#laser marking job work

[hslasers]

Laser Marking on Glass Bottle video from C. And C. Laser Engineering Whatsapp/Mobile: +91-9833105515.

Laser Marking on Glass Bottle - The above video shows Laser marking on glass Bottle using a nano-second UV laser. 

Glass or Glass Bottle can only be marked with UV Laser. IR (1064 nm) laser gets reflected from the glass.  UV laser (355 nm) and DUV (266 nm) get absorbed easily by the glass and hence are the ideal source for marking on Glass or Glass Bottle. In the video shown above, the glass bottle  has been laser marked with a 355 nm 5 W UV laser with a Galvo-based marking system having a laser marking field of 100 X 100 sq. mm., using a rotary. Green (532 nm) laser and CO2 (10.6 µm) would fracture & crack the glass. 

C. And C. Laser Engineering is popular for its job work services in laser marking, laser welding, laser cutting, and micro-machining.

[vampiricgf]

— v. lycaon | BRAND NEW CHERRY FLAVOR

warnings : fem reader, ignore that we don't know his age exactly im guessing, ruts, knotting for the first time, rina is mentioned but only because she's meddling, fingering, masturbation, begging, reader is smaller than him, reader has a tramp stamp, virgin lycaon, cervix fucking, biting/marking, blood/blood licking, creampie, crying, sorry if I missed anything

wc : 2.5k+

this is so long im sorry im too obsessed with the idea of him being a virgin lmao >.< also sorry if there's mistakes it's not edited so

He thought upon hiring you on with Victoria Housekeeping things would largely remain the same, the only difference being having one more person with whom to split the existing workload of clientele contracts and commissions. An easy choice thinking of himself and Rina, the primary adults within the company.

It had been difficult as of late, he could acknowledge that, balancing taking on the bulk of the work while the companies other two employees attended their schooling and other engagements that typically keep younger people occupied. And truly he didn't mind it, it was the duty of those older to pick up the slack, allow youth it's time to blossom and explore.

That was not the issue, though. The issue was you.

Not your work performance, no that was impeccable. You had impressed him enough during your interviews but in practical work you went even beyond that, showing an exemplary aptitude for even the most banal tasks. The picture of a perfectly competent maid and (occasional) hollow raider. Even able to both meet and exceed his own impossibly high standards per all the glowing reviews he receives from clients, truly you were a fantastic addition to the company.

The problem arose months ago, when you two had been tasked with a more unconventional commission involving a hollow. Of course danger was always ever present in those ether soaked spaces, both from the impending malformed creatures that called them home and from the levels of ether itself. The risk of warping and twisting the body into a cruel mockery of what once was, imbibing it with sickness.

It was the first time you'd actually worked side by side, he'd asked you to come with him as a sort of test not because he thought he really needed the backup. See how you'd been progressing, what you were like on the job, that sort of thing. A completely normal request for a boss to make, all things considered.

What had not been normal was allowing himself to be caught on the back foot, surprised. You were... painfully distracting to him. A major shortcoming on his part, it was nothing you were doing overtly to draw his attention in such a laser focused way it just seemed like he had a bizarre inclination to keep his attention on you. The way you walked, that delicious sway of your hips. That thing you did when you were thinking, running your thumb across your bottom lip. The smell of shampoo clinging to your hair and wafting over him every time you so much as turned your head. Sugary, faintly floral. Horribly distracting.

Giving some stray hati a prime opportunity to pounce. Neither of you had noticed them creeping up on your perimeter, stalking you both as you picked through the skeletons of abandoned, crumbling homes and businesses. You too busy nervously chattering away and him too busy thinking about how much he enjoyed the sound of your voice.

One moment there had been nothing and in another there was everything happening all at once. Their predatory howls, the initiation of combat. The ring of your weapon as it hit against their stone manes, the crunch of his ice against newly exposed flesh. His eyes frantically trying to keep you in his line of sight at all times, take advantage of the path you left in your wake to give the finishing blow, giving yet another perfect opening for one of the creatures to tackle him full force, the brute strength of it slamming against his side and laying him out shamefully against cracked concrete, knocking the air from his lungs in a painful squeeze.

But there you had been, like some kind of avenging angel from artworks of the old civilization. Your features were highlighted by the look of sheer anger as you mercilessly dug the weapon in your hands into the creatures back, ripping away its advantage and successfully dispatching it within seconds. He could feel how wide his own eyes were, but felt too much acute discomfort to bother trying to mask his own awe.

Not since he was a pup had he needed rescuing.

Not since he was once so pathetically, terribly young had he felt so immediately endeared to someone else.

You were on your knees beside him, fussing over him, eyes sweeping around for any signs of injury or blood. He knew there was none, would have smelled it immediately, but nevertheless he allowed himself to enjoy your ministrations. The way your hands so carefully hovered over him, trying to be mindful of thiren preferences for touch while also trying to be caring, attentive. It was sickeningly sweet of you, made him swear for a second he could taste it in the air, feel granuals of sugar grinding within his teeth. He wondered if your lips tasted even half as sweetly.

"Are you hurt anywhere, should we leave the hollow? An emergency exit is understandable, right? If you're hurt?" Your eyes met him, practically welling over with concern.

He had wanted to hold your face in his hands, soothe you. Almost immediately he'd been gripped by the horror of his own impropriety.

Clearing his throat he took the hand you offered as leverage to get back on his feet, taking note of your warmth, the surprisingly strong grip of your fingers, before you withdrew. Soft, yet capable. Beautiful.

"There's no need. We can continue on with the commission." It took a monstrous effort to keep his voice neutral, act as if nothing of note was running rampant inside his head.

From the on the feelings he had towards you only grew, like a beast growing fat off plentiful prey. Every glance from you, every accidental touch of hands, every moment of conspiratorial laughter shared between you at something silly one of the others had done. Months and months of feeling his heart rate grow increasingly erratic every time your lovely voice would sound out in the mornings, always a perfectly cheerful greeting towards him and the others before you began your work.

And so here he is, mid rut and miserable. Thrusting into his own hand, as he's done so many times before, feeling the sweltering heat in his bedroom and bubbling frustration in his head at the feeling of tangled sheets and the distinct lack of any partner to be thrusting up into.

He'd called into work, voice twinged with embarrassment because how on earth had he forgotten about his incoming rut? Well, he knew how. Because you consumed almost every moment of his waking inner thoughts, distracted him to such an insane degree he failed to fill his suppressant prescription in time. Thankfully Rina hadn't needed details, always too clever by half, but it didn't stop him from feeling intense shame rolling through him even just knowing someone else knew what exactly was going on with him.

Sickness, uh huh. Try so horny and hard he could crack a brick wall in half. The thought made him feel so erratic he couldn't help but grab a nearby pillow, pressing it to his face, feeling his now neglected cock throbbing as he bit the soft down surface so hard he could feel his teeth punching right through the material.

You, you, you, you, you.

All he wants is to lap at what he's sure is the sweetest taste in the world nestled between your legs, feel your body stretching and accommodating his size, tell you how he's going to give you his knot and watch your pretty eyes glaze over and your breasts bounce in time with his thrusts, dig his teeth into your neck, your chest, make you squeal and squirm so he can pin you down-

A few distant, tentative raps against wood.

Did he imagine that?

Tap, tap, tap.

No, no he didn't. Who would be knocking in the middle of the day? Oh god, what if it was a neglected client that had tracked down his address? Someone angry one of the girls had forgotten or completely ignored their commission? His breathing was strained, nearly wheezing as he rushed to make himself somewhat presentable, cringing as he struggled to slide trousers over his impossibly obvious erection. No time to brush down his severely disarrayed fur. How humiliating.

As he scrambles for the front door, flinging it open so hard it nearly crashes against the wall, he freezes.

Why the hell are you here? How do you even know where he lives?

Your eyes go impossibly wide as you take him in, the awkward silence ballooning in the space between you and he's acutely aware of how crazed he must look as his claws dig into the metal of the door handle.

"I'm... I'm sorry for dropping in it's just that- well, Miss Rina told me you were sick and I kind of... begged for your address so I could come check on you, I'm sorry-"

You cut yourself off from rambling, picking at your nails as your eyes flit around nervously.

Of course Rina would give you his address, mischievous as she is. She knew exactly what was going on with his little juvenile crush, his rut. Calling in probably gave her the idea.

But all that was far from his most pressing concern at the moment. You couldn't be here, absolutely not. He cleared his throat, trying to ignore that familiar shampoo scent, trying to ignore the way you look especially lovely, how easy it would be to yank you inside and just-

"I appreciate your concern, but I'll be perfectly fine. I just need to rest." Blunt enough to make him feel bad for rejecting your kindness but the boundary needs to be in place before he does something highly inappropriate. You're coworkers, not casual friends. Every thought he has about you is crossing a line.

A snide inner voice comes out of the blue and he can't focus on what you're saying, too consumed by shame.

As if you'd even know what to do with her anyway.

It must show on his face, although you misunderstand it, because you give him a look of naked concern and he's snapped back into focus. "Do you need me to call a doctor for you? I have my car, I can take you to White Waves if you need to go Lycaon it's no problem-"

"No, no it's nothing that serious." He's losing control of the situation, needs to get you out of here.

"Well, at least let me make you tea or something to eat, please. You look like you haven't eaten all day." Your worried tone makes his pathetic resolve crumble easily, like it was made of sand.

Against his better judgement he relents, awkwardly stepping to the side to let you in the door and a part of him preens at the way your scent immediately compliments his own, mingling in the space as if you inherently belong there. If he had the energy to feel it he'd be embarrassed about the state of his apartment, in disarray as it is. But you don't pay any attention, immediately finding your way to his kitchen and digging through his cabinets like you've done it a thousand times.

Watching you makes him even harder, throbbing and aching so acutely in his pants that his vision momentarily goes fuzzy at the edges. You look so domestic, so relaxed. A bolt of jealousy fires off in his brain, white hot, at the fact that numerous clients have gotten to see you in a similar way before him. Your casual clothes aren't helping him keep control of himself either.

Jeans that accentuate the swell of your ass, the shape of your hips. A tank top that's ridden up slightly, exposing a bit of your stomach as you stretch up to reach the higher spots in a cabinet. He wants to run his tongue over your belly, lick his way up to your chest, leave little love bites across your throat. As you turn to the counter beside the stove he catches a glimpse of a tattoo on your lower back and his jaw flexes so tightly he's shocked his teeth don't shatter in his mouth. He never knew you had one, but it certainly suits you. He wants to know if you have any more, in any hidden places.

"You should lay down, I can bring this to you when its finished," you say it so gently but he can't bring himself to move away, to risk missing a single glimpse of you.

He says nothing and you don't try to press him, to your credit. But when you can't quite reach the top of another cabinet, where hes kept tea tucked away neatly, his instincts to help take over before he can register that his body has moved beside you, hand going over top of yours to easily grab the box. But the way your forearms brush on the way back down makes him drop the box, a shockingly loud clatter that causes a dozen deep fissures to spread in his mind.

He's got ahold of your wrist before you can react, keeping you so physically close to himself that if he took a half step forward you'd be chest to chest. He can smell sugar on your breath, see the red twinge on your tongue from candy you must've had on the way over.

It doesn't even register that his eyes are closed, that your mouth is on his, that his tongue is lapping up the secondhand taste of cherries as it slides across yours and your fingers grasp the rumpled fabric of his shirt. It's like a moment suspended in cut crystal, refracted in a thousand different ways to the outside observer, a million different angles of this one frozen scene, and he wants to hold it forever in his hands.

Hold you forever.

But you pull away and his first instinct is to follow after you, body bending even further to chase your lips as you struggle to catch your breath. Your bodies remain impossibly close as you speak, his eyes never leaving your lips, memorizing the curve of them.

"I don't- I didn't mean-" you're struggling and he can't bear it, can't bear the thought that this one beautiful moment is tainted by the nature of your overall relationship as employees, even worse is that he truly doesn't care. It should scandalize him, shame him in some way, but it doesn't. That fact feels extremely far removed from his current reality and the feeling of even more blood rushing to his lower body.

He cuts you off bluntly. "How much do you know about beast thirens?"

You gape, having been cut off with what is to your view an extremely out of place question but he's hoping you'll follow the thread. "What?"

"How much do you know? Because Rina wasn't exactly... truthful with you." His eyes skirt away from your face but hes committed to telling you what's going on. "I'm not ill, not in the way you're thinking. I'm, well, going through what's called a rut." There's a heavy pause. "The need to... mate."

