#light salted butter

[luckystorein22]

Is Lurpak butter available in India grass-fed and without vegetable oil? Is it suitable for butter coffee?

As of our latest available information, Lurpak butter is often sourced from grass-fed cows and is typically free from added vegetable oils, making it a popular choice among those seeking high-quality butter. It's important to note that the availability of specific grass-fed variations may vary by region or country.

Lurpak butter, known for its rich flavor and quality, could indeed be suitable for butter coffee due to its desirable attributes. However, individual preferences for this purpose may vary, and some may prefer butter specifically labeled as suitable for coffee to ensure an optimal taste.

For the most accurate and up-to-date details on the Lurpak butter we offer on Buy #1 Imported & Gourmet Food And Beverages Online at Best Price., please refer to the product description and label information provided. If you require further clarification or specific details regarding the grass-fed nature and absence of vegetable oil in our Lurpak butter offerings, we recommend reaching out to our customer service. Our team is dedicated to ensuring that our customers have access to the finest quality imported grocery and food products to meet their needs and preferences.

[b-blushes]

good god this sandwich fucks

[fingertipsmp3]

Why must dieting be absolutely fucking miserable

[badolmen]

My mother: why are you and your older sister so stressed about money but I can’t get your younger siblings to stop buying things?

Me: when did dad get his union job?

Mom:

[davidwhornii-blog]

Easy, Perfect Barramundi with Lemon Butter Sauce

This recipe has it all with the perks of a healthy seafood dinner and comes together in just 20 minutes. The taste and texture of Barramundi is similar to grouper, striped bass, or snapper. Its' a white fleshed fish that has a flaky texture when cooked. The filets come out mild, buttery, and rich. Made with a lemon butter sauce and garnished with fresh basil, it’s destined to be a family favorite!

For this recipe, please go to:

For hundreds more delicious recipes and mouthwatering food images, please go to:

[physalian]

How to Make Your Writing Less Stiff Part 3

Crazy how one impulsive post has quickly outshined every other post I have made on this blog. Anyway here’s more to consider. Once again, I am recirculating tried-and-true writing advice that shouldn’t have to compromise your author voice and isn’t always applicable when the narrative demands otherwise.

Part 1

Part 2

1. Eliminating to-be verbs (passive voice)

Am/is/are/was/were are another type of filler that doesn’t add anything to your sentences.

There were fireworks in the sky tonight. /// Fireworks glittered in the sky tonight.

My cat was chirping at the lights on the ceiling. /// My cat chirped at the lights on the ceiling.

She was standing /// She stood

He was running /// He ran

Also applicable in present tense, of which I’ve been stuck writing lately.

There are two fish-net goals on either end of the improvised field. /// Two fish-net goals mark either end of the improvised field.

For once, it’s a cloudless night. /// For once, the stars shine clear.

Sometimes the sentence needs a little finagling to remove the bad verb and sometimes you can let a couple remain if it sounds better with the cadence or syntax. Generally, they’re not necessary and you won’t realize how strange it looks until you go back and delete them (it also helps shave off your word count).

Sometimes the to-be verb is necessary. You're writing in past-tense and must convey that.

He was running out of time does not have the same meaning as He ran out of time, and are not interchangeable. You'd have to change the entire sentence to something probably a lot wordier to escape the 'was'. To-be verbs are not the end of the world.

2. Putting character descriptors in the wrong place

I made a post already about motivated exposition, specifically about character descriptions and the mirror trope, saying character details in the wrong place can look odd and screw with the flow of the paragraph, especially if you throw in too many.

She ties her long, curly, brown tresses up in a messy bun. /// She ties her curls up in a messy brown bun. (bonus alliteration too)

Generally, I see this most often with hair, a terrible rule of threes. Eyes less so, but eyes have their own issue. Eye color gets repeated at an exhausting frequency. Whatever you have in your manuscript, you could probably delete 30-40% of the reminders that the love interest has baby blues and readers would be happy, especially if you use the same metaphor over and over again, like gemstones.

He rolled his bright, emerald eyes. /// He rolled his eyes, a vibrant green in the lamplight.

To me, one reads like you want to get the character description out as fast as possible, so the hand of the author comes in to wave and stop the story to give you the details. Fixing it, my way or another way, stands out less as exposition, which is what character descriptions boil down to—something the audience needs to know to appreciate and/or understand the story.

3. Lacking flow between sentences

Much like sentences that are all about the same length with little variety in syntax, sentences that follow each other like a grocery list or instruction manual instead of a proper narrative are difficult to find gripping.

Jack gets out a stock pot from the cupboard. He fills it with the tap and sets it on the stove. Then, he grabs russet potatoes and butter from the fridge. He leaves the butter out to soften, and sets the pot to boil. He then adds salt to the water.

From the cupboard, Jack drags a hefty stockpot. He fills it with the tap, adds salt to taste, and sets it on the stove.

Russet potatoes or yukon gold? Jack drums his fingers on the fridge door in thought. Russet—that’s what the recipe calls for. He tosses the bag on the counter and the butter beside it to soften.

This is just one version of a possible edit to the first paragraph, not the end-all, be-all perfect reconstruction. It’s not just about having transitions, like ‘then’, it’s about how one sentence flows into the next, and you can accomplish better flow in many different ways.

4. Getting too specific with movement.

I don’t see this super often, but when it happens, it tends to be pretty bad. I think it happens because writers feel the need to overcompensate and over-clarify on what’s happening. Remember: The more specific you get, the more your readers are going to wonder what’s so important about these details. This is fiction, so every detail matters.

A ridiculous example:

Jack walks over to his closet. He kneels down at the shoe rack and tugs his running shoes free. He walks back to his desk chair, sits down, and ties the laces.

Unless tying his shoes is a monumental achievement for this character, all readers would need is:

Jack shoves on his running shoes.

*quick note: Do not add "down" after the following: Kneels, stoops, crouches, squats. The "down" is already implied in the verb.

This also happens with multiple movements in succession.

Beth enters the room and steps on her shoelace, nearly causing her to trip. She kneels and ties her shoes. She stands upright and keeps moving.

Or

Beth walks in and nearly trips over her shoelace. She sighs, reties it, and keeps moving.

Even then, unless Beth is a chronically clumsy character or this near-trip is a side effect of her being late or tired (i.e. meaningful), tripping over a shoelace is kind of boring if it does nothing for her character. Miles Morales’ untied shoelaces are thematically part of his story.

Sometimes, over-describing a character’s movement is meant to show how nervous they are—overthinking everything they’re doing, second-guessing themselves ad nauseam. Or they’re autistic coded and this is how this character normally thinks as deeply methodical. Or, you’re trying to emphasize some mundanity about their life and doing it on purpose.

If you’re not writing something where the extra details service the character or the story at large, consider trimming it.

—

These are *suggestions* and writing is highly subjective. Hope this helps!

[bloggerliveshere]

"How to Bake 3 Chocolate Chip Cookies: 1 Recipe"

Do you ever think about baking a different cookie from a tried-and-true recipe? If you’re thinking about a different version of a favorite cookie, think and look no further. I’ll show you How to Bake 3 Chocolate Chip Cookies: 1 Recipe. That’s right, yes you can and the results may surprise you. Chocolate chip cookies are one of the most baked cookies and I’m sure you have a favorite. That said, I…

[pjackk]

Bacon is a symbol of the abundance of God’s mercy.

