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[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part 64)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Age-Gap, Triggers, Smut

An hour later, and after Cillian had put Mara to bed, you sat down on the couch and opened a bottle of wine. You were  feeling a bit anxious about the upcoming intimate scene between Cillian and Annabelle, and you couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that had been brewing inside of you since you had left the restaurant. You knew that you had no reason to feel that way. Even if there was something between Cillian and his costar, it was really none of your business.

As if sensing your discomfort though, Cillian sat down beside you, filling himself up a glass of red as well. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, looking at you with concern.

You took a deep breath before turning to him. "It's nothing, really," you said, trying to suppress the emotions churning inside you, but Cillian knew that something was bothering you.  He took a sip of his wine before setting the glass down on the coffee table and leaned towards you.

"What is it?" he asked, putting a comforting hand on your shoulders.

You hesitated for a moment before confessing the events that had taken place at dinner that evening. "It's just that...," you began but stopped yourself. "I don't know. I had to think about that article recently and I was wondering whether, you know, never mind," you said, your voice trailing off as you looked away from him.

Cillian's grip on your shoulder tightened slightly. "No, what is it?" he asked, his voice soft yet insistent.

"Well, it is just about that article in the Irish Times, where it said that you and Annabelle had an affair back in 2014 while you were married to Danielle and, after meeting her, I am still wondering whether there was some truth to it," you finally admitted in a low voice, pressing your lips together in a tight line.

"What?" Cillian chuckled, pulling away slightly as he stared at you with disbelief. "What makes you think that?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at you in amusement.

"Did you not notice her flirting with you all evening?" you asked, unable to hide the incredulity in your voice.

"Flirting with me?" Cillian looked surprised. "You mean her comment about my eyes?" he asked, a puzzled expression on his face. "That wasn't flirting, Y/N. She was just making a joke. I can assure you that there has never been anything between her and me, other than a professional relationship. We worked together on a show and that's it," he said, his voice steady and sincere before pausing slightly. "Also, I don't know why you even care, because we aren't together anymore, so...," Cillian  sighed heavily, taking a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts just before you continued, asking him another question.

"How does this work, with the intimate scenes and all?"  you asked, feeling your nerves getting the better of you as you tried to make sense of the things you were feeling.

Cillian took a deep breath, rubbing his forehead as if weary. "Uhm, what do you mean?" Cillian asked, looking taken aback by the abrupt change in topic.

"You know, with scenes and stuff," you stated, gesturing vaguely with your hand.

Cillian gave you a puzzled look. "No I don't know. What's your question?" he wanted to know, trying not to appear annoyed.

"Do you actually kiss her, like properly? And touch her? I mean, if you do, I am not really surprised that she thinks that...," you trailed off, causing Cillian to interrupt.

"Listen Y/N, these scenes are awkward at best. They are the most uncomfortable scenes to film, and I don't actually think that any actor enjoys doing them," Cillian sighed, setting his wine glass down on the table before leaning forward in his seat to face you. "And yes, my character kisses her character. There is some touching too, but it means absolutely nothing, because it is all part of an act and nothing more," Cillian continued as you took a big sip from your glass.

"Come on though, you can't tell me that you don't enjoy kissing a really pretty woman like her,"  you replied, a bit of playful sass in your voice, trying to lighten the mood.

"No, I don't," Cillian said with a deadpan expression on his face. "It's awkward as fuck and she is not really my type," 

he added with a slight chuckle. "Trust me, filming those scenes is as unenjoyable as it sounds."

You took another sip of your wine, nodding slowly in agreement. "Alright, I get it," you finally admitted, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I am sorry that I asked, but it just had me wondering because the way she was looking at you tonight... I don't know, I guess I just had to ask," you explained, shrugging slightly as you looked down at your hands.

Cillian let out a sigh before responding. "Because you are jealous?"  Cillian asked softly, his eyes never leaving your face.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "No," you finally said, shaking your head. "Well, maybe just a little." You looked up at him, meeting his gaze. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea, but seeing her looking at you like that brought back a lot of memories and I guess I just couldn't help but feel...weird?"

Cillian raised an eyebrow at you. "Weird?" he repeated, sounding amused.

You rolled your eyes. "Yes, weird. Like I still care about you. A lot."

"Right," Cillian tilted his head, a curious expression gracing his features. He took a slow sip of his drink while eyeing you thoughtfully. "Do you still love me?"  Cillian asked, setting down his wine glass as his eyes locked onto yours.

"Yes," you admitted softly, unable to tear your gaze away from his. "I guess I do still love you, Cillian and I miss being with you, so fucking much," you confessed, your voice cracking slightly with emotion. "I just want to go back to  the way things used to be, the way it was between us before everything fell apart."

Cillian swallowed hard at your words, his eyes softening with understanding. "I know what you mean," he replied, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I miss it too. I miss being with you, talking with you, sleeping next to you. I miss everything about us," he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours.

You took a deep breath, feeling your heart racing at his words. You missed him too, all of those little moments you used to share, the stolen kisses, the way he would always wrap his arms around you protectively, making you feel cherished and loved.

"Do you think we could give us another chance?" you asked hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper, taking Cillian by surprise.

For months, he had begged you to take him back and now that you had finally brought it up, he found himself at a loss for words.

He looked at you, taking in your hopeful expression and the way your eyes seemed to dance with excitement. "Yes," he finally said, his voice barely audible. "You know I would do anything for you to give me another chance," he went on, his voice unsteady with emotion.

"Okay, I will give you another chance, but don't fuck it up," you said sternly, trying to keep the emotion out of your voice.

Before Cillian could respond, you leaned forward, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss, your body molding against his as you let yourself get swept up in the moment.

"I love you," he whispered against your lips, his hands coming up to cup your face as he deepened the kiss, making you moan softly.

"I love you too," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer still.

For several long moments, you lost yourself in the kiss, the taste and feel of Cillian driving any lingering doubts from your mind as you reconnected with a man you could never truly forget.

You didn't know if it was possible for things to be the same between the two of you again, but you wanted to try, and it seemed Cillian felt the same.

When you finally broke the kiss, you pulled back to gaze into his eyes, and there was a passionate intensity that made your heart race faster.

"I want us to live together as a family . Just you, me, and Mara. I want us to try and build a life together," you said, looking into his eyes with all the sincerity you possessed.

For a moment, Cillian simply stared at you, stunned by your sudden declaration, but then a slow smile spread over his face as he nodded in agreement.

"I thought you weren't ready for that?" he  murmured, searching your face as if trying to gauge your certainty.

You took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before meeting his gaze evenly. "I wasn't then," you admitted truthfully. "But I am now. I want to try, Cillian. I want us to be a proper family, no matter what that entails."

Cillian stared at you for a moment longer, as if trying to determine whether or not you meant what you were saying, before he wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace that spoke volumes.

"I want that too," he breathed into your hair, his arms tightening around you protectively.

The relief that washed over you in that moment was something you couldn't quite describe. For the longest time, you had longed for the kind of connection you had once shared with Cillian, feeling lost and adrift without that guiding force in your life, and now, finally, it seemed as though there was a chance to rebuild.

"Good," you smiled  , burying your face in his neck as you pressed yourself closer to him, relishing in the feeling of his arms wrapped around you.

It was a bittersweet moment, knowing that there was still work to be done, but you felt a renewed sense of hope, taking solace in the fact that you would have him by your side as you navigated through the challenges ahead.

"Now show me how much you still want me!" you then told  Cillian, pulling out of the kiss and looking at him with eyes that were so filled with desire that you could hardly contain yourself.

Cillian didn't need any further encouragement. He pulled you closer, his hands wandering over your body as he kissed you deeply, his lips hungry for yours. 

"God, I've missed this. I've missed you," he whispered in between kisses, trailing them down your neck before reaching beneath your t-shirt to cupping your breasts over your bra.

You moaned softly, arching your back as you pulled him closer. "I want you so much,"  you breathed out, your voice hoarse with desire.

Cillian's hands wandered over your body and, before you knew it, he pulled your t-shirt over your head, leaving you in your bra and jeans. 

His tongue trailed a hot path down your neck, before placing kisses across your collarbones. 

Eventually, helped you slide your jeans off too, tossing them aside, leaving you in just your lace underwear. Cillian's hunger was evident in the way his hands and mouth greedily explored your body, his fingers tracing the edge of your underwear with a hint of tease. 

"Take this off," you told him, tucking at his t-shirt at the same time.  Cillian obliged, pulling it off to reveal his toned chest, covered in soft curls of hair.

You couldn't help but let your gaze linger on him a little as your hands wandered over his bare skin, feeling the muscles twitch beneath your fingers.

Cillian groaned at the sensation of your exploring touch, his hips bucking sharply against yours as he pulled you closer.

Your lips found each other's again and you kissed him deeply, almost desperately, as if trying to make up for the lost time.

Not long after, his jeans came off too and he was left in just his briefs, his thick erection pressed against your thigh.

You couldn't help but moan softly at the sensation, a shiver of lust running down your spine as you realized just how much you needed this. The past months had been challenging, to say the least, but now, with Cillian, you felt as if you could finally breathe again.

"Fuck Y/N," Cillian groaned, his hands sliding down to your waist, pulling your hips closer to his. "I want you so badly right now," he whispered, nipping at the skin of your neck as he unclasped your bra, letting it fall to the floor.

His hands wandered over your bare breasts, his thumbs grazing over your nipples, making you gasp at the sudden spark of pleasure that ran through your entire body.

You reached down, gripping his erection through the fabric of his briefs, making him growl low in his throat as his hips thrust forward.

"Jesus," Cillian breathed out, his fingers tightening on your hips.

"Let's just skip the foreplay for tonight. I really need to feel you inside me," you whispered into his ear, your hot breath making his cock twitch in anticipation.

Cillian groaned in response, pulling you even closer as he kissed you deeply. "Are you sure?" he asked against your lips, his tongue tracing the curve of your bottom lip. "Because you do know very well what my mouth can do."

"Yes, I am sure," you replied, tugging at the waistband of his briefs. "I really need your cock right now!" 

Cillian didn't need any more encouragement. He quickly pulled the fabric of his briefs down and kicked it aside while you stood up and got rid of your panties quickly before climbing on top of him.

Your wetness brushed against the tip of his cock, making you let out a low moan before you positioned yourself above Cillian and slowly sank down on him.

"Oh fuck," Cillian groaned, his head falling back on the couch as you sheathed him fully inside of you. You let out a deep, shuddering groan of your own, relishing in the pleasure of being filled by him again.