He cringes internally on the final word, finally meeting your eyes and watching you put it all together. Your own eyes are adorably wide, but you don't pull away from him and that takes him by surprise. He'd figured the second you knew you'd be in a rush to leave, probably drop a resignation call to Victoria Housekeeping on your way home.

But you don't do any of those things, merely taking it in and continuing to let your eyes travel over his unkempt appearance and he's even more aware, if that's possible, of how needy he feels. Any longer without relief and he just might need to take himself to White Waves Hospital. But that's not your problem.

"I mean... That's just a natural thing for you, right? It's not like you're some perv," you laugh nervously, "and maybe- maybe it wouldn't be so bad if you had a little... help?"

His brain feels like a damaged, glitching bangboo. Are you seriously offering this?

"What I'm trying to say is that I- I like you, and I don't care that we kissed. Well, I care but I'm not upset by it. And I'm not upset that you're, like this right now," you gesture with your chin, "and if you need someone then... I can help you with it. If you want." You finish in a rush, clearly embarrassed and something rears its head deep in his stomach.

There's no more room for coherent though as he finds your lips again, nipping at the bottom one before taking advantage of your little gasp to slide his tongue back in your mouth. He turns you slightly, so your back meets the edge of the countertop with his hands massaging at your hips, groping obscenely at your ass. The barrier of your clothes is frustrating, making him growl low in his throat before he's deftly unbuttoning and unzipping them, fingers trembling at you help push them and your underwear down to puddle at your ankles.

You squeal as he lifts you easily to set you atop the counter spreading your legs in his firm grip while your own fingers curl around the marble edge of the counter, gasping as he kisses and sucks against the flesh of your inner thighs as he makes his way towards your pussy. He can smell how aroused you are and it spurs his instincts on, despite the sliver of anxiety working against his lust.

He's marveling at you, sliding two fingers through your wetness, spreading you to see the way you glisten with the slick liquid and he can feel your eyes on him.

"I've, I'm sorry, I've just never been with anyone." The last half of the sentence is heavy on his tongue, one crimson eye shyly avoiding your own before you reach down to cup his face in one hand.

The small smile on your face is sweet, purely gentle and it eases the nerves gnawing at his stomach.

"Never?" He shakes his head and you tilt your head to the side, "Then just watch for a second."

And it's mesmerizing, the way your fingers delicately dip down into your own wetness, dragging up to your clit before your fingers start slowly circling. He watches intently, watching the way your pace slowly builds, your hips twitching ever so slightly at the stimulation before you move back down and slide those two fingers inside yourself.

And the sight is like something religious to him, totally enraptured at the way your pussy swallows the two digits, the way your head tips back and your lips part in a silent sigh. It's not long before the soft squelching sound of your fingers scissoring against your walls reaches his ears, making them flick as he zeros in on it.

With a breathy laugh you pull your hand away but before it gets out of reach he grabs it, bringing your soaked fingers to his mouth before locking eyes with you, tongue tasting every bit of yourself that lingers against the skin.

He thinks your demonstration was a good enough starting point, no longer too nervous as his tongue starts licking long stripes up your pussy and you let out a high pitched sound at the contact. It makes him eager to please, focusing all his attention on licking and sucking at your clit while his fingers find your entrance.

The stretch of you is better than anything his imagination could've conjured up, feeling your walls part around his digits as he gives a few experimental curls and strokes. He can hear you nearly choking on your own noises above him and it sends satisfaction oozing through his body, washing over him like thick drops of syrup.

But he's impatient, whining against your cunt and you seem to know what he needs without him even voicing it. Just another reason to be so enamored with you.

You drag him up to stand, hands urging him to strip and he does so gladly, nearly jumping out of his own skin he's so flush with excitement at having you soaking wet and ready to take him, right there in the middle of his kitchen.

It makes his head spin as his cock springs free, groaning as he feels the air against his overly sensitive girth. Your mouth opens slightly as you take in the sight of him and that earlier shyness returns with a vengeance, but before he can speak your hand wraps around him, barely able to grasp all of him. The surge of pride is something he's entirely unfamiliar with but he relishes in it all the same, desperately wants to please you.

"Just try to start slow, okay?" You say, breath hitching in your throat as you guide the head of his cock through your folds before positioning him at your entrance.

And he takes the lead flawlessly, one hand against the counter to anchor himself and the other gripping your thighs, kneading the soft flesh between his fingers as he pushes in. It's torturous, the howling need to just slam right into you as he feels his head sitting heavy and thick inside you, your breathing already ragged and your eyes fluttering closed.

But he knows this requires patience, for the moment. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you, hurt the trust you've placed in him, so his hips move barely an inch at a time and the feeling of your body reshaping itself around his cock is one hundred times more incredible than just his fingers.

What a pathetic comparison his hand ever was, the real thing will never be beaten out. Your whimpers increase in frequency as the head of him kisses your cervix, his swollen knot nestled tightly between his own body and your slick pussy. As he looks down at your connected bodies he can't help but wonder if you'll even have the ability to take it, but he doesn't get to give it much more thought because you start slowly wiggling your hips, encouraging him to move.

And once again he follows your lead like it was the only role he was meant for, pulling out with agonizing gentleness before pushing himself back inside you and he can't help the way his mouth drops open, the way his eyes screw shut. Does it feel like this for everyone, like they've died on the spot and been given an express ticket to heaven?

He doesn't have the wherewithall to feel any embarrassment at the way he's panting, nearly drooling on you, the way he's keening and growling like some fledgling but you don't seem to mind it. Not with your fingers digging into his fur, your legs loosely locked around his hips, the way you say his name in a half gasp.

His fingers slide down between your bodies as you pull him closer, into a heated kiss made of teeth clacking together and tongues pushing against one another. He swallows your every noise as he starts playing with your clit, just the way he watched you do it earlier. Rubbing sticky little hearts against it and nipping at your lips as your legs jerking, the muscles straining and flexing beneath the skin.

His canines scrape a path from your mouth to your jaw to your throat as his hips pick up speed, jostling your body with so much force your cries take on a higher pitch and your fingers pull at his fur sharply, only adding to the overall sensory delight. He tests your tolerance with his teeth, shallow bites in between sucking on the skin of your throat, groaning as he feels your hand slide up to cup the back of his head, feels the flesh pull taut as you let your head tilt even further to the side.

Giving him permission. His mind is swimming through a black sea of pure instinct, running his tongue over the flesh in silent apology for the pain you'll experience but he won't pass up the opportunity. You're allowing him to indulge, playing to his base instincts. How could he not gobble up the bait? And with that loose thought his canines dig into you, the fine points of them puncturing the skin and a trickle of iron washes over his tongue.

You cry out, pussy immediately squeezing him in a stranglehold at the same time your fingers yank at his scruff but it's not to stop him, it's like the string of a bow being pulled all the way back. Your toes curl in midair, practically sobbing as your hips buck wildly and he thinks this must be it, this must be what a human is like when they cum.

Later he'll examine the fact that you came at exactly the moment he inflicted that little bit of pain on you but for now he's lost in it, hips moving in no particular rhythm anymore as he fucks you through your orgasm, fuck you through the impossible tightness of your cunt, and he can feel it like a second heartbeat fluttering in between your legs as his tongue slides against the blood threatening to drip down to your breast.

And all too soon he feels his balls tightening up, his knot throbbing in time with the pulsing of your cunt and his movements are cruel now, all fueled by pure instinct as he grinds and fucks into you with shameless desperation. His knot needs to be inside you before he cums, he can't spill anywhere but inside you.

And his clumsy, less than elegant method works when he feels that tight ring of muscle at your entrance stretch to its limits and the almost too snug pop of all of himself finally sliding inside. You hiccup on a particularly loud sob as it does, legs snapping against his hips with such finality he doesn't move against your hold, remains standing as his body shakes, his cock twitching as sticky spurts of cum flood your pussy, whining at the way your walls practically suck it all deeper inside, milking him so much it's overwhelming.

It goes on for so much longer than he ever thought possible, the sheer amount of cum making him feel dizzy, like he's lost blood and is teetering on the edge of passing out. But he can't focus on the feeling, instead guiltily kissing every part of your face he can, trying to wipe away the saltwater tracks and then cradling your head against his chest as you bury your face in his fur, feeling the way you're trying to even out your breathing.

You speak before he can, his tongue like a wad of wet cotton in his mouth.

"How- how long are we stuck together?" You manage to force the words out unsteadily, pulling back to meet his gaze before nuzzling your face against his jaw.

His heads still spinning as he answers. "I don't really know," he breathes in harshly, "I'm sorry if its uncomfortable."

He can feel you shake your head. "It's not," your voice becomes shy, still thick with the aftermath of your orgasm, "I like the feeling of you inside me."

He can't help the dopey smile that crosses his face, fingers stroking down your back as he ignores the way his legs shake, the way his knot pulses. When you're no longer tied together he'll need to lay down before he collapses on the spot.

Already that thought invites visions of clutching you to his chest while you straddle his hips, cock thrusting in and out of you at a volatile pace all over again. He'll make it up to you once the fog of lust is lifted, but you most likely won't be leaving this apartment in the coming days.

He'll have to remember to call in for you tomorrow, sure to hear Rinas smug voice on the other end of the line.

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[5:21 pm]

(cw: a child, reader is called "mama")

"Okay, where is your nose? Nose?" you asked the 20 month old sitting across from you.

His tiny finger came to his nose and lightly placed his finger on the tip. "Good job, my love! Where are your toes?" You asked with a smile.

Dad!Mark was laid out on the couch watching you and your son play on the carpet in front of him. He smiles watching his son smile brightly when you praised him with a happy voice and matching smile. You'd both been doing this for a while since your son woke up from his nap.

As cute as it was, Mark was bored. You both had some errands you needed to run but the baby was fussy and moody all morning. Mark had been able to slip out of the house to run the errands while you stayed behind, but came back and immediately fell back into the feeling of cabin fever. If he laid on the couch longer, he'd fall asleep, he'd wake up, it would be late, and it would feel like the day was wasted.

"And where's Papa?" You asked.

His son's eyes were set on him, a bright smile sent his way with an excited cheer of "Papa!"

"Yes! Good job, baby. Where's Mama?" You asked.

Mark smiled at his son, his voice overlapping yours in a tired groan, "Dude, let's go to the p-a-r-k. I need to get out of the house."

His son's face became the cutest little face of confusion he'd ever seen before his eyes lit up and his pointer finger pointed at you, "Dude!"

You went silent, Mark gulped. Then you turned to Mark with a look of anger he was unfortunately becoming more familiar with as his son got older. If your eyes could shoot lasers, he was sure his head would have already been melted off his body. If you could produce steam, it would be coming out of your ears like in the cartoons.

He sat up in a panic, "it was a mistake! I didn't think he was actually listening to me!"

You stood up, hoisting your son onto your hip, "No, you do know he listens because you got in trouble last week for saying s-h-i-t and your son copied you."

Mark followed you back to the nursery and kept a watchful eye on your son who was now on the floor while you pulled some clothes out for him. "But this one isn't even as bad!" Mark whined, sending you puppy eyes- which were useless since your back was to him.

"I don't want our son to call me dude, Mark!" You whined back.

He pouted, processing your words. He guessed you were right. He wouldn't want the baby to call him dude either, he loved being his Papa.

You sat on the floor, wrangling your son into his clothes to go out and out of his onesie. Mark sat behind you, wrapping his arms around his waist. He pressed a kiss to the juncture of your neck and shoulder, "I'm sorry. I'll be more mindful of the words I use around the baby. Do you forgive me, babe?"

His son laughed, babbling to himself before he pointed at you with an excited, "Babe!"

You exhaled tiredly with a light shrug of your shoulders, "I can work with that. Watch him while I go change for the p-a-r-k."

Mark followed your son back to the living room, watching as his son crouched down to pick up some blocks. "Hey buddy, are you so excited for the park?"

His sons eyes widened excitedly, "go now? Park now? Now?"

You stepped out of the room, dressed to go out with the diaper bag on your shoulder and your son's water bottle in hand, "Today is such a learning day for you, Papa. Are you remembering why we spell certain words now?"

"Go now? Park now? Go?"

Mark hoisted the toddler over his shoulder, tickling his round belly to get him to laugh as a distraction, "Yes, buddy. Let's go."

[hbdttg]

Part 1 / tag list below the cut

“I’m quitting,” Eddie declares, “I’m out. Call me a tree, ‘cause I’m leaving. Call me a banana, ‘cause I’m splitting. T-t-t-t-that’s all, folks!” he adds, doing his best impression of Porky Pig’s signature stammering.

