#press on teeth veneers

[parkavenuesmiles]

Can You Go Back To Your Normal Teeth After Veneers When seeking the ideal smile, patients frequently think about cosmetic dentistry services. Veneers can dramatically change how you look by hiding flaws in your teeth and giving them a flawless appearance. Read more: https://www.webgov.com/blog/can-you-go-back-to-your-normal-teeth-after-veneers https://www.yonkersdentalspa.com/dental-veneers/

[bronx-ny-dentist]

Transformation of a Smile: Everything You Should Know about Veneers Veneers are thin shells of porcelain or composite material that are placed over the front teeth to improve their appearance. This process has become quite popular in cosmetic dentistry, giving patients the opportunity to achieve a beautiful smile without the need for extensive treatment. In this article, we'll cover everything you need to know about veneers - from the process of creating them to their benefits and possible limitations. Read more: https://www.bloglovin.com/@ameliagrant3/transformation-a-smile-everything-you-should https://www.bronx-ny-dentist.com/dental-veneers/

[vampiricgf]

— VON LYCAON ; PROFESSIONAL DEMEANOR

warnings: fem reader, knotting, cervix fucking, unrealistic sex, creampie, size kink sorta, mentions of reader being smaller than him, I know he cums loud n abundant!!

sorry if this sucks it's my first time writing about knots pls be niceys to me im just horny >.< pst~ my zzz requests are open!

It was just so... adorable watching you struggle to take his knot all by yourself. The way your cheeks were so flushed from exertion and the many, many orgasms he'd given you over the course of the last hour or so, the way your skin glistened with sweat was so tantalizing his teeth practically ached to sink into the tenderness at the side of your neck.

Ordinarily Lycaon held himself to a higher standard, a requirement when dealing with the upper echelon of clientele that Victoria Housekeeping frequently partners with. But with you that carefully constructed veneer showed signs of wear, of cracks, as if you'd waltzed right up to him with a sledgehammer in your grasp.

As his fingers massaged careful, soothing circles into the backs of your thighs as he held your legs folded up to your chest he couldn't help but feel adoration for you in this moment. Not that he doesn't adore you all the time, always, but there's just something uniquely special about knotting you.

"Do you want my help?" He could barely get the words out, nearly cutting himself off in a ragged groan feeling your pussy clamp down around him again, walls desperately massaging his length and begging for what you both knew would finally grant fulfillment. And god did he want to give it to you, wanted to give you so much and your poor body would have no choice but to take it as he bore down on you against the mattress.

But he was mindful of your limitations, even in the heights of pleasure it was never far from his mind. He'd never be able to trust himself with you again if he caused you any harm, if he pushed too hard. But you're just so cute, begging to be filled up and held down until your glossy eyes are drowning with tears. You make it hard to be gentlemanly.

In between wheezing breathes you nod, pathetically whimpering as your arms lace around his neck and its all he needs before pulling out, agonizingly slow until just the tip of his throbbing cock rested heavily inside you. You gasped, crying out his name brokenly as his hips snapped forward, just hard enough to make you squeal before he felt the telltale pop of his knot slotting snugly against your walls.

With barely contained strength he used his upper body to push you deeper against the plush mattress, pressing his forehead against yours as his teeth instinctually bared with every spurt of hot, milky cum that drowned your cervix. He'd been so focused on you and your pleasure for the last hour or so that he honestly failed to realize just how badly he needed to cum, rocking against you to both ensure it filled up even the deepest parts of you and to hear you make those sweet little cries that he eagerly swallowed down as his lips pressed against yours in a kiss made of sloppy teeth and tongues.

Your walls fluttered around him, body greedily accepting the flood of sticky seed and it makes him more than a little lightheaded on the comedown. He stays inside you, holding you as your breathing evens out into a less frantic pace and your eyes flutter open to meet his. Despite being a bit far away he can tell you're present, and with a hum of satisfaction he presses a kiss to your hairline and finally slides out of you.

Pulling back to rest on his knees he helps you bring your legs back down, feet planted against the mattress but in an instant he freezes, captivated. The sight of his cum dripping from your still clenching hole, the sheer amount of it, and the way your mixed mess of cum and sweat made your inner thighs glisten makes his throat suddenly parched.

It's not lost on you, and despite your own exhaustion he watches the way your hand slides down your belly before swiping two fingers through your folds, gathering the pearly liquid on your fingers before gingerly circling your puffy clit.

It was absurd, how the sight had his cock twitching with renewed interest and he wondered briefly just how insatiable you really were.

He already knows how badly he wants to devour you, knows the amount of work it takes to keep the urge in check, but it seems you're determined to fully wrench that self control away from him.

And maybe he'll let you...

