#shrewd moves

[coachtfd]

I repeat: underpriced value is in the Asian market, especially Japanese players at the moment. South Korea is on the come up too. And some of these leagues are attracting promising talent from South America and Eastern Europe, too, because they can guarantee playing time. Even if you’re just getting squad players for depth, why pay 60M when you can pay 30M? I would’ve happily paid what Liverpool paid for Endo over what United paid for Casemiro. That insane win ratio stat when Endo plays hasn’t dropped by the way. You want to talk about value? 😂

[penaltyboxboxbox]

like. it is okay to just say you like a driver more than the other one and wish he'd gotten the seat instead. like. it can just be that simple.

[five-wow]

i'm so sorry, but the phrasing of this had me wheezing. danny, on day #603 of "i can't possibly go home, there's mold in my kitchen":

[lonewolflink]

watching steve dangle froth at the mouth that the leafs HAVE to trade tavares or marner is so funny

my guy. tavares is not waving his no-move clause lmao.

if marner wants to play out the year in toronto and give it one more shot with the core there bc they're his friends and it's his childhood team and whatnot...he...can. he literally can. he will. he has a full no move clause. if he wants to be in toronto he will be. the leafs literally have no power lol

[seishun-emergency]

reading primavera... its so interesting to poke eichi's motivations and actions because like . Yeah he is a shrewd businessman and he does make actions within ES/as fine/through yumenosaki/as the stuco with businesslike mindsets but also his core motivation for being an idol isn't and has never been to make money it's because idols like wataru and older idols on tv shows he watched as a kid in hospitals gave him joy and happiness and he wants to be a part of that spreading of joy and happiness and love... at the same time he knows that to make that happen, to fulfill his own dream and the dreams of others like him, there has to be an aspect of realism, that shrewd businessman that he knows how to be... he faces the "adult" world and does things that aren't necessarily as "pure" as his motivations and dreams to make sure that they can become realities by maintaining the resources necessary to do so...

[neathyingenue]

Do they want them on a String

[beauthief]

"If you have no respect for the beauty of the world around us, I have no respect for you."

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

35 / 2.1k / shark merman Price and remora mermaid reader for mermay :)

...

Price isn’t stupid. He knows you’ve been following him since the early morning as he makes the rounds through his favorite reef. You’re stealthing poorly—just poorly enough that he knows you’re there, but you’re still small enough to dart into the reef every time he tries to get a good look at you.

He's been ignoring you and hoping you’ll take the hint to buzz off before he makes you buzz off.

You think you’re getting the hang of sneaking up on him when you turn a corner and lose him. And then he’s sneaking up on you.

You peek around the bright lumps of coral, wondering where he’s gone, when something blots out the sunlight above. You look up to see him—the long expanse of muscle and bulk on top and the smooth shark’s tail below—as he peers down at you.

You stiffen, pressing yourself to the sandy sea floor.

He scans you with his dark eyes to determine just what kind of creature has been following him. Not a threat, decides. Even as a mer. You’re too small. Too soft. You have no teeth to speak of. How laughable. And a tiny little thing, at that.

You straighten up, watching him circle you. You’d been looking for an opportunity just like this. That’s why you were tailing him. But now that his shrewd gaze is finally on you, you feel exposed.

He takes his time inspecting you. Then he swims a wide arc around you once more and lowers his clawed as if to touch you. You force yourself to stay still, your tail curled under you on the sand.

“You’ve been following me,” he says. It’s not a question.

“Yes.”

Price hooks one of his claws under your chin and pulls your head lightly upwards. You slowly rise as he tilts your chin up until you're suspended in the water in front of him.

"You should be scared of me,” he says.

You settle your own hands on his wrist in contentment. You look less like a meal being evaluated and more like a kitten being scratched under the chin. "Would you like me to be scared?"

He chuckles at your enthusiasm. He knows exactly what this is. You're a remora mer, which means you instinctively seek out and bond with bigger creatures. Even if that creature is an unfriendly shark mer. Surely you must know how dangerous it is to be within his reach?

"You're very big. You must be king of this reef,” you say.

He pauses as the praise washes over him. He knows how intimidating he is, and you should realize you're nothing but small, soft and fragile. But obviously your instincts for fawning and flattery are finely honed.

He can see the way your little self seems to be drawn to him. A remora mer, indeed. He's seen others like you, but they've always avoided him. He could just as easily kill you as he could accept your company.

There is something pitifully adorable about you. The way you tilt your head and expose your throat unwittingly is endearing. He knows it’s because your instincts are leading you to bond with him for the safety he provides. You're too willing.

"Do you lack the common sense to fear an apex predator?" he asks, voice low and amused.

"Yes," you respond obediently.

He can see the way your little body is pressing up to his hand, desperate to get closer. He moves his arm, gently guiding you closer to him. "Good," he rumbles softly before using two claws to stroke down the curve of your neck. "Very good. You're too small to survive my teeth, you know."

"Of course. Much too small. Your teeth are so big and sharp."

"And you're soft and weak. Soft as a piece of kelp, I bet." He gives the tip of your tail a flick, and his eyes glitter as you bob and shake out your tail fin at the touch. Fussy little creature. "You're not very good at what you're supposed to do, little mer."

You open up your eyes. "I'm not?"

"Following me for hours without even trying to ingratiate yourself to me," he growls. "You're supposed to busy yourself with my needs. Not..." He trails off as you tilt up into his touch, almost nuzzling his hand. He gives your forehead a light flick with his claw to make you pay attention. "Acting like some kind of pet."

