#Ceramic Speed

[thriftsifter]

Heaviest and cutest baby bowl in the world.

[croc-odette]

Raccoon holding onion..

[qualitydentalservices]

High Speed Dental Ceramic Bearings A Comprehensive Guide

You could create a bookmarking article that covers all of these subtopics, or you could focus on a specific subtopic, such as the benefits of using high speed dental ceramic bearings. You could also include links to other resources, such as product pages, blog posts, and research studies.

[urhoneycombwitch]

common tongue of you lovin' me

🍯 honey flavour: touchstarved loverboy smut

🐝 the bees: Eddie x reader

wc: 2.5k 

content warnings: nervous Eddie, touchstarved R, smut, dry humping (is it actually dry if they’re both wet…?), cumming in pants, one (1) use of the word “daddy”, light use of the miscommunication trope

foreword: based on THIS anon everyone say THANKS anon. R and Eddie are in their early 20’s, R is on a gap year from college (so me), they’re in a new relationship with each other, I’m writing this while blasted on edibles idk what else to say 0_o

____

By nature, Eddie Munson is not a shy person.

Even though his dark reputation in Hawkins hasn’t been completely erased, he still manages to make friends wherever he goes through sheer force of personality. It’s like a magic trick, one that you never get tired of- he’ll pause in the middle of grocery stores to make faces at a baby in a stroller, getting belly laughs out of a stranger’s kid in less than ten seconds while still holding your hand down the aisle. One second he’s right behind you in the record store, looking over your shoulder as you browsed, and the next he’ll be on one knee charming a elementary school-aged kid into getting the latest Dio album.

You’ve seen him flirt his way out of speeding tickets with Hopper, for christ’s sake. 

Eddie isn’t shy by any stretch of the imagination, so after three months of nothing but chaste kisses and quiet hand-holding, you’re left to assume he actually wants to take things slow with you.

He’s been nothing but a gentleman, in these early days of dating- the most action you’ve gotten from him was unintentional. On your third date, a dollop of his ice cream landed on your lap when he used the cone to gesture, which led him to manically grabbing napkins out of his dashboard to wipe at your skirt while you laughed it off. The second he’d brushed against your bare thigh he snapped his hands back like he’d touched a live wire, hastily heaping on apologies, leaving you to allay his nerves while wiping at the stain yourself.  

Which, whatever. It’s fine. It’s not like you’re complaining about him being respectful, per se, it’s just that it’s getting harder and harder (hah) to pretend like you don’t wanna fuck him. The feeling between your thighs only seems to increase in intensity when he gives you one of those precious little hand kisses at the end of a date, or a closed-mouth peck before he drives off into the night. 

Unfortunately for you and your wet dreams, Eddie Munson has the most edible body you’ve ever seen. Biceps bulging through those form-fitting tees he likes to wear, rounded nose and strong jaw outlined by that cloud of soft black hair, those lithe hips…

Hips that you’re openly staring at from across the room as you sit quietly on Eddie’s couch. He’s reaching up to grab a mug from the cabinet, his Metallica tee pulling up out of his dark denim at the motion, flashing a stripe of his pale lower back.  

You feel like a Victorian maid seeing ankle for the first time. You subtly press your thighs together under your short tartan skirt as Eddie moves around the kitchen, talking animatedly about the start of his upcoming campaign.

“I haven’t decided yet if I’m gonna go easy on the little shits or not,” he says, metal spoon clinking against ceramic as he mixes hot chocolate powder. “It’s Max’s first session as an official player, and I don’t wanna scare her off but I do have a reputation to uphold.”

“Yeah,” you agree, giving him a knowing smile as he crosses the room to pass you your mug- “You’re a DM most fearsome. Can’t let them off the hook too easily.”

Eddie blooms under your praise, wiggling his eyebrows with familiar cockiness as he settles on the cushion beside you. “Gotta keep Hawkins' finest in line. It’s a tough gig but I did swear an oath, after all.”

You smile around a sip of hot cocoa, then reach over to set your mug on the coffee table. Eddie has been sat in his usual manner (knees far enough apart to be taking up his whole seat, arm draped casually on the back of the couch) but the second your knee knocks against his, he adjusts himself stiffly, drawing his arm back with a nervous throat-clearing and a murmured “sorry”.

Normally you’d let it go, not wanting to push the issue past the point of his comfortability. But it’s been Three. Months. Of this. And you wanna test the waters, just a little.

“Sorry for what?” You ask, rotating to face him, your shoulders almost-but-not-quite touching.

He’d doing an uncanny impression of a deer caught in headlights, blinking at you with those doey brown eyes, stuttering his way through a weak explanation- “Uh… uh. Sorry for being- f-for touching you?”

There’s a lift at the end of his sentence, one that you mirror with a tilt of your own brow, a playful challenge. “You don’t have to apologize for touching me, Eddie. I’m your girlfriend.”

He chuckles, a nervous edge bleeding around the sound. The curls around his face dance with the head shake he gives. “No, of course, yeah, I know that.”

“Do you?” You scoot closer, a kick of assertiveness giving you the courage to press your leg against his. 

“Uh huh.” He’s gazing openly now at the bare skin of your thigh, like he’s waiting to see if it'll burn a hole into his denim. 

When you gently lift his hand and place it on the skin that he’s looking at, you hear him gulp, audibly. 

So he does want to touch you. Interesting.  

You know for a fact Eddie’s not a virgin. Back in high school, you’d both dated around your respective circles, gossip surrounding escapades in the Munson Van circulating back to you through mutual friends. When he’d asked you out a few months previous, you’d happily accepted, wanting to take full advantage of your interim gap year from college. For the first few weeks, you’d chalked his near-celibate behavior up to nerves.

But now, you’ve got him squirming with just a thigh touch. So maybe… he’s waiting for you to make the first move?

Fuck testing the waters- you’re gonna dive in head-first. 

You swing your leg over his lap, kneeling on the outside of his hips. His hands automatically go to your waist, and he lets out a little “Oh” as you rest your arms around his shoulders.

“You gonna kiss your girlfriend?” you whisper, forehead crushing into his bangs as you wrap a hand around the back of his neck.

Eddie looks up at you like he’s seeing a full moon for the first time, eyes sparkling with want. “Yeah,” he rasps, angling his face up to kiss you.

It’s soft, at first, like it always has been. His plush lips softly move against yours, breaking for air once, twice; when he kisses you with that same softness for a third time you press your tongue to the seam between his lips.

He lets you in with a little noise, low in the back of his throat as you lick into his mouth. His hands twitch on your hips as your tongues twine, slight movements in his own hips creating a ripple effect.

When the hard seam of his jeans bumps against the warmth of your cunt, you both gasp, your hand at the back of his neck tightening. 

“We should probably, um-” he’s panting against your mouth, grip flexing between hard and soft- “I mean, if you wanna stop…”

“I don’t wanna stop. Do you wanna stop?” you ask, equally out of breath.

“Fuck no,” he rasps again, in that smoke-salt voice, and this time when he kisses you it’s with one hand at the back of your head and the other pulling your hips to meet his.

The noises from the wet slide of your mouths are turning you on more than you care to admit, and you’re sure he can feel the damp patch that’s soaking through your panties as the crotch of his jeans make contact again. Which normally would make you feel really self-conscious, if it weren’t for the fact that Eddie’s hard as a rock underneath you, the bulge in his pants thickening with each roll of your hips.

You drop your kisses down, exploring where you haven’t been able to before: against his cheek, his jaw, stopping just behind his ear. Unable to help yourself, you graze your teeth against the velvet skin there, and he jolts beneath you with a small yelp.

“Sorry,” you whisper, still a touch mirthful but soothing your tongue over the mark.

Eddie brushes his thumb across the back of your neck as you continue your path down the column of his throat. “Now who’s sayin’ sorry for no reason. Baby, I’m begging you to do that again.”

So you do, this time at the junction where his neck and shoulder meet, grinning against his skin when he groans and bucks his hips up. 

