#scalloped hook-tip

[hellsitegenetics]

I was showing my friend your blog and he said “It’s like you read something interesting and then you get a little prize at the end”

String identified: a g g a a “t’ a tg ttg a t gt a tt at t ”

Closest match: Falcaria lacertinaria genome assembly, chromosome: 11 Common name: Scalloped Hook-Tip! 🎁🎉

(image source)

[ceruleanwind]

Giftwrapped

4433 | Explicit | 3.7k | Read on AO3

He does like them, just a little, as much as it embarrasses him to admit it to himself. He studies his reflection in the mirror, his gaze tracing where the thin strappy waist wraps around his hip and connects the two tiny pieces of fabric. The panties do an extremely poor job of covering him—the tip of his cock seems to slip out into the cool air no matter how Max arranges himself—but he somewhat likes it, likes feeling so exposed, like he’s nothing but a meal. Or: Lewis gifts Max an article of clothing he's never dared to try on before. Max likes it more than he probably should.

Max doesn’t often receive gifts, if he’s honest. Even on special occasions growing up, like Christmas or his birthday, Max would be lucky to receive just one gift from his family, usually something practical and not at all fun.

He’s more than surprised, then, when he comes back to his driver’s room after a rather unexciting round of free practice to find a gift waiting for him on the table—a white box made of thin cardboard, tastefully wrapped in a thick purple ribbon. Max’s eyebrows furrow in confusion; he peers outside the door of his driver’s room, checking for anyone who might know who delivered the gift, but ultimately he decides to find out for himself.

The ribbon comes undone neatly when Max tugs at one of the ends of the bow. He sets the ribbon aside and reaches to lift the lid of the box, morbidly curious to see what’s inside.

Max’s breath promptly catches in his throat.

Inside the box, on a nest of white tissue paper, rests a gorgeous pair of silk panties; they’re a deep rich royal purple, all thin straps and silver detailing, trimmed with delicate scalloped lace at the edges. On top of them, near the edge of the box, lies a folded piece of paper—a note, presumably. Max picks up the note, hands nearly shaking with it.

Put these on, and then you know where to go tonight.

The worst part is, Max does know where to go. He and Lewis have been messing around for the greater part of the 2016 season; Max doesn’t exactly know when it happened—he knew he’d always been shy and awkward around Lewis—but suddenly Lewis had started flirting back, his touches lingering, and to make a long story short Max has ended up in his bed several times this season already. Sue him—he’s eighteen, naïve, and desperate to please; he can’t exactly resist when the driver he’s looked up to for years starts returning his advances.

He sets the note aside and glances around before lifting the panties out of the box, his face flushing as he realises what he’s about to do. The set really is nice, Max thinks. They’re obviously made out of real silk, beautiful and soft to the touch, and the lace doesn’t feel itchy at all. Max recalls Lewis saying that his favourite colour was purple, and his face flushes an even deeper red when he pieces together that he’ll be wearing Lewis’ colour, practically giftwrapped in it just for him. Max presses one hand to his cheek, feeling feverish. He’s really about to do this, isn’t he? Dress in women’s underwear just because Lewis told him to?

Max puts the panties down and lays a hand over the zipper of his race suit, contemplating it, before he tugs the zipper down with sudden impatience. He has half a mind to go over and lock the door of his room before sliding the rest of the race suit off of him, then moving on to his fireproofs. “Fuck,” he mutters when he’s standing just in his boxers, the white fireproofs pooling at his ankles. He knows he can back out if he doesn’t want to wear them, but . . . if Lewis asks, Max is a weak, weak man. Hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers, Max sighs and tugs those down too.

Wincing at the cold air against his exposed skin, Max lifts up the panties again and holds them in his hands for a moment. He can just try them on, right? He doesn’t have to keep wearing them if he hates it. Lewis would understand. Slowly, Max steps into the panties and slides them up along his legs before settling them into position. The thin front piece barely covers his cock, the fabric straining with it, and the back piece slips between his cheeks as soon as he shifts to get a better look at himself.

He does like them, just a little, as much as it embarrasses him to admit it to himself. He studies his reflection in the mirror, his gaze tracing where the thin strappy waist wraps around his hip and connects the two tiny pieces of fabric. The panties do an extremely poor job of covering him—the tip of his cock seems to slip out into the cool air no matter how Max arranges himself—but he somewhat likes it, likes feeling so exposed, like he’s nothing but a meal.

A knock on the door makes Max jump out of his skin, hastily bringing a hand to his front to cover himself.

“Max! Hurry up, your ride’s about to leave,” one of the PR people shouts through the door.

“Okay,” Max says back, and his voice comes out a lot wobblier than he expected. He glances back in the mirror and his face flushes at the sight he’s faced with before he turns away, reaching for the folded casual clothes on the table to change into.

Lingerie like this, as it turns out, is rather uncomfortable.

Max hardly gets ten steps out the door of his driver’s room before he’s acutely aware of how poorly the panties cover his cock and how the thin fabric of the back piece rests between his cheeks. His face burns with just how naughty this feels—he’s a Formula One driver, for fuck’s sake, secretly wearing a skimpy women’s thong underneath perfectly presentable casual clothes. He doesn’t even want to think about what his dad would say if he found out, but the thought of Lewis sizing him up later tonight and telling him how nice he looks in those panties trumps all worry Max has in his head.

He shifts in discomfort the whole car ride back to his hotel, tapping at his phone to reply to his friends, when a particularly interesting message pops up at the top of his screen.

L: get my gift?

Max’s face immediately heats up. Oh, did he. He can’t wait for Lewis to see him in them.

M: Yeah M: Thank you

L: ofc. i’m in room 1016

He can’t help the way his stomach twists at the prospect of Lewis seeing him like this—dressed so normally on the outside but sporting something downright slutty underneath his jeans. It’s never been like him to do anything like this, really; Max has always been a bit of a goody-two-shoes—never partying, never going out late at night, never even dating or sleeping around, but when Lewis asks him to do that sort of thing Max is suddenly pliant and very much susceptible to suggestion.

Max’s breath nearly stops once he’s standing in front of Lewis’ hotel room door, his hand lifted to knock. He can’t go back after this—but would he want to, anyway? Max quite likes how he looks in Lewis’ favourite colour, dressed in nothing but tiny pieces of fabric that barely cover him as is. He hopes Lewis will like it too.

He reaches out and knocks.

The door opens a few seconds later, and Max hardly has time to react before Lewis pulls him inside by the front of his team polo. Max gasps, bites his lip, and hurriedly rushes out “Hey, how was free practice—” before Lewis gets him up against the wall, all up in his personal space.

“Shut the fuck up about free practice,” Lewis says before leaning in to bring their mouths together, all hot and slick and wet where their lips meet and where they’re both panting for it. His hands find Max’s lithe waist—his waist always fits so nicely in Lewis’ hands—and slip up underneath his team polo, wandering across smooth planes of skin.

Lewis pulls away, leaving Max dazed and gasping, before lifting up the bottom third of Max’s shirt, revealing what’s underneath. The tiny waist straps of the thong peek out over the waistband of Max’s jeans, pulled tight over his hips and teasing what lies a bit lower. “Oh,” Lewis hums, hooking his thumb underneath one of the straps and pulling back a little before letting it snap against Max’s skin, “that’s nice. They’re a perfect fit, aren’t they?”

Max hates to admit it, but just one touch from Lewis and he’s already riled up, his cock rapidly hardening in his tiny panties. He swallows thickly, nods his head the best he can, and croaks, “Yeah. They, uh, they’re really nice.”

Lewis laughs softly at that, pushing up at the hem of Max’s shirt and reaching to tug it over his head. “Then they were worth every cent,” he says before stepping back to take it all in. “Come on, show me the rest of them. I want to see what’s hiding under there.”

His cheeks flushing a potent pink, Max nods and fumbles with the fastening on his jeans. He’d expected this to be plenty embarrassing already, but with Lewis’ dark, hungry gaze on him, sizing him up like he’s his next meal, Max feels more flustered than ever. Max hesitantly unbuttons his jeans and works them slowly down his legs before letting them fall to the floor in a heap, revealing him wearing nothing but the tiny pair of panties. His cock hardens even further at the attention, the knowledge that Lewis is seeing him all like this, dressed like he’s nothing but a common little whore, and it makes him move his hands to his front in a weak attempt to cover himself. It would be better if Lewis would reach out and touch him, Max thinks, keeping his gaze firmly on the floor and nowhere near Lewis’ eyes, because he’s never felt so exposed, so humiliated, in his life.

“Purple looks good on you,” Lewis says softly, teeth catching on his bottom lip. “Turn around for me, will you?”

Max obeys, like he always does. He turns around, showing Lewis how the back piece covers nothing. It nearly makes him want to bend over just like that, beg for Lewis to fuck him already, but Max knows better than that—he’d get in real trouble if he didn’t let Lewis look.

Finally, Lewis is behind him, hands roaming once more over the gentle sloping curve of his waist, then down to his ass, tugging teasingly at the piece of fabric that disappears between his cheeks. “I think I have to make you wear these more often,” he says into Max’s ear, his lips brushing the shell of it. “Would you?”

“Yes, of course,” Max answers perhaps a little too quickly for his own good. His mind goes wild as he imagines all the scenarios Lewis might make him wear these panties in; would he have to wear a pair during a race? During an important sponsor event? During a drivers’ outing? His mouth feels dry as cotton and his head spins, but he tries putting more words together. “It felt so—so naughty, wearing these in public,” he admits, voice softer and coming out nearly as a squeak. “Made me feel really dirty.”

“Yeah?” One of Lewis’ hands strays from Max’s ass, slipping forward until it settles between his thighs, resting over his prominent hard-on, which is barely hidden by the thin silk fabric of the panties. “Oh, Max, you’re wetter than a girl,” he murmurs, running his finger along the length of Max’s cock through his panties. “Does dressing like a slut really turn you on this much?”

Max’s face flushes impossibly redder. He brings his hands up to cover his face, resisting the urge to rock his twitching cock into Lewis’ touch. “I—I’m not a—” he tries to say, but this time it does come out as a squeak as soon as Lewis takes his clothed cock into his hand. Max grabs at Lewis’ arm, tries to move his hips forward and chase more of that delicious friction, but to no avail; Lewis simply chuckles from behind him and lifts his hand away, using his hold on Max’s waist to turn him around.

“You’re not a slut? Really?” Lewis teases, leaning back to take a good look at the way Max’s hard cock strains against the rich purple fabric and stains it with a generous wet spot. “Okay. We could just do room service and watch a movie, then.”

Max whines, panic rising up in his chest. Lewis wouldn’t leave him like this, would he? He has to just be bluffing. “Wait,” he says weakly, “no, I—I need—” He looks at Lewis, pleading. Max has always been downright awful at voicing just what he wants; he finds it embarrassing to say it out loud, admit that Lewis is right about him being a slut. “Okay,” he huffs, frustrated and flushed, “I am, I am.”

Lewis smiles at that and decides to take pity on Max. “Oh, I get it now,” he says, infuriatingly smug as he guides Max over to the bed. Max, of course, follows, lets Lewis manhandle him into the mattress. “You want me to fuck you in those, don’t you?”

Max nods frantically, his eyes big and wide and blue. He thinks he might implode if Lewis doesn’t start touching him right now. “Yes, yes,” he begs, his breathing coming heavier in anticipation when he watches Lewis break away from him to get the lube and shove his clothes off. “Anything you want,” he adds for good measure, his cock twitching as soon as Lewis glances back at him with that addictive hungry look in his eye.

When Lewis returns to the bed, Max expects him to at least slide the panties down his thighs a little, if not take them all the way off, but in his haste Lewis merely moves the panties aside and spreads Max’s thighs apart. One slick finger moves between Max’s cheeks and nudges at the tight furl of his hole before his fingertip eases just inside of him. Max lets out a surprised breath, but relaxes the best he can regardless, whining as Lewis presses more and more of his finger into him.

“Ah—that’s—” Max shifts on the bed, splaying his thighs further apart and reaching for a pillow to shove under his lower back. Lewis brings a second finger up to nudge in alongside the first, opening Max up with ease.

“There, isn’t that good?” Lewis eases both fingers gently in and out of Max, then spreads them apart, stretching out his tight little hole. “You just needed something in you, didn’t you?”

Max whines, louder this time, bringing his hands up to cover his wonderfully flushed face. Lewis’ fingers always feel so good in him; they’re long and elegant and nimble and sometimes Lewis curls them in just the right way that makes his toes curl and his back arch. Lewis adds a third, curling them up into the tight heat of Max’s body, and Max doesn’t know how much longer he can go without losing his goddamn mind.

A surprised moan falls from Max’s lips when Lewis’ fingertips nudge into his prostate. He’s gasping for breath, needily shifting his hips in the direction of Lewis’ fingers, frantic for more, when Lewis chuckles softly and pulls his fingers out, leaving Max empty and clenching down on nothing. “Wait,” Max tries to beg, his eyes big and needy, “I wasn’t—I want—”

“You want,” Lewis teases, kneeling between Max’s spread thighs and squeezing lube out onto his cock. “You always want.” He moves the panties aside once more, exposing Max’s tight little hole and letting his cock spring free, hard and flushed and profusely leaking. Shifting closer, Lewis fits his slick cockhead against Max’s tight rim, exhaling softly as he takes in just how well they fit together, how hot and needy Max is for him. It drives Lewis wild.

Max, although thoroughly embarrassed, manages to squeak, “Please, please,” as he tries to rock his hips down to meet Lewis’ cock. “I’m sorry, I—” he moves to cover his face again, hardly able to look Lewis in the eyes out of embarrassment for being so needy.

Lewis pushes gently forward, letting the head of his cock slip just inside of him. He can’t help but gasp at the slick heat that envelops his cockhead, something downright addicting that lives constantly in his wet dreams. “Don’t be,” he insists, his breaths already coming heavy. “There, see? You always take it so well.”

Max whines, loud and desperate, as Lewis slowly sinks his cock into his tight little hole. He’s had Lewis in him before, of course, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever adjust to just how big Lewis is, all hot pressure that nearly splits him open. Max pants as he forces himself to relax, his desperate, untouched cock twitching as Lewis pushes further and further into him. The praise, of course, doesn’t mitigate his problem, either; in fact, it goes right to Max’s cock, the mere knowledge that he’s being good and taking it well making him crazy.

He barely has time to adjust to Lewis’ cock stretching him out before Lewis is pulling back and thrusting into him again, shocking a moan from his lips. He reaches up to grab at Lewis’ tattooed shoulders, blunt nails digging into his skin as he’s fucked, absolutely ruined, by the driver he’s looked up to for so long.

“That’s it,” Lewis encourages through his harsh breaths as he fucks up into the slick heat of Max’s hole, his hold on Max’s waist surely firm enough to bruise. He can’t stop thinking about how pretty they’ll look on Max’s skin tomorrow, purplish marks lining his waist, and he thinks he’ll have to teasingly press on them a little, just to watch Max gasp and hiss through his teeth at the pain. He leans down to mouth at Max’s neck, kissing hot and wet across that beautiful expanse of pale skin before sucking a generous mark into a spot right below Max’s jaw.

Max’s cock twitches when he feels Lewis suck a mark into his neck. That’s in a spot that’ll be hard to hide, for sure, but would he want to hide it anyway? He tilts his head back and moans as Lewis fucks into him again, his cockhead bumping deliciously right into his prostate and making his back arch. “More, like that,” Max begs easily, the embarrassment ebbing further with each second this goes on. He’s happy to be a slut if it’s for Lewis.

Lewis growls and fucks into him harder, adjusting the position of Max’s body to fuck into him at a better angle. His cock slides into Max impossibly deep, burying itself to the hilt, before pulling back and pushing up into his prostate yet again. He delights in the way a full-body shudder rips through Max as a result, goosebumps rising across the planes of pale skin. Max just feels so fucking good around his cock, all slick and hot and tight where he clenches down around him; Lewis doesn’t know how much longer he can last at this rate, with Max’s pretty sounds in his ear and the gorgeous sight laid out before him.

