#3036

[sleepsucks]

[mostbelovedaewwrestlertournament]

Most Beloved AEW Wrestler Tournament 2

[harveyphotography]

Quando il giro d'italia ti passa sotto casa.

[my-chaos-radio]

Release: May 12, 2023

Lyrics:

Fragole, panna e champagne

Fragole sotto la luna

Stanotte un altro dirà

"Non l'ho mai detto a nessuna"

Fragole, panna e champagne

Fragole sotto la luna

Stanotte un altro dirà

"Non l'ho mai detto a nessuna"

Bambolina, domani torno da te

Con una nuova bugia

Tanto non ti importa di me

Tu vuoi le fragole

Noi che a fare l'amore, sì, è un film, è Los Angeles

Tu vestita di rosso e uno sguardo da mantide

Ma tanto lo so che tu vuoi le fragole

Oh, sì (ehi), fragole

Fragole di sabato e domenica da me

Mi prometterai la luna

Io fingerò di crederti solo perché sei te

E non mi va di stare sola, eh, eh-eh

Che tanto lo sai, è più forte di me

Più forte di me

Più forte di me

Più forte di me

Fragole, panna e champagne

Fragole sotto la luna

Stanotte un altro dirà

"Non l'ho mai detto a nessuna"

Bambolina, domani torno da te

Con una nuova bugia

Tanto non ti importa di me

Tu vuoi le fragole

Casa mia che stasera mi va

Non sai più farne a meno

Non sai che fartene

Forse dopo, stasera, chissà

Ti invito da me, poi ti grido, "Vattene!"

(Oggi no, oggi no, oggi no)

Ma tanto lo sai, è più forte di me

Più forte di me

Più forte di me

Più forte di me

Fragole, panna e champagne

Fragole sotto la luna

Stanotte un altro dirà

"Non l'ho mai detto a nessuna"

Bambolina, domani torno da te

Con una nuova bugia

Tanto non ti importa di me

Tu vuoi le fragole, panna e champagne e un'isola deserta

(Uh-la-la-la-la, la-la)

Lei è come una fragola e sa che mi gira la testa

(Uh-la-la-la-la, la-la)

Al collo c'ha mille conchiglie ed un collier di perla

(Uh-la-la-la-la, la-la)

Vorrebbe mangiarmi, sì, sono la sua caramella

Uh-la-la-la-la, la-la

Fragole, panna e champagne

Fragole sotto la luna

Stanotte un altro dirà

"Non l'ho mai detto a nessuna"

Bambolina (non chiamarmi così)

Domani torno da te

Con una nuova bugia (oh, no)

Tanto non ti importa di me

Tu vuoi le fragole

Songwriter:

La-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

(Tu vuoi le)

La-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

(Sì, quelle fragole)

La-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

(Tu le vuoi)

La-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

Sì, quelle fragole

Davide Petrella / Mattia Cutolo / Lauro De Marinis / Matteo Ciceroni / Simon Pietro Manzari / Gregorio Calculli

SongFacts:

👉📖

[cardismantlers]

Car Wrecking & Used Auto Parts Keilor 3036 #Keilor #3036 #Victoria #Australia https://www.cardismantlers.com.au/keilor/

[theshabbysaltbox]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Bali Women's 34C Double Support Bra Cool Comfort Cotton Wirefree Grey New.

[the-monkey-ruler]

Great Sage 3036: Mech Wukong (2016) 大圣3036：机甲悟空

Country/Region of Production: Mainland China Also known as: Monkey King 3036: Mecha Wukong / 大圣3036之机甲悟空 Type: Reimanging

Summary:

Recently, at the award ceremony of the "Network Grand Ceremony" of the China International Youth Film Festival held in the South Square of the Beijing Bird's Nest, the 3D online movie "Monkey King 3036: Mecha Wukong", jointly produced by Zhenjiang Weiler Information Technology Co., Ltd. and the School of Art of Jiangsu University, stood out from more than 400 online movies and won the Best IP Adaptation Award. This film is the first 3D animated online movie in China.

At the award ceremony of the "Network Grand Ceremony" of the China International Youth Film Festival, 68 crews attended, representatives from 363 film and television companies participated, and 180 independent filmmakers came to the scene, which shows how fierce the competition is. When the film's instructor Liu Qingli and director Zhao Fei learned the news of the award, they could hardly believe it. Because they knew that the competition was too fierce, the producers did not send representatives to the scene even though they learned that the work was among the five online movies nominated for the "Best IP Adaptation Award". Zhao Fei said that from a student short film that won the Beijing Film Academy Award to the first 3D animated online movie in China, from image design to concept map to the overall environment structure, the hardship can be imagined.

In 2014, Zhao Fei, who graduated from the Animation Department of Jiangsu University School of Art, won the Beijing Film Academy Award for a 6-minute animated short play "Big Talk Wukong". This award can be said to be the "Oscar Award" for domestic 2D and 3D animated short films. Because of this, this animated short film was favored by Beijing Yixing Bona Film and Television Company, which invested money to adapt it into a 60-minute online movie, and the production party is still a team from Zhenjiang.

Since then, the 15-person production team in Zhenjiang has begun the arduous production process. From adaptation to production, it took more than a year, and the production cost alone reached more than 1 million yuan. According to the production team of "Monkey King 3036: Mecha Wukong", the cost of a live-action online movie in China is about 300,000 yuan. They spent so much effort on production mainly because investors took a fancy to the booming domestic film market. In this regard, Liu Qingli made a comparison. The 3D animation blockbuster "The Return of the Great Sage" produced in China last year took 8 years, was 90 minutes long, and was produced by 5 production companies. In comparison, "Monkey King 3036: Mecha Wukong" was completed by a 15-person production team in more than a year, which is relatively efficient. Liu Qingli said that his dream is to make a big movie in the theater like "The Return of the Great Sage", suitable for the "all-age" tastes of children and adult audiences, which is the next goal of their team.