[revasserium]

Can I request any windbreak characters (headcanons) of your choosing reacting to their s/o ending up in the hospital beacause if a rival gang targeting them?

reqs are open!

the beautiful and damned

sakura, suo; 911 words; fluff, slight angst, implied bodily harm, lapslock, no "y/n", hurt/comfort kinda i guess?, very!drabble, suo being... suo

a/n: sry i only did sakura and suo... currently i've only got the muse for these two tho i did consider tossing umemiya in there lmao; maybe next time...

falling backwards — sakura

it can take the body up to twenty-minutes to cycle through an average fight-or-flight response though he’s always prided himself in staying for the fight.

seeing you in the hospital bed for the first time was a masterclass in the concept of flight — or rather, in falling. of the ground crumbling beneath him, of his stomach going momentarily weightless before sinking and sinking, of his lungs calcifying inside his chest till it physically stings to breathe.

“i’m alright,” you say, waving him off, but for the first time, his knee-jerk reaction isn’t to punch something — it’s to topple into the chair by the door and bury his face in his hands.

“you’re alright…” he says, his mouth forming around the words like learning to speak for the very first time, and then again, “you’re alright.” the says the words like a prayer answered, like exaltation, like a promise to himself made and broken and mended back again.

you cast him a wide smile, though he doesn’t miss the way you wince and your hand jumps up to the bandage wrapped around your forehead.

“it really looks worse than it is… i just got scratched so they had to bandage up my head but the wound was really shallow so —”

he makes his way over to your bedside and tugs you into his chest, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the harsh, florescent light of the hospital room. for a second, your voice is muffled against his shirt but then you go quiet in his arms, you go soft, and there’s a terrifying moment when he wonders if he’s held on too tight —

“sakura?”

“you’re… alright.”

he slumps down on the bed next to you, reaching for your hands. you let him take them, let him study them. there are a smattering of bruises along your arms, but nothing’s broken, no lasting damage. he leans down to press his forehead to the backs of your hands; you feel the heat simmering beneath his skin, stark and startling against your cool fingers.

“yeah. i’m alright. and… you’re okay too,” you say, flipping a hand over to cup his face, to lift his head up to meet your gaze. he nods, slowly, leaning into your touch.

“yeah… i think i will be.”

here are the monsters — suo

there are a few things suo hayato knows to be true: he’s a good fighter, even one of the best in the freshman year, that green tea should be brewed at 75 to 80 degrees, and that whoever did this will pay.

“tell me who did this.”

his voice is light, almost conversational, and nothing in his expression betrays the bright red fury curdling just beneath the thin veneer of his calm. you eye him warily, and he smiles sweetly, cocking his head to one side as he waits for your answer.

“hayato…”

“hm?”

you sigh, leaning back in your hospital bed and crossing your arms.

“if i tell you, promise you won’t go looking for a fight.”

suo pauses, considering your words, tallying them against his internal list of truths — he knows of the terrible risk of loving someone more than yourself, of the secret strength it grants you. he knows terror too, the kind that seems endless and dark and ever-expanding, a black hole of nothing that threatens to consume him when he’d first heard that you’d been hurt bad enough to warrant a night in the hospital.

but beneath that terror is something else — something with flashing teeth and shining claws that he does not have a name for but has felt flickering there for his whole entire life.

this is the monster, he thinks, that lives in us all.

the minotaur in the middle of the maze of self.

hungry and lonely and howling for blood.

“fine. i promise,” he says, putting his hands up.

you blink at him for a few seconds before your eyes narrow once more. you know him, and you know him almost too well.

“hayato, what aren’t you telling me?”

“i’ll tell you if you tell me who did this.”

after another second’s pause, you sigh and list off a few names — the perpetrators to this great crime. kids, too, from another school’s gang.

“it’s par for the course, isn’t it?” you say, your voice tightening slightly as suo nods and gets to his feet. he takes his time, stretches, leans down to drop a sweet kiss into your hair, “i knew what i was getting into when i agreed to date you so…” your voice trails off as suo makes for the door, humming lightly.

“where’re you going?” you ask.

he pauses by the door, “for a walk and… maybe a friendly chat with some kids at the school the next county over.”

“hayato! you promised you wouldn’t go looking for a fight!”

at this, suo’s expression shifts ever so slightly. it’s in the slant of his mouth and the sharpness of his eyes, the way his voice is smooth as starlight but his words have all their vowels seeped in cyanide —

“oh i’m not going looking for a fight… but you see, the second they put a hand on you, the fight already found it’s way to me.”

---

@houseofsolisoccasum

[mediumgayitalian]

“I’d pick you up at the airport.”

“What?”

“If we were normal. I would — have one of those signs, you know. When you came back from your adventures.”

“Oh.” Nico snorts. “I’m still fucking off all the time when we’re normal? And you’re not coming?”

“It is woven within your very soul to fuck off as you please,” says Will sagely. “You get antsy. You know, like a house cat.”