He brings one hand between their bodies, easily wraps it around Max’s flushed, leaking cock, and strokes it in time with his thrusts, his cockhead bumping into Max’s prostate each time. Max is a whining, moaning mess, his back arching impossibly high as he grabs at Lewis’ shoulders, then the sheets for something to hold onto. “Come on,” Lewis urges, his voice low and uncharacteristically gravelly. “You can come, come on.”

Max doesn’t need any further encouragement. He comes with a pathetic cry, his cockhead spurting hot and thick over his own stomach and Lewis’ fingers. It’s so intense that it nearly whites out his vision and leaves him gasping, his cock twitching with oversensitivity. The drag of Lewis’ cock against his hole immediately becomes too much; he whines with each push of Lewis’ cock into him, his legs instinctually kicking out in protest, but Lewis is unrelenting, using Max’s hole like a personal toy to chase his own orgasm.

“Fuck,” Lewis hisses, leaning down to press his lips against Max’s neck again, and that’s all the warning Max gets before Lewis comes in him, filling his tight little hole with it. Lewis fucks it into him with a few deep strokes, making Max twitch and let out a soft whine.

Finally, it all stops. They’re both left panting, trembling from overstimulation. Max looks downright ruined—his hair sticks to his forehead and his cheeks are impossibly flushed—but Lewis takes in the sight nonetheless, etching it into his memory.

“Oh my God,” Max sighs once he gathers the ability to form words, wincing as Lewis slowly pulls out of him. “That was, ah. Really, uh, really needed, I think.”

“You think so?” Lewis asks, more of a tease as he pulls the panties to the side to cover Max’s softening cock with the royal purple silk again.

“Yeah. I think—oh God, Lewis, those are gonna get so dirty,” Max whines, his face flushing with embarrassment for what has to be the umpteenth time tonight. He presses one hand to his burning cheek, something twisting low in his gut at how Lewis smiles at him.

Lewis touches at the front of Max’s panties, running over his soft cock and making him twitch. “I will buy you hundreds of pairs of these if I have to,” he says decisively, his smile turning naughty, “but you’re right. Guess I should clean us up.” The mattress idly dips as Lewis slides off the edge of the bed and makes his way to the bathroom.

Max sighs, content, then looks down at himself—the streaks of come across his stomach, the way the panties strain against his cock, his shaking thighs. He really is a wreck, but if this is what he gets for obeying Lewis’ requests, this sure as hell won’t be the last time he’ll do so.

[kodiaksheds]

How to Build The Best Wooden Garden Shed: Top Five Design Tips to Follow

Are you looking to upgrade your backyard to increase its functionality? Are you hoping for extra storage space? Or are you interested in creating an outdoor retreat? Building a wooden garden shed is the perfect solution, regardless of your goal.

Outdoor sheds provide numerous functional benefits and add unique personality to any outdoor decor and space. From traditional designs to modern styles, there are endless possibilities for building wooden garden sheds.

What are the best designs and ideas for use at home?

This blog explores a few creative ideas and designs to inspire your next backyard project.

Whether you are a DIY enthusiast, prefer to hire a professional, or will purchase a new shed from a storage shed company, every option is covered here.

Top 5 Woodshed Building Ideas and Designs

Here are five building ideas and designs to inspire your next woodshed project:

1. Build a Classic Woodshed

The signature of a classic woodshed is its timeless, practical design. It is a simple rectangular structure and typically has a sloped asphalt shingle roof, double doors, and vertical wooden board siding. A classic wood shed provides ample storage capacity and fulfills most storage needs. Add shelves, hooks, and cubbies for storing garden tools, pots, hoses, and equipment. Consider painting or staining the exterior in an earthy tone like sage or brown.

2. Rustic Potting Shed

Create a rustic, charming potting shed with old barn wood or distressed wood siding. This shed will have a weathered, aged look, and its rustic design will add lots of character to an outdoor space. To make the shed more functional, add window boxes and shuttered windows. Add shelves for potting supplies and sinks for cleaning.

3. Cottage Garden Shed

A cottage garden shed is a cute miniature shed with wood shingle roofing and scalloped trim. Choose to paint it a cheery colour like red or yellow. One of the best uses of a cottage garden shed is to store gardening accessories and decor. Add a window box and benches for a cozy feel to create a sweet garden retreat. Store all types of decor, gardening supplies, and DIY tools. The cottage shed will add personality and charm to your outdoor decor.

4. DIY Backyard Workshop

Convert a garden shed into a functional backyard workshop by quickly installing pegboards, shelves, cabinets, and workbenches for storage and projects. Add lighting and electrical outlets for tools and projects. Once built, use the shed for DIY projects or professional work. For additional storage, add a loft to make it even more convenient to store tools.

5. Garden Tea House

A Garden tea house is a favourite relaxing retreat. Turn any ordinary shed into a delightful garden tea house by adding a few curtains, a small table, comfy chairs, soft lighting, etc. Paint the inside a calming colour and add a few personal items. Lanterns, twinkling lights, and fresh flowers can make the space even more unique.

Tips to Consider When Building a Wood Shed

Designing and building a wooden garden shed is a rewarding undertaking. However, several important factors must be considered to create the ideal shed.

Consider the following when deciding on a new build:

1. Create a Building Plan

The first step is to create a plan for the outdoor shed. Start by jotting down all ideas and composing some sketches. If you are inexperienced at building, consult with an architect to help with the plan. The extra work at the beginning stages will help to avoid costly and timely mistakes during the build.  There are several other ways to create a plan. Watch videos online and read blogs.

2. Set a Budget

A budget is essential to any project to give a clear overview of the overall cost. Always estimate the expenses thoroughly, including the materials, labour, licenses, etc. Set aside additional funding to rely on if an issue arises while completing the project.

3. Keep the Shed Purpose in Mind

Any design elements implemented should be related to the purpose of the building. Great designs make buildings more appealing. From the beginning, develop the layout concepts, including the size of each room and other vital details. Keep the overall purpose of the building in focus so that the plan can be carried out accordingly.

4. Choose a Setting

The shed should complement the surrounding outdoor environment. Its design should enhance the area in which it is situated. Ensure that the shed’s aesthetic look and feel, in terms of size, materials, paint colours, etc., match the outdoor space’s environment.

5. Consider Future Needs

Think about any future requirements and lifestyle changes when designing a shed. Will you need more storage space in the future? Will you need a space for relaxation or entertainment? Consider these factors when choosing building ideas and designs.

Wooden garden sheds are a great option for creating a functional storage facility at home. However, the design must be unique if you want the shed to stand apart from other garden wood sheds. Take the shed to the next level with thoughtful details, sustainable materials, and personal flair.

Building a garden shed on your own is only for some, as it requires much effort, time, and money. Another option is purchasing a custom-made wooden garden shed from an established storage shed company.

Kodiak Sheds is an excellent provider of different types of sheds to meet various requirements. Kodiak Sheds has excellent sheds made from top wood by experienced engineers and carpenters. Check out their website for all the best outdoor sheds options.

Reference URL: https://fyberly.com/how-to-build-the-best-wooden-garden-sheds-top-five-design-tips-to-follow/

[morbidsmenagerie]

Vaejovidae

Paruroctonus boreus

Dark body

Prosoma in front of median eyes is lighter than rest of prosoma

Back edge of tergites lighter than front edge, giving lined appearance

Chela bulky with strong carinae

Most Northern occuring scorpion, only scorpion like it from Oregon north. Also occurs in higher elevations than most other scorpions

Wide range, found from Washington and Montana south to Arizona, Colorado, and California

Paruroctonus silvestrii

Prosoma and body have silver mottled coloring

Chela bulky with strong carinae

Found throughout California

Paruroctonus becki

Distinguished from Paravaejovis by the lack of terminal denticle on the dorsolateral carinae of the tail

Can sometimes have a dusky semicircle going from median eyes to lateral eyes, similar to in Hadrurus arizonensis

Chela narrow with some visible carinae

Color highly variable

Serradigitus gertschi

Brown in coloration with variable levels of mottling

Fingers have distinctly “hooked” tips

Found throughout California

Smeringurus mesaensis

Long legs and tail

Body and prosoma with little to no granulation

Pale yellow in color

Fingers the same color as chela

Distinct long hairs on tibia and basitarsus

Some color varieties have an orange-peachy tint to pedipalps and tail

Found in the southwest from southern California to Nevada and Arizona

Smeringurus vachoni

Chela blocky and has darker lines

Fingers darker than chela

Prosoma and body uniformly dark, area between median eyes and front of prosoma almost entirely dark

Males have distinct tooth on movable finger

Found in the southwest from southern California to Nevada and Arizona

Smeringurus aridus

Lighter in color, only dark area if present is around median eyes

Fingers darker than chela

Found in Southern California

Paravaejovis confusus

Uniformly brown with no mottling

Fingers not distinctly longer than chela

Found in the southwest from Arizona, California, Nevada, Utah and southern Oregon and Idaho

Paravaejovis puritanus

Uniformly brown with no mottling

I think they look shinier than the other Paravaejovis, but this is not a diagnostic characteristic

Can have dusky tints around the joints of the legs

Found in southern California

Relatively large, one of the largest Paravaejovis

Chela narrow

Paravaejovis waeringi 

Uniformly brown with no mottling

Matte

Fingers distinctly longer than chela

Chela more narrow looking, almost the same width as the fingers

Found in southern California

Paravaejovis spinigerus

Brown, can be solid or slightly lined

Chela round and fat, with relatively short fingers

Tail distinctly large and thick

Tail has distinct carinae that form dark lines

Found primarily in Arizona, only occasionally in surrounding states

Vaejovis carolinianus 

Color variable from uniformly dark brown, to dark brown with slightly lighter, reddish legs and pedipalps

Sometimes has mottling on prosoma

Thick tail without subaculear tooth

Lightly granulated, no carinae

Found in the Southern United States from Louisiana to North Carolina, up into Kentucky

Paruroctonus boreus, note the lack of mottling, the lighter region in front of the median eyes to the edge of the prosoma, and the lighter back edge on the tergites that gives a “lined” appearance. 

Paruroctonus silvestrii, note the mottled silver pattern on the whole of the prosoma. 

Paruroctonus becki, note the thin, smooth tail compared to Paravaejovis, the narrow chela, and the presence of the dusky semicircle in the second pic.

Serradigitus gertschi, note the minimal dark brown patterning and the distinct hooks on tips of the fingers. 

Smeringurus mesaensis, note the lack of tint on the prosoma and the fingers not being significantly darker than the chela.

Smeringurus vachoni, note the distinct darker carinae on the chela and the dark fingers, and the tint on the prosoma going almost completely to the front edge. Middle picture is of the larger tooth present in males. Cutting edge of fingers has multiple teeth or waves (called scalloping). 

Smeringurus aridus, note the darker fingers and the slight crescent tint around the median eyes. Cutting edges of the fingers are straight with almost no scalloping. 

Paravaejovis confusus, note the uniform brown coloration and the fingers being only slightly longer than the chela. 

Paravaejovis puritanus, note the shiny brown appearance, the dusky tint around the leg joints, and the narrow chela.

Paravaejovis waeringi, note the uniform brown appearance and the fingers being distinctly longer than the chela.

Paravaejovis spinigerus, the patterning ranges from striped to solid brown. Note the distinct lines on the carinae of the tail, and the tail’s bulkier, spikier appearance. Also note the short fingers and bulbous chela. 

Vaejovis carolinianus, note the mottling and light granulation in the second picture. 

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[myrtles664]

North Myrtle Beach News

Exclusive: The Ultimate Guide to the Best Eats in North Myrtle Beach - Ranked!

North Myrtle Beach is more than just sun and sand – it's a foodie paradise waiting to be devoured! But with so many tempting options, where do you start? Fear not, fellow gastronomes, for I'm here to drop some culinary knowledge bombs. Brace yourselves for the ultimate guide to the best eats in North Myrtle Beach, ranked from finger-lickin' good to oh-my-god-divine:

Casual Kings & Queens:

1. Ocean View Bar & Grill: Watch the waves crash while you devour juicy burgers, piled-high nachos, and fresh seafood platters. Bonus points for the unbeatable happy hour and friendly vibes.

2. Barefoot Landing's Food Trucks: Embark on a culinary adventure around the globe, one bite at a time. From Mexican tacos to Caribbean jerk chicken, these gourmet food trucks dish up flavor explosions on wheels.

3. Dino's House of Pancakes: Fuel your beach adventures with fluffy pancakes, sizzling bacon, and bottomless coffee. Don't miss their signature blueberry pancakes – they're legendary!

Seafood Sensations:

1. Hook & Barrel: Get your fill of ocean-fresh delights like succulent lobster rolls, pan-seared scallops, and daily specials that'll make your taste buds sing. The waterfront views and nautical atmosphere add to the charm.

2. SeaBlue Restaurant & Wine Bar: Indulge in upscale seafood with a twist. Think crab cakes with mango salsa, grilled mahi-mahi with chimichurri, and oysters Rockefeller that'll transport you to New Orleans.

3. Boardwalk Billys: Live music, ocean breezes, and buckets of peel-and-eat shrimp – Boardwalk Billys is a quintessential North Myrtle Beach experience. Don't forget to try their famous "Shag City Shrimp" for a spicy kick.

Hidden Gems:

1. Benny's Trattoria: Step into a taste of Italy in this cozy bistro. Homemade pasta dishes, wood-fired pizzas, and melt-in-your-mouth tiramisu will leave you feeling like you're strolling the streets of Rome.

2. Heirloom Bistro: Fine dining without the stuffy atmosphere. This contemporary bistro offers creative culinary delights like pork belly confit, pan-roasted duck breast, and desserts that are works of art. Reservations recommended.

3. Wicked Whisk Dessert Bar: Ditch the diet and dive into ooey-gooey brownies, decadent milkshakes, and towering sundaes that are pure sugar-coated bliss. Their salted caramel pretzel pie is a must-try for any sweet tooth.

Bonus Tip: Don't be afraid to venture beyond the tourist traps! North Myrtle Beach boasts a thriving culinary scene with local cafes, hidden gems, and food trucks offering unique and delicious bites.

So, grab your appetite and start exploring! North Myrtle Beach has a delicious adventure waiting around every corner. Remember, this is just a starting point, and the best way to discover your own culinary heaven is to get out there and taste it all!

And hey, if you find a hidden gem that deserves a spot on this list, shoot me a message! I'm always on the hunt for the next best bite.

Now go forth, eat well, and let your taste buds guide you!

5 Jaw-Dropping Seafront Events Bringing Waves of Excitement to North Myrtle Beach

North Myrtle Beach isn't just about soaking up the sun and building sandcastles. No, sir! This vibrant coastal haven pulsates with electrifying events that'll have you dancing on the sand, cheering from the shore, and gasping in awe under the Carolina sky. So, ditch the beach chair and dive into these 5 jaw-dropping waterfront events that'll leave you with memories that'll last a lifetime:

1. Carolina Opry Christmas Special (November - December): Witness the magic of Christmas come alive at the iconic Carolina Opry. This dazzling holiday extravaganza features dazzling costumes, toe-tapping music, and heartwarming stories that celebrate the season. Prepare to be mesmerized by acrobatic elves, tap-dancing reindeer, and a Santa Claus guaranteed to melt even the frostiest of hearts. Grab your hot cocoa and get ready for a Christmas miracle in Myrtle Beach!

2. Shag Fest Weekend (May): Put on your dancing shoes and prepare to shag the night away! This iconic festival celebrates the sultry Carolina shag dance, with live music, dance lessons, and competitions that'll have you twirling until dawn. Dress in your 50s best, hit the shag floor, and soak up the infectious energy of this nostalgic seaside bash. Just don't be surprised if you find yourself hooked on the shag bug after this!