Around your hickey-making, he’s choking out words that you just manage to string together. “I wanna… make you feel- christ, sweetheart- good too, wanna make it good for you-”

When you sit up to see his face, he looks absolutely wrecked- rosy flush in his cheeks, lips swollen and kiss-bitten, pupils blown so big his eyes are nearly black with lust.

“You are making me feel good,” you assure him, pulling the hand he’s got on your neck down to where the end of your skirt sits, pausing before your next move. “You want me to prove it?”

He nods, and you guide him into the warmth of your thighs, letting his fingers graze the stickiness that’s been steadily soaking through the fabric.

Eddie inhales sharply, moans out, “Fuck, honey”, and when his thumb finds your clit you sink down into his touch, stomach tightening with the shock of arousal coursing through you.

He’s watching your face intently as he slowly circles your clit, gauging your reactions, pressing in a bit harder and faster when the pace change makes you cry out.

Feeling doubly exposed with his eye contact and hand against your core, you try making a joke to diffuse some of the tension as the pad of his finger moves against you in steady rhythm. “Still thinkin’ about stopping?”

“A train could crash through that wall and it wouldn’t stop me for a second,” Eddie says, resolute and getting a little braver, kissing his own path across your throat, nibbling at a spot that makes your clit pulse beneath his fingertip and your cunt clench around nothing. 

Goddamn, he’s a quick learner. In less than two minutes he’s got you so close to the edge, squirming around his touch, that you have to grab his wrist and still his fingers between your thighs.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. You can feel his breath punching up down up, your breasts pushed up against his chest from the way your body was trying to coil in on itself.

“Nothing,” you assure him, and now it’s your turn to falter around your words. “I just- maybe can I… I wanna get o-off at the same time. If you want. And I’m really, really close.”

Eddie’s head falls back against the couch with a thunk, eyes scrunching shut as if in concentration, a strung-out whine leaving his throat. “Hang on. Give me a second.”

He’s still got his hand on your clothed pussy, and you can’t help but giggle once he blinks back to the present, dazed- “Christ. You can’t say shit like that, baby, I almost came in my jeans.”

You give him a condescending little pout, accented with another twist of your hips. “Well maybe that’s what I want.”

“Give you anything,” Eddie replies, unabashedly babbling now as you adjust yourself in his lap. “Anything you want, sweetheart. It’s yours. All yours.”

He helps you maneuver into a new angle: now, your drenched core can rub freely against his thigh, while your knee in the socket of his hip means he can rut his cock along the flat of your leg.

When you move experimentally in shallow circles on his thigh, the newly-gained friction lights up your throbbing clit. Soon, all pretenses melt away as you both find your rhythm again, little grunts and pants filling the air.

“Feel good, angel? That’s it,” Eddie encourages, slipping his hand under your skirt to grope at the meat of your ass, helping your movements along as he chases his own pleasure with a rocking grind against your leg. “Take what you need. Lemme get you there. Please, please…”

His whines spur you on, one of your hands shooting out to clutch at the back of the couch beside his head while the other anchors itself on his opposing bicep. “Fuck, Eddie, keep talking like that, ‘m so close…”

“Talk to you all day,” he heaves out, “you make me so fucking hard, princess. You feel how hard I am for you? God, you’re so wet, that’s so fucking hot…”

You should have expected that bravado and charm you’ve seen these last few years to naturally be carried over into his sex life, but god, not in your wettest of dreams could you have imagined the mouth on him. 

The combination of his dirty talk and thigh between your legs is bringing you right up to that edge again, toes curling in anticipation, cunt starting to flutter erratically with every thrust.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come…” your head rolls back on its hinge, eyes flickering shut as Eddie fumbles to catch at your clit again, movements becoming sloppy. 

“C’mon, pretty baby, let go.” He’s sucking another mark into your neck between his praises, teeth catching- “Let me see you come, honey, be a good girl for daddy…”

“Jesus FUCKING christ” is all you manage to grit out before you’re tipping over the edge into orgasm, all your muscles bearing down into the bright point of pleasure, high sob winding its way from your throat. 

Eddie keeps kneading at your spasming clit as you ride it out on his thigh, even as he lets out a series of short, keening whimpers, even as his cock jerks against your leg into his own release. 

You sag into his waiting arms, tittering lightly against his neck as you both work on catching your collective breaths. 

“Holy shit, and I was really starting to think you actually didn’t want to fuck me.” You laugh in relief.

His hand pauses mid-stroke up the slope of your back, sounding genuinely aghast when he asks “Why the fuck would you think that?”

You straighten in his arms with an incredulous stare. “Uh, maybe because you acted like a monk that I was corrupting every time I even breathed near you?”

Eddie covers his eyes with his hands, heels to sockets, groaning- “Fuck, honey, I was tryn’a be respectful. You’re telling me we could’ve been doing this sooner?”

You reach to soothe your palms over the length of his forearms, equally fond and serious when you say “I’m telling you I absolutely would have slept with you on the first date.”

He makes a strangled, pained noise before you continue- “You described to me in detail the entire mating cycle of a bat, and then walked directly into a trash can by accident. How did you expect me to wait on jumping your bones?”

He lets you take his hands, enveloping them in your own and bringing them to your chest, pressing your lips affectionately to each ring.

He whispers, “Can I ask you something?” 

When you look up at him again, he says, with sincerity, “Can I see your tits next time?”

You hide your laughter into the crook of his neck. 

________

guys i cannot stress how high I am is this even any good plz perceive me 

[thoughtssvt]

adventures of sugar daddy nanami kento and his frugal sugar baby [ pt. 2 ]

nanami kento x reader ; fluff & humor ; nsfw joke | [ pt. 1 ]

MDNI — 18+ interactions only

A/N : it's implied that reader is still attending school, whether that be college undergrad or grad is up to you; tldr: reader is over the age of 18

"darling, are you busy right now?" kento's voice dripped from the speaker of your phone like thick honey.

"nope, go ahead," you confirm that you have time to talk as you wipe the sweat off your brow, the summer sun and scalding water making your body temperature rise.

you could practically hear kento's brows furrow, "are you sure? you sound a distance away and I can hear the water running," he said suspiciously.

you cringed, holding your breath as you slowly slid the plate onto the rack only to cringe at the sharp hiss of ceramic skidding against metal.

"I thought you started using the dish washer," kento sighed, the creak of his office chair putting the image of a disappointed kento leaning back in his chair in your head.

"I don't trust it, kento!" you cried dramatically. you would've clutched at your heart if your hands weren't soaking, sparkling glasses weeping on the rack at the mere thought of being thrown in satan's machine.

a staccato sigh and your muffled chuckles filled the kitchen. "anyway," kento continued, "I was wondering if you had the energy for something public." he asked, always considerate of your social battery.

you blotted your hands against the hand towel that hung from the oven door's handle, humming happily as you reached for the nice hand lotion kento had gotten for you, worried about the state of your hands considering the temperature of the water you habitually used. "why? is this some secret exhibition sex club thing that you rich people have?" you teased.

"I want to treat you to an outing since you refuse to do it yourself," kento poked back, speeding passed your joke, already used to your antics.

"oh, not denying it? does it actually exist?" your eyes widened in feigned suspicion, a weak attempt at changing the subject.

"do you know why I started looking for a sugar baby?" kento continued. you sucked in a breath only to be cut off, "nevermind... don't answer that." kento sighed, making you chuckle. "I wanted someone to enjoy spending my money. I lost that kind of excitement a long time ago, so you don't have to hold back. you can ask me for anything that will make you happy, okay?" he explained, sincerity oozing from his voice.

you nodded as you listened, ears perking up towards the end. "anything?" you parroted drawn out and timid.

