deep emerald Finn raccoon fur coat, is more about flashy materials than original design. The classic cut and color feel outdated.

The asymmetrical jacket with black leather and silver fox fur attempts a modern twist but ends up being a predictable blend of old and new with no real edge.

The fur stoles, including one deep burgundy with golden highlights, are meticulously crafted but fail to stand out. They feel like tired repeats rather than fresh ideas.

A model’s outfit featuring a leather skirt with a fur hem and a fur-lined sweater is similarly uninspired—just another safe, predictable mix of materials.

Finally, the accessories—fur hats, gloves, and handbags—are well-made but lack originality. The entire collection feels like an exercise in playing it safe rather than pushing any boundaries.

In summary, Nyberg’s new line is a disappointing showcase of missed opportunities. It fails to offer anything new or exciting in a rapidly evolving fashion world.

As soon as he had published the disheartening post, Bruno let out a deep sigh and closed his computer. He leaned back in his chair, the weight of his critique settling in. The quiet of the room enveloped him, offering a brief moment of reflection. The harshness of his words lingered in his mind, but he knew it was part of his role to be honest and critical. On top of that he had a reputation to uphold.

With a final glance at the still screen, Bruno shut off the light and headed to bed. The night ahead was filled with restless thoughts, but as he drifted into sleep, he hoped that his words, though stern, would serve as a catalyst for change and improvement in the fashion world.

“BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!” The alarm clock screamed, pulling Bruno from his slumber. Groggily, he silenced the alarm and dragged himself out of bed. After a quick brush of his teeth, he shuffled into the kitchen, where he poured himself a strong cup of coffee.

As he sipped his coffee and glanced at his phone, he noticed an influx of notifications. With a sense of anticipation, he opened his blog and saw that his latest post had taken off. The comment section was buzzing with readers’ reactions, and the post had quickly gained traction across social media.

Bruno’s eyes widened as he saw the surge in traffic and engagement. His critique was sparking lively discussions, with readers both agreeing and disagreeing, and his blog was being shared widely. He couldn’t help but feel a mix of satisfaction and nervousness as he delved into the feedback, eager to see how his words were resonating with his audience.

As Bruno continued to review the flood of comments and social media interactions, he noticed his email inbox was similarly inundated. Amid the sea of messages, one sender stood out: Bianca Nyberg.

His heart raced as he clicked on the email from the renowned fashion designer. The subject line read, “Response to Your Review.” Bruno opened the email with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

Subject: Response to Your Review

Dear Mr. Graham,

I’ve read your review of my latest collection with great interest. Your feedback, though candid and critical, is invaluable. I appreciate your honesty and the points you’ve raised about my designs. Constructive criticism is essential in our industry, and I’m taking your comments to heart.

I would like to invite you to dinner at my house for a deeper discussion on my work and future directions. Perhaps a face-to-face conversation could offer more insight into the creative process behind the collection and allow us to address your concerns directly.

Looking forward to your response.

Best regards, Bianca Nyberg

Bruno reread the email, absorbing the invitation and Bianca’s thoughtful tone. He felt a surge of excitement and nervousness, knowing this could be an opportunity to engage in a meaningful dialogue and perhaps gain a new perspective on the designer’s work.

He accepted.

Bruno arrived at Bianca Nyberg’s elegant home at the outskirts of New Helsing, a sense of anticipation mingling with his nerves. The evening air was crisp, and the soft glow of the setting sun bathed the city in a warm, golden light. He rang the doorbell and, after a moment, was greeted by Bianca herself.

“Welcome, Bruno,” she greeted with a gracious smile, dressed in a black sweater, skirt, and stole that mirrored the ensemble from the magazine photos. “I’m so glad you could make it. Please, come in.”

Her home was a testament to her refined taste, blending modern art with classic furnishings. Bruno admired the carefully curated pieces as he followed Bianca into the dining area. The room was elegantly set with a sleek black tablecloth, surrounded by high-backed chairs. A tasteful arrangement of fresh flowers served as the centerpiece, adding a vibrant touch to the sophisticated setting.

As they settled into their seats and Bianca’s maid Marie brought out their meals, the tone of their meeting took a serious turn. Bianca leaned forward slightly, her expression thoughtful but tinged with frustration.

“Bruno,” she began, her tone measured, “I want to thank you again for coming and for your candid feedback. I must admit, I was quite taken aback by your review. I respect your role as a critic, but I was hoping for a more nuanced understanding of my work.”

She took a sip of her wine, then continued, “I put a lot of effort into this collection, trying to balance tradition with innovation and address modern concerns. It’s disheartening to hear that it felt so uninspired to you. And honestly, I’d like you to consider the possibility of deleting that review.”

Bruno’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, feeling the weight of her request. “I understand where you’re coming from, Bianca,” he said carefully. “But my intention was and is to provide honest feedback.”

Bianca sighed, her expression growing more serious. “I appreciate your honesty, but the review is causing real damage to my reputation and my business. In the fashion industry, perceptions can be everything. Negative reviews can deter potential clients and partners, and the impact on my brand could be significant.”

Bruno met her gaze steadily, his resolve firm. “I understand the challenges you’re facing and the impact my review might have. However, my role as a critic is to provide honest assessments. It’s important for my readers and for the industry that I remain transparent and fair in my evaluations.”

Bianca leaned in, her tone becoming more suggestive. “I see where you’re coming from, Bruno. But you know, opinions can change, especially when given the right perspective. I’m sure there’s a lot more to explore in the world of fashion. Sometimes, it takes just a bit more time to fully appreciate the intricacies.”

With a light chuckle, Bianca stood up, her demeanor shifting to a playful and inviting tone. “But enough about business for now. How about I show you around? Just for fun. I’d love for you to see a bit more of what makes this place special.”

Bruno raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Sure, I’d love to see more.”

Bianca took a firm hold of his hand, guiding him with a sense of enthusiasm as she led him through her lavish estate. The warmth of her grip and the confident way she moved added a personal touch to the tour, making Bruno feel welcomed and curious about the spaces they were about to explore.

They walked through a grand hallway first, the same one she had led Denis down some time ago, lined with elegantly framed paintings. Bianca paused at each portrait, explaining the significance of her family lineage. This is my great-grandmother," she said, pointing to a striking portrait. "She was a pioneer in her own right, and I like to think some of her creativity lives on in my work."

She picked up her fur stole and adjusted it on her shoulders, the luxurious hairs catching the light. She moved closer to Bruno, her eyes locking onto his with a new intensity. "You know, Bruno," she said softly, letting the stole brush against his cheek, "there's so much more to fashion than just what meets the eye. Sometimes, it’s about how it makes you feel."

The caress of the fur against his skin sent a shiver down Bruno's spine. He felt the unspoken tension in the air, a mix of seduction and subtle persuasion. Bianca's attempt to sway him was clear, but he remained composed, aware of the complexities of their interaction.

"Fashion is indeed powerful," Bruno replied, his voice steady. "It can evoke strong emotions and create lasting impressions."

Bianca smiled, her eyes still locked on his. "Exactly. And I hope, in time, you'll come to see my work in a new light."

As the tour continued, Bianca led Bruno upstairs, their steps echoing softly through the elegant hallways. The walls were adorned with more portraits and tasteful art pieces, each carefully selected to complement the overall aesthetic of the estate. The air seemed to grow thicker with a mix of anticipation and curiosity as they approached a set of double doors. With a slight pause, Bianca turned to Bruno, a subtle smile playing on her lips. She pushed open the doors, revealing a spacious and exquisitely decorated bedroom, once the chamber of torment for one Denis Marsalis.

The room featured plush velvet furnishings that exuded comfort and elegance. Delicate lace curtains draped gracefully around the large windows, allowing soft, filtered light to seep into the room. Dominating the space was a king-sized bed, lavishly dressed in fur sheets and adorned with an array of fluffy pillows, promising an indulgent retreat.

The most striking feature, however, was the walls, which were entirely covered in rich wine-red fur. This unconventional choice created an atmosphere of opulent extravagance, enveloping the room in a warm, tactile embrace. The fur's soft, velvety texture not only added a unique visual appeal but also invited a sense of touch, making the space feel both sumptuous and inviting.

“Wow, that wall sure looks sensual…” Bruno uttered, his voice tinged with awe and curiosity. The unexpected richness of the fur-covered walls had captivated him, drawing his attention more than any other detail in the room

“I’m a very sensual person, Bruno…” Bianca said, closing in next to his ear. “Now that we’re here, I’d like to confess something. I like you, Bruno. Remember what I said about how fashion makes you feel? I meant that literally… and I’d like to explore… with you,” Bianca said, brushing the stole against his hot red cheek.

Bruno gulped, but he couldn’t deny the allure Bianca had on him. Her presence, the room's opulent setting, and the intimate atmosphere she had crafted all combined to pull him into her world, making it nearly impossible to resist her bold invitation.

As he stared into Bianca’s piercing blue eyes, he felt himself being drawn in further. She stepped closer, her heels clicking loudly with each step. Bianca began to guide him towards the fur-covered wall. Her touch was firm yet gentle, sliding from his chest down to his wrists. With a subtle but commanding grace, she lifted his hands, pressing them against the plush, velvety fur, then…

Click.

Bruno’s hands were firmly secured in place by hidden shackles on the wall. He looked up in surprise, the initial shock of the metallic snap giving way to a mix of confusion and realization. “What?!”

Bianca’s smile widened as she let out a low, soft giggle. Her eyes danced with mischief and anticipation as she reached into a nearby nightdrawer and retrieved a pair of scissors. With a practiced hand, she began to cut away his clothes, her movements precise and controlled. The sound of the fabric ripping and the feel of the cool metal against his skin added to the intense atmosphere of the room.

“What do you think you’re doing? This suit cost 4,000 dollars! Let me go!” Bruno yelled out, enraged by his unexpected predicament.

Bianca paused for a moment, looking up at him with a calm, almost amused expression. "Oh, Bruno," she said softly, continuing to cut away at his suit. "Consider it a small price to pay for a new perspective." The fabric continued to fall away, piece by piece, as she worked with a quiet, determined focus.

“A new perspective?! What on Earth are you talking about?!” Bruno questioned, his voice a mix of anger and confusion.

Bianca looked up again, her eyes locking onto his with an intense, almost hypnotic gaze. "Sometimes," she began, her voice smooth and controlled, "you need to break away from the norm to truly understand something. To appreciate the texture, the experience, the sensation." She continued cutting, the scissors moving effortlessly through the fabric. “And sensations are exactly the topic which I’m going to educate you on, Bruno…”

Bianca cut every inch of Bruno’s designer suit off and tossed it aside, leaving him completely exposed. Bruno felt the cold breeze on his skin, sending a shiver through his body, and the plush fur of the wall caressed his back, its soft texture a stark contrast to the intensity of the situation.

Bianca adjusted the fur stole, draping it elegantly over her shoulders like a loose scarf. Slowly, she turned her gaze back to Bruno, her eyes locking onto his with a mix of dominance and curiosity. She began to walk towards him, her heels clicking menacingly with each step, the sound echoing through the room like a countdown.

As she got closer, she raised her hands, her fingers wiggling as if ready to touch him. The air between them crackled with tension, a palpable mix of power and vulnerability. Bruno’s heart raced, his mind struggling to process the surreal intensity of the moment.

And then, when her nails finally met the exposed skin on his sides, a sharp sensation shot through him. Bianca's touch was both electrifying and unnerving, her nails tracing slow, deliberate lines along his ribs. Bruno’s fate was sealed. He was no longer just a critic observing from the outside—he was now completely entangled in her world: a world of tickle torture.