3. Sculpture by the Sea (October - November): Witness art meet nature in a breathtaking seaside exhibition. International artists transform the sandy shores into a captivating open-air gallery, showcasing incredible sculptures that interact with the ocean waves, wind, and sunlight. Stroll along the beach, marvel at the creativity, and let the art inspire you as the waves lap against the masterpieces.

4. Carolina Cup Regatta (June): Feel the adrenaline pump as world-class yachts race across the ocean waters in the prestigious Carolina Cup Regatta. Witness the sleek vessels slicing through the waves, catch a glimpse of Olympic champions in action, and soak up the electric atmosphere of this thrilling competition. Grab a drink at a waterfront bar, cheer on your favorites, and revel in the spectacle of sailing at its finest.

5. Beach House Music Week (August): Let loose and dance under the stars at Beach House Music Week. This week-long celebration features renowned DJs, live music performances on the beach, and poolside parties that'll keep you grooving until sunrise. Grab your swimsuit, your dancing shoes, and your festival spirit for an unforgettable week of sun, sand, and non-stop beats.

These are just a taste of the incredible beachfront events that await you in North Myrtle Beach. So, mark your calendars, pack your swimsuits, and get ready to experience the electrifying heart of this seaside paradise! Remember, with its sun-soaked shores and vibrant events, North Myrtle Beach is where excitement washes over you in waves.

[rejectory]

lestat’s old oak blood goes to his dick on the rocks. it tastes like black magic, those poppy pastries that were barely crust and oozing paste inside, narcotic. he’s always been somethin’ else.

like that?

it woulda been enough just to fuck up into his lapful of lestat, feel him from behind the sensory curtain of only half-admitting to things. human-made brains are funny like that. the circuitry is ironcast. until somethin’s spelled out down to the scarlet letter, it’ll enjoy deniability. plausible, even. and if he helps it along, well, that’s another one on the list of his businesses.

but lestat wants to get off by the ruler, counting off the half inches of this, that, what goes where, smooth like a machine. works for louis, maddeningly. even through his put-on holding out and wanting to live in a suspended moment of forever, his tongue goes stupid, fucked stupid from lestat’s up-n-down. it limps on a lap and has blood drool down along lestat’s tits. that’s how louis thinks of ’em, flat and flexed like pulled peach skin right as the bite is breaking in.

down lestat’s skinny belly. his picture body, white like the whites of eyes, this preternatural almost-wet shine to it. halo-like.

he weans off. don’ matter how nasty things get, how worked up, he’d never hurt lestat.

instead of down, lestat’s blood goes up, tickling very near a coughing fit. the elastic pouch behind his ribs seizes up, and louis gags just the once. he strains like a bag before emptying, his self-soothing hum babyish before it dies down, until he gets a handle on the heartburn.

loose as it is. handsome as it is, this here devil on him. suddenly an introvert, he butts his head hazily into lestat’s shoulder for some privacy. the fisheye lens view of blood on their dicks gets him snickering. bizarre whorehouse marmalade. heeee’s kiting. he’s perhaps made of paper, as the poets say.

now, he ain’t blushin’, just overheated. he just wants to—- kiss from here. to here, lestat’s love bite marks, which he seals with a roll of his chewed-open lip. they’re slower to smooth than what he’s used to on himself; his blood is thinned through his youth.

❛ jesus, you bad. ❜

it takes so little with lestat. a pinprick. a prick, yeah, is right. louis’s mouthing takes a worshippy turn, meaning it.

he kisses lestat’s scallop-shaped chin, eyes crescenting. the tip of his tongue hooks underneath lestat’s very pink lip. his hand kneads the muscle webbing from below lestat’s ribs down lestat’s flank before it pushes that way sideways. lestat. lie back.

❛ lemme play witchu for a bit. ❜

Lips raised to greet him go un-kissed, soft handed complaint leveled in the grip of his thigh goes un-heeded, dissent in the harbor of his throat culled in the bracing cold, a warm breath like the first hint of Spring's birth planting gardens that raise beneath his skin. Lungs spasm with it on a quivering exhale.

The debut of pain misplaced in pleasure tightens muscle into stone, spreading shockwaves across wrinkled brow, lips that part in the seduction of it offer no resistance but a half mute moan. Spine rod-straight bows in acceptance, fingers winding their way across pomade waves to cradle his lover's head. Hold the mouth that takes to the vein too eager to fill it.

Held abreast in the marble of his arms he lays prone among the gold framed roses and gilded flowers in a lake of red, weighted by the greed of those lips, the press of lover's hips, a halo of wheat beneath his head and arched neck bare for the parched.

"Yes." Hissed against the shell of an ear, wind through the leaves soft, pleading. More, Louis. More. Limbs shift to shed disheveled slacks, pale knees like mountains framing the landscape of Louis' body. His hand at the small of the vampire's back, pressing inward, welcoming with a rise of his own the flush of their cocks between spit slicked bellies. An ankle hooks in the give of thigh, touch traveling beneath the waistline to fill his palms with the soft mounds of his beloved's ass.

Breathing slows, deepens, the arch of his feet running ragged against course threads, long lashes fallen against ruddy cheeks, his body alive and writhing.

"Gentle, Louis- just like that.."

[minhavn]

𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐇 𝐂𝐎𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 《 𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈 》

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 : heavy make out, jealous!kai, profanity

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩 : hooking up with your handsome best friend surely is fun—but with his whole crew?

"Damn, I'm so jealous that Hyuka living this kind of life every summer." Yeonjun poked the pan seared scallops on his plate, eyes trailing down to your standing figure behind the island, chopping some chives as your left hand tucking your bangs that kept falling to your side.

Rolling his eyes at the eldest, Kai threw a big chunk of potato to his face; ignoring the painful whine he made as he finished his dinner, avoiding your glare for playing with his foods and your cookings. "My bad," he rubbed his nape, giving you a sheepish smile, "I won't do it again, I promise you!" He held out his pinky finger, smile getting bigger when you gave him a weak nod; unable to ignore his charm despite of keep hearing the same thing from him.

The dinner went almost well if it wasn't for Kai and Yeonjun's little fight, making you had to jump in and telling them to clean up the table and kitchen for making a mess there. "Thanks for the dinner," you cradled your head and found Soobin and Beomgyu, standing behind the couch you were sitting on.

"It's nothing! At least I know this time Kai would finish his foods," you smiled, placing down the book you were reading on the coffee table beside you. As Beomgyu gave you a small nod, Soobin decided to sit down on the same seat; looking at 'The Savage Mind' by Claude Lévi-Strauss sitting beside your cup of hot chocolate, creating a strange combination in his eyes.

"Anthropology, huh?" He gestured to the book, placing a pillow on top of his lap while looking at your face with a smile, "I never thought you're that kind of person." Looking at your book, you gave him a small hum—certainly agreed with him that you weren't much of a reader.

"La pensée sauvage," he hummed mindlessly, tapping his fingers over the armrest while looking at a vase of petunia beside the TV in front of two of you. "You're certainly one," he chuckled, leaning toward your face as his breath hit your lips, "or maybe more." He cupped your cheek before crashing his lips into yours, swiping your lower lip with the tip of his tongue before nipping and tugging on it with his teeth.

His hands rested on your hips, pulling you to his lap as he held the back of your head, tilting your head slightly before giving your side a squeeze and slipping his tongue into your mouth. "Smart and slutty—just my type," he growled into your mouth, hands moving down to grope your bottoms and massaging them before teasing you by lowering his pinky finger to press your folds over the clothes from behind.

His hands were wandering around before finding your upper torso, cupping your breasts with ease and watching them getting engulfed under his touch. Thumb teasing the nipple with a light flick and gentle squeeze, enough to make you moan both in delight and frustration, bucking your hips against his to get some friction and ease down the dull ache between your legs.

"Ehem."

A small cough made Soobin pulled away from you almost instantly, lips smeared with your lipgloss and a small wet spot started to form on your pants. "It's already late," Soobin fixed his shirt, still looking at your glistening lips before getting you down from his lap and walking back to his room with Yeonjun after leaving a kiss below your jaw, ignoring Kai's glare and his brother's complaints.

Kai pulled you from the couch by your wrist, ignoring your writhing before grabbing your jaw and making you face him. "Now look at me, you little bitch," he gritted his teeth, squeezing your cheeks and leaving faint mail marks on each of them, "you're only mine and I won't tolerate this kind of bratty behaviour anymore."

[thicksimpx]

❦ ˙ — Deja & Aizawa (@dejwrites )

It’s Deja’s birthday, it’s only right if Shota lets her have it her way.. right? 😈

Warnings : mature content, mature language, roleplaying, Aizawa has a praise kink, implied cum eating, slight choking if you squint, dom/sub undertones, face sitting

“Come on, come out let me see” she giggled holding her phone in her hand with her camera ready to snap pictures.

“You really think this is funny dont you Deja?” Shota yells through the bathroom door. “It’s to early for this shit”

“Come on its not that bad! And it’s my birthday” she whined. “You promised you’ll play along”

With a heavy sigh, the bathroom door creaks open revealing Shota, eyes low and a obvious expression of disapproval painted on his face - Slithering past your with his poor posture sport cat black cat ears, a collar and his briefs with a tail connected to it.

“Such a angry kitty” she coos snapping pictures. “You look so adorable”

“Yeah yeah” he huffs plopping down onto your shared bed. “What now?”

Locking her phone she lightly padded over to her closet, tip toeing to reach the back of the top shelf, feeling her, or rather his oversized t shirt hike up over her deep golden thighs and exposing the cuff of her ass.

Finding what she was looking for, she whips around to face Shota hiding the item behind her back as she slowly trailed toward him.

“Whatve you got there?” He ask when she in arms reach pulling her toward him and wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing his face into her stomach.

Taking the opportunity, she quickly pulls the item from behind her back attaching it to the loop on the back of his collar. The clock makes his eyes snap open and gentle push her away to reach behind him.

“Deja- you have to be fucking with me. Is this a leash?” He shouts - his frown turning into a smirk as he slowly turns the collar so the rope hangs infront of him - Watching her throw the shirt over her head to reveal her floral lace scallop trimmed garter belt and two piece crotchless lingerie set.

Eyes blown, he swallows thickly as she grabbed the leash yanking him to his knees on the floor before her. He reached to grab her thighs and she smacks his hands down cooing “bad kitty it’s not about you today”

“I’m sorry” says the gritted teeth as her foot presses down on his throbbing erection, tip peaking out against his leg from beneath his briefs.

“Do you wanna be a good kitty for me Shouta?” She ask pressing her foot down harder making him hiss and groan a low “yes”

Trying to see how far she can take it, she structs toward the bed, sitting and crossing her legs while motioning for him to crawl forward. His resolve now gone- as if he was in a trance. Anything for his princess.

Without needing to be told, Shouta grabs her legs into the air, hooking them over his shoulders - making her body fall bad into the bed. He places kisses down her thighs until he reaches her glistening core. With a low growl he dives in, devouring Deja as if he had be starved for days and finally given the privilege to eat. Hips rutting against the bed as he slurped and licked at her cunt.

“Mmmm Sho..” she moans slipping her hand through his hair. He smiles softly eyes closed lulling in her moans. Until -

Her nails scrap at his scalp and yank him clean off her cunt. “It’s not enough Sho, “ she whines giving her best puppy dog eyes.

“I- “ at a lost for words, Shouta didn’t know if his pride should be hurt or if he should be excited that he has her nearly begging for more

“Get on the bed”

That’s all she needed to say, he gladly stood up and plopped back on the bed ready to be rode to ecstasy.

Lightly she crawls up the bed, straddling his lap, and wrapping the lease around her hand a few times - pulling him close and licking from his neck to his ear. “Meow for me, Shouta”

“Deja -“

She pulls back to look him in his face,“Too much?? “ he nods “Fine fine lay back downs

Letting go of the leash, he slides his arms behind his head and closes his eyes, feeling her warmth leave his body, only for a moment. After a couple moments, he started to question what she was doing. Why hasn’t she sat on his dick already.

Cracking an eye open, to his surprise Deja was standing right over his face, “you ready?”

He nodded silently and watched her cunt slowly make contact with his face. It was like it was his birthday instead. Ravaging her cunt with his tongue as her angelic moans echoed throughout the apartment.

Since they were in the 69 position, she could see the way his toes curled just from eating her out, Shouta has always gotten off on her pleasure alone. Kinky bitch.

Just to ease his suffering, just a bit her hands dip into his briefs, sliding them down enough for his dick to pop out. Hardly able to focus with the way he was ducking her clit while his fingers were buried in her cunt, she decides to jerk him off.

Just as he feels her hands sliding up and down his length, he works his fingers faster, making her cum with quiet sobs and trembling legs. His Tip alreadyleaking with precum- he was so close to his own release. So he thrust up into her hand limp hand a few times, ignoring her cries from still flicking at her pearl -and came, his large hand coming down on her ass, spanking her as his toes curled while he drenched her hand in his seed.

Slowly flipping off him to lay on her back, Deja closes her eyes chest heaving- tired. She successfully Dominated Shouta- he was the sub he always claimed he would never be. Fist in the air for her accomplishement.

“I know you don’t think we’re done birthday girl” she hears Shouta say - opening her eyes to see him throwing the cat ears of his head and grabbing her ankles dragging her body to the edge of the bed.

—-

Happy birthday sis 😂😂🤎🤎🤎

[hoeneypirate]

Rule Breaker Part One

Hinawa x fem reader

Part two

18+ although no real smut there will be in part two. It’s suggestive.

Looking through your drawer of bras and underwear sets, a drawer you had expand from a side to a full deep drawer because of your boyfriends shopping trips, and grin when you find the set you were looking for.

Lacey champagne colored bra with a matching set of panties that had a heart keyhole detail above the butt. You grin at yourself in the mirror before putting on a button up white blouse and a black skirt that hit above your knees, purposefully leaving a few extra buttons undone

When you were standing normally your shirt was fine, no issues with showing cleavage, but you watched yourself in your mirror and pretended to lean your hand on a desk, the v neck falling down and showing exactly what you wanted. You nodded, excitement filling your belly as you leave your room, ready to start your day.

“Good morning!” Maki says as you walk into the kitchen and you smile “good morning!” You say back to her as you head for the coffee pot.

Hinawa’s hand lands on your side as he stands beside you and kisses your temple “good morning sweetheart” he says into your ear and you smile up at him “missed you this morning” you say and lean up kissing his jaw, smiling when he his ears tipped pink.

This was always your routine in the mornings, coffee with a sweet kiss, breakfast with the team, before starting work. But today your stomach fluttered with anticipation of your fun. Hinawa wasn’t the one to approve of pda during work, But sometimes, on days he’d never suspect, you’d tease him all day, knowing what lies in store for you after work is over.

Breakfast is had and as you sit beside him at the table as you eat your oatmeal and eggs, your left hand on his knee as you rub soft circles with your thumb against the fabric, starting innocent enough that he wouldn’t think of anything.

When breakfast was over you had paperwork, every few minutes clicking your pen to get his attention as you sucked a watermelon lollipop into your mouth, tongue swirling around it as you pretended to read the report with your peripheral vision on him. You look up and give him an innocent smile before licking the sticky candy off your lips and popping the lollipop into your cheek.

He was staring at your mouth for a moment before swallowing hard, smiling back a little, and then turning back to his work. You loved candy, he couldn’t say you were doing anything on purpose though .. not yet. So he just turned back to his paperwork, and you were filled with glee. Hook.

When lunch rolled around Obi ordered in for the office, sandwiches to celebrate a month of no accidents in Vulcans shop. You sat on the edge of your desk, leg crossed, facing Hinawa where he sat in his desk chair, pushed out and leaned back a little.

You waited until he looked your way then you gave him an innocent smile and then moved your legs apart, giving him a perfect view up your skirt to your champagne lace panties, then you moved your other leg over the top of your knee. The whole act took maybe one second but it felt like maybe a minute the way his jaw stopped chewing and his eyes stayed on your thighs even after they were closed again. Line.