౨ৎ

kento scrubbed his hands against his scalp, blond locks effectively spiking in every direction. you were both sat next to each other at the dining table, crowding around your laptop-- the one you'd refused to replace, deadset on it lasting you at least another four years despite the volume the fans worked being loud enough to wake kento from his sleep. kento sat defeated, chin digging into his palm as he stared into the abyss while you wore a gleaming smile on your face, excitedly knocking against the table as you waited for your prehistoric machine to load.

once the confirmation screen popped up you wrapped your arm around kento's, pulling him in close. "you were right, kento! spending all this money is fun!" you chimed, wiggling like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

kento stared at you with glassy eyes. "I don't know what to do to make you understand," he croaked. "was this really fun for you?" he softened as he took in your features and how much more energized you seemed after just a few clicks.

when he got home from work you'd dragged him to the table, pulling up the tragic student loan debt page, eagerly asking him if it was really okay to spend this much all at once. he'd paid off your loans and the remaining balance of your current semester. you felt like you were floating, to say the least.

kento was more than happy to pay these debts off, but he'd assumed that if you had any they would've been your first priority, not a scrubdaddy and a dish rack. he deflated once again at the mere memory.

you chuckled fondly at the display, reaching to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. "fine, fine. let's go."

his brows knit tightly as you input the address into his phone, sticking it to the dash before securing your seatbelt. you had him park a bit away from a 7-eleven. he followed you hesitantly, watching as you hummed quietly to yourself, a bounce in our step as the two of you took a short walk down to akihabara station. you stopped with your arms spread in a grandiose gesture, the wall behind you stacked floor to ceiling with gashapon machines.

"i've always wanted to try one of these, but the probability that I would get what I wanted on my first try was always slim." you explained as your eyes scanned the wall for a specific capsule series. you held your palm open asking for coins which kento handed to you with a gentle smile.

he watched you for who knows how long. the capsules kept coming, countless duplicates filling his arms. and it was worth it to see your smile, bright and unashamed, every time you popped a capsule open.

"ah, finally!" you cheered as you turned to kento, a small plastic sandwich in the palm of your hand, the same sandwich he got everyday for lunch.

his heart overflowed, spreading heat across his chest. you'd gone through all that work just to get his sandwich. even given the opportunity to do something for yourself you still thought of others, but you were happy and that was enough for him.

"come, come! I think I saw one that had a desk like the one in your office." you beamed, eyes busy searching for the machine with every intention to set these figures up in the corner of your own desk. somewhere along the way kento left you for a moment just to stop by a store for a bag, dumping all your gachas in it until you got exactly what you were looking for. a smile plastered on his face as you continuously loaded coins into the machine.

he rests a hand on your thigh on the drive home, pinching it just enough to grab your attention. "thank you," he whispers, bringing your hand to his face to kiss at your knuckles. thank you for showing him all the small happiness the world had. he had a lot to learn from you.

part 1 | sugar daddy kento masterlist | jjk men x reader masterlist

divider by @tyuniwa

tag list : @that-goth-bisexual @yannauauau

[simplydozing]

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐃𝐨𝐥𝐥

Stanley Pines x Reader Multiple rounds through the shack, one being a little more harsh (and memorable) than the others. Word Count: 1959 || Ao3

⚠️❗ Contains 18+ Content ❗⚠️

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

You don’t know how it happened, but god, what a miracle it was.

 The whole Mystery Shack was empty. Everyone was out except for you and your darling Stanley.

Which led to you being fucked and thrown around like the rag doll you were.

 There’s already a huge mess trailing from your shared room. The day started off strong with some lazy morning lovemaking that then quickly escalated into a primal hunger for more.

And Stanley’s stamina could not be further from over.

 He had you on the rails of the staircase displaying yourself for him to go down on you. You were on your hands and knees in the bathroom taking his length after you said you’d “freshen up.” Both of you ran up the hot water in the shower while he pinned you against the wall, and even then, you’d warm him back up with your hands alone.

 It took a lot of convincing, willpower, and blowing to get him to finally take a break.

 You needed some time to recover, so you decided to make breakfast while he was getting dressed in his iconic suit.

 Which led you to now.

 You finished cooking by the skin of your teeth when he waltzed in and saw your figure leaning against the counter. Your oversized sleep shirt was slipping off your shoulder as you poured coffee in both your mugs. He shares a moment of sincerity, gladly taking his cup and kissing you on the top of your head. It wasn’t until he started to get a better look at you when he started getting hard again.

 Your shirt barely covered your shorts, exposing your perfect legs. They were crossed over each other, and following them up brought attention to the way you were in your relaxed state. You held your cute little mug in both hands, and as you brought it up to sip on, your eyes would close so you could savor it. Your hair was messy, but it only added to how effortlessly gorgeous you looked. And when you would look back up at him, your eyes would shimmer, like they were pleading.

 He had to take you yet again.

“…And I think the Shack- Stanley are you listening to m-“

 He attacks you, yanking you by the shoulders and plunging his tongue down your throat. Your mug drops to the floor, the sound of the shattering ceramic making you jump, but you’re not going to do anything about that. Not right now.

 Your hands flew through his hair. Your eyes were glued shut as you tried to focus on his pace and match it.

 But Stan, being the man of many surprises, asserts his dominance by lifting you and propping you on the counter, earning him a squeal from you.

 He never slowed down, even when slipping his fingers in the hem of your shorts and trying to pull them off. But you chewed his bottom lip, signaling him to stop. And he does, but with a slightly disappointed look on his face.

“Come on, love. Breakfast is getting cold.”

  You caress his face and give a half-lidded smile.

  That’s not enough to stop him though.

 He looks over his shoulder at the stove that’s covered in pans of his favorites. He then turns his attention to the table that you cutely set up.

 A part of him feels bad for what he’s about to do to you. He leans in.

“I’m not hungry for that right now, doll.”

 Before you know it, you’re being lifted yet again and are being taken to that little table, which you are then slammed onto. You are bent almost all the way over it, your ribs press into the wood.

“S-Stanley!” You exclaim.

 He’s not listening though. Not until he hears your pleasurable screams and moans for the fifth time today.

 Your shorts are torn off and thrown behind him. You hear the fateful zip of his pants.

 He grabs the back of your neck to hold you down when he rams himself in you. You gas and shudder, feeling his whole length inside you all at once.

 He starts to thrust at an already fast speed.

 The table and everything on it rocks intensely. Some of the silverware falls. You’re gripping the tablecloth like your life depended on it.

 He keeps going, pounding harder and harder into you. His winded breathing grows more into rough growling as his grip on you gets stronger. You can feel his fingernails seep into your tender flesh.

 Tears prick at the corner of your eyes but it’s not from pain. Your own breathing- gasping- sounds more like wheezing. You can’t lift your head up to gulp in air, and his whole hand just about engulfs your throat. You tried calling out to him, but he’s so caught up in pleasure that you fear he’s tuned you out.

 It’s not until you slam your hands on the table to get his attention. Even then, it takes him a minute to slow down.

“St… P-Pines,” you rasp.

 He sees what he’s doing, and he removes his hand from its position at your nape. You take this opportunity to fill your lungs as much as you can before he can move on.

 You can’t see it, but he’s wearing a bastardly smirk on his face.

“If you needed help breathing you coulda just asked!”

 He bunches his fingers through the tangles of your hair, snatching your head upwards. He resumes his aggressive prodding. You didn’t know it was possible, but he was going deeper in you.

 Your eyes roll to the back of your head and saliva pools out your pretty little mouth. Your nails dig into the wood of the table, leaving small streaks engraved in it.

 You’re choking on your own spit. Stan can’t help but go wild at the sound of your gagging, so he pulls back your hair one last time. The strength he does it with makes you think he’s going to rip your head clean off before he lets go. You falter.

“Let me give ya somethin’ to gag on again.”

He pulls you in and reaches around to find your mouth. Your jaw is clenched, but he can feel where you’ve been salivating.

“Another wet hole just waiting for me,” his gruff voice warms your bare shoulder.

“Open up.”

 You follow his command and shakily part your lips for him. He decides you aren’t quick enough and jams his fingers in anyway. His middle and ring fingers are enough to make you struggle.

 He then matches his hand to the thrust of his hips. But it’s not enough.

He recalls the way you often use your teeth… need I say more?

“Shit. Teeth, doll, teeth.”

 You obey, not because you want to, but because that’s all you can do.

 You lower jaw stutters, bottom teeth grazing them.

“Come on.” His guttural voice fills your ears.

“You can handle much more than this.”

 Your eyes squeeze shut, your mouth does the opposite.

“There we go.”

You’re getting fucked in both ends  and there’s nothing you can do about it.