Source: https://movie.douban.com/subject/26894695/

Link: N/A

[nowoolallowed]

Statuette of a dignitary offering a standard with the head of the goddess Hathor - Museo Egizio Collection

Inventory Number: Cat. 3036 New Kingdom, Dynasty 19, 1292–1076 BCE Location Information: Location Unlisted

Description:

The inscription on the standard identifies the goddess as Hathor of Byblos (modern Lebanon). Egyptian deities, and Hathor particularly, are found in local forms associated with specific towns. The goddess, the consort of the sun god and a nurturing mother, is depicted with a human face and cow ears. The wide and rounded face of the dedicator, his chiseled features, the long wavy and crimped wig, as well as the voluminous pleated garment, firmly date the statuette in the Ramesside period.

[pesterloglog]

Rose Lalonde, Dave Strider

Act 5, page 3036-3044

-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] --

TT: Hi there.

TG: nak nak nak

TT: Don't mind me.

TT: I'm just waiting for that guy on the pile of sharp objects to wake up.

TG: THE GLASSES ARE TALKING AGAIN

TG: naknaknaknaknaknaknaknaknaknaknaknaknaknak

TT: If you don't stop nakking, I will turn you into a thorn bush.

TG: :V

TG: :(

TG: hey

TG: what just happened

TT: You fell asleep.

TT: Orange Bird Dave killed some monsters and flew away.

TT: Jade fired a bullet at an imp and vanished.

TT: And you woke up.

TG: oh yeah

TG: so shes here then

TT: Yes.

TG: is she ok what was going on there

TT: Yes, she's fine.

TG: i guess i should catch up with her

TT: You already are.

TG: i am

TT: Future you is.

TG: oh ok time travels involved

TG: thats all you needed to say everythings cool and under control then

TT: How was the nap?

TG: weird

TG: and kind of boring

TG: i was in your dream room for a while spying on you

TG: being all creepy and dream duplicitous and shit

TT: It's ok.

TT: I was being similarly wake duplicitous.

TG: whats with your book collection

TG: or

TG: dream book collection

TG: all your books are bizarre and terrible

TT: No, my books are great.

TT: I can recommend some good titles for the next time you're asleep.

TG: nah

TG: but yeah i understand defending your collection i guess if you were in my dream room and talking shit about my awesome dream portraits of dream stiller and dream snoop or whatever wed have to have a fucking talk

TT: Did you do anything on the moon besides rifle through my belongings?

TT: Such as remove your shades and turn your gaze Ringward, by any chance?

TG: oh

TG: yeah

TG: i did

TT: What did you see?

TG: horrible things

TT: Horribleterrible?

TG: yeah

TG: it was like

TG: peering through the dark portal of an eldritch red lobster

TG: and scoping out its all you can eat seafood buffet

TG: and

TG: when i saw them

TG: their voices became clearer

TT: What were they saying?

TG: i couldnt really focus on anything specific

TG: but

TG: in totality

TG: im pretty sure it was

TG: like

TT: ?

TG: a plea for help

TT: That's good.

TG: no it was disturbing

TG: so i slapped my shades back on

TG: went and perved up some sleeping girls room to take my mind of it

TT: It means they're reaching out to you.

TG: oh god why would i want that

TG: im not about to get molested by calamari with fucking teeth

TG: use your powers and like

TG: stroke a mummys paw or some horseshit and open a dark channel

TG: tell them to keep their lecherous flagella to themselves

TT: You're going to have to help them.

TT: Even if you don't like them.

TT: They're being massacred.

TT: Presently, already, and still to come.

TG: whats that mean

TT: It means time doesn't work rationally out there.

TT: Nor does space.

TT: But that doesn't change the reality of the threat.

TG: who cares if theyre getting killed

TG: theyre hideous and obnoxious

TT: You're underestimating the nature of the threat.

TT: At this point, the threat isn't to our session, or any given universe.

TT: It's to the perpetuation of reality itself.

TT: You wouldn't be saving them, per se.

TT: You'd be saving everything.

TG: oh ok cool

TT: They've revealed some of their secrets to me already, and given me a few errands to run.

TT: This is why you might have observed some unusual behavior from me.

TG: oh shit youre kidding

TG: no really are you serious i didnt even notice

TG: fuck mind = blown

TT: Once these convulsions of explosive laughter subside and finish rocking my very foundation,

TT: I might point out that you haven't really been as astute as you're implying.

TT: You've deliberately fogged your vision your entire life with ironic eyewear while awake, and while asleep, though perfectly alert, you've chosen to ignore your surroundings.

TT: But now that you've seen them, you have a choice to make.

TG: ok

TT: They will only tell me so much.

TT: They would like an audience with the prince of the moon as well.

TT: We are like the emissaries to what lies beyond this small bubble in their unfathomable dark foam.

TT: Derse skirts its edge, and during the lunar eclipse, we graze it, and that's when their intent for us becomes clear.

TT: I'm doing my part, but they have a mission for you as well.

TG: what am i supposed to do

TT: Listen to them.

TT: My understanding is,

TT: They will teach you how to navigate the unnavigable.

TT: The result should be a map.

TG: like

TG: a treasure map

TT: No.

TT: Something a little more astronomical.

TT: Like a star chart with no stars.

TT: Hence the challenge.

TG: why

TT: To plot a course through the Furthest Ring.

TG: plot a course to what

TT: The power source of the first guardians.

TG: oh right the green sun ok

TG: wait sorry

TG: i mean the Green Sun my bad

TT: Yes, that's much better.

TG: whats the deal with this thing

TG: i mean aside from giving jades dog his devil powers

TG: and by extension i guess jack

TT: What's the deal with it?

TG: yeah

TT: I don't know that there is a deal with it.

TT: Beyond the deal you just described.

TT: It is what it sounds like.

TT: A huge sun out in the literal middle of nowhere, and it is bright green.

TT: It is simply,

TT: The Green Sun.

TG: how big

TG: i need a sense of scale here

TG: is it like the size of our sun

TG: or bigger

TG: or is it only as big as like

TG: planet fucking jupiter

TT: It is nearly twice the mass of our universe.

TG: ok thats pretty fucking big

TG: see how important that contextualization was now i know how fucking impressed i should be

TG: i mean hopy shit thats huge

TT: Happy I could help.