Chrissy’s laser focus doesn’t stray from her monitor, even when Eddie bodily throws himself into the chair across her desk with a long, strangled groan. Wordlessly, she raises her left index finger at him in a silencing gesture. With her brows furrowed in concentration, she drags her mouse around on its pad and double-clicks something on her screen before nodding decisively to herself. After another few clicks, she finally lowers her finger, raises her eyes, and meets Eddie’s gaze.

“Would you mind grabbing what I just printed? Please?” she asks, smiling at him imploringly.

Chrissy could ask Eddie to bleach his hair and shave off an eyebrow and he’d do it. She’s actually who he has to thank for landing such a cushy job with HHH—a referral from a trusted associate like her goes a long way in a place like this.

And despite Eddie’s many complaints about becoming a corporate sellout, he can’t deny that it certainly has its perks. The office is only a ten-minute commute from his apartment, the compensation agreement he signed amounted to more money than his last two jobs combined, his benefits package is frankly ridiculous, and he gets to work with one of his best friends in the world. Overall, not a bad gig.

Even so, he makes a show of sighing, loud and longsuffering, before doing as Chrissy asks, leaving her office to grab her job off the printer. Eddie knows she works in HR and some of her stuff can get pretty confidential, so he doesn’t even try to skim the contents of the page as he walks it back over to her.

“Here,” he says, thrusting the paper at Chrissy facedown.

“Thanks!” she says. She makes no moves to take it from him. “That’s for you, actually.”

Curious, Eddie takes the paper back and flips it over. In the center of the page is a graphic of safety sign one might find in a cartoon factory, though Chrissy had edited the original from “[___] Days Since Last Accident” to “[___] Days Since Eddie Last Threatened to Quit His Job”. There’s a big red zero in the counter box.

Eddie tries to glower down at Chrissy, but it’s sort of hard to maintain when she bursts into laughter. It’s been years, but the sound of Chrissy laughing like this, all bright and breathless and unrestrained, never fails to transport him back to his (third) senior year of high school, when they first became friends over a failed drug deal.

“Don’t be cute,” Eddie says with a laughable lack of authority, dropping heavily back down into the chair.

“Do you know who you’re talking to?” Chrissy counters, brow raised archly.

Eddie rolls his eyes, crumpling the page into a ball and lobbing it in between them.

Chrissy lets the ball land harmlessly on her desk before sweeping it into the trashcan by her feet.  “Just so you know, I’ve had that saved on my desktop since Monday—and I haven’t had to edit the days count a single time.”

Eddie scoffs, but it’s hard to defend himself when this current visit marks the fifth day in a row he’s floundered into her office, vainly announcing his resignation. “Yeah, well,” he says weakly, “printing it seems like a gross misuse of company resources.”

“What are you going to do, report me?” Chrissy says with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

“Let me guess: you’re the one who receives those reports?” Eddie says dryly.

“Yep!” she says cheerfully. “Now, go on and tell me about your latest trainwreck of an interaction with Steve Harrington.”

“Christ, Chris!” Eddie hisses, leaping to his feet and immediately spinning around to check if anyone was around to hear her damning words. The coast is clear, luckily, but he still scrambles to shut her office door before falling back into his chair. “You can’t just go around saying his name all willy-nilly.”

“He’s not gonna suddenly appear if you say his name three times, Eddie. See, watch. Steve. Steve. St—”

“Don’t risk it!” Eddie squawks loudly, cutting her off.

“You’re an absolute mess,” she says through a laugh, shaking her head at him.

And well, Chrissy’s not wrong.

Eddie’s been a mess since Monday morning, when he unknowingly produced, directed, and starred in The Roast of Steve Harrington. He blames his shitty memory for forgetting what floor his new office was on—if he’d known he was sharing the elevator with someone he could have potentially worked with (let alone someone whose surname made up a third of the company name), he wouldn’t have opened his big, fat mouth in the first place.

When he finally gathered the courage to make it back down to the fifty-second floor and show his face at the HHH office, he kicked off his onboarding with Chrissy with a strangled, “I know it’s my first day and I technically just started ten minutes ago, but I quit. Thank you for the opportunity and good-bye forever.”

Chrissy, the traitor, spent a full five minutes laughing in his face over his shamefully recounted story before patting him twice on the head and informing him he wasn’t allowed to quit for at least six months. The overly saccharine tone of her voice alone told Eddie there was no room for argument there.

Still, that didn’t stop him from following her into her office after the all-hands meeting on Tuesday, all the while whining in her ear, “I can’t thrive in these conditions, Chrissy. Please, I beg of you—accept my sincere and humble resignation from this cursed hellscape.”

‘These conditions’ consisted of any rooms and/or conversations that contained Steve Harrington. Eddie hadn’t been expecting to see the guy doting over the catering when he walked into the conference room that afternoon, and he certainly wasn’t expecting his supervisor and trainer, Murray, to lead him over to Steve to introduce the two of them (though that was likely just an excuse to head straight for the sandwiches that were laid out for the meeting).

While Eddie choked on his own tongue trying to spit out some generic, inoffensive greeting, Steve merely watched him with an amused smirk before thrusting his hand out and offering a perfectly friendly “It’s nice to meet you, Eddie, I’m Steve”, as if Eddie didn’t have Steve’s name and face (and stupidly fit body—who the fuck looks that good in a pair of khakis?!) burnt into his memory from the day prior.

Afterward, Murray, who most assuredly did not have a filter of any kind, bluntly commented on Eddie’s awkwardness, then spent the next five minutes trying to determine if it was normal, strangers-meeting-for-the-first time awkwardness, or something more sensational. Eddie stubbornly kept his mouth shut until the meeting started.

Wednesday followed a similar pattern, with Eddie flouncing into Chrissy’s office with a dramatic “I choose to break my blood oath. At this point I’d welcome the sweet release of death if it meant I didn’t have to work here anymore.”

Chrissy just corrected him, patiently explaining that he was employed at-will, rather than by blood oath, and that if he left before his sixth month, she’d personally skin him alive. Eddie had to pause and weigh the pros and cons of being skinless. Surely it couldn’t be worse than his latest exchange with Steve—via email this time, mercifully.

He’d just learned how to field helpdesk tickets and received one from Steve Harrington himself. It was a simple enough software request ticket, so he assigned it to himself and replied with next steps, asking Steve for a code so he could remote into his computer and install the program.

Steve replied back, asking where he was supposed to find the code. It was an innocuous enough question, but then Eddie noticed something a little off about his email signature: his last name was bolded.

Eddie ignored it, assuming it was a stylistic choice—nothing to read into, surely—but then Steve sent another email shortly after to let him know to disregard his last email; he’d found the right app and was just waiting for it to generate a code. This time, Harrington was bolded and at least two sizes bigger than his first name.

Then, in Steve’s third email, sent not a minute later with the requested code, Harrington was bolded, two sizes bigger than his first name, and highlighted yellow—a tactic Chrissy found so hilarious that she had to shoo Eddie out of her office with tears in her eyes so that she could compose herself and actually get some work done.

Thursday was a blessed reprieve from Steve’s unique brand of psychological warfare, but Eddie still somehow managed to royally humiliate himself in front of him. After he slunk into her office and silently pushed a scribbled-on napkin across her desk—

Please accept this letter as my formal resignation from my position as Systems Analyst II at HHH, effective immediately. Effective yesterday. In fact, I’ll pay you back the entirety of my wages earned if we just forget I ever worked here.

—Chrissy tutted at him sympathetically before taking the napkin and reaching over to dab it at the large wet stain on his shirt.

He’d been walking back to his desk from the breakroom when he rounded a corner and bumped into Steve in the hallway. Literally bumped into, bodily contact and surprised yelps and everything. And it probably wouldn’t have been such a big deal, really, if not for the fact that he had a newly refilled mug of coffee in his hand.

“Eddie, oh my god, are you okay?”

No, Eddie wasn’t okay, because he just splashed himself with hot fucking coffee and now Steve Harrington was worriedly fussing over him and tentatively trying to mop up the liquid with his own fucking hands for some reason, and he was embarrassed (and a little turned on?) and he had to get the fuck out of there now.

“I’m okay, sorry, it’s fine—” he managed to squeak before whirling around and scurrying to the bathroom.

So yes, Eddie’s been an absolute mess the past few days, and today is no different.

…Actually, scratch that. Today is different. Today is worse.

“Okay, now spill,” Chrissy says. “What happened?”

With another drawn-out, pitiful groan, Eddie sinks down in his seat and lets his neck hang off the backrest, blinking up at the ceiling.

“Talk to me, Eds,” Chrissy says, concern starting to bleed into her voice. “If he’s actually bullying you, you can file a complaint. I have a form here somewhere.”

Eddie hears her open one of her desk drawers and reluctantly sits up. “He’s not bullying me, Mom,” he says with a huff. “We actually…we talked.”

“You talked?” Chrissy asks, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, about the elevator. Buried the hatchet and everything. I said sorry, we laughed about it, it’s over and done with.” Eddie’s gaze darts around Chrissy’s desk, searching for something to distract him from the warm and fuzzy feeling growing in his stomach at the memory of their conversation.

“That’s great, I’m so proud of you!” Chrissy says cheerfully. “But wait, if you two are good now…”

Eddie doesn’t want her to ask what she’s about to ask, because the answer might be more embarrassing than all of his other Steve stories combined.

“Why are you still going on about quitting?”

Eddie drops his face into his hands, feeling totally and utterly pathetic. “Um, because I think I’m sort of, kind of, just a little bit…in love with him?”

-------------------------------------

tbh I didn’t think I’d be writing a second part, but if strangers on the internet validate me enough, I guess I’ll do anything~

Y’ALL. I’m blown away by the response to part one of this silly lil au. I didn’t reply to any of the lovely comments or tags, but please know if you engaged in any way (or even if you just read the fic and snorted a little through your nose at a bit you found funny) I love you with my entire heart and you’ve made my entire life.

[Now for the tag list, which I’ve never done before. Sorry if you didn’t actually want to be on here! Or, sorry if you’re stumbling upon this post on your own after asking to be tagged and I missed you oops.]

@messrs-weasley @n0-1-important @bornonthesavage @thing-a-ling @eddiemunsonswife @changenamelater @ispyblu @thesuninyaface

@invisibleflame812 @4nemo1egend @ikolanatari @mavernanche @songbird-garden @trashpocket @original-cypher @over7joyed 

@commonxsenss @justdyingontheinside @mojowitchcraft @maya-custodios-dionach @justmiiriam @imzadidragonfly @lillemilly @gay-stranger-things @child-of-cthulhu @bleedingoptimism @lemanzanabizarra @melaniehere91

@iswearitsjustme @silver-snaffles @csinnamon-fox @paint-music-with-me @epicsteddieficrecs @sweetcreaturetm @hxneyfarms @bossyknow-it-all @vecnuthy @stevethehairington @anything-thats-rock-and-roll @nburkhardt

@gayngerthings @patchworkgargoyle @violetsteve @henderdads @2btheanswertothequestion

[changetyre]

No more II Carlos Sainz ⒽⓌ

SUMMARY: You promised yourself you would always remain professional at work...but having an incredibly hot and teasing co-worker made that impossible.

WARNINGS: *** Smut 18+***

A/N: Quite short but just an idea I wanted to write out ;) enjoy xx

You huffed as your back hit the tiled wall behind you, hissing at the cold contrast of it next to your hot skin.

"You've got to keep quiet amor." Carlos's voice was husky as he left a trail of marks across your clavicle knowing not to leave any evidence of this in plain sight.

"Shut up and f*ck me," you ordered as you turned around angling yourself for easier access, your breast pressing into the wall in front.

"So needy." Carlos hissed as he bit your lobe before pressing into your without warning.

You stifled a moan as he began thrusting into you at a quick pace knowing time was ticking and you would have to get out of here soon.

Carlos placed a hand over your lips as he continued fucking you hard his other hand cupping your breast as he squeezed it tightly.

"Are you gonna cum for me princesa?" His whispers were muffled by the water falling from the shower head which helped to keep everything lubricated between your bodies.

"Yeah..." You moned as your hand snaked down to rub your clit trying to get this over with faster despite knowing you wanted this to last forever.

"Turn around." Carlos twisted your hip making your back hit the wall as he lifted your leg so he could reach deeper inside you.

The new angle almost caused you to scream in pleasure but instead, you let your body fall forward biting into Carlos's shoulder to silence you.