Bread symbolizes Christ, the Bread of Life.

Butter or other dairy products celebrate the end of Lent and the richness of salvation.

A candle, while not edible, symbolizes Jesus, the light of the World.

Cheese reminds Christians of moderation.

Eggs are signs of hope in new life.

Ham or other meats symbolize the abundance of the celebration of the Resurrection.

Whippets represent the rush of life during the moment of resurrection

Sausage links represent the chains of death that were broken by Christ’s resurrection.

Horseradish is a reminder of the bitterness of the Passion and the sour wine given to Christ at the Crucifixion.

Salt preserves us from corruption and speaks to the Bible passage “You are the salt of the earth.”

[rubys-kitchen]

Peach Crumble

Chef’s Note: Smells amazing and buttery when cooking. So warm from the oven

Original recipe’s link

Makes: ~ 2 quart

Ingredients

Peach Bottom:

6 large peaches, sliced (about 2 1/2 lb) ... can alternately used canned peaches, drained

1/4 cup white sugar

1/2 tbsp lemon juice

1/2 tsp ground cinnamon

1/2 tsp ground ginger

Pinch kosher salt

Crumble Topping:

1 1/2 cup all-purpose flour

1 cup packed light brown sugar

1/2 tsp kosher salt

1/4 tsp ground cinnamon

1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted

(opt.) Vanilla ice cream, for serving

Instructions

0. Preheat oven to 375°F.

1. In a medium mixing bowl, combine peaches, white sugar, lemon juice, cinnamon, ginger, and salt.

2. Pour peaches and juices into a 2-quart baking dish (I used 8x8-inch)

3. In a small/medium mixing bowl, combine flour, brown sugar, salt, and cinnamon.

4. Pour melted butter into the flour mixture. Stir until mixture resembles coarse crumbs.

5. Sprinkle crumb topping evenly over peaches. Smooth out, if necessary

6. Bake until topping is golden and peaches are bubbling, 40 to 50 minutes.

7. Serve warm with ice cream, if desired.

[unwritrecipes]

Make and Give-Away-Most-of-It Nut Brittle

Yup. No two ways to look at it. Having a full tin of this nut brittle is dangerous to have in the house. That’s because, as you walk by it (and even if you’ve hidden it away, you know where you put it!!) you’ll find yourself grabbing a little piece or two or three…so the best solution and why I’ve titled it “Make and Give Away-Most-Of-It” Nut Brittle is because that’s the safest way to go here. Keep a very small container for you and gift away the rest. It’s a win-win for all!!

Part of what makes this confection so dangerous is that it’s so easy to make. It all comes together in one pot with fridge and pantry staples which means you can make it almost anytime. Yikes!!

It’s crunchy, buttery, sweet, salty and perfect! That’s the problem!!

Make some soon and get most of it out of the house asap. You’re welcome!

Make and Give-Away-Most-of-It Nut Brittle

Makes about 2 pounds

You will need a candy thermometer for this.

Prep Time: 20 minutes, plus another 30 minutes of cooling time

Ingredients

2 cups sugar

½ cup water

1 stick (8 tablespoons) unsalted butter

⅓ cup light corn syrup

½ teaspoon baking soda

16 ounces roasted salted nuts (I used peanuts and cashews but feel free to use any kind of nuts you prefer)

Flaky sea salt, like Maldon

The Recipe

1. Have all your ingredients ready and nearby cause you’ll need to work quickly. Place a large rimmed baking sheet on a heatproof surface (use a non-stick one if you have it) and if not very lightly butter the pan although I have made this without greasing a regular pan at all and it’s been fine. Set a rubber spatula nearby it.

2. In a large heavyweight saucepan, bring the sugar, water, butter and corn syrup to a boil. Lower the heat to medium high and attach a candy thermometer to the pot. Stirring every now and then, watch until it reads 300ºF and turns a golden amber color.

3. Remove the pot from the heat and carefully stir in the baking soda. It will bubble up. Now, working quickly, stir in all of the nuts and pour the mixture onto the sheet pan and do your best to spread it out into an even layer, using the spatula or spoon if that’s easier. It won’t cover the whole of the pan. Be careful because the mixture is very very hot. Sprinkle all over with the sea salt and let the whole thing sit for at least 30 minutes. Then break apart into rough pieces and store in an airtight container at room temperature where it will last for several weeks but let’s face it if you keep the whole thing that’s not going to happen—that’s why it’s a make and give away most of it nut brittle.

Enjoy!

Note: Recipe adapted from Food & Wine. I tinkered with some proportions and techniques.

[hellvcifer]

Hi, I was wondering if you could do a Fizz x Asmodeus x Reader with the phrase “But you love us, don’t you?” “Don’t say that every time you make a mess!”?

MORNING SURPRISE— ଘ fic

pairing :: poly!fizz/ozzie x fem!reader wc :: 1.7k note :: yippieee!! finally able to post this. I'm coming off my sick bed so i apologize for any errors but i love fizzmodeus <33 warnings :: suggestive, pet name (bunny)

The coo-coo cock clock began chirping at the ass crack of dawn, waking up a little imp. He did his morning routine, limbs extending across the estate to brew his morning french press and snatch his cap n’ bells. He stretched out deeply, releasing a few cracks along his spine and deviously turning towards the bed. 

A pair of eyes glowed from underneath the blankets, butt wiggling as she watched the imp prepare for his air horn wake up call. She jumped out, pouncing on Fizz, their bodies rolling down the stairs next to the large bed.

You landed on top, legs straddling his body as you released a huff. Fizz pouted, “Babe, what the fu–” Your hands clamped over his mouth, head snapping towards the bed where a loud snore could be heard. After a few moments of heavy breaths passed by, you turned back to your partner. 

A sly smile pulled at your lips as you began to whisper. “Ozzie has off today!” Muffled sounds vibrated against your fingers as Fizz narrowed his eyes at you. You giggled and removed your hands.

“That doesn’t explain why you tackled me.” His arm extended to wrap around your waist a few times, finger trailing up your thigh. “Though I’m not complaining if this is how we end up.” He giggled, tongue peaking out between his lips.

You leaned closer, eyes narrowing with a smirk, “I have an idea~!” You sang, causing Fizz to raise a brow is curious delight. “Come on!” You grabbed his hand, and jumped to stand. His arm retracted and spun you around in place. You swayed a bit before regaining your composure and yanking him to follow you to the kitchen. 

“Okay, are you gonna explain to me what this plan of yours is?” Fizzy crossed his arms and watched you begin to scavenge through the kitchen. Your body flitting across the room, arms filling with various items and piling them on a counter. Once you finished, you turned to the imp. 

“We’re making Ozzie breakfast, duh!” You chimed, watching his face slowly light up. 

“Ohhohohoh fuck yeah, Babe!” His arms extended and yoinked himself onto the counter. “What’s on the menu? Pizza? Chicken wings? Ribs?” 

You giggled, “Noo~ you silly Frog!” You shook your head. “Try pancakes!”

“But pizzaaah~!” He whined with a pout. You jumped on the counter to sit next to him, lips finding his cheek for a quick peck. 

“Next time, okay?” You smiled. Fizz’s face darkened in a blush as he turned to you.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, Bunny!” He giggled before glancing at the ingredients. “So what’s first?” 

You slowly glanced at them. “Uh, good question..” His eyes widened, head snapping to look at you.

“You don’t even know how to make them?”