You didn't waste any time. With one swift motion, you pushed yourself down, taking him all the way in.

"Fuck, Y/N," Cillian groaned, hands gripping your hips tightly.

You started to move up and down, savoring the feeling of his thick cock filling you up, the sensation of his skin sliding against yours, the sounds of his grunts and moans as you pleasured each other.

You rode him with abandon, the couch creaking and groaning with the force of your movements.

You could feel Cillian's cock hitting your deepest spots, again and again, in a rhythm that was both delicious and maddening.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," Cillian groaned, hands gripping your hips tighter as he bucked his hips up towards you.

You could only moan in agreement, the sound escaping your lips as you increased your pace. You could feel yourself getting close, the familiar tingling sensation starting to build in your lower belly.

"I am planning to do this every night from now on. Every fucking night!" you panted out, throwing your head back as you felt the beginnings of your orgasm building within you.

Cillian's fingers dug into your hips as he thrust upwards, matching your rhythm. "Yes, every fucking night," he agreed, his voice strained with lust.

You could feel his cock swelling inside you, telling you that he was close too. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum," you cried out, your fingernails digging into his shoulders as you rode him harder and faster.

You left scratch marks on his skin as you clung to him, trying to hold on as your orgasm built to a crescendo.

Cillian wrapped an arm around your waist, percentage guiding you, his breath hot and ragged against your ear as he hammered into you from below.

The corners of your vision blurred as colors danced behind your eyes, your body writhing and convulsing as your orgasm enveloped you completely.

"Yes, yes!" you screamed.

Cillian's thrusts faltered slightly as he felt the walls of your pussy trembling and fluttering around him, milking him for every drop of cum he had, before he too, pushed over the edge.

"Fuck, I'm cumming!" he cried out, voice hoarse and strained as his body stiffened and convulsed beneath you. His cock swelled impossibly harder and thicker as rivers of warm cum pumped deep into your core, filling you to the brim with his essence.

"Oh fuck, I'm still cumming!" Cillian groaned, his hips bucking faster and faster as you milked him dry.

You collapsed against him, panting and spent, your body and mind in complete ecstasy.

Cillian's arms wrapped around you as he breathed in ragged gasps, his cock still twitching inside of you.

For a moment, you just lay there on the couch, your two bodies pressed tightly together, hearts beating in sync as if to a wild, primal rhythm.

Cillian's chest rose and fell against yours, hands gently stroking your back in slow, soothing motions. You could feel the aftershocks of your orgasm still rippling through your body, still trembling with the overwhelming force of it.

Cillian too, remained inside you, still half-hard, his warm semen slowly leaking from your swollen pussy and trickling down your thighs.

After what felt like an eternity, you finally managed a weak laugh, burying your face in Cillian's neck.

Your entire body felt deliciously heavy and languid with pleasure, and it took every ounce of your willpower to push yourself up slightly off his chest just so you could look into his face.

"That was amazing," you whispered, your lips curling up into a soft smile of pure satisfaction as you traced the curve of Cillian's jaw with the pad of your thumb.

Cillian chuckled softly, brushing tendrils of damp hair from your forehead as he gazed into your eyes.

"It was quick, but so fucking good," he confirmed, seeing how you had only been at it for about twenty minutes. 

"I know," you replied, your voice still breathless as you snuggled up close to him before, finally, lifting your hips so that his cock would slip out of you . You flinched at the sudden rush of wetness between your legs, a remnant of what had just happened still dripping from your pussy.

Cillian himself groaned in disappointment as he felt his cock soften, the withdrawal painful.

"I could stay inside you forever," Cillian whispered, peppering kisses over your neck and shoulders. His hands were wandering over your waist and hips, softly stroking your skin with a tenderness that almost made you cry.

You chuckled softly.

"I think I would like that," you replied, before sighing blissfully and reaching down  between your legs to touch yourself, still wet with his semen.

Cillian watched you through half-lidded eyes as your fingers dipped between your pussy lips and came back glistening with the mix of both of your juices.

You brought it to your mouth , eyes still locked on his as you licked your lips slowly, savoring the taste of your lovemaking and Cillian swallowed hard at the sight.

"I think it is time for bed," you then announced softly, standing up from the couch. "You have to be up early again tomorrow morning to film that scene with Annabelle, remember?" you teased, with a sly little grin before wobbling off to the bedroom and Cillian chuckled weakly response before hauling himself up from the couch, his entire body still buzzing and tingling with euphoria from the mind-blowing sex you just had on this very couch.

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts @blondie-22

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter @smailaway @sophiaaguirred @blondie-22

[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?

[superkooku]

Dionysus' iceberg

This post is what remains of an initially very long rant idea. That means there will probably be a part 2 😏.

Here's the reason for my title :

In theory, you can stop there since my meme pretty much summarizes my complaints. But since I like ranting, I'll continue 😈

The tip of the iceberg

When you think "Dionysus", which words come in mind first ?

Probably "wine", "party", "alcohol" "fun god".

These words are what most people remember about Dionysus. And yes, I'm not going to deny, they fit.

Unfortunately, my problem comes with the fact that 9.5 times out of 10, Dionysus' personality will exclusively revolve around these aspects.

Since the issue is about modern adaptations and perceptions, I'll use a modern term.

I'm sure most of you are familiar with flanderization, right ? If not, the link to TV Tropes' article on the subject is available.

Many adaptations fell into that trap for, I think, every single Olympian.

Hades, god of the dead, lord of the Underworld = Satan, evil death god, darkness and sorrow

Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty = Superficial bimbo who only cares about her pretty face

Zeus, king of the gods, lord of the sky and thunder = 100% pure God OR more recently : evil king god who constantly abuses women.

The gods are stripped of their complexity to fit simpler and more "digestible" characterizations. It doesn't help that the cultural context surrounding them is also taken away...

But this is about grape boi, right? Well, Dionysus is no exception to that rule. In fact, he might be one of the worst cases.

So far, he was never really portrayed in an "insulting" light, like Apollo in Lore Olympus or Hades in the Percy Jackson movie. Fortunately.

But, from all the popular adaptations I've seen, none of them manage to portray Dionysus ! None ! Does that make them automatically bad ? No, of course. It's just something I noticed.

God of war ? Doesn't appear, only mentioned

Disney ? Don't even try 🤣. Just a drunk goofball. Yes, that includes the fantasia segment and Hercules.

Lore Olympus? Well, he's a baby for 99.99999% of the time, so it doesn't count. But he's still a quiet little Gucci bag for Persephone.

Hades I ? Just a nice guy. But hey ! He can give us useful boons ! And I like his sass.

Maybe he'll do more in Hades II. They're usually more accurate than most, right ? Though that's not a very high bar. And they know about Zagreus ! Surely that's a good sign, right ?

Nevermind...

Here's what all these adaptations tell us :

Dionysus is the god of wine, feasts and parties

He's an Olympian

He likes to get drunk and party 🥳

And that's it.

Again, I'm not blaming anyone, but if the myths stopped with those three points, wouldn't everyone wonder why he's even an Olympian ? I sure did when I was a kid.

We have the god of thunder, the goddess of wisdom and war strategy, god of music/arts/medicine/100 other things, the god of the oceans ! Many cool gods !

And some drunk dude. He's not given any particular power, except the power to stay super passive no matter the stakes ! If the story revolves about epic godly fights (which is often the case), he's absolutely useless.

Heck, Hades II even actively depicts him as a pacifist who can't handle war. While he's not physically a weakling, he sure psychologically is.

Why is this a problem ?

I am not going to beat around the bush: this gives us a very incomplete and incorrect perception of the god.

Even the things that aren't forgotten about him (like his link to wine) aren't explored.

The thing with Hades II (that's the last time I'll mention it) is that it tries to deepen the flanderized version of Dionysus. He's not stupid, but afraid. He drinks to forget his issues.

While this characterization can be very interesting taken separately, we must remember that this isn't an OC, but an interpretation of a cultural figure.

It must be accurate ! While I can accept some liberties, I think that those should mostly be an extension of the original material, not a total deviation.

Dionysus isn't a scared little boi or a stupid drunkard you can manipulate. In fact, that's quite the opposite. And he's not afraid to get his hands dirty.

(even if the "dirt" in question is the blood of his enemies).

Under the surface

Though it's rather "stuff you can find on Wikipedia". Or by reading the myths.

More about it in part 2 of the rant...

It'll be about theater, madness, travels, link between mortality and immortality and... pirates turning into dolphins.

The actual interesting stuff about Dionysus.

Edits :

1. Thanks to @st4riel-the-w1tchling for clarifying the situation about Percy Jackson. I made my own research about BoZ. My opinion is basically still the same. Again, nothing terribly offensive, but nothing that interesting for Dionysus either.

2. I made part 2 a while ago, might as well add it here :

[m00nlight-ramblings]

BG3 Companion Modern AU Headcanons

These random thoughts popped into my mind and I had to write them down. I love these little weirdos, and some of them probably don't make sense but OH WELL.

Should I do a Part 2 with more companions?? Let me know - my inbox and requests are open!

------

Astarion

This dude's got iPad kid energy - he loves to scroll Tiktok for hours.

He gets bi-weekly pedicures. And not the basic kind - the full on 1.5 hour long with the massage and the mask and the exfoliation.

His favorite holiday is Halloween. He plans his costume starting in August.

He'd be the type of person to be walking through a mall, see a Claire's, and spontaneously decide to get his ears pierced idk.

Is really into metal. Like, you'll come home and Metallica will be blasting and you walk into the bedroom and he's folding laundry and just like, "Oh, HELLO, Darling!" but will have to scream it over the volume in which he's listening to music

Will truly take an hour picking out the perfect wine to pair with your dinner...he's definitely a wine snob.

The cheapest article of clothing Astarion owns is from Banana Republic and it's an undershirt...everything else is ~*very fancy*~

Loves watching all types of vampire movies/TV shows. He can often be heard saying, "Oh no, they got that all wrong" under his breath.

He definitely reads like 1-2 books a week. He's recently really gotten in spicy smut books (he definitely got recommendations from BookTok).

For sure falls asleep to ASMR videos.

Gale

This man loves HGTV *queue Home Depot commercial music*

Has the most absolutely beautiful, clean home you've ever seen with about 30 bookcases CRAMMED with books. The books are the only disorganized thing in his home because he constantly is reading them, so alphabetizing them is useless.

Pinterest is his most used phone app. His boards are carefully curated. That man has a recipe/inspiration pic/quote for EVERYTHING.