Carlos hissed at the pain from the bite but he secretly loved it when he caused this kind of reaction on you.

"Carlos I'm gonna-"

"Cum for me." he didn't let you finish as your orgasm washed over you causing Carlos to hold tighter onto you as your legs weakened under the pleasure. Carlos continued fucking you through it at a slower pace as he felt you clench around him before he spilled inside you.

"Fuck that was good," you muttered to yourself but didn't miss Carlos's cocky smirk at hearing your words.

You quickly cleaned up the mess between your legs as Carlos washed your hair before running out of the shower and the men's bathroom unnoticed.

As you walked out of the gym you once again cursed yourself for finding yourself in the same situation yet again after telling yourself it wouldn't happen again for 5 months straight now. It was ridiculous how this was now almost becoming a daily thing for the both of you and you knew it was stupid and risky yet you still couldn't resist.

You walked to your room to gather your things before rushing to the meeting room where you were asked to gather before heading to the track.

Walking in it felt like everyone had laser vision judging you for what had happened a few minutes ago although you knew there was really no way anyone knew anything.

Sitting next to your boss you took out your iPad and keyboard getting ready to focus on your job.

Although as soon as he walked in it seemed like the hardest job in the world to remain focused. The smirk he sent your way as he sat down on the seat in front of you made you send a kick his way.

"Sh*t." He rubbed his shin in pain.

"You okay?" Caco asked him as it was his turn to hide a smirk behind the coffee you were sipping.

"Yeah just hit my knee." Carlos lied now glaring your way.

"Alright, we'll just wait for Charles then we can get started." Silvia began. "You ready?" Silvia asked you gesturing to the iPad as you were tasked with taking notes for this meeting.

"Yep." You smiled.

"How about you Carlos? How was your workout this morning?" Silvia asked the man who had clearly just walked out of the shower...as had you.

"Amazing." Carlos smiled cockily once more.

You once more sipped your coffee nervously trying to hide the blush that started creeping on your cheeks.

"Did Rupert tire you out?" Caco asked this time.

Carlos's eyes bore into you watching the way you sunk further into your seat. "Uhh you could say that...got a lot of Cardio done."

You choked on your coffee at his words getting everyone's attention. "Sorry wrong hole."

You heard Carlos giggle this time raising his eyebrows at your words which only caused you to blush harder at what he insinuated.

"Everything okay you two?" Caco asked eyeing the both of you.

"Perfect," Carlos smirked as you just nervously nodded.

"I hate you." you mouthed to Carlos after Caco looked away as Charles walked in.

You felt as Carlos's leg trailed up your leg before you quickly swatted him away.

This was going to be a hell of a long meeting.

[mynameisjag]

Quick Prompt: Wanting What Someone Else Has.

Scott finds out about the new Logan, Wade doesn't care about Scott's problems. Logan isn't even aware.

Wade stared at Scott.

Scott stared at Wade.

At least the mercenary assumed he was, kind of hard to tell, you know…with the glasses…

He’d give him a point for managing to get the drop on him though, showed up late enough not to be any help, early enough were they hadn’t left the mark's disgustingly beige mansion.

It looked better with the splashes of red everywhere.

Even the boring ass, uncomfortable lounges that they were sitting on, looked better with the splatter.

Cyclops was sitting on the less messy one, so maybe he didn’t agree or he just choose that one because then they could just sit and stare at each other face to face.

“Where’s Logan?”

“Better question, how are you alive? This better not be some multiverse MCU bullshit.”

Logan was probably eating his fill in the kitchen, the owners pervert party was catered and why leave and get underwhelming fast food when there was free rich fucks food that was going to go to waste anyway.

Lo had talked about his…hunting trips…sometimes, always on the move, always going from target to target, that at one point it was just sensible to eat what was there, rest, take what was need and move on. Considering how most of the fucks he went after were people of high importance, government jobs or just rich assholes, their was always alcohol, fancy foods, and wallets that no one noticed was gone till it was too late.

So this current hit was just another day for the feral.

Scott’s Logan was more man then his, could easily be mistaken for just another human without powers.

Wade’s though, his had lost himself to the calling of his inner animal and became it as he hunted those that had hurt his family. Body changing to its new needs, becoming the human predator he needed to be.

Logan hated it, hated what his body became, his behavior, his instincts, everything that changed, he hated it all. He spent so long trying to fit the profile others had tried to shove him into that losing himself to what was himself was a failure in his eyes. A shameful failure.

It wasn’t true of course and they were working on that, both supporting each other because they both were so fucked up but at least they were fucked up together.

Wade talked to the air and the millions of eyes that watched them, Logan would snarl and make more animal sounds then use his voice at times.

The merc highly doubted the X-men, at least this version, were going to be able to handle his Wolverine.

“There’s no dog for you to collar here, laser pointer, so why don’t you make your way back to whoever else has found the well of life in that mansion and fuck off.”

Seemed like he might have hit a nerve as that frown somehow got deeper, “I’m here for my friend.”

“You’re a good couple of states away from your Wolverine’s grave, can get you an Uber there if your that directionally challenged.”

“We know he is here, with you-“

“-Nope! Again, you have eye issues not hearing, your-hear that strain on that-your Logan is dead.” Deadpool reached forward to grab a drink he had set on the end table earlier before getting interrupted, “speaking of dead, you still haven’t answered how you’re still kicking around.”

“Your life isn’t the only one that involves time travels.”

“Oh, good, just the normal X-men bullshit then, should we be expecting the other Logan then?”

“No…he is still…gone…his body, or what we can find of it, is now resting back at the mansion…not all of us are back.”

“Oooh, I probably should have put that puzzle back together before jumping…everyone is still on the fence on whether or not old Wolves would have gotten a kick out of me playing Ninja Warrior with his tibias?”

“And what does that mean?”

“Ignore it and my little chats with the “gremlins” as Honey Bunny puts it, now, I’m going to guess you thought if you couldn’t have one, you figured you could take mine? Did Daddy Professor not drill in manners in all of that training, it’s rude to take other people’s stuff.”

“He isn’t your ‘stuff’, you don’t know how to handle him.”

At that precise moment, Logan ran past in the background, on all fours and a chunk of meat in his mouth, the merc was glad that Cyclops couldn’t follow his line of sight because of the mask. Cause all the red head had to do was slightly turn his head and he would see the man he was searching for bounding upstairs like an overly excited puppy with a new toy.

Either the man found fresh grade A steak or he had decided that some one smelled delicious and took a chuck. 50 50 chance on either option really and at least the blood was everywhere here instead of back in the apartment.

Al was less likely to complain when she didn’t slip and slide through puddles of blood.

“Handle him? Scottie too Hottie!”, at this point he lifts his mask enough to sip at the drink in his hand, grimacing at the flavor, how did they make fruit soda taste bad, “ugh, high society tastes are awful,” he wiggles the can at the other man, “want it?”

“No.”

“Don’t blame you, I can how ever blame you for thinking that for some shit reason that Lobunny, wait fuck that’s a Pokémon, Lo Bun Bun, is unable to think for himself and that I somehow can stop him from going wherever he wants to go.”

“He hasn’t came home, yet, if he was able to go-“

“That place isn’t his home, you are not his X-men, he is not a replacement, well, he is an anchor being replacement but not a ‘pick up where the last Logan left off’ replacement. So what ever regrets or amends you wanted to have, they should be aimed at the grave and not the man you wished was the one you lost,” Deadpool threw the can over the others head, before flipping over the couch he was on, landing on his feet and giving double finger guns at the X-man before the can could hit the wall, “well, good chat, but we gotta go!”

Scott was standing up now, face serious and ready to counter argue when flashing lights from outside reflected in the windows, sirens coming closer, “is that the police?”

“Yeah!,” now the mercenary was opening a window, hanging halfway out of it as he made grabby hands at something above him, “hope you got a ride,” blue colored gloves grabbed his red ones and he was yanked out and upward, “tootles!”

Scott took a deep breath, calming himself down before turning and heading toward his own escape.

He’ll try another day.

[hauntedhokage]

Day Two: Exhibitionism & Body Worship

Nanami Kento/Fem!Reader

summary: nanami’s got an office crush, and it turns out that you’re into him too. 

word count: 1.8k

warnings: public sex against a copy machine, marking, exhibitionism, possessive!nanami, nanami is kinda ooc but it’ll make sense i promise

note: I think about miserable corporate Nanami often because I, too, am a corporate girlie that is (occasionally) miserable

He’d had his eyes on you for a while, you’d started working at the company around the time that he did and being the first person he’d really met in the building already had you leagues ahead of the others he hasn’t met yet. Nervous during your first few days, you’d almost clung to him for the first few months because he was the only person you knew from the orientation days - plus the other men of the office always looked at you weird and you didn’t like it. As he grew exhausted of the day-to-day monotony, you seemed to keep that chipper exterior which had you quickly promoted to a senior role despite your short tenure with the company at that point. 

You were damn good at your job. Intelligent, laser focused on the market trends which made you quite skilled at getting sales (even when the markets were down, something that thrilled upper management). While he didn’t understand how you did it, he could respect your drive to succeed in this environment. He’d grown to admire you because of it, but that admiration turned into infatuation and he quickly came to the conclusion that you were the most beautiful woman on the floor - likely in the entire company. He wanted to devour you.

He understood why his coworkers and even managers would oogle as you walked by. It didn’t matter what you were wearing, there was always a whisper after you were supposed to be out of earshot about how hot you looked that day. He couldn’t say that he disagreed, even when you were wearing a turtleneck and jeans you were just as attractive as you were in a skirt and blouse the showed off plenty of your skin that he wondered if it was as soft as your voice was when you were speaking to him. He supposed you trusted him more, due to the fact that he wasn’t audibly wondering if you were single, or making propositions on a constant basis to take you out for drinks. On occasion he’d bring you coffee, or you’d drag him away from his desk to eat something besides the bread he’d brought in that morning - he had a closeness to you that no man in the building could ever hope to achieve. Those lecherous losers were jealous of him - and they should be. 

“Good morning, Kento,” you greet, leaning against the table beside the copy machine he was using. Too many figures needed to go to too many managers for signatures - waste of both paper and his time. “I would’ve handled those report copies for you, I know how stuff like this can grate on you.”

“You’ve got a hard enough job trying to encourage them to hit quotas, I couldn’t waste your time with this.” It's when he finally looks over at you that he sees what you’re wearing, the silky black shirt he liked so much with the top three buttons undone instead of your usual two. Likely to show off the necklace you’d gotten for your recent birthday, but he’d discreetly admire the way the swell of your breast was on display for him due to your height difference. “You look lovely today.”

“Thank you.” You’re smiling, batting those pretty eyelashes at him while playing with the papers in your hand. “I feel like you’re the only man here that appreciates my appearance instead of sexualizing it all day.”

“A woman like you should be admired, treated with care and respect.” 

“And you’d treat me with care and respect?” Your hand rests on his chest, and he’s glad that he left his blazer at his desk when his body begins to heat up at the contact. “We’ve got about half an hour before anyone starts to show up, wanna show me some proper respect?” 

He’d worship you if you’d let him, and that has him dropping to his knees in front of you. His hands hold your hips, fingers kneading into your body while also searching for the zipper of your skirt. As desperate as he was to have his hands on you, to taste your beautiful skin, he was not going to ruin your clothes. 

Except maybe the pantyhose that obstructed his path to truly feel your skin. 

“Forgive me, but I promise to replace these,” is all he says before ripping at the flimsy fabric, rolling it down your legs before bringing one of them up so he could comfortably kiss the side of your leg by your knee. You were just as soft as he’d dreamt you’d be, and he looks up to meet your gaze as he kisses and sucks - leaving the occasional bite) along your thigh as his other hand kneads at the flesh. “I’ve never told you how beautiful I’d always thought you were. Thank you for providing me this opportunity.”

Your hand pushes into his hair, the perfectly combed style instantly messed up by how you’re petting his head as he makes his way up to your core. Your mound is covered by black lace, the fabric pushed to the side so he could kiss around your labia while murmuring to you how beautiful your pussy was. You’re already soaked, juices pooled at your entrance that he eagerly laps up, your taste better than he could’ve ever imagined. His groan into your entrance brings a moan out of you, your hips pushing against his face as he grips them again. You could do whatever you wanted to him, and he’d take it all with no complaint. 

