#fiber pillow price

[thesafarimattresses]

What to Look for in Pillows to Alleviate Back Pain?

Imagining a quality-sleep experience without a good mattress is hard to imagine. For some, the absence of a premium-quality pillow is worrisome. For the past two years, the work-from-home culture has led to the incidence of back aches, neck aches, body pain, and some sleeping disorders. For some of us, backache becomes a matter of major concern when it starts messing up our daily routine. In order to alleviate back pain, health experts are seen recommending certain types of pillows. Wondering why? And what types of pillows are these? In yet another blog, India’s leading mattress brand – Safari Mattresses will be telling you anything and everything that pillows have to do with alleviating back pain. 

First things first, why do we have backaches?

If you’re rolling out of bed in the morning with more back pain than the night before, your sleep setup is likely a contributing factor. Misalignment and pressure on the spine while you’re asleep can place stress on your back and your body, resulting in that dreaded back pain and maybe even the added neck pain. Now the question is how to alleviate back pain. In conjunction with a comfortable and supportive mattress, finding a pillow for back pain can help alleviate an achy back, as well as neck and shoulder pain. And Safari Mattresses will serve you the best of such pillows. 

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[nrdmssgs]

Reacting to the reader, accidentally falling asleep on them. (Price, Ghost, Gaz)

Masterlist

Part 1 (Soap, Alex, Konig)

Captain John Price

Platonic

Won't mind, if his old friend takes a quick nap on his shoulder, as long as this old friend tolerates a cigar smoke.

If he was discussing something with the others, and you happened to fall asleep - he'll try to speak quieter to the point, where his low velvety voice turns into a full-fledged asmr session.

But if the talk grows heated and his low menacing rumble wakes you up accidentally - he'll just pull you back on his shoulder. "Sorry, darling, go back to sleep... Now back to you, you d**p sh*t!"

Will unconsciously fidget with your fingers, John can't help it: your skin is so soft - it calms him down to lightly massage and caress your hand while you are napping.

Price finds it endearing, how flustered you got, after you finally woke up and understood, how exactly have you been sleeping all this time. Once again, he has nothing against it, but he will gladly joke about it, just to see you blushing. "Of course, you can spend a considerable amount of money on this orthopedic pillow in the hope that it will help you start sleeping better. Or you can always call one of your old friends - it costs nothing..."

Romantic

John will have to fight the urge to scoop and cradle you, so that you lean against him with your full weigh, enjoying his warmth enveloping you.

Even if he has something to do - his attention will be concentrated on you. Your calm deep breaths, your fingers clasping on his shirt lightly - that is what Price consumes with his every his single fiber. Because after all, it's memories of those things that keep him alive and sane on the battlefield.

Will definitely kiss the top of your head, even if you two are not alone. Multiple times.

It's moments like these, when he remembers to take a pause, look outside the window, remember, that his war is not everything he has - there is life beyond it.

Expect to wake up with his hand on your head, fingers sinking into your hair, a warm smile blooming on his face as he notices you slowly opening your eyes. "Had a nice nap, my love? Now how about I take you somewhere, you could actually sleep properly?"

Simon Ghost Riley

(this one turned out more like a scenario, sorry)

Platonic

Ghost doesn't notice the weight of your head on his lap right away. He's seen you curl up on a bench next to where he was sitting, but you are so small and light in comparison to him, it's hard to register your head leaning against him.

He sits at the table and talks to someone, when it hits him: a strange warmth, spreading in all directions of his body from the place your cheek meet his lap.

Simon makes a little, almost unnoticeable, pause, breathes in and goes on talking.

There's a voice in the back of his head, telling him to find anything, that might resemble a pillow, for you to sleep on. It would be so much better, than his dusty jeans. And you definitely deserve something softer than his lap to rest on.

But there's nothing, that he could offer you right now to replace him. So he settles to sitting as still as he possibly could and covering the edge of the table with his hand in case you wake up and get up abruptly. Little gesture, showing how much he really cares for every squadmate, how much he values their trust.

Back on the base, you notice, some late training hours disappeared from your timetable. Your Lt may never comment on you briefly passing out on his lap, but he never forgot, you needed a bit more time to rest after the last mission.

Romantic

He might be reserved and distant with you in public. Nothing personal, just a professional attitude, a facade, if you want. But here, behind the closed doors of his room, he freezes the very next minute he hears your muffled mumbling as you drifted to sleep on his shoulder.

"Don't go. Not yet."

Simons' heart sinks. He wishes, he didn't know, what were you talking about in your sleep, but he knows. Even in your dreams, on the territory, where you can have anything, you've ever wished for - you ask only for him to stay.

In public, you are always ok with him going on missions without you. You are always collected, supportive and optimistic. But when no one is around, you let yourself cling to Ghost for a brief moment, clasp your fingers around his arm and wordlessly plead 'don't go, don't go, don't go, don't...'

As he brushes hair from your face, you slightly flinch, not waking up.

"Take me, not him."

Simon looks at your face, feeling guilt building up in his chest. He puts his work papers aside, scoops you up and carries you to his bed. There he cradles you, caressing your face till you stop mumbling, descending to deeper sleep.

You wake up the next morning alone, surrounded by his scent, as he left you his shirt. He always does that, when he leaves on a mission without you. Your gaze wanders around, till it stops on your arm. His handwriting, black pen ink, covering your skin. Never before has he done anything like this. You grab your phone and frantically make a few dozens of photos of the inscription, that he left on you. You already know, that you'll make it permanent.

The inscription says "On my way to you"

Kyle Gaz Garrick

Platonic

Kyle is actually the one to ask others to speak quieter, when he realizes, you've fallen asleep on his lap.

Will shoo away Soap, who is ready to attack you and Kyle with a myriad of 'so when's the wedding' jokes.

Gaz is also the one to actually make sure, that there is nothing hard in his pockets and that the no sharp edges of his tactical clothes touch your delicate skin. He is a very good, genuinely caring friend.

In fact, he will protect you from any person, threatening your sleep. He will even convince Ghost to come back to you with new intel or orders just a bit later, or give them to Gaz, so that he can tell you everything later.

If you work together - he will try to help you with paperwork, so that you have more time to sleep between trainings and missions.

Romantic

Kyle has that face of the happiest, most proud man out there. It's you, the one, he has been dreaming about for so long, feeling so relaxed next to him. Not only he has you - he can make you so content, you smile, while napping on his shoulder.

His eyes are glued to your face. Nothing else matters in this very moment. It's impossible to distract him with anything.

Covers you with his jacket, always makes sure that you are warm and comfortable in his hands.

Loves to surprise you with something small, every time it happens and you wake up on his shoulder. If you two were in the park - Gaz will carefully pick a flower and tuck it in your hair. If it happened in a coffee shop - he will quietly order your favorite cupcake and move the plate towards you.

Lives for that smiles appearing on your lips in first moments after you wake up. Peppers your face with kisses. "Morning, sunshine!" (says it even if it's almost midnight, and he is about to drag you to the bedroom in a few minutes)

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

Chapter 1 - Dark Paradise

Pairing: John Price x fem!oc (oc: Rory Sinclair - 3rd person pov)

Word count: 4.2 K

Warnings/tags: MINORS DNI, Vampire AU, smut, p in v sex, biting, consensual blood drinking, established relationship, unprotected sex with a vampire, swearing, pet names, roleplay scenario, John Price POV for this chapter

A/N: the first chapter and we're opening with a "bang". In this universe Rory is a previously turned vampire and member of TF141. The canon she has otherwise still holds, she just happens to also drink blood now.

Releasing the first chapter in time for Halloween, not entirely sure how regularly this fic will be updated.

And then the door to his quarters creaked open —

Goddamn tired.

He’d been awake for nearly 36 hours straight, finally given a chance to rest after prepping for another mission. The briefings had become the least of his worries, the same old-same old, but still every possible scenario circled his thoughts like he was a bloody clown with spinning plates on sticks, making sure not a single one fell on his watch.

Laying back in his bed, Price released a long, burdened exhale up towards the ceiling. Staring at the boring beige paint that was military standard as if he had expected it to change, running his hands back and forth through his hair. Thoughts of pouring himself a drink or perhaps lighting up a cigar for a little stress relief sparked behind his eyes.

It was the silence of the night, the others long since turned in, and while everyone else on base should have been sleeping, he realized he wasn’t entirely alone. 

She appeared like an apparition. The door closing shut behind her with the flick of her delicate wrist, the lock clicking just as he gulped down a heavy swallow, his saliva thick in his throat, his tongue feeling sizes too large for his mouth. 