You quickly smooth yourself down. "Of course. I know that." You dart closer, putting your small hands on his inner arm, his shoulder, his chest, inspecting him. Your fingers glide over him, brushing and scratching and plucking away bits of sea debris and dry skin. Grooming him. "I just thought you might want me to be scared of you first."

Oh. He’s enjoying this far more than he thought he would. For something so soft, you’re quite bold.

He presses on your hip to turn you slightly as you work, idly inspecting you in return. "Maybe later. Let’s see if you’re worth the effort first." He rests his chin on his other hand to watch you fuss over him. It's been a long time since he had any kind of attention on him. You dart around behind him and busy yourself with his hair next.

He leans into your touch when you start to untangle his hair. "You seem to enjoy this.”

“I do.”

“Good for you,” he drawls. "Are you good for anything else?"

"I'm good for lots of things." You move from his hair down to his tail, trying not to stare.

"Oh?" He reaches up and idly drags the back of his knuckles down your spine and over the fin there. He smirks as your fin flattens with the touch. "Like what?"

"Anything you can think of."

"Anything?" He gives a low rumble in his throat at your words. "Don't go promising favors you can't fulfill, little remora."

"Okay," you chime.

He grabs ahold of your tail fins. "And don't agree with every single thing I say, either. That makes you far too easy to manipulate."

"Yes, sir!"

He rolls his eyes. You really are a pushover. It's like you want him to be cruel to you. He lets go of your tail but twirls his fingers in the tip of your tailfins. "Is it your instincts that are making you so deferential? Or are you just a coward?"

You pretend to think about this for a moment. Then you respond, pleasantly, "Which do you prefer?"

"Mm, so you do have a brain."

"Me? No, surely that can't be. Not a thought in my head, sir. Promise."

He eyes you like a disobedient puppy. You're putting on this fairly convincing act, being a mindless, servile little thing, and it's confusing his instincts to know you're doing a fair bit of manipulation yourself to win his protection.

"Might prefer you a bit more brainless, actually," he says. He nudges the underside of your chin with his knuckle this time instead of his claw, noting how you drop what you were doing to follow the gesture as he guides you out in front of him again. "You're willing to do anything I ask, then? No questions?"

"Yes, sir.” You rest your much smaller body against his forearm again. “Anything.”

He looks down at how you submit willingly to his hand, taking in the sight of your small body pressed up against it. He feels something primal coil in his gut at the display. You let yourself fall under his control so easily. "What if I told you to open your mouth like a goldfish?" He brings his thumb up to your lip. "Would you?"

You open your mouth.

Interesting. He taps your lower lip with the tip of his thumb. "Wide," he murmurs. "Open up wide for me."

You open wider.

"Now bite."

You bite down around the tip of his thumb.

His lips twitch up into a smile at the feeling of you nibbling at him, the little scrape of your teeth. "Good. Harder."

You reposition your grip and chomp down in earnest this time. He grunts. Your teeth are smaller than his, but they're still sharp.

"There you go. Not bad for such a small mouth." He pulls it away, half-expecting you to start hollowing your cheeks on his thumb if he dawdles too long. "Have you ever had to deal with bigger fish?"

"Of course," you chirp. Like it's no big deal.

Price snorts. It's hard to imagine something like you doing anything but darting behind the nearest rock at the first sign of danger. “How many have you killed?"

"None."

"Right, I'm sure you ask them nicely to leave you alone," he says. "And do they listen?”

"Sometimes they do. Sometimes they don't."

"And when they don't, what do you do? Do you fight back? Do you give up?"

"Well..." You wring your hands briefly. "You're going to handle it now, right? So what does it matter?"

"It matters to me." For some reason, the thought of you trying to fight back against a larger fish makes him restless. "You still need to know how to defend yourself."

You frown. "You're not going to do it for me?"

He scoffs, but you're starting to make him feel something close to concern for you. He doesn't know why the thought of you being defenseless irks him so. "Are you really that helpless? Are you really so soft that you just want me to fight all your battles for you?"

"I mean, you're a shark."

He huffs irritably at that, his annoyance with you outweighed by his annoyance with himself for feeling concerned over you. "Do you think I'm going to do everything for you just because I'm bigger and stronger?"

You smile at him, pleased.

Ah. He's the fool suddenly. He grabs you around the waist with just one of his big hands and brings you close, his voice lowering in warning. "Stop smiling, little fish."

"Okay," you chime.

"I told you to stop sounding so bloody agreeable. You make me want to bite you." He lifts you up in front of him to get a clearer look at your face. Your eyes are too wide, your smile is too sweet, your body is too flimsy. It's all infuriating to him. He’s been roaming the ocean a long time and he's grown comfortably hard and cold. You’re not changing that. "You have no self-preservation instincts at all, do you? You're just going to get yourself killed one day."

You settle into his hand comfortably. "Maybe so. Can I get you anything else, boss?"

You're hopeless, he decides. With how sweet and docile you are, he feels something clawing at the inside of his chest the longer he holds you.

Instead of answering you, he fits you against his chest, into the crook of his arm. There. Better. He can keep you closer this way without having to look at your silly doe eyes.

“Not now,” he says finally. “Maybe later.”

You lean into the position, tucking into the side of his chest like you're making yourself at home. "Okay, boss."

He can’t decide if he likes you calling him that or not. He can feel the way you nestle against him, settling in comfortably and making no effort to resist. You really are too easy to control. Just a little pull and you're molded against his side. He feels you start to smooth down some of his chest scales without even thinking. Grooming him. Nice and clean. Little busybody.