“Well it can’t be that hard!” You pulled out your phone, thumbs typing to find a recipe from the sinternet. “Look here! Easy pancakes from scratch.” You showed him the screen.

“Oh we sooo got this!” His tongue peeked out as he slowly scrolled through the pages. You hopped off the counter, grabbing a few mixing bowls from the cabinets. 

“I’ll mix the dry ingredients and you can start on the wet ones.” You gave him one of the bowls. 

Fizz chuckled, eyebrows raising a few times. “You sure you don’t want the wet ones? Cuz, you know…” He smirked, eyes fluttering up and down your figure. You felt your face grow warm at his insinuations.

“Yes! I’m sure!” You scooped the flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda and salt into the bowl before stomping to the other end of the counter in a huff. You measured the designated amounts, each falling into the bowl. Once you finished, you grabbed a whisk before making sure it was mixed.

“Uhh, Bunny?” You heard Fizz call out. “Is butter supposed to do that?” You turned, seeing him stretched out to stare into the microwave. The wet popping noise coming from the appliance didn’t make you feel any better. 

You rushed over, Fizz dropped an arm down before pulling you up. The inside of the microwave wasn’t too messy, but the butter had melted and soon turned brown  in the center. Gritty pieces floating around and the liquid still bubbling. You stopped it quickly and turned to Fizz. “How long did you put it in for?”

“It said 15 minutes.”

Your eyes widened. “Really?” 

“Uh, duh!” He shrunk to his normal height, you still in his arms. “I read it right there!” He jabbed his finger at the phone. 

“That says seconds, Babe." You laughed. "I think it’s burnt.” You peered at the closed door of the microwave. “Think we can still use it?”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine!” He nodded, as cheerful as ever.

You smiled and shrugged your shoulders. “Yeah, okay!” 

“What’s next?” He stretched to grab the butter from the microwave before dumping it in his own bowl where the milk, vanilla, and egg were. 

“We mix your ingredients with a blender!” 

“Got it!” Fizz was quick to plug it in and position it in the wet bowl. He flicked it on to the highest setting and things seemed fine for a moment. Until the blender began to wobble and soon sent a bunch of the wet mix out the sides and onto the cupboards. Fizz began vibrating with the blender, laughing as he continued mixing. 

You fell into your fit of giggles the more you watched, “Okay! I think it’s good!” He pulled the blender out from the bowl, the leftover mix on the metal whisks flying everywhere including you and the imp. “Fizzy!” You scolded, a smile never leaving your face.

“What!” He finally turned off the tool, turning towards you. He weighted onto one hip, resting his empty hand on his waist. “Cooking is a messy job, you’re not doing it right if you’re not wearing the food.” He spoke with his nose in the air as if it wasn’t the most obvious fact. He grinned and flung the blender elsewhere. “Besides~” He slinked closer, “It’s not like we haven’t been this messy before~” He giggled and trailed a finger down your shoulder.

Your cheeks heated before you pulled back. “Hey! No distracting me!” You scolded though it didn’t hold much strength behind it.

He smirked, “So, what’s next?” He leaned in. 

You grabbed your phone, noting it was full of the wet mix, “Okay, it says we have to make a well in the dry ingredients and then… slowly fold them together.” 

“What the fuck does well mean?” He asked.

“What the fuck does fold mean?” You peered at him, brows creased.

He pursed his lips in thought before glancing at you. “Maybe like a blanket?” 

“Like… With our hands?” You held your hands up, glancing back and forth between the two.

“Well, how else do you fold things?” He shrugged. Fizz grabbed you and extended his legs up to place you on the counter before sitting opposite of you, the bowl in the middle. 

“Okay, make a well.” You pushed the dry mix around until it had an empty space in the middle. “Now add the wet mix.” Fizz dumped it all but graciously in. “And fold!” His hands slammed into the bowl, splattering the contents around and onto the both of you. You laughed as he continued his ‘folding’ methods messily. The folding being more of a throw your hands together and hope for the best.

The dry mix clouded upwards and attached to both of you, along with small splatters of the partially mixed dough. It flung around the kitchen, landing alongside the previous mess, hitting cupboards, counters, the fridge, even as far as the dining table. Your giggles mixed in with Fizz’s, the mixing becoming the main event of cooking breakfast. 

“What is going on in here?” A loud voice called out from the doorway. Ozzie stood there, mouth fallen with wide eyes as he stared at the condition of the kitchen. He was in the middle of tying his robe, frozen as he finally saw you and Fizz sitting on the counter. Both completely covered in pancake mix. You blinked at Ozzie, watching him take cautious steps forward. 

“Aww, you weren’t supposed to wake up, Ozzie!” Fizz whined, shoulders slumping.

“You sleep in any other day!” You added, “Why on all days do you wake up early today!” You pouted alongside your imp boy. 

“Maybe because hearing you two giggling maniacally all the way from the bedroom intrigued me.” He finally stood before you and Fizz. “And for good reason! Look at this place!” He gestured to the kitchen, “There’s… What is this…?” He scooped up a bit onto his finger from the counter and stuck it in his mouth. A second passed by before he physically recoiled. “Oh no.” He shuttered, the feeling coursing throughout his entire body. “No, no! You two!” He glared down at your forms. “What did I say about you cooking!”

You blinked up at Oz, seeing his face scowl but Ram and Bull showed his true endearing emotions. They always seemed to break his tough facade. You smirked towards Fizz, him reading you almost instantly. He shoved the bowl aside and scooted towards you.

“But you love us~” You smiled real big, eyes misting into a pretty sparkle. Fizz leaned in, squishing his cheek against yours and mirroring your expression. You grasped his hands and pulled his body close, chests flushed against each other. 

“Don’t you~?” Fizzy added, pulling the last word out and pouting his lips.  

Ozzie crossed in arms while staring down at you both, he felt himself slowly breaking at the sight. “Don’t say that every time you two make a mess!” He turned away, eyes shutting tight. His chest rising a few times in frustrated huffs, his expression melting. His eyes peaked down at your forms, “Auogh! I can’t stay mad at you guys when you do that!”

“We know~!” You giggled, eyes sliding to Fizz as you turned to each other, noses brushing in a small victory. His sleek metal limbs wrapping around you and squeezing.

“Womp womp!” Fizz laughed and hugged you tighter.

“Look at my messy little Fizzy-Frog and Bunny-Wunny!” Large arms encircled the both of you, scooping you into the air and spinning. “Looks like I'll have to get you both washed up.” His voice sank a few octaves, "Care to join me for a nice deep clean?" Eyes narrowing with a growing smirk.

Who were you to deny your King of Lust?

likes and reblogs appreciated !! ♡

[ltwilliammowett]

Cooking like a Sailor- Frisian teatime

Today it's going to be a bit Friesian again and this time the delicious treats come mainly from the North Sea islands and Halligen, where they usually originated before they floated ashore and were eaten or drunk there.

Now that we are approaching autumn with great strides, there are such delicacies. This was the time when many of the seafaring men returned home, which meant a rich harvest of specialities from foreign countries and often also the weddings were hold which were arranged the year before.

But let's start with the drink: tea punch, just the thing for the wet and cold season when it's stormy and raining outside.

Ingredients: Black tea, köm and kluntjes (brown sugar candy).

But even more important than the right ingredients are the way it is prepared and consumed. If you are in a hurry, you have no place at the tea punch table!