“WHAHAHAHAHAT AHAHAHAHARE YOU DOIHIHIHIHIHIHNG?” Bruno exclaimed, his voice breaking into uncontrollable laughter, completely taken aback by the unexpected attack.

“Tickling you. Isn’t it obvious, Bruno?” Bianca replied with a sly smile, her fingers dancing across his skin with precision. “I told you I like to explore… and I think you’re going to learn to appreciate my work as well.”

Bruno twitched and squirmed in his binds, his body instinctively trying to escape the relentless tickling. Each movement made the soft fur on the wall brush against his back, heightening the sensation and adding another layer of stimulation.

“HNNGH, FORGEHEHEHEHEHET IT! YOU’REHEHEHEHEHE DOHOHOHONE!” he managed to shout between gasps of laughter, his voice a mix of defiance and desperation. But his protests only seemed to encourage Bianca, who continued her playful assault with a mischievous grin.

“You’ll find that I can be quite persuasive, Bruno…” Bianca purred, her voice dripping with a mix of seduction and control. She stepped in closer, the soft fur stole pressing against his chest. Her nails continued their slow, torturous journey, traversing down to his twitching hips, each touch sending jolts of electricity through his body. “I’m quite the tickler, sweetheart.”

Bruno’s laughter became uncontrollable, his body betraying him as it quivered under her touch. The combination of her seductive tone and the relentless tickling was overwhelming, breaking down his defenses with each passing second. His mind raced, but his body was lost in the sensation, every nerve alight with the duality of pleasure and torment. Bianca’s grin widened as she watched him struggle, knowing she had him completely under her control.

“Tickle, tickle~”

Those words. Those damn words. Those words, spoken so sweetly, echoed in Bruno’s mind, amplifying his helplessness. Each syllable seemed to intensify the sensation, as if Bianca’s voice itself was a tool of torment.

“You have no idea how much I like tickling… how much I like tickling you, Bruno.” Bianca’s voice was honeyed, dripping with amusement and something darker. “I see you trying to make sense of it all, but you can’t, can you? You’re confused, perplexed…” She leaned in even closer, her breath warm against his ear, her voice dropping to a whisper that sent a chill through him. “And scared…”

Bruno’s breath came in ragged gasps, his laughter finally tapering off into exhausted panting. The intensity of her touch and the weight of her words had left him disoriented.

“But don’t you worry. I will take such good care of you, Coochie coochie coo,” she said softly, planting a kiss on his cheek before stepping away. The warmth of her kiss contrasted sharply with the coldness of his situation. She moved toward her closet, her heels clicking against the floor with every step.

“Now…” Bianca began, reaching for something inside the closet. She pulled out the deep emerald green finn raccoon fur coat. “Remember this? Remember what you said? ‘The first piece, a deep emerald Finn raccoon fur coat, is more about flashy materials than original design. The classic cut and color feel outdated.’ Hmpf.” Bianca mimicked in a mocking masculine tone, whilst rolling her eyes.

“I pant stand pant by pant what pant I said,” Bruno replied, his voice shaky as he struggled to maintain composure. The coat's opulence seemed almost to taunt him now, its richness a stark contrast to his current predicament.

Bianca threw her black stole onto the bed and reached into the closet once more. This time, she pulled out the burgundy fur stole with golden highlights, her movements deliberate and theatrical. “Remember this?” she said, draping the stole over her shoulders, layering it atop the deep emerald green coat. “You said: ‘The fur stoles, including one deep burgundy with golden highlights, are meticulously crafted but fail to stand out. They feel like tired repeats rather than fresh ideas.’ Blah blah blah.”

With a slow, deliberate grace, she walked back towards Bruno. The sight of her, adorned in the lush green coat and the vibrant reddish stole, gave her an almost mythical presence. She looked like a glamorous, fluffy, tickle-torturing version of Poison Ivy, her elegant attire contrasted sharply with the intense situation.

The rich textures of her outfit seemed to amplify the tension in the room, creating an almost surreal atmosphere as she approached Bruno, who was now visibly sweating and nervous, his earlier bravado completely gone.

Bianca’s movement was menacing yet elegant as she stopped abruptly at her bed. She knelt down and reached beneath it, pulling out two boxes with an air of anticipation. The soft rustle of the boxes being dragged out created a subtle yet charged sound, adding to the heightened atmosphere in the room.

One box was plain and unadorned, its simplicity a stark contrast to the other. The second box, however, was ornate, its surface richly adorned with intricate patterns and delicate filigree: The Fluff Box. The contrast between the two boxes hinted at the possibility of something both intriguing and mysterious awaiting inside.

Bianca picked up the two boxes and set them beside Bruno with a measured movement. The plain box landed with a soft thud, while the ornate box made a more pronounced sound as it settled onto the floor. She stood up, her eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and authority as she glanced at Bruno.

She opened the ornate box. “Now, Bruno,” she said with a teasing smile, “let’s see which one you find more... appealing.”

Bruno’s eyes widened with curiosity and a hint of anxiety as Bianca’s hand reached into the box. She lifted up a large, luxurious powder brush with a handle adorned in intricate patterns. The bristles were soft and fluffy, casting a gentle sheen in the room’s light. Alongside it, she pulled out a bundle of feathers attached to an ornate stick, which resembled an exaggerated feather tickler toy.

“I wonder which one you would like to be tickled with…” She twirled the powder brush lightly, letting its bristles sway in the air, and then waved the bundle of feathers playfully.

Bruno’s eyes flickered between the two, his breathing quickening as he felt the tension rise. “T-the brush,” he stammered, a mix of apprehension and curiosity in his voice.

“Alright,” she said, her voice soft but laced with a playful edge. “But don’t think for a second you’re exempt from the other one, my ticklish little critic…”

With a teasing smirk, she set the feather bundle aside. The bristles felt almost too soft to be real as she gently brushed it against her palm, letting the anticipation build. Bruno’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat as he watched her movements.

“What’s in the other box?” Bruno asked, his voice tinged with apprehension.

Bianca’s eyes gleamed with playful mystery as she replied, “You’ll find out soon enough.” She then shifted her focus back to the powder brush, her tone taking on a blend of menace and indulgent affection. “Ready for your brush tickling?”

As she stepped closer, Bruno’s heart pounded in his chest. The bristles of the brush hovered just above his skin, their soft promise mingling with the room's charged atmosphere. Bianca leaned in, lifting the brush slowly and inching it towards his right wrist. Her head was just by his ear, and she blew gently, sending tingles down his spine. The fur of the coat and stole brushed against his chest, while the plush fur on the wall caressed his back. He was squished in between a fluffy cocoon of furs.

Her lips brushed against his ear, sending a bolt of anticipation through him. “Tickle, tickle, Bruno…” she whispered softly.

The brush began its delicate descent from his wrist down his arm, the bristles soft yet tantalizingly ticklish against his skin. Bruno could barely focus on the sensation before Bianca's left hand moved with swift precision, her nails striking into his armpit. The contrast between the gentle brushing and the sudden, sharp tickling sent a signal of ticklish alert to his brain.

“OH GAHAHAHAHAHAD!” Bruno cried out, his voice cracking between fits of uncontrollable laughter. He couldn’t help himself; the sensation was too intense, too overwhelming. Every nerve in his body seemed to be on fire as Bianca’s relentless tickling pushed him to his limits.

“You’re so sensitive, Bruno,” Bianca purred, her voice dripping with satisfaction as she watched him squirm helplessly against the plush fur and her ticklish ministrations. “Do you like being tickled?”

The soft brush traveled down his arms, over his chest, and back up his other arm, each stroke sending a new wave of tingling sensations through his body. Bruno’s laughter echoed through the room, his voice broken and breathless as he tried in vain to resist the overwhelming ticklishness.

“I like tickling you, Bruno. I like how you squirm and laugh and you can’t resist, can you? No matter how much you want to.” Her nails lightly trailed down his side, just enough to keep him on edge.

Bianca let out a sultry giggle as she brought the big brush to Bruno’s face. With a teasing flick, she brushed it lightly against his nose, causing it to twitch involuntarily. A soft giggle escaped her lips as she traced the bristles along his jawline, the tickling sensation making him squirm even more.

Bruno’s laughter was uncontrollable, his head twisting in a futile attempt to escape the relentless tickling. The brush then moved to his ears, the soft bristles grazing the sensitive skin on each side, driving him wild with the ticklish torment.

“Does my big fluffy brush tickle?” Bianca cooed. “I love how you laugh for me. It tells me just how much it tickles. You don’t have to say a word.” She moved the brush down his neck and twirled the brush lightly over his nipples, before trailing down. “I know it tickles…”

When the brush began to traverse down his right side, Bruno’s anticipation grew. He tensed as it stopped just above his exposed manhood, his breath catching in his throat. But before he could brace himself, Bianca’s nails struck his left side, eliciting another burst of uncontrollable laughter.

Then Bianca knelt down, her eyes glinting with mischief as she brushed lightly around his most sensitive area, her touch deliberate and teasing. The delicate bristles barely grazed his skin, yet the sensation was enough to send shockwaves of ticklish torment through his entire body, leaving him utterly at her mercy.

Bianca’s voice was a sultry murmur, filled with a mix of dominance and satisfaction. “It must be agony,” she continued, her tone smooth and seductive. She gently circled the fluffy brush around his sensitive area, her movements precise and teasing. “The never-ending intense tingling sensation all over your body. The way your vulnerable spots are exploited like this. The way you’re forced to laugh until your lungs ache.”

She watched him with a smirk as he writhed under her touch, her eyes reflecting a mix of amusement and control. “The overwhelming, tantalizing tickle torture…” she purred, each word emphasizing the cruel pleasure she derived from his helplessness.

Bruno’s cock began to twitch slightly in response to the ticklish brushing. Bianca noticed the slight twitch in Bruno’s crotch, her smirk widening as she continued her tantalizing torture. “Yet, I find that you’re enjoying this more than you let on,” she teased, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “Typical.”

Bianca rose gracefully from her position, her eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and anticipation. She walked back over to The Fluff Box, where she picked up the large feather tickler she had set aside earlier. The feathered bundle, now even more tantalizing in the context of the ongoing play, promised a new layer of sensation.

She turned back towards Bruno with a sly smile, the feather tickler held confidently in her hand. “Now that we’ve explored the brush, let’s see how you handle this,” she said, her voice tinged with playful menace. The feathers fluttered gently as she moved, casting a light, teasing shadow across his exposed body.

With deliberate slowness, Bianca approached him, the feather tickler poised to add a fresh dimension to his ticklish ordeal. She gently caressed his cheek, her touch soft and teasing. As she leaned in, her fingers tickled lightly under his chin, sending delicate, tantalizing sensations across his skin.

Whispering in his ear, her voice a velvety mix of seduction and control, she murmured, “It’s going to tickle. The feathers softly dragging on you, leaving tingly whispers of tickling on your skin.” The gentle promise of the feather tickler was almost as torturous as the anticipation itself. She positioned the tickler near his exposed skin, the delicate feathers poised to begin their torment.

“N-no… please…” Bruno whimpered, pleading her not to torture him again.

“Aww,” Bianca cooed, before caressing his cheek again. She moved from his side to a position in front of him. “I’m sorry but…”

Bruno stared deeply into Bianca’s piercing blue eyes.

“I’m going to tickle you.”

The feather tickler made its first contact, brushing gently against his inner thighs, and the sensation was immediate. The soft, teasing feathers danced along his sensitive skin, forcing him to laugh and moan in his fluffy binding. Each light touch of the feathers against his inner thighs ignited a fresh wave of ticklish torment, making him writhe and squirm against the fur wall.