 He regains that same pace as before. He groans out of ecstasy yet again, but you don’t want it to stop. If it were up to you, it would never stop.

  He thinks the same of you, hearing you once again choking him down.

 You’re his plaything to have his way with.

 You’re his-

“Doll,” he hisses.

 You softly clamp down on his girthy calloused fingers, answering him.

“I’m- hnf. Oh, I’m ‘boutta c-“

 You already know, being the good little toy you are. So you act out, hearing down on his hand and moaning the loudest you ever had so far.

 You were well aware of the magic you worked on him. That was his favorite thing about you.

 Stan groaned out again, upping his hostility with you.

 And the more rough he was, the louder you moaned.

 He enjoyed your borderline screams a little too much. But how could he not? His precious angel was singing just for him.

 He was just about balls deep when you finally felt warm on the inside once more. One last thrust, and you suddenly feel the relief of him finishing.

 You then feel him letting up. Unsteady movements and heavy panting let you know he was done. He retracts his fingers, a thick string of saliva stretches out from your lips. He wipes it off on his suit jacket.

 Cum dribbles out your gaping hole when he agonizingly pulls out.

 He tucks it back in his pants and zips them back up. You’re left convulsing on the table as you try to recuperate.

 You brace yourself against it, palms pressing into the grain, and make an attempt to hoist yourself up.

 Seeing this, he’s right by your side, snaking an arm around your waist and gently picking you up.

 Your knees buckle and you stumble forward, but before you can fall, Stan pulls you to lean on him. You clench the lapels of his blazer. The scent of sweat and cigars flood your nose.

“Easy, now. Easy. Are you okay?”

 He reaches for the tablecloth, of all things, to wrap you in. He then finds a chair, and eases you in it. You wince on contact with the hard surface, but you wave it off when you see a twinge of him fretting.

“I’m okay, dear. Just a little sore,” you half-laughed.

“I-I’m sorry, doll. You were just- And I…”

“Stanley Pines.”

 You reach out and nab him by his string tie and tug him in, his blushing face now centimeters away from yours.

“I can handle much more than that,” you sneer.

 You cup his face and initiate another kiss.

 But before anything else could happen, you hear the screeching halt of that beat up golf cart.

 He pulls away.

“Shit. We gotta get you cleaned up. You okay to walk?”

 He offers you a hand, and you stand. Albeit wobbly, you use him for support to help guide you back upstairs to the bedroom. From there, you don’t lift a finger. He carefully wipes away any fluids with a damp washcloth and helps you get dressed.

 You both were halfway down the staircase again when the front door flew open.

 The twins, Soos, and Wendy looked around in shock.

“What happened here?!” Dipper started.

“Yeah, you both look bleggh,” Mable stuck her tongue out, mocking the undead.

 You and Stan glance at each other. You both should have straightened the place up in between rounds.

“Uhh, we were-”

“Attacked!”

“By were-”

“Spiders!”

 Damn it, Stanley.

“Were-spiders! We were attacked by giant were-spiders, yeah,” it took all the strength in you not to smack him upside the head.

Thankfully, the group bought it. At least the kids did. Dipper was flipping out and Mabel darted to their room screaming. Her brother right behind her. All Soos and Wendy cared about was finding somewhere to knock out for possibly the rest of the day, too exhausted to care about anything else. They drag each other another few steps before passing out on the floor in front of you.

 You and Stanley just stand there.

“Giant were-spiders, really?”

 You break the silence and cross your arms.

“It’s better than ‘We were struck by a tornado,’”

 He shrugs. You shake your head.

 Back to silence. You both look around.

“We really need to clean this place up before anyone gets suspicious. I’m pretty sure I left my shorts in the kitchen.”

“Yeah…”

Needless to say, the rest of the day was spent putting the shack back together, and perhaps there were a few more rounds when no one was paying attention.

[ynsbarbbb]

tell me you love me | l. norris

hypothesis - on days like these, where everything just seems to go wrong, the uttered words from your boyfriend is the only cure.

pairing - lando norris x fem!driver!reader

[fic is inspired by “tell me you love me” by demi lovato]

“i need someone on days like this, i do”

“are you fucking kidding me right now?” you groan as your car’s engine died, right at the turn of the finish line. right at the turn of qualifying for the miami grand prix.

“come on, come on,” practically begging the car, trying to see if you could just get it back to life, to salvage the last bit of your pride that’s hanging on by a damn thin thread.

slamming your hands on the wheel, “son of a bitch!”

“lost power,” you sigh into your ear piece, defeated. laying your head on your hands that rested in the steering wheel.

this is really just what you needed.

another layer of cake on your already shitty day.

first the argument you had with lando this morning, really, about something so imbecile silly that you can actually laugh about it right now. running late, missing your shoe, bumping your hip on the counter - sure to leave a nasty bruise and lando not wanting to get out of the bed.

silly, right?

and now this.

“what happened?” zac questioned, concerned. the car was perfectly fine yesterday, practically soaring all over the track. you were sure that you’d start first pole by how the car roared.

“you fucking tell me,” you didn’t mean to be so harsh. zac’ question just scratched that itchy irritable spot that has been bothering you, all day.

zac sighed, not commenting on your response, sensing how it’ll make the situation worse.

knowing that if he said anything about your starting pole, which you already definitely knew, you’d blow your head.

smart man.

“sending tow, stay there.”

like you’d be going any fucking where.

~~

a coffee. that’s what you needed. a strong one at that.

with your suit arms tied around your hips you walk the way of the holy grail, not really observing your surroundings and stumbling straight into the blistering coffee cup of one of mclaren’s mechanics.

the liquid seeping through your shirt, burning your skin. his cup falling to the ground and shattering in hundreds of little pieces.

“y/n,” the mechanic was quick to react, grabbing napkins that rested on the edge of the table, dabbing at the material, pressing into your now third degree burn.

why didn’t you pay attention? why where you so wrapped up in your head?

why?

“just leave it,” hissing, you swatted the napkin from his hand, you take the route back to your room. the ceramic pieces crunching under your shoes.

with a hand pressed to your head, you can already feel the lump forming in your throat, eyes burning as tears well up behind your eyes. you bite your lip, you won’t succumb to today, you won’t show your white flag just yet.

you won’t acknowledge the pitying looks from everyone on your team.

you won’t acknowledge the murmurs on the paddock of mclaren’s worst starting pole.

you won’t acknowledge the desire you feel to be wrapped up in your boyfriend’s arms.

you just won’t.

another, beautiful layer of cake stacked.

~~

“really?” you whine as you pat your pockets, looking for the keycard that’s used to unlock the door, but it comes out empty.

damn zac for changing the locks. damn the security protocol.

you left, or more like forgot, it at home. on the counter, where you usually leave it. your shoulders sag and with your back turned to the door you glide down it. arms wrapped around your knees and head rested on it.

here it comes, the wall to the well finally comes crashing down and the first tear rolls down your cheek landing on the coffee stain.

you finally hoist your white flag, today won.

a pretty red cherry on top of your stacked cake. a delicious topping.

“there you are,” a muppet voice says, breaking you from the train of thoughts that’s currently speeding down the tracks in your mind.

you look up, and lando is peeping around the corner of the wall.

on every other day you would’ve laughed at the sight.

your lip trembles and a new wave of tears wells up behind your eyes. lando makes quick work to scramble towards you, crouching down in front of you.

“hey, hey, no, none of that,” he’s gentle. he brought his hands up to your face, wiping the stray tears that ran down your face. you lean into his touch, and finally, something that feels right for today.

“turn that frown upside down,” he says in a sing song voice, a smile creeping onto his lips. the gaps in his teeth more than welcoming.

you bite on your bottom lip, the corners of your mouth slightly lifting.

but lando takes that as a success nonetheless.

“there she is, my beautiful girl.”

a sob like snort leaves your mouth and lando can’t keep that muppet laugh of his in any longer.

hair that fell around your face, he pushed it behind your ears, “rumour has it that someone is having one hell of a day.”

you wipe your nose with the sleeve of your shirt, “really? who is it? max?”