His heart thundered in his chest, pounding in his ears, silencing any of his previous worries. White noise blanketed the gray matter. A haze as thick as fog blurred his vision, tunneling it until all he saw was her – everything else was just background noise. Non-existent. 

Her lithe form crawled up from the foot of the bed. The mattress creaked, bending to her weight, and his stomach dropped as something feral coiled inside him. Survival instinct. Fight or flight. Nerves fired, synapses screamed every red flag and siren and they died away before his body was even given a chance to react. Years of experience, training, battle readiness, all made into myth as big, beautiful hazel doe-eyes locked onto him from under long, dark lashes – the gleam of a predator within them. Hunger. A starving beast. Stalking towards him with the sleek sway of a panther. Slithering up the bed, an adder – deadly, dangerous. Intoxicating.

His breath came in short and heavy. Sitting up against his pillows, his whole body felt like it had been entombed in earth, muscles unable to move without the use of brute force, and he’d been made docile under that singular stare, crushing him beneath it. His chest compressed, suffocating, squeezed tight until it hurt just to breathe.

Pale, slender fingers stretched out, and with the reaper’s touch, they pushed him down onto the mattress, forcing him down. His struggle, entirely futile under her feather-lite touch. The strength of a two tonne tank contained in her fingertips and total control slipped through his fingers the way the fibers of the sheets within his fists did. A shuddered breath tumbling over his lips before he sucked it back in through gritted teeth with a labored hiss.

Frozen hands traveled down arms that could toss a man over his shoulder or throw them over a barrier wall, and he’d never felt so unbearably pathetic. Held captive, imprisoned in his own bed like a child who’d woken from a terrible nightmare and didn’t even have the strength to scream. Soft palms drifted along his limbs, marble-smooth, stone-cold. Shivers slid down his spine, fractals of ice freezing the blood, spreading through his veins and making each pump of the work-horse muscle in his chest painful. Fingers slipped around his wrists, manacles that made his own digits lock like the blistering wind of a frozen tundra had chewed its way through his gloves and began to gnaw at the skin below.

His jaw clenched, heels digging into the mattress in some feeble attempt to break free from her hold as she settled herself on his lap, straddling him, milky-white thighs trapping him between them and each desperate attempt to flee only caused the blanket covering him to slip further down his hips, revealing the dark curls that bordered the root of his cock. He bit his lip, chewing on the flesh as his hips bucked, groaning, deep and low from the back of his throat.

“Christ, Ror. Please, darlin’...”

“Please what?” She purred, leaning towards him, her mouth inches away from his. Testing him, toying with him.

Her soft breath ghosted over his lips like a cool breeze in summer, chilling the heat that simmered beneath his flesh, sending yet another shiver coursing through him as the sweat that began to slick his skin and dampen the hair on his body was wicked away by her frozen touch rather than the evaporation of body heat. The soft swells of her breasts pressed against him, but there was no heartbeat there, the cavity may as well have been hollow below. It didn’t rise or fall either, her lungs lying as still as the grave.

“Fuck, woman, can’t just come in here and tease me like this,” he gruffed, teeth gritting together, brow furrowed. With each lift of his pelvis, he would grind against her, stroking his thick length against her velvety soft folds, and despite the icy temperature of her flesh he still hardened to the stiffness of a glacier in return.

She giggled and it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard – it was bloody torture. He was more worked up than usual, desperate and aching after days without rest, and she was playing him with the gall of a cat whose claws had managed to curl themselves around the tail of a rat.

Lifting his arms above his head, manipulating and maneuvering him like he was a poseable doll, she pinned his hands above his head and brushed the tip of her nose against his, paying extra attention to the little mole that sat there.

“Gonna get you back for this, sweetheart.” An empty threat. “Mark my words.”

Her hum in response vibrated through his skin and rattled his chest. “Promises, promises.” That sweet voice of hers melting his urge to flip her over and take the upper hand, conquering her gorgeous body – not that he could if he would, she was much too strong for that now.

Growling, his eyes narrowed at her, the piercing blue stare holding her dead to rights. “You’re bloody cruel.”

“Oh, shut it,” she said with that goddamn smirk of hers curling her mouth and awakening her angelic dimples. 

His brow cocked and a short huff fluttered the dark waves that framed her face. Much too fucking pretty a face. “Am I not allowed to indulge in a little fantasy, my girl? How many men get to say their lady is a bloody vampire? Doesn’t mean I want to be left in the cold though, Ror. Driving me mad here.”

The nip at his lower lip, her pearly white fangs pricking against him, caused another groan as his hips rolled towards her. Trying – and failing – once more to lift his arms from beneath her grasp.

“So impatient, my darling. Think I never get you off with the way you’re acting.”

Brows knitting together, he looked up from beneath them with a darkened expression. His mouth scrunching in frustration, his square jaw cut with sharp edges as he lifted his chin defiantly and a low rumble built like rolling thunder in the distance.

“Do not give me that look,” she scolded him, “You’re the one who asks for these bloody games, love.”

“Party pooper,” she muttered before capturing his mouth in a deep kiss. Each press of her lips to his seemed to last forever, languid and slow, as sensual and seductive as the very aura that surrounded her since being turned several years back.

Her lips, like the cool side of the pillow, were refreshing, invigorating. The taste of her was sweet, the spoonful of sugar that made the shitshow of life go down a little easier. Grunting as he shifted beneath her, her hardened nipples brushed over his chest and she whined into his mouth.

He’d give anything to break free, to run his hands up and down the smooth curves of her waist and over the round of her hips, squeezing her firm little arse cheeks in his rough palms. To be able to grip her tight and drive her back and forth on his shaft, directing her, watching pleasure wrack her body, making her moan the way only he could; but instead, he was stuck there like a bug pinned under the glass in some hobbyist’s collection. 

“Sweetheart…” He hated to plead, hated how weak it made him sound, hated giving anyone that sort of power over him but Christ, if she couldn’t pull every little whimper and moan from him like it was second nature to her.

“Oh, my darling,” she cooed, pulling away, her lips glistening with the sheen of his saliva upon them. “You really must be suffering.”

Price nodded, jaw tense, his throat bobbing as the pulse point in his neck hammered so hard it nearly strangled him. “Can only take not touchin’ you for so long, darlin’.”

Her hands squeezed around his wrists a little tighter, constricting the blood flow, the flesh growing hot and red below as his life’s essence pooled in place. Closing her eyes, she sat there silently, unmoving – like a corpse. She used to only be able to read him by memorizing his tics and tells, perceptive in her approach to dealing with him. Now, she could hear his heartbeat, the change in his breath, smell his sweat, feel the blood pump in his veins through his very skin. It had been an unnerving development at first, the woman he loved becoming an undead lie detector with blood-sucking instincts.

“Rory,” he husked her name, a quiet whisper traveling in the space between them.

Her full lips curled into a half grin and she gazed down at him, her eyes warm and brimming with life despite her circumstances. “You really want your hands free, don’t you?”

She gripped his shoulders, snaking her arms around the back of his neck. Her body rocking against his. Hips grinding, rotating. He was faced with Heaven on Earth while buried deep inside her. Price nuzzled in against her neck, breathing in the decadent scent of her perfume – sultry, heady, unfathomably deep. His mouth trailed along the smooth column, laving his tongue over the cool flesh as his beard rasped against her. 

Pulling her hands away, she sat back, her back arching in a gentle curve as she leaned away from him. The entire swath of her silky flesh available to him to roam his callused hands against, appreciating every inch to his heart’s content.

Sitting up, moving with the reflexes that made him so dangerous in the field, he wrapped his arms around her, gripping her tight and pulling her against his chest. “Lift up, sweetheart,” he ordered, slipping a hand between her legs and teasing the entrance to her core with the head of his cock.

As she lowered onto him, his breath hitched. Taking all of him, every last inch, they groaned in unison. “Fucking hell, love,” he purred in her ear as her hips started to roll against him, her slick coating his shaft as tight walls clenched against him. His eyes fluttered shut and his head rolled back, exposing the flesh of his neck, releasing an inaudible moan. One arm coiled around her waist, pressing her body to his, as the other slid up her back, his hand delving into the strands of her hair, bunching it up in a fistful. Straining to maintain clarity of thought, his whole body stiffened, his tendons all standing in stark relief.  

“So damn beautiful,” he mumbled, lost in the feel of her undulating, of being inside her.