TG: so ok i make a map to this thing

TG: with the help of a million rambunctious gross tentacle mutants

TG: and then i guess we go there for some reason

TT: Yes.

TG: why do we need a map

TG: cant they just

TG: tell us what direction its in

TG: point a spaceship that way

TG: blast off to adventure

TT: No.

TT: The geometry of the Furthest Ring is too complex.

TT: Remember, its spacetime is labyrinthine.

TT: In fact, it's not really accurate to call it spacetime at all.

TT: Since it is outside the domain of any created universe, where those properties have become instantiated and stabilized.

TG: i can kind of get that time is messed up there

TG: with like loops and causality paradoxes and shit like that

TG: being the knight of time here

TG: not really sure why navigating the space would be a problem though

TG: space isnt my thing remember

TG: what is it like

TG: full of wormholes or something

TT: It depends.

TT: The greater the distance you travel through it, the less reliably time flows.

TT: And the more time you spend in it, the less reliably space behaves.

TT: Time and space aren't as different as you might think.

TG: i thought you werent supposed to know shit about either

TG: seeing as youre the seer whatever that means

TT: I think it means I'm supposed to know shit about the big picture.

TT: Which includes tidbits like that.

TT: But the insides of my shoes stay free from the grit of the minutia.

TG: fair enough

TG: so i take my map and fly to this thing

TT: No, I do.

TG: ok you fly to it

TG: then what

TT: That depends on if John is successful.

TG: you mean with the quest youre sending him on

TT: Yes.

TG: is there anything you do thats not sending dudes on quests

TT: Nothing whatsoever.

TG: so hes got to get the cancer out of skaia right

TT: Yes, The Tumor.

TG: yeah

TG: so whats The Tumor do

TG: i mean the tumor

TG: jesus can we stop with the fancy colored text bullshit

TT: I guess so.

TT: I thought it was more fun that way.

TG: well ok you can keep doing it then

TT: Thanks.

TT: The Tumor is quite a large growth at the center of the battlefield.

TT: He won't be able to remove it without fully realizing his abilities.

TG: ok cool what is it

TT: Can you promise you won't tell him?

TT: It would probably make him more nervous than he needs to be if he knew.

TG: ok i wont say anything

TG: just tell me

TT: It's a bomb.

TT: It is set to detonate precisely when the reckoning ends.

TT: This is how long we have to put this plan into motion.

TG: what the hell is a bomb doing in there

TT: It could be a feature of any session not meant to bear fruit.

TT: A means to wipe out a null session rather than leaving it lingering in paradox space for eternity.

TT: Or it could be a mutation specific to our session.

TT: I really don't know.

TG: first time for everything i guess

TG: seriously whered you get all this info

TG: did you get it all from the gods

TG: are these just a bunch of orders youre following

TT: Not exactly.

TT: They've urged me in certain directions and guided my exploration.

TT: I've obtained some answers from them, but ultimately, this idea is mine.

TT: Plus, I have other sources.

TT: One in particular has been quite illuminating.

TG: what

TT: I've been referring to him as an informant, when people ask.

TT: Which isn't often.

TG: what you mean a troll

TT: No.

TT: It's a man who exists in another universe.

TT: He wants to die.

TG: sounds like a really credible dude sign me up for trusting everything he says

TT: Only as credible as the omniscient tend to be.

TG: oh so he knows everything

TT: Yeah, I think that's what omniscient means.

TT: But maybe I'll ask him about that, since he's the omniscient one.

TG: even if he is omniscient which he probably isnt what if hes just lying

TT: He says he doesn't lie.

TT: For some reason, I believe him about that.

TT: He's a convincing fellow.

TG: whys he want to die

TT: He no longer has a purpose now that he's done everything required to summon his master.

TT: As a first guardian, he's completely indestructible.

TT: Well, almost completely.

TG: wait

TG: what

TT: His power is derived from the same source as Earth's guardian.

TT: And conveniently, that of our nemesis as well.

TG: ok i get it now

TT: When John delivers the tumor,

TT: And I do mean The Tumor,

TT: I and I alone will navigate the Furthest Ring.

TT: And I will destroy the sun.

TT: By which I do mean the GREEN MOTHER FUCKING SUN.

TT: And in case it wasn't clear,

TT: I won't be coming back.

TG: whoa fuck

TG: a suicide mission are you serious

TG: no bullshit thats not happening

TG: hey look suddenly everything we just talked about was useless because its time to make a plan that doesnt fucking suck

TT: Let's not be so dramatic.

TT: I was talking about my dream self.

TT: She's the one who won't be returning.

TG: oh

TG: haha yeah thats fine i guess

TG: those fuckers are all kinds of mad expendable

TG: way to leave me hanging there

TG: for someone whos saying lets cool it on the drama the whole i wont be coming back thing is a pretty theatrical bombshell

TG: for future reference

TT: That's true.

TT: Your outburst was pretty sweet though.

TG: yeah i know

TG: so when do i do my thing

TG: make this map

TG: which i guess is just like

TG: a solid black piece of paper

TG: this is going to be fucking stupid isnt it

TT: If there's one thing you have more than any of us, it's time.

TT: So, whenever you like.

TT: As long as conventionally speaking, it's quite soon.

TG: alright

TG: so

TG: dog it as long as possible

TG: then travel back to about now and go to sleep

TT: Sure.

TT: And if you have trouble going to sleep, maybe you can ask your patron troll to trick the telepathic one into putting you to sleep again.

TG: what

TT: Each of us seems to have a troll infatuated with helping us. Haven't you noticed?

TG: no

TT: What about the psychopath who's currently helping you?

TG: oh yeah terezi

TG: no shes cool

TT: Isn't that camaraderie blossoming into some sort of interspecies whatever?

TG: its blossoming into an interspecies partnership in incredibly shitty cartooning

TG: what do you mean get her to trick someone into putting me asleep again

TG: when did that happen

TT: Just now.

TG: who did that

TT: That would be John's patron troll.