The tea punch is served as follows: The teapot is placed on the teapot warmer and the pre-heated bottle of Köm is placed on the table. Don't be surprised: the tea punch cups are tiny. This has nothing to do with stinginess, but with cosiness. And this is how it works: Pour tea into the cup, add a dash of köm and sugar to taste. Listen to the Kluntjes crack, stir and drink hot. Have a chat and then top up again.

This drink has existed on the islands since 1735, when a ship with tea chests stranded off Amrum at Theeknobs, although at the beginning there was no knowledge of how to prepare the tea leaves. As a result, the tea was drunk quite thinly, which was also due to the fact that tea was something special that was not always available, just like schnapps. Köm is a spirit similar to aquavit with caraway seeds. The yellow (geele) Köm is particularly common in the North Frisian region. This is a spirit, usually made with grain, which is mixed with caraway and sometimes with a hint of aniseed.

The tea punch was of course also known on ships, but here the köm was swapped for rum and the punch was used to warm up rather than for chatting. Sailors preferred to do this on land.

What do you serve with tea? Hallig Knorken or Friesenwaffeln are best. This wafer-thin delicacy has been around since the 16th century thanks to the Dutch who settled in northern Germany. They were light waffles that were made with rum and then served with plum jam and cream. Again, these delicacies were either brought by the men or had to be bartered or bought on the land, as the islands and Halligen did not have huge areas of land available for agriculture and so there was a lot of trade with the delicacies from the sea.

Ingredients for 4 people (this is the modern recipe) 4 eggs 200g sugar 250g butter 300g flour 3-4 tsp. cornflour 50ml rum 1 packet of vanilla sugar 1 pinch of salt

Bake the waffles in an iron and then serve hot with plum jam and cream.

Now we come to the highlight of every festive table - the Friesentorte. This magnificent cake is truly a precious piece. Because it requires valuable ingredients that were not always available back then and were therefore more likely to be found on festive tables. It is not known when it has been around, but probably since the 19th century, thanks to the sailors who brought many recipes with them from other countries. Like puff pastry, for example.

Today's variations also work with shortcrust pastry, but are not the original recipe

Recipe

Bake two puff pastry bases (you can use ready-made pastry) Brush one of the bases (the top) with egg yolk and sprinkle with caster sugar Leave the second (base) plain After baking, spread the base generously with plum jam Spread not too little whipped cream on the plum jam base Cut the top into 12 even pieces and then arrange the pieces on top.

The wealthier the family the more the cake would consist of several layers. Which made eating even more complicated, because how do you eat this monster without smearing cream all over your face? Well, you take the lid off, eat the inside and nibble the lid separately.

So there you have it and I wish you a delicious tea time of a different kind. Enjoy your tea and your tasty treats like real Frisians.

[fanaticsnail]

A bit of both

Masterlist here

Word Count: 2,900+

Synopsis: You and Rosinante take your trust to a new level, engaging in two levels of weaving you had yet to use in sequence with one another.

Warnings: Rosinante x gn!reader, vibrator play (reader receiving), bondage (reader receiving), gagged (reader receiving), overstimulation, cock warming, dominant Rosinante x submissive reader, service Dom Rosinante, pet names (cara mia, mi amor, little thing), size difference, love confession, established relationship, praising (Rosinante giving), no gendered titles used, insertion sex (reader receiving), 18+, MDNI, smut.

Notes: This was not the fic I was working on, but the service-dom wanted to get out before the mean, jealous one. Ever since I wrote the "T" section for the NSFW Alphabet fic, I needed to see it explored a little more. I hope you enjoy.

Trailing behind you, gift bags lazily slinging from his shoulder with their cord drawstrings caught in his fingers and palm, Rosinante rolled his eyes as you debated with yourself which item you truly wanted from the bakery. Drawing his arm down, he let the bags hang from his wrist as he shoved his hand into his pocket.

“I mean, on the one hand, I do want an almond croissant. The filling is almost like fresh marzipan, and it's so sweet,” you tapped your chin with your fingertips before looking to the other glass display, “But on the other hand, I kind of want something savory like a cheese danish. I don't know about the salt content versus the sugar. If you were to choose one-?”

“-We’ll take an almond croissant and a cheese danish please,” Rosinante held up his hands to the baker, gently shaking his head at you before glancing at the corner of his eye at you. With an arched brow, he placed his Berry on the counter and waited for his change.

“What are you playing at, Rosinante?” you question him linking your arm through his bad leaning on his shoulder, “That's too much, look at the size of them!”

“Take a bite of both of them, and then choose the one you like more,” he gazed down his nose at you with his hazelnut colored eyes, scolding you with his expression. “I'll eat the other one.”

“Smart,” you nod with your pout down-turning. He shot you a sly wink, taking the change and watching the attendant fold the brown bag down at the opening. Pastries already staining the covering with the fat from overly saturated butter, you reached up and made to gather the bags; halting immediately as Rosinante shot you a warning look.

Placing his Berry in your back pocket, he reached up and took the two paper bags in his hands while you laced your hand in the crook of his elbow once more. Sheepishly looking at the ground, you felt him stoop down and press his lips to your temple.

“You know I won't let you lift a finger, mi amor,” the low growl in his deep baritone caused your eyes to flutter closed and spine ignited with pricks of fine needles. Opening your eyes to fall half-lidded, you smile bashfully at him. He pressed his lips atop the apple of your cheek, his soft smile felt in his sweet kiss.

Pastry bags left crumpled in the refrigerator, gift bags lying messily by the door, clothes were scattered and discarded in the hamper in the corner of the room. Shoes placed together in the hallway, the dim light of the room illuminated the skin of your tall lover.

Gazing possessively down at you, his lip paint lay smudged on his cheeks and chin, as your own skin was littered with intentional kisses ranging from your littlest toe to the crown of your head. You pleaded with your eyes, your lips swollen and bruised from being mounted and dominated with his own lips moments prior.

He molded your flesh beneath his hands to worship you, before drawing out a lengthy piece of rope with the intent to accentuate and immobilize your features.

“You've been so good today, mi amor,” he whispered, coiling and knotting the rope over your breasts, “Such a good little thing for me.” You whimpered for him as he parted your thighs and drew one knee up to your wrist, circling it with the fabric.

You open your mouth to speak, his eyes shooting you a look of warning for you to hold your tongue. Elevating your other knee to your wrist, he insured you were snug enough in your ties that you were not uncomfortable. Crawling between your exposed thighs and lowering his chest and stomach over your torso, he smiled down at you with a playful twinkle in his eye.

“Before we start, do you want a sip of water or to finish your danish?” he offered, giving you a sweet and genuine smile, “I can get it out of the fridge for you.” You smiled back in response before shaking your head at him.

“No thank you, sir,” you chirped back at him. He learnt forward, brushing your nose with his own before drawing a woven gag up to your lips. You parted your lips, causing Rosinante to coo down at you in glee.

“So well mannered,” he praised you, “So good.” He pressed his lips over yours, the material preventing him from truly feeling your lips on his. “Now, remember what we talked about? Give me a demonstration of what you need to do if it gets too much?”

You bobbed your head up and down to nod in understanding before humming three notes up through your nose at him in a melody familiar to you both. Bondage was not a new concept to you, but with the addition of the gag it felt like you had no communication for if it got too intense. When you were tied, you would use your safe word when it got too much, just like your rapid taps against the mattress in code would halt motions when gagged.