His finger carefully probes your entrance, and he’s pleased by how easy you take him. Your gummy walls almost welcome him with how they coat his finger in slick, making it easy for him to ease a second digit in to work to stretch you out. Your soft moan when his tongue drags along your clit, and he enjoys peppering kisses around your little clit as he fingers you. He doesn’t exactly want to make you cum this soon, but if it happened then it happened. You’d just have to give him another if you did. 

“Kento,” you sigh, sounding heavenly as you roll your hips into his hand. “Kento please, I’m gonna cum.”

That’s his cue to stop, sliding his fingers from inside you and enjoying the disappointed whine that leaves you. 

“Patience,” he chides softly, undoing his belt and pants so he could free his throbbing erection. “Gonna give you everything.”

His fingers are taken into your mouth as he pushes his cock into your waiting entrance, and he loves the way you moan at your taste while taking him so beautifully. The way your tongue lavished his fingers with attention, trying to clean every millimeter of your juices from his skin - making him wonder how much attention you’d give his cock in later events. 

Your eyes close as he bottoms out, his soft sigh making you smile around his fingers before you release them with a pop. He hears your heel hit the floor as your leg moves with the rhythm of his first few thrusts against the copy machine, the plastic creaking with every push against it. The thing was probably fifteen years old, liable to break after he was done with you, but this was not the time to worry about damage to company property. 

“You’re so tight, made just for me huh?” he murmurs, kissing at your neck before nipping at your jaw. He soothes that spot with a kiss before sucking at the skin there, knowing you shouldn’t have a hickey on your face - or anywhere visible, really - but he couldn’t care. Knowing that you’re marked by him, so everyone knew you were his, was much more important than protecting either of your reputations. 

He hears footsteps but cannot be bothered to care, not even when one of his coworkers stops in the doorway in shock at what was happening in the copy room. You’re letting out small moans with every thrust, and his hands are trying to get more buttons of your blouse undone so he could properly stare at the chest he’d spent years admiring.

Your breasts looked beautiful as they bounced, your bra barely able to keep them in place until his hands pushed down the cups to free them. One hand sets to idly kneading one of your breasts, fingers occasionally rolling and pinching your nipples as his mouth busies itself with your other breast. Your moans were sure to draw attention to your less than professional actions, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him from properly adoring your body and delivering the utmost pleasure that he could provide at seven in the morning on a Wednesday. 

By now a crowd has formed, a herd of eager men all trying to get a look at the most beautiful woman in the office getting fucked against the copy machine. He’s normally a territorial and private man, but in this instance Nanami doesn’t care because it means these men know you’re off limits. You’re his now, only his, and your neck and breasts would be covered in marks that will serve as a reminder to everyone just who would be taking care of you. 

“K-Kento!” You’re also unconcerned by the crowd and how they watched, the occasional wolf whistle and flash of a camera trying to capture your beautiful body as it moved with his powerful thrusts. If anything, he was sure it had turned you on more judging by how you had tightened around him. 

“Sound so pretty when you’re moaning for me,” he praises, leaning in to suck at your neck to leave yet another bruise against your otherwise unmarked skin. “Let me hear you some more, please?”

“Y’like me that much, huh?”

“Think I love you,” he responds, pressing his face into your neck as he feels you tighten around him some more. “Gonna show them how beautiful you are when you cum for me?”

“Uh-huh.” He’s got you so close you’re practically whimpering for him, your hands messing up his hair and fingers digging into his shoulder hard enough that if it wasn’t for his shirt he’s sure your nails would break his skin. When you did this again, he’d make sure you did to mark him up as much as he’d marked you up. 

It’s when you’re cumming around his length, your juices dripping onto his pants before he pulls out to paint the copy machine with his own spend, that he knows that he’s truly in love with you rather than simply liking you. 

Fuck, was he lucky. 

“Uh, Kento?” you ask, snapping him from his fantasy and sending him plummeting back to the reality that was standing in front of a copy machine with you now waiting for him to finish so you could use it. “Are you okay?”

“I apologize, were you needing something from me?”

“Uh, not exactly.” You’re avoiding his eye contact now, fiddling with the papers in your hand. “I was going to ask if maybe you wanted to get a drink, or have dinner with me?”

“That sounds like a wonderful evening. There’s a restaurant not far from here that I enjoy, when would you like to go?”

And after plans are finalized, you leave the copy room - he assumes to go to your desk - and he realizes you’d left your papers on the table. One look tells him that they were blank, meaning that you used waiting for the copy machine to have an excuse to talk to him in a secluded place.

Those losers never had a chance. 

[lemonwrap]

So everyone’s seen “Soap has ADHD” headcanons, right? Well, I have some ideas too >:)

- First off, Soap isn’t constantly ditzy or distracted!! In fact, he’s often very focused, especially on the job. Soap is great at sniping and demolitions because of the split second calculations and laser focus needed, and he thrives in high-stress environments, loves the rush of it all. It’s only off the field where he tends to get fidgety and distracted, because there’s no rush of pure, unadulterated adrenaline and nowhere to direct his energy. That’s when he starts to struggle, and personal leave is like pulling teeth for Soap.

- Soap deals with any energy or emotion he has with action and exercise, because he needs an outlet. Angry? Go to the gym and spar. Nervous? Go practice your aim. Sad? Go for a run. Happy? Go to the gym again, but this time lift weights instead of throwing recruits around.

- He’s dead set on improvement, whether it be beating Gaz’s time or a PR, and he’ll train until he physically can’t, so fixated on getting a number that it’s a little worrying at times. Price has ordered him to get the hell off of the shooting range and go take a break multiple times, and Soap has endlessly practiced until he could beat his own personal records—then started again, because he needs to beat the new record, too.

- Soap isn’t constantly talking, and he knows when to stop. He can chat up a storm, sure, but he’s very aware that it can be irritating or inappropriate in some contexts, so he’s learned to hold his tongue. He can get excited about things he’s interested in and knows a plethora of trivia, but he always purposely keeps that kind of thing to himself.

- Soap is socially adept. He’s smart, cheerful, and handsome to boot, so of course people are drawn to him like moths to a flame—but the problem with flames is that they burn.

- Soap knows he burns a bit too brightly, and he learned the hard way when he was young that not everyone can deal with that. It stung and Soap tried to squish himself into a box to fit in, but now he regards himself with more respect. It’s not that Soap is too much; it’s just that most people aren’t enough. Pretty much only the 141 can match him in his intensity, and Soap has never fit in so well with a group of people before.

- Soap’s mind races almost constantly, but he’s put a lot of work into filtering out the useless thoughts and focusing on the important ones (It has never once occurred to him that most other people do not have this issue)

- Soap thinks so fast that sometimes he can’t describe how he came to a conclusion or got an answer, he just did. He also jumps from topic to topic with no obvious bridge between them, and then gets frustrated when others don’t immediately understand how he got from point A to point C, because wasn’t it obvious? He always got poor marks in math class when he was asked to show his work.

- Soap isn’t forgetful because he makes sure he isn’t. If possible, he writes down every pertinent detail in his journal, then reviews multiple times to confirm he knows the ins and outs of everything.

- Soap lives up to his name—he’s clean. He puts in effort to keep himself, his space, and his belongings neat and clean; he just doesn’t realize that most people don’t have to put in so much to get the same results. The mess gets out of control quickly, so he has to stay on top of it. (Soap thinks that quote about one’s environment being a reflection of their mind is bullshit, since his mind is cluttered but his room and gear are spotless).

That’s all for now! Until next time ;)

[everythingwasnormalhere]

« Freedom You Said? »

I'm gonna try to avoid big spoilers, as I plan to write longfics about this au sooner than not :3

The main premise is that some people (very few) are born with powers in this au, and there's a big hero organization, named Freedom Pals, trying to get to them as soon as possible, so they can avoid the evil ones doing... evil stuff

There are two main hero teams, that I guess will be interacting at some point (I don't have the whole plot thought just yet), which would be m4 and catg, since Butters is Prof Chaos there'll be more on him specifically too

The leader of the first team would be Mysterion, with the power of immortality. He was born with it, and learnt it was useful to protect his family. FP found him and recruited him, he's one of the few heroes with not only all expenses covered but also a salary, and with permission to see his family. Unlike canonical Kenny (and most Kennys I write), FYS Kenny's immortality is rather a regeneration thing, Deadpool style. As all my Kennys, immortality-caused chronic pain, yet he forces himself to ignore it - the way his suit is pretty tight helps with that a bit, too.

Toolshed would be in Kenny's team. He was recruited after a very bad accident (or was it?), which would have killed him on the spot had FP not done anything. He was one of those already superpowered people, with a slight ability to control metal, nothing too big or useful. Yet, FP had him on their lists before the accident happened, so they rebuilt his body, enhanced his powers, turned him into a weapon. All of his prosthetics are in materials he can control, which is very useful in fights. Another of these is placed on his heart, which he has to consciciosly make beat (or connect to a device at night in order to sleep), as if he stops FP will control it remotely, which is extremely painful to him.

Kite arrived to Earth nobody is quite sure when. He can use his voice to speak most human languages, but he's not the best at learning them, nor can he pronounce many things the way it's done (aka heavy alien accent). As soon as he got to this planet, FP were there to take him with them. He has a FP-assigned family, therefore he can meet up with them relatively often. Oxygen is extremely toxic to him, so he uses an air mask to breathe Earth air.

Cartman is from FP himself. Liane works for them, principally cleaning and making rooms comfortable. She needed money and badly, so she offered to do a little extra job, letting them create her a hybrid child. Cartman was the first successful hybrid by FP, which, combined with the whole superhero mentality, gave him a huge ego. He's quite an ass to his teammates and even some random people, but deep deep down, he's a good guy. He wishes to go by Coon, but his teammates don't allow him to, he goes by Raccoon instead. He's the youngest current hero.

Now onto the others!!!

Craig was also born with superpowers, in a relatively normal family. He wasn't aware of them until he turned sixteen however, having to take part in some weird family prophecy. Soon, FP was onto him. He's very much against being a superhero, he'd rather keep his nice and boring life but he has no other choice. His powers include shooting red energy out of his eyes ("they're not lasers!") and hands, super strenght, and short-distance flying. He despises all of it.

Tweek's powers were between an accident and not. He got struck by lightning, yet was left with no physical mark, and that got attention from FP. After several experiments and drugs, they not only made him immune (CANDY IF YOU SEE THIS THANKS FOR GIVING ME THE WORD YOU SAVED MY LIFE) to electricity, but gave him all storm-related powers. He's, however, not the best at controlling them just yet, and this whole thing increased his already tendency to panic about every little thing. His skin is so cold it burns to the touch, too; between this and plain comfort, his superhero costume is simply an slightly oversized sweater.

Mosquito was the one who inspired FP to keep experimenting with hybrids, which would later on cause Cartman's whole existence. At twelve, he was bitten by - typical - an infected mosquito, which caused his powers to appear. He has mosquito wings that allow him to fly however he wishes (it took him a long time to get there), and he sucks blood with two fangs he has, which he needs to survive. Other physical changes too, but these were the main ones. The FP doctors know damn well he has h-EDS, but they're unsure on whether it was caused by the infection or it was a preexisting condition - they won't let him know about this, though: he thinks it is normal.

[I haven't finished developing Fastpass nor Tupperware just yet, but I will share their info as soon as I do]

People out of these teams now!!!

Scott would be four years older than Mosquito, and he used to be his team captain. They were very close, both as friends and as student - teacher. He has diabetes type 1, and also superstrenght, which FP hasn't found any relationship between - yet he believes they are connected. Deceased.

CallGirl was experimented and given powers by a secret organization, making her a soldier since she was a little kid. FP rescued her, and finding her technology control powers useful, they made her a spy, having her find anyone with powers and get them into FP. She was Stan's girlfriend, and also the one to find out about his powers. They broke up after the accident, though. Stan is still the only one who exclusively calls her Wendy, even knowing about her identity as CallGirl.

Timmy has a similar background as CallGirl, but instead of technology control he received telekinesis and telepathy. FP is unsure on whether he's disabled because of the experiments, or because he was born disabled, nor Timmy wishes to answer. He can technically communicate mentally, but he much prefers to use an AAC device - will only communicate by TP, and reclutantly so, if it's strictly necessary. Such as Wendy, he works as a spy-informant. [Might be changed in the future, as I'm not sure I'm entirely comfortable with playing into this whole character trope]

Chaos is a villain, therefore, not part of FP, nor he wishes to be. He has had electric powers since he was born, shooting lightning out of his hands. His parents, afraid of and for him, had him locked in a closed room for his whole childhood, until he ran away - killing them in the process - when he was fifteen. He began recruiting Chaos Minions at sixteen, by suggestion of General Disarray, and now he has a quite big army. His electricity used to burn his hands, so now he has low mobility and control in them. He developed a pair of gloves he uses to increase his control over his powers and decrease their negative effects on his body. He got his eye injury from Raccoon, he covers it with an eye patch so the low vision he has in that eye doesn't distract him.