“ah, sarcasm, it’s welcoming,” lando jokes.

rolling your eyes you look at his, wispy lashes, a light shade of red tint on the apples of his cheeks, “just tell me you love me, norris.”

“i love you.”

he leans closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“i love you,” a kiss to your brow.

“i love you,” a kiss to your cheek.

“i love you,” a kiss on your nose.

“i love you,” a final kiss to your lips.

“i love you.”

fin.

[wesstars]

hot tea

wednesday addams x fem!reader (no pronouns)

summary: your addams just really needs some physical contact :) wc: 737 tags: established relationship. nevermore ‘university,’ all characters involved are 18+. ooc wednesday. idk something about tooth rotting fluff a/n: first wednesday drabble wednesday, in collaboration with @evilrawr! fluff has been requested by @melrodrigo. still not my strong suit but we’re going for it anyway. 

masterlist

Steam rose from the warm mug that you carefully wrapped Wednesday’s fingers around, but the heated ceramic was nothing compared to the searing lance of your grasp around her wrist. She watched as you settled yourself down on bended knee in front of her, respectfully pulling back your hands. Her own twitched, minutely. 

It hadn’t been that difficult to come knock on your door, 10 minutes before curfew was over. Wednesday knew you’d be there in your dorm, making something absurdly sweet with your—respectably contraband—electric kettle. You’d stepped aside to wordlessly let her in, and she’d taken her usual seat at the foot of your bed. Strewn around were your day’s assignments, a jacket or two, and she wrinkled her nose at the mess. Your lamps cast a gentle candle-eseque light across everything, blurring every sharp edge. The exact reason why she was in your room, well…

“Long day?” Your gaze was inquisitive but warm, as always. Wednesday watched you, taking in your socked feet and soft pants. Then, she did the Wednesday Addams equivalent of what might be considered a frustrated huff from Enid, or a desolate sigh from you: she looked away first.

The reaction was immediate, she noted absently. You tried to catch her gaze again, the slope of your shoulders and the wring of your fingers imploring her to look back at you. “Weds… talk to me?”

She took a slow sip from the mug, avoiding your eyes. To tell the truth, Wednesday was busy aching in the way that she wished you’d reach across the sea between your knee and hers. Her intense feelings were something that she typically kept locked away, not just with the protection of a key, but with a castle moat, bolted doors, and plenty of booby traps. Inside that cage lay other previously dormant feelings, ones that you managed to pull out, sharp knife to soft underbelly, with startling ease. Wednesday set her mug down on the floor, cocking her head at you. Often she’d feel a baser, visceral urge to blurt out whatever thought she had to you. Restraint was becoming more and more difficult, the more you seemed to flay yourself open in front of her for a perusal akin to autopsy.

There was a muffled thump as you got up just a bit to shift from your kneeling posture, and Wednesday couldn’t take it anymore.

She grabbed the collar of your shirt, pulling tightly until you were about nose to nose. Her mind knew that your actual body temperature wasn’t that high, even lower than the average, but her cold heart felt the bone-deep bonfire of your proximity as your hands slammed into the bed next to her thighs, preventing you from tumbling into her. You took a sharp breath, a fateful one, as it seemed to pull all the oxygen from the room, leaving Wednesday blissfully bereft of that life force. She didn’t need it, anyway; she was convinced she could sustain herself on the dilating of your pupils, the flickering of your eyes down to her lips.

“Come here.” Wednesday’s voice came out in a rasp, but she reasoned with herself—it was the best she could do after you yanked the air out of her still lungs. That ache of absence turned into a yawning chasm, reserve and restraint tumbling down into that eager maw. Her demand fell into that same ravine, eclipsed by the endless depth of darkness.

You stood from your position to sit on the bed as soon as the plea left her, and Wednesday was impressed at your speed. You pulled her into your arms not a beat later. Everything smelled like a faint mix of linen and honey, between your sweater and your tea, and something in it brought Wednesday’s world to a halt. The skin of your collar was warm against the tip of Wednesday’s nose, grounding like the nip of winter air. The two of you fell easily into your sheets, and Wednesday’s mind finally felt like it had found the smoking gun for the investigation. It settled like a content cat right in her diaphragm, making it easy to breathe you in.

“Is this what you wanted?” Your voice, already sleepy, sent vibrations down Wednesday’s spine. She hummed back, leaning her temple up against your shirt and letting her head fall onto your chest. You didn’t say a word more; you didn’t need to.

--

a/n cont'd: so... playing with words… what do we think :0

please do not repost, reproduce, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way. thank you!

masterlist

[15minlatewithbatbucks]

It's forty minutes into the latest state of the company press conference and Bruce has had to mute his mic entirely to avoid being turned into a meme AGAIN for sighing too much at his own event. For all that he's spent almost 20 years coaching his own children on not making scenes, he's really not much better. It's hot and he doesn't want to be here. His ribs hurt. He's tired. He's hungry. He's every excuse Dick or Jason have trotted out over the years.

(Tim understands company manners and can almost always be trusted to stick it out as long as he's allowed to vent his frustrations afterwards. He's recently taken to smashing ugly thrifted dishes. Stephanie and Damian have been collecting any ceramic not entirely pulverized and turning them into pavers for Alfred's garden.)

(Bruce gave up after Tim. He really only needs one kid to tag along to social events. If the kid start to outnumber him they start getting IDEAS.)

His distraction is why it takes two very rude repetitions of his name for him to take notice at the young reporter pushing his way to the front. Lucius stands, cutting off the project manager currently presenting and speaks into the mic.

"Please keep hold all questions until the end of the presentation, thank you."

"Mr. Wayne," the reporter tries again and Bruce waves away Lucius's further protests.

"Can I help you?" He asks, smiling with the full force of Brucie Wayne's charm behind it. It's been awhile since his last scandal, but if the press is inventing drama then it's less work for him.

The man holds up a photograph almost accusingly. He reeks of gotcha journalism.

Bruce squints towards him, unable to fully make out the contents of the photo. Dick may have been right when he gently suggested Bruce add glasses to his Brucie Wayne persona but that was a hill Bruce was still willing to die on. It was bad enough he had to have a prescription COWL.

"What do you have to say about the presence of your adopted son, Timothy Drake at the illegal mob in Robinson Park last Saturday?"

"Drake-Wayne," Bruce corrected because Tim hyphenated, damn it. He was the first of his children to let Bruce tag the Wayne name on and it mattered, damn it. "Wait do you mean-"

"How about reports of him kissing a man while there?"

"A blond man?" Bruce asked, finally giving up and crossing to take the photo for himself. "Oh. No, that's his boyfriend."

There was a beat of silence before Bruce realized his mistake. Just as the reporters began to squall, he dropped the blurry photo and began to speed walk off, phone suddenly in hand.

Through the podium's microphone, the gathered reporters heard one thing as Bruce evacuated the immediate vicinity.

"Tim? Don't be mad."

---

Despite Bruce's best efforts, he becomes a meme.

---

Immediately following the bombshell that Timothy Drake-Wayne had a boyfriend, social media blows up, clamoring for more information. They're ravenous for it, desperate. Tim doesn't have a personal social media presence but they stalk his professional accounts religiously. Bruce does have personal social media, but he maintains radio silence.

In the end, a Gotham based "influencer" stumbles across Dick Grayson and Damian Wayne getting donuts at Kosher Donuts and Co. Dick is personable, as always, and stops to speak with the young woman briefly.

"Yeah, Tim wasn't mad," he laughs when asked. "Just disappointed. But man, he knows how to milk it."

"Bruce is in the doghouse, huh?" she asks, full of false sympathy.

"A little bit," Dick says as Damian mumbles, "Titus would never share."

"But," Dick continued. "Tim's spun it so Bruce is on the hook for like, half a million in donations for local LGBT charities. Tim says it would hurt less if he sponsored a new shelter too, so that's something to look forward to."

"That's a lot of money! Where's it all going?"

"Oh you know," Dick says and gestures vaguely. "A lot of different programs."

"Yeah? Anything you personally want to see done with the funding?"

"Drag story time," Damian answers before Dick can. He looks intense. "But not for children. For dogs. In the shelter."

---

A day later, Tim breaks the silence. He goes live on Bruce's Instagram.