He laughs when Nico shoves him. Less when he loses his balance and rolls into a tree, but he crawls back, anyway, kicking Nico’s ankle as he lies back next to him, folding his hands over his ribs. Nico watches him for a moment, tracing the round edges of his knuckles, until Will’s smile begins to twitch with him knowing, and he looks hastily back to the sky. It’s embarrassing, Will’s snorting huff of amusement, but more than that it’s electrifying, zapping a trail down Nico’s spine and making him shiver.

He can feel the heat Will is always throwing off, blazing every centimetre from his shoulder to his heels, a hair’s breadth away, a millimetre of distance.

“What else would it look like?” He clears his throat. “Our, um. Our normal?”

Will hums. “New York, probably. Big-ass penthouse with your trust fund.”

“I’m a trust fund baby?!”

“Hey, Nico, how much does dish soap cost?”

Nico opens his mouth, and closes it again. Will’s snickers get louder. Is it considered bad etiquette to banish one’s significant annoyance to the Underworld? Only permanently, probably. If he only keeps him there for a couple weeks it should be find. A couple weeks would be appropriately humbling.

“And what do you contribute?” Nico asks, instead of answering. (Not because he doesn’t know. Obviously. Because he is dignified, that’s why.) “Your dimples and boyish charm?”

“Yes, obviously.”

Well.

“…Okay, fair.”

Will snickers triumphantly.

“You still a doctor?”

“Mhm.” Will shifts, mouth curled in amusement. “Paediatric in Mount Sinai. We live close, by the way. You said it’s cause it’s close to Central Park but really you like to hide my lunch in the mornings to have an excuse to come see me.”

“Sounds like you forget your shit a lot, actually.”

“That, too.”

He looks over and smiles at Nico and for a moment he is convinced, wholly genuinely and truly, that the sun that’s been hiding behind the clouds all day has finally peeked out, because he can actually feel his whole body warm, in that slow-rising, penetrating way; he can actually smell the surge of sunshine in the air, feel the red glow in the backs of his eyelids, taste the brightness of the light. Every one of his neurons sinks into his system, sighing, cells reacting to thousands of years of memory of the gentle warm of the Earth’s closest star.

But the sun is not shining, and there is only Will, and his too-big teeth brush against the bottom of his lip, and his dimples show, and his eyes crinkle, and he is more radiant in even his old stained camp shirt and fraying jean shorts than his father has ever been and could ever hope to be. A thousand planets could thrive under a hundred blazing stars and none could come close to him. He knows it, how those ancients felt, the drunken surety as they stood and challenged the gods, swore up and down that their beloveds outshone Venus, Diana, Juno; Will does, Will does, and Nico understands intimately the hubris in a way he scoffed at as a child, because the words bubble and boil and threaten bursting inside of him now. What claim have the Olympians? Over sunlight? Over beauty? Over Will?

“We’re happy?” he says instead, choking hoarsely over the veneer words, over the blocked desperation, truth. “In our normal, we’re happy?”

“Always,” Will whispers. He twists onto his knees, crawling the two inches over to press close, close, closely, hand gentle on Nico’s stomach when he tries to sit up, and presses his lips to Nico’s cheek, dry, twitching with his smile, shaking with his laughter. Nothing is funny, and he isn’t joking, but Nico can feel the giddiness bubbling up and out of him the way sadness flows out in tears; when Will is giddy he giggles, constantly, hiding it barely in his hands, and now he presses it into Nico’s skin, because he knows how Nico aches to hear it, how he watches him like he’s burning it into the ridges of his brain. “I am always happy with you, Niccolò.”

“I love you,” Nico says, fiercely, and it will never be enough, not in English, not in Italian, not in Greek, but he will try. “Te amo. Capiscimi? I love you, Will, I —”

“I know.” The tiny little vibrations of his laughter are — intoxicating; Nico is drunk, ascending. “I know, di Angelo. Sap. I love you, I know.”

He dissolved into giggles into the crook of Nico’s neck, and Nico is lying, still, facing the clouds, and he is warmed, and he is warmed, and he is warmed.

[valtsv]

i can't explain exactly why but in my head press secretary carson is like a cross between all those 2013 wtnv cecil palmer designs depicting a tall skinny guy with slicked back salt and pepper hair and trendy (for the time period) formal but tastefully undone - collar popped, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, pants wrinkled but not creased - office wear, and a hollywood celebrity who's had veneers and a few too many botox jobs. conventionally attractive but subtly "off" in many small ways - just a little too spindly and stiff and with too perfect teeth that look like they'd break your fist on them before they cracked. mannequin man. cranefly from hell build.

[remotewatch]

some call it arrogance

Jack Schlossberg x reader | 2.5k wc

summary: Let’s face it: you kind of suck at paddleboarding. Thankfully, your boyfriend is an eager instructor with a trick up his sleeve!

cw: shameless smut, outdoor recreation, questionable teaching, peppy upbeat softdom jack (good lord), fingering, unprotected sex, if you want to keep your plan b go VOTE ‼️‼️, play fighting, jd is catching strays, this is somewhat a comedy

minors dni and stay out!!!!