Bianca’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction as she observed his reactions. She gently moved the tickler up and down his inner thighs, varying the pressure and speed to keep him on edge. Bruno’s cock began to react quickly, rising into a full erection before long.

Bianca lifted the tickler, allowing it to rest between her thumb and index finger as she shifted her attention to his armpits. Her fingers danced with masterful precision, scribbling her nails in the sensitive hollows. The sudden shift from the soft, teasing feathers to the sharp, intense tickling of her nails created a jarring contrast, amplifying the torment.

Bruno’s laughter erupted into desperate, uncontrollable guffaws, the combination of the sharp tickling and the lingering sensation from the feathers leaving him overwhelmed. He much preferred the soft, teasing and gentle tickling of the feather tickler to her scribbling.

“Do you want the feathers back?” Bianca asked, having knowingly lifted the feathers from his manhood to tease him and leave him craving for the more bearable form of tickle torture.

“YEHEHEHEHES! PLEAHAHAHAHASE!” He begged in between his ticklish laughter.

“Then say it. Say you want me to tickle you with my feathers,” Bianca demanded, her eyes squinting in mischief.

“PLEAHAHAHAHASE! TICKLE ME WITH YOUR FEATHEHEHEHEHERS!” Bruno cried out, his voice breaking as he struggled to keep his composure amidst the relentless tickling. His laughter was a desperate plea, a mix of embarrassment and relief as he eagerly awaited the return of the gentler form of torment.

“Aww, of course, tickle boy,” Bianca’s smirk widened, clearly pleased with his submission. She let the feathers descend back to his sensitive skin, their soft touch meeting his needy twitching manhood, resuming the teasing strokes that made him laugh and moan uncontrollably.

The feathers fluttered up and down his shaft, tickling his sensitive skin. Bianca momentarily paused at his tip, giving him a quick flurry of feathery tickles. Her spidering nails met his quivering stomach, forcing the balance of laughter and moaning to tip in favor of helpless giggling.

Pre-cum oozed from his throbbing penis, as Bianca began to twirl the feather tickler on his balls and reaching for under, tickling his taint. He jolted as the soft feathers met the sensitive skin behind his balls. Bianca giggled in response, making sure to properly tickle him and providing long, teasing, ticklish strokes.

Bianca took a moment to relish Bruno’s relieved laughter before gracefully moving towards the plain box. Her heels clicked softly on the floor as she approached, creating a stark contrast to the earlier chaos.

With calmness, she lifted the lid, revealing the contents inside. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of anticipation and satisfaction as she glanced back at Bruno, whose curiosity and exhaustion were palpable. She lifted up a massive fur mitten and placed it on her right hand. “Remember? ‘Finally, the accessories—fur hats, gloves, and handbags—are well-made but lack originality. The entire collection feels like an exercise in playing it safe rather than pushing any boundaries.’ Remember?”

Bruno’s pleas reached her ears, a mix of desperation and desire in his voice. “I-I-I’m sorry. Please let me cum…”

Bianca’s smirk softened into a more contemplative expression. “You know, I think you might have learned something today. But I’m not quite done yet.” She positioned the fur mitten near his sensitive areas, her movements deliberate and slow.

The fur mitten hovered near his sensitive areas, its soft texture promising a new kind of soft sensation. Bianca gently grabbed his cock into the fluffy embrace of her fur mitten. The soft fox fur enveloped his throbbing manhood, covering it in a warm, comforting and pleasurable cocoon. Gently she began to flick her wrist, caressing the fur up and down his sensitive privates.

Bruno began to moan, the fur feeling so good after the tickle torturing of his life. His eyes rolled back in pleasure, as Bianca’s fluffy hand stroked him. He felt the fur caress back and forth. Every single hair, every single strand of fur trailed on his sensitive skin, tickling him ever so slightly yet pleasurably.

As Bruno began to savor the soft, luxurious sensation of the fur job, his body tensed in anticipation of what was to come next. The gentle tickling was soothing in its own way, but suddenly, he felt a new wave of sensations.

Bianca’s fingers began their intricate dance, spidering lightly across his armpits. The touch was both delicate and insistent, creating a contrast with the fur mitten’s plush caress. Her fingers moved methodically, tracing a path down his sides and to his hips, before climbing back up his torso.

Bianca’s tone was firm but laced with a lingering trace of amusement as she spoke. “I said I’m not done yet,” she stated, her eyes gleaming with a mix of authority and playful intent.

As her fingers resumed their intricate dance, traversing from his armpits to his sides and hips, the tickling became a complex interplay of sensations. The fur mitten’s caress complemented her skilled fingers, creating a relentless and tantalizing experience for Bruno. His laughter, now a mix of desperation and reluctant enjoyment, filled the room as he struggled against his bonds.

Bianca’s eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and authority. “Repeat after me and I’ll let you cum,” she bargained, her tone a mix of seduction and control. She leaned closer, her breath warm against Bruno’s ear as she prepared to make her demands. “I love getting tickled by you, Ms. Nyberg.”

With a strained voice, he finally gasped, “I LOVEHEHEHE GEHEHETTING TICKLEHEHEHED BY YOU, MS. NYBEHEHEHEHERG!”

“Am I the meanest and sexiest tickler you’ll ever have, Mr. Graham?” she asked, her tone both commanding and playful.

Bruno, breathless and overwhelmed, finally managed to gasp out, “Y-YES, MS. NYBERG! YOU’RE THE MEANEHEHEHEHEST AND SEXIEST TICKLER I’VE EVER HAHAHAHAHAD!”

“Is my tickling intense and addictive, leaving you begging for more?” she asked, her tone both commanding and seductive.

Bruno, still gasping for breath, managed to shout out in all caps, “YES! YOUR TICKLING IS INTENSE AND ADDICTIVE! I CAN’T GET ENOUGH!”

“Am I the best furrier? Are my furs the most elegant and the softest? Will you remove your review and write a follow-up praising me?” she asked, her tone leaving no room for doubt or hesitation.

Bruno, caught in the whirlwind of ticklish torment and fluffy pleasure, could only respond in a breathless plea, “YES! YOU’RE THE BEST FURRIER! YOUR FURS ARE THE MOST ELEGANT AND SOFTEST! I’LL REMOVE MY REVIEW AND WRITE A FOLLOW-UP PRAISING YOU!”

Bianca’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she heard Bruno’s plea. She paused her tickling, allowing him to catch his breath, continuing to gently stroke him with the massive fur mitten, a soothing contrast to the earlier intense sensations.

With a soft, triumphant smile, she leaned in close, her voice a whisper filled with both dominance and affection. “Good boy. I’m glad you’ve come to appreciate the art of tickling and the elegance of my furs.”

Bruno began to feel his orgasm building up as Bianca flicked her wrist slightly faster now, pleasuring him increasingly. She began to blow gently into his ears, adding another teasy pleasurable sensation to his fur job. Bruno scrunched his neck in response.

Bianca smiled warmly as she continued her gentle strokes. “I really liked tickling you, Mr. Graham. I’ve teased lots of ticklish guys, but you’re one of the most memorable. Your laughter was music to my ears.” She kissed his cheek. “And you liked being tickled by me, didn’t you?”

Bruno looked down and moaned, as he watched Bianca work her fluffy magic on his throbbing manhood. He nodded in response to Bianca’s teasy words. Bruno took all the pleasure in, watching the mitten glide up and down, up and down. He couldn’t even see his manhood. It was lost in a sea of maddeningly pleasurable fur.

“You know, I’m still kind of tickling you while I’m doing this, Bruno,” Bianca giggled, her eyes dancing with seduction. She let her fingers lightly graze his sensitive spots once more, adding a touch of teasing to her words. “Tickle, tickle.” She observed as his breathy moans quickened, a clear sign of the effect her playful touch had on him. “And the fur?” she continued, her voice soft and teasing. “Isn’t it a bit ticklish too?”

Bruno nodded, his eyes rolling back as he surrendered to the overwhelming sensations. The combined teases and tickle talk from Bianca and the soft brush of the fur against his manhood was almost too much to handle. Each touch, each whisper of the fur, seemed to intensify his experience, leaving him in a state of helpless ecstasy.

“Cum for me… Cum for your tickling fur goddess, Bruno…” Bianca urged, sensing the critic's orgasm was close.

And so Bruno let himself be taken over by an explosive ticklegasm. His back arched in response, as his entire nervous system tingled like fire and his muscles spasmed in pure pleasurable ecstasy. Streaks of hot sperm shot out of his throbbing red cock and he screamed as his entire body joined together in a harmony of pleasure.

Bianca stroked his hair gently, her touch soft and soothing after the intense ordeal. As Bruno panted heavily, his head hung low in exhaustion, she offered him a tender smile. Her fingers ran through his hair with a caring rhythm, a contrast to the earlier playful torment.

“You did so well, Bruno,” she murmured softly, her voice a blend of satisfaction and genuine care. “I’m glad we understand each other now.” Bianca turned to the door. “I sincerely hope you keep up your promise, because if you don’t.”

She turned back.

“I’ll personally make sure you’re tickled and tortured until passing out. Then you’ll be tickled again. And again. And again…”

[artificialqueens]

🏳️‍🌈 Rock Hudson’s Parties, Chapter 3 (Jadore/Biadore) - Imafuckinglibra

Summary: A fresh faced young man gets off a bus in New York to move in with an estranged college friend, now a broadway star. Old flames flare up again but are potentially derailed when an older man’s temptations threaten to come between them.

Fair Warning : Nothing! This chapter is just a good time and we’re all happy and enjoying some uh…bonding time…hehe

“Who knew a C-list celebrity would have to go out THIS much,” Danny fussed into his cocktail the following Wednesday night. “Why, I’m missing I’ve Got a Secret.”

He put his glass down, examined the area around him and realized that yet again, nobody at the table had been paying attention to him. 

He felt the corners of his mouth twisting into a pout, but he knew if he let it show he’d just be giving in to those same feelings of inadequacy he did in Azusa. 

‘You’re better now,’ he reminded himself.

“I say, doll…” He tried running his fingers along Jinx's knuckles, earning a dismissive wave of her manicured hand with the cigarette between her fingers. His tone rose in frustration as he tried her again, “I SAID, Jinkx, I’m missing this week’s I’ve Got a Secret! And I heard a rumor Lana Turner is gonna be on this week to talk about her daught-“

His whining got halted by an eruption of raucous laughter from the table of cronies who’d just been ignoring him. Making snide remarks under their drunken giggles about the sort of people who follow those fanatic magazines full of false stories.

“Stop being such a girl about it,” she said, poking a sore spot. “Go fetch me another drink and I’ll make up for whatever little show you’re missing later. Deal?” she purred into his ear, giving him a peck on the cheek.

He groaned under his breath, unamused by the gaggle of girls swooning over Jinkx yet again, but he decided to swallow his pride. 

He stood up with a heavy sigh and put-upon smile, giving her hand a small kiss to feign forgiveness. “Why of course, dear. Right away.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Roy and Raja clucked in unison as he approached them by the bar, the pair like a flock of hungry vultures watching the group by the table. The only hungry vultures, it seemed, who bothered entertaining him these days, as Jinkx’s debut as Essie Whimple drew closer.

The same vultures he’d avoided like the plague before, but he’d finally settled in, finally stopped staring into the mirror trying to find what was wrong with him - mostly. He still felt a certain sense of unease around Roy specifically but he seemingly couldn’t care less anymore about, well, you know. Their little misunderstanding. 

“I say, well handled, son,”  Roy mocked. Placing a proud hand on his shoulder, his other hand clutching his dark maroon tie as if he was Jim Anderson himself. “A happy wife is a happy life, right, my boy?”

“Get bent.” Danny tried acting serious, paying no mind to Roy cackling loudly at his own joke.