“Perfect, cara mia,” he pursed his lips against your temple, “I'm gonna sit behind you now.” You nod eagerly, darting your eyes between his as he moves from your torso and kneel before you. His cock was achingly hard, his red top shining in the light from how desperate he was yearning for you.

The shibari had you feeling completely exposed and vulnerable, just the way Rosinante enjoyed you. Each time he tied you felt like you were a little gift wrapped up just for his delight, his complete control and your complete submission to him alighting a flame of trust between both of you.

Rising to his feet, he gingerly walks over to his knight stand and finds a leaf-shaped object and it's remote ignition. Eyes widening he moves his way behind you and presses his torso flush to your back before moving his forearms beneath your legs. Lifting you with ease, his tip lined up with your entrance which waited eagerly with prior lubrication.

Placing the tip over your quivering body, he eased you to softly impale yourself on his cock. Inch by inch, you took Rosinante's impressive length into you with your eyes wide and lips falling wide.

“You okay, mi amor? Not too much too quick, is it?” he hastily checked in, knowing the size difference may cause you some discomfort while you adjusted. You whined and shook your head, wriggling in his arms in a bid to take more of him within you. He chuckled, giving into your request and slinking you down on his steely cock. Hissing at the feeling, Rosinante let out a shuddering deep moan as he felt your body move to accommodate him.

“Oh, so good,” his deep voice praised you, his lips finding your shoulder blade and caressing your skin. “Okay, stay still. One more tie, and we'll be all done.” You knit your brows in focus, tensing your abdomen as his hands move around the both of you.

The small leaf was pressed against your sensitive nerves at the front of you, prompting you to unintentionally gasp at the sensation. The small bud encumbered your nerves endings completely, the anticipation eating at you as he chuckled lightly. Adjusting the ropes, he insured the object was flush with your skin before wrapping the ropes around both of your waists. Each touch his hands gave you left tingles on your skin, your body fluttering around him as you kept yourself as statuesque as you could.

“Now all you have to do is keep my cock warm for me while we watch a play on the carrier snail,” he whispered against your ear, leaving a soft kiss on your lobe, “All I want you to do is cum for me. So, so much, mi amor.” Your eyes widened as you felt his hands reach for the switch for the projector snail, and for the remote attached to the soft leaf.

“Just sit pretty like you're doing,” he clicked on the projector, the lights flickering over the wall and starting the dancing lights and music to follow, “And cum on my cock.” The leaf buzzed and shook to life, your back arching into his torso at the intensity of the motion. Rosinante chuckled against you, feeling your body contract around him almost immediately.

The rhythmic thump of your entrance adjusting and the coil tightening in your abdomen was enough to strike lightning in your vision. Immediately writhing on his lap, you bucked and ground yourself back into him as best you could against the bonds. Your body chased your high, leaving a mess on both yours and Rosinante’s body as you came hard against the leaf.

“Oh, good job,” he whispered against your cheek, adjusting the switch as he felt you fall back from your high to not overstimulate you with too much intensity too quickly. Giving your thigh a gentle tap as you panted behind the gag, Rosinante soothed your skin before reigniting the switch.

Keening and choking through your gasp, he continued to dart his attention between focussing on you and the moving picture in front of you. Each time he felt your body almost reach its high, he would gaze down at you lovingly while he watched your face contorting in pleasure. Letting go of all thoughts as euphoria washed over you, he would always end your climax with praise and a soft kiss.

“So good for me,” he purred at you, the deep rumble in his chest cutting over the whines and mewls you'd release in ecstasy. “That one was a big one, huh? Keep it up, mi amor.” His hands began to dutifully worship your thighs and devote all of his attention to you. Constantly engaging with your feet and wrists to ensure adequate blood flow, he had you unravel on his lap another eight times for the duration of the moving picture.

Each time he felt you cum, he did his best to keep himself edged and not spill over too soon. Your body wrapped around and exposed for him and him alone had him fighting with himself for a sense of control: just how he needed it. He needed you to be a channel for his lust, his greatest escape and refuge from the hardships of his mission. Something he could control, to focus on, and to have an immediate response to his intentional actions. He needed you to have the release and freedom that he couldn't, waves of empathetic bliss being felt as he felt your body become void of anything other than him.

He needed that complete control.

Eyes glazed with dewy water, cheeks stained with hot tears, body and nerves shot with oversensitivity, gag damp with your own saliva, you felt completely void of all thoughts other than to engage in Rosinante's commands as best as you could.

Keep his cock in your body while the play projects, and cum as much as you could.

As soon as the screenplay ended, Rosinante let out a soft moan as he tested his cock by rocking you on his lap. Your body felt limp and pliable, nodding in acknowledgement as you felt him begin to move. Each follicle of your body was engaged, mind numb and pleasure coursing through your veins. Thrusting up, you heard him whimper a soft whine of your name as he rocked you harder and faster on his lap.

Head lulled on his chest, you felt him flick the leaf back to life and reach a hand around in front of you to add more pressure to the stimulation. His fingers and palm gave you that final push you needed to begin to chase a fresh wave of desire as he huffed and panted behind you. Jolting your body up and down his girthy cock had his blunt tip reach depths within you that had you cry out for him. Sobbing and whining, you felt the coil begin to tighten and compact into a ball as he continued to pummel up into you.

“O-Oh, fuck. You've got one more for me, don't you? Just one more,” he kissed and bit at your neck, tongue and teeth dragging at your skin, “Be good a little bit longer and give me one more. I want it. Give it to me.” His gruff bark had you immediately whine at yourself to focus on chasing your release, your oversensitive body almost giving out while bound in the safety of your harness.

A scream found its way through the muffled gag as you came hard around him, body shaking and trembling as he moaned deeply for you.

“Oh, fuck. Good job, such a good listener. Fuck-... Nghh-... I'm c-cumming,” he shuddered, burying his forehead in the crook of your neck as he shot ropes of his release into you, “Yes, yes. Take it. Take. It.” He continued to usher you into a lengthier release as his balls sucked into his abdomen and shot a viscous expulsion of desire up into you.

Huffing and panting, he kept rocking you as he fucked his release back up into you. Your body was limp like a doll, a marionette dancing bound in strings for him as your master. His movements staggered, his soft calls of your name singing to you his sweet song of praise.

Finally feeling himself still, the aftershocks of his twitches spurting the final shudders of release into you, he finally switched off the leaf and tugged your body to lie flush with him. Showering your skin in soft kisses, he panted against you while his cock lingered within you.

Straining against the bands, you attempt to unravel yourself from the ropes by rotating your wrists in a bid for relief. Rosinante is immediately refocused, gently coaxing his cock from you and manuevering you over to the pillows beside him. His digits flew like lightning, hastily untying you and insuring your body had regained circulation by massaging and pressing his lips against your skin.

“Rosinante, I'm okay,” you reassure him, smiling through your glassy eyes up at him. He smiled down at you while continuing to focus his attention on the knots and weaves. Releasing the last length of rope from your body, he pressed his lips over each point of strain on your wrists, thighs, backs of your knees and sensitive abdomen.

Each time he releases a small part of the bonds, you feel his devotion in his delicate touch. Each kiss, each caress, each gentleness in his intimate touch: he was a devotee to your altar. His prayers were to see you thrive and come undone by his motions. His dedication each of new session to explore the trust in one another was unmatched, and you truly adored him.

And he loved you completely.