Time and time again, you realize that you and Jack have very different definitions of what constitutes a short paddle. You could pass out right here on your little break, sun hat plopped over your face and one leg dangling in the pleasantly cool water. He tugs you closer to his board to drum a few fingers on your knee and ask “You asleep?” just as you’re drifting off.

A barely audible “mhm” is all you care to let out. Jack’s hand slides to your inner thigh, a polite veneer of concern slapped onto his more crude interests.

“Do you need something?” When you lift your hat to squint over at him for being so euphemistic, he’s already zapping you with those doe eyes you struggle to resist.

“Diva, the telephotos,” you mumble as you flop back down. There’s almost certainly no one hiding out in the mangroves waiting to catch you two, but the press had noted the extension of your Japan trip to stop at Iriomote. Your growing collection of condemning paparazzi pics is already nudging at the edge of your mind, and you have no desire to add to it today.

“They can’t get a good shot this far out.” His hand stills when you don’t murmur back how much of a whore he’d have to be to know that so definitively.

“Here, let’s get out of the sun for a bit. Get you a honey stick or something.” A grateful thumbs up is the most movement you care to make.

As much as you like getting into Jack’s hobbies with him, it’s undeniably more fun to have him tow you around whistling Elvis tunes like your little chauffeur. It would be so easy to fall asleep to the sound of it paired with the waves crashing in the distance; maybe you do; it’s really none of your business.

The temperature suddenly drops, and you briefly tilt your hat up to see he’s steered you into a particularly thick mangle. It’s a straight, narrow shot from it up to the shore; exactly the type of hidden launch he’d know about.

He turns around from rooting in the supply bag and waggles a fanned out selection of power bars, honey straws, and glucose gels at you.

“What’re we having today, huh?” Still hiding under your hat, you grasp blindly until you find a few straws and tear one open with your teeth, shoving your dentist’s exasperation to the back of your mind. Jack knows better than to pester you until your temperature and blood sugar level out a bit. Eventually, you rise from the dead and get a better look at your spot.

The mangrove roots here are as thick as you’ve ever seen and rise far enough out of the water that you could set up a hammock under them. Schools of diminutive silver fish swirl beneath the surface, bouncing light back up to paint the underside of the overhead foliage. The two of you are technically visible from open water, but a pap would have to drop anchor at the perfect angle to get more than a glimpse. You remind yourself that you’re on the west side of the island anyway; surely there’s more exciting things to report on than America’s most notorious SUP proficiency gap relationship.

“You’re getting better, you know.” You gnaw at a second honey straw and scrunch up your nose.

“Am I?”

“For sure. Remember Lake Superior?”

“God, must I?” you groan, wincing at the mere thought.

“Gotta appreciate where you started!” Jack is laid out on his board doing alternate toe touches, and the fact that it’s more of an unconscious ritual than a way of showing off his balance makes it all the more annoying.

He’s truly so pretty, even after putting your legs through hell on the way out. The little gaps in the mangrove canopy cover him in spots of sunlight, and he still refuses to buy a smaller pair of shorts, just rolling down the hem of those ratty old ones until they’re shorter than any of yours. You’re too busy watching them fall further down his thighs with every leg raise to notice he’s still talking.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said-,” Jack finishes the last of his coconut water and smacks his lips. “Why don’t you stretch a bit before we head back?” You press your hands flat as if to push yourself up, and he notes your hesitation.

“What is it?”

“…Can you spot me?” His smile cracks his whole face open like a fresh daffodil, clearly thrilled to be needed.

“Why, certainly.”

You brace yourself as he slides onto your board as easily as scooting closer on the couch, quads flexing delectably while he helps you stand up.

“Do a forward bend for me,” Jack effortlessly slips back into his instructor cadence, to the point that you could forget he’s your boyfriend aside from his hands feeling far more than professionally comfortable on your hips. He leans up against your backside to peer over you as you place your palms flat on the deck, not bothering to conceal how much it excites him. After the tension of the paddle out and stiffening up during your nap, the stretch in your hamstrings is virtually orgasmic. Jack doesn’t miss the little sigh of relief you let out, nor do you the the smugness that spills into his voice.

“And walk it out, just like that,” you can feel him staring at your ass and can’t even kick his shin without knocking you both over.

“Can you at least pretend to enjoy this a little less?” it doesn’t sound very commanding with his dick pressed right up against you before you shift into downward dog. Even less so when he knows how much you love a good calf stretch, knows exactly how far to push you into it to make you melt in his hands.

“If I’m not happy to be here, how can I expect you to have any fun?” There’s a brief wobble as he reaches to grab your ankles and help you move to a headstand, but one shift of his heel and you might as well be back on dry land.

“That’s why I said pretend.”

“That’s why I’m not an actor. And, push yourself up!” If nothing else, you’re decent at handstands, at least with Jack ready to catch your legs. Decent on a good day, that is, when the humidity isn’t bleeding your energy like a stuck pig. Your right palm slips into the water, and you screw your eyes shut in anticipation of a face full of board and a few tree bark scrapes.