Definitely volunteers at the animal shelter once a month. Often times has to talk himself out of bringing a cat home.

LUSH is his favorite store at the mall. He loves them bath bombs.

He THROWS DOWN at holiday parties...Christmas? Thanksgiving? The table is SET. The decorations are UP. He's wearing an APRON because he's been cooking ALL day. The playlist is PERFECT.

Speaking of holidays, he has matching pajama sets for everyone in the household. For every. Holiday.

Fall is absolutely his favorite season. "Sweetheart...have you ever watched 'When Harry Met Sally'? Perfect autumn movie...also I bought a new scarf today to go with my new peacoat. And mittens. And a new hat...it's getting cold outside."

He definitely has a Live. Laugh. Love. adjacent sign somewhere in his home

He definitely needs glasses to read. And he for sure has those librarian chains so that he can just take them off and they hang, instead of losing them.

Karlach

Absolutely loves to eat meals watching Youtube videos.

Imagine her in Times Square? She tears the M&M's store UP.

Is obsessed with documentaries. She often says things like "I can't believe there's so much stuff to LEARN out there!"

Definitely has a Squishmallow collection. And she rotates which one she sleeps with every night so they all get a chance.

Is absolutely the worst cook of all time but tries really really hard...however, she can make a mean boxed mac n' cheese.

Has an obsession with sugary cereal. There's always Cinnamon Toast Crunch or Fruity Pebbles in her cabinets.

Certified Switie for SURE.

Is really into astrology. Definitely has said, "Oh, you're just saying that because you're a SCORPIO" or the like many, many times.

Absolute Starbucks addiction (venti iced caramel macchiato, extra caramel).

Has monthly "girl's nights" (but everyone is invited) at her place. The rules are: pajamas only, junk food, romcoms, and a playlist of the best pop songs in the past 20 years.

------

How'd y'all like it...should I make a part two with other companions?! Remember my inbox is open and I'm accepting requests!! I'd love to write some stuff so send it in!

[official-linguistics-post]

Hey hello :D

So I stumbled across this article about the origin/ first recorded use of the @ symbol - and I absolutely loved it! Thought others could be interested as well. Maybe you've already covered this on your blog, maybe not... so yeah :]]

Byeee

The Accidental History of the @ Symbol

...The origin of the symbol itself, one of the most graceful characters on the keyboard, is something of a mystery. One theory is that medieval monks, looking for shortcuts while copying manuscripts, converted the Latin word for “toward”—ad—to “a” with the back part of the “d” as a tail. Or it came from the French word for “at”—à—and scribes, striving for efficiency, swept the nib of the pen around the top and side. Or the symbol evolved from an abbreviation of “each at”—the “a” being encased by an “e.” The first documented use was in 1536, in a letter by Francesco Lapi, a Florentine merchant, who used @ to denote units of wine called amphorae, which were shipped in large clay jars...

fascinating! i'd love to see a more in-depth exploration of this topic. i appreciate the author not trying to pin one definitive origin to the symbol, which is soooo infuriatingly common in pop science reporting.

this is from 2012, so if anybody knows of more recent developments, hit me up!

[allmightskitten]

Ao3 is down??!!! Well, sounds as good a time as any to post another instalment from the abandoned WIP graveyard!

🦩🐊❤️‍🔥

Abandoned WIP Graveyard:

do you think you'd like to buy me diamonds?

- a modern doflamingo/crocodile/corazon fic

- abandoned possibly temporarily, something to return to in the future if there's time

- was going to be E rated and nasty, but the preview I have for you today hasn't gotten there yet lol

- dofcora, dofuwani, both those things together AND corawani 🫣 also the crocodad theory is a thing here because of course it is ☝️

Extract below the cut:

It meant one of two things if he wasn't responding to their shared code of knocking thrice slowly, and thrice more in quick succession: one, he was neck deep in work, hunched over pages and pages of scattered drawings that had built up over the course of half a day, and hundreds of scrunched-up sheets in the bin, on the bed and floor, everywhere– or, two: he was pouring over images and information that he really shouldn't have.

Doflamingo was holed up in his room again, and Rosinante knew from prior experience that that was never a good sign.

Images and information that, Rosinante was quite sure, would be classified by most as 'creepy' to own or at the very least 'illegal'.

He tried the knock again. There wasn't anything terribly important to bother his brother about, but he needed to know as early as possible if Doffy would be free to drive him to Law's school play later this evening. He had got his own license suspended a few days back for reckless driving, which in his defense was more so bad driving than recklessness as his general clumsiness unfortunately translated to that aspect of his life as well.

"Come in," Doffy's voice came muffled through the door, unexpressive and distracted. Rosinante braced himself and let himself inside.

Yeah...

This was what he was afraid of.

The bedroom he set foot into was like a folder of evidence needed for a restraining order. Blown-up photos of him– 'Crocodile', the 40-something-year-old casino owner Doflamingo had become fixated on– lined the walls, stuck to them carelessly with kraft tape. Splayed out on the bed in front of Doffy were printed news articles and magazine clippings, every one about the same subject. Piled on the foot of the bed were an assortment of various items including brand new cigars, ties, bottles of wine and flowers.

Rosinante cleared his throat pointedly, drawing a pair of pale crimson eyes in his direction.

"I thought we agreed that stalking that man is dangerous." Crocodile had ties to the underworld too, ties that were very much not in line with their own. "It would be a lot less dangerous if you just visited his casino and started speaking to him organically."

Doffy slowly set down the magazine clippings he was stuffing into a transparent folder. He observed Rosinante for a moment, like he was reading his body language and all his tells he wasn't aware of himself, before a sudden snort-laugh escaped him loudly.

"Aw, don't tell me you're jealous, baby brother!"

Rosinante's cheeks felt hot.

"I'm not jealous," he sputtered, like the very notion was ridiculous. 

"It's okay," Doflamingo said placatingly, knowingly, sugary-sweet. He made space on the bed beside him and patted the sheets. "I've been neglecting you lately, haven't I? Let me make things right."

Rosi bit his lip. There was nothing remotely right about what Doffy was offering to do, and all the other things they had started to get up to in recent times– things one certainly shouldn't be doing with one's own family member, nevermind one as close as a sibling– but he knew Doflamingo felt no guilt and remained completely unapologetic for it.

Why the hell not? he'd whispered in Rosinante's ear a fortnight ago, when he had grown stiff in Doffy's arms, chilling realization hitting him like a freight train after evading him the entire time Doffy had been kissing him, jerking him off until he came. We're closer to each other than anyone. What does a little more closeness matter?

Oh, but Doflamingo's touch was addictive. His attention doubly so.

His body moved on its own to take the space Doffy had cleared for him. Short, cropped blonde hair was immediately in his lap as Doflamingo stretched his long legs out on the other side of the bed, grinning devilishly up at him as he slid his fingers into his big brother's hair.

It probably had something to do with their messy upbringing. Their years of separation before they found their way back to each other. The way Doflamingo spoiled him rotten with all the wealth he'd built up in the time he'd been gone, in stark contrast to the impoverished lifestyle Rosinante led until then.

Doflamingo really had no qualms about anything, and nothing was a step too far in his book, but Rosinante wasn't like that. He had principles and morals and knew right from wrong, usually.

Doflamingo brought out the worst in him.

Rosi cleared his throat, not wanting to go down that avenue right now. For his own sanity he'd have to avoid Doffy for another fortnight if today's interaction ended like last time.

"I need you to drive me somewhere tonight. Law has a role in the school play."

Doffy snorted, his expression immediately souring.

"What, is he a tree? Or perhaps the backstage help who moves the set pieces?"

Rosinante swatted him on the head for that, indignant at the implication.

"He has a speaking role, asshole!"

"Oh, does he now? So they managed to pull him away from his books enough to get him to audition?"

Rosi dug his massaging fingers into Doffy's scalp a little aggressively. "Stop being such an ass. He's eight, you can't keep having beef with an eight year old."

"He always starts it!" Doffy protested childishly. "I have never, ever started the fight."

"Right, like I'm gonna believe that."

"I swear!"

"Because your word is��so honest." Rosinante rolled his eyes, but he relaxed his fingers, and Doffy immediately melted into his touch. "So? Can you drive me there tonight? You don't have to stick around and watch it."

"Mm, I was thinking about your advice, actually." Doffy reached up to touch his cheek. "About interacting normally with Crocodile, at his casino. I was thinking of doing that tonight."

Rosi squeezed his hand. "Dof, I'm glad to hear that. I really am, but I don't want to miss Law's play." Law hated Doflamingo. And the kid was very perceptive, scarily so– the last time Rosinante had missed the chance to be there for him because of Doflamingo, he'd automatically known who to blame. Rosinante wasn't keen on disappointing his kid either. Law had no one but him. 

Doffy narrowed his eyes at him, studying the expression on his face, the quiet plea to allow him this. It was unhealthy, it was wrong, just how much control Doflamingo had over his life, but he could be reasoned with if it was coming from Rosinante...

"Fine," Doflamingo said finally. "I'll drive you to the play. But I'm only dropping you off. I can't leave the casino early to pick you up after."

That was fine. He could take a taxi. The Donquixotes weren't supposed to be taking civilian taxis, that was dangerous and Doflamingo didn't allow him especially, but he didn't have to know that. "I can get a lift from one of the parents."

"And have you vetted these people?"

Rosi sighed. There was that paranoia again– though more than being paranoid it was probably being controlling.

"Yes, Doffy, I have. Having a kid in Law's class whom he recognizes is quite a difficult cover for one of your enemies to fake, you know."

"You never know," Doffy said darkly, seriously, but he seemed placated with the answer. "You don't have to go that far, anyway. I'll send one of my men to pick you up. Bellamy's schedule should be free today."

Rosi nodded, grateful and disappointed at the same time. He wasn't a huge fan of the life his brother lived and actively benefiting from it didn't always sit right with him. It wasn't like Doflamingo's underworld business that made him filthy rich was without victims.

Doflamingo patted his cheek, bringing him out of his thoughts.

"Not even a thank you, Rosi? Come here and show me."

Rosinante tried to pretend he was only placating Doflamingo when he leaned down to kiss him on the lips.

[lemoncrushh]

Seven Six Five - Part Three

Summary: They met once seven years ago. Now music has made them cross paths again.

Warnings: smut, body image issues, angst. 18+ ONLY!

A/N: Enemies to Lovers. This was originally written and posted in 2020, right before the pandemic, so the story takes place then with flashbacks of 2013. Harry Styles x Plus Size OC, written in third person.