Trapped in a daze of passion, a dark paradise with a woman cursed with everlasting life so long as she had a constant food source, he was lost in the sensation of reaching the precipice she was leading him towards in her thrall. Losing track of time and space, her soft lips grazed against his artery and the barely there touch of pillowy flesh pulled him back into reality. 

The hushed slurp of her open mouth wrapped around him reminded him of biting into a ripe peach in summer and the juice that ran down the chin with it. Succulent, sweet. And as her hand caressed his jaw, gentle and tender, coaxing him deeper into her maw, he was sure that was how her brain had learned to rewire itself with her change so she could stomach what she was forced to do for sustenance.

With his jaw cupped in her hand, holding him in place, her thumb brushed softly through the whiskers of his beard and the stubble of the five o'clock shadow on his neck and jaw. The quiet hiss of her parting lips was the only warning he received before the tip of her tongue flickered out tasting the beat of his heart. Fangs descending against his skin, she dragged them gently and pierced the flesh with all the pain of the prick of a needle.

Gasping, he gulped air like he was drowning. The pinch of her bite soothed by her plump lips wrapping around the wound and sucking on the flesh, drawing out more of his blood that bubbled to the surface.

His fingers dug into her, searching for but never finding any source of heat while warm blood trickled down the contour of his neck and over his barrel chest, pooling where their bodies met as she continued to drink. The suctioned sensation was just enough to keep him from falling over the edge, maintaining at least a portion of lucid thought before the lightheadedness started to creep into the corners of the little world they had created together.

“Rory,” he murmured, knotting her hair in his fist as he tried to pull her mouth away.

It didn’t take much for her to get the hint, panting as she tore herself away from her source of fresh blood, drips of it curling down her chin from the corners of her mouth.

“Sorry, love,” she breathed, her tongue darting out to clean her lips as she wiped the traces of claret from her face with her hand.

“‘S okay,” he rumbled before pulling her in for a kiss, tasting himself on her tongue. 

Redoubling his efforts to reach their shared climax, the metallic tang lingered in the air and in his mouth, clinging to his gums and inside his flared nostrils with each heaved breath.

Her moans were better than any song he’d ever heard, a siren’s call to his most base of instincts – the ones he’d trained to ignore, to forget, to rise above. He was a veteran of the SAS for a reason, and yet, their bodies moving in tandem eradicated any of the drilled in logic. 

“Fuck, John,” she cried out, her voice straining, trembling as her nails dug into his back. “Right fucking there, don’t stop.”

Hips snapping, he’d never refuse to follow her orders, not when she was in his lap like this, when she was helping him unwind in the best way possible.

“Never, darlin’. Never.”

Bed creaking, the headboard knocking against the wall in time with their passion, he stopped caring if anyone else on base could hear them, he just wanted to keep her making those pretty noises for him.

Stiffening in his arms, her body turned rigid, muscles all tightening, locking up  – Rigor mortis. A choked groan escaped her as her eyes rolled back in her head, fluttering shut as she went limp and rested her head on his shoulder.

The fact that he could still cause this sort of reaction in her, make her tremble and whine like the pretty, sweet and soft thing she used to be brought a hazy smile to his face. Panting as he felt her mouth wrap around the bite marks she’d left behind in his neck, her tongue dragging against it with the same attention she used on his cock. A growl rumbled in his chest as his thoughts drifted to that scenario for a fleeting moment. 

That tongue of hers trailing along his skin, cleaning up the mess from his still draining veins, made his toes curl and he surged forward, thrusting into her with the force of a man possessed before grabbing her ass and bouncing her up and down on his shaft, punching out warbling mewls from her. Slick, wet – cunt, tongue, the blood that pumped from him. His fingers kneaded into her flesh, rough and possessive, if she still had a working pulmonary system she’d likely bruise with how hard he was gripping her. 

So close. Right fucking there.

Her tight, velvet walls clenched around him, pulsing with contractions (like the heartbeat she no longer had), milking him and bringing him to the brink. The heat in his core made his cock throb, and all sense – his seat of control – was stolen from him. Filling her, flooding her with his come, continuing to fuck into her straight through his own climax.

Nuzzling his face into her, their necks curled around each other like mated wolves, mumbling and moaning, quiet ‘thank you’s’ tumbling from his lips. His thrusts slowed, becoming lazy and languorous, while labored puffs of exhausted breath fanned over her flesh, moist not with her perspiration, but his.

In the daze of his afterglow, his brow furrowed as her fingertips began to lightly massage the wounds on his neck and a tingle radiated outwards from the point of origin. It was the same feeling he received when she’d heal his wounds after a clash against whichever enemy it was they were being sent in to deal with. Smearing her blood on him like it was antiseptic ointment and he’d skinned his knee. It was a miracle, able to save him and the other lads from ever needing stitches.

But it came at a cost. 

There were times when he wondered what it might be like to be the same thing she was, not dead, not truly alive, existing in a limbo state somewhere between the two. Free of the fear of dying. Stronger, faster. Able to heal from her wounds, and save others. That wasn’t even counting the other benefits: hypnosis and compulsion, flight, shapeshifting. She was already a damn good recon specialist, but once she’d changed she was damn near unstoppable, leaving him in the dust. 

Cradling her in his arms as they lay together on his bed just wasn’t the same anymore and even after the last few years it still took some getting used to, especially after making love. There was no racing heart, no sweat slicked skin or panting breaths. She was cold. Still. Like sleeping next to a marble statue of the woman he loved, a replica of the real thing. He knew it was still her, she had all the same thoughts and feelings. Hell, she even had the trauma. But her warmth, the bit of her he clung to when her curves slotted against the stiff planes of his body – it wasn’t there anymore. The best he’d ever get was room temperature. 

Carding her fingers through the hair at his temple, he was sure she could probably count the gray hairs that were there, the way they kept increasing while she would stay young and beautiful forever. Like the Picture of Dorian Grey, she’d never age while he just kept getting older, more tired, more grizzled, worn down and callused. 

Left behind to rot.

He cleared his throat, pushing away the cobwebs that ensnared him about the life he could have in some alternate timeline where he’d been bitten and she wasn’t. The one where she was still the gentle little lamb he had sworn to protect. Pulling her in tighter against him with a grunt, his arms surrounded her in a bear hug that pressed her cheek against his hirsute chest before his meaty hand began to aimlessly drift down her side, appreciating her form and its every peak and valley.

“Are you okay, love?” Her voice was a soft whisper as she looked up at him, holding his gaze. “Looked like you were a million miles away.”

“‘Course,” he said with a curt nod, his brows stitching together. 

God forbid she ever found out he was jealous of what she could do, at how it would make him a better soldier. He’d never have to worry about retiring, finding something else to do to fill his time, finding his place as a civilian in a life free from danger. He could handle the struggles that came with turning, just like he handled everything else that was thrown at him – he was sure of it. But he’d never dare ask her to turn him, he already knew she’d never agree to it. Never willingly “curse” him the way she was. He couldn’t blame her for that either, she hadn’t volunteered. She was attacked, forced into being what she was now. She saw it as just another burden she needed to carry with her for the rest of her life, which, in this case, was forever.

“Don’t you worry ‘bout a damn thing, sweetheart.” His hand stroked lovingly over the curve of her spine, tracing along the slope of her lower back. “You let me handle it.”

“John?”

“Yeah, love?” His eyes were getting heavier, drowsiness catching up with him as he lay there spent and sated.

“You’re exhausted. I’ll clean us up, eh?” Lifting her chin and stretching her neck, she kissed him. “Stay right there.”

“No, love,” he husked. 

Peeling away from his arms, there was no sudden hit of cold air against his body when she evacuated the bed. Her side was left empty, lacking, as if she’d never been there at all. He sighed and reached over to the bedside table, grabbing his cigar, clipping the end and flicking open his lighter. The dancing flame drifted back and forth over the end until it started to glow and smoke. Puffing away, cock still half-hard, he watched her pad over and collect the wet wipes he’d stashed, the plastic pack crinkling against his stomach as she tossed them at him.

“Oi!” Smoke shot out of him as he pulled the cigar from his lips, a wry grin on his lips as she laughed at his reaction. “Show me a little respect, yeah? Just gave you dinner and a dance,” he said with a smirk, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“That was terrible,” she groaned, snickering as she climbed back onto the bed. Collecting a handful of wipes, she started to clean off the glistening remains of their union from his softening shaft. Her large doe eyes lifted to gaze at him, biting her lip, the smile fading from her face. “Didn’t take too much from you, did I?”