“Forget Bozo here, I’ll get that drink for you while I’m back here.” Raja, who was most definitely breaking at least 3 work place rules, took Jinkx’s empty wine glass and refilled it.

“You staying a while? I heard some serious scoop on tonight’s episode of I've Got a Secret.” Roy leaned over the bar where the three of them could gossip.

“No!” Danny gasped, following suit, taking the already poured red wine originally intended for Jinkx as his own. “Is it Lana Turner?”

“What? No. It’s Walter Slezak, and I heard…Lana T-“ he interrupted himself to sneer at Danny in bewilderment. “Lana Turner? Who gave you that idea?”

Danny flashed a scowl at Raja, who was casually whistling in the opposite direction to avoid eye contact before Roy’s words sank in.

“Walter Slezak!” Raja and Danny’s eyes went wide in unison.

Raja enthusiastically slapped Danny’s hand like a giddy secretary with some juicy story about the boss. “Boy, he’s amazing. Did you catch him in Born to Kill?”

“Wasn’t he great?”

“To die for,” she swooned. “Did you see him in Lifeboat? Gave me chills for weeks - oof.” She shuddered, an imaginary shiver running down her spine.

“Like this?” Roy teased, sliding an ice cube down the exposed back of her signature gold fitted dress. 

“Fucking - piece of shit!” she hissed at him, trying to keep her voice down. Luckily the rest of the bar was too lively with music, Danny the only one close enough to actually hear her shrieks. She turned to him, growling, “If you laugh, so help me!”

“I didn’t -“ Danny tried defending himself with his hands raised, but his loud belly laughing got the better of him. Raja playfully threw the ice cube in his direction, not helping curb his amusement, making her break face too.

“Raja! There’s people waiting by the door, go take their coats!” Kameron, one of the busgirls, whistled in their direction when she passed with a tray of empty plates from the dining hall.

“Ugh.” Raja dropped her cheery disposition, slugging the last of her Chardonnay. “Coming!”

She waved another finger in their direction as a threat, muttering some more, presumably obscenities, in a language Danny couldn’t recognize, and sauntered off to go greet the newest clientele for the evening. Leaving our little protagonist and his friend at the bar alone.

This wasn’t a rare occurrence though. In fact, it had become his favorite part of the day, ever since Roy agreed to keep his little secret. Some days, he’d satisfy himself just being there to watch Roy mingle with folks. Even when he was doing his own mingling with the Broadway elites (and elite followers) by Jinkx’s side. Playing her little show poodle when she required a domestic air for an interview or meeting. 

They’d always at least manage to catch each other's eye and give a sympathetic smile.

“Gosh,” he sighed, content, noticing a hint of Roy’s dimples as he greeted a regular customer waving from another table. 

He really was so devastatingly beautiful. It was hard not to see him as the picture-perfect man, with his devil-may-care attitude and utterly fashionable taste in clothes. The catalyst for their friendly banter was that Roy would always fill him in on that night’s episodes he missed, or behind the scenes tidbits he’d heard from industry friends.

It started that very night last week, at the table while they waited for everyone to return. Roy made a joke about Danny’s hands being smaller than Katherine Hepburn’s in an attempt to lighten the mood. Clearly, he wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of questions regarding the movie star, nor the ungodly amount of fan trivia he seemed to know about her and her fellow celebrities. 

Their conversation and gossiping lasted well into the night once Jinkx’s new director left, even after they made their way over to a group of club singers so Jinkx could catch up with her former coworkers.

“Beg pardon?” Roy turned around, hearing the little escaped whisper.

“Nothing,” he smiled, innocence dripping from every pore.

“Yeah riiiiight…” Roy dragged out, eyeing him suspiciously. “You’re not playing with a full deck, are you?”

“Oh yeah?” Danny huffed, “well uh…” 

‘Dammit!’ He tried to remember any, literally any single reasonable response to his but his impulse for childish comebacks got the better of him. 

“I think somebody blew your pilot light out, Haylock.” He crossed his arms and dropped himself against the bar. Unknowingly sticking his bottom lip out in a pout.

“They did what?” Roy slapped the table. He burst out into a loud laughing fit with his hand on his chest. “My -“ 

“You’ve got splinters in the windmill of your mind!” Danny reiterated, his confidence growing every time Roy’s laugh would pick up again.

“I’m too drunk for this shit,” Roy exhaled, trying to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye.

“Well then,” Danny reached over for a new glass under the counter. “Fill her up, let’s even it out.”

“Ooooh,” Roy pursed his lips, tutting and shaking his head. “That’s not such a good idea there, partner.”

“Oh yeah? Why not? Scared I can out-drink you?”

Danny felt brave, irresponsibly brave. Like just maybe he might be able to actually turn his night around, maybe even finally see the always-put-together Roy properly hammered. No pun intended, of course.

Sure, he’d probably be late for work again in the morning, but he could always find a special way to make up for that.

Or better yet, maybe he’d have to spend the whole day ‘recovering’ with Roy. Just the two of them…

‘What am I thinking?’ he panicked when he realized what he was fantasizing about.

“Hello?” Roy tapped his index finger on Danny’s forehead. “Knock knock, your drink’s ready.”

“Right.” Danny practically inhaled the scotch Roy had given him. It burned all the way down to his stomach.

“Fucking hell -“ Roy started but another small chuckle interrupted his words. “Now who’s the one playing hockey with a warped puck?”

“What does that one even mean?” Danny giggled, already feeling his bravery being replaced by downright giddiness.

“It means, clean your own damn house before you come clean mine.” Roy stood serious. His hands against the bar as if he was waiting for Danny to come back with another retort. 

“Huh?”

Roy leaned in closer whispering, “it means you’re lucky you’re cute because you definitely ain’t smart.”

Danny’s heart shot straight up to his throat. Unsure how to process or what to say when all he could feel was his head going dizzy and his cheeks growing warm. 

He even debated another snippy comeback when suddenly, a lightbulb went off above Roy’s head. 

“Say! Lady Bunny just got a television set in her office, I could sneak you in to go watch the episode-”

Without missing a beat, Danny sprang up, ready to bolt towards the back room, only stopped by his mother’s voice in his head.

‘You need to stop getting so worked up about everything, people will think you’re some mental deficit!’

He covered his open mouth with a cough and pretended to straighten his pants.

“Well?” Roy slammed his drink down and slapped him on the flat of his back, asking, “Do you need a pistol shot or something? Go! Hurry!”

‘To hell with her,’ he stood up for himself.

And just like that, they were off, scurrying to the back office without a second thought about Jinkx, her drink, or the laughing lackeys still keeping her attention.

“Wait…No...” Roy tilted his head in confusion when a loud moan echoed from behind the big red door, just as he was about to turn the handle. “Is that…?”

“It can’t be…” Danny failed to hide a giggle. “It actually worked.”

Roy scrunched his forehead, concentrating with his ear to the door. Confirming it with a placid, “Courtney.” 

“Well yeah, and Dan.”

“Who the -'' Roy realized how loud they were speaking, changing his tone to an aggressive whisper, “Who the fuck is Dan?”

“Dan P. Donigan! My boss!” he declared, lowering his own voice too. 

“Why’s your boss banging my Courtney?” Roy asked, clearly somewhat amused by this revelation

“I needed to make up for the days I missed!”

“What?” Roy tilted his head.

“I had to make up for the day I missed with you, and…some others,” he mumbled, “and when I let it slip to Courtney she said she could soften him up for me before I apologized,” Danny clarified as if this was a reasonable answer.

“Which I’m assuming was tonight?” 

Suddenly Danny felt like he was being interrogated by a school principal. “Yes, sir…”

“Hey!” Roy prodded a finger into his chest, making him wince, his teeth snared. “Stop pimping out MY slut to your coworkers!”

“I’m not! I’m pimping out MY coworkers to your slut!” He watched Roy’s expression intently. Trying to piece together what was happening in his mind as his brows stayed contorted in anger but his lips softened into a stifled grin. 

“You two, heaven help me.” Roy gave in, rubbing his eyes. Gesturing with his head and a pat on Danny’s back towards the bar. “C'mon, I’ll make you a drink.”

Before they could reach the bar, Raja grabbed his attention while Roy rushed to make up for the orders he missed. 

“What? What’d I do?” Danny stumbled a bit thanks to how hard she yanked on his sleeve.  

“Nothin’, Jinkxy just left. She said sorry she missed you but she’s going to an after party with those little devils that follow her,” Raja casually said while gesturing with her fingers towards the bar. 

“Oh...” Danny blinked. His eyes trailed across the lounge part of the bar, examining every spot he usually found Jinkx in, but she really had left without him.

“Thank you, baby.” Raja’s voice interrupted his focused scanning. The familiar clink of the glasses on the serving tray telling him he’d been zoned out at least long enough for Raja to reach Roy, place the drink order and Roy to make it. 

“If anyone complains, tell them it took so long because we wanted to get a fresh bottle for them or some shit.” 

“Guess I’m not invited.” Danny dropped onto one of the barstools, feeling suddenly like he did in middle school when he’d get picked last in gym class.

He gazed longingly at the door like a lost puppy waiting for its owner to return to the shelter, his mood dropping nearly as low as his slumped shoulders.

“You didn’t want to go anyway,” Roy reminded him, rolling his eyes, wiping down the bar. 

He was right. But Danny was much too proud to admit it, obviously. 

“I suppose…” 

Dammit.

Roy, despite his best attempt at a hard exterior, did that thing again where he’d soften his approach whenever Danny grew wistful. 

“Forget it. I’ll make you something on the house. What’s your poison tonight?”

“You hopefully,” slipped from Danny’s mouth before his brain had time to filter it.

“What?”

“What?” He quickly coughed, trying to save what he could from the situation as if his throat was too dry to finish the sentence. Gesturing feebly to his collar. “What…ever, you can make the fastest.”

He spun around on his barstool slowly, trying to remain casual as he made eye contact with Roy, assuming he’d turn back to the bar.

Instead, he had once again caught him in a staring contest, his eyes narrowed. Clearly not buying whatever bullshit Danny was trying to sell him. 

‘God, his eyes are beautiful…’ he thought absentmindedly. 

Lost in the deep browns of his eyes he tried his best to fight against swooning, wondering if he’d pick up on it. But how could he not see it?

Roy was so focused on watching him, Danny began to feel like the last piece of turkey on Thanksgiving dinner. Surely he knew what he was doing, surely he wanted—

“That your boss?” Roy nodded his head, snapping Danny back to reality. His face was pulled in an odd confusion, as if he was trying to figure out what Courtney saw in him.

“Where?” Danny swung the stool in the direction of Bunny’s office.

“He’s smiling pretty big; if I was a betting man, I’d say you’re off the hook,” Roy started but Danny was still trying to find Dan in the wrong direction. He grabbed his head and turned him towards the entrance. “Over there you idiot!”

“Wait, is he really smiling?” he perked up, finally the right way. Just in time to catch Courtney kiss Dan goodbye before he smugly plopped his hat on his head and swagger out with all the overconfidence of a cat who just ate the canary, the cage and the goldfish for good measure.

“Atta girl, Court!” he cheered, after Dan finally walked out.

“Yep…at-ta girl.” Roy sarcastically clapped in her direction. 

“Details, all the details!” he exclaimed, waving her over.

“Yeah, come here, my little Court-esan.” Roy curled his index finger inwards, beckoning to her as if she was a rotten child walking towards a spanking. “Come tell me what you did this time.”

Although he acted pretty peeved, Danny could tell Roy didn’t mean it. In all his time there, and in all the different ways he’d heard or seen Courtney getting screwed, never once had Roy made a mean remark about it. 