General Disarray joined Chaos soon after he became a villain. He lacks powers, yet he's extremely intelligent in all areas, principally technology. He built the virtual walls around the few Chaos things online, which not even CallGirl can tresspass. He helps Chaos make plans more often than not.

I think that's it lol :3 ask me any questions you have ✨✨

(was asked for this by @l-lawliets-pussy @northernparkservices @fleatomatosauce)

[hslasers]

Laser Marking on Denim video using CO2 lasers from C. And C. Laser Engineering

With the CO2 Laser Series, we at C and C Laser Engineering offer a flexible, cost-effective and low-maintenance marking engraving-cutting system for non-metals and organic materials like wood, fabric, and most plastics like PU, PP, Acrylic, PVC and many more…..

Our USP is custom-built micro-machining systems based on the Lasers relevant to customer applications.

Applications of CO2 Lasers Marking on Wood, Acrylic, Denim, Painted, Coated, Anodized Metals Can seal Plastic while cutting Marking on any curvature 24 hours marking Used for Stripping of Wire Can Mark - Engrave - Cut Glass Seals Glass tubes/vials while cutting yielding an Excellent finished product Engraving, Deep Engraving, 3D engraving (steel, stainless steel, cast iron, aluminium, plastic, etc.) & many more….

Benefits of CO2 Laser Machine manufactured by C. And C. Laser Engineering Pvt Ltd.: Compact Desing/Custom Design Air-cooled/Water-cooled Energy efficient Low maintenance and long-life components Faster processing Reduced energy bills High-reliability Marking software package included Well-equipped computer Network compatible Single unit multiple applications

[anonymous-dentist]

A snippet from the Star Wars AU:

-

Cellbit, first off, doesn't even know what the Force is. It's an abstract concept, like childhood. Or peace. Or the moons.

Cellbit's home planet of Favela had five moons. By the time he was launched across the galaxy into the war, Favela was down to three.

Now, as Cellbit slits yet another throat under the too-warm Favela sun, there is only one moon left, and it's set to be demolished by the Empire in a week's time.

Grimacing at the smell, Cellbit powers off his knife and tucks it away. He drops the corpse unceremoniously, wrinkling his nose at the way its fingers limply cling to the front of his jacket. He brushes them off; gross.

The job was supposed to be a simple one: meet up with Forever and drop off a ROM for him to deliver to the Resistance he definitely isn't part of. From there, Cellbit would pick up Richarlyson and get him off-planet just in case the Empire's laser causes more destruction than anticipated.

But, well, news travels fast, especially when it comes to Cellbit. Because everybody on Favela's heard all about the young Jedi apprentice who went to war a child and came home a Sith Lord, and Cellbit really doesn't know how to tell them that he's never even held a lightsaber. Honestly, he doesn't know how the rumor started, but it's fucking annoying because he can't so much as breathe in his home planet's direction without getting a laser rifle pointed at his face.

Cellbit picks up the dead man's rifle off the ground and slings it over his shoulder. It's empty, but Forever's a bit of a collector; if he doesn't want it, his "friend" The Demon will.

There's a rustle from behind a nearby building. At the same time, Cellbit's comm rings.

A simple man, Cellbit opens the call in his earpiece.

"Gatinho!" he hears, and he smiles despite the gun starting to peek its way into the street aimed towards him.

Cellbit pulls his knife back out and powers it back on. It hums in his hand. His fingers start to tingle; he needs to get Mike to reseal the handle again, the laser's starting to leak through.

"Guapito," he cheerfully responds, "how are you?"

"Fine, fine, I just had a question about the flowers."

The flowers, right. For the wedding.

In two months, Cellbit is going to get married to the love of his life. He and Roier already have the venue booked, and now they're working on the rest of it. Cellbit has a suit fitting booked for a week from now, and Roier supposedly already has his picked out.

The color scheme is red and white. That being said...

Click!

"What about amaranths?" Cellbit suggests.

He ducks just as the rifle fires. Its bullet singes his hair, fucking asshole.

Scowling, Cellbit charges the bastard and swings at them with his knife. They just barely dodge out of the way. The knife cuts through their pristine white helmet, revealing a scarred smile and blank, empty eyes.

"I mean, yeah, obviously," Roier scoffs. "But what else? Roses, maybe?"

The soldier butts the end of their rifle into Cellbit's stomach and pushes him away, and then they pull their rifle back and level it at his face and they pull the trigger and-

"I don't know, aren't those kind of cliche?" Cellbit asks, tumbling to the side and just narrowly avoiding a laser to the face. He falls into a roll and ducks behind a wall. "Like, they're fine, but I think your dad would kill me if we went with something cheap."

"Roses aren't fucking cheap, man. In this economy?"

Cellbit lets out a labored breath, and it's just a bit too loud because Roier goes deathly quiet on his end of the line.

"Fine," Cellbit pants. "Roses are fine. I said they were fine."

Another volley of bullets pepper the wall behind him. A few go right through the wall and mark the building opposite with smoking black dots.

A beep from the comm marks the end of the call. Fuck.

Cellbit adjusts his grip on his knife.

"You know," he calls, hoping the Empire soldier can hear him, "you're going to want me to kill you now."

No response. Figures. It's kind of hard to speak when you were born without a mouth.

One more round of gunfire, and now they need to reload their gun and-

Cellbit leaps out from behind the wall with an animalistic snarl, pouncing upon the soldier and knocking them to the ground. They twist in his grasp, kicking and punching with the hand not holding their rifle.

He presses his knife to their throat, and they freeze.

"You know who I am," he says. "Nod for 'yes'."

The soldier nods. Good. So they can hear.

"You're one of Cucurucho's," Cellbit says. It isn't a question; he could recognize one of Cucurucho's personalized clones from a light-year away.

Another nod, this one more frantic.

"Is Cucurucho on-planet?"

A shake of the head.

"Did Cucurucho send you?"

Nothing.

Cellbit presses the knife in enough for it to start cutting through the soldier's armor, melting it. No response. Seems they've accepted their fate, then.

There's no higher honor for a soldier than to die in the heat of battle. Cellbit may not respect the Empire worth a damn, but he respects the art of war enough to let a soldier die the way the universe intended.

Cellbit drags his knife across the soldier's throat and watches the little life left behind drain out of their eyes. Once they're dead, he stands, and he pulls out his comm to call his fiancé back, his back turned to the dead soldier.

Roier doesn't pick up, but-

PEW!!

Cellbit gasps a scream as a laser shoots through his shoulder. Instinctively, he drops his knife to clutch at his arm, spinning around to face the soldier he had just killed with wide confused eyes, what the fuck?

"You're dead," he tells them. This is new. "You're- hold on."

Entirely disregarding the rifle pointed at his chest, Cellbit struggles to pull out his camera from off of his belt. He could use this! Maybe it's just a fluke, but maybe Cucurucho finally-

"Get away from my husband, you piece of shit!"

Cellbit looks up just in time to watch a red beam of light stab right through the soldier's chest. Over their shoulder, he can see the messy, annoyed face of his very handsome fiancé, who was supposed to stay on the ship to finish getting it ready for Richarlyson.

Roier pulls his lightsaber out and spins it once in his hand before powering it off and tucking it away. He spits on the soldier's corpse as it falls, and then he kicks it for good measure. His eyes almost seem to glow gold for a moment, for just a second, but then he looks up at Cellbit and his face melts into a smile.

"Gatinho!" he cheers.

He jumps over the body and tackles Cellbit in a hug, picking him up and spinning him in a circle before setting him back down and proceeding to lightly smack the back Cellbit's head with a frown.

"You said you would be fine on your own," he pouts.

"I was fine!" Cellbit protests. But he can't hide the wince as Roier's hand brushes against his shoulder, and he can't hide the scent of burning flesh.

"Uh-huh," Roier flatly says.

Cellbit rolls his eyes and shrugs his way out of his fiancé's hold. He bends down to pick his knife up and frowns at the new dent in its handle. Mike's gonna kill him...

"I guess you'll just need me to protect you from now on," Roier sighs.

"My knife..." Cellbit whines. He looks down at it sadly.

"Fuck your knife, it couldn't even kill that guy!"

"It tried its best!"

"Just get a new knife. That way you won't get shot like an idiot the next time you go out on a job by yourself."

Roier grumbles and swoops Cellbit into another hug, this time not letting go as Cellbit squirms in his arms. He mutters loving insults into Cellbit's hair and pinches his ear once before letting go and taking his hand, allowing Cellbit to put his poor dented knife away.

It's only then in that moment of quiet that Cellbit realizes something.

He looks down at Roier with a wide grin. "You called me your husband."

Roier's cheeks redden just slightly. Just slightly, barely noticeable under the red Favela sun.

"I was just practicing, you know?" he says. "For later."

Cellbit's heart skips a beat. He can't help it. He kisses Roier, and he laughs into Roier's mouth as Roier starts swearing at him about PDA and not kissing in front of dead bodies.

"I love you," Cellbit whispers.

Roier pulls his face free from Cellbit's and puts his lips next to Cellbit's ear: "I know."

And that's all Cellbit needs to know.

[fluideli123]

Sonadow Fic Rec

Okay, before you jump down to the masterpieces listed below, I just wanted to state this:

These authors have given this phenomenal content for free, baked with time and effort. I have never once ignored this, hence why I try and comment on each and every one of these fics. However, my energy and ability to be verbose differs day to day. Some of these fics I have not given proper comments for, despite this, I will be on it the moment I can be. In the time being, (once I am able to find my comments on each of these fics) I will be sharing my adoration for them further in other posts (and most likely link back to this one).

With that being said, please, PLEASE take your time to check each of these fics out. If they're not your cup of tea? Valid! But hands down I have never dedicated myself to making a fic rec like this until now. But I MUST share and spread these works, they are much too dear to me not to, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart.

(All fics are listed by order saved in my bookmarks, not in the order read)

tangled threads and bite-marked shoulders by @rubyiiiusions

Words: 32,287 | Series | Complete

Shadow hissed in pain. The laser had just grazed him, but it still stung, and he instinctively gripped the wound it left on his arm. “You dare-” He stopped. The laser hadn’t hit him. In fact, it had struck Sonic, right on his lower left arm. So why did his forearm feel like it just got shot? He whipped around, fear climbing up his throat, and he suddenly became hyper-aware of something new. It was like a sixth sense, feeling the confusion that emitted from Sonic’s fur in waves as if it was his own. “What did you do?!” Shadow snarled. or, eggman accidentally soulbinds shadow and sonic, and no one has any idea how to undo it.

Sleepwalking by Tirainy

Words: 22,117 | Complete

'There is a strong arm curled around his torso, the appendage keeping him close to its owner, whose warm breath is ghosting over the back of his neck. Sonic is sure he went to bed alone the previous night, but he isn't worried about the intruder. After all, this isn't the first time this has happened…'

Secret Admirer by @trenchcoat-gecko

Words: 24,313 | Complete

Sonic understood well what it meant to be loved. He was a world-famous hero, after all; his presence never went unnoticed. For the most part, he lavished in that attention, he soaked it in and encouraged it. But not romantic attention. So, when the blue blur found himself falling in love? Well, the prospect was rather daunting, no matter how easy Amy had made it out to be. So maybe, just maybe, he should just take the easy way out...

Rose Drops Series by @magicstormfrostfire

Words: 122,489 | Series | Complete

Love, Intuition, and a little bit of magic ensues as Amy sends Sonic and Shadow on an unforgettable adventure.

Wolfboy by @trenchcoat-gecko

Words: 73,856 | Complete

World-famous monster hunter Shadow the Hedgehog has a job to do. It doesn't take long for the one-shot wonder to realize that this job won't be as simple as he'd expected: a small town, rumors of a lone werewolf, and a handsome, green-eyed, chronically-injured casanova who manages to worm his way into Shadow's heart... What starts off as a simple job turns out to be something much more life-changing.

Blizzard Bedfellows by @magicstormfrostfire

Words: 21,294 | Complete

When a rare blizzard takes over the island, Sonic is on the run to make sure a certain angry loner is safe and sound. Y-you know, because...uh that's what heroes do.