Part Three Word Count: 3.5k+

STORY PAGE

27 February, 2020 - New York, NY, USA

Bronwyn had tossed and turned all night. After returning home from her meeting with Harry, she’d started feeling a pang in her gut. She’d worried that perhaps she had been a little hard on him, and maybe even downright cruel. She’d thought about the look in his eyes when he’d asked her about that night, and how he’d sincerely sounded clueless. Perhaps she’d had it all wrong, or maybe he’d just been a different person then, seven years ago. People do grow, in fact. And maybe...just maybe, he’d been looking for a way to apologise.

When she’d sat at her computer with a glass of wine, hoping to distract her mind and get some work done, she’d soon found the attempt futile. Instead, she’d opened the website where her article was published. She reread it, looking at the photos she’d taken and scanning through the comments. They were all positive, many true, die-hard fans giving their thanks and input. A few were also from newer fans, people who’d only recently discovered him and kicked themselves for not listening to him sooner.

Nobody called him fake. Nobody said he was a phony. It was all just the opposite. Everyone honestly adored him, and called him things like “genuine”, “a class act” and “the kind of man I hope my son turns out to be.”

Setting her laptop aside, Bronwyn walked to her tiny kitchen table where she’d left the tote bag Harry had given her. Slipping her hand inside, she pulled out the vinyl record and unwrapped the cellophane. Surprised to find it was a gatefold, she examined the fish-eye photos on the cover and the inside. When she pulled the record out of the sleeve, something else fell out and onto the floor. Picking it up, Bronwyn saw that it was a folded poster which she quickly opened, letting out a cackle.

“Oh my God, you’ve got to be joking!” she exclaimed, looking at the photos on either side.

Shaking her head, she placed the record on her turntable and dropped the needle. She recognised the intro to the first song, having listened to it a handful of times that weekend on Spotify. By the middle of the song, she found herself singing along to the lyrics. Then sitting down on the sofa, she inspected the poster again, the side where Harry was laid out on the floor...naked.

“For fuck’s sake,” she muttered to herself.

She realised nothing was really showing. It was a tasteful pose, and his hand and thigh were covering his unmentionables. It was art, and she could respect that. But she didn’t like the way it made her feel.

Or maybe she did.

Folding the poster back up, Bronwyn slipped it back into the album sleeve and grabbed her glass of wine.

Perhaps it had been the chardonnay, or maybe the half a dozen listens to Harry’s album that had kept her awake most of the night. But nevertheless, Bronwyn was determined to do some actual work when she finally got out of bed and brushed her teeth. No thinking of Harry Styles today, nor her history with him. No listening to his music. His album was tucked away in her vinyl collection, along with that ridiculously enticing poster…

It was mid-afternoon when Bronwyn finally showered. After getting loads of work done - thanks to the promise she’d kept to herself - including some housework such as cleaning her bathroom, dusting and watering her plants, she took a nice, long, steaming shower. Slipping into a striped tee and a pair of denim overalls, she pulled her hair up into a ponytail. Deciding it was time for tea, she was just about to walk to the kitchen when she heard the buzzer for her building. She wasn’t expecting company, nor a package, so she was curious who rang.

“‘Ello?” she called into the intercom.

“Hi Bronwyn. It’s Harry.”

Shocked, she blurted the first word that came to mind. “Who?”

“Forgot me again already,” he laughed. “It’s Harry Styles.”

Clearing her throat, Bronwyn tried to get her bearings. “What can I do for you, Harry?”

“Well, I’d like to come in, if I may.”

“Um…” she pondered for a moment, looking around the room. It wasn’t as though he was going to walk into a mess and think her a slob or anything. She’d just cleaned, and her flat was tidy as a pin. “Okay.”

Bronwyn hesitantly pressed the button to buzz Harry into the building. Opening the door, she stepped out into the hallway, just in time to see him enter and look up at her from the bottom of the stairs. This time, he wasn’t trying to be inconspicuous in all black. Instead, he’d gone a similar route to his Tiny Desk performance, choosing a striped sweater vest, pinstripe shirt and brown trousers. He was again carrying a tote bag.

“Hi,” he smiled.

“Hey...how did you...find out where I live?” Bronwyn asked.

“Same way I got your number.”

“Oh. Well, um...what are you doing here?”

“Well, after we parted ways yesterday, I got the feeling that something was wrong. I just couldn’t shake it, wondering what I’d done,” Harry explained, taking the stairs to meet her. “Then it dawned on me.”

Stopping at the second to top step, Harry was nearly eye level with Bronwyn. She swallowed hard as she got a hefty whiff of his cologne.

“What’s that?” she mumbled.

“One of the things I remembered most about you, when we’d originally met all those years ago...was that you loved vinyl. It was something we had in common in fact, as I was just starting to grow my own collection. So my initial thought had been to bring you a vinyl copy of my album. But I see now that that was very presumptuous of me, if not a little pretentious. Of course you wouldn’t be interested in that. You like the old stuff, the classics.”

Her knitted eyebrows relaxing, Bronwyn’s expression softened as Harry handed her the tote bag.

“Brought these for you. Thought you might like them.”

Taking the bag, Bronwyn stared incredulously at Harry before peeking inside.

“Why did you-?”

“I offended you. Clearly,” said Harry, holding up his hand. “And I apologise. It’s my peace offering.”

If you only knew…

“Um…” Bronwyn faltered again, “I don’t suppose you’d like to come in for a cuppa.”

“Can’t stay long,” replied Harry, his lips slowly stretching into a smile. “But...that would be nice.”

With a short nod, Bronwyn turned for the doorway of her flat, Harry following. Then shutting the door behind him, she watched as his eyes perused her tiny studio apartment. There was a half wall separating her bed, a beaded curtain used for the rest of the wall. A small desk sat in the corner beside the window which was lined with plants. Beside the sofa stood her turntable, her record collection underneath. Harry took a moment to inspect it all, taking it all in whilst Bronwyn headed for the kitchen to start the kettle.

“This is really lovely, Bronwyn.”

The sound of her name from his lips made her insides jump. She looked up from the counter to see Harry walk over to the large window and gently touch the leaves of a plant.

“Thanks.”

His long legs strode across the room where he stopped and pointed to the beaded curtain and grinned.

“That is very you,” he said.

“It is?” she asked, feeling herself blush.

Harry nodded. “I reckon if I had to imagine your place, I’d picture it exactly like this.”

“Um...I’m not sure how to take that.”

His audibly pleasing laugh echoed as he walked over to the turntable.

“Do you mind?” he gestured.

“No, sure, go ahead.”

Harry grabbed the tote bag from the counter where Bronwyn had left it and pulled out the records. Choosing the Donny Hathaway Live album, he placed it gently on the turntable. As the music started, the familiar light crackling that only came from listening to vinyl, Harry turned for the kitchen, an easy smile on his face.

“I like live albums, don’t you?” he inquired.

“Sometimes.”

“It’s great because you feel like you’re there. Even when it was recorded forty years ago.”

“Hmm, yes,” Bronwyn nodded. “Except when it’s not really a hundred percent live.”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“Like I heard somewhere that KISS Alive! wasn’t actually all live. The producer or engineer, or maybe Gene Simmons decided some of it wasn’t clear enough, so they overdubbed it with studio clips. I don’t think some of the audience sounds were even real.”

“Well, that’s disappointing,” Harry pouted as he leant against the counter.

“Yeah. Still a good album though.”

“Have you listened to this one before?” he asked, pointing to the record player.

Bronwyn shook her head. “I haven’t. I like Donny Hathaway, but haven’t listened to very much of his stuff.”

“You’ll like this,” Harry declared with a nod.

Though the first song wasn’t even complete yet, Bronwyn somehow knew he was right. Not because she already liked it so far, but because she knew Harry had good taste. She remembered the scattered conversations about music they’d had that night…

The kettle whistled then, bringing her out of her reverie, and Bronwyn busied herself with preparing the tea.

“Um, how do you take it?” she called, seeing as Harry had made his way back to the turntable and was browsing through her record collection.

“Just lemon if you have it,” replied Harry, his head down as he studied an old jazz album.

Moments later, Bronwyn announced that the tea was ready and set Harry’s cup on the counter.

“Thanks,” he said. Inspecting a Linda Ronstadt record, he held it up. “This is one I need for my collection.”

“Yes you do,” Bronwyn agreed, carrying her cup and leaning against the edge of the counter. “It’s one of my absolute favourites.”

“I just fancy her in those roller skates and socks.”

Bronwyn couldn’t help but laugh. “Then you’ll also need the one where she’s on the beach and her nipples are showing.”

Turning his head, Harry gave a smirk. “Oh, I do have that one.”

“Figures.”

“Oh, here’s a gem!” Harry exclaimed, holding up a Bill Evans record. “I have this, too.”

Biting her lip, Bronwyn felt the heat rise on her neck as though Harry had just discovered a special secret.

“That’s my writing album. I play it a lot when I need inspiration. Or when I’m reading.”

“Wonderful,” Harry commented softly before returning it to the pile.

Last, he picked up a sleeve of Stevie Nicks’ album The Other Side of the Mirror.

“Another brilliant choice,” he said, noticing the item was light. “Where’s the record?”

Bronwyn frowned. “It got damaged in the move to New York. I have all of hers except that one. I’ve been meaning to replace it, but never did.”

“A shame,” Harry muttered. Then he rose from his spot on the floor. “Sorry, I guess I should drink that tea now.”

“It might be cold, do you want-”

Harry shook his head after taking a sip. “It’s fine.” Then he smiled. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, unable to tear her eyes from his face. “Um...I don’t reckon I’ve ever had anyone in here who dove straight for my vinyls.”

The dimples dipping deeper in his cheeks, Harry looked down at his cup. “We have quite a lot in common.”

“Hmm…” Bronwyn nodded.

“Of course, I knew that when I met you.”

Grinning slightly, Bronwyn set her cup on the counter. She’d been wanting to say something, the feeling that she’d had the night before whilst listening to his album. Now with him stood in her flat, she knew she needed to say it face to face.

“Harry, I’m afraid I wasn’t very nice to you yesterday.”

“Wha’?”

“When you gave me your record...I thought you were just being an arsehole celebrity plugging his work.”

“I understand, what’s why I-”

Bronwyn held up her hand. “I read the comments on my article, and so many people are fond of you, some even saying that they’ve met you and you’re the nicest person. I’m sorry that I jumped to conclusions.”

“I can see how you would think-”

“Harry, just accept my apology so we can let it lie.”

Pursing his lips, Harry nodded. “Apology accepted.”