He's not used to being pampered, but feeling the tension start to bleed from his muscles under your touch… maybe it’s not so bad. He glances down at you, wondering how you're able to look so contented tucked up against him. His chest rumbles as you scratch near his throat. He lets his muscles relax under your hand.

You're an annoying little thing--too innocent, too naive, too sweet, and he conveniently forgets how capable you are of convincing him of that to win him over--but it's been too damn long since he's allowed himself to be comforted.

Maybe it would be alright to let you stay with him for a little while.

...

more Price / more mer au / masterlist tag

[pseudowho]

The Cock Ring

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"Hey," you whisper to him, the lights in the living room dim as he begins to bear down over you, your kisses moving from 'I've missed you', to 'fuck, I've really missed you' in under a minute. He hums questioningly, dipping down to nuzzle at your neck, trapping you down with his hips and twitching cock.

"I...bought something today. Close your eyes."

He pulls back momentarily, giving you a shrewd questioning look. You narrow your eyes at him, smiling, and move to close your legs. He's quick to play along.

"Alright, alright..." he sighs, but his breath catches when he feels you move to unzip him, the tips of your fingers grazing over his cock, hardening in his boxers. By the time you've fished his cock out, he's completely hard, his arms trembling as he suspends himself above you.

He gasps to feel something tight being stretched over his cockhead, being guided down and gently released at the base of his cock and balls. He's shuddering as he feels the blood thump through his rigid cock, in a way he hasn't before. You take advantage of his surprise, to push him back to the sofa, pushing his knees apart so you can kneel on the floor between them.

"Oh f-fuck...darling, I--"

"...shhhhh. I want to play with you."

The cock ring is tight, and his length has never looked so strained, so enormous and jerking weakly against his belly. He presses two fingers to the bridge of his nose, taking a single shaky breath in and out. His fists clench, his arms stretching out along the back of the sofa. Seeing you between his legs, eyes dewy and licking your lips at the sight of his engorged cock...he groans.

You hold him in your hand, feeling the weight of him, examining him with hungry curiosity. You can't help the shudder that leaves you as he whimpers, his hands furiously clenching and unclenching, face twisted in euphoric agony, squirming above you. You pump silky lube into your hands, far too much of it. Your eyes flick up to him as you wrap your fingers around his length again.

The way he moans as your wet little hand masturbates his rapidly reddening length, gets you through so many dark nights alone after this. He gasps, shuddering, hair mussed and flicking over his forehead, whining incoordinate babble at you.

"You're so beautiful," you whisper to him, pressing a kiss to the tip of his cock, glossing your lips with his salty pre-cum, "...and so big...d'you wanna cum inside me, or...?"

"--I--I don't--I can't-- fuck, my love I...help me--"

He's offered a choice, and is woefully unable to decide for himself, every spark of pleasure aggressively amplified by the cuff trapping blood in his aching cock and balls. He humps up against the air spontaneously when you decide for him, letting go of his cock while he curses and sweats. He begs, incomprehensible nonsense, his cock too sore and too tight to be touched by anything less wet and velvety than your pussy.

You stand, undressing slowly before him, stripteasing, brushing yourself so softly against his poor electrified body. By the time you're straddling his lap, he's almost ready to spill.

He grasps your hips, holding you close with trembling desperation, afraid you'll leave him whimpering with a weeping engorged cock and balls like this.

"--please, darling-- I'll do anything--" You hush him again, a finger on his lips, and he bites it between his teeth, eyes fiery. You can feel him yank you above his cock, his arms locked over your hips to force you down.

You smirk, laughing and locking your knees, and he growls as you fight back against him, his eyes fixed on where he cock almost sheathes inside you.

"...no more fucking around," he chokes out, ready to burst, his length twitching against your entrance. He lets go of your hips briefly to bat your knees aside, and you fall with a squeak, crying out as you immediately impale on his slippery cock. He curses, spitting with need, feeling himself bottom out instantly. You mewl and twist, totally unable to release yourself from his savage insistence.

He's a pathetic mess in seconds, ramming you down onto him, thrusting up, sloppy and wet as his hypersensitive cock struggles to take the pleasure. He watches you squeak and cling onto him, breasts bouncing with his animalistic fucks, reaching out for him to anchor you, and he can't take it anymore it's just too much and his cock feels like it'll explode if he doesn't cum soon and--

He finishes with a shout, cumming uncontrollably. His moans trail off into fractured whimpers, his cock slipping out mid thrust, half of his seed spurting inside you and half spattering out onto your belly and mound. You're drenched in dripping thick white, his balls throbbing and tight and full inside the cock ring. He groans, stuttering and husky, face twisted into a desperate snarl at having been reduced to such a sloppy mess.

He wets his fingers with his cum, lathering it between your folds before reaching aside, grabbing the vibrating wand that you keep in the bag. He grips your wrists together in one hand, maxing the vibrations out on the wand and teasing it over your folds.

"Think it's funny, making me hypersensitive, do you? Let's see who's laughing, now."

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-- Nanami Kento, Geto Suguru, Higuruma Hiromi, Okkotsu Yuuta, Kong Shiu

[coachtfd]

Ansu Fati to Brighton on loan…even with my crazy but conceivable ways I didn’t see this coming. 🤯 Absolutely AMAZING business. UNITED, WHY CAN’T WE DO DEALS LIKE THIS??

[vagabond-umlaut]

every rose and its 'twin prickles'

Or: you and the two fearsome monsters, your knightly husband must wage a war against everyday, for the sake of a glimpse of you.