“Fuck!” you hiss, but his grip instantly locks down on your ankles and lifts you out of the line of fire. Jack’s obliques ripple as he rights the board, and he’s very clearly pleased to catch your notice of it.

“That’s alright, you had a few good seconds there.” He lets you swing a few moments longer than necessary before lowering you back down and piping up again. Ever the show-off.

“It’s always…,” he hesitates as if he’s searching for the right words. “-been my understanding that if you can balance on all fours in unfavorable circumstances, you can stay standing just fine.”

“And what kind of unfavorable circumstances would you be talking about?” it’s obvious, though you’d rather hear him say it. He knows you too well to take the bait and cheekily rolls his eyes.

“You know, the favorable ones.”

“Is that what they teach you at surf instructor school?” Your hands are back on the board now, and you kick one foot free to slide it down his chest under his shorts.

“Oh yeah, the first thing,” he chuckles, fishing it out before helping you down into a plank.

Jack somehow wriggles his way under you without causing any major upheaval, claiming it’s the easiest way to check your form. He’s talking like this is your first time on a board just to wind you up and making no attempt to hide how much he enjoys doing so.

“Now, there’s nothing to it, just gotta make sure you’re not leaning too far to the left-“ he tugs at one of your bikini ties.

“Or the right,” he twists the other between his fingers, not quite loose enough to fall off, but certainly plenty of room for him to slide his fingers below your waistband. His smile grows wider when he pulls them back out to observe their newfound shine. You have a halfhearted go at defending your reactivity.

“That has nothing to do with you.”

“Oh yeah? You’re pulling a JD, getting riled up by the dolphins?” If your balance or endurance were half as good as his, you’d shove him off your board and ditch him right there. The best you can do is double down; a bit pitiful, but better than giving him any satisfaction right after that bullshit.

“And these are the unfavorable circumstances? Seriously?” It’s more the stupid fucking grin on his face than the controlled circles he’s tracing on your clit that’s disrupting your concentration. You’re hoping that focusing on the space between Jack’s eyebrows will keep your mind blank, but his fingers feel better and better the more you try to ignore them sliding around like he’s trying to memorize every cell you’ve got down there.

“It would be deeply irresponsible of me to throw you right into the deep end. Safety first, after all.”

“So irresponsible,” the mocking tone you’re going for doesn’t really work when your pitch is stuttering in perfect response to his movements.

Your eyes slip closed out of habit, but he’s right there playfully pinching your nipple to bring you back to reality.

“Hey, now! No daydreaming during your lesson! That’s not very considerate to your instructor,” he’s trying to pout up at you, hit you right in your weak spot, but he looks far too pleased with himself for the illusion to work.

“What if he deserves it for comparing me to a bloated couch fucker?” Again, the conviction isn’t really there when you’re bending your knees into terrible form trying to chase his touch every time they recede.

Jack yanks his fingers away, sucks them clean with a slippery pop, and kisses you on the point of your chin before shuffling out from under you.

“Clearly you’re not being challenged enough if you can complain like that!”

This time, you do try to kick him off the board, but you have no range at all to put some power into it. That’s what you tell yourself, at least.

“Look at you! You wouldn’t have been able to do that at Lake Superior. Told you you’re getting better!” He’s tugged his shorts down and your swimsuit to the side before you can snap at him, and he actually cackles when he sees how much your lats twitch when he first slides in.

“You’re unbelievable.” The way your voice shakes makes it sound more like a compliment than a last ditch effort to compose yourself.

“That’s what I’ve heard! There you go, arch for me.” He’s not causing much motion yet, only waves big enough to scatter the fish, but you’re wound so tight he might as well be putting you straight through the deck. Your arms are already shaking, and of course Jack notices; how could he not?

“Keep your arms steady. No, don’t lock them up, lean into it,” he’s saying like they’re not on fire, like you can’t feel yourself clamping down on him in some sort of weird unified muscular system effort to keep you from falling on your face.

“Can’t believe y-“

“How fast you’re progressing? I know, right! You must have a pretty good teacher!” He’s absolutely insufferable. You’ve been moving nonstop since dawn, he’s got your ass locking up like an NDA, and his voice is still perfectly fucking steady.

Jack’s middle finger just barely trails along your side, feather-light enough to raise goosebumps on your skin.

“You’re holding too much tension here.” Thank god, he mercifully spares you the lecture about proper abdominal engagement.

“Jack, I can’t- I’m gonna fall!” The wavering in your voice is so unbelievably humiliating when he’s barely breaking a sweat. Your arms buckle, threatening collapse, and there he is seamlessly shifting his hands from your hips to swing under your torso and support you when they finally give out, the other splaying flat across the deck.