In fact, he’d never seen him make any harsh (untrue) comments towards her like he often did with others. Calling a performer’s voice one night a dead ringer for ‘What can only be described as how syphilis sores feels.’

No, the two of them must’ve been old friends. It was obvious, not just by their banter and affectionate little pets but the way Roy seemed so protective over her. Like an older brother or even a father figure would be. 

He also came to the conclusion that of the three of them, SHE might’ve been the best read. It was almost impressive how she floated about between lovers and managed to carry on the most interesting conversations known to man in one breath. Only stopping to powder her nose between the two.

For all their teasing, he had to give it to her. She wasn’t a slut, she was just built that way. Good for her.

“Bunny’s gonna’ kill you, you know!” Roy put his hands on his hips.

“Why?” Courtney, who had hopped up to sit on the bar, asked. 

“Do you want a list?” Roy scoffed. “Where should we start? You were late for - stop it.” He swatted at one of her legs when she tried to wiggle her foot against his rib cage.

“Can’t we just-“

“No,” Roy shut her down.

“Fine-uh,” Courtney whined. She pulled her leg back from poking him and hooked it over her other one, making her dress lift just enough Danny swore he could see a run in her stockings. Almost as if someone’s fingernails grabbed at them. 

Danny tugged at his tight collar. The temperature in the room must’ve raised a solid 20 degrees as the likelihood of said fingernails belonging to his uptight, no-nonsense boss dawned on him. 

He originally assumed by “buttering him up,” Courtney meant maybe a little extra flirting, maybe even a kiss or some heavy petting if she was feeling extra generous.

And the office rendezvous caught him off guard, sure, but ripped tights and what looked like a hickey below her earlobe? Absolutely above and beyond service.

‘I should get her a thank you present…I wonder if she likes chocolate?’ Danny considered. Inadvertently staring at her as he tried to remember the heart shaped boxes of chocolates he passed in a window not long ago. 

“Take a picture, love.” Courtney smiled sweetly, hiking her skirt up just enough that he could admire her thighs in all their glory.

“Oh! I wasn’t…I didn’t mean…I…” Danny stuttered, looking at Roy first for help before he regained his train of thought. “Sure, if you insist.”

“See what you’ve done? Hasn’t he had a hard enough night?” Roy finally took the attention off of him.

“Oh come off it,” Courtney gave a little titter. “He’s a nice big boy, he can tell me when he’s had enough.” She patted his shoulder. “So, you want a picture, huh?”

“Well…” Danny realized it was finally his turn to speak but no words came out. Courtney’s hand slid down, curving over his collarbone before going back up. 

“Down, beast!” Roy scolded, cracking the dishcloth he had nearby against her forearm. “Stop stalling and tell me about this…” he impatiently snapped his fingers.

“Dan,” they both answered.

“Dan, right. What do we know about this guy?”

“Well, he’s 6’2”, maybe 6’4”. Works at Danny’s bank, obviously, and I think about…” Courtney pursed her lips, holding her palms facing each other out in front of her, “about this-“

“That’ll do,” Roy picked up on what she was doing.

“About uh…” She found a length she liked. “This long I reckon.”

“Ugh, I said that’ll do, Court!” Roy’s voice raised in frustration. Finally getting her attention. “Can we not have one night in this joint without you discussing your excursions?”

Danny decided this wasn’t his battle to fight so he kept his distance, hiding his muffled giggling behind his hand so the bickering pair wouldn’t catch on. 

“It’s impolite to write personal things down about other people.” She put her hands on her hips, “So if I didn’t tell you, I���d forget their pros and cons, and I can’t make that mistake again, can I?”

“This is why I don’t take you to industry parties with me,” Roy facepalmed, rubbing his tired eyes with his thumb and index finger. 

“No, you don’t take me because-“

“That’s 5.5 inches,” Danny declared with a satisfied nod. Sure in his math until he noticed the pair had stopped bickering and were looking at him in complete confusion.

“How - what?” Roy tried hiding his laughter. “Is this what you went to college for?”

“No, let him finish, this could be useful,” Courtney said in all seriousness, raising her brows in Roy’s direction, but he shook his head at her. 

“Those types of acts stopped showing publicly in the carny days, before even vaudeville thank you very much.”

“You’d know, you were there,” Danny mumbled under his breath, upset that Roy didn’t find his accurate measuring impressive.

“Oh I’m sorry, are we feeling a little testy again, Mister ‘I cried when the man stopped drawing the deer in Bambi’?” teased Roy.

“I don’t know, do we think we’re funny, Mister ‘I got rejected to be the 6th Marx brother’?” Danny challenged. Refusing to let Roy win this round. 

“Boys, boys, boys,” Courtney chimed between them, her tone more exasperated this time,  rolling her eyes. “Just whip them out already and get a ruler…or a room.” She tilted her head towards the back of the club with a smirk. “Or an office.”

“Nobody asked you.” Roy shot her a warning look, the same expression he normally gave right before he’d yell at one of the servers for screwing up. “Just get back to work, please.”

“Oh I don’t mind,” she turned to Danny with her hand on her chest. “If you guys want to, you know… “ she clicked her tongue in the back room’s direction. 

“Okay, that’s enough!” Roy shouted, pushing her off the bar top while she wasn’t looking. “Thanks for dropping in, get to steppin’, buh bye.”

Danny didn’t know whether to laugh at her falling or the way Roy was waving his towel as he continued arguing with her about fixing her make up before her next set. 

“Fine! How ‘bout next time I just put a box over my head and you can draw some lipstick on it!” Courtney yelled over her shoulder. She tried to get the last word in as she made her way to the tiny dressing room hidden behind the stage. 

“It would be an improvement!” Roy yelled back. “What the-“ 

Danny flicked one of the peanuts that had fallen out the bowl in front of him, hitting Roy square on the chin.

“Oh you son of a bitch!” Roy exclaimed when a second one hit his cheek. “Just for that, you’re buying me a drink.”

“Worth it,” Danny grinned. He swiveled around on his stool, victorious for once, watching Roy dig around in the bottles beneath them. 

“Actually, you know what I’d kill for right now? I worked on a picture with Guy Madison last year and he gave me this really terrific bottle of bourbon,” he began as he poured them each a glass of scotch. “If you ever actually come see my place, you should have a drink.”

“See your place?” Danny swallowed. 

‘Oh god what does he mean? What’s he implying?’ He started panicking. ‘We agreed it was all a misunderstanding but does he…does he actually want me now? Is this a real invitation?’

His mind was spiraling, and Roy taking his sweet time to pour each glass wasn’t helping matters. Danny wondered if he should shoot down the offer right there, but before he could make up his mind, Roy finally slid the glass his way.

“I mean, if you guys want to come over for dinner or something.”

‘Oh, of course he wasn’t talking about…me,’ Danny realized. He could feel his shoulders slump forward again in an oddly disappointed way. He couldn’t show it however, not there in front of Roy. 

“Dinner?” Danny frowned, hiding his true feelings. “You can cook?”

Roy took a sip from his drink. “Of course I can cook, what do you mean?”

“Oh yeah? And what are you gonna give us? Indigestion?”

“Fine,” Roy conceded, smacking his lips. “Or you can come by for tailoring. We really need to get you out of those shitty little Hooverville suits.” He curled his top lip, looking him over. “I’d say no offense but they really do look hideous.”

“Heeeey,” Danny whined, clutching his lapels as if they could hear the insult. “These are catalog.”

Roy stood taller and pinched a piece of his pants to show Danny the seams. “And this is custom-made by the same guy who tailors costumes for Rosalind Russell, you see my point?”

“Rosalind…Russell?” Danny’s eyes went wide, reaching for the bit he was holding to feel the texture of the higher quality fabric. 

When his hand touched Roy’s thigh he swore he could feel his breath hitch, followed by Roy’s eyes panning down, presumably also aware of how intimate the moment had unwittingly become. 

‘Shit.’ He realized he had gotten a tad too close for comfort and pulled back. 

He sat down innocently as if nothing had happened, like when you get pulled over for driving over the limit and brace yourself to compliment your way out of it. “Boy, you know you’re everything I want to be when I’m 57.”

“Why I oughta-“ Roy gasped. Pulling his best Joan Crawford impression, he leaned down close to him. “Look, so help me, I’m gonna slug you.”

“There's a name for you ladies, but it isn't used in high society...outside of a kennel,” he retorted, proud of himself for not only remembering the line from The Women but also for making Roy’s dimples deepen when he said it. 

“Try me,” Roy challenged, shooting Danny with a peanut right between the eyes.

“Ow! Danny furiously tried to rub the sore spot better on his forehead. “Hey-uh! That was a dirty trick!” he whined.

He must have looked absolutely pathetic, as Roy’s face flashed all the way from pity straight into hysterics. 

“Oh, you poor little simple thing, don’t ever change.” Roy grasped his shoulder, his laughs turning higher pitched than Danny had heard before. He wiped at his eye with the back of his hand. “God, I’d be bored without you here.”

“What?” Danny perked up, unsure if he heard that right.

“I said,” Roy’s laughter started calming down. “Oh nevermind. Forget it. I need a piss.” 

Many hours and many, many drinks later, Danny figured he had enough liquid courage in him to finally go see Roy’s apartment. Platonically, of course.

“I’m heading home soon, I was wondering if you’d like a stroll?” he asked Roy at the end of the night, when the last tipsy crowd began to trickle out.

“Sure, yeah. I’d love to, but I gotta go take inventory and lock up some stuff. Would you mind helping out?” Roy barely even looked up from writing down some numbers of reservations for the next night. As if the revelation of Danny’s intentions hadn’t hit him yet. Not that he had any intentions. Maybe.

“Counting? Please, it's my job.”

Finally, Roy lifted his head, dropping an elbow on the counter, resting his head in his hand as he looked on in astonishment. “I always forget that, I’m amazed when you bring it up.” 

“What? My job?” Danny blushed. His parents had told him a job at a bank would be respectable, but he didn’t see it, until now maybe. 

“No.” Roy laughed suddenly, dropping the act just as quick and standing up straight. “That you can count.”

‘This piece of work.’ Danny thought. He was caught off guard by his mockery but didn’t want to give Roy the satisfaction of knowing that. 

“Bang zoom, Haylock! You’re going to the moon!” he mimicked Ralph Kramden, hoping the little reference would earn at least a chuckle from the equally fanatical Roy.

“Good one,” he praised, looking up at the fist Danny still held in his face. He gave it a playful tap with his pen, his own little version of a gold star. 

‘Success.’

Thanks to that little pick-me-up, the inventory they had to do went by, as Roy noted, faster than usual, both men forgetting about the time as they waved off the last of the wait staff and performers.

“All I’m saying is, knowing her, it was a stunt.” Roy threw his hands up, his pen nearly hitting a passing waitress.

“Knowing her,” Danny blew a raspberry. “I know you think your shit don’t stink, but there’s no way you know Joan Crawford.”

“I didn’t say I know her personally,” Roy defended.

Danny, annoyed at Roy for missing the point, batted his eyelashes at him before trying again. “Fine. You know what the tabloids say about her, that’s my point! I think at the ‘46 Academy Awards, she and everyone there knew there was no way she would lose.”

“But then why wasn’t she there?” Roy slammed his fist on the table, clearly fed up with how long this conversation had gone on.

Danny however, was not prepared to give in just yet, enjoying their little argument and seeing Roy get so flustered far too much. 

“Because she’s a deeply paranoid and emotional person, who doesn’t want to show her weak side because that way people can’t use it against her the way she uses their weaknesses against them!” he finally exhaled. 

“Oh brother,” Roy rolled his eyes. “So she’s just a bitch, is your excuse?”