▸ dad!gojo satoru x mom!reader; 1.45 wc; fluff, fluff, gallons and gallons of fluff; a pair of cute, possessive and too-wise-for-their-age babies who love their mama wayyy too much; poor miserable deprived 'toru; sprinkles of humor too added in there; implied no curses!au

▸ i dump the blame of this on @afortoru's shoulders. A, look what you made me do ▸ writing this genre for the 1st time! characters, image or divider used aren't mine. please don't plagiarize or translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

Do you know what’s the best thing about work? 

Every evening it ends early. 

Do you know what’s the best thing about home? 

Every evening you’re there.   

Walking into the barely-lit flat, a soft smile lights up the expanse of Satoru’s face as the quiet sounds of snoring float over from the bedroom. Dumping the bag on the sofa and shrugging off the coat, the man moves silently further into the apartment – weary mind conjuring images of you in an oversized black tee [of his], curled into yourself in the king-sized bed, the cutest little pout on your lips as you babble in your sleep – then pauses, a hand on the doorknob.  

Two pairs of blue eyes sparkle at him from the almost-darkness of the room.  

Satoru closes the door behind and slumps against it.  

Two matching grins aim at his heart from the human blanket over your form. 

Sharp. Shrewd. Cruel. 

You wrap an arm round each of those two monkeys – the latter back here from their grandparents', two days before schedule.  

Ten years ago, were anyone to tell Satoru there would be a day in the future when he would have to fight for you, only to taste defeat, again and again and again, the man would have emptied his glass of champagne on their clothes, then kicked them out of the reception party. 

Yet, now... as he trudges closer to the door and extends a hand to brush a few wily wisps of hair away from your forehead – only to have it slapped away harshly by a little palm – he can’t help but wonder what sin he committed in his previous birth, to have received an angel like you as his wife, but two demons like them for his children.  

Sachiko, the older of the twins, glares up at her father. “Papa, no!! Mama’s sleeping,” She whisper-yells, eyes darting from him to you than back to him, lips tugged down in a scowl, the likes of which he has only seen in a mirror. On your other side, a mop of white hair nods, albeit not without a tiny yawn – Sachiro’s definitely inherited your sleepiness in a rainy weather.  

Satoru lifts an eyebrow in return. “I can see that, you two. Now go, play with your toys or something. I wanna cuddle with my wife.” 

“But we too wanna cuddle with Mama,” Sachiko retorts as she slips out from under your arm and sits up on the bed. The tiny ponytail on her white head stays in a complete disarray; your husband watches your daughter tug at it a couple of times, frowning, before she gives up, returning her glower to him as she continues, “So, you can’t cuddle with her. Mama is ours now.” 

Your son again gives a small “yes” at her words, followed by a yawn – a reaction which Sachiko doesn’t deem to be enough, apparently, given how she throws a glare his way next. “Hey, whose team are you on, dumbo? Mine or Papa’s?” 

The answer arrives in an instant, in the most matter-of-factly voice possible from a five-year-old. “Yours, obviously. I don’t want Papa to steal Mama away. She’s ours.” 

The smug grin directed his way next makes Satoru want to flick two foreheads pretty hard – but he doesn’t. Any rash or impulsive action can only do him more harm now, driving him further away from his goal.  

So, cogs whirring in his brain, he crouches down to his kids’ eye level and smiles.  

“What do you think of a compromise, kids? Why don’t you make a deal with me?”  

Two pairs of blue clash with the original pair of blue for a while, suspicion in one, suspicious curiosity in the other, while challenge swirls in the last; before a huff breaks the staring contest and your daughter folds her arms across her chest. Exchanging a glance and a nod with her, your son too sits up and announces, “Okay, we’re interested. What’s the deal?” 

Your husband lets out an internal whoop of victory. 

“Belgian chocolates in exchange for a cuddling session with my wife.” 

“Bleh!” Sachiko makes a disgusted face – something which takes him back to his younger days when Suguru and Shoko used to imitate his expressions – and whines, “They are so bitter, yuck! Suggest something better.” 

“A doll house for you and a car for Sachiro, if that’s the case.” 

The latter is the one to turn down this time. Tone brimmed with disappointment – something he can only ever learn from you – he says, “But you just bought us one last month, Papa! Mama always asks you to save money... why don’t you ever listen to her?” 

A knife of guilt lodges itself into his heart and twists. Satoru sighs. “I do... I try to, always, but you two make it so difficult for me to! Why are you like this? Is it so unfair to want to spend some time with her? She is as much my wife as much she’s your mom.” 

“We know,” The addressed two answer in unison with sage little nods of their head. The girl continues with a grave expression matching her brother’s, “But we can also ask you the same, Papa. She is as much our mom as she’s your wife. Is it so unfair to want to spend some time with her?”  

“Besides, you spent five extra years with her, before we were born. We just want to make up for the time lost,” Sachiro chimes in with a pout. “Tell us, Papa,” The two again speak in a heart-wrenching chorus, “Is it so unfair to want to spend some time with her?” 

“The kids are right, y’know?” A mumble pops the gravity of the situation at hand, and Satoru looks down to find you awake, cracking an amused smile at them. He huffs, rising from the floor and plopping on the bed next to you, arms folded against chest.

“Can’t believe I am so unloved and unwanted in this world. My kids don’t love me. They don’t listen to me. My wife too doesn’t love me. She never supports me. Welp, got to be the unluckiest to be in my shoes right now, I guess.” 