"So the problem was that Bruce thought the reporter was saying I was being unfaithful," Tim explains. "He totally forgot I wasn't out to everyone yet. Bruce was just worried because he's already told me if I break up with my boyfriend, he's not uninviting him from any future family events."

"Luckily, I was in fact just kissing my boyfriend at PRIDE. Just because people got shifty with the permits at the last second because of protestors doesn't make it an illegal mob. If you wanna hear about Wayne's and illegal mobs, talk to Dickie about his younger years. Nothing I do can compare."

[evalevaeva]

All Yours | Ryu Shioh / Ryu Sio

warnings: maybe a bit suggestive? | also how the fuck do i spell his name in english?? 류시오 ryu sio but people spell it shioh??

Your heels colliding with the ceramic floor echoed with each step as you channelled your anger into the floor. Your patience was thinning with your lover, Sio, and you didn't know when you'd explode. His assistant tried to stop you from entering his office as you stared at him, feeling your fists curl up as you spoke, "Should I get rid of you instead?".

"The CEO specifically said that no one should come in, he has important issues at hand." His assistant informed you as you scoffed.

"Issues that are so important that he couldn't speak to me nor reply to any of my messages, but yet, I heard he's been talking to that staff of his... what's her name? Tseg Tseg?" You spit at him as you continued walking down the hall, your steps loud as his assistant finally reasoned.

"The warehouse was broken into a few weeks ago, and CEO Hwang Geum Joo found out about the company's secrets." That was enough to make you halt your steps, as you shut your eyes tightly, inhaling deeply before exhaling as you turned, walking back to the assistant as you spoke, "You better not be lying, or you'll be the next one I end."

You sat at the lobby, mindlessly staring into the air as you took out your phone, flipping it open as you pressed the contact, "Sio ♡".

"Are you busy?" You sent as you rested your arm on the arm of the chair and leaned on your palm.

"I'm at the company," You texted again as you waited for a response. Before the many problems occurred, he'd reply to you at speed of light, no matter if he was working out or at a dinner with clients.

"Should I come up?" You texted once again as your patience began thinning once again. What the hell was he doing up there? Was it such a big issue?

"I'm coming up." You finally texted as you closed your phone and walked to the elevator.

It wasn't like he was the one fixing the issue. He wasn't going to walk to the warehouse and operate the crane to move the products himself, so why was he so 'busy' ?

You walked down the hallway to his office as you slipped past his assistant, who was busy talking to the receptionist in another hallway, too busy to notice your appearance. You spedwalk down the hallway to the two large doors that separated you and him.

"I came to Korea to marry a korean man!" A woman's voice could be heard as she giggled. You walked to the small glass panel on the side of Sio's office as you peered in, seeing Sio and Tseg Tseg a few inches away from each other as he asked, "Is that so?". He had a big smile on his face, his teeth on show as he looked at the girl with adoration. Your blood boiled as you held on the wall, your grip tight as your eyes were closed tightly, the image repeating in your head until you flinched at the sudden sound of the door opening, revealing Tseg Tseg as she bowed, her big doe eyes watching you as she smiled dorkishly, "Are you here to see Sio?".

"Sio? I guess you're on first name basis with him," You asked, smiling widely, the complete opposite of what your brain was screaming. Tseg Tseg nodded as she checked her watch, eyes widening as she waved, "I have something to do now! Goodbye!".

You waved at her enthusiastically as your face dropped, your anger on show as you entered the office.

"You texted me so many times, what was it?" Sio asked as he looked out the window, his phone in his hand as you walked to stand next to him.

"What was it? You and that Tseg Tseg have been so close, and spending so much time together, you don't even reply, nor do you text me anything. I feel like we live in different worlds. Do you like Tseg Tseg?" You questioned as you felt your anger turn into confusion. Your turned as you aggressively shoved him, "I asked you something, respond. Do you like Tseg Tseg?!".

Your confusion was turned into sadness, as fast as vapour could condense into water. You turned to the window as you scoffed, rolling your eyes as you looked at him in disbelief, "So you do like her. Was I one of your pawns then? Some connection to get to someone else?". You wiped your eyes with your sleeves as you turned to leave the office, not wanting to see him anymore.

Everything happened so fast. You were trapped between the table and Sio as his arms were on your sides, holding the table as his face was inches before yours. His lips were practically grazing on yours as his eyes locked on yours, his face neutral but his anger evident.

"Tseg Tseg? Don't get me started. She's obviously not some normal girl from Mongolia, and it doesn't take an idiot to know that. I suspected her of something, and I need her close to me to confirm it. She's the pawn, and soon she'll show her worth." Sio stated lowly as he got closer, your arms practically touching as he whispered, "You look good when you're jealous. You have nothing to worry about, love. You're the only one for me,".

You felt the hairs on your arms rise with each word he muttered as he leaned in, connecting your lips as your heart finally settled down.

"Do that again, and I'll storm in again," you muttered as you placed your forehead on his. Sio smirked as he whispered, "Then what if I want you to storm in again?".

---

k 5:31am LETS GO

anyways i need to think about scenarios for sio

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for qwertynerd97 behind the cut; Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good! (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Why did your parents cook?” Lynn asks with a frown. “You don’t need to eat.” 

“I mean, they did,” Billy replies with a shrug, linking his hands together behind his back. “And I did back then. Technically I still need to eat now, just, like–not normally. Um. Sort of. Like, just sometimes, I mean?” 

Okay, actually “normal” is needing to eat, but he doesn’t think he’d be a very good dad if he wasn’t dad-shaped, at least to start, and also Batman is definitely gonna be checking in on them at least on and off and probably without actually telling them he’s doing it, and Billy just really doesn’t wanna explain that? Like, at all? Like ever, thanks. 

Or at least not for the next six years, anyway. 

“I don’t get it,” Lynn says, sounding a little skeptical. 

“Um, well, I’m not like you, I wasn’t born with powers,” Billy says with another shrug. “Being the champion of magic is, like, a job. Like, there was an interview and stuff.” 

“. . . you had a job interview to become a superhero?” Lynn says, looking baffled. 

“Um–kinda?” Billy grins sheepishly at him. “I mean, just technically. I don’t think the wizard actually thought I was gonna be, like, a superhero, I’m technically supposed to just worry about magical threats? But it seemed kind of dumb to only help out with those, ‘cuz it’s not like there’s all these huge magic crisises every day, but people still need help every day, you know? So like . . . I don’t know, I didn’t wanna just . . . ignore that, I guess. If I could help. And, um–I can help, so . . .”

Lynn stares at him blankly. Billy feels embarrassed and hopes he doesn’t sound like a liar or a poser or . . . whatever he might sound like right now, he guesses. He was just explaining, not like . . . he doesn’t know. Not trying to make himself sound good or like a tryhard or like he’s bragging or . . . whatever, again. 

“I mean, it was the right thing to do, right?” he tries. “Me being a superhero means I can be a better dad for you. Or, um–be one at all, I guess, since if I hadn’t been in the League I’m pretty sure Superman wouldn’t have known me well enough to trust me to ask to, so . . .” 

Lynn looks away abruptly, then heads over to the pantry and starts taking stuff out of it. Like–salt and pepper and olive oil, stuff like that, and then some little . . . bowl things? Like, little white ceramic ones that look way too small to actually eat out of. Billy kind of just assumed they were meant for, like, ketchup or soy sauce or something when he saw them in the cupboards earlier, but Lynn apparently has something else in mind. 

Well, at least Billy can stop embarrassing himself, if they’re gonna concentrate on the cooking now. 

. . . yeah, that doesn’t really work out so well. 

Or so he finds out about ten minutes later, when he accidentally knocks over half of the “mise en place” trying to reach for the cookbooks again and feels awful about it after Lynn just got it all set up. 

“Sorry! Sorry!” Billy blurts guiltily, trying to catch what he can and really not managing it at all. He is not used to being Captain Marvel-sized in a kitchen or an apartment, it’s just really different proportions and–“I’ll clean it up, just, um–” 

Billy speed-of-Mercury-s his way through cleaning everything up, and Lynn blinks at him in bewilderment. He’s holding a dish towel and the olive oil and looks confused, which is probably fair. Well, like–definitely fair. 