“Pot meet kettle.” Danny waved his hands in Roy’s direction, making his dimples deepen in that tell-tale ‘you got me’ grin he’d grown so fond of. 

“Fine,“ Roy conceded, taking another sip from his now lukewarm drink. “Ugh, this is worse than your fashion sense,” he pulled a face, scooting the drink away. “But for the record, I do know Joan Crawford, semi-personally, and she would pull a stunt like that.”

“You’re such a fucking liar,” Danny spat like an annoyed teenager. “I bet you’re just making that up again so -“

“Boys!” Courtney tottered into the storage room where they’d been counting bottles. Clearly one too many deep herself. “Have one of you still not pinned the other against the milk crates?”

“Shut up, Courtney!” they both shouted in unison, Danny not even registering what she was saying thanks to his own impeded thinking.

“Danny, my love.” She threw an arm over his shoulder, pulling him in close to not-so-subtly whisper in his ear. “Make him show you how…you know, express what he's got.”

“Shut up, Courtney,” Roy repeated.

“Make me.” She licked her lip, lunging forward to grab both of them in a big bear hug. “Actually don’t, I’m on my way out with Morgan and Kameron.”

“Yuck.” Danny scoffed under his breath, trying to pretend it didn’t turn him on just a little bit…a lotta bit…

“Crushed between all those muscles…Roy,” she turned to him, cooing, “If tonight is the night I finally go, write that I died happy on my tombstone.”

“Write it yourself!” Roy pushed her away with his elbow. “And quit distracting us. I want to go home and this idiot can barely count to 12 without getting lost.”

“Hey!”

“Listen, you little shit, you’ve been counting the same stack of tequila for 14 minutes and you still haven’t gotten past the 2nd shelf.”

“Oh?” Danny looked at the shelves. Realizing that Roy had been right, he sheepishly smiled at him with a pathetic, “Oops?”

Courtney tutted, shaking her blonde hair over her shoulders. “I guess you’ll have to teach him a lesson. I recommend a good wallop across the bum.”

“I recommend a cup of coffee and a cold shower.” Roy crossed his arms at her like a disappointed father. 

“And why would I listen to you?” she challenged, mirroring his stance even down to the way his left brow was raised. 

“Because sometimes, SOMETIMES, only once in a blue moon…I’m wrong. I can’t be wrong twice in one night, can I?”

“Is this your way of apologizing for being an ass?” Courtney asked, throwing her hands around his neck for a hug.

“Maybe,” Roy hugged her back, pulling her tightly into his arms till she stood on her tippy toes. “Do you forgive me?”

“Only if you buy me a big box of chocolates.” 

‘Definitely likes chocolates,’ Danny noted to himself.

“Deal. Now go with your little toys,” Roy let her go, “and when you’re done, drink lots of water. Love you, be safe.”

The pair exchanged quick air kisses. Danny couldn’t help himself but smile at how lovingly Roy doted over her, making sure she listened to him before he shoved her away into the waiting arms of Kameron. 

“You know,” Danny sat down in his makeshift seat, lighting them cigarettes. “You two would make a cute couple if you weren’t,” he swallowed, “you know...”

“Gee thanks.” Roy took his cigarette from him, shoving his seat away so he could count the tequila instead.

“Hey, what did Courtney mean-“ Danny tried asking about Courtney’s earlier statement about the office but Roy shushed him. 

“10, 12, 14…” Roy kept counting under his breath. His brows tightly furrowed, concentrating on every label. “16, 18…19?” He curled his top lip at the tequila bottles. 

“20.” Danny held up the bottle Roy had poured himself a drink out of when they started counting bottles. 

“Knew I kept you around for a reason,” Roy let out a relieved sigh. “20. Beautiful, done.”

Roy put the bottle back carefully onto the shelf, wrote down the number on his clipboard and hooked his pen over the sheet of paper. Finally! Their cue to hit the road.

Danny’s stomach was in knots, boozy butterflies floating about at the anticipation of more intimate alone time. The thought made him nauseous with doubt but it was too enticing to pass up, just like those enormous Ferris wheels his parents took him to when he was a little boy.

Every time he’d question his decision, he’d look to his left towards Roy for some new motivation, reminding himself that he wasn’t doing anything wrong. Just walking side by side as they’d done many a night, simply without Jinkx in the middle this time, and if he had to be honest it felt freeing. 

Liberating even. 

“Well then, who do you think should’ve won?” Roy asked, turning the corner to their block.

“Seriously? Such an easy answer,” Danny raised his shoulders in exasperation. It seemed like every time they reached the Best Actress category in their little debates Roy would scoff at his answers just to get a rise out of him, even some of the ones he, sometimes reluctantly, agreed with. “Judy Garland, obviously.”

Roy scrunched up his nose as if he was thinking over Danny’s answer before he sighed, “I don’t know-“

“Oh brother, what do you have against Judy mother-fucking Garland?” Danny interrupted him, using the same phrase Roy had used for Deborah Kerr earlier against himself.

“Grace - you asshole.” Roy fumbled over his words, hiding a proud chuckle. “Grace Kelly deserved it, I think they voted for the right bitch.“

“Well I think you’re wrong,” Danny huffed. “And I think if Courtney was here she’d agree with me.”

“Is that so?”

“And she’d call you a dickhead!” He tried his best to imitate her Australian accent but just couldn’t quite get it right, causing him to laugh at his own joke. 

“Well, well,” Roy swayed towards him, bumping their shoulders together. “Careful, someone might say the club is rubbing off on you.” 

He was right, obviously. Even Danny could feel the shift in his personality since he moved to New York just a few weeks earlier. Specifically since he started hanging out at the club with Roy and the others. 

“Would that be so bad?” he asked out loud, more to himself than anyone else truth be told.

“It would make you right more often.” 

“I am right. Judy should’ve won.”

“As much as I would like to agree with you, I can't. Why do you think she should’ve won, huh? Because she’s been around so long? Because she…” Roy gestured with over the top quotation marks, “‘overcame’ her struggles to make a good goddamn movie? Because it was an absolutely terrific movie, don't get me wrong, she damn near made me shed a tear.”

“Well…then why don’t you think she should’ve won?” Danny came to a standstill, confused by Roy’s argument. 

“Think about it.” Roy stopped walking as well, stepping back a few steps to be equal with Danny again. “Those are all amazing qualities, but you can’t just up and say ‘I did my best so I deserve the thing I want’, you have to be able to show people you’re in it for the long run, Judy isn’t that girl anymore but Grace Kelly is.”

“But she did show up!” Danny tried reasoning back. “Maybe not the way you wanted her too but she tried.”

“That’s show business for you,” Roy shrugged.

“James Mason didn’t win either, which is complete bullshit,” Danny scoffed, resuming his walking.

“That I can agree with.” 

“So…thanks for letting me hang around all night, you sure I wasn’t a bother?” Danny finally asked when they reached Roy’s apartment door. Just before they began to discuss that year’s winners.

Before he answered, Roy took the time to dig in his thick black coat’s pocket and pull out a couple of cigarettes, lighting one for each of them between his teeth. A little habit Danny had grown quite fond of him doing when he didn’t think people would notice. 

“You know, I actually had a good time. I really appreciated the help, thanks.”

“You’re very welcome, I’d do it again any- any time really.” He stumbled over his words a bit. Roy’s lips were too distracting as he took a big drag of his cigarette.

“With the amount of scotch you had, I probably don’t have to ask if you had a good time?” Roy teased, his lips twisting into a faint smile. 

Danny couldn’t help but blush, especially since Roy covered most of the drinks he ended up having. An act of kindness he appreciated; his wallet was looking a little too thin as it was tonight, with Jinkx skipping out before the tab could be paid. 

“I wish I could repay at least one or two,” he began. Feeling around in his pockets for any change he might have left.

“Yeah, I bet you do.” Roy looked up at him, halting his movements with a firm pat on the shoulder. Another habit Danny liked. At this point he started an imaginary list. 

Danny could still feel his heart racing at the contact, even one so innocent. He wondered what Roy was thinking while they looked at each other, his face illuminated only by the soft glow of the street lamps scattered about .

“You know-“ Roy inhaled, raising his hand to hold Danny’s cheek tenderly, lost in thought. 

“Hm?” Visions of them together began swirling in his mind. Glorious visions. And then - 

“Nothin’. You had some lint. Go back to your doll face, she’ll want you home when she gets in,” Roy slurred slightly. A lazy smile on his face as if the night was growing long, but he didn’t want it to end yet. “It’s getting late.”

“Oh,” he breathed. Saying he felt let down was the understatement of the year. He didn’t want to fight the issue though, hell he didn’t even know how. 

What could he say that wouldn’t ruin any progress they’d made as friends, or come out sounding just plain foolish? So he accepted his refusal and turned around to walk away back to his apartment.

‘C’mon, be a man!’ he scolded himself. Turning on his heels when he’d taken no more than 5 steps to face Roy with new self-assuredness. 

“You don’t want to invite me in for that bourbon?” he asked, raising his shoulders, the ash he’d forgotten about from his cigarette falling onto his shoes.

“I don’t think you need another drink tonight, do you?”

“Um, I….” Danny struggled to decide. So much for that confidence he had built up. 

“Exactly. So it’s probably better if I don’t and we call it a night.” Roy flashed that devilishly delicious smile. 

That smile that made his knees weak and his stomach do somersaults, even if his words made his heart drop nearly out of his body.

“Right…but -” He wanted to protest and demand a reason, feeling his blood boil like when your high school crush rejects you. 

“It’s nothing you - you hear that, right? Her stomping? God she’s loud.” Roy turned around to gesture to the source. 

Danny recognized Courtney almost immediately, her usual little skip run in those tiny dresses she wore nearly as recognizable as her accent.

“I lost my keys!” she laughed, running a little faster towards them. “And Dela’s out with her new boyfriend. Who, by the way, did I tell you his mustache is ah-mazing.”

“Where’s your dates?” Roy shrugged off her rambling. 

“Ugh, don’t get me started. Kameron got cold feet and Morgan, well, let’s just say some Scots don’t hold their liquor as well as advertised.” She blinked as if she was trying to get rid of some unpleasant memories. “I got them a taxi, they're fine.”

“Seriously,” Roy pointed to her heels when she finally reached him, already holding the apartment building’s door open for her. “Walk like a man, why don’t yah?”

“Fuck me like one,” Courtney retorted with a tease in her voice, tousling Danny’s hair, saying, “You can even bring him.”

Danny’s eyes flicked back and forth between the pair, unsure what to think. Or even what to say. Hell, even unsure if she was being serious or not. All he could see was red. 

“He’s not interested.” Roy’s focus switched to Danny. His expression was unreadable, as if he didn't even know what he was thinking. “Right?”

Danny swallowed, muttering, “…right.” 

“Goodnight, Danny,” Courtney sang, walking past Roy into his apartment building. Throwing a last little finger wave his way before taking the edge of Roy’s collar in her hand and tugging. 

“Coming, dollface,” Roy smirked, following her lead.

He stood dumbfounded. Baffled by this turn of events. The ONE time he’d made the first move and THIS is what he got for it? 

“Why that…that….” he huffed, unable to process rational thoughts he took a puff from his cigarette before throwing it on the ground. Storming off in the direction of his apartment with heavy, angry stomps. “That slut! Jezebel! That absolute…TRAMP!”

Pride Challenge Points: 2489

[drelldreams]

More Vivien Shepard headcanons:

• Vivien loves classical music; even plays some violin, but she‘s pretty much tune deaf and she‘s just mediocre despite lots of efforts spend on practice.

• Her younger brother Fabien wants to become an archaeologist and Liara always reminded her of him.