As you moved to stand, your body was overcome immediately by the intensity of pleasure your body endured. Your skin was hyper sensitive to touch, and your bones congealed under the pressure. Rosinante rapidly clicked his tongue at you, pouting his lips before smiling up at you.

“Oh, come now. We've been through this,” he whispered, nuzzling his nose with yours. You smiled through tight lips up at him, your vision hazy as you matched his doting twinkle in your dual vibrant afterglow.

“You know I won't let you raise a finger.”

Lips finally colliding, passion through overexertion lingered in the atmosphere. Parting lips, you gingerly hooked your arms over his shoulders and tugged him closer. He hummed against you, grinding his tongue against yours and stealing your breath from you. Lacing your fingers through his hair, he rotated his chin slowly to take on more of you through each languid motion.

Pulling away, he gazed deeply into your eyes with his orbs pooling with emotion. Caressing your skin, he pressed his forehead against yours.

“I love you,” he whispered, his breath huffing softly against your skin, “So, so much." To re-emphasize his intent, he repeated his phrase, "So much.”

“I love you too,” you whisper softly against his skin, moving your hands from his hair to his cheeks. “My heart. My sweet Corazon.” He smiled at you, taking a moment to linger in the world you forged together before humming softly at you.

“Yes, I'm all yours cara mia. Let me get you cleaned up.” The creases in the corners of his eyes were the most beautiful sight you'd seen, "You want bubbles or salts?" His gorgeous glimmer in his grin found purchase and roots in your heart with each beat.

“You think I can choose?” you giggle up at him. He hooked his arms behind your knees, your back supported by his other as he cradled you into him.

“It's alright, mi amor,” he chuckled at you, stumbling a little as he readjusted you in his arms. “You can have a bit of both and share it with me.”

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady

[davidwhornii-blog]

Capellini in Sea Urchin Sauce

A sumptuous pasta dish cooked in 10 minutes! Sea urchin supply has increased in recent years, making it possible to enjoy its fresh and sweet flavor even at home. Besides enjoying it as sashimi, the rich and creamy texture of sea urchin is perfect for creating simple dishes.

For this recipe, please go to:

https://creativeelegancecatering.blogspot.com/.../capelli...

For hundreds more delicious recipes and mouthwatering food images, please go to:

[bunny584]

OBSESSED: GETO (PT. II)

A/N: I…guys this one is…dirty. For so many reasons. I don’t. I can’t look myself in the eye. Suguru made me do it 😅

C/W: Voyeurism, Mature themes, 18+ (Part I here)

Music inspo: This is SO Chase Atlantic coded

Acceptance.

They say the first step to recovery from addiction is acceptance.

Fine, then.

Suguru Geto’s addiction to you is absolute. And he has no interest in recovery.

He’s accepted it. You own him.

Granted, he didn’t realize just how tight your leash is. Not until last night.

Suguru is a logical, reasonable, creature of habit. He doesn’t need much. Really, he doesn’t.

But fucking you to sleep nightly is non-negotiable.

Or rather, fucking his hand. While watching you watch TV. And swirl a glass of Pinot noir in your gorgeous mouth. With your graceful fingers mindlessly swimming in a bowl of popcorn.

Extra butter. With tons and TONS of salt!

The first time you ordered your side snack at the movie theatre, Suguru almost keeled over.

But then he made the glorious mistake of flickering over to you, mid movie. Just as your index finger slid between those pillow soft lips. Pulling remnants of salt and butter away, leaving a trail of lip gloss behind.

He could’ve sucked it off your finger right there and then.

The way you pistoned in and out of your mouth. Doe-eyed and trained on the screen. Not a thought in your head. It was his gateway drug.

The butterfly effect.

A moment in time that rerouted fate.

His excruciatingly beautiful, platonic best friend, now a visceral need.

And just like any addiction. There were stages.

Denial: He doesn’t see you that way. No, of course not. His mind just got caught in a horny spiral. He’ll snap out of it. Things will go back to normal.

Anger: How could you do this to him? You know how disorienting you are. That smile. Always looking up at him with puppy eyes and parted lips. You’re a cocktease. Begging. Pleading. Needing him to debase you to nothing. Is that it? You want him to ruin you, don’t you? And he could. Fuck you into next week. Until you’re screaming and crying. He’d smear those tears all over his cock and fuck them back into your pouty mouth. It’s what you deserve.

Shame: It’s perverse. You call to vent about your day. He rubs himself raw while you talk. You kiss his cheek. His dick leaks. How could he do this to someone who trusts him like you do?

It was a vicious, muddled cycle. He could barely function around you.

Rushed greetings. Kurt words. Clipped responses. Avoidance.

He had to protect you from his depraved thoughts. Shield you from sordid actions taken in the dark — as if they would spontaneously materialize in the light to harm you.

And they did. But in the opposite way Suguru intended.

“Hey, HEY! Suguru, what the hell is up with you?”

You squeezed his wrist with all your might. It felt like nothing. But the weight in your tone hit him like a freight train.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been distant."

“I’ve been right here.”

“You’ve been distant, Suguru.”

Quartz showers streamed down your beautiful face and his cock quivered. Drooling along his thigh. So. Fucking. Pretty when you cry.

Did you know?

How irresistible you looked?

Glassy eyes. Trembling lips. Vulnerable. Soft enough to hunt.

Did you know?

How he clawed his palm bloody to keep from gripping your neck. Shoving you to your knees. And giving you a reason to whine his name like that again.

“Why won’t you just talk to me?”

“I have to go—“

“I don’t care!”

“Wha—“

“I don’t care!! I don’t care what it is okay? I just…I miss..I miss my best friend.”

You elevated off your heels. No where near eye level, but enough to cradle his face in your dainty hands.

And God dammit. He might as well have been wearing a dog tag with your name on it.

If lost, return to Owner.

Between your misty eyes. Swollen lips. Face like a canvas to paint with his cum. He bit back a pathetic groan. And choked out an apology.

Most importantly, he made a promise to never hollow out your friendship like that again.

So, instead he fills it. With ropes of his arousal. And fuck, it’s rhapsody.

The stages. The anger, disbelief, shame…it was worth it. Because this ecstasy? It’s sublime.

Constant ascension. Never once reaching cruising altitude.

…which made the fall agonizing.

Last night, in a sick, twisted turn of fate - his camera feed cut off.

One minute Suguru is pumping into his abused rubber cocksleeve. Sliding his eyes up and down your hips until he was dizzy in the head. Pre cum squelching out of the little space between his cock and the ring of his 5th battered toy. Unintelligible praises leaking out of him, cementing his devotion. And just as the curtains began to fall on his vision. Balls heavy and hot with his seed—

Then he saw nothing.

Suguru couldn’t recognize the man in his room last night. Fingers aching. Mind racing. Dick red, angry, pulsating for its one and only vice.

Alarm bells rang between his ears. Crash landing into an abyss. Mayday.

Mayday.

In that moment. He knew he needed more. More skin. More angles. More you.

And so, he’s standing outside your Pilates studio @ 7:28 PM. Two minutes until you’re done.

A Dragonfruit smoothie rests in his hand.

And a new camera system rests in his back pocket.

———

“Ugh, I needed that.”

You sling a cold eucalyptus towel around your neck.

“And I need him.” The comment emanates from one of your girlfriends. Both of you rounding the corner out of the studio.

Suguru.