We never met but can we have a cup of coffee or something? by @whitejungle

Words: 3,630 | Complete

It's been almost two months since Sonic lost someone he didn't even know, but he can't stop thinking about it.

Clean Slate by nottheweirdest

Words: 155,880 | Complete | Note: Squeal pending and I am cheering you on author!! Whatever you decide I am excited to support you!!

Shadow has lost himself before. He knows what it's like to straddle the line between reality and false memories, but this time, it’s Sonic whose memory has vanished. A premeditated set of circumstances and an accidental injury leave Sonic with no memory of who he is, his life, or more importantly, his painful history with Shadow. It’s up to Shadow to remind the hero who he is in the midst of a global outbreak. It’s a chance for redemption. It’s a chance to right the wrongs of the past. It’s a clean slate.

say i reckon (i love you, for a millisecond) by @redamancering

Words: 30,205 | Complete

There’s a hand on his shoulder, barely making contact. A red gauntlet glows around the wrist. Sonic blinks, the pain having evaporated so fast he feels almost weightless. “Shadow?” Shadow’s breathing heavily. “Problem.” The retrieval of the ancient tech Shadow (and Sonic, in tow) has been sent to uncover takes a turn for the worst. In this case, the “worst” means… becoming physically and inextricably linked to each other. For the foreseeable future. OR: Metaphysical handcuffs, and general gay buffoonery.

Judge my sins, not my feelings by yellothebeeloved

Words: 228,479 | Complete | Note: Possible one-shots pending from the author for the series, I am here to support you author!! What ever you decide I'm here for it!

Maybe he's not meant to touch. It's the newest excuse he thought of in hopes that he could prolong the game a little more; a careful ruse to enjoy the bittersweet torture of seeing the days pass them by, while he pretends he doesn't seek azure blue whenever he's restless. At first, all he wanted to do was watch: but now the desire to touch, to have, to affect is at a point where he's not sure whether reaching for Sonic would truly be fruitless. He wonders that especially when Sonic's eyes light up upon seeing him. When he corners Shadow, when he invades his space and he touches and takes and then excuses it by calling it a fight. Shadow truly wonders then: if only he was brave enough to reach out, what would his grip find? Loose stars or a battle-worn body? Standing up, he glances at Sonic again, whose eyes have now met his own. There's something heavy in the eye contact, something Shadow doesn't dare name. Neither of them say anything, and yet Sonic's eyes move away from him again, like they did. Shadow warps away, hiding from the stars once more.

Child of Prophecy by @trenchcoat-gecko

Words: 139,321 | Completed

On the night the Mobius Castle was ransacked, the Queen received a prophecy. “One of three will not cry; send him down the river, for you can only save your kingdom if he does not grow up royal.”

Coming Home by nottheweirdest

Words: 55,740 | Completed

Shadow's life has been full of mistakes, some worse than others, but admitting his unrequited feelings to Sonic tops the list. He's spent the better part of a decade ruminating on his regret and hiding from feelings he couldn't bear to face. He never thought he'd see Sonic again, and he told himself that was for the best. Until now. At the bequest of his former rival, and in an attempt to finally get closure, Shadow has returned to Central City. The reason? Sonic the Hedgehog is marrying Amy Rose. And Shadow is invited.

[bubybubsters]

Love you too (modern!au!rhys x reader)

a/n: thus begins the collection of fanfics all in modern times and Rhysand x reader. yeah.

warnings: rhysie

wc: 475

masterlist

*****

Rhysand trudged up the River House driveway, all the while regretting letting his brothers design such an elaborate house. It must be fit for a boss, they’d said. It was fit for a boss and unnaturally beautiful. And he did particularly enjoy the great balconies with outstanding views, but the god damned driveway was way too long.

However, Rhys smiled at the thought of the person waiting inside the big, elaborate house in question. You, who he’d found working at the local post office that was closing down. You, who he’d offered a place in his home because he’d heard you ranting on about how your apartment was being torn down for some stupid ass technology business.

Said technology business was run by him. He’d never felt so much soul-crushing guilt then in that moment. He’d almost asked the builders to stop destroying the already destroyed apartment building but you’d laughed, and reassured him that the owner was an ass and deserved it all.

So you’d secured a new job at the Velaris bookstore that payed well enough yet you hadn’t moved out. Whether it be the nice house or just not wanting to find another apartment and move out, Rhys was glad for it.

All that had been almost a year ago.

Rhys unlocked his front door and stepped in, ready for the usual sound of a sizzling hot meal and the smell of fresh made food, instead all he heard were snores. A frown made its way to his brows and he dropped his bag on a hook before heading down the hallway. As he passed each room he glanced in to see nothing even slightly different from this morning when he’d left. When he reached the sitting room his frown melted and a smile instantly curved his lips. There you were, curled up with a book resting against your nose, fast asleep.

He pulled out his phone, dialing chipotle and asking for your regular order before grabbing your book and setting it in the table, not before marking your page, he’d made that mistake before. He found the nearest blanket and was pulling it over your shoulder when a few harsh knocks and impatient doorbell rings were heard.

“Hurry up, you idiot, it’s laser tag day.”

He cursed softly having forgot all about his weekly boys night. He quickly sent a text to Az asking for a minute and to calm Cassian down.

Rhys kissed the crown of your brow softly and murmured a gentle, “I love you.”

He froze, he’d never said that before… but he’d definitely thought it. It didn’t matter, you were asleep anyway. He grabbed a jacket and headed out.

What he didn’t see was your secretive smile as you opened your eyes and the door slammed close, you whispered into the empty room, “I love you too.”

*****

a/n: Sorry for the nonexistent updates. Love you guys.

taglist:

@thelov3lybookworm @profound-imagination

[ikroah]

I have reached the breaking point, the point of no return, it’s very clear to see a fool like me will never, ever learn. I have reached the breaking point, I hear the drums of doom, I’m gonna flip my wig in one great big atomic boom! —“The Breaking Point,” Bobby Darin (1966)

It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’ #27 - Ring-a-Ding-Ding VI

Collaborative Issue! Guest Artist: @sas-afras

Archive Links

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Read IKROAH on Archive of Our Own

Notes / Transcript:

Notes

Huge thanks to Monty over at @sas-afras for getting this one done! I handled the original layout and lettering, but the rest was all them. Layouts like this can seem simple and easy because of how straight-forward and repetitive they are, but when all you've got are a dozen and one reaction shots, every single one of those reaction shots needs to be as perfect as you can get them. And Monty did a hell of a job. Especially on the coloring! Monty, if you're reading this, you're a hell of a good colorist (on top of everything else). Thanks again!

Another note about this issue is that it, along with the previous one, were some of the most difficult to write in this whole damn comic so far. I really hate repeating in-game dialogue verbatim without good reason, but there's really not much else I could do here. It's a very necessary part of the story that is also literally a part in the game where your character is fixed in place listening to a monologue. I took some liberties, did some punch-up, not just for its own sake but to really drive home what I find most interesting and vital here about Mr. House as a character.

Anyway, Agnes is in trouble. And there's only one issue left in Volume 2! The next one closes out this arc of the story, at long last. Stay tuned.

Transcript

INT. LUCKY 38 BASEMENT. From an observation deck of sorts, AGNES SANDS watches several SECURITRON robots position themselves in a testing area, containing several sandbags, dummies, and makeshift fortifications. A voice booms from an unseen speaker.

MR. HOUSE: You're well familiar with my Securitron police force. But have you ever wondered: what exactly makes them the marquee option in perimeter security and pacification?

AGNES glances in the direction of the voice, uncomfortable.

MR. HOUSE: Well to start, the reinforced titanium alloy housing of each unit, which protects its electronic core, easily deflects small arms and shrapnel.

MR. HOUSE: As for its offensive capabilities, its X-25 gatling laser—produced to spec by Glastinghouse, Inc.—is deadly against soft targets at medium range.

SFX: BZZTZZTZZTZZTZZT

AGNES recoils as a red glow washes over her from the testing area.

MR. HOUSE: And then for close-range suppression or crowd control, the Securitron is also armed with a 9mm sub-machinegun.

SFX: DAKKA DAKKA DAKKA DAKKA DAKKA DAKKA

AGNES shuts her eyes, wincing from the crack of gunfire.

MR. HOUSE: These features have been sufficient for keeping the peace within Vegas, but with the NCR and Legion closing in on Hoover Dam, and sizing up my city like a piece of prize cake, more than ever we need to be prepared for, well...external conflict. Policing is one thing, but when geopolitical powers are involved, my Securitrons can only pose so much of a threat.

MR. HOUSE: That is...if they're forced to rely exclusively on their secondary weapons--as they have been, all this time!

AGNES looks upward, surprised.

MR. HOUSE: Remember, the Great War interrupted a pivotal moment for RobCo's work. Consequently, all extant Securitrons have been stuck, running on a mere Mark I operating system—the first production version of the OS—which has simply lacked the software drivers for the use of their primary weapons all this time!

AGNES looks around, as if HOUSE were in the room somewhere and she could find him, in a panic.

MR. HOUSE: The platinum chip, you see, was never just a token. At a time when industrial espionage ran rampant, it was minted as a high capacity, proprietary, and uniquely irreplicable data storage device. In a way, it's more like a computer chip. And now—with the data from the platinum chip finally installed onto my nextwork—it's time for a very crucial software update. Behold: the new Mark II Securitrons!

AGNES gawks downward at the testing area, eyes wide. Oh no.

MR. HOUSE: Their newly accessible M-235 Missile Launcher gives them the ability to engage ground and air targets at significantly longer ranges...

SFX: PSSSSSHHH KTHOOM THOOM THOOM THOOM

AGNES flinches, covering her face for protecting, and screams as explosions rip apart the testing area below.

MR. HOUSE: ...and their rapid-fire G-28 grenade launching system, another part of the Mark II, makes them much more powerful in close-range engagements as well.

SFX: THMP THMP THMP KRRSSH KRAKTK KABOOM

AGNES, nearly frozen, watches the bombardment with horror.

MR. HOUSE: It also includes rewritten drivers for the Securitrons' auto-repair systems—although always sophisticated, the new optimizations render them inexhaustible in even the most protracted and attritious of engagements. Altogether, the Mark II upgrade confers a 235% total increase in combat effectiveness per unit—and it's all because of you!

AGNES lowers her arm slowly, jaw slack, mortified.

MR. HOUSE: Vegas finally has an army—worthy to protect not just the city itself, but the best interests of all of mankind, at home and abroad. Which is to say: this simple display of might remains a mere teaser for what I can, and what I will, accomplish, in an illustrious new epoch.

AGNES sinks further into a paralytic terror.

MR. HOUSE: What we will accomplish, Agnes—should you accept my offer, of employment. Ah—but I digress. I'm certain that you've had a long day. You can rejoin Miss Cassidy in the presidential suite for the night, if you'd like to, as they say, "sleep on it."

MR. In fact...say for as long as you'd like. However long you may need, to think everything over. And you'll be very well provided for in the meantime, consider it a taste of what could be...should you make the right choice before you.

MR. HOUSE: That reminds me—I've already sent Victor to collect your belongings from the Vault 22 Hotel, so no need to exhaust yourself further by making that trip on your own, hm? There's much about your future to consider, Agnes—and I would like you to think of it as our future.

AGNES stares straight ahead with a deadened expression.

The testing area in the basement has been reduced to smithereens. Fires rage on the rubble of obliterated structures, gnarled steel, and collapsed walkways. The dummies have been dismembered entirely.

MR. HOUSE: ...Goodness, what a mass. With friends like these, I sure wouldn't envy my enemies.

MR. HOUSE: Wouldn't you agree?

[triptychgrip]

New fic: Yuuri vs. Yuri on Hot Ones Versus 🔥🔥🔥

Yura loudly exhaled then sat up straight. 

“Ok, so back in February 2017, there was a local hockey team that began renting the ice for the slot right after this geezer would “coach” his then-fiance,” he began, jerking his head in Viktor’s direction and making a big show of his air quotes. “Notice I used air quotes because 90 percent of the time he was flirting and hanging all over him and it was the most loose definition of coaching possible.”

Kenjirou gave a hysterical sort of giggle and then immediately clapped a hand over his mouth. Feeling slightly defensive of his husband, Yuuri didn’t even have to think much about the words that left his lips.

“Vitya’s unorthodox methods worked, though, didn’t they?” he chimed in, not bothering to tone down his smugness. “Remind me, Yura: who was the gold medalist at the 2017 World Figure Skating Championships, again?”