He chokes on his sandwich and you look at him with faux worry and only he could see the mischievous look in your eye as you said “Hinawa are you alright?”

He nods and takes a drink of his water “I’m fine.” He says and turns his attention back to eating.

You didn’t tease him again until after you got back from putting an infernal to rest, your skirt ruined making you change into an orange jumpsuit and tying the arms around your waist. Hinawa was equally sad and relieved that you couldn’t tease him with your thighs and panties anymore.

That set was the one he bought you weeks ago, one that you haven’t worn yet but he was so excited to see, it was his favorite and you must have known that to save it to mess with him. He pulls on the crotch of his jumpsuit under his desk, shoving away the thoughts of it on you, ignoring the tightness as he tries to turn his attention back to his work.

This was it. The moment you were waiting for. You took a few pieces of your paperwork and walked over to his desk, walking around next to him smiling warmly. “Hinawa could you take a look at this?”

You hand him the papers and then place your palm against his desk, leaning down close and pointing at a few places, knowing full well your shirt dipped just like you wanted. “Did I fill out this part right? I don’t know why but today my head is a little fuzzy. Maybe it was from all the smoke earlier”

When your eyes look back to him his aren’t on you or the paperwork, they’re exactly where you knew they’d be. Sinker.

The slope of your breasts in that bra was better than he imagined. It did exactly what he thought when he saw it at the store and imagined you in it. The soft color of the fabric and lace against your skin made his body heat up, the way the lace scalloped against the top, the black lace bow he knew was beneath your mounds in the middle he wished with all his soul to be able to push his face into them and hug you close. His breathing was quiet and shallow, his hands frozen holding the papers you gave him.

“Darling, your cheeks are a little flushed? Are you feeling alright?” You ask, lips twitching as you repress a grin. His eyes look up into yours and you see the way they narrow, you know you’re in for it later. Your eyes look up to the clock and he notices “two hours twenty eight minutes” he whispers but it sounds like a growl, sending tingles down your spine as you grin, licking your lips as you smiled innocently “oh hinawa I don’t know what you’re talking about, I just wanted to know if did this right” you point back to the paper and he doesn’t even look away, just hands you the paper and in a low voice just to you says “you know you have to do this over”

You grinned and took the papers back, looking down at the section you pointed at and smiling at the phrase “are you hard yet?” In the lightest of pencils that would be easily erased.

You giggled to yourself as you sat back down and erased the phrase before writing in exactly what it was supposed to say. You put the papers on your finished stack and then licked your lips, biting the bottom as your eyes flick to him, running your finger tips down the collar of your shirt. His eyes narrow again and you smile at him, waving with your fingers before you stand and pick up your finished paperwork, heading down to file them properly.

You set down separate stacks on top of different cabinets, alphabetizing the stacks before you start to file them in the right places, only a little tiny baby but shocked when the door opens and Hinawa enters, closing the door behind him.

It’s quiet for a few moments as he looks you in the eye, no doubt mulling over what he’s about to do

“Reckless rule breaker” he says and then locks the door.

[hellsitegenetics]

hi can i have the sequence to free bird please

String identified:

a t t ? t tag 'Ca t' t a ac ' gt t t ta t , g Tg t c't t a 'Ca ' a a a A t cat cag , , , A t cat cag A t , cat cag , ca't cag a, t' t , a, a Tg t ' ca't cag t a 't ta t a 'Ca , ' t a t ta t , g Tg t c't t a 'Ca ' a a a A t cat cag , , , A t cat cag A t , cat cag , ca't cag , ca't cag , ca't cag 't g, , a

Closest match: Falcaria lacertinaria genome assembly, chromosome: 26 Common name: Scalloped hook-tip moth

[fruitcoops]

Hey girly i was wondering if you could do a coops smut with the prompte 71 and/or 90 Pretty please and Thank you i love! Your writing

Coops wedding night!!! At long last it is here, and I still have more than an hour before midnight. Since it took me so long to get this out, I’m opening up fic requests until 12 pm (noon) PST tomorrow! Thank you all for your patience--it truly means the world to me. Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove!

Wedding Preparations II Part 1 II Part 2 II Part 3

TW for smut, hickeys, wrist restraint (for a bit), and happy tears

Prompt 71: “Go on. I want to hear you say it.”

Sirius looked like he was having a Moment™ as they stepped into the house and, being a polite and loving husband, Remus let him have eight solid seconds of awestruck silence.

Then he leaned up, sank his teeth into the side of Sirius’ neck, and sucked.

A breathless whine slipped from Sirius’ throat and he nearly dropped Remus before pressing him up against the nearest wall and kicking the door closed, gripping his thighs hard enough to burn in the best way. Remus hooked his ankles around his lower back, squeezing his waist until he drew a moan from the soft lips that mapped his jawline.

Sirius stopped cold when he ran his hands along Remus’ upper thighs, and he grinned into the kiss. “What’s this?”

“A surprise,” Remus said, skimming his teeth over Sirius’ pulse point. “Wait, are you laughing?”

“I’m—” Sirius broke off into snickering and set him down carefully “I’m wearing one, too.”

“You’re kidding.”

“It’s a wedding, sweetheart!”

Remus leaned back against the wall as he burst out laughing, then beckoned Sirius closer and kissed him softly. “I guess that means we should go upstairs, huh?”

“That depends. Do you think you can leave my poor thighs alone for once?” Sirius quirked an eyebrow as he led Remus toward the stairs by the rumpled ends of his bowtie.

“Never.”

Sirius’ grin widened and he grabbed Remus’ hand; they ran up the stairs in a tumble of laughter, nearly tripping over each other more than once in their haste. The air still hummed with electricity, but a steady undercurrent pulled them closer like magnets, inevitable and unbreakable.

The bed creaked as they fell onto it in a heap, which only spurred their laughter on until Sirius broke the kiss to roll onto his back and catch his breath, kicking his shoes off. “This is fucking incredible.”

“Hmm?” Remus scooted against his side, slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt with one hand while the other tipped his chin over for a kiss.

“I’m about—” Sirius’ palm cradled the side of his face as his tongue swiped along his lower lip. “—to have sex with my husband.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“In our bed.” Another kiss to the ridge of his cheek.

“Mhmm.”

“On our wedding night.”

“Indeed.”

“After an amazing party and fucking fantastic pizza.”

“It was pretty great.” Remus tangled their legs together and tugged Sirius on top of him, sliding the shirt off his shoulders with a smile. “Have I mentioned how amazing you look in a suit?”

Sirius ran his hands under Remus’ shirt, tracing his ribs. “Once or twice. How do you want me?”

“I wanna see you.” He unbuckled Sirius’ belt and tossed it to the side, laughing a little at the clatter it made when it hit the floor before he pulled him down for a hard kiss that was more tongue and teeth than anything else. “Fuck, it’s a good thing the season’s over.”

Sirius hummed as he slipped each of Remus’ buttons out one by one, running his index finger down the line of his sternum. “It is. I think Coach was getting tired of seeing me with a limp.”

Remus pulled back slightly with his fingertips still under the waistband of Sirius’ pants. “Why would you be limping?”

He blinked. “Because…I’m about to get fucked into next week?”

“But you grabbed my ass at the restaurant.”

“Sweetheart, I grab your ass all the time.”

“I thought it was a hint!”

Sirius sat up and made a timeout motion. “So we each thought the other was dropping hints about who was topping tonight?”

“…I think so.” Remus crossed his legs under himself and held his hands out. “Alright, let’s settle this like adults.”

“Rock, paper, scissors, sh—Remus!”

“What? We always do it on ‘scissors’!”

Sirius sighed and shook his hands out. “We always do it on ‘shoot’, honey. Take two. Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!”

“Fuck,” Remus muttered as they both did ‘rock’. “Third time’s a charm. Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!”

“Merde. This isn’t going to work, we know each other too well.” Sirius turned his puppy eyes on and Remus’ heart clenched. “Compromise?”

“How about…” He scooted forward, sliding Sirius’ tie off his neck and nosing down the side of his neck. “I tie you down and ride you into the mattress?”

Sirius hummed and tilted his chin to the side.

Remus moved up to his lips, pressing an open-mouthed kiss there. “And I could blow you?”

He felt a smile against his skin and gasped as Sirius nipped his lower lip. “Deal.”

“Pleasure doing business with you,” he said as he traced the familiar shapes of Sirius’ chest and soft skin; under his palms, a heartbeat quickened. “Easy, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

Sirius’ laugh was little more than a huff when Remus pushed him onto his back and straddled his waist to pull his own shirt off the rest of the way. “I know, that’s what I’m waiting for.”

His head fell back as Remus scattered light hickeys over his ribs and skimmed his nipples once in a while just to feel his hips buck on reflex—a lovely half-moan slipped through when Remus ran his blunt nails down his sides. “Can I see my surprise now?”

“Please,” Sirius panted, dragging him down for a brief, hard kiss.

Remus paused for a moment to cup Sirius’ face in his hands, pulling away with softer kisses before unbuttoning the front of his pants and sliding them down his legs; something soft with an itchy edge scraped against the side of his hand and his chest stuttered. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

“You haven’t even—unh—seen it.”

“Don’t have to.” Remus rolled his hips down again and Sirius’ breath hitched as he pulled away, shifting to get a proper view of the surprise. “Fuck, baby.”

“Yeah?”

Remus traced the edge of the garter, watching the scalloped lace and deep red ribbon ripple under his touch, setting off the summertime gold of Sirius’ skin like a wet dream. “Mhmm. Very pretty.”

Sirius closed his eyes as he hooked a finger under the elastic, giving it a quick snap before soothing the burn with his mouth; he feathered his lips over the strange texture, leaving small love bites in his wake before taking the edge between his teeth and slowly dragging it down Sirius’ leg. He shuddered when it slipped past the back of his knee and Remus smoothed a hand down his calf.

“Voila.” Remus held the garter up once it was off and cocked a playful eyebrow at Sirius, who couldn’t seem to decide where he wanted to put his knees. “Do you want to take mine off, too?”

“Hell no, you’re keeping it on.” Sirius reached for his pants and Remus shifted to help get them pants off—Sirius paused when the first edge of black and blue lace appeared, then took a deep breath and shoved them the rest of the way down so Remus could kick them off the bed. “Yeah, that’s staying on for the rest of your fucking life.”

“And you’ll be there the whole time,” Remus said, bracketing his waist as Sirius toyed with the edge of the garter. “The rest of our life.”

Something unbearably soft overtook Sirius’ face and he went still, scanning every inch of Remus in awe. “Our life,” he murmured, running a thumb under Remus’ eye. “I like the sound of that.”

“Me, too.” He ground down and Sirius gasped, reaching one hand toward the nightstand as the other dug into Remus’ hip; Remus caught his wrist and pulled it to his mouth. “Not yet, baby.”

Sirius twitched under his thigh and he grinned, sliding damp kisses to the crook of his elbow before shifting until he was level with his navel. Gray-blue eyes, glazed with anticipation, locked on his own before fluttering closed as he wrapped his hands around the backs of Sirius’ knees and licked along the fabric at the top of his dick. “Oh, fuck me,” Sirius breathed, flopping back down and throwing an arm over his eyes.

“I thought we established it was going to be the other way around?” Remus teased as he toyed with the edge of his boxers, tugging and snapping without ever moving them as he dampened the front.

“I love the way you look like that.”

“Then look.” He reached up and tapped Sirius’ elbow. “Come on, baby, look at me.”

A shimmer of silver appeared and Remus grinned, tonguing the vein he could feel swelling under his lips. Sirius took a deep breath and stretched his arms over his head, arching his lower back until Remus canted his hips back down and removed his boxers in a smooth motion. He sucked a hickey into the ridge of each hip, kissing a swirling pattern all the way to his inner thigh until he heard a whine at the tail end of Sirius’ exhale. “Are you going to be mean tonight?”

“Mean?” Remus’ smile widened and he shifted to lay on Sirius’ chest, closing his hand around his dick and pressing his thumb beneath the head. “Ever heard of something called foreplay?”

Sirius draped his arms over Remus’ neck and wound his fingers in his hair, giving a gentle tug. “You live to torment me.”

“Unfortunately, you love it.” Remus kissed him gently and gave him a quick squeeze before scooting back down the bed to take the tip into his mouth. Sirius cursed and twisted his hands in the sheets, and a tremor ran through him when Remus pulled away. “Do you need something to hold?”

“I—maybe?” Sirius flexed his fingers, already so hard he was starting to drip.

Wordlessly, Remus took one of his hands and put it back in his hair, then laced his own with the other. “Much better,” he murmured against the shaft before taking him down far enough that Sirius’ mouth fell open slightly. The light pressure at the back of his head made Remus’ eyes fall shut in bliss and he squeezed Sirius’ hand with a hum that sent a shiver down his legs.

“You’re fucking perfect,” Sirius panted. His eyebrows pitched as his dick hit the back of Remus’ throat and his grip tingled all the way down Remus’ spine. “Mon loup, mon coeur, oh—fuck, mon mari.”

Remus swallowed on reflex as the nickname lit up every pleasure center in his body and Sirius moaned, pushing him further. The corners of his vision went speckly for a moment and he pulled off with a cough, though he kept one hand curled around the shaft.

“D’accord?”

“Got a little excited,” Remus rasped, licking his lips as he went back to his previous position. “Good?”

“Of course it’s fucking good, it’s y—do that again.” A whimper caught in Sirius’ throat as Remus hollowed his cheeks, then sat back.

“Are you close?”

Sirius nodded, a little desperate as he ran his palms down Remus’ biceps and tried to bring him back. “So close, don’t stop.”

“Unless you think you can go twice…” Remus raised an eyebrow and Sirius bit his lip. “Really?”

He made a distressed noise and brought his knees up to squeeze around Remus’ waist. “I don’t know, I just—I need something, sweetheart, don’t leave me hanging.”

Remus leaned over to slide up his body until they were face-to-face, pinning his hands to the mattress. “That was quick.”

“If you knew what your mouth felt like—” Sirius’ defense was cut short by a kiss that he eagerly returned; Remus dug around with his free hand in the tangled sheets and smiled when he felt a brush of familiar material, looping it loosely around Sirius’ right wrist. Their chests bumped together and Remus shuddered when he felt Sirius’ shaft, slick against his own.

“This okay?”

“More. More, more, yes.” Sirius hissed the last word as Remus tightened the tie and wound the other end around one post of their headboard. “Mine’s on the—fuck, on the left side.”

A slip of black stood out against the white of their sheets and he pulled it free before tying it around Sirius’ other wrist, making sure it was just as tight before settling into his lap and opening the nightstand drawer. “Y’know, I thought you’d want to do this before I tied you up.”

Sirius’ already-labored breathing stuttered for a moment when he saw the lube. “I do.”

“You made your choice.”

“Sweetheart,” he whined, tugging at the restraints with a slight pout. “Let me do it.”

Remus paused midway through slicking his fingers and glanced down. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you want me to untie you. Once they come off, they don’t go back on.”

Sirius chewed his lower lip, gaze flickering between Remus’ face and hand. Finally, he sighed and relaxed a bit. “You’re so hot when you’re bossy.”

“Am I?” Remus closed his eyes as his first finger pushed in. The rough edge of Sirius’ sex voice had finally appeared and he let it wash over him, crackling against every nerve like a live wire as he ground back onto his hand. His fingers were slimmer than Sirius’—it was an odd feeling after so long.

“I love seeing you melt under me, but it’s different when you’re telling me what to do.” A slight roll of Sirius’ hips spread Remus’ knees further and he half-moaned at the sensation, adding a second. “God, Re, you’re fucking beautiful.”

Remus smiled, letting his head fall slightly to the side as he brushed his sweet spot and rocked down; the garter around his thigh slid against his skin and Sirius pushed his legs up, supporting more of Remus’ weight. “Mmm, still good?”

“Add another.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Remus.” Sirius spread his legs wider; since Remus was straddling him, he dropped down as well. “Add another.”