Your husband pauses, giving a small break for the words to sink into everyone, before you let out a long exhale and send him a minor twitch of your lips. Sachiko moves to pat his head, the same moment Sachiro reaches over to clasp his small arms around his neck. You too rise and embrace him from behind, placing a small kiss in between his shoulder blades.  

“Y’know, it’s not like that,” You say, placing your ear on his back, “Just ’cause the kids love me more doesn’t mean they don’t love you. And it’s not even your fault – my personality is so awesome, everyone can’t help but adore me the moment they see me – isn't that right, babies?” 

“Right, Mama,” A pair of wonderstruck voices ring out in reply to your jocular question – you continue in the same note, with another kiss, this time on the nape of his neck.

“And because your awesome Mama’s asking you now, will you two be good babies and let Papa too sleep here with us? Look at him: he’s so tired and sad. You don’t want your dearest Papa to be sad and tired, right? You will let him cuddle with us, won't you?” 

Satoru watches the twins look at each other for a second, then the younger acquiesce, “Papa can cuddle with us. That’s okay, maybe.” The two then proceed to shoot a particularly sharp look at him; one he responds to with a cheeky smirk, which disappears into a soft smile when he feels you manoeuvre his face towards yourself, a light grasp on his chin.  

“See, the kids agreed. Now, are you feeling loved and wanted?” 

“Infinitely more,” He replies with a peck on your lips – however, before he can deepen the kiss a tad more, you bring him into a sleeping posture beside you, the kids immediately piling on top of the two of you. You offer him something between a cute pout and a sorry smile, which earns a wink from your husband. 

Turning to one side, Satoru drags you, Sachiko lying on top of you and Sachiro lying in between him and you, into himself, letting him be lulled to sleep by the melody of your laughs and your kids’ half-hearted harrumphs.

  

Do you know what’s the best thing about life? 

Every tiniest bit of it he gets to spend beside you, the light of his life, and the two imps, your and his love brought into this world – even if he knows he’s going to get kicked out of bed the very microsecond you fall asleep again. 

▸ masterlist

[moonstruckme]

Hi! A lil Sirius request or u could do it with one of the other boys (Remus James) but what about if his gf May be has an old injury that always flares up? (I hurt my knee years ago and even tho it's ok now every once a while if I over use it then it still hurts) and just fluff about her being upset her body won't cooperate and him just icing it and doting on her

Thank you for requesting!

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 623 words

“Try to get up one more time,” your boyfriend threatens, “and I swear to god I will sit on you.” 

“I just want the remote.” 

“And I’m getting it for you.” Sirius stretches towards the coffee table, keeping the ice pack held to your knee with his other hand. He grabs the remote that had been too far for you to get on your own, passing it to you with an exasperated look. “Relax, sweetness, you won’t miss your show.” 

“Thanks,” you huff, turning the TV on. Really, you just want the distraction. Your knee is still radiating a warm ache, your skin still prickling from the humiliation of having to admit it when Sirius had noticed your limp. 

“Don’t mention it,” he replies, voice quieter than usual. His touch is gentle as he adjusts the ice pack, careful not to press down too hard. You feel shitty for being snippy with him, and resolve not to speak until you can be trusted to do it nicely, in the way he deserves. 

It doesn’t work. Sirius is watching you, gaze shrewd and contemplative, fingers tapping a distracted rhythm on your ice pack. You keep your eyes obstinately on the TV, but it’s only a matter of time before he speaks up. 

“Penny for your thoughts, pretty girl?” 

You sigh, closing your eyes ashamedly. “I’m sorry.” 

Sirius tsks. “For acting pissy when you’re pissed? Don’t worry about it.” 

“I don’t have to be mean to you just because I’m pissed,” you say, tilting your head back on the couch cushions. “I just feel like I should be able to run a couple of blocks without crippling myself. It’s got nothing to do with you.” 

Sirius’ mouth pulls sympathetically. He brings his free hand to your hurting leg, rubbing up and down the back of your calf. “We did a lot of walking before, too,” he points out. “It was a big day.” 

“That’s just it.” Your mouth tastes bitter. “I’m not eighty years old, walking around shouldn’t be a big day for me.” 

“I know, baby,” he says softly. “I’m sorry, it’s shit. But when it’s cool out like this, and you’re putting a lot of pressure on your knee, you’ve just—you need to treat yourself a bit more gently.” You make a sour face, and Sirius squeezes your calf, lips slanting upward. “I know, you’re very rugged. You’re the picture of youthfulness and good health. But try looking after yourself the way I look after you, yeah? For my peace of mind.” 

He speaks with blasé lightness, but his words melt you like butter in the sun. You sigh heavily, feigning reluctance. “But you’re so good at it,” you complain. 

“It’s hard work, yeah.” Sirius’ canines peek out as he grins. “Don’t worry, I’ll train you up. You’d really be helping me out, taking a load off. And it’d free me up to do more things like this.” 

He keeps his eyes on yours as he leans down, dark lashes fluttering prettily close to his brow. Your cheeks heat. Sirius moves the ice pack momentarily, pressing a featherlight kiss to the skin just below your knee. 

“There,” he says decisively, putting the ice pack back in place. “It’ll be better by tomorrow now, guaranteed.” 

You bite down on your lip to keep a smile at bay. “I didn’t realize how much you’d be able to accomplish if we shared the responsibilities.” 

“Yes, well, I know I make it look easy, but it is a lot,” Sirius tells you with faux solemnity. “Is there anywhere else I should see to?” He makes a show of looking you over. “Tsk, that lip looks to be hurting, too. C’mere, gorgeous, let me take care of that.”