TG: god

TG: fuckin trolls

TG: too many of them who can even keep track of this shit

TG: which ones yours

TG: is it the absurd juggalo one that would be hilarious

TT: There's a juggalo one?

TG: yeah see what i mean

TT: She's contacting me now actually.

TG: oh ok

TG: well im suddenly not interested so go talk to your fairy god troll

TG: ill be over here paving the way for your elaborate dream suicide

TG: when i feel like getting around to it i mean

TT: Thanks.

TG: later

-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] --

[harkthorn]

Little sketch of a little chickadee

-3036

[sewakipasblowerjogja75]

MURAH!! WA: 0812-3036-7711, Sewa Rental Kipas Angin Blower di Yogyakarta - Nikmati Sirkulasi Udara Optimal!

Langsung saja chat WhatsApp

[ruinix]

Can you write a smut story of Quinn Hughes and y/n having car sex right before entering Dice & Ice?

Hi, lovely anon. I apologize for just getting to your ask. I fear I have been so distracted (Quinn withdrawals are hitting me so badly). But here it is! I hope you enjoy it even though it’s late.

Cramped Space

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Semi-Public Sex (car sex), Unprotected Sex (protections, yesyes), Just Quinn…being horny, of course, and fucking you so sloppy until you're a puddle but it's just a quickie...

Count: 3036 words | Masterlist

You’re nervous. Quinn can see that. You are fidgeting with the pendant of the necklace he gave you last night. Its matching earrings and bracelet glint on your ears and wrist. He glances at you.

Now, you’re biting your lower lip. 

You shift again, so he rests his hand over your thigh, sliding into the slit of your dress, his fingers curving over your inner thigh, giving you a firm squeeze. You sigh which makes him worry more. You scoot closer, spreading your legs an inch to invite his touch, so he squeezes again.

He spots a great parking spot in the venue for Dice & Ice Gala. It’s quite a close off area that’s sandwiched by a thick square column and a wall. He likes the slightly isolated areas because some people park way too closely. He doesn’t want you to have any difficulty going out your door, rather, him getting to you when he opens it for you.  

“What are you worried about?” he asks.

Another squeeze. He feels your shiver. Then he hears a slight sound which he assumes to be a small plea of discomfort. A tiny whimper that feels like a stabbing knife to his heart. How did he not see this before leaving the house? You clearly don’t want to go to the gala. He’s stupid.

He bites down his tongue to prevent him from speaking, waiting for you. He briefly lets go of your thigh, hearing another fucking sharp inhale, so he quickly slides into the spot, putting the car on park—shifting the gear and lifting the hand break. He places his hand back to your thigh as he turns to you.  

You’re looking around everything except him. Your lips are slightly trembling as you twist and tug the pendant. Quinn reaches to hold your hand. Only then, you look at him with worry and…What’s that? Is that…lust?

There’s no way. Why would you be turned on when you’re anxious? Maybe he’s just projecting his need for you. Fuck, he is, isn’t he?

Mentally, he slaps his head for being an idiot.

He needs to know what you’re worried about. He has to. He must. It feels awful being clueless when something eats at you. He needs to make it right. How will he make it right if he has no idea what it is?

“They’ll be lots of cameras, Q,” your voice quivers.

He hums, urging you for more.

“I don’t want to be photographed tonight,” you say.

His lips part as he gets more and more concerned. That doesn’t explain it. At all. His head goes into a full assessment mode.

This is most likely not about being seen with him. You’ve been photographed with him in several Canucks’ events. You’ve never minded that. Even when you two have gone out, there are fans who purposely get you in their shots. In those occasions, he always convinced said fans to delete the picture when you were uncomfortable, tugging on his sleeve as a silent confirmation of what you felt.  

Most of the time, you don’t really care about it, especially when you are all dressed up. Like you are now. Before you left the house, you were so proud of how you did your hair and makeup. He looks over your whole appearance. Definitely beautiful. You’re wearing a dress that looks so good on you, especially with that generous slit. It exposes your thigh so much when you’re sitting and he’s eating it up. He almost jumped you when you first showed it to him. Hell, even now, he wants to jump you. Blood rushes down his cock, unable to stop his hand to slide up your thighs, getting closer and closer to your—

‘Not the fucking time, Quinn,’he scolds himself.

He doesn’t understand the problem. Why do you not want to be photographed tonight? Do you not want to attend the gala? If you’re not comfortable going, then so be it. He can drive you back home. It doesn’t matter if he’s already running late. He’ll do it for you. You’re the most important thing in his life. He’ll do it.  

“Wanna head back?” he silently asks, leaning closer, unconsciously sliding his palm up and up your thighs until he almost grazes the lace you’re wearing.

“No, I…” You bite your lip that’s painted with a perfect shade of muted red that compliments your skin. The action makes Quinn’s mouth water. You sigh, looking away. “Do you really think I want to go home? Why are you dense today?”

What are you talking about—

Then you do it, tugging his hand closer so that the side of his finger gets into contact with your drenched panties.

Oh. Oh.

He’s not projecting?

“Just don’t want them to see how horny I am. Isn’t it obvious on my face?” You continue.

No. Not at all. You’re just so pretty. Quinn shakes his head, a bit too roughly to emphasize his disagreement and to clear his head from the lust that’s griping him in a chokehold. His breath hitches when he finally notices how your blush is deeper now than a few seconds ago, how your eyes keep peering around—more of assessing the windows of his car—it’s all tinted heavily except the windshield—how you bite your lips at the isolated parking spot, how your pupils are blown out.

Then he realizes that you didn’t whimper because you’re anxious. You’re horny. That’s fucking hot.

Admittedly, he feels stupid, for having you blatantly spell it out for him. He normally doesn’t need you to. He knows you like the back of his hand. He just really thought he’s fucking horny again. He always is.

Now, his cock stirs when you keep your gaze on him, looking up him through your lashes, your lips slightly pouting, your hand still playing with your pendant. He feels your legs spread more, inviting him to touch you, so he does. The softness of the wet lace sends shivers down his spine. His dick hurts.

“Hop on the back,” Quinn murmurs, barely holding himself back from ripping your dress to shreds.