“Noooo you’re not, you’re fine. You can have a little break, and then we’ll try again, okay?” All while his thrusts remain infuriatingly consistent. The board barely even moves when he catches you. Your nails scrabble at the deck pad, then the limb supporting you, trying to regain your balance, ground yourself, Jesus, something, but he’s got a better angle now and can haul you back onto his dick as hard as he likes without worrying about your arms giving out.

“You’re such an asshole!” you sob as you claw at his forearm.

“Tell me to stop then! Be silly and turn down a free lesson, why dontcha?” Any attempts you make to thrash your way out of Jack’s grasp just stimulate you more, and he’s suppressing a fit of laughter watching you jolt like you’re stuck in a bear trap. When all that’s left for him to knock out of you are little stilted squeals, his resolve softens, and he leans down to kiss your ear.

“I know you can do it. Push yourself up for me.”

The only way out is through. This time, your arms do lock up; blame the unfavorable circumstances. The world narrows to tunnel vision as you watch the board tilt left, then right, with the ringing in your ears making the whole spectacle feel a tinge nightmarish.

Your orgasm hits you hard enough to have Jack choking out an “oh, fuck” that sounds just as strangled as his dick must feel. You can hardly enjoy it over both of your triceps cramping terribly, though you can’t help but feel a little proud of yourself for staying dry when you slump to your elbows halfway through.

As unceremoniously as Jack thuds down at your side, he still instinctively spreads out enough to keep the board steady. He looks about ready to fall asleep, so of course you roll over to bother him.

“Is that how you taught people to surf?”

“Nah, they were way more advanced.”

“Fuck you!” He’s back on his board and paddling out of the inlet in a flash, somehow not flipping yours in the process.

“Sounds like someone doesn’t need any breaks on the return trip!” By some miracle, you manage to grab his leash before he flies past you.

“You’ll tow me back.” Jack spares you a full glance over his shoulder, and there’s an unmistakable streak of you remaining on the left side of his mouth.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m your favorite student.”

[akoyaxs]

dark!coriolanus snow, fem!reader

*❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

“So loud,” he whispers, gripping your hips tightly in his hands. “Is that what you want, to get us caught?”

“N- no,” you pant, pushing your hair from your face and wincing as his grip gets yet tighter on your skin. He must be leaving marks now, but you can’t bring yourself to hate the pain.

You hate him enough already.

You hate his stupid smirk and his way with words that ensures his every victory in any regard. You hate his entitledness and most of all the way that even though you hate him this much, so much that every thought and breath and word of his makes your blood blister in your veins, you can never stop this.

How you can’t seem to stay away from him. That the moment the tension and the arguments and the searing, scorching enmity peaks and overflows, this happens.

Lips smashing angrily on one another, pushing each other away into secret corners and covert shadows, pulling the other closer and pressing nearer and it just never is enough to satiate that burn scorching through you.

Layers stripped away with animalistic impatience proves his dire theories; “the world is the arena and when we have the chance, watch how quickly we deteriorate into basic, primal animals”. Clothes tossed impatiently aside, but most of the time it’s a simple unbuckling of belts and hasty, impatient shovings of skirts. Wrinkles left all over the fine crimson fabric of your uniforms.

And the most detestable part of all is how it stops.

The moment of half-glutted silence for you to catch your breaths, bodies still pressed against one another, hair falling unceremoniously into your shining faces, before it all falls away. The heat of the moment that momentarily would steal your blazing hatred would be washed away, and all that was left was the scorching shame of knowing you let this happen.

Again.

He never seemed to see a problem with this unspoken little arrangement. The two of you never spoke about it, never let a single crack sneak into your veneered detestment for each other. He was fine to succumb to the flames when the blaze became too much, and you always seemed to forget that at the heart of it all, he was snow. He was ice.

No matter how hot it got, you’d never melt him.

Behind you, he draws in a deep breath through his nose. His hand snakes its way from its bruising grip holding the soft skin of your hips in place against him, a cold, thin finger reaching to press against the slick heat of your panting lips.

Each hungry, impatient push of his hips tips you closer to the edge. Your mind is nearly blank beyond the numbing burn of his touches, beyond that nagging reminder of the guilt you’ll feel after this. You push it away.

It’s too late now anyway.

You’ll end up doing this again anyway.

You’ll be trapped in this spiral until he ends it; you don’t think you have the strength. Anyway.

Your own sounds sicken you. Grating cries and barely constrained whimpers spilling past your lips, hardly barred by his cold finger.

He feels strangely hot now. Usually – when the two of you aren’t occupied by this impulse, when the two of you are back to your typical enmity – his skin is as cold and pale as snow. He’s haughty, untouchable. Nothing like this flushed, grunting man pushing himself as close and hard towards you, onto you, into you as he can get.

“Shut up,” he pants, his whole hand pressing over his mouth.

You grit your teeth. But you do. You hate that you do. You hate that you can’t help that you do.

You can’t pull yourself together. To slap him away and shout at him like you so desperately want to. To watch those cold blue eyes fill with thoughts and breaths and just plain and simply you. Because he’s all that consumes you now.