[sovenusian]

Matured Energy of Each Sun Sign

(does not to relate to what age you are.)

A matured Aries is a master communicator and story teller, they can easily pull and hold the attention of the crowd on them, only this time it is to shine light on something beyond them, and it's usually the wisdom they have gathered on their spiritual journey of having the self as the center of their wants and needs.

A matured Taurus is the tamed bull. They become much more calm and understanding of ways of life and mindsets differing from their own, and don't feel the need to make known, how thorough their stances on their beliefs are. They loosen up a bit, like a Cane Corso allowing a rambunctious chihuahua to feign dominance.

A matured Gemini uses the seemingly fractured personality to create genius works and can masterfully connect with any age group or walk of life. They respect they are the embodiment of "I have an idea" but on drugs (lol) and live in that truth. They don't provide tolerance for what they do not like around them.

A matured Cancer stopped being petty and stops wading in the murky waters of emotional manipulation, and starts wielding these energies as gift, for others. You may not find a more generous, selfless, nurturing being. They have the strength to grow other people and bring what's dead back to life.

A matured Leo finally takes more pride in the impact of it's works, more than the ability to do them or be recognized for being the one to do them. They enjoy showing the character traits that truly make them beautiful. The humility they acquire despite having achieved a great deal of refinement, is what becomes what makes them shine at their brightest.

A matured Virgo learned to put themselves, their hearts truly first. Their dutiful and ambitious drives have taught them their accompanying lessons, which are to allow yourself to relax, you are enough, you really are so damn dope, and comparing your output to the logistics was a stressful way to live and that is, the past. It's a death to criticism and a birth to healthy analyzation.

A matured Libra has learned how to be in love with love, in a healthy way. In love with Real Love; with the raw energy and authenticity of it's energy, that way when humans and opportunities come around that claim to be Love, they can be distinguishing and keep their own heart set on what they have learned to be it's truth. They have mastered detachment.

A matured Scorpio has adjusted their perspective, placing the abilities of being extremely passionate and emotionally intense, only in situations that don't create more chaos. Their lifelong journey for true power has moved them into a space where they are more settled and accomplished. They learn the rhythm of life and can finally become selfless, and this is where their energy is truly it's most powerful.

A matured Sagittarius is the ember stage of fire; warm, spreading and long lasting. The knowledge and philosophies acquired over the years are now steeped, grounded in substance and embedded in a person that can finally sit down long enough, and have the patience, to share it's inspirations. Their habit to be generous and spreading have switched out it's impulsive nature for selectivity and self- preservation.

A matured Capricorn drops the shrewdness, and can be an exemplified patriot of what they stood for when they initially started their ambitious climb of hard earned success. They realize just because they are the goats, does not mean anybody and everything are the rocks and steps to ascend upon, and they warm their heart up enough to trust others with their vulnerabilities. They retire their need to be serious for the upholding of the many responsibilities all Capricorns are dealt, and they let that beautiful ability to entertain and bring joy be what they now lead and corale others with.

A matured Aquarius honors the unbeaten path they chose and created by tooth and nail, by sharing with others the lessons learned from it. Their ability to be friendly and connect with anyone, becomes more filled out, & it becomes harder for them to be perceived as disingenuous, because they can now choose the role they'll play in the life of every individual they meet, and share the gems needed like the sages they were born to be. They feel the freedom to become even more obscure.

A matured Pisces is a vessel of universal love. They spend their lives being a collage of all the human personality could offer, from kind to cruel, yielding to stubborn, and they take each lesson from their colorful experiences, and only extract the most optimistic, high frequency wisdom from them. They keep their mystery while their ability to impart love to others unfolds endlessly.

[harmonysanreads]

You think there are three words that should never be put beside each other in this world : Aventurine, couch and you.

Not that you've never tried to save yourself from these occasions and you lament, when said couch was at least fitting to be put in Aventurine's extravagant abode — that is, spacious enough to even be called a couch — your attempts had been successful. But he, the shrewd man that he is, noticed the leeway he'd previously forsaken on the second time you dared to move away from his person.

Thus entered your jeweled prison the abomination that calls itself a couch, capable of fitting but one person and specifically curated for your captor's schemes. Aventurine likes to play many exciting games, one of them is called patience. You'd consider yourself to be under luck's shadow if it's your composure he's testing. At least, your ticks, when and how you'll wear down are no mystery to either one of you. Guessing Aventurine's mood on the other hand, is mental anguish.

So, in moments where he invites you beside him, legs spread in that manner that makes the nearby wall appealing enough to crush your head and leaving but an arm's space — your best course of action is to do as he says. You'd rather be intrepid than brazen in these scenarios, regardless of how inviting the prospect of defying Aventurine is, and swallow the itchy emotions that surface when his arm wraps around your waist.

Of course, he's selfish and trying to negotiate any extra inch of space will leave you enervated too quickly. If Aventurine wills, he could do much worse than hold you captive in his embrace and that reminder continues to be your solace in every instance where you wish that Aventurine, You and Couch should stay light-years away.

[princessaxoxo]

Strangers to Lovers Part 1

Originally thought of as a one-shot but decided to make it a two-part series.

A/N: This is no longer a two-part, there will be multiple parts.

Sherlock x reader

Summary: Being Enola’s sitter was an adventure, but not as much as falling for her brother, Sherlock.

Warnings: NSFW, 18 Only, sex (p in v), cussing, masturbation (f receiving)

If I’m missing any please let me know.

Word Count: 2k+

When Enola was younger, her mother sought you out to take care of her. You accepted gleefully. Meeting Enola for the first time was unlike any other; at the ripe age of eight, she was a daredevil, a venturesome young lady.