He took a second to catch his breath, then slid the third in. His mouth fell open with a staccato huff and he grabbed Sirius’ leg for balance, fighting the urge to ride his own hand until his building orgasm pulled him under. “Ngh—fuck, should’ve done this before blowing you.”

“At least I’ll last a little longer now,” Sirius mused, flicking his gaze toward the lube. His dick was still shiny with precome and Remus bit his lip to stop himself from taking him back down his throat. Other plans, he reminded himself. You have other plans.

He sank down on Sirius’ lap and kept a tight grip on those broad shoulders, watching as Sirius’ eyes unfocused. The first grind of his hips made fireworks pop behind Remus’ eyelids and he made an embarrassingly needy noise that was made slightly better by Sirius’ strangled groan. “I love you,” he gasped out, rolling his hips harder on the next push. “Oh god, that’s good.”

“I still can’t get over the—merde, comment dit on?” Sirius’ knees jerked inward and Remus scrabbled for a hold on his chest as the head slid over his prostate. “The ribbon thing? Lace, looks fantastic on you.”

“Garter. ‘s called a garter.” And I’m wearing it because I married you.

“What’s the smile for?” Sirius’ voice was soft and Remus blinked his eyes open as he sat down all the way, circling his hips slowly; his hands were clenched tight on the ties and a high flush colored his chest and cheeks, but his expression was downright smitten. Somehow, that was just as sexy as the flexing muscles of his abdomen as he met Remus’ motions.

“I just...” He shook his head, running his palms down miles of warm skin. His face ached from smiling all day long, but he couldn’t seem to stop. “We’re married. We got married for real. I fucking love you and you’re mine forever.”

Sirius’ eyes shone in the low light of their bedroom and his breath hitched. “Forever. I like the sound of that.”

“Can I untie you?” Remus stopped moving and soaked in the feeling of being warm, of being full. Sweat cooled on his back and he heard Sirius sniffle. “Are you okay?”

“Untie me, then I’ll tell you.”

He was careful as he loosened each knot and pulled them over Sirius’ wrists, almost reverent with each twist and tug. Once both wrists were free, he pulled them up and kissed Sirius’ pulse points, sinking into a puddle of mush when broad palms cradled his face gently. Remus looked down with a half-smile. “Spill the big secret, baby.”

Sirius kept his hands on Remus’ face as he guided him down to brush their noses together and press the ghost of a kiss to his lips. A single tear sparkled in the lamplight as it rolled down to his ear. “You are everything I’ve ever wanted. I never thought I would be able to have this kind of happiness, but you—” His voice broke and Remus felt something prickle behind his eyes. “You’re it, Re.”

“You know what I just realized?”

“Hmm?”

“We never did the ‘til death do us part’ line.”

Sirius smiled and traced Remus’ cheekbones like he was a holy relic. “As if death would ever stop me from loving you.”

“You’re so fucking romantic.” Remus pressed the heel of his palm against his eye as the tears tracked down his face and euphoria turned his whole body hot. He took a few deep breaths and swiped the dampness from his face before leaning back down to kiss Sirius soundly, pouring everything he had into their shared breaths. “I’m not—Sirius, I don’t tell you often, but you are my whole world. I’m not good with sappy words but I hope you know that I love you with everything I have and everything I am.”

“I know.” It was amazing how such simple words could make Remus’ heart pound with joy. He knew what heartbreak felt like, had tasted it and burned with it when he thought Sirius would leave him. But this...

Remus kissed Sirius’ forehead and held his lips there; the world narrowed to them, the breath on his collarbone, and the heartbeat under his hand. If heartbreak felt like spattering on the ground, this was flight, and he knew he would never come down from it.

They stayed like that for two seconds, an hour, a millennia before Remus shifted and electricity sparked through his lungs, kickstarting the heat that raced in his veins. Sirius held him close, snapping his hips upward as he kept a constant hand on the blue-black garter around Remus’ thigh—Remus had bought the thing as a bit of a joke, thinking it was the perfect cross between elegant and just tacky enough to make Sirius laugh with the tiny bow on one side. Evidently, he had misjudged the sexy factor.

Sounds punched from Sirius’ lungs, desperate and wanting despite the fact that Remus would happily give him whatever he desired. “Re, Re, please.”

“What do you want?” he murmured into the space under Sirius’ ear, skimming his fingertips over his ribcage until he dipped one side of his hips down with a moan and drew a cut-off cry from Remus’ mouth. “Sirius.”

“Don’t stop moving,” Sirius begged, even as he wrapped his hands around the base of Remus’ waist and pulled him into the right spot, fingertips digging into his lower back. “Do not stop doing that.”

His breaths were coming faster and the world blurred into shapes and colors as the wave crept up on him once more; if Remus had any shred of awareness left, he was sure his face would itch from dried tears, but he had reached the point of so-close-almost-there-just-a-little-more where everything was tortured bliss. “It’s so much,” he heard himself pant. “It’s so much, oh my god.”

Sirius was asking him something, babbling in French—more, sweetheart, mon coeur, mon mari—but Remus only caught every third word.

Husband. That means husband. The cool metal of Sirius’ rings was stark against the overwhelming heat of his thigh and he shivered, curling one hand in the sheets and framing the side of Sirius’ neck with the other as his thighs ached from dropping down again, and again, and again.

“It does.” Sirius trembled in every muscle as he wrapped his arms around Remus and ravaged the side of his neck with kisses and bites. “Mon mari. Mine, my husband. Go on, I want to hear you say it.”

“Mon mari.” The words sounded muddled in his ears, but it must have been enough, because Sirius fell apart beneath him with a shout muffled in the junction of his neck and shoulder. All it took was a hand closing around his shaft for Remus to jolt and moan and melt, tasting the salt of sweat along with something so quintessentially Sirius that he couldn’t help but bury his face in it and ride out the tide.

“I love you.” Remus blinked, propping himself on shaky forearms to meet Sirius’ eyes. They gleamed in the warm amber glow of the bedside lamp they found at a yard sale not three weeks prior. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” A smile spread across his face, followed by what could only be described as a giggle. “Sirius, I love you so much.”

“We got married,” Sirius laughed; the slightly hysterical crack to his voice only made them both laugh harder and Remus rolled to the side, clutching Sirius’ hand in his own as new tears of mirth gathered in the corners of his eyes.

“Who let us do that?” Remus managed after a second. “Who authorized this?”

“Minerva fucking McGonagall, that’s who.”

“We need to send her a fruit basket or something. Maybe a cat.”

“She does like cats,” Sirius agreed; he glanced over at Remus, still grinning, and then flopped on top of him like a dead weight.

“Ow,” Remus wheezed, torn between shoving him off and snuggling closer. “Ugh, you’re all sweaty.”

“And whose fault is that, hmm?” Sirius raised his eyebrows and scooted into a proper cuddling position, where he could press a smacking kiss to Remus’ cheek. “You’re in no place to talk, either.”

“I’m in the perfect place, actually,” Remus said, letting his legs fall open so Sirius could settle properly; he snuggled closer and kissed the dip of his collarbone. “We need to shower at some point, but…”

“…but you’re going to be raring to go in twenty minutes and I’m not moving until I cuddle the living hell out of you.” Sirius raised his head and stuck his lower lip out in a pout. “I missed our morning snuggles. As cute as Harry is, it’s not the same at all.”

“Tell me about it,” Remus muttered. “The next time we get married, we’re not sleeping in separate beds the night before. It’s a stupid tradition.”

“Deal. When are we getting married a second time? I’d rather not divorce you five hours after we tied the knot.”

“I guess we’ll just have to plan another wedding.”

“Do I get to propose this time?”

“Sure. It certainly takes a lot of the pressure off me.”

“You knew I’d say yes,” Sirius scoffed, giving him a playful squeeze around the ribs.

Remus shrugged. “It’s scarier than you think.”

“It’s not that hard.” Sirius shifted around for a moment, then pulled Remus’ wedding ring off and made a mock-serious face as he held it up. “Remus Lupin, will you marry me?”

“Gimme that,” Remus laughed, snatching the ring back and sliding it on. “For the record, yes.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard.”

He tapped the underside of Sirius’ chin with his finger and drew him down for a brief kiss, resting their foreheads together. “I’d marry you every day if I could.”

“It’s a good thing we’ve got a lot of days ahead of us, then.”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Christmas Specials: Angel

CW: Implied past parental death, referenced past torture/noncon, memory loss and grief

"It, it should be an, um, a, a-a an angel," Chris says, gazing up at the star on top of the tree. It gleams a warm yellow to match the special lights that wind through the branches, the soft smell of pine and wood. The ornaments weigh it down, a multitude of old childhood things Nat brought with her twenty years ago, plus new ornaments added over time by every rescue who has lived here through Christmas and even a few who didn’t. 

Chris picked his out at Hallmark with Nat last week. He chose a little cardinal on a snowy tree branch with a scarf and earmuffs on. He doesn’t know why. But he runs one finger over the top of its little head in thought. 

Nat, crouching down by the bright red, gigantic rubbermaid with Christmas Ornaments + whatever else written on the lid in big black sharpie letters, looks up. “What?”

Chris keeps petting the little porcelain cardinal with one finger, staring up at the star. “Why isn't it, um, an, an angel, Nat?”

"Not sure exactly. I've always done a star," Nat replies, carefully choosing a small ornament shaped like a horse in mid-gallop, covered in elaborately carved and painted Western tack. She slips the little hook into the small metal ring on the horse’s back and hangs it in an empty spot on the tree, smiling.

She looks over to see an expression of something like upset on Chris's face, his eyebrows furrowed, bouncing uncertainly on his toes. "It, it should be an angel," He repeats, insistent. “It, it should be. Um, an… an angel. A star isn’t-... isn’t, isn’t right. It should be, be, be-be-be… should be-, an, an angel.”

His voice drops a little, and he picks at the hem of his oversized t-shirt with one hand, rocking a little until Nat puts a hand to his shoulder and he stops. 

"Chris, is this bothering you? That it’s a star?” Nat and Jake meet eyes where he's hanging garland along the mantle, knowing later Nat will go all-in on her Midwestern roots and pull out the Christmas-themed baskets to decorate it.

“It’s not right,” Chris says, even more firmly this time. He shakes his head, rocking again, forward and back. “It’s, it’s always supposed to be, to be angels.” He makes a soft sound of frustration, hands moving up to his hair, twisting into the copper, yanking hard. “Supposed, supposed to be-”

Nat takes his hands in hers and gently lowers them again, pressing his palms into his stomach. “Tap, Chris. Don’t pull your hair out, please. Let’s do the ones that don’t hurt, okay?”

He doesn’t answer her, but he starts up the familiar movements of his fingers, finger-twist-tap-tap-tap, and he doesn’t go for his hair again. “Angels,” He mumbles. “Should be a, um, angel on the, the, the tree. Didn’t have a tree the, the last time, we were-... gonna go, go get the tree after Thanksgiving, it, um, it was-...” 

The room is perfectly still as he falls silent, rocking harder. 

 "Did you-...” Nat is quiet for a moment, deciding where to take this line of questioning, what is the safest way to ask. “Are you… used to angels, Chris? Did you have an angel tree-topper as a kid?”

He’s still a kid.

He’s still so young. 

Chris isn’t looking at her, still rocking a little, looking up at the star, gnawing on a chapped spot of skin on his lower lip that he’s already managed to make bleed this week. He pinches his finger and thumb around a few pine needles, releasing their scent even more strongly into the air. "She, she always did angels,” He whispers.

Then he winces, cries out in pain, and the moment's gone, along with the memory. They hold him through the headache until it passes, through his tears, but he’s never able to explain.

Within a half an hour he’s forgotten he ever mentioned angels at all, forgotten anything but the awful spike of pain the headache brings on the heels of any thought or memory they aren’t allowed to have.

She refuses to be frustrated - this is a common part of memory recovery in rescues, how things seem to come and go, slipslide through their minds. It’ll come back, sooner or later. She has to believe that - and that even if it doesn’t, it doesn’t matter, they still deserve the new memories to be their own.

Every time he walks past the tree, though - as Nat’s presents for her rescues start to build up, and she takes each of them out to find gifts to give Jake and their fellow rescues, too - his eyes don’t linger on the somewhat haphazardly wrapped boxes. 

They go to the star.

She gives Jake a few twenties from her wallet and tells him to go shopping. He sheepishly pulls out the small red box he’d already bought, five steps ahead of her when it comes to Chris as usual.

They wrap the box together. 

On Christmas Eve, Nat insists on cooking, while Antoni hovers nervously around her and offers, time and time again, to do whatever he can to help. She refuses, but lets him set the table before having Jake take him outside to sit down with a drink and watch the Christmas lights. It seems to calm the part of Antoni that needs always to be serving, the part they are trying so hard to get him to drop. 

Chris wanders through the dining room on his way, getting himself some lemonade in the kitchen and giving her a hug. Krista is moving into her own place in the next month or so and she heads out onto the porch, too, making the most of her last few days in the house. Even Leila, quiet watchful thoughtful Leila, finds her way out there, too.

Which leaves Nat in the kitchen putting together everything she remembers from her own childhood. 

It’s a feast.

Beef tips out of the oven with gravy and thick, chewy noodles, little sausages in a crockpot with grape jelly and barbecue sauce, corn casserole more like savory pudding than anything else, scalloped potatoes that have as much cheese as they do actual potatoes, a salad to pretend anyone’s getting nutritional value out of this, queso dip that comes cheap out of a glass jar with tortilla chips, chopped fruit tossed with sugar… this one day each year, Nat lets herself indulge in what she grew up with, what she misses about home. 

Once it’s all ready, she calls them back in. She watches Chris’s eyes widen as he enters first, seeing how she’s pulled out the extra eaves to extend the table, the sheer weight of the food that has taken her three full days of work to put together, the seasonal plastic tablecloth and placemats under every single plate. 

“Chris, you’ll sit right here,” She says warmly, putting her hand against the back of one of the chairs. 

He moves immediately - then hesitates, going still, glancing over his shoulder back at Jake, who smiles back, reassuring. When his eyes go back to his seat, Nat watches him tapping on himself, soothing his sudden jangling nerves. Not grabbing at his hair or scratching himself. Good sign. “Nat, what’s-... what’s, what’s that?”

She moves away to give him space. “What’s what, honey?”

“The, um, the… the the, the box. On my plate. What, what is it for?” He’s trusting, her youngest rescue, like all of them and yet even more than most. He wasn’t meant to have thoughts or skills outside the horrors that he was held for, didn’t develop himself enough to run, he hadn’t gotten a sense that his world wasn’t right enough to develop his own sense of self. That started here, in this house, under Nat’s protection. 

She doesn’t take this responsibility, to help him mold himself into someone he will want to be, lightly. 

He’s trusting, but in this moment, he’s unsure. She wonders how many times he has been given gifts that hurt, that were designed to hurt.

“One last thing for the tree. Open up and find out.”

“But, but Christmas is, is um, is, is tomorrow.”

“Oh, honey.” He loves when she calls him that, every endearment - except sweetheart and darling, and those she has gathered were weapons, once, used against him - and he flushes, looking down and smiling a little, red hair drifting over his eyes. “I never take my tree down before New Year’s. One year I got it late and we kept that sucker up until Valentine’s Day. Go ahead and open the box.”

His fingers are so long and delicate, as he carefully works up the tape that keeps one end of the box closed. Slipping it open comes easily enough, working the styrofoam packing on the inside out is a little more difficult. The squeak of styrofoam against cardboard makes him grit his teeth and Nat herself winces.

But then it’s out, and he lays the square of crumbling white styrofoam down on the paper, carefully lifting the top half away to reveal what it was protecting inside. 

His eyes widen, and he reaches out, touching a rough-edged tinsel halo wrapped around a wire, running one finger down from the top of a porcelain forehead to the tip of a gently wrought nose, the cupid’s-bow lips, rounded hair. He looks up at Nat as his fingers find the stiff, scratchy fabric of the figurine’s cream-and-gold robes. “An, angel? Nat?”