“Good.” Bronwyn brought her teacup to her lips and took a slow sip as she watched Harry step around the counter to meet her.

“Now tha’ that’s done,” he said, his voice suddenly deeper, “can we address the elephant in the room?”

Lowering her cup, Bronwyn widened her eyes. “What elephant?”

“What’s still left unsaid between us…” Harry gestured.

Bronwyn shook her head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because...it was seven years ago. Let’s just forget it.”

“Maybe I don’t want to,” said Harry, his face expressionless.

Bronwyn rolled her eyes and turned for the stove, but Harry grabbed her arm.

“Why’d you leave?” he asked softly. “I thought you wanted...me.”

Taking a deep breath, Bronwyn blinked slowly. “I thought I did, too. I mean...I did.”

“I had a great time, didn’t you?”

“Yes. You still remember?”

“Of course,” Harry grinned, stepping around to stand in front of her. “I remember everythin’. Your musical knowledge that could rival anyone else’s I knew, the way you could hold your own and drink everybody under the table, your infectious laugh…”

Her lips spreading, Bronwyn let out a hearty chuckle.

“That’s the one,” Harry remarked. “And most of all I remember the kiss.”

“You do?”

For years that kiss had continued to haunt her dreams. It had been the most amazing, perfect kiss. Right before he’d asked her to leave with him. Before…

“Hold that thought!” Harry held up a finger before rushing into the living room.

She watched him take the record off the turntable and place it on side B, letting the needle drop. She hadn’t even noticed the music had stopped, she had been so caught off guard by Harry’s kiss comment. With a satisfied grin, he made his way back to the kitchen and stood before her again, just where he’d been.

“Where were we?” he beamed.

“Um...I dunno…” Bronwyn said, running a hand through her curls. She noticed his cologne was making her a bit dizzy. “You were saying how you remember…”

“Ah, right, the kiss.”

“You smell really nice.” It was involuntary. Word vomit. Still, Harry chuckled, making her feel warm all over.

“Thank you.”

Harry leant in, his lips nearly brushing against her skin. She could feel his breath on her. Awkwardly, she touched his wrists as he rested his hands on either side of her on the counter. He searched for her gaze as she looked down, focusing on how his hips were pressed against hers. She was certainly trapped, just as she’d been that night in the alcove. The rush of adrenaline combined with the memory, as well as his intoxicating aroma, made her light-headed. Bronwyn slid her hands up his arms, and just as she lifted her head, his lips found hers. They kissed soft and short kisses at first, until he pulled her closer and darted his tongue inside. Grabbing a fist full of his sweater, she let out a tiny whimper before releasing herself from the kiss and pushing her palms against his chest.

“No. I mean...sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Harry breathed.

“I just...I can’t.”

“Why not? Boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Girlfriend?”

“No. It’s not that. I just...can’t be that woman.”

“What woman?” Harry inquired, furrowing his brows.

“The one who wakes up alone in your hotel bed after a shag and you’re nowhere to be found because you couldn’t handle saying goodbye.”

“We’re in your flat, love,” Harry giggled.

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure I do.”

With a sigh, Bronwyn pushed against him again, trying to wriggle herself free from his body. Stepping back, Harry allowed her space as he stared at her incredulously.

“This...it can’t happen, Harry,” declared Bronwyn. “I realised some things that night...that I just can’t get over.”

“What things? What happened?” Harry reached for her, but she waved him away.

“Please. I really would rather not talk about it. It would just...it’s too painful.”

Harry tilted his head. “But love, if we don’t talk about it, how can I-”

“I think you should go.”

“Bronwyn-”

She lowered his head, trying her best not to cry. “Please.”

With a heavy sigh, Harry shoved his hands in his pockets. “Alright.”

Bronwyn stood frozen in the kitchen as Harry made his way toward the door. Donny Hathaway continued to serenade, punctuating the scene when Harry stopped and turned around.

“The number I called you from...that’s my personal cell,” he offered. “If...you decide you wanna talk, you can call me. Or text me. I’ll be all ears.”

Bronwyn nodded, looking down at her hands. Harry opened the door and held it open as he looked at her again.

“I really hope you do, Bronwyn. I mean...no pressure, but…” Harry paused with another sigh, “I’d really like to finish that kiss.”

With that, Harry stepped out and shut the door behind him, leaving Bronwyn in the kitchen with the first of many tears to wet her cheeks.

20 August, 2013 - London, England, UK

Her entire body was on fire. She didn’t remember ever being this turned on. Not that she had a lot of experience, but...well she’d had enough. But this...this was different.

His lips had moved from hers to her neck, nibbling seductively as she tried to keep her balance against the wall of the alcove. His right hand that had been at her waist had made its way to her bum where it cupped her and urged her to lift her thigh.

“Harry…” she breathed.

His wet mouth traveled to her ear then where he whispered her name.

“Leave with me,” he requested.

“What?”

“Come with me to my hotel. Stay with me tonight.”

With a quiet yes and moan of agreement, Bronwyn turned her head to meet his lips once again.

“Let me um…” she stammered, “I need to get my bag and camera. Meet me...by the lifts? Fifteen minutes?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded as he stood straight, adjusting himself. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Tugging on her dress, Bronwyn gave him a sexy smile before a quick peck on the lips.

“See you soon,” she murmured, heading down the hall.

Finding her camera quickly, she took a trip to the loo to freshen her makeup and get her bearings. Looking in the mirror, she saw a right mess staring back at her.

“Oh Bronwyn, look at you,” she tsked. “You already looked absolutely fucked.”

Applying just a touch of cosmetics, she finger-combed her hair the best she could, trying to tame the frizzies and lift the flat parts. Then after a tiny spritz of perfume, she stood back and examined herself.

She’d never been terribly fond of her body. In fact, she’d always thought herself fat. But tonight...she felt pretty, beautiful even. Harry made her feel that way. He’d even whispered how he found her sexy whilst they’d made out in the alcove. And if someone like him wanted to sleep with her...well, she couldn’t be all bad.

Dropping her lipstick in her bag, Bronwyn slung it over her shoulder and pushed the bathroom door open. Halfway down the hall, towards the lifts, she heard voices. Slowing her steps, she came to a large door that was ajar. Peeking inside, she saw a circle of boys, and quickly recognised them as Harry and his bandmates. Harry seemed to have his back to her, and she couldn’t make out their words. That is, until she heard her name.

28 February, 2020 - New York, NY, USA

12:13 AM. Bronwyn kept clicking the button on her phone to check the time. She’d been doing that for the last forty-five minutes. Perhaps it was too late to call. He might be asleep.

But maybe not.

She didn’t like the feeling in her stomach. It turned and flipped like one of those children’s toys with the water inside. After Harry’d left, she’d let herself cry on her bed until she’d fallen asleep. When she’d risen, she’d barely eaten a few crackers and cheese before settling on a glass of wine and some tunes.

Eyeing the tote bag on the counter, Bronwyn had pulled out the other vinyl Harry had brought her. It was Wings - Back To The Egg. While she was a fan of Paul McCartney and had several of his albums, this was one of a few she’d been missing. The notion that Harry would have known that was ludicrous, but it warmed her heart just the same.

After listening to the entire album, and then the Donny Hathaway one again, Bronwyn had resolved that she might have been an idiot. Maybe Harry wasn’t a phony. Maybe she didn’t hate him anymore. And maybe...just maybe...she actually kind of liked him.

Pressing the button one last time, she unlocked her phone, finding Harry’s number easily. Her head and heart pounded as she heard it ring.

“Hi.”

Bronwyn thought she might throw up as she swallowed hard. “Hi.”

“Didn’t think you’d call.”

“I didn’t either.”

Eeeek! What do you think happened??

Please like, comment, reblog or send me a msg!

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

[bullet-prooflove]

LongDistance!Series - Part One: Melina - Manny x Reader

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets  @kmc1989  @withakindheartx  @darqchilddaydreamz @theesirenteller @wnbweasley @skyesthebomb @delightfulbelieverwerewolf@redpool @trublu2u @fleureeee @thiashazzywriting @lauraaan182 @hatersaremymotivators @fanfic-n-tabulous @ravennaortiz @just-a-throw-away @yousigned-upforthis @kabloswrld @keyweegirlie @katymae12344 @rampsen @@jaebae

In the months that follow more postcards appear on Manny’s fridge, almost more than he can count because you’re bouncing around from country to country, city to city documenting Tattoo Expos throughout Europe.

Barcelona, Lisbon, Munich, Berlin, Paris, Versailles, Vienna.

You’re getting busier and busier these days and Manny can’t help but wonder when you’ll eventually stop to take a breath.

The two of you have been together almost six months and speak daily over Whatsapp through messages, voice notes or video calls. You send the occasional care package from whichever country you’re visiting, beers from Germany, wine from Spain that he’d put aside for when you returned, a gourmet food hamper from France. He’d shared that with his daughter Melina, one evening. The two of them had dressed in striped shirts with matching berets when they sat down and sampled the delicacies.

“Where did this come from?” She’d asked him as he’d set the wicker basket it had arrived in on the kitchen table.

“My friend sent it.” He tells her as they sample some of the salted butter caramel. “She travels all over the world taking pictures of people’s bodyart. Sometimes she sends me things so I can get a taste of the country she’s in.”

“Can I meet her?” Melina had asked.

He’d paused then because although it’s been on his mind recently, but he hasn’t actually broached the topic. There hasn’t been a woman in his life since his ex-Samantha. He’s fucked other women, girls who hung out at the bar, but he’s never brought them home. The truth is he knows it’s not him that they want, it’s the patch. There’s prestige that comes with being acquainted with the President of the club; it gives a woman status. He doesn’t want to bring a person like that into Melina’s world. His daughter is the most precious thing in his life, he doesn’t want her to be tainted by the darker aspects of his existence. She needs better role models in her life than the women who hang around the club and fuck their way up the hierarchy.

“She’s very far away.” He tells her as he snags a handful of coconut popcorn. “Somewhere called Versailles in France.”

He’d hoped that was the end of it before Melina picked up his cellphone and reminded him how video chat worked. His daughter was too smart for her own good and for his.

It’s later that night when Melina’s gone home that he calls you. It’s past midnight in Yuma, which makes it eight am your time. You’re still in your pyjamas, a pretty silk set that he wishes he was there to help you take off. He imagines his fingertips trailing over the thin strap before he guides it down your shoulders.

“My daughter wants to meet you.” He tells you as he sits with his back against the headboard, the room illuminated by the light from his lamp.