“You’re not just saying that?” Her head tipped to the side, eyes narrowing slightly. “I can tell if you’re lying.”

“I swear.”

She licked her lips, wetting them before speaking again. “You need more iron in your diet if I’m going to keep doing this. Whiskey and cigars don’t cut it, my darling.”

He glanced up at the ceiling and sighed with a low grumble. “Nurse, soldier, vampire… what can’t you do, darlin’?”

“Piss off,” she said, tossing the dirty wipe across the room, the damp, rumpled cloth tumbling into the rubbish bin.

Giving herself a wipe between her thighs, she lay back against the pillows beside him, the smoke from his cigar coiling around their faces. Leaning down, her head rested on his broad shoulder and she sighed heavily. “You need to start taking better care of yourself, love,” she murmured. 

“Why not? What’s so bad about being damn near unkillable, able to live practically forever?”

He grit his teeth, clenching them tightly around the cigar between his lips. “Or you could just put me out of my misery…” He tried to make it sound like a joke, adding a smirk after he uttered the words, but the bitter taste in his mouth was hard to ignore.

“That’s not happening, and you know it. You don’t want to be like this, trust me.”

“Exactly that. I have to keep watching the world as I know it end, over and over again, and I have to sit there and take it. It’s not like I���m going to forcibly turn everyone I love just so I don’t have to lose them. I’m not a fucking monster.” She raked her fingers through her hair. “I mean I am, but…” she sighed once more. “Not like that.”

It was exactly what he’d expected her to say. Despite the darkness inside her, despite the violence of her profession, somehow this woman had managed to hold onto a shred of humanity, and it still felt like she was a better person than he was most days. 

“You’re not a monster. Bloodsucker or not. You’re still my girl, and nothing’s gonna change that,” he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder, holding her tight to him. 

tagging: @cassietrn

[freeflowersofmuseums]

Yandere Bouillabaisse

Hello lovelies! dont know if anyone missed me but now that I'm better at writing and playing FF again, I figured I would try writing another shot. If there's something you really wanna see, just dm me a request! i get the struggle of being in a niche fandom and when there's nearly 400+ characters in FF, it can be really hard to find content for a character you like. With that being said, here are some headcanons and a scenario for the food soul Bouillabaisse!

CW: Collaring, drugging, kidnapping, stealing, jealousy and general yandere tendencies. GN!reader

Bouillabaisse or “bisse” as you called him, was fond of you when he was first summoned. For the small price of 150 soul embers from the store, you had gained an eternal companion. He thought you were simply adorable, his past master attendants were powerful mages or even other food souls who wanted him for their own gain, but you were the only person who gave and asked nothing in return. For that alone, he would provide you his service.

Everything you do enchants him. Your laugh, the way you touch his face, and even the food you provide for him warm his heart. He has never met anyone so kind and generous, he tries to return the favor as best he can. Giving you all sorts of knick-knacks he picks up off the road or the beach.

He is set on following you everywhere, while this isn’t too out of the normal for Food Souls, he takes his position as your personal assistant very seriously. When shopping for groceries, he’ll often quietly tuck fruit in his bag while others aren’t looking. The idea that you have to pay for anything in this world is ridiculous. Don't they know that you're the best master attendant in the world?

You pet him in a way he's so fond of. Gently pushing back the hair that obscures his features. You wash his face before bed, tucking him in with care and preparing delicious food in the morning. He watches as you hum various songs. Flitting about the kitchen like a golden ray of sunlight, preparing a meal that you hope he will enjoy just as much as you do. He'd never known this feeling before… this is love, isn’t it?

He despises the fact that you have to toil away at your job, giving your effort to someone who will never appreciate it and only ask for more. Oh, how he wishes he could simply whisk you away, waltzing on the beaches he knows so well while he covers you in sunken treasure. Pearls complement your complexion the best, he thinks.

It's only when a belligerent man catches your fancy does he comes across the realization that he would kill for you. Bouillabaisse hates every fiber of the man's being. He was almost disturbed that such visceral hatred was able to come from his core. Baisee looms over you while he watches the man offer to take you for a beverage. Taking in every disgusting quality of the man. The conversation only lasts a few minutes at most, but the pain is forever ingrained in Bouillabaisse's heart. If he is to properly protect you from the vile instincts of others, he has to isolate you.

He's so sorry. He doesn’t mean to hurt you he promises! But spiking your drink was the only way he could knock you unconscious and whisk you away. He knows that this is the best option for the two of you, but he hates hurting you! He hates knocking you out forcefully, but he found a happy medium in the form of keeping you drugged just enough to be barely conscious. He finds you adorable like this, constantly coo’ing in awe at your inebriated form. You need his help to do everything, a situation that won't last forever, but something he quite enjoys.

When the two of you reach his homeland, he finally feels comfortable enough to let you recover. He sets you down in a big shell basin that's been padded with all sorts of fabrics and pillows.  Smiling at the fact that you look like a pretty pearl when sitting in the shell. The cave seems to be comprised of a small above-water-level portion where you can breathe comfortably, but the only exit seems to be an extremely long tunnel submerged in water. In order to leave you would need Bouillabisse’s assistance.

He holds you as you kick and scream for release from the caves. He lets a few sparkling tears fall from his eyes. He is so frustrated that you can't see the truth! That the only way you’ll truly be happy is with him, right here where he can give you everything you need.

He feeds you just a drop or two of pufferfish poison.  Just enough to keep you from accessing your magic and prevent him from doing what's right. It makes your body run hot and you struggle with physical activity, but Bouillabaisse does everything he can to provide for you.

Now that he has you all to himself, he needs to find a way to mark you. He needs to own you like you own him. While it's likely not a permanent fix, he fashioned a collar for you. Made from the thicker bones of his tail and metal embellishments. He adores dressing you up and perhaps the collar was simply the start, but ever since he wrapped it around your neck you find that he has an odd fascination with picking out your clothing within the limited selection he carried.

Your relationship with Bouillabaisse has drastically changed but it's hard to get mad when you realize most of his actions come from his almost child-like level of ignorance. He loves you and he's not afraid to say it. Perhaps with enough time or patience, you could even convince him to let you leave. Provided you pay the transportation tax in the form of kisses. <3

Threat level: 4/10

Love level: 9/10

[skinnyazn]

In the Bleak Midwinter

The sequel to this story: The Masks We Wear

Ch.3 Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader Chapters: 3/5 Notes: Sorry for the delay! We're back, folks! Jag is back home trying to repress the thots of her man-who's-not-her-man Simon, our boy pays her a visit, it's not creepy if ur both pining for each other, right?

Part One | Part Two | Part Four | Part Five | AO3 | MASTERLIST

San Francisco was cold this time of year. It was foggy and wet outside and you could just make out the bridge from your apartment. The wind rapped against your windows at this height. Below you, cars made their way through their morning commute; oblivious to your observing. Their headlights were fuzzy in the pre-dawn dark. You covered your nakedness with your plush robe and went to fix a coffee.

It had been over a month since you'd come back. Your work with the 141 was finished: target neutralized. Laswell wanted you in the States immediately after the mission to discuss the details in person. Even though you had told everything to Price and was sure he had already relayed it to her, she was the one who wrote the checks. Two days later you were on a flight home.

Ghost was considerably better by the time you left. It was a grueling 24 hours after you brought him in; the doctors worked around the clock to stabilize him. Even though you yourself could barely move, with every muscle fiber on fire from overexertion, you still managed to wait outside his room—with Soap and Price equally as anxious—until the final doctor was finished and you were allowed inside. You don’t know why you spent that last night in Ghost’s hospital room, but if that was to be the final time you saw the man, you wanted to keep a part of him for yourself. Wanted to commit every detail of him to your memory so that when you were alone across the Atlantic you had something to fall back on. A souvenir of what never was. It was unhealthy, sure, but when had you ever had healthy relationships? They were always fleeting, temporary things. Always kept at an arms length. Vulnerability didn’t fit in with your line of work.

And the memory had served you well over the last month—wrapped in your sheets, down on your stomach with your hand between your thighs, whispering his name into your pillow until you clenched around your fingers so tightly, you wished it was him. When you dreamt those nights it was always the same: of snow and red and blonde lashes. When you woke, the bed always felt a little too empty. Just need to get it out of your system so you can move on.