After spending most of your time with her, you soon met her brothers, Sherlock and Mycroft. Sherlock was charming but reserved. Mycroft was shrewd and practical.

You are able to read people without fault. It was easy to tell Mycroft wasn’t fond of you. Sherlock wasn’t so easy; he kept a blank expression around you. The difference was that he put in the time and effort to talk and get to you.

Little did you know, he was very fond of you; you were constantly on his mind.

He couldn’t help but analyze every part of you—the way you licked your lips, how you scrunched your eyebrows together when you got confused, the lines on your face from how much you smiled.

When you weren't paying attention, he let his eyes roam downward, noticing how your breasts looked when you breathed in, your delicate fingers, and the beauty of your legs that he wanted to kiss.

It wasn't ethical, but he couldn't care less.

You often found yourself thinking about him as well; you would let your eyes linger on him longer than allowed, especially for a lady.

Especially late at night like now, you were wondering what would happen if the two of you found yourselves in a room alone.

You closed your eyes, imagining him, his curly brown hair, his blue eyes, and that smirk he would occasionally show. Slowly brush your fingers between your thighs, thinking they are his.

As you started to picture his eyes that were looking up at you as he placed kisses between your thighs, you pulled down your panties.

You soon found your clit, making small circles. "Mhm,” a small moan left your lips. Moving your fingers down, you entered two of your fingers, moving them in and out.

You started to pick up your pace. “Oh, Sherlock," you let slip out, still imagining him.

Your pussy squeezed around your fingers, arching your back and moaning his name embarrassingly. You opened your eyes, your brain still in a haze from your orgasm, but he still hadn’t left your mind.

Trying to keep up with Enola was tricky; she kept you on your toes. Her excitement always made your day. At the moment, she was hiding; that was the game of the day. Hide and seek: her version was far more difficult.

She would leave small clues, making you think you’re on the right track, but it’s quite the opposite.

Walking around the house, you were checking each room thoroughly. A door at the end of the hall was already open; you checked inside, noticing it appeared empty.

“Enola, Enola, sweetie, where are you?” You walked into the room, searching as if you were a detective. You saw a desk, which she could easily hide under. Walking around it, you bent down to check.

But, of course, no luck.

“What are you looking for?” You accidentally hit your head, and his voice made you jump.

"Ow!” you winced, rubbing your head to ease the throbbing pain. Sherlock walked over to you, offering his hand.

“Enola is hiding; I’m looking for her. I saw the door was open, so I decided to check.”

He nodded his head. “Would you like some help? I have an idea of where she could be."

“Yes, she doesn't make it easy,” you chuckled awkwardly, looking down, your heart pounding out of your chest.

He put his thumb underneath your chin, making you look at him. “Let’s go” 

You followed him, finding Enola hiding in a closed-off room.

She had a laughing fit, making fun of you for taking so long and having to involve her older brother to help. Enola left the room, leaving only you and Sherlock. You started to follow her, but Sherlock stopped you.

“Let me make sure you’re okay; you hit your head hard.”

He took you back to his office, guiding you down on his leather loveseat. He started checking you for a concussion and then brought you a cold pack for the small bump that was forming on your scalp.

He sat next to you, making you stiff. “Thank you for helping me,” you said, looking over at him. “It’s my pleasure, y/f/n."

It was getting dark out; you had to leave, but you wanted to stay here with him. “I should go home; it’s almost night out."

Sherlock didn’t want that to happen; his question could go wrong. But he wanted you to himself, if only for tonight.

“Would you want to stay for the night? I would be delighted to keep you company.”

You were taken aback by his question. Your answer was yes, but nothing came out. His facial expression turned worrisome. “Don’t worry about it”, "Yes,” you said eagerly, hoping he didn’t take notice. “Yes, I would be happy to stay.”

You showed a calm facade, but that’s not how you were feeling.

He began to show you his work and what interested him. “Do you wish for a drink?”, He was pouring himself one. "No, thank you; I don’t drink,” you said with a small smile.

Your eyes were scanning his wall, which had a map covering it with small dots placed in certain places.

He stood next to you, drink in hand, watching you concentrate on his work.

You turned to look at him, and you smiled. “Yes?” You were unsure of why he was looking at you in such a way. But then he lowered his head and kissed you.

After he kissed you, your eyes widened in surprise. But that surprise soon turned into enjoyment.

You cupped his face while he placed his hand on your lower back. He tried to set down his drink with his eyes closed, but it fell and shattered on the floor. Neither of you faltered from the enchanting kiss.

He pushed you backward, lifting and placing you on top of his desk. Your thoughts were running wild; was this really going to happen? Your questions were answered when he roamed his large hands under your dress. treading lightly, his hands hovering once they reached closer to your core.

He wanted this; he had imagined it countless times in his head. But he couldn’t go rough with you like he wanted; this wasn't normal, and this shouldn’t be happening since the two of you weren't married. And a woman like you? He thought, wasn’t someone you just fucked and then left in the morning? That was not you.

You hated that he was going slow; he was starting to pull away, but an instinct in you grabbed him by his hips and pulled him forward harder.

“I want this, Sherlock; don’t be gentle with me. I want you."

Hearing you say those words broke Sherlock's facade. He snapped, locking your legs tightly around his waist as he walked the both of you over to his leather couch. He laid you down, hovering above you, teasing you with his mouth.