Your lips curve into a smile, but like the tease that you are, you shift, kicking your legs over his lap. You say, “Take my heels off first.”

It takes all of him not to pant as he unclasps your left heel, his palms burning from your heated skin, absently discarding them on the dashboard. He can’t focus on your heels at all when your legs are bare from the dress. Your soft and silky skin feels so divine under his touch. When he takes the heel off, he can’t help but trace his thumb on your arch, pressing. A moan escapes you, your head tipping up as he massages the particular spot along the arch that you make him rub every night.

“Oh, that feels good,” you pant, gasping as he makes quick work with your other heel, dragging his touch on your skin. “Quinn,” you say in a breathless moan.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, my Love.”

“You’re the one—oh my gosh, Quinn!” you writhe as Quinn kisses your ankles then your heels, making sure to lick for ever kiss. When he softly brings up your feet, he moves to kiss the inside arch of your left, but you pull away. “Okay. Calm down, sir.”

Sir?

How can you call him sir and expect him to calm down?

Fuck calming down.

A rumble escapes him as he tries to kiss your arch, but you basically kick him by his shoulder and crawl over the center console, leaving him all flabbergasted. Protests tease the tip of his tongue as he turns around, his hand gripping the passenger seat, but they die down at the sight of you pulling your dress up to your hips. You slide your fingers down the wet seam of your panties.

“What are you waiting for, Q?” You taunt, baring your pussy by slipping your panties to the side. “I’m already here.”

Oh, you shouldn’t have done that. Everything blurs past Quinn’s head. One moment he is undoing his seatbelt and basically lunges into the back seat, the next he is kissing you so deeply that you are whining, rubbing his erection against your sopping wet pussy.

“Your pants are getting—

He cuts you off because he doesn’t give a shit. He wants you to make a mess on him. The thrill of him wearing your arousal just makes him harder. He wants you on him. That’s not too much to ask for, is it? He doesn’t care about how wet his pants are getting. He’s also spilling pre-cum inside his briefs. Besides, he’s wearing a dark suit anyway.

He kisses you like he wants to devour you because he truly does. He hooks one of your legs over his arm, lifting and spreading you wider, his knee planting on the seat for leverage, as he humps you harder. He bets he can make you come just from this. He already did it before. For countless times. He always ends up coming in his pants. He’s used to it by now, but he prefers coming inside of you so you can be full of him during the event.

With that, he quickly undoes his belt, tugging his pants down, hissing when your hand wrap around his cock the moment it’s free. When your thumb swipe over his slit, coaxing a bead of pre-cum out him, he is already panting like a starved dog. Then you guide him to your pussy.

“Fuck,” he curses as he sinks into your cunt, doesn’t stop until he’s fully inside you. Your slick and quivering pussy feels so good. You always feel so fucking good.

“Quinn, please,” you plead, writhing and clutching his shoulders. “Kiss me.”

Your wish is his command. He kisses you. Hard. He harshly nips your lips, tasting the sweetness of you combined with your lipgloss—or whatever it is, it’s fucking shiny.

When he can’t get enough, he licks the seam of your lips, shivering at the feel of your slight tremble, at every puff of air coming from your mouth. Then he slips his tongue past your awaiting lips. He groans at how your flavor fully intensifies, drowning any sense left in him.

He just wants to kiss, fuck, and hold you.

He needs it.

One taste of you isn’t enough.

He needs you to come around him until you can’t stop. He fucking needs it. Maybe he can just drive you both home. Fuck the event—

“This gala is important,” you whisper into his lips.

‘Did he say that outloud?’ he thought, groaning,“I know.” He ruts into you faster. “I just need you.”

“You always need me,” you say so smugly.

Quinn agrees. Forever and always. He needs you. You keep him grounded when he’s getting beat up from all the game losses or all the media shitshow he experienced. You make him live for so much more than just hockey in this place so far away from his family. You give him another home with you. You made him feel loved and cherished, wanted and yearned.

As much as he does with you.

But, alas, this Canucks event is truly important. It’s a fundraiser where he, as a captain of the team, needs to attend and he’s already late. As if on cue, his phone rings, breaking the calmness of the situation. He needs to pick up the pace to satiate you. Yet both of you choose to ignore it, because there’s no reason to rush.

Before Quinn would be beating himself for not being punctual, you changed that. You taught him that things in life must be savored.

Things being you and you and you.

Just you.

Every intimate moment with you is important to him. Whether it’s in the bedroom where you both talk until you two falls in a deep slumber in each other’s arms, or in a café where you drink at least two cups of coffee—while he barely drinks his tea—and feeds the both of you small bites of cake, or in the movie where you’re basically glued against his side as you watch the film with extremely wide eyes, or the park where you two bask under the sun while you eat the picnic you either had Quinn make or order, or just you two sitting in his car as you two people-watch while rambling about how your days are. Whether it’s casual moments or sexual. Like how you two always seem to take at least five minutes in a restroom cubicle for a quickie, or a sudden hotel visit because going home will take longer than a check-in, or maybe a quick make-out session.

Every moment with you is locked safely in his head.

No one can take it away from him.

Nothing can.

Every single one is a notch in his soul. He’ll carry it until the day he dies, until he gets reborn, until he finds you in that new life, so he can collect more notches that he will carry over to another life. Then again. Over and over again.

Quinn fucks you harder, kissing you to convey all his love for you. His hand slips between you two so he can flick and toy your clit with his thumb, as he drives his cock against that spongy spot that has your back arching, has you screaming into his lips. Your whines are music to his ears. He needs you to come.

A flash of movement catches his attention. Somebody just parked in the other side of the column, but it doesn’t deter Quinn from fucking you. Not one bit. Not when he’s inside of you. If only he can live inside your pussy for every second in his fucking life, he will. 

He feels amused when you part from him to breathe. You yelp when you notice the person get out of the car, barely looking over the car that’s probably moving with your tryst. Your hand comes up to his shoulder to give him a slight push, but he will never fucking stop. Sweat drips down your temple, your cheek, your jaw, and Quinn already there to lick it up. His tastebuds explode with the saltiness of it. He loves it. He needs more, so he dips his head to your neck, so he can lick up the sheen of sweat forming on your skin.