You tried to be present, enjoying the money you made out with and the tranquility of your home. Put Jaguar in a box and suppressed her. Forced yourself to forget the foreign men and their warmth and the comforts of Task Force 141—of camaraderie. You allowed yourself to indulge in your secret fantasy only on occasions, filling the rest of your time with classy bars and uninteresting people. Pretending at a civilian life until the next job came to take you away for months and gift you with new scars to heal.

But try as you might to compartmentalize the 141 and Kokshetau, your mind would still wander back to your time in the bleak midwinter with your towering ghost.

After your coffee and morning routine, you put on an outfit and decided to take a walk. Gloomy weather always put you in a pensive mood and being outside was the best way through it—you liked the way the sensory nature of it kept you grounded in the present. Wandering for the sake of wandering allowed you to discover hidden things in your city. Secrets in plain sight, there if you only cared to look. You rode your building’s elevator down in silence.

When you first noticed it, you were cutting through Little Saigon. Sunday mornings here were quiet, with only a few vendor sweeping the fronts of their shops. But you felt that familiar heat on the back of your neck—a prickle against your spine that made your hairs stand up and your pulse quicken. Some primal vestige for danger. He wouldn’t be here. He didn’t know where you lived. None of them did. You’d left without leaving any contact information; never made your city available to the team. But when you turned around you found yourself standing alone among the lingering, grey mist. It seemed your phantom had come back to haunt you.

Crossing Turk Street, you hopped on the bus. This one would take you deeper into the city. If it was him, your ghost, he’d find you again. Part of you delighted in this game of cat and mouse. A dance with the forbidden. You looked out the window wondering if he was watching you still. Somehow you knew he was. 

Taking the exit before the park, you walked another few minutes before seeing the greenery. It was a huge expanse in the city—the perfect setting for seclusion among three million people. A nice place to hide; a nice place to be found. The fog coated your beret and trench coat with a fine layer of mist. The clack of your boot-heels on the concrete was muffled by the damp. A couple of stray joggers passed you on your walk to the Conservatory of Flowers—it’s Victorian design was fitting for today’s circumstance.

Inside the conservatory was a sharp contrast to the brumal park: it was balmy and humid, like a portal to some remote jungle on the equator. The artificial insect and bird sounds were a nice touch as you walked in complete solitude, admiring the various tropical flora. It wasn’t long before you could feel his presence again, even if you didn’t hear him, like you were two particles entangled. You opened a door leading further into the conservatory.

Water lotuses floated on a glass-like pond in the center of the room. You stopped to admire them, leather-gloved hands resting on the railing. 

“Did you know the lotus is a symbolic flower used throughout many cultures? The Buddhists see it as the flower of awakening; the Egyptians, a flower of rebirth—because each night it retreats into murky waters and each morning emerges, perfectly clean.” 

Ghost finally appeared next to you, footsteps silent as smoke; looming. His massive frame filled the corner of your vision as you continued to watch the placid water. His large gloved hands were dangerously close to yours on the balustrade.

“You found me,” you said. 

Then you turned to look at him. His face was covered by a knitted black balaclava; his hoodie pulled up from underneath a wool pea coat. But his eyes, warm and as intoxicating as you remember, held your gaze. There was curiosity between you—like two jungle cats sussing out newfound territory. 

“What are you doing here, Simon?”

His eyes traced your face languidly. 

“Thought we made a deal.” That basso, Manchester accent sent a heat straight to your core. He took a step closer. “And I’ve held up my end.”

A tentative hand hovered over his heart for a second before you rested the entire breadth down. You felt his body stiffen but also his heart's strong beating under your palm. You wanted to reach in and claim it.

“That you did.” You had to drag your eyes back up to his. It was a dangerous, stupid game you were playing but here you were, unable to stop what had already been set in motion the moment you picked up Laswell’s call all those months ago.

“Join me for some tea?” You removed your hand, already missing his warmth. "Delighted to."

For those who wanted to be tagged! @deadbranch @k4marina @embers-of-alluring @shuttlelauncher81 @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago

[nohiketoosmall]

Estimating the Size of the Big Snake: What If I wanted to make a Big Snake Plushie?

I, too, was excited about Freek Vonk's video of the giant anaconda and, as I do, I began considering the dimensions of this anaconda.

The Professor described this snake as having a head as large as his and a torso as wide as a tire.

I have put the head as a slight large estimate, about .3m is about a foot long. .42-.47 would be a small-ish tire, 16-18 inches. The full length is 7.9 meters AKA 26 feet.

Now, this is not a scientific diagram of this anaconda, so please do not take it as such. But I created this diagram for a very specific reason.

You see, there is a tool in Blender that allows me to find the surface area of this model. The surface area is roughly 8.6 meters squared. Which means I would need a mere 10.2 square yards of fabric in total to sew this into a 26 foot long plushie

Now I don't know much about fabrics but this cotton velveteen seems like a good candidate because it would be somewhat plush while being strong, it's recommended for stiffer items like curtains and pillows (and ideally this would be made with a natural fiber)

Taking into account the velveteen is 55in wide, it shrinks 8% in length, I believe 7.86 yards would be needed. 8 yards would be approximately $127.60, although 10 yards would likely be preferable in order to have extra fabric, depending on how the pattern would be made ($146.50)

In addition, I think using a separate fabric, such as a satin or sateen, would be good for the bottom half

I have hellpfully made this diagram for the dimensions of the separate pieces

This way you'd need closer to ~5 meters of the top one and probably similar for the bottom one (assuming its thinner in width)

Anacondas do have distinctive markings though, so how would you do them? Heres a model I made for reference:

Well, there are a couple ways, and youd need dye for it and the main body. My current theory is that you could simply make circular fabric spots, dye them black and place them over top of the olive snake body. That would require another couple meters of fabric.

You could use the same meters of fabric and cut out the spots out and then sew them together but I feel like that would really reduce the structural integrity of it, and since this would be 26 feet long / 8 meters you really want to keep the sewn together bits to a minimum, I think. Unless maybe you're very good at quilting, which I am not.

You could make the black and orange spots a different fabric as well, either a satin, sateen, silk, minky, velvet, or something else entirely. I like the idea of the snake having textures.

Anyways, there is a very good chance I could sew a 26-foot-long anaconda for sub-$200. The filling is quite expensive, though, and I'm not sure how to estimate its price (the anaconda is about .78 meters cubed but stuffing doesnt seem to have clear estimates)

Anyways I'm not a sewist and getting its face perfect is a whole other thing but I hope you enjoyed this journey.

[gothhabiba]

We’ve written extensively on the economics of a lot of products in Morocco and as always the result is the same: artisans are paid next to little while middlemen take extensive mark ups. But in a land where exploited artisans is the norm, the scale of exploitation with sabra was unmatched.

The sabra product made in those windswept towns are places where middlemen in Marrakech set up their workshops and where most products you find on Instagram or in the Marrakech medina are made. The areas are out of the eye of tourists as well as the clients of middlemen and much too inconvenient for buyers to visit for themselves. The artisans are simply too far away to know what is actually happening in the market and are largely unaware. It’s a perfect environment for a made up story to thrive.

In one of the most well known towns where sabra product is made there isn’t one single official cooperative. All the women work as individuals, who middlemen pit against each other to extract the cheapest price and turn around times. When we talked to the women, they laughed at the thought that they could sell their sabra pillows, which take them 5 days to make, for more than 50 MAD ($5 USD). That is 10 MAD a day ($1 USD per day) in a country where the minimum agricultural wage is 70 MAD per day. Oftentimes, the women are expected to pay for the material which comes out of the 50 MAD price they are paid. A middleman likely tells their buyers the artisans are happy with what they pay, and the women may very well be because they do not know any better.

[...] Collectivco (and we can list many other similar companies) just recently launched their new line of Sabra pillows for just $50 USD each. You can assume that they’re at least working with a margin of at least 50%, so they paid at most $25 USD for a pillow in the Marrakech medina, which falls in place with the break down above. To any ethical seller, you’d know that something isn’t quite right with a handmade product of such detail price at just $25. At that price either artisans are getting exploited or the material isn’t what the customer thinks it is. In the case of sabra rayon products it is both. While people in Morocco may just not know any better, that excuse does not extend to many foreign companies who benefit most from the deception and often drive such trends.  And let’s be real: if a company like Collectivco is selling you sabra is anything else they say legitimate?