He stood up, removing his bowtie, followed by his vest and white shirt. His chest, his chest—you couldn’t wait to roam your hands up and down his hairy chest. You let a moan out just by the look of him; he got on top of you, recklessly ripping your own clothes off.

He took a long look at you, salivating. He needed to get inside of you.

His kisses were sloppy with need, as were yours. You were getting wetter by the second, and yet he hadn’t really touched you. “Touch me, please."

He snacked his hands down to your clit, rubbing circles while kissing and sucking on your neck. You held his head, moaning his name. He left my neck and came face-to-face with me. “You want me inside of you? Do you want my cock to fill your pussy?”

“Please, yes, I need you."

Removing his pants eagerly, he lined his cock up, smoothly coaxing his cock in my wetness, before deeply entering slowly at first, then removing before entering again faster each time.

Your nails are scratching at his back, making him grunt in your ear. “Your pussy is so tight around me; it feels so fucking good.”

You wanted him deeper in you; you wanted to feel every inch of him. "I want to feel all of you.

He thrust his hips rougher this time, your back arched, and that gave him a chance to put his arm underneath you to change positions. Now, sitting up right, you are on his lap, riding him. He helped you with his hands on your hips, guiding you to bounce up and down.

“God, you are memorizing.”

His eyes were rolling to the back of his head as he closed them. “Just like that, baby,” he grabbed a hold of your breasts, squeezing them gently and rubbing your nipples, making them erect and pleasurable going through you.

His curly hair covered his face, brushing back just as he grabbed the back of your neck, forcing you forward. His tongue danced with yours, so far down your throat that you sucked on it.

His lips were soft; they had you memorized in a daze, moaning into his mouth. You felt yourself coming.

“Sherlock, fill me up with your seed."

“You want my seed? Want to feel it dripping down your thighs?"

"Yes, please, yes. I’m cumming on your cock."

You pulsated around him, your thighs shaking, and you saw stars in your vision as you came on his cock.

He stopped his movements, his nails digging into your skin as he groaned aloud, his head falling forward onto your chest. Both of you were heaving, trying to regain your breathing.

The smell of sex radiating in the room and the glistening sweat off of your and Sherlock’s bodies made this moment intimate. One you hadn't shared with another.

After the night you and Sherlock shared in his office, the both of you fell deeply in love. Sharing every passing moment with one another. And when the both of you weren't together, you were thinking about each other.

He told you countless stories about his endeavors, what he’s done, and the kinds of cases he’s received and solved.

Enola was so happy; she thought of you as a sister already, but now she couldn’t contain her excitement about how the both of you would end up being family.

You pretended not to notice at times the way Sherlock would stare at you; he would admire you from afar, from your side profile, any time he got the chance.

You were certain that nothing would break the two of you apart or that he would break your heart.

So you thought...

One day, out of the blue, Sherlock didn't meet you at the time planned; you were at his house, waiting for him to come home.

You were taken by surprise when you heard a person knock at his door, and you went to open it. A postman handed you a letter and left abruptly. You shut the door and sat down. It was signed with your name.

Opening the letter, you started to read what it said.

You read the letter over and over again until you couldn’t anymore.

This couldn’t be true, you thought; he couldn’t have left you.

He loved you. No, no, he loves you. So this couldn’t be the end.

You waited all night to hear the front door open. To hear his voice call out for you, but by the time you saw the sun rising, you knew he had left. He was gone. You fell to the ground with an uncontrollable sob. The tears never ended. You began to hyperventilate; it felt as if your oxygen was cut off.

You were at home as your tears started to stop; now you felt your blood boil.

He is a coward.

He couldn't even face you; had he that little respect for you?

A person who loves you does not treat you in such a way.

Your face was red, and your eyes weren’t brimming with sadness anymore but with anger.

You weren't going to let him hurt you in this way again. He wouldn't get the chance.

But everyone does have a weakness... He happens to be yours, and you his.

Part 2

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Word List: Hannibal

Aperitif - an alcoholic drink taken before a meal as an appetizer

Assiduous - showing great care, attention, and effort; marked by careful unremitting attention or persistent application

Calumniation - to utter maliciously false statements, charges, or imputations about

Castigation - to subject to severe punishment, reproof, or criticism

Commove - to move violently; agitate; to rouse intense feeling in; excite to passion

Cozen - to deceive, win over, or induce to do something by artful coaxing and wheedling or shrewd trickery

Dissentient - expressing dissent (i.e., to withhold assent or approval; or differ in opinion)

Fabulist - a creator or writer of fables; liar

Heterodox - holding unorthodox opinions or doctrines; unconventional

Immurement - to enclose within or as if within walls; imprisonment

Intemperance - lack of moderation

Internecine - deadly; mutually destructive

Inveigle - entice; to acquire by ingenuity or flattery

Mythomania - an excessive or abnormal propensity for lying and exaggerating

Outré - violating convention or propriety

Palter - to act insincerely or deceitfully

Parlous - full of danger or risk; obsolete: dangerously shrewd or cunning

Phantasmagoria - a constantly shifting complex succession of things seen or imagined; a bizarre or fantastic combination, collection, or assemblage

Recondite - difficult or impossible for one of ordinary understanding or knowledge to comprehend

Rufous - reddish

Sanguinary - bloodthirsty, murderous

Schism - separation; disharmony

Soigné - well-groomed, sleek; elegantly maintained or designed

Sybarite - voluptuary (i.e., a person whose chief interests are luxury and the gratification of sensual appetites); sensualist (i.e., one who is persistent or excessive in their pursuit of sensual pleasures and interests)

Truculent - deadly, destructive

More: Word Lists