“For the tree, Chris. You said you wanted an angel.” Nat moves back to lay a hand in the center of his back, and he leans to the side, his head tucking into the crook of her neck like always. “Jake and I figured opening one present on Christmas Eve wouldn’t be so bad. D’you want to put it up?”

“Yes,” He says, in a low soft voice. “She, um, she, she… she she… she always had angels, on the, um, the tree.”

“Chris, can I ask?” She rests her chin atop his head, his fine soft hair tickling her skin. “Who is she? Who are you talking about?”

He shakes his head a little, like shaking water out of his ears. “I, I don’t know.” It’s a confession, admission of guilt, more than an answer. “I don’t, don’t, don’t know who. But… but I know she had, had an angel, she said she bought it when, um, when when I was a, a, a a a a baby…”

Mother, then, most likely. She and Jake make eye contact, and he nods, stepping out of the room to go write it down. Every single memory, no matter how slight, could help them put enough together to find whoever might be looking for him out there. And it gives Dr. Berger a place to start delicately working out what is hidden under all the scar tissue in their minds. 

“She threw it, it, it away,” Chris mutters, eyes closed. “With, with everything else.”

“Your mom did?”

“No. Some... someone else.”

“Well, let’s get the angel up there, then,” Nat says gently, as Chris slides his arms around her waist. His voice is going ragged, and she needs to pull him back from the edge before he tips over into the light. “Then all you hungry people can eat.”

“Aren’t you, you hungry? You’ve been cooking all, all, all, all all day.”

“All days. But no, I’ve tasted a little of everything already. Come on, then-”

The door blows open in a bluster of wind and Kauri steps in, cheeks red from the hint of chill in the air, blue eyes warm and sparkling. He looks better today than he did last week - Nat wonders, briefly, if he’s been staying with someone, instead of trying to sleep in park bathrooms or the cold. “Am I late for dinner?”

“Not at all, Kauri. Will Keira be joining us?”

Keira does not consume, comes a muffled voice from inside Kauri’s backpack. He grins and drops it in the entryway, unzipping to take the Roomba out and set it on the coffee table where visual sensors can take in the tree. 

He glances back at the rest of them, and asks brightly, “What’s for dinner? Smells… huh.” He pauses, looks at the table. A strange look passes over his face, like a man seeing someone he knows but can’t quite place. “It smells really good in here.”

“I should hope so. Can you help Chris switch the star on the tree out for this? It’s brand new.” She picks the angel up out of the styrofoam and Chris grabs it from her, moving into the living room with it held in his hands like something infinitely precious and breakable.

Something so easily lost.

“Cool, an angel.” Kauri cocks his head to the side. “Why’d you get that?”

“Because,” Chris says, with earnest sincerity, and a little sadness. “It’s always, um, supposed to, to, to be an angel. It was always a, an angel before.”

Kauri - and Jake, who reappears shortly after to give his many inches of height to assist them - helps Chris get the angel light up on the tree, warm glow emanating from its robes, and Chris declares it better, now. 

He murmurs to himself, “She’d, she’d like it better with an angel.”

No one asks him what he said, or to elaborate.

By the time he’s on his second helping of dinner, he’s forgotten that the thought ever passed his mind.

But Nat hasn’t.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly  @newandfiguringitout  , @doveotions  , @pretty-face-breaker, @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump  @moose-teeth  , @cubeswhump  , @cupcakes-and-pain  @whump-tr0pes  @whumpiary  @orchidscript, @itallcomesdowntopain

[angryschnauzer]

Superior Specimen - Chapter 6

Summary: One night when you are following the Archaeology tag on instagram you stumbled across a fun looking dig… and an even more interesting Paleontologist who soon follows you back. Over the following weeks you start chatting and a friendship soon grows.

Relationship: AU Henry Cavill x Female Reader (No race or body shape mentioned)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Warnings: Slow Burn, NSFW, 18+, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Drunken Piggy Back Rides, Oral Sex (Female Recieving), Drama, Theft, Amateur Heroics, Hospital Visit, Shower Sex, Oral Sex (Male Receiving), Blow Job, Fingering, Lavish lifestyle, Henry is loaded, The Shard, Expensive Gifts, Sixty nine, Unprotected Sex

I do not operate a tag list, but please follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications, as you will then be notified whenever i post something new.

I don’t have a masterlist, but all my works are on AO3, link here. Usually i post oneshots to Tumblr and AO3, and multichapters exclusively to AO3, but as this is my first henry story and its going to be a short series, i’ll post to both places.

Chapter 6

 Henry left soon after, grabbing a slice of toast as you’d stood in the kitchen in just your dressing gown, apologising for not being able to spend the day with you but he had meetings for work and for future dig’s planned for the southern hemisphere in the winter. You’d stood in the kitchen sipping your coffee for a long while after he’d left, thinking over what he’d casually dropped into conversation; was this a fling?, Was the fact that he would spend months at a time out of the country the reason why such a catch was still single? Or was this something he did; find a girl, romance them, and then leave them on ‘business’ once things got boring? You shook your head to rid yourself of those thought and immediately regretted it, your head hurting from your wound. You gingerly touched it and brought your fingers in front of your face, letting out a sigh of relief when you saw there was no blood, but you realised you’d need to be careful for the next couple of days. 

 As you continued to sip your coffee you read over your emails again, re-reading the one from your boss and frowning; it seemed very short and curt, but he was probably just annoyed that one of his staff was due time off in their busiest season due to what was essentially a workplace injury.

 You decided you were going to head to yoga, even without the joke earlier about needing to limber up, it would help you focus and recharge your mind as well as your body.

 -

 By the time Friday afternoon had arrived your week off was surprisingly busy; finally finding time to do all those small chores that you had put off for weeks, but also you’d taken the chance to go shopping for a dress for your date.

 Rather than hit the chaos of Oxford Street or Westfield, instead you’d sought out a couple of vintage and secondhand dress agencies. Your morning had been fun, searching through unique pieces until you’d found it, the dress that was perfect. The woman that ran the vintage shop had guessed it had been a custom piece made in the 80’s, the midnight blue velvet piece fitting you like a glove. It had a thigh high split on one side and was patterned with silver sequins hand sewn on sporadically to make it resemble the night sky. It was strapless but had little hooks along the scalloped bust line that could hook over the cups of a strapless bra for extra security. You had a pair of silver heels in your wardrobe at home that would work perfectly with it, and with a bargain clutch from Primark you were sorted. 

 As you primped and preened that afternoon, fixing your hair and makeup, you smiled at your reflection as you pulled the dress on just a few minutes before Henry was due to pick you up. You were checking the contents of your clutch when the doorbell rang, frowning as you answered it and saw Henry on the small intercom screen;

 “Henry? You know the code”

 He grinned at the camera;

 “Yes, but I’m being gentlemanly… this time I don’t already have you drunk or drugged in my arms…”

 You pressed the buzzer to let him in, flicking the latch on the door as you went to fasten the straps on your heels, looking up just as he peered around the open doorway and stopped dead on his feet;

 “Wow…”

 He looked you up and down, his eyes wide as he took in your curves in the vintage dress, his gaze pausing at your chest on his way down and then on his way back up again. 

 You had a similar reaction when you saw how he was dressed; navy suit and kingfisher blue shirt, the top few buttons undone where it fitted his chest like a glove. He crossed the room slowly, like a predator stalking his prey, resting his hands on your hips and ducking his head to kiss you before pulling back to admire your cleavage close up;

 “I must say, I am a big fan of this dress” He ran a fingernail over the top of your breast, your skin prickling in Goosebumps at his touch before he opened his jacket and pulled a flat velvet box from the inside pocket and handed it to you; 

 “You remember when we first started talking properly, that I said I’d brought you something back from Siberia?”

 Your eyes went wide;

 “Henry… what is this?”

 “Open it and see”

 In disbelief you pulled the box open and let out a small gasp; nestled within the box was a delicate necklace, a raw amethyst gemstone set into a delicate silver chain. As you held the box he lifted the chain, walking behind you so he could bring it over your head, his fingers nimbly fastening it before he traced his fingertips over your bare shoulders and pressed a kiss to your neck;

 “You look stunning… the platinum looks beautiful on you”

 You spun around, your hand resting on the necklace;

 “Platinum?! I thought it was silver! Henry, this is too much… I can’t take this, not when it’s only our first date…”

 He brought his hands to yours and gently clasped them, pressing a kiss to your fingers before he smiled kindly;

 “It’s not really our first date though, is it? We’ve had drinks, I’ve spent the night… And please, let me give you this…”

 “But it’s too expensive!”

 “Not to me it isn’t… I’m lucky enough to me more than comfortable financially, let me share it with you” He closed his hands gently around yours as they held the necklace, pressing a kiss to your knuckles; “It suits you… and I can’t exactly keep it, the chain would get caught on my chest hair”

 You laughed and pressed a kiss to his lips;

 “Thank you”

 -

 Henry had driven you through the early evening London streets with ease, confident and calm even when cabs would cut in front of him or Uber Eats bicycles would whizz past your door at traffic lights. As much as you’d asked him where you were going, he just smiled and replied ‘you’ll see’ before returning his attention back to the road. 

 Finally you recognised some familiar sights as you passed the entrance to Borough Market, before he swung a left and your eyes went wide;

 “We’re going to The Shard?”

 He grinned as he steered the car into the space outside the entrance, the valet opening your door was Henry strode around the car and took your hand whilst handing his keys to the valet. The ride up through the building in the silent elevator gave you butterflies, before he took your hand as the doors chimed. Henry offered you his arm and you tucked your own through it, your stomach flipping nervously as he walked with confidence up to the maitre’d;

 “Good Evening Dr Cavill”

 You had to try and keep your face neutral that the staff knew who he was, and Henry greeted him in return as if he was an old friend;

 “How are you Michael? Family good?”

 “Yes, thank you Sir. My daughter will be starting Oxford university in September, thank you for your letter of endorsement”

 “Wonderful, great to hear. Are we ok to have some drinks and take in the view before we sit down for dinner?”

 “Of course, Sir. I can prepare your table for whenever you need it. You’re booked into the Westminster Suite tonight?”

 “Yes, that’s the one”

 The man smiled as he led you and Henry to a small bar table near the window, and as soon as you’d rested your small clutch bag on it a waiter appeared;

 “Can I get you some drinks tonight?”

 Henry glanced at you;

 “Champers?” You nodded as he continued; “We’ll have a bottle of the Krug 1996”

 The waiter nodded once and walked away, and it was only when Henry lightly touched your arm and made you jump did you realise you’d zoned out a little;

 “Princess?”

 “Sorry, just trying to process this is all real” you laughed quietly

 “Very real” he took your hand and was about to say something when the waiter returned, setting the small tray with two champagne flutes and a small bowl of strawberries onto the table, before quietly opening the expensive bottle in front of you. Pouring two glasses he set the bottle onto the table and left without another word, letting you return your attention to Henry;

 “What’s on your mind? You were quiet in the car the whole way over. Is this too much?”

 You smiled;

 “No, it’s wonderful. Obviously it’s not a standard night out for me, but you know…”

 “What else is bothering you?”

 You took a deep breath and smiled, pointing to your glass of champagne;

 “Ok firstly, this; I’m not taking a sip until I tell you that I one hundred percent want to sleep with you”

 “Ok, that’s good to hear” he grinned

 “You are so kind and caring, specifically waiting until I was sober before we would sleep together, and now obviously you have thought tonight through, you’ve got a suite here - that was a bit of a surprise I’ll add, but a pleasant one - so I want to get this completely agreed to before you waste all this money and then not asking for consent…”

 He nodded and sipped his glass, smiling and a kind look on his face as you continued;

 “Also, my safe word is Nerd”

 “Nerd?”

 “Yes. In case of later…”

 “Gotcha” he paused for a moment before nodding to your glass; “Do you want a drink now?”

 “God yes” You tipped the glass and sipped at the bubbles, feeling them burst over your tongue, and as you were setting the glass down and reaching for a strawberry Henry rested a hand on your hip;

 “Is there anything else?”

 “You said you were organising digs in the Southern Hemisphere for the winter… where would that leave us, you and me? Would this between us just be a summer fling? I just kind of want to know where I stand before you break my heart”

 “So firstly, I do not see this as just a summer fling. I feel like I’ve known you for years, and remember we were talking on Instagram for months before I finally worked up enough courage to say more than just asking if your day was ok… But the winter digs, it’s what I do. Obviously I’m attached to the museum, but I’m also linked to several others all around the world. I can be away for a month or six months at a time, it’s all dependant on the weather and permits, local politics, but I’d fly back whenever I could, and fly you out when you could take time off work”

 “You would do that? You would wait for me?”

 He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you gently to his chest as he ran a finger gently down your cheek;

 “Of course I’d wait for you. I have always waited… I have found people don’t wait for me”

 “What?! But… but you’re a catch! You’re kind and caring… you know how to treat a partner in every way!”

 He shrugged, looking a little pensive;

 “I don’t know what to say… but the last couple of girlfriends presumed I would cheat so ended things ‘before I broke their heart’... which I would never do…”

 He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips before a quiet cough sounded behind you, the pair of you turning to see the waiter;

 “Would you like your table now or would you like to continue with drinks here?”

 Henry smiled at you;

 “I could eat, you?”

 “Yes, please”

 The waiter nodded and loading your drinks onto a tray before you followed him, Henry leaning to whisper in your ear;

 “I look forward to eating you later too”

 -

 Dinner was fabulous, each dish seemingly better than the last, flavours dancing on your tongue and you had to struggle not to make obscene moaning sounds, but when the occasional one did escape Henry’s smile would spread further across his face until you laughed as well. By the time the dessert menu was brought over you declined;

 “Are you sure?” Henry pushed; “Really, you can have anything you like, this whole night is on me”

 You laughed quietly;

 “I’m not looking at the prices…” you leant back and rested a hand on your stomach; “But I am *just* the right amount of full at the moment to be happy to do any other activities tonight… if I eat dessert I wouldn’t”

 Henry nodded and gave a nod to the waiter, quietly speaking to him before turning his attention back to you;

 “Princess, shall we retire back to our suite? A nightcap whilst we take in the view; there’s a telescope in the room”

 Nodding you sipped on the last of your drink as Henry signed the bill, slipping a stack of notes into the clip before closing the small black file and handing it back. He stood and quickly circled the table, helping to pull your chair out before offering you his arm. 

 The ride in the lift to the luxury suites was quiet, the atmosphere almost sparking with the energy the pair of you were giving off from the sexual tension. Henry walked you to the door and you were ready to rip his clothing from his body, but as he pushed the door open he smiled and pressed a finger to his lips before speaking, and not to you;

 “Michael, thank you, but we won’t be requiring the butler service tonight”

 The man you recognised from the restaurant emerged from what you could see what the small kitchenette area, wiping his hands on a pristine tea towel;

 “Understood Dr Cavill. I hope you have an enjoyable stay. Your request from the restaurant has been stored safely in the refrigerator”

 “Thank you, Michael,”

 As the man passed you saw Henry slip him a £50 note as he quickly shook his hand, before taking the Do Not Disturb sign and slipping it over the gold hook on the outside of the door and quietly closing it.

 You watched as he shrugged his jacket off and slowly stalked across the room, wrapping his arm around your back, his other hand gently tilting your chin towards his lips as he kissed you, the press of his hot hard body against your own. The kiss was soft, yet he managed to completely dominate you, his tongue pushing against your own and you could taste the whiskey he’d finished his meal with just a few moments before. Your fingers clawed at his shirt, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, and yet as you managed to get one unfastened he pulled away, slipping his hand into yours;

 “Come on, let me show you the view”

 The noise that escaped your lips was a cross between a laugh and a toddlers disgruntled moan;

 “Henry…” you whined; “I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but please, I’m so fucking horny right now, I need you to fuck me into the mattress”

 He turned and walked backwards, tugging you to the panoramic windows and the telescope that sat on the full-length tripod, a quiet laugh filling the void between the two of you;

 “Princess, I promise you will get that… we have all night, all weekend! I just have one thing I want to show you…”

 He peered through the telescope before stepping back and nodding to you, gently guiding you until he was standing behind you, his hands on your hips. You looked through the  eyepiece and let out a gasp; on the roof of a building in Canary Wharf was a light display… and yet it wasn’t just lasers, there was light patterns of dinosaurs; Diplodocus reaching for high leaves, T-rex stalking in the bushes, a group of Raptors running across the building.