-"The truth about Moroccan sabra: everything you ever wanted to know about the mythical cactus silk agave fiber"

[designedparadigm]

[awaken] : price wakes up soap with oral

   soap  had  been  more  than  exhausted  when  he  collapsed  into  bed  that  night  next  to  price,  though  he'd  been  aching  for  release  all  the  same.  it  was  sleep  that  had  taken  him  first  -  and  he'd  relinquished  to  it.  it  didn't  mean  the  dreams  were  going  to  give  him  any  peace.  price  was  in  his  dreams,  that  smile  of  his,  those  hands  of  his  -  all  on  soap.  everything  soap  had  wanted,  price  catering  to  with  promises  of  loving  him  in  soap's  ears. 

   he  hadn't  been  aware  that  he'd  been  doing  anything  in  the  bed  until  his  dream  takes  an  odd  turn.  his  body  is  turned,  untangled  from�� price,  and  in  moments,  he  blinks,  and  price  is  between  his  legs.  he  feels  warmth  there,  a  sharp  twitch  of  his  legs  following,  his  head  turning  to  the  side  as  a  whimper  passes.  it  hits  in  moments  -  this  is  a  dream  but  something  is  going  on.  it's  not  his  own  hands  down  his  pants  -  he's  assured  of  that. 

   eyes  crack  open,  and  he  hears  the  whimper  pass  him  again,  hands  gripping  at  the  sheets  beneath  him.  he  lifts  his  head,  gaze  trailing  down  -  just  to  land  on  price  between  his  legs,  his  captain  diligently  eating  him  out.  blue  eyes  widen  -  soap  suddenly  feeling  wide  awake.  it's  when  he  catches  price's  gaze  that  price  seems  keen  to  pick  up  his  actions,  sending  a  sharp  jolt  through  soap,  the  younger  man  slamming  his  head  back  into  the  pillows  and  arching  his  back,  letting  a  loud  moan  pass  his  lips. 

   it  takes  every  fiber  of  his  being  not  to  grab  price  and  shove  him  right  up  into  soap's  aching  pussy  -  fucks  sake  he  needs  it.  “hah  -  hey  -  ey  -”  one  of  his  hands  moves  up  to  his  forehead,  palm  over  his  eyes  as  his  mouth  hangs  agape,  fingers  tangling  in  his  own  mohawk.  “m-more  -”  the  plea  is  cut  off  by  a  shuddering  intake  of  air,  the  exhale  a  whimpering  moan  as  he  arches  his  back,  bucking  his  hips  against  price's  mouth.  what  a  fucking  perfect  way  to  wake  up.

[atplblog]

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[thesafarimattresses]

Designed to get you ready for tomorrow, Safari makes for an ideal pocket spring mattress for those who seek a gentler support. The medium-firm mattress has the advanced support of the innovative 3-Zoned Active NRG Layer along.

[anmolsmsblog]

Recron Certified Dream Fibre Pillow (41X61, Fiber;Microfiber, White, Pack Of 2)

Price: (as of – Details) From the manufacturer Fibre Dream Pillow by Recron Your Ultimate Companion for Relaxation Redefine the way you sleep with the Recron Certified Fibre Dream pillow. Made with Hollow Conjugate Fibre filling, the pillow forms an effective barrier against dust mites and other allergens. Sporting an ergonomic shape and size, the Fibre Dream pillow has a Swiss cotton fabric…

[hotelsuppliesus]

Virgin Fiber Pillow vs. Recycled Fiber Pillow – Which Type is Better?

Visit www.dzeeusa.com to learn more about hotel supplies.

When it comes to choosing a pillow, comfort, and durability are important factors to consider. According to a survey conducted by the National Sleep Foundation, more than 60% of people believe that the type of pillow they use affects the quality of their sleep.

So, choosing the right pillow is important for both comfort and health. With all the benefits of virgin fiber pillows, it is clear that they are the better choice when it comes to choosing a pillow that will provide you with a good night’s sleep.

In this blog, we will provide you with the characteristics and differences between the two main types of materials in a pillow – Virgin Fiber Pillow vs. Recycled Fiber Pillow.

Table of Contents

What is Virgin Fiber Pillow?

What is a Recycled Fiber Pillow?

Top 5 Major Differences between Virgin Fiber Pillows vs. Recycled Fiber Pillows

1.      Recycled Fiber Pillows are Environmental-Friendly

2.      Recycled Fiber Pillows are Often Less Expensive than Virgin Fiber Pillows

3.      Virgin Fiber Pillows have Better Quality than Recycled Fiber Pillows

4.      Virgin Fiber Pillows are More Durable than Recycled Fiber Pillows

5.      Virgin Fiber Pillows are Comfier than Recycled Fiber Pillows

Looking for the Best Virgin Fiber Pillows? Get in Touch with DZee USA Now

What is Virgin Fiber Pillow?

Virgin fiber is a term used to describe a material that has not been previously processed or used. They are obtained from raw materials, such as cotton, wool, or silk, and are processed into a soft, fluffy material that is used to make pillows. These pillows are often considered to be of high quality and are more expensive than other types of pillows.

What is a Recycled Fiber Pillow?

On the other hand, recycled fiber pillows are made from materials that have been previously used and processed. This can include post-consumer waste, such as used clothing or bedding, or industrial waste, such as scraps from a factory. These materials are then cleaned, processed, and blended to create a new fiber that is used to make pillows.

Top 5 Major Differences between Virgin Fiber Pillows vs. Recycled Fiber Pillows

1.      Recycled Fiber Pillows are Environmental-Friendly

One advantage of recycled fiber pillows is that they are environmentally friendly. By using materials that would otherwise go to waste, the manufacturing process for these pillows results in fewer resources being consumed and less waste being produced comparatively.

In fact, according to the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), recycling textiles saves an average of 7000 pounds of CO2 emissions per ton of textiles recycled.

2.      Recycled Fiber Pillows are Often Less Expensive than Virgin Fiber Pillows

Since the materials used to make these pillows are usually obtained for free, the cost of production gets decreased – resulting in the lower price of the final product.

However, this lower cost comes at the expense of quality and comfort. While a recycled fiber pillow may save you money in the short term, you may end up having to replace it more often, as it will not last as long as a virgin fiber pillow.

3.      Virgin Fiber Pillows have Better Quality than Recycled Fiber Pillows

Usually, the materials used to make a recycled fiber pillow are heavily soiled or contaminated. That results in the final product not being as soft or comfortable as a virgin fiber pillow. Additionally, it can be difficult to know what the final product will look and feel like as different materials are blended together.

In contrast, virgin fiber pillows are made from raw materials – resulting in a more uniform and contaminants-free final product. Additionally, virgin fiber pillows are often treated with chemicals to make them hypoallergenic, which can be especially important for those who suffer from allergies.

4.      Virgin Fiber Pillows are More Durable than Recycled Fiber Pillows

One of the biggest advantages of virgin fiber is its quality. Since it is new, the fibers are strong and unaltered, which means that the pillow will retain its shape and support for a longer period. In addition, virgin fiber is not as likely to break down as recycled fiber, which can become weak and lumpy over time.

5.      Virgin Fiber Pillows are Comfier than Recycled Fiber Pillows

Another important factor to consider is the level of comfort provided by the pillow. Virgin fiber pillows are known for their soft and plush feel, which is due to the high-quality fibers used to make them.

Recycled fiber, on the other hand, is not as soft and plush, and may not provide the same level of comfort as a virgin fiber pillow. This is because recycled fiber has often been exposed to wear and tear, and may have lost some of its softness and fluffiness.

Looking for the Best Virgin Fiber Pillows? Get in Touch with DZee USA Now

In conclusion, when it comes to choosing a pillow, it is important to consider the type of material used to fill it.

Virgin fiber pillows offer numerous advantages over recycled fiber pillows, including higher quality, greater comfort, improved hygiene, and a more sustainable option for the environment.

So why settle for a recycled fiber pillow when you can enjoy all the benefits of a high-quality virgin fiber pillow?

Invest in DZee USA’s variety of hotel pillows today and experience the difference for yourself.

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

tagged by @trench-rot thank you <3

Spicy NSFW snippet below from the vampire!au (if you want to join that tag list opt in here)

banner by @/cafekitsune

warnings for: p in v sex, blood, Rory getting to be just a little dominant (as a treat)

Goddamn tired. He’d been awake for nearly 36 hours straight, finally given a chance to rest after prepping for another mission. The briefings had become the least of his worries, the same old-same old, but still every possible scenario circled his thoughts like he was a bloody clown with spinning plates on sticks, making sure not a single one fell on his watch. Laying back in his bed, Price released a long, burdened exhale up towards the ceiling. Staring at the boring beige paint that was military standard as if he had expected it to change, running his hands back and forth through his hair. Thoughts of pouring himself a drink or perhaps lighting up a cigar for a little stress relief sparked behind his eyes.