Viktor and Aasha barked delighted-sounding laughs and out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri saw Mila whip her phone out. Presumably, to capture the flush that had begun to stain his opponent’s cheeks.

“Yeah, well…anyway,” Yura resumed in a grumble, doing a pretty poor job of masking his flusteredness. “Most of the players– ”

“It was Yuuri-senpai! Yuuri-senpai was the 2017 World’s title holder!” Kenjirou interrupted in a shout, very unnecessarily. 

Yuuri bit his lip to suppress the mirth bubbling up within him and made a concerted effort not to look over at Viktor.

“As I was saying!” the Ice Tiger huffed, shooting him a nasty look, as if he could read his mind. “Most of the players kept to themselves, and other than some very questionable tastes in cologne that we were subjected to in the break room and locker room, they were fine to be around. But then there was the team captain, Sergei…who just straight up sucked.”

Yuuri decided to adopt a neutral expression.

While he hadn’t been the biggest fan of Sergei, he’d also never known what to make of his love’s opinion that the man had had a crush on him. It was true that Sergei had sought him out for conversation more than a lot of Yubileyny’s other skaters, but he’d chalked this up to the fact that at that point, he had still been extremely new to Russia in general, and had probably seemed starved for friendly faces. 

And, if Madame Baranovskaya had shot laser beams out of her eyes whenever she was in Sergei’s general vicinity, Yuuri had suspected this was due to her distaste for hockey, and not anything to do with a sense of protectiveness over him.

“There aren’t enough hours in the day for me to explain all the assorted means of suckage, but it was sometime in May that I snapped,” Yura continued on, looking impressively impassive. “Sergei had the most douchey hairstyle by the way…this platinum blonde, dyed sort of swoopy-thing that was his entire personality, to the point he never stopped talking about it.”

---

The above excerpt is from my newly uploaded fic (which I teased in this post), detailing Yuuri and Yurio facing off against one another on Hot Ones Versus. Taking place during the 2021 off-season, the two of them are currently the top two seeded skaters in the world, and their rivalry is heightened by the fact that they are both Viktor's students.

Just like my Vanity Fair Lie Detector fic, I had such a blast writing this, and am really excited to work on the final chapter, which will be from Yurio and Viktor's points of view. (Mila and Kenjirou also have large roles in this story, as they have tagged along for the episode filming for moral support, LOL).

If you read this WIP and enjoy it, PLEASE tell me what you think; I love receiving comments!

🔥 You can read Chapter 1, here 🔥

Oh, and as I mention in the pre-notes, this story marks my 20th Yuri!!! on Ice fic. Maybe it's about time I made a pinned post, lol...

[legendary-guest]

High school sucks, from puberty to petty relationship drama to navigating the cliques - not to mention the teachers! Some so crabby, so lippy, so unfair, so mean that you could swear they were...evil?

Meet Dr. Drew Lipsky and Ms. Shea Go! Other outfits linked here. Lots of text under the cut.

"Mr. Lipsky is my father. You will address me as Dr. Lipsky."

It is difficult to escape Dr. Lipsky on the learning side of the high school ecosystem, he practically runs every class that involves math or science.

Arrogant, grouchy and with a tendency to ramble, Doc runs his classroom with an iron fist and a strict no lip policy. He is seldom seen without his ruler, which he uses to write along the chalkboard with his terrible handwriting, draw diagrams, gesture wildly with and slam on sleeping students' desks to rudely wake them. Despite this unpleasant behaviour, he has obvious favourite students - some of them have gone a long way just by sucking up to him - like not being yelled at and being one of the privileged few that haven't been damned to detention for a minor transgression. He's not just mean, he's also weird.

He likes to show-off the fact that he can draw a perfect circle, free-handed. This impresses a lot of the kids, until it becomes dull - he is workshopping drawing a perfect dodecahedron free-handed (it's not going well). School festivities and similar events, not centred around sport, tend to have him actively organising and participating in them. Always decorates the classroom around Christmas time, becomes unbearably cheery. His love for Snowman Hank is infamous.

Students have figured out an effective method to avoid learning - by getting Dr. Lipsky to talk about himself, or anything that vaguely interests him, he isn't difficult to distract. If he realises what's happening, everyone gets extra homework. If he doesn't and class ends, he seethes about it.

Of course, this means that he's always marking, always busy, a vicious feedback loop. He secretly doesn't mind this, as it keeps him occupied, away from depressing thoughts and crushing loneliness. His job is his social life, but even this is difficult as the only real rapport he has with anyone are the students he rambles to. Well, them and now Ms. Go, whom he carpools with - picking him up and dropping him off 5 days a week, just the two of them. His own car was totalled by Ed, and unable to afford another on a teacher's salary, he'd been catching the bus to and from work. His garage has turned into a workshop, where he tinkers with fixing old computers, building robots, lasers, programming microchips, etc. He really doesn't spend time in his own home.

Drew is dyslexic but doesn't know it - he's found ways to manage this. One of these ways is calling on kids who he knows are in Ms. Go's classes - he always knows them - to help him spell something. “How do you spell it?” “What?” “What do you mean ‘what?’ I know you’re in Miss Go’s AP Literature class, so tell me how to spell it!” “Uh…” [spelling ensues] “That wasn’t so difficult now was it?” “Thanks would be nice” “Detention.” “What?” “I heard you talk back. Detention. I’m old, not deaf.” Unlike Drakken, the subject of his blue skin and scar aren't things he's keen to talk about. He addresses it once at the beginning of every semester to the students to quell rumours and that's it. “Before you all start asking, I’ll tell you. This nasty scar? Lab accident. Blue skin? Lab accident. Is it contagious? No. We’re speaking about injuries, not cooties. So, you know I take lab safety very, very seriously. Gloves, closed shoes and glasses in the lab at all times! Last thing I need is a lawsuit from your parents.” No member of staff, including Ms. Go, know why he is blue.

He is still a college drop-out - his doctorate and teaching certifications are fake. He has never been caught. The inciting incident for dropping out (I have yet to cement whether or not it is the Bebes) has defeated him instead of motivating him. Drew Lipsky is still Drakken, but listless, without real focus or ambition, prone to indifference and depression. As Dr. Lipsky, he is a genuinely good, competent teacher, despite all his faults - the need to explain things, repeatedly, helps him in the profession.

Ms. Go is the hot new English teacher at school! Although she is new to teaching on her own, she is not as naïve as some might think. With her experience as Shego, member of Team Go from Go City, dealing with her brothers and various criminals and villains alike, Ms. Go knows her way around people - the Child Development qualification is merely a bonus.

Staff and students don't know of Ms. Go's hero identity and she goes to great lengths to deceive students that point out her strangely tinted skin - by telling them that it's merely the fluorescent lights in the school that make her appear green, and that, maybe, they should be more focused on what's on the board. Several students have started wearing glasses since her employment. Gaslighting the kids is something she enjoys immensely. Dr. Lipsky has noticed, too, but he doesn't bring it up, accepting her reasoning - for now.

Her attractiveness is no secret, with many a boy harbouring a crush on her, some of the bolder ones hitting on her in class or the hallway. Ms. Go effectively destroys the fragile, male teen ego in a single, creatively worded sentence, leaving a path of bitter, broken hearts (and sometimes tears) behind her. Creative put-downs aren't just reserved for boys that hit on her.

Ms. Go's criteria for her hitlist include: disrupting class, poor enunciation/pronunciation, mumbling, using the wrong words, incorrect/poor grammar, and abuse of teen slang in class.

Anything that isn't a school textbook or notebook that is left behind in Ms. Go's classroom goes missing. Pencils, pens, spare change, personal diaries, MP3 players, CD players, gum (which they shouldn't have anyway!) - gone. Ms. Go picks the room CLEAN as soon as all of them leave - finders keepers! She has an impressive collection, and shares the spoils with Dr. Lipsky. Forgot something in Ms. Go's class? FORGET IT! She gives props to those who can clap back in a creative (grammatically correct, well-spoken) way. For this, she is a very divisive figure, fluctuating between cool-hot-mean-bitchy at all times.

The popular, self-absorbed girls try to emulate Ms. Go, from her mannerisms to her style. She doesn't mind this, and even has some fun in seeing how far she can take it.

Ms. Go runs her classes efficiently and she never assigns extra homework - she doesn't want to mark it. She clocks in at 7am and clocks out at 3:30pm, not a minute before or after.

She has an expensive sports car (I'm thinking a Maserati), which she was able to procure from the Mayor of Go City for her service. Hego was, is, very upset over this. Although she has been out of the hero game for a while, something about the unusually hued Dr. Drew Lipsky had her extend the offer to carpool - just him. Especially after she saw him come to work, late, soaking wet from some surprise torrential rain, snarling and growling and snapping at anyone who so much as looked at him funny - only to be berated by the principal on top of it all.

Her degree in Child Development means that she holds the position of school counsellor. Problem is, no one wants to see her! Who does after hearing all the mean things she says? Her small office is rarely visited, to the point where Dr. Lipsky has moved in with all his stuff, mountains of paper that made his corner of the teacher's lounge very unseemly. Anyone who knocks is met with the Doc's intimidating stature and signature frown.

Ms. Go and Dr. Lipsky sit by themselves in the small office, never in the teacher's lounge. Drew will sometimes stay back and work, catching the bus home, whilst Shea goes home. As they get closer, Ms. Go will sometimes just go for a few hours and return to the school to take the Doc home. Although it seems like she's got it all, at the end of the day, she still goes home to her apartment - alone. Used to being surrounded by her family, as annoying as they are, used to the excitement and rush of hero work, and no longer actively using her powers, Shea is not too sure what to make of normal, civilian life. Especially after hers has been anything but. Partying, clubbing and shopping on the weekends are fun, but the prospect of socialising with others, finding interests that aren't focused on her career is daunting, if not a little frightening, if she were honest with herself. Shego, as Ms. Go, still calls him Dr. D (for 'Drew', she says the alliteration makes it fun to say) and Doc. Drew Lipsky for when she really wants to annoy him.

Drew/Drakken having dyslexia, Drew/Drakken taking the bus and the name Shea for Shego's real name are all lifted from Dwelling by @gogofordrakgo. The AU has been stewing for a very long time, almost as long as I have been reviewing. All elements lifted have been credited. I see several paths for it.

A 'Normal' AU where they exist within the KP world but never become villains, and don't teach at Middleton High School.

An Origin Story of how Drakken and Shego met teaching at some high school and then getting into villainy together.

An AU where they are teachers at Middleton High School and Kim and Ron are students there, still saving the world. They still play an antagonistic role, Drakken more than Shego, with Shego empathising with Kim without breaking her Shego-ness and becoming too nice, still distance between them. Ron would also be Shego's one-and-only student that she sees as a counsellor. Their sessions consist of having him accompany her to the mall - retail therapy. In this version of the AU, the recurring villains would be The Seniors. Senior Sr. is a big name supervillain looking to retire and is training his spoiled, sheltered son Senior Jr. to take up the mantle, but all he's interested in is becoming a teen-pop sensation, even though he learns quickly and can take on KP. Senior Sr. finds Kim Possible, not only a worthy adversary, but the ideal match for his son! He is the number one Kim x Junior shipper. (500k slow-burn, enemies to lovers epic fanfic, babies ever after - 7 for all 7 continents - 4 girls and 3 boys - evil-and-in-love - he's planned Junior's entire life for him, he can't wait to retire!). Dr. Lipsky and Ms. Go become villains at the end, becoming Dr. Drakken and Shego, the new villainous couple looking to rule the world and taking the place of Senor Senior Sr. and Senor Senior Jr.

Alternative to the last where it's all the same but they don't become villains. Maybe they try for a bit and after having their fun, they settle down to have a family. I dunno!

Now, is there more to come? YES! MAYBE! We'll see how I am feeling. Why did I do it this way and not write something properly? Because I don't like writing or plotting multi-chapter fanfic. I really wanted to make something that I could write for in this very casual way, and, if anyone else wanted to write or draw for this, that it would be possible.

Teacher AU is such a strong concept for the characters as they are, I wanted to really have it be true to them, as we see and know them in the show. I didn't want huge differences in their backstories, interests, mannerisms or relationships with other characters, because all those things inform who they are. I love that Drakken is a scatter-brained, easily-offended, easily distracted grouch and that Shego is such an annoying, snarky woman, a staunch grammarian and runner-up for professional slacker (Ron takes the number one spot). I wanted to challenge myself with this and I hope that I have been successful with it, at least initially.