 “Oh Henry… how did you?”

 “I have some friends in the city… and some more friends that run outdoor events… just called in a couple of favours”

 You watched through the scope and smiled as you felt Henry wrap his arms around your waist, pressing his hard body flush with your own and started to caress your neck with soft kisses. One hand slipped to your thigh and gently started to tug your dress up until it was high enough for him to slip his hand into the thigh high slit and curl around to seek out your pussy. He was still firmly holding you in place, letting you watch the light show in the relative darkness of the luxury suite, but as his fingers dipped beneath the thin elastic of your lacy thong he let out an appreciative groan as he found you already dripping wet;

 “You really are horny, aren’t you?”

 He found your clit and started to tease it with tight circles, at the same time grinding into the crease of your ass with the hardness still confined to his smart trousers. Under his expert ministrations you soon found yourself swaying your hips, working between pushing harder against his hand then pushing back to feel that delicious friction from behind. Your head fell back against his shoulder and he let out a feral growl against your neck, his teeth grazing against your smooth flesh before gently biting, causing a shudder to run the length of your spine;

 “Ok, Dinosaurs are great, but I need a different bone…” 

 Your words were breathless and were greeted with a low chuckle. Henry withdrew his fingers and you watched as he brought them to his mouth, tasting your juices from the glistening digits, before he moved them to the zip of your dress and slowly started to unzip you. The dress fell to the floor and he let out an appreciative moan;

 “No bra?”

 “You complaining?”

 “Absolutely not”

 Your fingers started quick work of his shirt buttons, unfastening them all before pushing the fabric over his massive shoulders. As he cast the garment aside you unbuttoned his trousers, lowering the zip and palming the massive bulge his boxers could barely contain, Henry’s hips pushing against your palm involuntarily as you felt the heat of his skin though the fabric. Your tongue painted patterns against his chest and his voice stuttered;

 “I want you to sit on my face, ride my tongue Princess, let me make you cum”

 He dropped to his knees and pulled your lace thong down your legs, before unfastening the tiny straps of your heels, running the tips of his fingers up the length of your body as he stood and rid himself of his own clothing, pulling you to the bed.

 He lay on the soft covers, pulling you up his body until your knees were either side of his head, his strong hands gripping onto your thighs as his tongue darted out and parted your folds. His eyes glinted with mischief and you could feel yourself shaking with anticipation as he spoke;

 “Turn around”

 Taking a couple of moments to shift 180º, you rested your hands on his broad chest as he pulled you down to his mouth. At the first touch of his tongue swiping through your folds again you groaned and curled your fingers through the coarse hair on his chest, shuddering at his expert touch. With each pass of the strong muscle you could feel your body rapidly heading towards orgasm already, but when you felt a wide hand flat on your back, pushing you forwards it was heaven as his lips latched onto your clit and he slid two fingers of his other hand into your soaked channel.

 Resting your chest against his abdomen you were face to face with his dick, hard and thick as it rested against his stomach, reaching up to his navel where it wept precum. Wrapping your hand around it you smoothed your thumb over the clear liquid, wishing you could reach it with your mouth, but instead spitting on your other hand to work the hot hard flesh. The groan that was muffled from between your thighs told you he was enjoying it, and in return he slid a finger into you, stretching you, and you knew you were done for. 

 Your attention waived from him as he worked you closer and closer towards your orgasm, before he managed to curl his fingers just right and you were cumming over his face, his strong arm holding you to his mouth as you shook with pleasure. 

 Finally he carefully withdrew his fingers from you, lifting you so he could lay you head to foot on the bed beside him before resting one massive hand on your soft stomach as your breath came out in rapid pants, your heart racing. You felt the bed shift and the welcome touch of his warm hands parting your legs so he could crawl up your body, pressing open mouthed kisses to every spot he crossed. Eventually he reached your own lips, kissing you deeply, his tongue wide and strong and you could taste yourself as your own tongue danced with his. You could feel his hardness nestled against your folds, slipping against you as your bodies writhed together before he finally pushed himself up on his powerful arms;

 “Are you ready?”

 “Yes… please Henry…”

 Reaching down he took hold of himself and slid the tip up and down through your folds until you felt that delicious notch of his swollen crown resting at your entrance, he looked back to you;

 “I’ll go slow… just relax…”

 He started to push forwards, your velvet walls slowly parting as he filled you inch by delicious inch, your eyes going wider with each push. He tilted his hips and immediately found your g-spot, your eyes rolling back in their sockets and you let out a groan that would have rattled the glass in the windows had the building not been fitted with hurricane proof panes. You felt Henry’s soft lips press a kiss to your neck, his mouth moving gently over your skin as he spoke;

 “You feel like heaven Princess, taking me so well”

 “H-Henry… please…”

 “What Princess? Is it too much?”

 “NO! No, oh my god, please… please move… fuck me… fuck me like you mean it…”

 “Princess…” he warned

 “I can take it… I want it…”

 You looked into his eyes and saw a glint of concern, before a wide smile spread across his face;

 “You can, you’re a good girl…”

Pulling his hips back he pushed back in, parting your walls further and the feeling of being so full was almost indescribable. Sure, you’d had partners with big dicks in the past. Some with small dicks. But no-one that had ever been both long and as wide as Henry was. He wasn’t obscenely long, so there wasn’t the uncomfortable stabbing in the cervix, but every inch of his was thick and meaty, and you could feel him completely. Each thrust was becoming harder and faster, and soon he was wrapping one arm around your thigh to pull your legs open wider, tilting his hips so he could change the angle as he fucking railed you into the mattress, your fingers clawing at his back as you begged him for more and more. 

 The room faded around you, it was just you and Henry, the pleasure each other’s bodies were sharing with the other, feral grunts and moans as you felt pleasure like never before. You fitted together like two pristine pieces of a jigsaw, working together in unity. The rough brush of his chest hair against your hypersensitive nipples was yet another added stimulation, and with each rapid push and thrust your bodies rubbed together to bring you closer to your peak. You were trembling around him, your legs shaking where you were so close to orgasm. 

 He let go of your leg, now resting both hands either side of your body as he moved quicker, each thrust more powerful than the last, and with each push you had slid a little more along the bed, your head now hanging over the end and resting on the chaise lounge that sat there, the blood rushing to your brain giving you a head rush. You wrapped your legs around Henry’s waist, hooking one foot over another as you pressed them against his ripe ass. Your bodies were slick with sweat, and when you felt that tell-tale sign that your orgasm was starting a guttural moan emerged slowly through your throat.

 Your body shook with intense pleasure, you could feel for the very first time your internal muscles squeezing and massaging Henry’s massive girth within you, realising that you had never felt so complete.

As you rode out your orgasm Henry evened his thrusts out, and as your own pleasure was starting to ebb away it set off his own, his thick seed filling you as you felt him twitch and buck within you. You watched as he threw his head back and moaned your name, the smooth expanse of his neck aching for you to touch, and with the last ounce of strength you had you did just that and pressed an open mouthed kiss to his Adams Apple.

 With one final grunt you felt him twitch for the last time before his body relaxed, and those steel blue eyes met yours in the twilight of the room, your bodies only illuminated by the bright lights of the London night skyline. He shifted, moving one hand behind your head to support and cup it in his massive palm, the other resting on his elbow so your bodies were pressed together yet he wasn’t resting his entire weight atop of you. There were no words, the smiles on your faces told the other all the words your mouths couldn’t articulate. 

 The passing of time didn’t register in your mind, and it was only when Henry’s entire body did an involuntary shudder did you both come back to reality. Steadying himself on his arms he slowly pulled out of you, letting out a string of gentle ‘hoo-ha’s as the pull of your body against his over sensitive flesh was almost overwhelming for him. Kneeling on the bed he ran his hands over your thighs, warm against the now goose bumped skin and he pulled your legs apart slightly;

 “Wanna watch my cum drip out of you Princess”

 His hands rested on your inner thighs at the apex, his thumbs pulling apart your lips and you watched as he watched his thick seed slowly pool at your entrance. With one thumb he swiped it through the cum before spreading it over your swollen folds. He let out a grunt and moved, sliding an arm behind your back and helped you sit up, pressing his thumb to your lips which you eagerly took into your mouth, sucking on the thick pad as you tasted your combined essence on his salty skin. 

 “Let’s rest for a while before the next round” he muttered before kissing your cheek. 

 You nodded, muttering about needing to pee, and on wobbly legs you staggered to the bathroom like a new-born fawn.

Chapter 7 >>>

Chapter 6 notes:

In case you wanted to be nosey and see just how much Henry spent on their date:

Champagne:

https://thechampagnecompany.com/krug-1996-vintage-champagne-75cl-gift-box Restaurant at the Shard: https://www.the-shard.com/restaurants/aquashard/ Room at the Shard: https://www.shangri-la.com/london/shangrila/rooms-suites/suites/westminster-suite/

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 107

Happy Tuesday, time for a new chapter!

Writing author’s notes three weeks in advance is hard, I am realizing.  However I am reasonably sure if I wait to write this note, I will forget, because Tuesdays are insane at work.

So, quickly: shout out to @baelpenrose​ for being my beta, as always. Also, thank you to @charlylimph-blog​ and @zommbiebro​, for the characters in this chapter.

I hope you all enjoy!!

I had to admit, as I laughed at Charly’s face when she stole a bite of my food, that Huynh - and therefore Jokul - had a point about eating in the cafeteria/mess regularly. Today, I had taken a page out of his book, and decided on my lunch based on what someone else was eating that looked good when I walked in.  No matter how the dish ended up being, the smile on the face of a random stranger when I stopped and told them their food looked good, along with asking if I could get some from the console, made my day.

Which was good, because it was the oddest fish pie I had ever eaten. In general, I neither hated nor loved fish pie - I needed to either have a request or a craving to make it, usually. However, when I originally saw it as I entered the mess, I saw flaky crust, meat, veggies, and a creamy sauce and called it a winner. I don’t think Charly was expecting seafood in general when she took a bite, and I certainly hadn’t been expecting scallops, even knowing I had gotten fish pie.

“That’s… that’s fish!” she sputtered, glaring at me in betrayal.

“It’s actually scallops,” I corrected, no less perplexed for that fact. “I was expecting mackerel and cod, or haddock. That’s what Conor always asks me to make, anyway.”

“But it’s fish,” she insisted. “I thought it would be chicken.”

“It’s not bad,” I admitted, taking another bite. “Just caught me off guard.”

Shaking her head and scowling, she got up to get her own food, returning with an actual chicken pot pie. Just as she was hooking her arm around it protectively - either protecting it from me or from my lunch, who knew - a pillar of grey and silver stalked up to the table before plopping down miserably. 

Now holding her pie over her head - to avoid being flanked? - Charly stared down, eyes wide. “Mr. Bjornson?” she asked, bewildered.

Craning my neck, I realized she had a point, although the hair was somewhat dishevelled and the robes were wrinkled beyond anything I had seen him wearing previously.  Not even Conor or I would wear clothes that creased, honestly. Hesitantly, I poked at him. “Did you just decide to die in front of my food?” I asked, skeptical. “Last time you interrupted my lunch, you were being kidnapped.”

Alarmingly, Jokul sat up, eyes red, sniffling back tears. “He won’t talk to me…”

Both Charly and I jerked back, surprised. Recovering faster, I carefully ventured a question. “You mean Ivan?”

Rather than answer out loud, Jokul gave a bigger sniff and nodded emphatically.

I was so not prepared to have this conversation, but I tried anyway. “Is everything… I guess, okay, for lack of a better term?”

“He works so much,” came the plaintive response. “He’s so tired all the time, and I’m trying to adjust to everyone looking at me funny and…” He stopped, tears rolling again, biting his lip in what looked like an effort to gain control.

“And?” Charly asked, setting her lunch down and carefully reaching to put a hand on his forearm.

“AndIdonthaveanyoneelsetotalktonowbecauseIrealizedIdontactuallyhaveany friennnnnnnds,” he blurted out quietly, the last part on a barely-constrained sob. I had to give him credit for trying to draw as little attention as possible while talking about something that was clearly a difficult subject.

“Oh, that’s bullshit,” Charly sighed softly, shaking her head. “Right, Sophia?”

I rocked my head a bit, thinking about it. “I mean…. I don’t know about friends, per se - “ Charly glared and kicked me hard enough to drive the breath out of me. “Hey! Cut me some slack?”

“I’m the one who got the punch,” she scolded, stroking his hair and carefully detangling it.

Fair. “Earning friendships may take some time,” I admitted. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t talk to anyone about what’s going on, you know.”

“Who, Councillor?” he demanded sadly. “Who do I have to talk to?”

“Well, you clearly thought I was a good idea - Ow, Charly!”  Rubbing my shin, I continued. “Like I was saying, though. It kind of depends on what it is you want to talk about. If it’s struggling to come back from a negative public image… Simon, hands down, is the best person for that.”

Thankfully, Jokul went from looking despondent to confused. “Simon Rodriguez?”

Charly and I both nodded hard enough to pop our necks. “He was a complete ass when I boarded. I actually tried to kill him, and so did Tyche.  He can tell you the details, but in the end, he made the effort to be a better neighbor, and now he’s an amazing educator whose students adore him.”

“Arthur Farro was a warlord, however,” Jokul tried to object. “Would he not be a better source of insight?”

“Absolutely not,” Charly responded before I could draw a breath, shooting the idea down instantly. “Mr. Farro doesn’t care what other people think of him, beyond making sure they aren’t trying to kill him too actively.  He adheres to social etiquette in most cases, but it’s not for his own sake, more for the sake of those associated with him. Does he care if he’s trustworthy? Absolutely. Likeable…...” She winced as she trailed off, hand tipping in an ‘eh’ gesture.

“Which is why he wasn’t bothered in the least when you wanted a fight,” I pointed out, trying to draw the points together. “Whereas Simon didn’t realize how poorly people thought of him, and as soon as he did, he took steps to change it, even when it was hard. So definitely start there if you need guidance.”

“I will endeavor to do so,” Jokul nodded before his expression dropped again. “But what about Ivan?”

“There is nothing about him being tired that makes his ears malfunction,” I heard myself say. What? Why? Why was I doing this? “No matter how tired I am, my ear still works, and I can still listen to Conor and Maverick about their days. And sometimes that’s all that’s needed.  Mutual bitching about a bad day is… pretty normal, actual.”

He sat up, paling, with a horrified expression on his face. “Oh dear gods, how do you manage two?!”

Charly and I traded glances of confusion before looking back at the distraught man who was slowly inching fingers toward my fish pie. I nodded to Charly, who wrinkled her nose and got up to grab him some food, while I addressed the former cult leader. “It’s usually easier than just one,” I confessed. “If one of us is too tired or sick, there’s always someone who can pinch hit.” I wasn’t about to admit that it was also made easier by the massive family I had acquired during my time on the Ark. That was the last thing he needed to hear. Softening slightly, I tilted my head and placed my hand on his arm. “Jokul, do you really not have any friends, anymore? What about… the ginger kid. I never got his name.”

“William,” Jokul spat with more force than I had seen since the day we met, catching me completely off guard. “A sycophant. He almost immediately asked what my plans were to continue forward with ‘our plans’.” The air quotes were a nice touch, but his face was nothing but sour. “I had to report him to Councillor Kalloe,” he confessed, face falling into a frown.

“Oh, wow,” I murmured. “Okay then. We need to figure out how you can meet other people, I think.” I was barely able to resist the urge to hit myself in the face. We? Why was this a we thing all of a sudden?