And then the door to his quarters creaked open —

It was the silence of the night, the others long since turned in, and while everyone else on base should have been sleeping, he realized he wasn’t entirely alone. 

She appeared like an apparition. The door closing shut behind her with the flick of her delicate wrist, the lock clicking just as he gulped down a heavy swallow, his saliva thick in his throat, his tongue feeling sizes too large for his mouth. 

His heart thundered in his chest, pounding in his ears, silencing any of his previous worries. White noise blanketed the gray matter. A haze as thick as fog blurred his vision, tunneling it until all he saw was her – everything else was just background noise. Non-existent. 

Her lithe form crawled up from the foot of the bed. The mattress creaked, bending to her weight, and his stomach dropped as something feral coiled inside him. Survival instinct. Fight or flight. Nerves fired, synapses screamed every red flag and siren and they died away before his body was even given a chance to react. Years of experience, training, battle readiness, all made into myth as big, beautiful hazel doe-eyes locked onto him from under long, dark lashes – the gleam of a predator within them. Hunger. A starving beast. Stalking towards him with the sleek sway of a panther. Slithering up the bed, an adder – deadly, dangerous. Intoxicating. His breath came in short and heavy. Sitting up against his pillows, his whole body felt like it had been entombed in earth, muscles unable to move without the use of brute force, and he’d been made docile under that singular stare, crushing him beneath it. His chest compressed, suffocating, squeezed tight until it hurt just to breathe. Pale, slender fingers stretched out, and with the reaper’s touch, they pushed him down onto the mattress, forcing him down. His struggle, entirely futile under her feather-lite touch. The strength of a two tonne tank contained in her fingertips and total control slipped through his fingers the way the fibers of the sheets within his fists did. A shuddered breath tumbling over his lips before he sucked it back in through gritted teeth with a labored hiss. Frozen hands traveled down arms that could toss a man over his shoulder or throw them over a barrier wall, and he’d never felt so unbearably pathetic. Held captive, imprisoned in his own bed like a child who’d woken from a terrible nightmare and didn’t even have the strength to scream. Soft palms drifted along his limbs, marble-smooth, stone-cold. Shivers slid down his spine, fractals of ice freezing the blood, spreading through his veins and making each pump of the work-horse muscle in his chest painful. Fingers slipped around his wrists, manacles that made his own digits lock like the blistering wind of a frozen tundra had chewed its way through his gloves and began to gnaw at the skin below. His jaw clenched, heels digging into the mattress in some feeble attempt to break free from her hold as she settled herself on his lap, straddling him, milky-white thighs trapping him between them and each desperate attempt to flee only caused the blanket covering him to slip further down his hips, revealing the dark curls that bordered the root of his cock. He bit his lip, chewing on the flesh as his hips bucked, groaning, deep and low from the back of his throat. “Christ, Ror. Please, darlin’...”

“Please what?” She purred, leaning towards him, her mouth inches away from his. Testing him, toying with him. Her soft breath ghosted over his lips like a cool breeze in summer, chilling the heat that simmered beneath his flesh, sending yet another shiver coursing through him as the sweat that began to slick his skin and dampen the hair on his body was wicked away by her frozen touch rather than the evaporation of body heat. The soft swells of her breasts pressed against him, but there was no heartbeat there, the cavity may as well have been hollow below. It didn’t rise or fall either, her lungs lying as still as the grave. “Fuck, woman, can’t just come in here and tease me like this,” he gruffed, teeth gritting together, brow furrowed. With each lift of his pelvis, he would grind against her, stroking his thick length against her velvety soft folds, and despite the icy temperature of her flesh he still hardened to the stiffness of a glacier in return. She giggled and it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard – it was bloody torture. He was more worked up than usual, desperate and aching after days without rest, and she was playing him with the gall of a cat whose claws had managed to curl themselves around the tail of a rat. Lifting his arms above his head, manipulating and maneuvering him like he was a fucking posable doll, she pinned his hands above his head and brushed the tip of her nose against his, paying extra attention to the little mole that sat there. “Gonna get you back for this, sweetheart. Mark my words.” Her hum in response vibrated through his skin and rattled his chest. “Promises, promises.” That sweet voice of hers melting his urge to flip her over and take the upper hand, conquering her gorgeous body – not that he could if he would, she was much too strong for that now.

Growling, his eyes narrowed at her, the piercing blue stare holding her dead to rights. “You’re bloody cruel.” “Oh, shut it,” she said with that goddamn smirk of hers curling her mouth and awakening her angelic dimples. 

The nip at his lower lip, her pearly white fangs pricking against him, caused another groan as his hips rolled towards her. Trying – and failing – once more to lift his arms from beneath her grasp. “So impatient, my darling. Think I never get you off with the way you’re acting.” Brows knitting together, he looked up from beneath them with a darkened expression. His mouth scrunching in frustration, his square jaw cut with sharp edges as he lifted his chin defiantly and a low rumble built like rolling thunder in the distance. “Do not give me that look,” she scolded him, “You’re the one who asks for these bloody games, love.”

His brow cocked and a short huff fluttered the dark waves that framed her face. Much too fucking pretty a face. “Am I not allowed to indulge in a little fantasy, my girl? How many men get to say their lady is a bloody vampire? Doesn’t mean I want to be left in the cold though, Ror. Driving me mad here.”

“Party pooper,” she muttered before capturing his mouth in a deep kiss. Each press of her lips to his seemed to last forever, languid and slow, as sensual and seductive as the very aura that surrounded her since being turned several years back.

Her lips, like the cool side of the pillow, were refreshing, invigorating. The taste of her was sweet, the spoonful of sugar that made the shitshow of life go down a little easier. Grunting as he shifted beneath her, her hardened nipples brushing over his chest and she whined into his mouth.

“Sweetheart…” He hated to plead, hated how weak it made him sound, hated giving anyone that sort of power over him but Christ, if she couldn’t pull every little whimper and moan from him like it was second nature to her. “Oh, my darling,” she cooed, pulling away, her lips glistening with the sheen of his saliva upon them. “You really must be suffering.”

He’d give anything to break free, to run his hands up and down the smooth curves of her waist and over the round of her hips, squeezing her firm little arse cheeks in his rough palms. To be able to grip her tight and drive her back and forth on his shaft, directing her, watching pleasure wrack her body, making her moan the way only he could; but instead, he was stuck there like a bug pinned under the glass in some hobbyist’s collection. 

Her hands squeezed around his wrists a little tighter, constricting the blood flow, the flesh growing hot and red below as his life’s essence pooled in place. Closing her eyes, she sat there silently, unmoving – like a corpse. She used to only be able to read him by memorizing his tics and tells, perceptive in her approach to dealing with him. Now, she could hear his heartbeat, the change in his breath, smell his sweat, feel the blood pump in his veins through his very skin. It had been an unnerving development at first, the woman he loved becoming an undead lie detector with blood-sucking instincts. “Rory,” he husked her name, a quiet whisper traveling in the space between them. Her full lips curled into a half grin and she gazed down at him, her eyes warm and brimming with life despite her circumstances. “You really want your hands free, don’t you?”

Price nodded, jaw tense, his throat bobbing as the pulse point in his neck hammered so hard it nearly strangled him. “Can only take not touchin’ you for so long, darlin’.”

Pulling her hands away, she sat back, her back arching in a gentle curve as she leaned away from him. The entire swath of her silky flesh available to him to roam his callused hands against, appreciating every inch to his heart’s content. Sitting up, moving with the reflexes that made him so dangerous in the field, he wrapped his arms around her, gripping her tight and pulling her against his chest. “Lift up, sweetheart,” he ordered, slipping a hand between her legs and teasing the entrance to her core with the head of his cock. As she lowered onto him, his breath hitched. Taking all of him, every last inch, they groaned in unison. “Fucking hell, love,” he purred in her ear as her hips started to roll against him, her slick coating his shaft as tight walls clenched against him. His eyes fluttered shut and his head rolled back, exposing the flesh of his neck, releasing an inaudible moan. One arm coiled around her waist, pressing her body to his, as the other slid up her back, his hand delving into the strands of her hair, bunching it up in a fistful. Straining to maintain clarity of thought, his whole body stiffened, his tendons all standing in stark relief.  