• Her other brother, Leon (Fabien‘s twin) wants to get into geography.

• She‘s super fashionable, and actually buys fashion magazines.

• While she sucks at freestyle dancing, she‘s, much to everyone‘s surprise when they learn this, quite the good ballerina. She danced in her youth.

• She‘s a fan of Greek mythology, just like her das who used to read her the Odyssey as a kid.

• Vivien owns a lot of perfumes. And she’s a wine enthusiast. Luckily, as a Spectre she has enough credits to indulge in those luxuries.

• She’s demisexual. She does get crushes pretty quickly, but they tend to fizzle fast. Only those who really, really understand her on a deeper level she develops long lasting, deep feelings for.

• Vivien had a crush at Miranda at some point but it fizzled quickly.

• She’s just as good of a sniper as Garrus is, but she lets him win during the shooting contest anyway because she doesn’t like to see a friend losing and she has a feeling Garrus is a sore loser.

[writemarcus]

Playwrights Set for THE FIRE THIS TIME Festival 7th Cycle Of New Works Lab

The seventh cycle began in October 2024 and will meet monthly through May 2025.

By: Chloe Rabinowitz Oct. 24, 2024

The Fire This Time Festival, an annual festival of new work by playwrights of African and African-American descent, has revealed that playwrights Melda Beaty (2022 International Black Theatre Festival's Sylvia Sprinkle-Hamlin Rolling World Premiere Award for "Coconut Cake"), Rachel Herron (2022-2023 resident playwright with Colt Coeur), and Marcus Scott (Princess Grace Award finalist) have been selected to develop full-length plays in the seventh cycle of their New Works Lab. The seventh cycle began in October 2024 and will meet monthly through May 2025.

In 2015 The Fire This Time established The Fire This Time Writers' Group with the mission to provide TFTT alumni and writers from the TFTT community the opportunity to develop new work in a nurturing and supportive environment. In 2017, the initiative was renamed the New Works Lab. From its inception to the present, the lab has been co-directed by educator and playwright Cynthia Grace Robinson ("Letters From Loretta," "Freedom Summer" "What If?" "Dancing on Eggshells") and A.J. Muhammad, a producer with TFTT. Funding for the 7th cycle of the New Works Lab was made possible by generous support from The Black Seed Fund.

Since its launch, over twenty playwrights have developed work in the New Works Lab including Kendra Augustin, Ngozi Anyanwu, France-Luce Benson, Kim Brockington, Tyrell Bennett, Christine Jean Chambers, Edgar Chisholm, Adrienne Dawes, Danielle Davenport, Khalil Kain, Jay Mazyck, Maia Matsushita, Liz Morgan, Shawn Nabors, Deneen Reynolds-Knott, T.R. Riggins, James Anthony Tyler, William Watkins, Shamar S. White, Mars Wolfe, and Antu Yacob.

Melda Beaty is an enthusiastic playwright of eight stage plays: "Front Porch Society," "Coconut Cake," "Thirty," "The Lawsons: A Civil Rights Love Story," "Feebleminded," "COVID Be Damned," "Gaslight Garden" and "Guess What's for Dinner?" Her plays have enjoyed national productions and/or recognition. Most recently, she received the 2022 International Black Theatre Festival's Sylvia Sprinkle-Hamlin Rolling World Premiere Award for her stage play, "Coconut Cake." The play will receive five professional productions between 2024-2025. She was also a 2021 Confluence Fellow with the St. Louis Shakespeare Festival. In addition, Melda is the author of two books. When not writing, she serves on the Board of Directors for the August Wilson Society and as a contributing editor for Black Masks magazine. Melda resides in Chicago, Illinois with her three talented daughters and is an assistant professor of English at Olive-Harvey Community College. She earned her undergraduate degree from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign and her graduate degree from Illinois State University.

Rachel Herron is a Black, queer, multidisciplinary artist residing in Brooklyn. She is currently a company member of Colt Coeur Theater, where she was a 2022-2023 resident playwright. Her plays include "It's Only a High School Reunion" (Live and In Color 24 Hour Festival), "Red Red Wine" (Fire This Time Festival 13th annual Ten-Minute Play Program), and "Token" (O'Neill Center Semifinalist). Additionally, her playwriting portfolio has landed her as a finalist for the WP Theater Lab and a semi-finalist for the June Bingham Commission with Live and In Color. She's written several original pilots, of which she was named a CBS Writers Mentoring Program finalist (2019), a Mentorship Matters semifinalist (2021), and a two-time Disney Writing Program finalist (2022 and 2023). She is a mentee in the #startwith8 program for women of color trying to break into television writing. She wrote, directed, and starred in a short film called IDOL CHASER, which premiered in Fall 2024 at Katra Film Series and took home the Audience Choice Award. Her satirical writing is featured on McSweeney's Internet Tendency. She received a BFA in Drama from NYU's Tisch School of the Arts.

Marcus Scott is a dramatist and journalist. Full-length works: TUMBLEWEED (finalist: 2017 BAPF & 2017 Austin Playhouse Festival of New American Plays; semifinalist: 2022 O'Neill NPC, 2022 Blue Ink Playwriting Award & 2017 Princess Grace Award), SIBLING RIVALRIES (finalist: 2023 Normal Ave's NAPseries, 2021 Seven Devils Playwrights Conference & 2021 Judith Royer Excellence In Playwriting Award; semi-finalist: 2022 Lanford Wilson New American Play Festival, 2021 Blue Ink Playwriting Award & 2021 Princess Grace Award), THERE GOES THE NEIGHBORHOOD (finalist: 2023 Princess Grace Award, 2023 Blue Ink Playwriting Award; semifinalist: 2024 BAPF, 2024 Fault Line Theater's Irons in the Fire & 2024 O'Neill NPC), CHERRY BOMB (recipient: 2017 Drama League First Stage Artist-In-Residence). Heartbeat Opera commissioned Scott to adapt Beethoven's FIDELIO (Co-writer; Met Live Arts at the MET Museum, NY Times Critics' Pick). Scott is the recipient of the Chelsey/Bumbalo Playwriting Award (2024). He is a finalist for the 2024-2025 Dramatists Guild Foundation National Fellows Program, 2022 Many Voices Fellowship, 2021 NYSAF Founders' Award and is a 2021 Doric Wilson Independent Playwright Award semi-finalist. His articles appeared in Architectural Digest, Time Out New York, American Theatre Magazine, Playbill, Elle, Out, Essence, The Brooklyn Rail, among others. MFA: NYU Tisch.

The Fire This Time Festival was founded in 2009 by playwright and producer Kelley Girod to provide a platform for playwrights of African and African-American descent to write and produce evocative material for diverse audiences. Since the debut of the first 10-minute play program in 2010, presented in collaboration with FRIGID New York, The Fire This Time Festival has has produced and developed the work of more than 90 playwrights including Katori Hall, Dominique Morisseau, Radha Blank, Antoinette Nwandu, Jocelyn Bioh, korde arrington tuttle, Stacey Rose, Aziza Barnes, C.A. Johnson, Kevin R. Free, Charly Evon Simpson, Angelica Cheri, James Anthony Tyler, Jordan Cooper, Nathan Yungerberg, Nia A. Robinson, and Cris Eli Blak.

The Fire This Time's first anthology, "25 Plays from The Fire This Time Festival: A Decade of Recognition, Resistance, Rebirth, and Black Theater" edited by Kelley Girod was released by Bloomsbury Publishing in February 2022. www.firethistimefestival.com

FRIGID New York's mission is to provide both emerging and established artists the opportunity to create and produce original work of varied content, form, and style, and to amplify their diverse voices. We do this by presenting an array of monthly programming, mainstage productions, an artist residency, and eight annual theater festivals that create an environment of collaboration, resourcefulness, and innovation. Founded in 1998, the aim was and is to form a structure, allowing multiple artists to focus on creating and staging new work and providing affordable rental space to scores of independent artists. Now in our third decade we have produced a massive quantity of stimulating downtown theater. www.frigid.nyc

[ruou-tot]

Penfolds Koonunga Hill Shiraz Cabernet

Khám Phá Rượu Vang Penfolds Koonunga Hill: Tinh Hoa Nghệ Thuật Từ Úc

Rượu vang Penfolds Koonunga Hill Shiraz Cabernet không chỉ là một thức uống đơn thuần, mà còn là một tác phẩm nghệ thuật thể hiện sự kết hợp hoàn hảo giữa hương vị tươi mới và đậm đà từ hai giống nho Shiraz và Cabernet độc đáo. Được trồng và lên men tại những vùng đất nổi tiếng của Úc, chai vang này mang đến trải nghiệm hương vị độc đáo và lôi cuốn.

Hương Vị Đặc Trưng Của Rượu Vang Penfolds Koonunga Hill

Rượu Koonunga Hill từ nhà sản xuất danh tiếng Penfolds nổi bật với màu đỏ ruby đậm và tươi sáng. Hương thơm phong phú, quyến rũ từ mâm xôi đen chín mọng cùng với những nốt hương của các loại berry như mâm xôi, việt quất, lan tỏa trên khứu giác, tạo nên sức hút không thể cưỡng lại.

Khi nhấp môi, bạn sẽ cảm nhận một loạt trái cây đen ngọt ngào được cân bằng hoàn hảo bởi một chút hương thảo và gia vị ấm áp, mang đến cảm giác phong phú và sâu lắng. Sự hòa quyện giữa giống nho Shiraz mạnh mẽ và Cabernet Sauvignon cân bằng cho phép những nét đặc trưng riêng biệt của từng loại nho lần lượt thể hiện trên vòm miệng. Vang Úc này không chỉ gây ấn tượng bởi hương vị độc đáo mà còn bởi cấu trúc tannin mềm mượt và vị chát nhẹ nhàng, tạo nên cảm giác cân bằng và mềm mại trên đầu môi.

Hậu vị dài lâu và ấm áp, mang đến cảm giác mãnh liệt và đầy thỏa mãn sau khi thưởng thức. Chai vang đỏ Penfolds Koonunga Hill thực sự là một lựa chọn tuyệt vời cho những người yêu thích rượu vang đỏ phức tạp và đa chiều. Sự kết hợp hài hòa giữa hai loại nho đặc trưng của vùng Barossa Valley đã tạo ra một sản phẩm rượu vang vô cùng đáng để khám phá và trải nghiệm.

Phục Vụ và Kết Hợp Ẩm Thực Với Rượu Koonunga Hill Shiraz Cabernet

Rượu vang Penfolds Koonunga Hill Shiraz Cabernet với nồng độ 14,5% cực kỳ ấn tượng, sẽ là cộng sự lý tưởng với các món ăn có cấu trúc săn chắc và hương vị đậm đà như bò nướng sốt tiêu đen, cừu bỏ lò ăn kèm măng tây, gà nướng phomai, BBQ, sườn cừu áp chảo với giấm balsamic... đây đều là những gợi ý hoàn hảo mà quý khách có thể lựa chọn thưởng thức cùng chai vang này trong bữa tiệc của mình.

Ngoài ra, Koonunga Hill Penfolds được khuyến khích thưởng thức trong nhiệt độ từ 16-18℃. Để hương vị trở nên mềm mại và dễ dàng phát triển các note hương tiềm năng, quý khách hãy để rượu thở trong bình decanter ít nhất 30 phút. Những lưu ý nhỏ này sẽ góp phần tạo nên trải nghiệm trọn vẹn với rượu vang Penfolds Koonunga Hill Shiraz Cabernet.