“Is that what you want?” You ask him, cradling a mug of coffee to your chest.

He tips his head back against the wall for a second before considering his next words carefully.

“I think this…” He says gesturing between the phone and himself. “…would be a good introduction, a way of testing the waters moving forward. I’ve spoken to Sam and she’s cool with it.”

He’d had the conversation while Melina was packing up her stuff. Once she’d learned you weren’t one of the club girls she had warmed to the idea significantly, he’d shown her some of your pictures and a couple of your articles.

“The two of you getting serious?” She’d asked in that New York drawl of hers and he hadn’t been able to keep the edges of his mouth from twitching up.

Sam can read every single one of his tells. They’ve known each other for over a decade, she’s seen him at his worst and at his best. It’s the first time she’s seen that look on his face in a while and she’s glad that he’s finally focusing on something that isn’t the club or Melina, that he’s allowing himself to be happy.

“Well, she’s successful, she’s smart, she travels the world. I think you could do a lot worse.” She teases him before nudging his shoulder with her own. “At the very least Melina meets an interesting person.”

He’s taken that on board before he’d called you. Even if this thing between the two of you didn’t work out, you can give his daughter insight into another world, one that she won’t get to see here in Yuma.

“If Sam’s signed off and it’s cool with you then I would love to meet her.” You tell him with a smile before taking a sip from your coffee cup. “However, let’s actually schedule a call so that I’m wearing something a little more appropriate when I meet your daughter.”

“I don’t know Mami, that looks pretty appropriate to me right now.” He says, biting his lower lip as the silk clings to your chest. You aren’t wearing a bra, and he can see the dark shape of your nipples through the fabric. “Maybe you could show me a little more.”

You laugh before setting your coffee cup down on the nightstand. You put the phone in the little wooden stand you usually use for when your video calls with Manny get a little risqué.

“So, tell me Manny,” You say as your thumbs hook underneath the straps of your camisole, drawing them down just a little. “What would you like to see first?”

Love Manny? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[gabessquishytum]

Did you know Oscar Wilde and Walt Whitman once spent an intimate evening together? Which makes me wild, if you'll pardon the pun, and also reminds me of Poet!Dream from Moorishflower's recent cowboy au.

My particular riff would be similar. Dream is a young poet on a speaking tour of the UK and the US espousing the ideals of a more bohemian lifestyle versus one grounded in reason and security. One should strive to see all of his dreams come true. He doesn't quite know what his tour exists partially to promote a rather scathing play based on him and his enclave back in London, but the seats fill themselves and he's getting a very nice pay. One such person who attends his talks is Hob.

Hob is not a young man anymore. He's spent the better part of his life working the trades and molding himself into being the sort of intellectual that he wants to be. He's entirely self-taught in most of his artistic matters and has only recently become a national sensation after a volume of poetry he has written about his life as a poor workman and of the intense friendships he's had with other men becomes a best seller. He thinks Dream is a little naive, but appreciates his fight for the arts.

They both happen to know the same literary agent and said agent gets them to correspond with each other. Both make horrible first impressions as Dream, who has never read a line Hob has written, basically stands in awe that someone without a formal education could be so good. Hob responds in kind that living a life focused solely on art must be heaven when he doesn't have to worry about paying his rent. They volley back and forth for a few weeks, trading well-humored insults and falling ever so closer in love than before. That is until Dream's speaking tour comes to an end and he must leave. Hob concedes then and invites him over for dinner.

At dinner, they drink wine and talk philosophy. Dream is much more humble in person than he is via correspondence. Hob also is much more learned than he comes across. Dream is actually in awe of him making the best of his life no matter the situation. Which Dream simply didn't think was possible. He places his hand on Hob's knee and one thing leads to another. About three months after he's returned to London, he reads a new poem from Hob that's just been published in a highly respected magazine and while it's titled "An Ode to Somnus", he knows it's about him his heart just soars.

- 🤜 Anon

This is a great AU, I absolutely love it. If you guys are interested in reading more about Oscar and Walt's romantic evening, there's a fantastic little article in The Toast which I'll link here.

Anyway, I can't stop thinking about Dream putting his hand on Hob’s knee. And Hob calling Dream a "great, splendid boy". God, yeah. Hob taking Dream into his lap and telling him that he's so pretty and clever. Dream pressing coy kisses to the edge of his mouth until Hob takes him properly in hand, slides rough fingers into his neatly combed hair, and kisses the soul out of him.

Dream lies in bed at home and luxuriates in the memory of Hob’s touch, and he has never been so happy. He takes a clipping from the magazine and presses it against his heart. The next time he writes to Hob, he leaves kiss marks stained with rouge on the paper. And he's already begging for another speaking tour - he already has so many new thoughts to present, about following one's dreams and the nature of love. And he wants very much to give Hob a private performance.

[meiliarotten]

Team Fortress Two Kinktober Time Three: Return of the Kink

Day 2: Slow and Steady (Fantasizing)

🔞MINORS DNI🔞

Pairings: Spy x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spy fantasizes about you in his smoking room

Tags: Masturbation, reader isn’t directly involved, oral, fantasy, smoking, edging, praise

Word Count: 1.9k

The Masterlist

Slow and steady. It had become a kind of mantra that Spy reminded himself of almost daily. Slow and steady wins the race was a proverb to be held in high regard, whether it involved pursuits of the athletic kind or the romantic kind. Slow- Spy couldn’t rush and risk coming on too strong, thus scaring you off. Steady- Spy had to make sure that he was consistent in his flirtations, but still subtle, to keep you from growing distant or bored. If he kept this up then he would soon have you, and you would have him.

Spy considered himself a sort of aficionado of seduction. Different people required different methods, and with you, patience would be key. You put up walls and barriers around yourself that would take some time to break down. Luckily, Spy also considered himself a patient man. Yet, even the most patient of men were bound to have bouts of restlessness. He couldn’t let overexcitement get the better of him, especially now that he was finally starting to see past those walls. No, this wouldn’t do at all.

Sitting in his smoking room, Spy considered his next steps between sips of wine. A recently extinguished cigarette sent wisps of smoke and ash lazily swirling into the air. Despite the relaxing atmosphere, he couldn’t seem to stay focused. Thoughts about continuing to court you subtly, or even simply inviting you out on a date, would eventually get derailed as his mind jumped ahead to what Spy truly wanted, what he was growing desperate for.

Spy wanted to have you, to take you, to make love to you the way you deserved. That wouldn’t be for a while yet, and he knew that, but he couldn’t help but ponder the scenario on lonely nights. He exhaled softly, palming the front of his slacks to find that, sure enough, he was already semi-hard. It had been a while since he had last indulged. Perhaps a bit of stress relief would quell this eagerness and get his thoughts back in order.

With a casual flick of a match, Spy lit a fresh cigarette, holding it to his lips with his free hand. He wasn’t going to rush, continuing to palm himself through his trousers as he gave in and let his fantasies truly take over. Spy could see it now, you glancing away shyly as he undressed you, stripping layer after layer with care, admiring the way every article of clothing discarded would reveal more of your gorgeous form. Eventually he would be met with your undergarments, a lovely bra and panty set with lace that framed your curves perfectly.

Of course Spy knew you probably wouldn’t be wearing lingerie during his first time with you, but a man could dream.

Next, he would invite you to undress him, if you were feeling curious. You would approach him shyly, clumsily unfastening his tie. “Adorable,” he would whisper just loud enough for you to hear, taking in the sight of your blush, a beautiful shade of red spreading over your cheeks. That flush would only deepen throughout the night.

Spy moaned, now fully hard and becoming uncomfortable in the confines of his slacks. He undid his fly, pulling his cock free with a relieved sigh. His strokes were lazy and slow, showing a great deal of self restraint. He still didn’t want to rush. This was no cheap, quick jerk off session. There was still so much of this fantasy to play out.

Once bared to each other, Spy would motion for you to sit at the edge of the bed. He would lean down, kissing you deeply and feeling you melt into his touch as his lips began to trail lower. Listening closely, he would take in every little noise you make, every barely stifled whimper- oh, how Spy hoped that you would whimper for him. When he found himself at the junction of your hip and thigh he would nip and tease at the soft flesh before pushing your legs open, feeling you shudder beneath his touch as he did so. You were a smart girl, and you could tell where this was going from the moment he started descending down your body.

Even so, the way you cried out when his tongue dipped between your folds, lips suckling gently on your clit, would be heavenly. Going down on you was such a massive turn on for Spy, no matter the situation. Perhaps you would catch him trying to relieve some of his own tension while down there on his knees. More than anything though, he would be sure to treat you like a goddess. He would worship you as you deserved to be worshiped, down on his knees as if to pray, lavishing your cunt, giving his tithes in the form of your pleasure.

“Merde…” Spy’s hand went still suddenly. He hadn't realized how dangerously close he was getting, taking a drag to steady himself, exhaling the smoke slowly with a sigh. Only his thumb moved, gently rubbing over the head of his cock. Precum slickened the circular motions, dripping down the shaft and over his knuckles. Spy was almost embarrassed that he had nearly lost control at the thought of simply going down on you. After a few moments the feeling of building pleasure passed, and he cautiously resumed his previous pace.

He had no qualms about edging himself. If anything, he rather enjoyed the practice of denial and self control. He wondered if you would enjoy it too. It would be quite fun to bring you to the brink of ecstasy just to leave you right on the edge, forbidding you from touching yourself, seeing how long it would take to turn you into a begging, whining mess. But that was a fantasy for another day. For now, Spy continued with his previous train of thought- his first time with you.

Picking up right where he left off, he would make you come with his mouth at least once, although you certainly deserved more. It all depended on how desperate Spy was feeling, and right now, he was apparently quite needy. Just as he had descended, he would kiss his way back up until his lips met yours once again. With a gentle push he would have you lying back on the bed, the kiss deepening as he leaned over you. You would moan at the taste of yourself, which still lingered on his tongue.

Oh, that taste, that which was so uniquely you, Spy hadn’t even considered it until now. He licked his lips, imagining how he would savor you, quenching his thirst with his head buried between your thighs. The thought nearly made him salivate.

However it was his fingers that would be of use now, thrusting in and out of you while his thumb applied pressure to your clit. He would bend them just right, reaching that sweet spot inside of you, making you writhe and squirm. Spy would let you choose this time- “Would you like to come on my fingers, or move on to the main event?”

