Apr 18, 2015
“That fucking hurt!”
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“That fucking hurt!”
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“This what you’re looking for?”
“I’d suggest you get some self control.”
"You are validating my inherent mistrust in people."
“If I have to sit through one more bloody class today, I’m going to go mad.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
“I really don’t see why you need to be so mean.”
“And just what is it you need to talk to me about, Lestrange?”
Marlene had always been one to push herself. She would forever do everything with just a little too much passion. She hated more than was reasonable and loved a little too fast and hard. She was built to exist in extremes and today that extreme was Quidditch. Practice was always about going hard, working until everything A C H E D but tonight it was more than an ache, it was a throb. Her hands were rubbed raw from gripping her broom too tight, her arms shook as pulled off her gear. Bruises would cover her skin from bludggers hitting her wrong and quaffles she had flown in the way of. Marlene always pushed hard, always enjoyed the ache, but anyone who took a second look would see this time she had gone too far, but Marlene made sure no one looked.
All through practice she had laughed, she had smiled and she had [𝓼𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓭]. Nothing was wrong, nothing was wrong. Marlene was pissed off about the girl and had a bone to pick, but she was fine. Marlene McKinnon was strong and she was fine.
Fifteen extra minutes in the showers relaxed her muscles, fifteen extra minutes washed away the blood, fifteen extra minutes gave her time to 𝓶𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓷 the lost comfort of the pain. Ever since the body dropped Marlene had found excuses to lose herself, lovers, drinking, a little high, and now sports. 𝓟𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓾𝓻𝓮, 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖓 or ιηтσχι¢αтιση it made no difference she just couldn’t afford to be in her right mind.
She pulled on her clothes too slowly, well aware her thin cotton tank top was not enough to withstand the cold and that her nipples showed through, piercing and all. She knew her jeans were too ripped and she ought to grab the lipstick out of her bag and swipe it on and try and tame her mess of curls but instead she walked out onto the pitch, knowing she wasn’t meant to head back to the castle alone, and not giving a fuck. [𝓝𝓸 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝔀𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓫𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮.]