She gripped his shoulders, snaking her arms around the back of his neck. Her body rocking against his. Hips grinding, rotating. He was faced with Heaven on Earth while buried deep inside her. Price nuzzled in against her neck, breathing in the decadent scent of her perfume – sultry, heady, unfathomably deep. His mouth trailed along the smooth column, laving his tongue over the cool flesh as his beard rasped against her. 

“So damn beautiful,” he mumbled, lost in the feel of her undulating, of being inside her. Trapped in a daze of passion, a dark paradise with a woman cursed with everlasting life so long as she had a constant food source, he was lost in the sensation of reaching the precipice she was leading him towards in her thrall. Losing track of time and space, her soft lips grazed against his artery and the barely there touch of pillowy flesh pulled him back into reality. 

With his jaw cupped in her hand, holding him in place, her thumb brushed softly through the whiskers of his beard and the stubble of the five o'clock shadow on his neck and jaw. The quiet hiss of her parting lips was the only warning he received before the tip of her tongue flickered out tasting the beat of his heart. Fangs descending against his skin, she dragged them gently and pierced the flesh with all the pain of the prick of a needle. Gasping, he gulped air like he was drowning. The pinch of her bite soothed by her plump lips wrapping around the wound and sucking on the flesh, drawing out more of his blood that bubbled to the surface.

The hushed slurp of her open mouth wrapped around him reminded him of biting into a ripe peach in summer and the juice that ran down the chin with it. Succulent, sweet. And as her hand caressed his jaw, gentle and tender, coaxing him deeper into her maw, he was sure that was how her brain had learned to rewire itself with her change so she could stomach what she was forced to do for sustenance.

His fingers dug into her, searching for but never finding any source of heat while warm blood trickled down the contour of his neck and over his barrel chest, pooling where their bodies met as she continued to drink. The suctioned sensation was just enough to keep him from falling over the edge, maintaining at least a portion of lucid thought before the lightheadedness started to creep into the corners of the little world they had created together. “Rory,” he murmured, knotting her hair in his fist as he tried to pull her mouth away. It didn’t take much for her to get the hint, panting as she tore herself away from her source of fresh blood, drips of it curling down her chin from the corners of her mouth. “Sorry, love,” she breathed, her tongue darting out to clean her lips as she wiped the traces of claret from her face with her hand. “‘S okay,” he rumbled before pulling her in for a kiss, tasting himself on her tongue. 

He redoubled his efforts to reach his climax and hers, the metallic tang lingering in the air and in his mouth, clinging to his gums and inside his flared nostrils with each heaved breath. 

NSFW taglist: @roofgeese @efingart @josephseedismyfather @g0dspeeed @cloudofbutterflies92

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@lady-eudaemonia @voidika @strangefable @simplegenius042 @writeforfandoms

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Transform Your Bedroom: How Lightweight Microfiber Bed Sheets Can Enhance Your Sleep Experience

The quality of your bed sheets plays a significant role in how well you sleep. If you’re waking up feeling less than refreshed, the problem might not be your mattress or pillow—it could be your sheets. Lightweight microfiber bed sheets have quickly gained popularity for their softness, durability, and ability to enhance your overall sleep experience. Whether you're looking to improve your comfort or refresh your bedroom’s aesthetic, investing in the right beddings set can make all the difference. In this blog, we’ll explore how microfiber bed sheets can transform your bedroom and provide a better night's rest.

Superior Comfort and Softness One of the biggest reasons people love microfiber bed sheets is for their softness. Unlike traditional cotton sheets, microfiber is made from tightly woven fibers that give it a silky smooth feel. When you slide into bed at night, the sheets feel soft and luxurious against your skin, offering a sense of indulgence without the hefty price tag.

Microfiber sheets are also excellent at temperature regulation. They provide warmth in cooler weather and stay breathable during warmer nights, ensuring you remain comfortable regardless of the season. Try the Comfy Bedsheet Set to experience the perfect blend of softness and functionality, turning your bed into a cozy retreat after a long day.

Durability and Easy Maintenance Another fantastic benefit of microfiber bed sheets is their durability. These sheets are built to withstand regular use and frequent washing without losing their softness or vibrant colors. Unlike other materials, microfiber doesn’t pill or fray easily, making them an excellent long-term investment for your bedroom.

When it comes to maintenance, microfiber sheets are a dream. They are resistant to wrinkles and shrinkage, so you don’t have to worry about them losing their shape over time. Additionally, they dry quickly, which is great if you prefer washing your bedding regularly. Consider the Waterproof Fitted Bedsheets for an easy-care option that’s both practical and luxurious.

Aesthetic Appeal: Elevating Your Bedroom Decor Beyond functionality, microfiber bed sheets offer an aesthetic appeal that can refresh the entire look of your bedroom. Available in various colors, patterns, and textures, microfiber sheets allow you to change the style of your room effortlessly. Whether you prefer a minimalist look or a more vibrant, bold design, there’s a microfiber option to suit your style.

For those who love a touch of creativity, the Twister Bed Sheets add a fun, dynamic look to your bedroom. Their unique designs can instantly transform a plain space into a more inviting and stylish retreat. Choosing the right bed sheets isn’t just about comfort—it’s about creating a sanctuary where you can unwind and relax.

Hypoallergenic and Moisture-Wicking Properties Microfiber bed sheets are a great option for individuals with sensitive skin or allergies. Their tightly woven structure prevents dust mites, pet dander, and other allergens from embedding in the fabric, making them hypoallergenic. If you suffer from allergies or asthma, switching to microfiber sheets can help reduce symptoms and ensure a more restful sleep.

Additionally, microfiber sheets are excellent at wicking moisture away from your skin. If you tend to overheat during the night, these sheets can help keep you cool and dry by absorbing and evaporating moisture quickly. Check out the Comfy Bedsheets to enjoy the benefits of a hypoallergenic, moisture-wicking material that improves your comfort and sleep quality.

Conclusion: Upgrade Your Sleep with Microfiber Bed Sheets Transforming your bedroom and enhancing your sleep experience starts with something as simple as changing your bed sheets. Lightweight microfiber sheets provide the perfect combination of comfort, durability, and style, ensuring that your bed not only looks great but also feels amazing. From their easy maintenance to their hypoallergenic properties, microfiber sheets are the ultimate upgrade for any bedroom.

Ready to elevate your sleep experience? Explore our exclusive bed sheets collection at Comfy Bed Sheets and choose from a wide variety of designs that will fit your style and needs. Whether you’re looking for the Comfy Bedsheet Set or the Waterproof Fitted Bedsheets, we have the perfect options to enhance your sleep and transform your bedroom today.

Upgrade your bedroom with the ultimate comfort of lightweight microfiber bed sheets! Browse our collection here and discover beddings sets that combine luxury, durability, and style. Make every night a restful one by shopping now!

[joyner111]

Some features to consider when looking for a reading pillow

Reading pillow are designed to provide comfort and support while you're reading, watching TV, or using your devices in bed. They come in various shapes and sizes to suit different needs and preferences. Here are some features to consider when looking for a reading pillow:

Support and Comfort: Look for pillows with good support for your back, neck, and arms. Memory foam is a popular material as it contours to the body's shape, providing both comfort and support.

Size: Choose a size that fits your body and the space you'll be using it in. Some reading pillow are quite large and can double as a backrest.

Shape: Reading pillow can be wedge-shaped for better posture support or have armrests for added comfort. Wedge pillows are especially helpful for those with respiratory issues or acid reflux.

Material: Memory foam, polyester fiber, and shredded foam are common fillings. The cover material can be faux suede, velvet, velour, or corduroy, which affects the texture and ease of cleaning.

Washability: A removable and machine-washable cover is a practical feature, especially if the pillow will be used frequently.

Adjustability: Some reading pillow allow you to adjust the firmness or loft by adding or removing filling, which is useful for finding the perfect comfort level.

Additional Features: Pockets for holding books or remotes, handles for easy carrying, and even cup holders can be included in some models.

Price: Reading pillow are available at various price points. Consider your budget and the features you desire when making a decision.

When using a reading pillow, it's important to maintain good posture to prevent strain on your neck and back. If you're experiencing discomfort, it may be worth investing in a pillow that provides the right support for your body.

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Divyadhan Recycling IPO GMP, Review, Price, Allotment

Divyadhan Recycling IPO description – Divyadhan Recycling is in the business of manufacturing recycled polyester staple fibre (R-PSF) and recycled pellets which are used to make premium pillows, cushions and quilts. The recycled fiber is supplied to various industries such as Packaging, Home furnishing, and Textiles. Its hollow structure adds to its insulating properties, making it suitable for…