He could imagine your face twisting up in that adorable way it did when you were making a difficult decision, trying to choose between two very tempting options. In this case, you would ultimately ask him to fuck you. While three orgasms would be nice, you weren’t sure you could handle all that stimulation- or rather, Spy wasn’t sure he would be able to last long enough to let the fantasy fully play out if he chose to imagine the former. Perhaps another time.

He would be sure to enter you slowly. Whether it was your first experience or not, Spy wanted to take his sweet time. Long, languid strokes ensured that you could feel every last inch of him. He would feel you tighten around him with every shudder, but never too tight, never uncomfortable. You were relaxed beneath him, melting under his touch as he brushed your hair from your face so that he could see your every reaction, every twitch of your lips, every flutter of your eyelids. But most importantly, Spy was in the perfect position to hear exactly when you would begin to beg for him to go faster. He would oblige you, but on one condition.

Spy knew that you would agree. He had long since sized you up as someone who followed orders quite well, at least based on your battlefield performance. Even more so, you lived for the praise that came with obedience. That was why Spy knew that if he asked you not to come, you would hold back.

Spy took another drag of his cigarette, watching the orange glow at the end flare to life for a moment. The deep inhalation of smoke would usually help calm his nerves, but it did nothing to bring him any further from the edge. It was clear he wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Come,” he muttered aloud, unable and unwilling to hold back any longer, pumping his cock faster. So much for holding back. Your moans would nearly drown out Spy as he whispered soft praises into your ear. “Good girl, such a good girl.”

There was the breaking point. A soft mantra of praise compounded with pleasure beyond your wildest dreams would overwhelm your senses. Like a dam crumbling, your orgasm would rush over you in waves. Your face would contort so beautifully as you grasped onto Spy, singing your rapture to the ceiling.

It was that final, blissful vision that pushed Spy headlong into his own climax, uttering a barely restrained groan as he spilled over his own hand. A few unsteady, sloppy, languid strokes eased him through the aftershocks until he softened and slumped back into his chair with a sigh. He closed his eyes, basking in the afterglow that settled over him. It was the most calm Spy had felt in a long while. He really needed this.

He let his mind wander aimlessly, not trying to focus on anything in particular, that is until his thoughts eventually came back to you. Spy was glad to find that he could now plan his next moves with much more clarity, but that wasn’t what he wanted to spend his time on right now. Instead he let his thoughts roam wild. There were so many other parts of your body that he had yet to explore. That mouth of yours was certainly tempting. Perhaps his next foray into self pleasure would involve the mental image of your tongue feverishly swirling around his-

Spy shook his head, clearing his mind of such thoughts. It was true, every part of you offered its own temptations, all worth pondering in their own time. However, thanks to a little thing called a refractory period, it wouldn’t exactly do Spy any good to indulge in them now. Besides, some things were best left to be explored in reality. He took a final drag of his cigarette before putting it out, smoke curling upwards from the ashtray. A glance at the clock confirmed that it was incredibly late. Spy should have retired hours ago. He sighed, exhaustion catching up with him as the afterglow began to fade. At least he wouldn’t have any trouble sleeping tonight.

[aardwolfpunx]

tidbits from a really good gale article about capitalism and free stores

while here do your daily clicks for palestine 🇵🇸

Under the logic of capitalism, you only deserve to "make a living" if you sell yourself and your labor power to a capitalist. At a free store, the criteria for participating is simply being alive.

People who benefit from the current system—landlords, police, politicians and bosses—rely on mass media and our schooling systems to deceive and dull the population into believing capitalism is the most efficient way, or the only viable way of producing and distributing resources.

But what currently exists is one way of organizing a society of many, and it isn't serving most of us. An ability to imagine and create non-hierarchical alternatives threatens the authority of people benefiting from the current system. At a free store, we can begin to glimpse a world where everything is free and built on voluntary exchange of labor, resources and knowledge.

More recently, anarchists started organizing "Really Really Free Markets" (RRFMs) throughout the 2000s, which tend to be pop-up events, across the United States. These markets never completely dwindled but, if media coverage is to be an accurate benchmark of organizing efforts, there seems to have been an uptick in RRFMs over the past couple years. Collectives are organizing them in cities large and small, from Louisville, Kentucky; Corvallis, Oregon; Avon, North Carolina; Ypsilanti, Michigan; Tempe, Arizona; New Paltz, New York; Athens, Georgia; Jersey City, New Jersey; and in many other locations.

Sohal also emphasized the collective's desire to facilitate connections and relationships in the neighborhood. "People can come in with their kids and sit down or sit outside and rest and chat. We've been talking about having a really big, comfy seating area, and sitting options outside," she said. "We know the power of talking to your neighbors, and we're hoping that having a physical free store will allow conversations between neighbors so that people are letting people around them know that this resource exists. Maybe neighbors will pick up groceries for each other."

"There's a really high rate of poverty in Pulaski County, and in a lot of Southwest Virginia and its really common for a lot of places that do offer help to do a lot of means testing and put other barriers in-between people and help," Hazel Wines, an organizer involved in the free store told VPM News. "And we wanted to remove as those barriers and just be a place where people could help each other. It's not just food, it's not just clothes.… Everyone deserves to live a life of dignity and we want to help provide that."

[ladykailitha]

Hello,

I am probably being a mom about this (having been described as a mother hen even before I had my own kids), but I have a very different take to the two most recent gifs of Joseph Quinn I've been seeing today.

Both of them were at a film festival where he is very dapperly dressed in that cream suit with the black button down. I can't find the gifs right now, so you're going to have to hope I describe them well enough (writer power activate!)

The first one is of him standing with another man, older and taller than Joe. The man puts his arm around his shoulder and Joe makes this funny hand sign, like he was trying to do the horns and the peace sign at the same time and then just ends up awkwardly waving.

And everyone is going on about how cute and goofy that little wave was. But I think people missed the part where as soon as the other guy puts his arm around Joe, his arm holding his jacket immediately goes up and knocks the other guy off. Then you can see him go "oh shit" and he turns it into the awkward wave.

And for me it's that little "don't touch" move that makes the wave a little less cute and little bit more, "poor Joe!" Because he shouldn't have to turn him setting his boundaries into an awkward wave as to not get in trouble.

And the second one. Joe is talking to someone else but it doesn't seem like the person is a guest (the guy is wearing a t-shirt and shorts). He's got something in a wine glass that he is holding both casually and stiffly. And he appears to be upset and he's saying something like "that's just how I am" or something like that. Which I originally thought he was saying "that's not how I am" but the second word looks more "just" and the third looks more like "how" the more I'm watching it.

First off I don't like how the shot is framed. It looks like someone filmed it from angle where Joe didn't know they were filming him. Well, same for the other gif, too. Because in both he's not looking at the camera filming him. I get at events like this people are going to be filming all over the place, but these two both seem to have caught something they shouldn't have.

In the second one's case he looks like he's having an argument or something.

Now here's where I get really uncomfortable, because if this is after the awkward wave, this could be him complaining that he didn't want to be touched like that and "that's just how I am". Because if that's the case whoever is doing the filming of these caught Joe in the act of having his boundaries violated, by violating further those boundaries.

I don't know. I could be reading too much into it. Projecting my own feeling on him. But it does look like that to me. And this isn't me saying "oh you can't find it cute!" because I'm not. I'm just saying he doesn't look comfortable and we should examine why.

And since this already too fucking long, I'm going throw in another Joseph Quinn problem I have.

How different he looks from Eddie Munson to his other roles or just in general. I can't find the article now (shakes fist), but Joe talked about how on Stranger Things he dropped 10 kilos or 22lbs to play Eddie so he looked younger and was more sinewy. That he fasted, gave up carbs and had one coffee a day to look the way he does in season 4.

Like actors shouldn't have to do that shit for roles. Isn't there a healthier way to do that? So when that one picture popped up today of Joe looking into the camera I saw someone tag (could have been @vecnuthy) that it looked edited in some way. But it was the most Eddie like I'd seen him look since the show dropped. And if it wasn't edited that means that he dropped those 20lbs again.

And of course I hope that means Eddie's back but even if it is or it's for another role, I hate how thin he looks in that picture (and I love his "slutty Eddie waist") means he's crash dieting and that makes me sad.

Sorry about this. Just...ignore me I guess. But I don't think we talk enough about how actors go through this shit as much as actresses do just in different ways.

[zerogate]

Some scholars have written dedicated research on the topic of religious and recreational usage of psychotropic plants in the ancient Greek and Roman World.

Carl Ruck, Albert Hoffmann, and Robert Wasson wrote The Road to Eleusis (1978), which sets the stage for exploring the use of entheogens in Greek and Roman culture. Ruck has additional publications, which focus on recreational and religious intoxication.

D. C. A. Hillman wrote The Chemical Muse (2008), where he covers drug usage in the ancient Greek and Roman world, including recreational, religious, and medical.

Michael Rinella wrote Pharmakon: Plato, Drug Culture, and Identity in Ancient Athens (2011), in which he delves into psychotropic plant usage in the ancient Greek world, the problematization of drugs, and the scandals surrounding Socrates and Alcibiades.

Alan Sumler wrote Cannabis in the Ancient Greek and Roman World (2018), in which recreational intoxication and other settings are explored.

[...]

In the field of ancient Greek and Roman religion and magic, some scholars have covered psychotropic plant usage. John Scarborough’s “The Pharmacology of Sacred Plants, Herbs, and Roots” (1991) covered these plants as used in ancient magic and explained the ancient rationale behind how they worked. He has also covered these plants in ancient medicine.

Christopher Faraone, in Ancient Greek Love Magic (2001), wrote about these plants as they are used in love magic and how they appear in other settings, like law courts.

Georg Luck’s Arcana Mundi (2006) covers these plants as they are found in religion and the personal practice of magic.

Alan Sumler, in “Ingesting Magic” (2017), considers these plants in magic and recreation.

On psychoactive plants found in ancient wine, Patrick McGovern, author of Uncorking the Past (2009), has written the most. His molecular analysis of ancient wine shows that the drink had multiple ingredients, many of them psychotropic. He describes the usage of intoxicating drinks all around Europe, Asia Minor, Egypt, and the Black Sea. McGovern covers recreational usage of drugs in the Greek and Roman world.

In the field of ethnobotany, there is scholarship on psychotropic plants being used in different settings in the Greek and Roman world. The assumption is that these psychoactive plants grow all over the earth and that all cultures use them for mind alteration in some way.

A recent multiauthored volume from Routledge, A Companion to Ecstatic Experience in the Ancient World (2022), covers psychotropic drug usage in the Mediterranean world going back to the Bronze Age.