He’s just so fucking greedy over you.

He can’t help himself.

Your pussy clenches around him. Your thighs quiver around his hips, his other hand pushes one to spread you wider as he presses right over your clit with the other, teasing the small bundle of nerves, until you come. Every pulse, every clench. He feels everything as he fucks you through it.

He needs you to come at least three more times. He needs—

“I need your cum right now, Quinny,” you demand, grabbing him by his nape, making him stare straight into your beautiful eyes. “Now. I need you. Please. Please. Please.”

Oh, the chokehold you have on him.

You have him coming right there like someone’s perfectly trained to your every plea.

“Fuck, fuck,” he grunts, gritting his teeth for every thrust to take every spurt of his hot cum deep inside you, gripping your thighs so tightly that he is living hand imprints onto your flesh. The tiny moan escaping you makes him come harder as you clench around him. When he’s done, he’s spent a moment kissing your shoulder, collarbone, up your jaw and finally your lips. “So good, my Love. Maybe—”

His phone goes off, signaling that there’s another call.

While he rolls his eyes, you chuckle at him, truly pushing him off. Your voice is light as you say, “Later, Quinny.”

Quinn grumbles, getting annoyed that he needs to get off you. He needs to because he falls into the temptation of fucking you again. Still, he does it, getting absolutely hypnotized by the cum that spills out. No, actually. Maybe you two can get another round—

And his phone just fucking rings once more.

“Damn it,” he curses, quickly leaning over to center console to get the small bag you brought, getting his phone along the way. He ignores the missed calls that are piling up as he hands over the bag. He quickly types a text, “Will be there in 15-20 minutes.” Then he turns it in ‘Do not Disturb’.

He watches you start to clean up. You have this satisfied grin that makes him feel so fucking giddy. It doesn’t faze him when you playfully throw a fresh wet wipe for him to clean his dick. He absently does it to appease you, plus he doesn’t want you to be the only one fixing yourself when he’s looks as freshly fucked. However, he makes sure that he only does half-assed job before he tucks himself in. He’s not lying when he wants your cum on him.

Then he helps you with brushing your hair. Clumsily. He honestly doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he just does it, because you handed him the brush.

He’s totally mesmerized at how beautiful you look while you powder your face then while you put on your lip things—totally a balm and gloss. So utterly beautiful that he has to swallow the urge to ask for another round, because if he doesn’t, you two won’t be leaving the car for an hour or two or three.

With the way that you’re smiling, you know exactly what’s going on his head.

When your eyes dart towards his crotch, your grin turning into a smirk. “You might be the one who shouldn’t be photographed right now, Quinn.”

Then you laugh, a mix of a giggle and a chuckle.

His chest tightens as his heart pounds harder in his chest.

He wonders if he can survive the gala when he’s fucking hard and sensitive again.

He wonders how many times will you let him fuck you in the restroom when he can no longer bear it.

He wonders.

[happy74827]

White Lies

[Spencer Reid x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: You have constantly lied to your mother about your private life, as she was one to disapprove of everything, but those "harmless lies" become a lot more serious when you forget to cancel plans with your closest friend.

WC: 3036

Category: Fluff, Fake Dating, Sassy!Reid {TW: Reader’s mom is Authoritarian}

Another drafted idea that I finally wrote up because Spencer is the definition of pookie, and you cannot change my mind. This is also a dedication to my girl, @yoursacredqueenmother, for matching my crazy delulu fantasies 🫶💖

『••✎••』

Your mom has always been a force of nature—a whirlwind of opinions, expectations, and unsolicited advice that sweeps through your life like a hurricane. She’s the kind of woman who believes she knows what’s best for you, even when you’re pretty sure she doesn’t. Ever since you turned 30 last year, her visits have become more frequent, and her nagging has reached a fever pitch.

"You’re getting old, sweetheart," she’d say, her voice dripping with concern that felt more like judgment. "You need to settle down, find a nice man, start a family. I’m not going to be around forever, you know."

The words were always delivered with a smile, but they stung like a slap. You love her, you really do, but her constant pressure makes you feel like you’re failing at some unspoken test of womanhood.

So, to get her off your back, you’d started lying. Little white lies at first—"I’m seeing someone, Mom, it’s just early stages"—but they quickly snowballed into more and more elaborate fibs. Soon, you were telling her that you were dating a doctor who wanted nothing more than to start a family with you but was waiting for the right time.

It was easier to make up a fictitious doctor than to explain the real reason you were still single.

Because the truth is that the man of your dreams is already in your life, he's been here for years, and he's always been the perfect friend. The problem is that he's a little hard to read. You have no idea how he feels about you or if he sees you as more than a friend.

You'd tried to tell him how you felt about him before, but the words had stuck in your throat. He’d seemed so confused, so shocked by the mere suggestion of romance. Maybe he just didn't see you that way. Maybe you’d ruin your friendship by even mentioning the idea.

This led to where you are now: alone, frustrated, and trying to figure out how to keep your mother from butting into your personal life. You’d thought maybe she’d drop the issue after your birthday, but she’d come by to "surprise you" last night and is now currently sitting at the kitchen table, looking around your apartment with an expression of vague disappointment.

"Honey, you’re an adult now," she says, not looking up from her coffee cup. "You can’t keep living like this."

She gestures at the living room, which is scattered with discarded letters and half-read books. The mess is a symptom of the chaos in your head as you’ve been too preoccupied with thoughts of him to worry about cleaning up after yourself.

"It’s not that bad," you mumble, though you know it is. Even he’d commented on the state of your apartment when he’d last stopped by, and his place is usually worse than yours. Messy, not dirty. He’s a bit of an organized hoarder.

"Well, maybe not for a single girl," she sighs. "But what if Doctor Whoever comes over? Don’t you want to impress him?"

You bite your lip, trying to keep your temper in check. This is the problem with your mother—she has a habit of steamrolling over your feelings, and you've never been able to stand up to her. You’d thought you were done having this argument when you turned 30. Apparently, you’d thought wrong.