Thankfully, Charly came back, nose wrinkled at a second portion of fish pie. As Jokul dug into it, she perked up slightly. “The Undine! They have cultural events all the time!  And! Andandandandand,” she started bouncing in her seat with each syllable. “Ivan loves those events. Not only does he drum up a lot of work, but he also loves meeting new people! You can do a date thing!”

That was, by far, the most harmless suggestion Charly could have made, and I made a mental note to send her a candy-basket at some point. “Plus, if Ivan is there, Zach and Hannah should be, too. You met them, right?”

“Did I?”

I managed not to roll my eyes as I reminded him. “The couple that were talking to Ivan the day you, um… met him?”

“Oh!” he exclaimed, sitting up straighter. “He mentioned they were friends of his!”

“Lord bless it,” I laughed. “Those two are probably his closest friends, honestly.  So, something like that would be both a chance to make friends and something you can do with Ivan!” And something that does not require me to adopt someone who recently did his best to be a pain in my ass. 

“And you said I can still just… talk, to Ivan, when he’s too tired to do anything else?”

“Yes?” I confirmed, slightly bewildered. “He still cares, I would think.  Keep in mind, he does manual labor for a living, by choice.  If he’s too tired to move, he is probably physically incapable of moving.  It would be like Conor coming home, showering, and flopping on the couch.  Good luck moving him, just grab him a pillow and blanket.”

Jokul arched an eyebrow at me, recovering something resembling his former ego. “I am quite capable of carrying Ivan to a proper bed, thank you.” His face abruptly softened. “I’m just new at… this…” he waved his hand vaguely. “Relationships, during a time of peace, I suppose.”

Huh. That never occurred to me, actually. “Hang on,” I thought out loud. “Have you had any portion of this conversation,” I frantically pointed between the three of us, “with Ivan?”

“Not.. yet?” came the sheepish response.

“Sir!” I sputtered. “If you do not go home right now - take your pie with you! - and talk to your poor…. Partner, boyfriend, whatever. If you don’t talk to Ivan, I will give Arthur permission to re-administer the ass-whooping and deal with Ivan later over it!”

Rather than being offended, Jokul seemed to take the admonishment for what it was, and dashed off.  Charly, breathless with laughter, managed to recover just enough to give me the stink eye. “Did you just give solid advice to your adversary?”

“I won! Sort of,” I argued. “Besides, anyone that upset about a romantic relationship deserves some kind of slack, right?”

“Were you really going to sic Mr. Farro on him?”

I groaned, burying my head in my hands. “The less he knows about this entire interaction, the better. I’ll never hear the end of it.” And then, just as if my day could not possibly get any better, I heard a familiar, dry voice snark from behind me. 

“The less I know about what the better?”

Oh, hell.

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[there-must-be-a-lock]

Prey (1/2)

Sam x Reader

Word Count: ~2550

Warnings: Smutty goodness. Everything is consensual, everybody has fun, but this is written from Soulless!Sam’s point of view and it’s just kinda got a weird ~vibe~ sometimes. To quote @fangirlxwritesx67 “I dont know where you're going with this, if hes going to fuck her or kill her or both.” Spoiler alert: he doesn’t kill her. A/N: Split this into two parts cause it turned into a BEAST. Second half coming soon. 

He should check in with Samuel, probably, but… well, he just doesn’t want to.

Sam’s hungry in a restless, itchy way that has nothing to do with food. It’s making his skin crawl. He drives right past the motel and keeps going, squinting through the rain until he spots a seedy bar, neon lights unmistakeable even through the steady downpour.

He’s half-soaked by the time he makes it through the door, and he shakes his head impatiently, sending droplets flying, before tucking his hair behind his ears and assessing his surroundings. Three dumpy middle-aged men at one table, no doubt talking shit about their wives; a biker and his girl playing pool, skin the same texture as their leather jackets; a cluster of trashy bottle-blonds sneaking glances at him from one end of the bar; and at the other end… yeah, that’s more like it.

She’s tossing her head back to drain the last of her beer and Sam feels hot all over with the urge to wrap his fingers around the smooth curve of her throat. It’s like his vision tunnels down, blacking out everything that isn’t her, as he stalks across the room.

He leans against the bar next to her just as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. She sets the bottle down with slightly more force than necessary, and there’s a pissy little twist to her mouth. She’s even prettier up close, and she’s wearing a thin cotton v-neck that shows just a hint of cleavage, and Sam wants to sink his teeth into her.

“This seat taken?” he asks softly, and she can’t hide the way her eyes widen when she looks at him.

“Well,” she says slowly, “it should’ve been, but… looks like I got stood up.”

“His loss.” He slides onto the stool and flags down the bartender.

Every nerve in his body is screaming at him to pounce. He imagines slamming her against the bar and ripping the flimsy cotton of her shirt, right down the center, tearing it apart and leaving a trail of bruises down her breastbone.

She’s looking at him sideways, wary, and he gives her a disarming smile before ordering beers for both of them.

She doesn’t seem like the type to go home with a stranger. He’ll have to play his cards right.

They sip their beers slowly and exchange small talk; this is the easy part. Sam could ask the right questions in his sleep. He pitches his voice low like a secret, angling himself toward her, leaning in close, drawing her in. When he tells her she has beautiful eyes she blushes and grins. She drops her gaze to his mouth when he licks his lips. By the time their drinks are gone, Sam knows he’s got her.

He stands and sidles closer, resting one big palm on the curve of her waist, and she shivers when he whispers against her ear: “Can we get out of here?”

She’s frozen, for a moment, poised breathlessly on the edge of a decision. He doesn’t back away.

He’s close enough to smell her, the clean scent of her shampoo and a hint of perfume, and when he looks down he can see her pulse under the thin bare skin of her neck. Time to go in for the kill.

He lets his hand slide lower, until he can brush his thumb against the hem of her shirt where the waistband of her jeans digs into the flesh of her hips. He slips the pad of his index finger under the fabric and caresses the soft little roll of skin there, and he hears the way her breath catches.

She nods.

It’s raining even harder now, fat frigid drops that soak through their clothes by the time they make it to the car. She gasps, pushing wet hair out of her face, and in the slice of watery light that’s coming through the windshield he can see the way her shirt has gone translucent, clinging to the hard, obvious peaks of her nipples. Heat twists low in his stomach.

“Can I kiss you?” he makes himself ask, even though he knows the answer.

When she smiles, he twists awkwardly over the gearshift to slide a hand into the wet tangle of her hair and tug, holding her right where he wants her. It’s like she melts in his grip, her head falling back to give him easier access. He deepens the kiss, dragging his teeth over the plump curve of her lower lip and sucking hungrily, and her breathy little sigh makes his cock throb.

He can barely force himself to pull away. Her lips are full and bruised, parted around quick breaths, and Sam wants to bite down until he tastes blood.

He drives fast.

They get soaked all over again running to the door of his motel room, and it takes him forever to wiggle the key the right way. When he finally turns on a lamp and looks at her, she’s just standing there shaking, arms wrapped around herself, eyes huge and hungry as he walks toward her slowly.

“I’ll warm you up,” Sam whispers. It’s a cheesy line but she smiles through chattering teeth and lets him pull her shirt over her head and toss it aside. It lands with a wet slap as Sam bends down to kiss her, hands gripping her hips. Her skin is clammy and goosebumped but her mouth is hot, opening easily under his, and she groans when he ducks his head and nips at her pulse. He gets her jeans open and yanks them down sharply. She almost stumbles as the wet denim catches on her thighs, but she kicks them off and straightens up unsteadily.

Sam grabs her wrists and holds her arms down at her sides before she can try to cover herself. He looks her up and down slowly, taking in all the bare skin on display. He expected her to blush and shy away; that’s what most of them do. Instead she lifts her chin almost defiantly and lets him stare. When he meets her gaze, there’s a glint of a dare in her eyes, an unspoken challenge, and he grins in response.

The edge of her bra is scalloped white lace, thin and transparent. He bends down and drags his mouth over the trim, barely brushing it, letting her feel the warmth of his breath through the damp fabric. There’s a tiny bow nestled between her breasts, right in the center, and he presses a gentle kiss to the skin just above it. Then he flicks his tongue out, sliding the tip of it between her soft skin and the scratchy lace. He licks under the fabric, teasingly close to her nipple, until a whine catches in the back of her throat, and when he drags his teeth down and closes them ever so gently around the taut peak, he can feel her wrists twitch in his grip. He reaches around to unhook the clasp of her bra, and as it falls away he mouths at the exposed skin one more time.

“Bed,” he growls, and shoves her back as he straightens up. She stumbles, but goes without hesitating as Sam shucks his shirt and jeans, leaving him in nothing but his black boxer-briefs. She sits back against the headboard and watches him approach with her head tilted appraisingly, looking him up and down, just as shameless as he’d been about checking her out.

He slides onto the bed and starts to crawl toward her, but he pauses on all fours, his hands on either side of her feet, watching the way she’s smirking down at him.

She raises an eyebrow. “Waiting for a formal invitation?”

This one’s got an attitude; she’s trying to keep her composure, but it only makes Sam more determined to see her fall apart. A challenge will be a nice change of pace.

He moves fast, grabbing her ankles and tugging her toward him without warning, and she lets out a surprised little squeak at finding herself flat on her back.

Sam settles more comfortably between her spread legs. He runs his palms up her thighs, deliberately slow, feeling the way she shivers at the touch. She shifts slightly, tilting her hips like an invitation. Sam grazes one thumb up her center as he runs his hands up the dip where her legs meet her hipbones, feeling damp heat through the flimsy fabric, and she lets out a barely-there whimper.

He hooks his fingers into the elastic of her panties, sliding them down, and she bends her legs and twists awkwardly until she can kick them off. Before she can get comfortable again he grabs her, one hand behind each knee, hoisting one leg up over his shoulder as he folds forward. He presses her other thigh down and back, spreading her open.

He buries his face between her legs, nuzzling in close as he fucks her shallowly with his tongue, completely surrounded by the musky-salty-sweet smell and taste of her. She hums happily as he gives her a long, messy lick and then massages her clit with the flat of his tongue. He takes it easy at first; she’s wet, but nowhere near losing it, and Sam wants to make her lose it.

There’s something about this that sets off all these primal reptile-brain urges. It’s the taste, or the smell, or the intimacy, or maybe the vulnerability… she’s sprawled out like a feast for him, ready and waiting, and Sam wants her hard, fast, right fucking now, but instead he’s going to take his time. He’s going to take her apart, piece by piece, drive her fucking insane, until she’s wrecked and helpless and his.

It’s not about seduction, not really. It’s just another hunt.

So Sam takes it easy. He takes the time to learn her body, caressing with his lips and tongue, teasing, figuring out what she likes, letting her warm up slowly and get comfortable with him, until his chin and mouth and cheeks are slick. She makes those dainty noises women seem to think are expected of them; they’re performative. He wants to hear her, not a generic porn soundtrack.

He slips two long fingers into the silky heat of her, giving her something to clench down around, and he gets his mouth on her clit, giving it a slow open-mouthed kiss with a hint of suction. Her hands flutter at her sides, fingers twisting in the sheets, as she whines softly.

When Sam sneaks a glance up at her, she’s looking down at him and biting her lip, her eyes heavy-lidded and dazed. He suppresses a smile and does it again, and her head falls back, baring the long column of her neck, as her other leg hooks around his shoulder and her heels dig into his back, holding him close.

He’s gentle at first, and then he sucks harder and her thighs start to shake. She’s gritting her teeth; he can hear her trying to hold back, feel her trying to hold still, but her hips are twitching up helplessly, her self-control eroding as he gradually ups the intensity. He wraps one arm around so that he can flatten a hand over her lower belly and hold her down against the mattress, and he uses what little leverage he has in this position to rock forward as he sucks, a rhythmic back-and-forth pulse of friction. He keeps it up, steady and even, and he has to hold her in place as she tries to buck up against his mouth.

He can feel her getting close. She’s breathing harsh and ragged now, cursing in a strained high-pitched voice, nothing performative or pretty about it.

Her thighs are tense and quivering where they’re wrapped around his ears, and he can barely breathe, surrounded by all that soft hot skin with his mouth on her slippery-wet cunt. She’s going to smother him, or maybe drown him, and Sam’s going to die happy.

She gets one hand in his hair and twists sharply, and Sam’s groan is muffled where his mouth is pressed against her, but he can’t help rocking down into the mattress, achingly hard.

“Motherfucker,” she grits out, voice breaking, and then she’s spitting out curse after curse, guttural and hoarse: “Fuck, fuck, yes, fu- fuck.”

He slips a third finger into her, twists them in deep, and he feels the shudder through her whole body as she comes: legs quaking, belly twitching, every muscle spasming and releasing with tiny shockwaves, cunt pulsing around his fingers, and Sam can hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, thumping out a counterpoint to her gasping, sobbing cries.

She goes completely limp with the release. Sam eases up, but doesn’t take his mouth off her; he keeps laving his tongue over her gently, drawing out the aftershocks.

He sneaks a look up at her. She’s got one hand over her own mouth as she pants, her chest heaving with the deep breaths, so he can’t see her face, but he can see the way she’s trembling all over. He can see the patchy red flush down her neck, the sheen of sweat, the way she shudders when he presses his fingers up and traces circles on her g-spot.

He swirls his tongue over her swollen clit with a little more pressure and she hisses, squirming.

“Jesus, okay, okay,” she gasps, “Enough.”

Sam lets her hear the chuckle in the back of his throat. Then he’s fitting his mouth to her, licking and slurping with this wildly obscene noise, savoring the way she floods his tongue and the way she shrieks and writhes and tries to wriggle away.

“Too much,” she protests, in a high, strained voice. “Too - too much, I - oh, fuck, yes.”

She thrashes under his hands, like she’s torn between wanting to get away and wanting to grind against his face until she’s screaming again. She doesn’t have much of a choice, with Sam’s hands pinning her down.

He keeps his eyes on her, this time, mouth working her clit hard and fast as he watches her; he can see the muscles in her neck cording with the tension as she clenches her jaw, and he can see the drops of sweat rolling down her chest, the underside of her breasts and the way they jiggle when she slams her head back and arches up as Sam sends her over the edge again. It comes on quick this time, almost violently intense, and she shouts wordlessly as her body goes rigid for one long frozen moment.

Shit, he wants her. He ruts down against the mattress, too hard to hold back. His vision is going hazy red at the edges.

He uses her thigh as a pillow and pulls his fingers out slowly, watching her stretch around his thick knuckles as they come out glistening. He licks his fingers clean and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Sam can feel his lip curling in a snarl. She’s not watching him, at least; she’s got both hands over her face as she tries to pull herself together.

He schools his facial features into something more human, and he waits.

.

.

Next part here. 

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[professorpski]

Learn To Sew in 1969: Simplicity 8298

This pattern captures a lot of the late 1960s trends, like miniskirts above the knee, then tights worn with them as in this black skirt with matching rights. The rest of the skirts were not considered minis. Another trend of the 1960s was the little-girl-in-knee-socks look, an unfortunate idea as this was sized for grown women.  The poses too--hands on hips and toes tipped up from the heel--were common as well, an attempt to put dynamism in a static pose. The scarf is also included as a pattern piece even thought it’s a simple, pieced rectangle, folded in half.

The idea of the wrapped skirt was its simplicity of construction, and here in an A-line, front darts could be eliminated. The problem with the wrapped skirt, as anyone who has worn one will tell you, is that they flap open. Unless you have a fabric which clings to itself like a wool knit or a stretch velvet, you are doomed to anxiety. The black one has buttons and loops, while the other skirts are closed with hooks and eyes and then five hidden snaps.  While the pattern sheet explains how to add braid or leather (essentially ease it at the curved hemline, stitch it down on both sides), the “tissue pattern lesson” explains how to put on fringe, scalloped trim by hand, or to opt for top stitching or tab closures, allowing the maker to put a personal spin on a simple garment. An urge any maker will understand.