Philip Wexler edited a two-volume multiauthored, text (2014, 2015), The History of Toxicology and Environmental Health, which covers many instances of recreational intoxication in the Greek and Roman world.

Some articles in scholarly journals are helpful for becoming familiar with psychotropic plant usage in the ancient world. Merlin, “Archaeological Evidence for the Tradition of Psychoactive Plant Use in the Old World” (2003), covers psychotropic plant usage throughout all ancient cultures. Carod-Artal, “Psychoactive Plants in Ancient Greece” (2013), considers substances available in the ancient Greek world. A few articles focus on Classical Greece, for instance Arata, “Nepenthe and Cannabis in Ancient Greece” (2004), and Eleanor, “Flower Power in Medicine and Magic: Theophrastus’ Response to the Rootcutters” (2006). The topic of kykeon at the Eleusinian Mysteries has produced some interesting scholarship, for instance Perrine, “Mixing the Kykeon” (2000), and Rosen “Hipponax fr. 48 Dg. And the Eleusinian Kykeon” (1987).

-- Alan Sumler, Intoxication in the Ancient Greek and Roman World

[bluegekk0]

Regarding the most recent ask, it was mentioned that grimm helped set up several town events

I’d like to know what kind of events, holidays, meetings or ceremonies would be held in dirtmouth?

Like Would the town regularly have hall meetings addressing the current status of things for example?

Most of those events have to do with holidays, and those are usually connected to seasons. I intend for there to be two seasons throughout the year: winter and summer (with possible unique names that I haven't thought of yet). The year begins once winter changes to summer, and that calls for new year celebration, where the bugs reminisce on the year that just passed, and wish for the following year to be prosperous. Similarly, when summer changes to winter, another holiday happens. I really like the idea of calling their winter something along the lines of "long night" since that's the period where the sun appears very briefly throughout the day, if at all. Perhaps some kind of celebration similar in spirits to our Halloween would also happen. And of course, a holiday related to the end of the infection is a must, the bugs would undoubtedly celebrate every anniversary of the day it vanished.

Grimm helps with organizing those since he has a lot of experience with attending such events, and a lot of knowledge and ideas on ways to make them mode interesting and engaging for the community. He undoubtedly introduced some traditions previously unknown to the Hallownest bugs, and of course, he has a Troupe which are masters at performing (and have a music crew, an essential part of any celebration)

For more exact details on the seasons and holidays, I'm planning to add holidays as an article on the lore page, so I'd love to share more then.

As for meetings, I definitely think those happen periodically. There isn't a specific leader in Dirtmouth, but I do think they appoint an elder who's in charge of those meetings. Elderbug would fit the role well, I think, he's very respected and is one of the oldest inhabitants of Dirtmouth. The meetings would most likely take form of discussions about the development of the town, latest news and events, organization of holidays, any kinds of weddings or similar celebrations, and so on. Anyone can attend the meetings, and those who hold a valuable role in the community (such as the farmers and hunters who ensure a consistent food supply, Vyrm who's responsible for renovations, and so on) are especially welcome to attend and voice their mind. If there is an important matter that needs to be decided, then a vote is held, and the elder's main role is to count all the votes and then announce the results. Dirtmouth is a very small town, so I do think that every inhabitant's opinion would be valued. The town was built on the community and its group efforts, the bugs all cooperate and support one another, so maintaining this dynamic is at the top of the priority list if Dirtmouth is to prosper. And for that to happen, voices need go be heard.

The meetings would be held in the longhouse, a large building located at the center of the town. That is also where all celebrations are being held, so it's very big, with extra storage rooms and a kitchen connected to it, a fireplace, barrels for wine and mead, a large table waiting to be set up, and even a small scene for the Grimmkin crew to perform and play music, and so on. Visually it would resemble a Viking longhouse (since that kind of style is a big inspiration for the AU version of Dirtmouth) with some of the Hollow Knight aesthetic introduced, naturally. I'll definitely draw at least the outside once I get to remaking the map/panoramic view of the town.

[charmwasjess]

3, 6 and 17 for the ask game!!

THANKS ANT THIS WAS SO FUN! :D And I'm still very much accepting writer asks if anyone else wants to send me one, or reblog the list and I'll send you something. <3

3 How do you feel about your current WIP

You know, I'm definitely in that phase of writing Rabbit Heart where I'm too close to it to tell if it's successful in what I'm trying to do, but I'm having a lot of fun with the fic, so that's probably a good indicator!

Dooku and Rael are a BLAST. It's also been eye-opening to write Dooku this young, unsure of himself, with so much to prove. Meanwhile, Rael is feeling just as clueless and lost, but it's coming out in totally different ways, with him trying to push Dooku into giving him the reaction he's dreading.

And then - Dooku and Sifo-Dyas. They're circling each other, boys in newly men-shaped bodies, still playing out the dysfunctional dynamic from their backwards-ass childhood with Lene Kostana. I have written a half dozen iterations of Sifo-Dyas quietly gayly pining for an oblivious Dooku, and this fic I wanted to do differently: I wanted Dooku to fall in love with his friend in real time. Dooku being the initiator, even if it seems clear Sifo-Dyas has loved him forever before this. And that's fun and weird, because I write Dooku as someone not always very in touch with himself in matters of the heart, so he's flailing a little bit, trying to understand why suddenly things have changed, trying to frame his feelings around what has happened to Sifo-Dyas in the larger plot and his reaction to it.

6 the word that appears the most in your current draft

Hah, unsurprisingly, "Dooku" followed by "Sifo-Dyas" and "Rael." Most everything else was articles.

17 talk about my writing and editing process

WILL I EVER :D My favorite!!!!

While I don't typically finish stories before I post them, I do tend to prewrite quite a lot before I feel comfortable starting to post any part of it. I write a lot more than I ever post, including whole scenes or alternate endings or different POV characters for a certain plot point than I end up going with. (And lets be honest, sex scenes, I write a TON more sex than I post because of garden variety horniness.) So I gush out all this content and then I have to decide what goes in, what gets scrapped, what gets saved and recycled for later.

I spend a lot of time rereading and narrowing down the content throughout the writing. But when I have the shape of a chapter that I'm pretty much ready to post, I pour myself a big glass of wine and get out my ruthless choppers. I KNOW I overwrite, so this is an important part of my process. I take out the third, unnecessary adjective that of course I've included. I try to kill any darlings that aren't serving the plot. I try to rein in my runaway adverbs, which are fine to use, but I like to have about twenty more of them than I need. I cut the rambling anecdote my characters love to think back on.

I take a hard look at my characters to make sure they feel true to my interpretation of their core qualities. This is usually the part where I fix Sifo-Dyas's lines, since he's often my problem child there. For example, recently in this stage, I changed his "I'm afraid of being left behind" to "I won't be left behind," which is more in line with one of my tenants of writing Sifo-Dyas: that he is defiant and dynamic about facing his own limitations, not ever static or despairing. (Where as Dooku, god love him, can absolutely be a brooder.)

[thoughtportal]

How to install and use IrfanView in Linux - Tutorial

How to install and use IrfanView in Linux - Tutorial

Updated: May 30, 2022

My Windows to Linux migration saga continues. We're still a long way off from finishing it, but it has begun, and I've also outlined a basic list of different programs I will need to try and test in Linux, to make sure when the final switch cometh that I have the required functionality. You can find a fresh bouquet of detailed tutorials on how to get SketchUp, Kerkythea, KompoZer, as well as Notepad++ running in Linux, all of them using WINE and successfully too, in my Linux category.

Today, my focus will be on IrfanView, a small, elegant image viewer for Windows, which I've been using with delight for decades now. It's got everything one needs, and often more than the competitors, hence this bold foray of using it in Linux despite the fact there are tons of native programs available. But let's proceed slowly and not get too far ahead of ourselves. After me.

As I said, it's majestic. A tiny program that does everything. It's fast and extremely efficient. When I posted my software checklist article, a lot of Linux folks said, well, you should try XnView instead. And I did, honest, several times, including just recently, which we will talk about in a separate article, but the endeavor reminded me of why I'd chosen IrfanView all those years back. And those reasons remain.

Then, I did play with pretty much every Linux image viewer out there. None is as good as IrfanView. It comes down to small but important things. For instance, in IrfanView, S will save a file, O will trigger the open dialog. Esc quits the program. Very fast. Most other programs use Ctrl + or Shift + modifiers, and that simply means more actions. I did once try to make GwenView use the full range of Irfan's shortcuts, but then I hit a problem of an ambiguous shortcut, wut. I really don't like the fact that hitting Esc takes you to a thumbnail overview mode. But that's what most programs do.

WINE configuration

The first step is to have WINE installed on your system. I am going to use the exact same method outlined in the SketchUp Make 2017 tutorial. I have the WINE repositories added, and I installed the 6.X branch on my system (at the time of writing).

IrfanView installation

Download the desired 32/64-bit version of the program and then install it. The process should be fast and straightforward. You will be asked to make file type association. You can do this, or simply skip the step, because it doesn't make any difference. You need to associate IrfanView as the default image viewer, if this is your choice, through your distros' file type management utility, whatever it may be.

And the program now works! In Plasma, on top of that, you can also easily pin the icon to the task manager.

Plugins and existing configuration(s)

Much like with Notepad++, you can import your existing workspace from a Windows machine. You can copy plugins into the plugins folder, and the IrfanView INI files into the AppData/Roaming folder. If you don't have any plugins, but you'd like to use some, then you will need to download the IrfanView plugins bundle, extract it, and then selectively, manually copy the plugins into the WINE installation folder. For instance, for the 64-bit version of the program, this is the path:

~/.wine/drive_c/Program Files/IrfanView/Plugins

As a crude example, you may want to make IrfanView be able to open WebP files. In that case, you will need to copy the WebP.dll file into the folder above, and relaunch the program. Or you can copy the entire set of IrfanView plugins. Your choice, of course.

Conclusion

And thus, IrfanView is now part of our growing awesome collection of dependable tools that will make the Windows to Linux migration easier. I am quite sure the Linux purists will be angry by this article, as well as the other tutorials. But the real solution is to develop programs with equivalent if not superior functionality, and then, there will be no reason for any WINE hacks.

If you're an IrfanView user, and you're pondering a move to Linux, then you should be happy with this guide. It shows how to get the program running, and even import old settings and plugins. I've been using IrfanView in Linux for many years, and there have been no problems. That doesn't say anything about the future, of course, but then, if you look at what Windows was 10 years ago, and what it is now, it doesn't really matter. Well, that's the end of our mini-project for today. See you around. More tutorials on the way!

Cheers.