You don’t have to look out the glass windows to know exactly who she is referring to.

“I mean, seriously. How can you not climb him like a—“

“Stop it!!” Your protest made less believable because of your sheepish giggles.

“We’re just friends.” You mutter. Pulling your gym bag out of the front lockers.

Yeah, who are you trying to convince? Her? Or yourself?

Your eyes flicker to your platonic, gorgeous best friend. Raven mane in a glossy, high ponytail. Freely cascading down his back. Curly wisps framing his razor sharp angles.

He stands tall. So Muscular. Quietly masculine. Despite how dreamy his hair is.

“Omg! Your hair!! Whats your routine?” - every woman who meets him, ever.

“Genetics.”

Suguru responds the same way every time with a dimpled smile. The other party is always immediately caught in his web.

His eyes. They lure you in like quicksand. Onyx. Swarming with grey and violet specks. Stormy. Perpetually faraway.

He’s the perfect gentleman. But always a little bit above it all. Just out of reach.

It’s mesmerizing.

You can’t blame the women for trying any and everything for a tiny piece.

Suguru catches your gaze. Silky smile pulls across his lips. He beckons you with one swirl of the liquid gold in his hands.

“What are you doing here, pretty boy?”

“Happy to see you too.” He counters with a low chuckle.

You coax the sweet treat away from him. It’s precisely what you need.

Suguru always has his pulse on you. Somehow he knows where to be and when. Every time.

“Mmm” your eyes flutter shut. Savoring the sickly sweet, cold mush on your tongue.

“Exactly what you wanted?”

“Exactly. Have I told you I love you lately?”

“Not nearly enough.” His baritone hovers over you. Traveling down your spine at light speed.

Has he always sounded this sultry?

You lazily pull yourself out of the sugar-induced dopamine hit.

Suguru moves into you like a storm cloud. Accentuating the comical difference in stature. The world around you slowly dissipates.

Lost in the desert mirage of his gaze. Everything feels conscious.

Your shallow breathing. The thrum of blood surging through your vessels. Heart rattling against its bony cage.

Time stops.

Then it happens all at once.

Before you know what is happening, your best friend’s well built arm is around your waist. His large, veiny hand palming the nape of your neck.

His lips. His plump rosy lips are on yours. Sweet and warm. Pulling, pushing, melding with you into play dough.

He’s delicious.

More delectable than you knew possible.

“Mmmgh” You moan and Suguru takes the space to push his tongue into your mouth. He’s blinding. Expertly tickling the ridges and corners of your mouth. As if to show off just how skilled he is with his tongue.

“S-Suguru..”

He pulls away far before you’re ready. Shocking you out of your lusty daze. For a moment he just rests his moist lips on yours. Exchanging breaths between each other. As if only you two are the source of oxygen around you.

“Wha…what was..”

“There’s a guy burning a crater into your back.” He finally responds. Gruff. Strained. You’ve never seen him without a tight leash around his self-command.

“I didn’t want him thinking he has a chance.”

And just like that, the familiar tame control lines his velvet baritone.

Suguru places a chaste kiss on your cheek before starting to walk in the direction of your apartment. As if the world didn’t just tilt on its axis.

You’re able to maintain a fairly normal conversation with your best friend the entire walk back to your apartment. You both laugh and joke as if he didn’t just fuck your mouth with his tongue. And as if you didn’t feel drunk off of it.

You’re just friends.

…right?

You toss your keys somewhere to your left. In the periphery you see Suguru smile and shake his head. Well aware of your messy tendencies. He leans down to take your keys and place them on the door hook.

The devil on your shoulder is deafening.

Test it.

Test him.

Your hand moves before your mind.

Your fingers hook under your sports bra. Pulling it over your head in one smooth motion. Before your mounds bounce in full view, your arm cups them against your chest.

You turn to Suguru, now topless.

“Gonna hop in the shower for a little. Are you staying for dinner?” Willing your voice to be steady and light. A casual question amidst the mayhem in your mind.

And, as expected, Suguru is the perfect gentleman.

His olive tone is even. Hands slotting into his athletic pants. Faint smile tracing on his lips, dimple apparent in his left cheek.

His eyes don’t falter below your neckline. Not even for a moment.

“Not tonight, pretty. There’s a show I want to catch. Rain check?”

Of course, you’re just friends.

Best friends.

You flash him a genuine smile. Swallowing the nagging flecks of dissappointnent beginning to weave itself within you.

“Rain check!”

And maybe 10 or so minutes after soaking in your steamy shower. Trying to wash the remnants of his kiss out of your memory, you hear your door slamming shut.

You make a mental note to ask about what show he was referring to.

———

Whiskey glides hot and cold down Suguru’s throat.

Back flushed against his desk chair.

Patiently awaiting his 10:00 PM viewing.

His dick is a steel rod. Blushing and moist. Draped in a pair of your used panties. He swiped them on his way out of your apartment.

Suguru drags his palm lazily up and down his shaft. Soaking your lingerie in beads of pre cum. It’s like he’s feeling you rubbing your plush cunt up and down his rod.

Fog is settling opaque in his mind. While he pets the flame stirring between his legs.

You haven’t even come into frame yet. But Suguru admires the pristine view he has of your room. Porcelain duvet messily strewn about. Half open night stand. Magenta vibrator propped against the corner of your drawer.

How often do you touch yourself?

What do you think about?

How pretty do you sound? When you milk pleasure from your dewy core?

“Fuck,” Suguru hisses.

He brings the whiskey glass back to his parted lips. The thought of seeing you work yourself to a peak drove his hand up and down his cock too fast. If he’s not careful he’ll cum before he’s ready.

No.

Not tonight.

Tonight he wants to savor his relapse.

24 hours sober of you was unbearable. He deserves this indulgence.

Suguru tilts his chin up. Damp hair feathering his shoulders and back feels refreshingly cool against the lava circulating beneath his skin.

“You like teasing me don’t you?” He murmurs, slowly pumping his cock through his strained grip.

The way you pulled off your sports bra. Well before you reached your bathroom door. Pretty bedroom eyes raking his face. Testing him. You knew he would go home and feverishly fuck his fist for you. Didn’t you?

A siren’s melody pulls his hazy, dazed attention back to screen.

“There she is.”

Suguru leans closer to his screens. Giving himself kudos for choosing a camera system with audiovisual integration this time around.

You step in full view of his camera and his body stills. Completely statuesque. Mouth ajar. His cock drool dribbling down his stiff hand is the only source of movement in the room.

“Fuck…fucking hell.”

There you stood. Thong as richly colored as the wine in your glass. Accentuating the dramatic dip and swell of your pretty waist and hips. The wavy lines from your slender shoulders to your full tits are enough to make him seasick. Your nipples are so hard. Puffier than he imagined.

You are immaculate.

A divine being. Heaven’s incarnate.

And even if you weren’t. Even if you were the devil. He’d follow you to the depth of hell.

A thick surge of pre cum flicking back against his lower abs pulls him briefly out of his trance. Suguru didn’t realize how hard he was strangling his length. Which is violently jerking in haphazard directions.

Begging for its real owner.

Suguru drags in a deep breath. Reluctantly unraveling his needy hand away from his manhood. Another sip of icy brown liquor.

Savor this.

As if your souls are tied, you take a sip of red wine before settling in your bed. Back against your head board. Feet planted on your plush duvet. You let your knees fall to the side and Suguru nearly drools on himself.