Not just with his lips and lust. Even after you break apart and smooth the wrinkles from your uniforms, hiding the searing touches you left across one another, he never leaves from you. He’s burnt into your mind.

So searing it feels like ice. So hard and urgent and pressing it feels like soft, gentle kisses. So dark it’s pure, unadultered white.

Like snow.

*❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

Tagging my darlings:

@hadesbabygurl @wavesarchive @kqlopsia @tadomikiku @ntymavtr @mommyanddadskiller @thehoneymushroomhealer @tsireyax @integers @tiyawnyana @whatevenisagrapefruit @oakbuggy @sunsetviper @blue-slxt @simplyawh0re@yootvi @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @vminlvxr @elegantfankidsoul @blue-slxt @neteyamssyulang @theunfortunateplace @lala-1516 @strongheartneteyam @kiskso @deadpool15 @vampirefilmlover @tysirya @universal-s1ut

[halestrom]

I made this gifset in an attempt to try not write the fic. It backfired. And I am really happy with the first scene so I felt like sharing 🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️

Warnings for: blood, violence, pain, underground fighting. It’s mob boss Jake and fighter Bradley.

The first punch was always the worst. The feeling of knuckles against his skin; the way his head snapped back as pain spread across his synapses; the sudden urge to run filling his bones until he felt jittery with the need; the way thought fled his mind but the training ground into his very being had his arms coming up to defend himself from a second punch. All of it happening in a split second as the crowd roared around them in muted joy at the blood he could feel trickling down his face and then the world rushed back in and Bradley was moving, dodging the next punch and instead throwing one of his own, catching his opponent high on the chin and watching as his head snapped down and he went down in slow motion.

The ref was there, arms as thick as tree trunks pressing against Bradley’s chest to push him back, the tattoos wrapped around his skin telling his story as easily as the scars on Bradley’s body told his. Still, his opponent kept falling until he hit the mat and laid there, bleeding, eyes closed as his team screamed at him to get up, to get moving, to do something as the time wound down in flashes as the crowd screamed along with the coach because they wanted more blood than they already had, spattered around the ring that looked nicer than it should have for the world it belonged in.

But that was the nature of this world. Shiny, pretty things covered in blood, a veneer over the dark underground Bradley had found himself in. It was easy to forget, sometimes, what this world could do, with its brightly lit parties, the men and women dressed to the nines with flashing jewelry and perfectly done hair, outfits that cost as much as a new home. It was all a cover for the darkness, for the jockeying for the front row on the off chance some of the blood would fly over them, a badge of pride to wear for how close to the violence they could get. Bradley had been at more than one afterparty, face bruised and nose broken, again, only to talk to people who had blood splattered over theirs, some of the women with that blood splatter having smudged lipstick which told a tale as easily as the swollen lips of some of the men.

Violence and sex, a tale as old as time.

“Ten!”

The crowd screamed it’s joy as the ref grabbed his arm and raised it over his head, bare knuckles swollen and sore, his shoulder aching from a hit he had taken, the bruises over his ribs mottled and layered in various stages of healing. But all of it faded in satisfaction as he watched the other team pull his opponent out of the way of the rush of people, clamoring to get closer to him as his name was chanted.

“Your winner for the night ladies and gentlemen, Rooster!” the MC screamed into the mike, mouth twisted in a rictus grin, tall and thin and looking like the Grim Reaper himself in his black suit and pale skin.

Bradley knew his job, he knew what he needed to do to keep the favor as he shove his other hand up in the air and dropped his head back, crowing his victory, again, and spitting out the mouth guard, grinning with bloody teeth and split lips, his cheek aching even as the ref dropped his arm and people swarmed, hands clapping him on the back, hitting muscles covered in bruises as he worked his way through the crowd, accepting congratulations and smiling for flashing phones with his arms draped around women who let their hands drop lower than he wished, like he was just something else that was part of the setting and not a real person.

Sometimes, he doubted they thought of him as a real person. It probably made it easier.

He made it back to the corner, hands still clapping him on the back, fingers finding the sore spots and bruising them but he ignored it as he took the towel from his cutman for the night, wiping his face clear, the fabric ripped away from him as soon as he was done and he let it, bracing his arms on the ropes and letting his eyes slide from the cut man who was talking to a man in a fancy suit to a man dressed in a pair of jeans and a white shirt, looking so out of place with the rest of the peacocks but despite that, he looked like he belonged.

And he did. After all, this building belonged to him, the money that changed hands came with a tax that fed back into him, securing his empire with each punch thrown and real time bet made. Jake Seresin was at the top of this world, and like every other thing in this room, Bradley belonged to him.

“Good enough for you?” Bradley asked, forcing himself to smile around aching lips.

Jake smiled back at him, small and sharp and at odds with the coldness in his ice green eyes. “Better than, sweetheart,” Jake said, voice smooth and warm and it was a balm on Bradley’s bruises as he felt some of the tension leave his shoulders.