“Sorry,” Billy repeats in even worse embarrassment, gingerly righting the last spilled too-small bowl. This is not good dad behavior. 

“It’s . . . fine?” Lynn replies awkwardly, looking even more confused to be the one saying that. Which–yeah, Billy admittedly gets the feeling. He can’t think of a single foster parent he ever had who’d ever actually, like, apologized to him. Like–ever. Even when they definitely, definitely should have. 

Usually they’d expected him to apologize to them, actually, even when it was their fault something’d gone wrong to begin with. 

. . . okay, Billy thinks, and feels a little better about his standard of “dad behavior”. Like–he’s still embarrassed, but he’d rather be embarrassed about making a dumb mistake than be the kind of person who’d try to make Lynn feel bad on purpose instead of just admitting to his own fuck-ups. 

“I can measure it out again,” he promises, and very carefully picks up the cookbook this time to check the measurements, because he definitely remembers literally none of them. Sometimes the wisdom of Solomon is less, like–information and more like . . . well, saying sorry when you should and learning from your mistakes and stuff like that. Like–Billy doesn’t know how to explain it, exactly. Less smarts, and more street smarts. 

Though obviously this isn’t a “street smarts” situation. 

. . . maybe it’s like D&D. He knew a couple kids in foster care who liked that and talked about, like, different stats and stuff sometimes, and "wisdom" and "intelligence" are different ones, apparently. He didn’t really get it, but sometimes he felt like they just needed to talk, so he’d just let them. He knows a lot of really random stuff because of that kind of thing, he guesses. Like, come to think and all. 

Sometimes kids needed someone else to talk around them, too. Which Lynn might too, Billy is getting increasingly sure, unless the other acts a lot different once he gets comfortable somewhere. Which–well, that might be something Lynn doesn’t even know about himself, as little as he is, so Billy’s gonna just . . . he doesn’t know, stay flexible, he guesses. Figure out what works best to start, and if anything changes just adjust from there. 

It doesn’t matter if Lynn does or doesn’t like to talk, really. Billy’s used to it both ways. Even, like, a few adults he’s met just needed somebody to talk to or somebody else to talk, like on the street and all. Though mostly Billy avoids older people ‘cuz it’s just easier that way. Sometimes they’re not safe or just too unpredictable to trust long-term and he can’t really go Captain Marvel if he gets cornered by somebody he can’t run away from, because, like, secret identity stuff and all, so he’s gonna have to make sure Lynn knows not to– 

Billy–pauses. 

Lynn doesn’t actually, like . . . really need to know what kind of people to avoid on the street or not. Like, not as a regular daily thing, anyway. Which–yeah. Obviously he doesn’t need to know that. That’s the whole point of the apartment and the monthly checks and the expense account and . . . 

Billy, like–knew that was a thing. Obviously he knew that was a thing. 

But it’s weird to think about it, for some reason.

[qualitydentalservices]

The Benefits of Using High Speed Dental Ceramic Bearings

This topic would be relevant to dentists, dental hygienists, and other dental professionals who are interested in learning more about the benefits of using high speed dental ceramic bearings. It would also be relevant to patients who are considering having dental work done and want to know more about the materials that will be used.

[temis-de-leon]

Day 11 - "You're safe/alive" kiss

Characters: Simeon x gn!MC

25 kisses challenge Masterlist

Main Masterlist

CW: MC is vomiting, but I'm not going into detail with that because it's fuckin nasty. MC is a people pleaser, kinda, established relationship

.

Whoever saw him running down the street must've thought a tragedy had happened, but if he was being honest with himself, that could've very much been the truth.

He felt his heart beating its way up his throat and cold sweat covered his skin in a sticky blanket, no doubt a result of his speed and his fear. He didn't care about the people around him, laughing at his discomposure, the only thing on his mind was Solomon's urgent voice and the sounds of MC’s distress in the background during the phonecall.

Simeon prayed Luke wasn't there to witness the scene.

Purgatory Hall never felt so remote, so out of his reach. The image of their body twitching in pain filled the insides of his eyelids and no matter how hard he shook his head, the horrible display wouldn't disappear.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, he saw the familiar building and rushed inside. The sorcerer was waiting for him with a worried frown and Simeon wasted no time in grabbing his shoulder with more force than necessary and leaning over him with darkness surrounding his figure.

“What did you do?” he demanded, earning a surprised expression.

“I didn't know this could happen! I thought it came out perfectly fine!”

Solomon was being sincere, he knew, but that didn't stop his heart from shimmering in anger.

Not wanting to aggravate himself further or make his friend feel more guilty than he already was, Simeon left him behind and went straight to the bathroom.

He found them sitting on the floor, head completely hidden inside the toilet seat. The ceramic muffled their pained moans and their heaving, but they were audible enough for his stomach to churn in pity.

“Oh, my love” he sighed, rushing towards them and kneeling by their side. “How can I help you?”

MC tried to lift their head, tears in the corner of their eyes and some of them already running down their cheeks, but they couldn't say anything before gagging again and emptying whatever was left in their stomach.

Simeon pouted in frustration and guilt, not knowing what to do, before finally grabbing with gentleness whatever hair fell on their face and putting it out of the way.

A few minutes later, when MC couldn't do more than breath heavily and shed some tears, he traced the shape of their jaw and tried to get up.

“I'll bring you a glass of water, okay?”

But they wouldn't let him leave, desperately grabbing his forearm. They looked like they were afraid of turning away from the toilet and vomiting all over him, but Simeon wasn't even sure if there was anything to vomit at all.

So he stayed there, dragging his fingernails up and down their back, shushing in a comforting manner when it was due and holding their hair up.

“It didn't look bad” they explained in a choked sob “It almost looked normal”

MC cried, finally finding themselves stable enough to lay down on the tiles of the floor in search of cold. Simeon immediately got up and moisted a handtowel, smiling in relief when his partner closed their eyes in mild relaxation.

“I thought I'd be okay because it didn't have a flavor, but I was wrong. I was so so wrong”

Their bawling became too painful to hear, so he hugged their waist, lifting them up until they could rest their back against the wall, and pressed the washcloth a little firmer.

“You know you shouldn't eat his cooking, my love, why did you do it?”

“He looked so happy!”

MC continued crying, sobbing against his shoulder and grabbing his tunic in a fist, but it seemed their pain and their nausea finally subdued.

Smiling in pity, Simeon brought them closer and softly kissed their temple.

They'd be fine.

Solomon would not.

.

.

Taglist: @ourfinalisation  @owlisbuffering  @chizukimp4  @ravenredwine @darkflowerav  @beatlebeesstuff   @mehkers

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Scarbo Vintage SV Rover, 2024. Claimed to be "the world's first street-legal hypertruck," the California-based motorsport company have extensively modified a Land Rover Defender with carbonfibre and aluminium bodywork. There's interchangeable 2- and 4-wheel drive, locking front and rear differentials and adjustable-height pushrod suspension offering 30 inches of wheel travel. It also comes with 4-wheel steering, 40inch off-road tyres and carbon-ceramic brake discs. Power comes from either a 1100hp supercharged V8 with an 8-speed gearbox or a 1005bhp electric drivetrain. Scarbo Vintage have yet to reveal pricing or how many than plan to build

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

The Beast Inside

Werewolf!reader finally! I've been wanting to write a werewolf rampage for quite a while but never quite got around to it until now!!!

Summary: Reader loses control of the wolf and tries to come to terms with the beast inside all whilst taking care of Astarion.

The paladin’s blade comes down, swinging in an arc of light and you stand there, eyes wide with shock as the steel tears through your flesh, carving open your shoulder. Blood sprays from the wound, staining your clothes red with your own blood.

“Y/N!” You can hear the distant shouts of your companions, calling your name. Your wound burns, probably from the infusion of the paladin’s abilities in the strike that connected and blood roars in your ears. All you can think about is how that same paladin had captured Astarion, had their way with him, nearly killed your vampire lover, and the beast inside takes over, roaring in delight.

You will not lose him.