A blooming rose.

Presenting your swollen, misty petals to him for worship. His eyes drop to your core. A thin line of fabric laid so perfectly between your folds.

Suguru has to remind himself that you aren’t in front of him.

And he can’t just dive into your dewy cunt. And nuzzle against your bud. And lap up the honey in between your folds.

You rest your head against the wall. Exposing the delicate lines of your neck. His left hand magnets back to his cock. His right hits the record function on the screen.

You are too special not to capture.

But, even if he couldn’t record you on this system, every moment right now is etched into his mind for an eternity.

Especially the way your dainty fingers travel down your chest, along your torso, beneath the hem of your panties and settle over your clit.

“That’s it, princess.” Suguru chants beneath his clipped breaths. Dragging your soaked underwear along his messy shaft.

He matches his pace to your tiny circles. Small, gorgeous pants tumble out of you.

Your other hand palms at your tits. Pinching and pulling at your pert nipples. Your hips buck at the sweet pleasure and pain.

“Good girl”

His arousal continues to collect at his base, trickling to his inner thighs. The sound of his hilt slamming into his hand fill the room.

“God. S..Suguru…”

His name thunders between his ears.

His name wrapped in that melodic, lusty falsetto of yours.

Suguru’s brain can barely register the way your tits bounce in rhythm with your hands. Pistoning your fingers in and out of your sweet cunt. Ascending to euphoria. He can barely register the way your lips are swollen and abused from your teeth. Or the light sheen of sweat along your collarbones.

“Fuck, Suguru please..” you moan. Both hands now working your flower.

Suguru is slack jawed. Completely short circuited. He cannot move.

Unblinking, he studies you. Hands at his side. Cock spearing high in the air, leaking.

His mind is flooded with the thin, featherlight moans and whines. Sticky arousal leaks from your needy opening around your fingers. Coating your inner thighs. How you twist and groan away from your own pleasure - so clearly overstimulated but not stopping your fingers, anyway.

“Say my name, pretty girl. Say my name.” Suguru rasps out. Sharp pain lightening through him from the dryness in his throat.

And you do. You moan his name when you reach nirvana. Heaving and whining and squirming in your mess. You called for him.

“God, I’m disgusting.”

You laugh through the remnants of your high and bury yourself under the duvet. Lazily tapping the bedside lamp. Bringing Suguru’s private viewing to an end.

And his smile is vulturous.

Suguru’s hand runs the length of his insatiable cock. Slow, lazy strokes. Haphazard twitches pushing out globs of cum. Begging for an encore.

You think you’re disgusting?

Ohhh, sweet girl.

You don’t know the half of it.

[sageyxbabey]

Hospital Food | COD x Reader

MDNI

Summary: Your ex-husband (the biological father of your daughter) shows up when said daughter is admitted to hospital. Your current partner (and your daughter) put him in his place.

aka: stupid man gets verbally wrecked by a 17-year-old girl and a SAS soldier. Inspired by the time my stepdad and i roasted my bio dad.

For @the-californicationist 's Nameless Challenge! This means you have to guess which of the delicious war criminals I'm writing about below. (This has inspired a series, so you'll find out who I was thinking of when the second one comes out. ;) )

WC: ~700 words (oops, forgive me cali)

Pairing: f!reader x tf141 member (but who? 👀)

Your ex-husband stood at the foot of his biological daughter’s hospital bed, watching her tap salt out of the little sachet onto a piece of buttered bread. His face was full of condescension, and you knew yours was full of barely contained disgust as you stared at him. God damn the child support agreement that required you to tell him when she was admitted to a hospital. At least you had otherwise full custody of her, you’re sure your ex would’ve been murdered by now if you’d been forced to see him semi-regularly – either by you or your wonderful (deadly, military-trained) partner who hated the man in front of you almost as much as you did.

God, you wish he was here right now. Unfortunately, he was wonderful enough to have gone down to the cafeteria in search of lunch for the both of you – and something sweet to sneak back in for your little girl. He spoiled her rotten, and it made you love him more every time he did. 

“That’s a lot of salt,” your ex rumbled. If looks could kill, the stare your 17-year-old daughter levelled him with would’ve evaporated him where he stood.

“Yes. It is,” she spoke. 

Tap tap tap, she resumed shaking the sachet.

“They put salt in bread when they make it. White bread is about 3% salt,” he said. As if there was some important point your daughter was missing.

“I know. I’ve made bread before.”

Tap tap tap.

It was taking every fibre of your being not to laugh with sheer joy and vindication as your daughter, the blood of your ex-husband, so casually eviscerated him in the middle of this tiny white room.

“Which is to say, you don’t need to be adding salt to it.” You didn’t think the man could sound any whinier. You were about to step in, but your daughter let out a deep sigh beyond her years (definitely picked up from the soldier who shared your home) and threw the empty salt packet onto the bed tray.

“Tell me, why shouldn’t I eat that much salt?” Her arms crossed in front of her, your ex-husband looked to you for help. He would get none.

“Because… it makes your body retain fluid and raises blood pressure–”

“Correct. I am in this hospital because I have low blood pressure caused by a low volume of fluid in my blood. They give me the salt packet on purpose. I am prescribed literal salt tablets,” she shook the bottle in the man’s face, “because I need to raise my blood pressure up to normal levels.”

Silence. Blinking.

“So I am going to eat this bread because it is what the doctor ordered.” Her head snapped to you, with a chaotic glint in her eye only teenage girls could possess. The next words out of her mouth would stay with you until your dying breath;

“Hey, Mum. When’s Dad coming back?”

You could not fight the grin that spread across your face, the elation jumping in your stomach. A quick glance at your ex-husband’s sour face made it clear that your daughter��s point had struck true – You are not welcome here. I do not need you. I have a real father where you failed.

You opened your mouth to reply, “He’s–”

“Right here, love!” The warm, gravelly voice of your partner filled the room, your daughter’s eyes lighting up with his presence. He stopped to press a tender kiss against your cheek, passing you a toasted sandwich, before he made his way to stand over the shoulder of your precious daughter.

“And I got you something special,” he whispered playfully, “Don’t tell the nurse.” He pulled a poppy seed muffin out of the bag he was holding and placed it on the bed tray in front of her. 

“Sorry mate, who are you?” Your partner turned and cocked his head at your ex. 

Your man knew exactly who the snivelling creature across from him was. Your boyfriend was just deciding to be a little shit, and it was one of the sexiest things you’d ever seen him do. 

“Dad, this is Marcus. You know, the man who got Mum pregnant with me?” Your daughter’s voice was poorly disguised venom. 

“Oh, right! Of course. I suppose I should thank you for your part in creating my wonderful daughter.” He stretched a hand out to your ex-husband who, for once in his life, made the smart choice to shake it and give some poor excuse for why he was needed elsewhere.

As soon as he was out the door, you had your arms around your lover, pressing endless kisses to his cheek as your daughter laughed. 

“Did you hear what I said, Dad?” 

Your partner leaned down to hug the girl – his girl – tightly. He grinned.

“Every fucking word.”

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I LOVE MY STEPDAD SO MUCH HE'S MY REAL DAD and my mother and he are truly couple goals. I was on the phone with him the other day when I asked if he remembered this happening. he let out the most fatherly cackle of pure, shit-stirring joy I've ever heard. It was magnificent.

forgot the TAGLIST: @frogtowne @teenagellamaangel @universitypenguin