"Mom," you begin, your voice firm. "I told you, he doesn't care about stuff like that. He's more concerned with things like—"

The doorbell rings, interrupting you mid-sentence. Thank God. You’re not sure what you would have said, but any excuse is better than none. You figured it was the mailman, late with that package you’d been expecting, but when you just so happen to glance at the calendar (the one your father bought you last Christmas, with pictures of cats wearing hats), your stomach drops.

March 21st, which may not seem important, and it really isn’t, unless you look closer and realize that the cat in the picture is wearing a lab coat and is holding a beaker. Because that, my friends, is not just a picture. It is a reminder.

The one thing you had not wanted to forget.

The one thing, apparently, you had forgotten.

You’d been so busy trying to avoid your mother’s questions about your non-existent boyfriend that you’d completely lost track of time. The calendar sits there, taunting you, and all you can think is:

Oh, no.

Because the person who had rang the doorbell? It was him. He and his adorable grin, hazel-like eyes, and messy brown hair. He probably even brought a bag of those terribly expensive chocolates you love.

You want to cry. Of course, it had to be that day, the day of all days, the day you'd been secretly anticipating for all month.

Chess day. It was a monthly ritual you'd started with him when he'd discovered that you, too, were a fan of the game. You were absolutely terrible at it, and he won every time, but honestly, you didn't care. Chess day was just an excuse for you to spend time with him.

Except today, you have company, and it’s not exactly the kind you want him to meet.

You were supposed to call him, but in your haste to please your mom, you completely forgot.

Your mother’s gaze shifts to the door, and her eyebrows rise as if she can sense his presence on the other side. "Well, aren’t you going to answer that?"

No.

That's what you wanted to say. Instead, you hear yourself saying:

"Yeah, just a sec."

And, like a complete idiot, you open the door.

You open the door, and he’s there, all bright-eyed, smiling, holding a box of chocolates and his perfectly polished travel chess set. You feel like the biggest jerk in the world.

"Uh, hey!" he chirps, his voice making your stomach flip. He doesn’t seem to notice the tension in the air or the fact that your mother is standing right behind you, peering curiously over your shoulder. "I know I’m a little early, but I needed to pick up some things and..."

He trails off as his gaze settles on your mother. She’s eyeing him like a hawk and doing what she does when meeting a new person: leaning forward slightly, squinting her eyes, and tilting her head. You can see the wheels turning in her mind.

"Is this him?" she asks, her eyes wide with excitement.

Before you can stop her, she grabs your wrist and pulls you aside. You stumble into the kitchen, and she takes your place, smiling warmly at him.

"So, you’re the doctor," she says, her voice full of approval. "My daughter has told me so much about you!"

Oh, this is bad. So, so bad.

"Uh," he begins, clearly caught off-guard. His eyes dart to yours, and you were expecting his classic confused puppy look, but this time, it’s different. He looks... honored? No, that can't be right.

"She… talked about me?" he stammers, looking back at your mother.

She nods. "All the time! In fact, I was starting to think she’d made you up. It’s good to know my daughter has such a handsome young man in her life."

You want to die. Right there, on the spot. But, somehow, you manage to force a smile, even as your heart pounds with anxiety.

And your mother? She beams.

"It’s lovely to meet you finally," she gushes. She reaches out and shakes his hand, and he stares at her with a dazed expression. "My daughter has always been a bit shy, and she tends to keep things close to the vest if you know what I mean."

"Mom, please," you cut in, mortified. "Stop."

He still hasn't said a word, and the silence is killing you.

"Well, come on in, then," your mother continues, ignoring your protests. "I insist. After all, I can't wait to learn more about my future son-in-law!"

And this is when the situation goes from bad to worse.

This is when he freezes, and the box of chocolates threatens to slip from his fingers. You watched as he struggled to form a coherent sentence.

"I... Uh, that's not... we’re not..."

"Yes! Yes, we are!" you shout, desperate to cover up his stammering. He looks at you, his expression shifting from confused to shocked, and it’s like a punch in the gut. "That’s right, Mom. This is him. My boyfriend. Doctor Whoever."

"Oh, sweetie, this is so wonderful!" Your mother is so busy clapping her hands with delight that she doesn't notice his reaction.

"Doctor… Whoever?" He looks offended and a bit hurt. "What’s that supposed to mean—?"

"Shush!" You hiss, silently pleading with him to keep quiet. He must have caught your desperation because he shuts his mouth.

It allowed you a moment to process everything. Your mother is smiling widely, her face filled with delight. She doesn't even seem bothered by the fact that he’s currently dressed like a college professor with an evident love for scarves.

Meanwhile, he’s standing there, blinking stupidly, looking as if his entire world has been flipped upside-down. He seems torn between anger and elation, and honestly, it’s confusing as hell. You want to grab him and apologize and explain that this was all a mistake, but you can’t. Not with your mother right there.

So, you knew what you had to do.

"Mom! Say, would you mind doing me a huge favor and just give us like a few minutes? We have some important totally-not-boyfriend stuff to discuss."

"Sure, honey." She grins. "I'll do some unpacking. How about that?"

"Perfect!"

She practically skips into the other room, leaving the two of you alone. There’s a long, uncomfortable silence, broken only by the sound of the bedroom door clicking shut.

The sigh you let out is one of relief, tinged with the faintest hint of dread.

Though, he was the first to break the silence with words.

"I didn’t realize we were dating," he says, his voice low. He's not quite glaring at you, but it's a close thing. "Last time I checked, statistically, dating requires at least two people. Which leads me to the logical conclusion that you are, in fact, a liar. Unless this is some strange, newfangled term for friendship, in which case, I think it would be more appropriate for me to refer to you as the "teller of lies" rather than a—"

"I know, I'm sorry." You blurt out, your cheeks flushing with shame. "I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. She was asking all these questions, and I couldn't tell her the truth, and then she just kept talking, and I couldn't get a word in edgewise, and... I panicked. Okay? That’s all."