Thành Tích Xuất Sắc Của Rượu Koonunga Hill

Rượu Koonunga Hill Shiraz Cabernet đã nhận được nhiều giải thưởng danh giá trong các cuộc thi rượu vang quốc tế, chứng minh cho chất lượng vượt trội của mình. Một số thành tích đáng chú ý bao gồm:

Indy International Wine Competition - Huy Chương Bạc

Mundus Vini - Huy Chương Bạc

San Francisco International Wine Competition - Huy Chương Đồng

Concours Mondial de Bruxelles - Huy Chương Vàng

London Wine Competition - Huy Chương Vàng

Wine Enthusiast - 88/100 Điểm

Gismondi on Wine - 88/100 Điểm

Falstaff - 88/100 Điểm

Vinum Wine Magazine - 16/100 Điểm

Tom Cannavan - 87/100 Điểm

Những thành tích này không chỉ khẳng định tên tuổi của Penfolds trong ngành rượu vang mà còn nâng cao giá trị của rượu vang Penfolds Koonunga Hill trong mắt người tiêu dùng.

Đôi Nét Về Penfolds Koonunga Hill Shiraz Cabernet

Nhà sản xuất Penfolds là hãng rượu lâu đời nhất của Úc, nổi tiếng trong việc sản xuất những dòng vang hảo hạng, tạo nên nhiều thành tựu cho ngành rượu vang của đất nước này. Vẻ đẹp của những chai rượu vang ở đây đều được hình thành từ những giống nho ngon nhất, những trái nho tươi chín muồi cùng quá trình lên men nghệ thuật.

Penfolds Koonunga Hill Shiraz Cabernet là sự kết hợp hoàn hảo giữa Shiraz và Cabernet. Sự hòa trộn này vô tình tạo nên một dòng rượu vang đậm đà với đặc tính chung từ tannin và axit. Độ chua được củng cố khá lớn nhờ những trái nho Shiraz. Sự mạnh mẽ, hương vị chan chát của Cabernet Sauvignon cũng tạo nên ấn tượng cho rượu.

Nếu bạn đang tìm kiếm một chai rượu vang tuyệt vời cho bữa tiệc hoặc dịp đặc biệt, đừng bỏ qua Penfolds Koonunga Hill. Chúng tôi cam kết cung cấp những sản phẩm chất lượng cao với giá cả hợp lý nhất.

[naturecoaster]

NatureCoaster.com Plans Exciting Show Schedule for 2024-5 Season

After working with several organizations throughout the Nature Coast, Diane Bedard, Publisher of NatureCoaster.com has announced their 2024-2025 Show Schedule. “We are excited to meet our readers and to meet new faces to bring into the NatureCoaster.com fold. After two years of meeting the public at various festivals throughout Citrus, Hernando and Pasco Counties, we have learned that our readers love to meet the faces behind the stories, so we took on an action-packed schedule this year,” Diane said. It all began with the Manatee Festival several years ago. After reading the book, Purple Cow, by Seth Gordon, Diane came up with the idea of publishing an area map and giving it to festival attendees. As part of the publication’s ongoing sponsorship, Jade White with the Citrus County Chamber suggested NatureCoaster.com have a festival booth; the rest is history. NatureCoaster Readers are Invited to Visit the Award-Winning Online Magazine's Booth at Several Festivals throughout the Nature Coast “We still give free maps and NatureCoaster stickers to festivalgoers throughout the Nature Coast, as well as sell logo caps and mugs,” Diane says. “It is heartwarming to meet readers who look forward to their weekly e-zine or follow us on social media… and it is fun to share the website with those who are enthusiastic about our content.” "Any of the NatureCoaster.com partners are welcome to join us at any of the festivals to help promote their organization. We love to add value to our partnerships!" she continued. We hope to see the Butterfly Lady at the 2024 Monarch Butterfly Festival in the newly renovated Touchton Park. Miles the Butterfly, photo ops, and much more. NatureCoaster will be will be at the annual Dade City Monarch Butterfly Festival October 26. Image by Dennis Bedard. Starting this Saturday, September 14, you will be able to find NatureCoaster.com at the Citrus Business Expo where we will have a gift basket featuring NatureCoaster.com’s delicious blackberry/blueberry table wine (must be 21 or older to win), a couple of glasses, coasters and a map to help you plan your picnic on the Nature Coast. Other events planned for NatureCoaster.com to attend include: Date                                                     Festival                                                               Location 10/26/2024                                       Monarch Butterfly Festival                        Dade City 11/9/2024                                          Veterans Music Fest                                     Brooksville 1/18-19/2025                                          Manatee Fest                                                   Crystal River 1/25/2025                                          Kumquat Festival                                           Dade City 2/8/2025                                             Pigz in Z’Hills                                                    Zephyrhills 2/22/2025                                          Walk of Arts 2025                                           Inverness 3/1-2/2025                                             Strawberry Festival                                       Floral City NatureCoaster.com may add or subtract from this schedule, and if so, we will be sure to let you know. Make plans to attend as many or as few events as fits your time schedule. Please stop by our booth at any of these festivals and introduce yourself. Read the full article

[alexawesomeblog]

Best Corporate Gifts to Delight Your Co-workers

Corporate gifting is an art that can foster stronger workplace relationships, show appreciation, and boost morale. Choosing the right corporate gift in Sri Lanka for your co-workers involves understanding their preferences, needs, and the company culture. Here’s a comprehensive guide to the best corporate gifts that are sure to delight your co-workers and leave a lasting impression.

1. Personalized Gifts

Personalized gifts show that you’ve put thought and effort into selecting something unique for your co-worker. These gifts can include items like:

- Engraved Pens: A high-quality pen engraved with your co-worker’s name or a motivational quote can be a daily reminder of their importance.

- Custom Mugs: Personalized mugs with their name, a funny quote, or a company logo are both practical and thoughtful.

- Monogrammed Notebooks: A stylish notebook with their initials can be a great gift for someone who loves to jot down ideas or keep organized.

2. Tech Gadgets

In today’s digital age, tech gadgets are always a hit. Here are some popular tech gifts:

- Wireless Earbuds: High-quality wireless earbuds can enhance productivity and provide entertainment during commutes or workouts.

- Portable Chargers: A sleek and powerful portable charger ensures that their devices never run out of battery.

- Smart Home Devices: Items like smart speakers or smart bulbs can make their home life more convenient and enjoyable.

3. Wellness and Self-Care Items

Wellness and self-care gifts show that you care about your co-workers’ health and well-being. Consider the following options:

- Aromatherapy Diffusers: Essential oil diffusers can create a calming atmosphere at home or in the office.

- Yoga Mats and Accessories: For co-workers who enjoy yoga or meditation, a high-quality yoga mat or accessories like blocks and straps can be a great gift.

- Spa Kits: Spa kits with bath bombs, candles, and lotions can provide a much-needed relaxation experience.

4. Gourmet Food and Drink

Gourmet food and drink gifts are always appreciated, especially if they cater to your co-worker’s tastes. Here are some ideas:

- Gourmet Gift Baskets: Curated baskets with high-quality chocolates, nuts, cheeses, and wines can be a luxurious treat.

- Coffee and Tea Sets: Premium coffee or tea sets, complete with a French press, infuser, or personalized mugs, can delight any beverage enthusiast.

- Custom Cookies or Cupcakes: Personalized cookies or cupcakes with company logos or fun designs can add a sweet touch to your gift.

5. Office Supplies and Decor

Practical and stylish office supplies can enhance your co-worker’s workspace and productivity. Consider these gifts:

- Desk Organizers: A chic desk organizer can help keep their workspace tidy and efficient.

- Plants: Small potted plants like succulents or air plants can add a touch of greenery and improve air quality.

- Motivational Posters: Framed posters with inspirational quotes can add a positive vibe to their office space.

6. Experience-Based Gifts

Experience-based gifts can create lasting memories and provide a break from the daily grind. Here are some ideas:

- Event Tickets: Tickets to concerts, sports events, or theatre shows can be a fantastic gift for those who love entertainment.

- Workshops and Classes: Enrol your co-worker in a cooking class, art workshop, or fitness class that matches their interests.

- Gift Cards for Activities: Gift cards for activities like escape rooms, spas, or adventure parks can offer exciting experiences.

7. Subscriptions

Subscription services provide ongoing enjoyment and convenience. Consider these options:

- Streaming Services: Subscriptions to streaming services like Netflix, Spotify, or Audible can provide endless entertainment.

- Monthly Boxes: Subscription boxes for things like snacks, books, or wellness products can be a delightful surprise each month.

- Magazine Subscriptions: A subscription to a magazine related to their hobbies or interests can provide regular enjoyment.

8. Sustainable and Eco-Friendly Gifts

Show your commitment to sustainability with eco-friendly gifts that your co-workers will appreciate:

- Reusable Water Bottles: Stylish and sustainable water bottles help reduce plastic waste.

- Eco-Friendly Stationery: Notebooks and pens made from recycled materials can be both practical and environmentally conscious.

- Bamboo Desk Accessories: Bamboo organizers or mouse pads are durable and sustainable choices for the office.

9. Books

Books are timeless gifts that can inspire, educate, and entertain. Consider these types of books:

- Professional Development Books: Books on leadership, productivity, or industry-specific knowledge can help with their career growth.

- Novels: A bestselling novel or a book from their favourite genre can provide relaxation and enjoyment.

- Coffee Table Books: Beautifully illustrated coffee table books on art, photography, or travel can be great conversation starters.

Choosing the right corporate gift involves considering the preferences and personalities of your co-workers. Whether you opt for personalized items, tech gadgets, wellness products, gourmet treats, office supplies, experience-based gifts, subscriptions, sustainable options, or books, the key is to show appreciation and thoughtfulness. A well-chosen gift can strengthen workplace relationships, boost morale, and create a positive and memorable experience for your co-workers. By putting effort into selecting the right gifts, you can ensure that your gesture is both meaningful and appreciated.

[capellilavita-blog]

GlenWood Chardonnay Timeless Elegance

This year marks a major milestone for GlenWood Vineyards, as 40 years ago owner Alastair Wood, purchased the land, with a vision to produce world-class Chardonnays. Twenty-four years later his vision is still as bright, as not only has GlenWood earned global recognition, but has become known as the Home of Chardonnay in Franschhoek.

A haven for Chardonnay enthusiasts the current portfolio comprises the Grand Duc Chardonnay 2022, Vigneron’s Selection Chardonnay 2023 and the GlenWood Chardonnay 2024.

Reflecting their noble heritage the Grand Duc Chardonnay 2022 scored 93 points at the 2023 Gilbert & Gaillard International Challenge. Previous vintages were awarded a 5-star rating in the 2022 and 2023 editions of the Platter Wine Guide, 91 points in the Tim Atkins Special Report on South African Wines, as well as a Gold medal at the 2020 Michelangelo Wine Awards. Without a doubt, an investment wine, winemaker, Natasha Pretorius, describes the wine as a yellow straw colour, with rich vanilla and ripe pineapple aromas. The gentle use of oak results in a palate with toasty vanilla notes, carrying through to citrus and marmalade flavour on the aftertaste. Available from the Tasting Room at R740 per bottle.

Cellar Master, DP Burger, who has been at GlenWood for more than 30 years was closely involved when it came to only selecting the best grapes for the Vigneron’s Selection Chardonnay 2023, which is currently available from the Tasting Room at R350 per bottle. A magnificent yellow straw colour with subdued aromas of tropical fruits and vanilla. A creamy palate with prominent citrus flavours and dried orange peel on the aftertaste, results in a full, rich and nutty wine. Truly a handcrafted work of ‘art’ this vintage scored an impressive 92 points at the 2023 Gilbert & Gaillard International Challenge, as well as a 5-star rating in the 2023 Platter Wine Guide for a previous vintage.