You feel your bones cracking and skin stretching as claws take the place of fingers, fur sprouting from your body. Your jaw lengthens, teeth sharpening into fangs and your nose becomes narrower. The wound in your shoulder begins to seal itself shut, flesh growing back and knitted by furred skin. The sharp metallic scent of blood fills your nose and you inhale it all. You can smell the fear in the air as the paladin shrinks back, greatsword pointed at you but the weapon is rattling.

That sword will never pierce you again.

The paladin’s hands shake as your wild gaze locks onto them, yellow eyes burning with an inhumane thirst for blood, saliva dripping from long thick fangs nestled in powerful jaws. A howl bursts forth from deep within you, claws flexing and you pounce on your prey, sending the paladin crashing to the floor. Armour is ripped apart like paper underneath the werewolf’s claws and jaws snap, crushing the helmet to reveal the paladin’s terrified face.

“Please –” Their cries are cut short as sharp claws tear open their exposed flesh, ripping their face in two. More blood gushes out and the paladin is already dead but the beast keeps going, jaws tearing the paladin’s body into a bloody mess. The werewolf stands back up in the sticky mess of blood and guts, crimson dripping from its muzzle and takes a step towards the paladin’s frightened companions.

The cleric drops to his knees and tries to scuttle away but the werewolf is faster, tearing open his throat with its jaws and devours the chunk of meat torn away. The werewolf snarls, reaching back into the convulsing body and rips away another chunk, sending blood flying everywhere. The body finally stills, having lost too much blood but the werewolf continues to rip at the flesh piece by piece, painting the entire floor a deep red.

Its nostrils flare, blazing yellow eyes turning towards the last member of the paladin’s party. The vampire hunter stares at the beast, shaky hands aiming a crossbow at its head. Its lips curl upwards, almost like a grin as it stalks towards the hunter, leaving a trail of bloody paw prints behind.

“You monster!” An arrow is fired, piercing through the beast’s face and causing it to stumble back, but it regains its footing just as quickly, its head snapping forward. The maniacal grin still remains, with the beast’s blood streaming from the wound. Crimson fangs bare at the hunter, yellow eyes gleaming as the beast reaches up with a clawed hand and rips the arrow free, laughing. The throaty laugh sends shivers up everyone’s spines as it devolves into a howl and claws swipe at the hunter, who barely manages to dodge the blow. The beast snarls, jaws snapping at thin air as the hunter moves out of the way, reloading his crossbow.

Another arrow is fired but the beast dodges in time. Its clawed feet dig into the ceramic floor tiles and it launches itself with terrifying speed at the unprepared hunter. Claws slam into the hunter’s chest, sending him crashing into the wall behind and knocking all breath out of his body. The werewolf bares its bloody fangs, jaws clamping around the hunter’s throat to crush through flesh and bone alike, coating its chest in the blood that sprayed from the fatal wound. It tears into the corpse, ripping it apart with ferocious savagery and gorges itself on the flesh until it is satisfied.

Then it turns to Y/N’s companions.

A soft growl rumbles from its chest and it stalks towards where Astarion lies, curled up and shivering. Lae’zel takes a step towards the beast, ready to strike it down before it can harm the vampire but Halsin holds her back, giving a shake of his head.

It feels its bones cracking and skin stretching once more as its body shrinks back into its human form. Claws shorten back into fingers and toes, its furred chest shrinks back into a female’s chest, its jaw shortening back into a human mouth. Fangs recede, making way for human teeth and pointed ears round themselves again to nestle behind hair.

But the blood remains.

“Astarion,” you whisper, reaching out to him with your bloody hand. He flinches when your fingertips bump into his skin, a quiet whimper escaping his lips and you immediately pull back. You sit on your haunches, at a loss of what to do. You want to help, you want to pull your lover into your arms and hold him tight, whisper away all his pain but you can’t even touch him.

“It’s me, Y/N,” you try again. You ignore the sticky feeling of blood that covers hands, feet and chest and hold out a hand with your palm upturned. “You’re safe now. No one can harm you anymore, I won’t allow it.”

“Don’t look at me,” Astarion croaks. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“It doesn’t make me love you any less,” you say firmly. “I’ve seen you at your lowest and I’ve seen you at your highest, neither has changed the fact that I love you. Nothing ever will.”

You sit there, patiently. “I didn’t want you to see this either. The beast that lives inside me, the real me. I hate it, that part of me. We all have at least one part of ourselves that we hate, maybe we even hate all parts of ourselves, but what we do with that part makes us who we are.”

The rest of your companions quietly make their exit, giving the two of them some time alone. You give them a grateful nod as they leave and turn back to Astarion who hasn’t moved an inch.

“You’re strong, Astarion. Far stronger than you think, far stronger than me. You accept the part you hate about yourself and live with it while I pretend it doesn’t exist, suppressing the beast. I wish I could be like you.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. “I admire you, and love you no matter how much you despise yourself.”

Astarion curls tighter into a ball, burying his face into his knees. You gently place your blood-stained cloak over him and simply continue to sit there, facing away from him to give him some privacy whilst keeping an eye on him via your sharpened hearing. You hear him drawing shaky breaths out of habit, miniscule sobs slipping past his lips on occasion and your heart breaks. If only you were stronger, faster, more powerful, then maybe he wouldn’t have had to suffer like this, maybe you would have been able to prevent all this from happening.

Your thoughts begin to devour you, thrusting you into a swirling haze of self-hatred and self-doubt. They crowd out everything else, ensnaring you in their web and trapping you in darkness but two quietly spoken words pierce through the cloud and the dark haze begins to part.

“Thank you.”

You sit up with a start, turning to find your vampire lover has shifted into a sitting position, cloak still firmly bundled around him. He looks at you with tear-stained ruby eyes and shuffles closer, leaning against you and burying his face into your shoulder, ignoring the blood that coats it.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “For yelling at you.”

“All’s been forgiven long ago,” you hum. Your arm hovers around him, unsure of whether he would welcome a hug but he pulls your arm around his waist, washing away all doubt immediately.

Astarion relaxes in your embrace, the warmth a stark contrast to his cold skin and rests his head against your chest. The steady thumping of your heart sends a nice strange feeling surging through him and a soft sigh escapes his lips. He lets you rest your chin on his head and the corners of his lips twitch upwards when he hears a familiar rumbling sound coming from your chest.

You wipe your hand on your pants to try and get rid of the blood before running your fingers through his hair, gently unknotting it as you go along. Your breath hitches, disgust bubbling to the surface when you realise you’re still getting blood on his silver hair despite your best efforts. The wolf had spilled that much blood in one fight. You swallow the bile rising to your throat, Astarion comes first, he is the one who needs to be taken care of, your problems can wait another day.

He shifts slightly, giving you a better angle to comb through his hair but you can still see a hint of trepidation in his eyes.

“If you want me to stop, just say it and I will stop. I promise.” You remove your hand from his hair, concerned. You know Astarion likes to keep things to himself, but so far he has been open about his likes and dislikes to you, understanding that you can take no as an answer.

“I…don’t stop. Please,” he whispers. “I don’t want to associate this with anyone but you.”

You feel your cheeks heat up at his words and press a kiss to the top of his head to hide your embarrassment. Despite knowing what you truly are, he still chose you and found safety in your arms. Maybe, if he could accept you as you truly are, one day you could do the same. A vampire spawn and a werewolf, what a couple the two of you made.

“As you wish,” you murmur and the both of you remain like that for some time before Astarion stirs once more, untangling himself from the safety of your bloodstained arms.

“We should get going before the others fall apart trying to settle dinner,” he smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“We don’t have to move if you don’t want to, the others can wait for all I care,” you huff.

“As much as I love you darling, I would much prefer cuddling in a bedroll than on this hard ground.” A small piece of light returns to his eyes when he hears you bark a laugh at his words, his favourite grin of yours splayed on your face.

“Your wish is my command,” you chuckle, giving his hand a small squeeze. He grasps your hand tightly, whispering something inaudible even to your sharp ears before looking at you with a fondness you can’t quite describe.

“Thank you,” he breathes. “For everything.”

“Right back at you, Star.”