"What do you mean, couldn’t tell her the truth?" He narrows his eyes. "Is something wrong? Did you get yourself into trouble?"

"No! No, nothing like that."

"Then, what is it that you can't tell her?"

He steps closer, and the concern in his eyes makes you feel even guiltier.

"Look, don't worry about it, alright? It’s not important." You turn away, refusing to meet his gaze.

"If it isn’t important, then why are you so embarrassed?"

"I’m not embarrassed."

"Your cheeks are flushed," he points out. "And you tend to rub your thumb against your forefinger when you’re feeling nervous or stressed. Which, coincidentally, is also something you do when you’re lying."

Damn it. You should’ve known better than to lie to a profiler.

"You don’t know what it’s like to be interrogated by my mother," you snap, harsher than intended. You soften your voice before continuing. "It’s like she’s constantly see-sawing between disapproval and pity. She means well, but when she’s around, I feel like I'm being crushed under the weight of her expectations."

He opens his mouth, but you cut him off.

"And I know, I know, that’s not an excuse for lying. I just... I’m sorry, okay? It was wrong and selfish and... I didn’t mean to drag you into it."

You brace yourself for the inevitable rejection, the anger, the disappointment. Instead, you hear him let out a sigh, followed by the familiar look of resolve that comes over him when he's faced with a challenging puzzle.

"You know, when we first met, you used to lie all the time." He glances at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You would say things like, 'I don't watch rom-coms,' and, 'I have a real job,' and, most infamously, 'there's no such thing as aliens.'"

"Hold on a minute—"

He ignored your protests, his smile growing wider.

"You’re not that bad of a liar. Actually, you’re pretty decent, considering your lack of social skills. So the fact that you’ve managed to fool your mother is pretty impressive."

"Hey—"

"And, honestly, it’s a little flattering."

"I— Wait… what?" You gape at him, trying to figure out what's going on. "Flattering?"

He shrugs, but you can tell he's trying not to blush.

"Liars tend to use people they know well or trust implicitly when they need a cover story because they have more information about them and are therefore more believable. So, by lying about your fake boyfriend, that being me, it suggests that you trust me enough to make a convincing cover story, and the fact that you are embarrassed about the deception implies a certain amount of fondness."

"You can't know all that from a simple lie."

"Can’t I?"

There's something in his tone, the slightest hint of a tease, that makes your heart flutter. He's always been like this, so damn perceptive. You never knew what to make of it.

"It’s actually a well-established behavioral theory," he continues. "Deceivers typically show affection toward the person they are attempting to deceive. In fact, a study in the 1970s—"

"Spencer, please." You hold up a hand. "I get it."

"I'm not so sure that you do."

There's an intensity in his gaze that makes your stomach do backflips.

"Because," he murmurs, moving a little closer, "if you did, I wouldn’t have had to spend the past three years of my life wondering why my best friend keeps avoiding my gaze."

"You noticed that?" You squeak, suddenly finding the floor very interesting.

"I notice everything."

He takes a step toward you, and it’s so quick, so unexpected, that you can't help but glance up. He's actually extremely close, his face mere inches from yours, and you find yourself frozen, unable to speak, unable to think, as his eyes lock with yours.

"I notice that the color of your eyes changes depending on the lighting." He pauses, and his voice grows softer. "And I notice that your pupils dilate when I'm near. I notice the way you breathe, the way you laugh, the way you chew your bottom lip when you’re deep in thought. And I can’t help but notice that the closer I get, the faster your heart rate becomes. That could be a number of things, of course, and not just an indication of arousal, but considering the context, the likelihood that it’s due to anything other than sexual excitement is simply—"

"Spence," you breathe, your pulse pounding in your ears. You’re not sure what to do, so you blurt out the first thing that pops into your mind. "Do you want to be my fake boyfriend?"

There’s a moment of silence, followed by a quiet snort.

"I thought I already was."

You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, but the tension between you has lessened. Now, he’s simply staring at you with a smug smile, and it's like a dam has burst. The words tumble out of your mouth, spilling out like water from a leaky faucet.

"Well, then, you should know that my boyfriend is absolutely infuriating and has a tendency to ramble about obscure facts at inappropriate moments. And he’s really, really bad at taking a hint."

His smile widens, and his voice takes on a teasing tone.

"Oh, he is, is he? Tell me, is he good at chess?"

"No, he’s terrible at it."

"Then, he sounds like a total loser."

"Yeah," you admit, biting back a smile. "He’s the biggest loser I know."

"In that case, you should know that my girlfriend is incredibly frustrating and a compulsive liar who uses her boyfriend for cover stories. She also tends to cheat her way to victory despite still losing most of the time."

"I do not cheat!" You protest, playfully punching him on the shoulder.

"No, you just make up rules on the spot in order to justify why you lose so badly."

"You’re one to talk. You’re the one who’s been letting me win all this time."

"Perhaps," he grins. "Or maybe I’ve been letting you believe that."

You narrow your eyes.

"Are you admitting to me what I think you're admitting?"

"What is it that you think I’m admitting to?"

"I think you’re admitting to me that you’ve been throwing our chess games all this time."

"That sounds like the ramblings of someone who cheats and is trying to project their own faults onto others."

"Oh, you know what—"

And that's when the bedroom door swings open, and your mother's voice cuts through the air like a knife.

"Ahem."

She's standing there, smiling, and holding a box filled with old pictures and baby toys. Your father had sent it to you last year, hoping that you’d have children soon and use it, but you’d put it in storage, intending to deal with it later. Apparently, your mother had decided now was the perfect time.

The both of you share a look, and it's clear that he’s thinking the same thing as you.

"Not interrupting, am I?" She asks, glancing from him to you and then back again. Her smile was practically glowing, and she had a strange look in her eyes as if she were a cat watching a bird. "I was just looking for a place to put these old things and thought maybe my daughter's boyfriend might be interested in seeing them."

The shared look between the two of you solidified what was going through both of your minds. This was indeed going to be a long, long afternoon.

[cardismantlers]

Car Wreckers Keilor 3036 #Keilor #3036 #Victoria #Australia https://www.cardismantlers.com.au/keilor/