A good fight meant a good paycheck, something better than could mean a bonus. Something Bradley could use to chip away at the bills and put some money away so when his day finally came, his parents wouldn’t be left with the debt.

“Good,” Bradley said, folding his arms and resting his chin on them.

“Taking the hit at the end was inspired,” Jake said, taking a step closer until he was looking up at Bradley, head tilted back but Bradley knew who held the power here.

Crouching until they were eye to eye, Bradley left his hands on the top rope, keeping himself steady as Jake stepped ever closer, reaching out to brush a thumb over the bruise Bradley could already feel swelling his eye closed. “Half the idiots in the room upped their ante on you getting KO’d. Idiots.”

The derision wasn’t masked, but Jake never needed to mask anything. Not with his power, not with the three bodyguards Bradley could make out, and the loyalty of half the room. Bradley shrugged when it seemed like Jake was waiting for an answer. “Wasn’t thinking,” he said, telling the truth.

Bradley didn’t think when he fought. He had an objective. Win. That was all he needed to do and anything else would get in the way. Once upon a time he had thought more, building up the tension until he struck. But that was a long time ago, a different person. He couldn’t risk being that person anymore, not when he needed to keep standing.

Jake smiled like Bradley had said something funny and leaned in, hand still cupping Bradley’s jaw, thumb pressing down on the edge on the bruise until Bradley hissed at the bloom of pain, ignoring the way his pulse pounded. “Regardless, a fight like that deserves a reward. So what do you want, darlin’?”

Money. A way out. A year without something going wrong. To get rid of the axe hanging over his mother’s neck as each month passed and her cancer stayed in remission. To go back in time and beg God a little bit harder for a miracle so Bradley wasn’t drawn into his life. He wanted a lot of things. Jake Seresin might be god in this world, but Bradley knew better than to pray to the devil.

“A good days sleep,” he said dryly, smiling at Jake who huffed, a ghost of something Bradley might almost classify as a real smile ghosting his lips for a second.

“Oh, I think we can arrange that,” Jake said, moving his hand and rubbing a thumb over Bradley’s bottom lip before dropping his hand, but not before Bradley saw the red smeared on it. He licked his bottom lip and tasted salt and copper where there had only been copper before.

“Oh yeah?” Bradley asked, tilting his head to the side, wondering what Jake meant.

Jake gave him a once over before he nodded. “Finish up and then clean up, Rooster. Meet me in my office. We’ll get you out of here before dawn.”

Bradley knew a dismissal when he heard it and he nodded, standing and ignoring the ache in his muscles as he turned back to the crowd, aware of eyes on him, once again aware of the role he needed to play as he thrust arms up into the air and crowe. It was all the crowd needed before they surged, content with the knowledge Bradley had paid his dues to the man who owned all of them and now he was fair game.

Hands grabbed him and he was pulled into the crowd, the world reduced to flashes and half heard comments and Bradley focused on it, letting himself get drawn into it so he didn’t have to think about an opponent he would never see again, and a meeting in an office that had turned him down this path and taken him from aspiring MMA fighter to Jake Seresin’s prize fighter.

[elenawritesxx]

Nightmare // Klaus Mikaelson x fem!reader

summary - reader has a nightmare but klaus is there to help her through it; request; warnings - small panic attack, no mentions of y/n, klaus being a softie for reader; word count - 737; for @lizzielovesmovies hope you enjoy it:))

———

Darkness engulfed everything.

The forest seemed endless, each step pulling you deeper into the shadows. Cold sweat coated your skin as you ran, breath ragged, heart pounding against your ribs. The haunting sounds of wolves howling echoed through the trees, chasing you down, and no matter how fast you moved, they were always just behind.

Suddenly, the ground gave way beneath your feet, and you fell. Down and down, spiraling into a pit of nothingness. You screamed, but no sound came out, just the deafening silence and the feel of cold, invisible hands pulling at you, scratching you, suffocating you. Desperate, you reached out for something, anything to hold onto, but all you found was darkness.

A low growl filled the void, too close for comfort. You turned, your eyes wide with terror, and there he stood—the figure of a wolf, obscured by the mist, eyes glowing an unnatural yellow, lips curled into a menacing growl, showing it's sharp teeth.

You froze as the wolf stepped closer, barking at you, you couldn't move, and as the wolf launched at you, you jolted awake, gasping, heart still racing as though it had been real. Sweat slicked your skin, and your breath came in shallow, uneven bursts. You blinked, taking in the familiar surroundings of your room, but the terror from the nightmare clung to you, making it impossible to calm down. The silence felt too loud, the shadows too deep.

Suddenly, there was a soft creek of the door barely audible, but enough to make you jump.

"Love?" Klaus's voice came through, a gentle from his usual roughness. He pushed the door open slightly, his blue eyes finding yours immediately. Concern was etched on his face as he entered the room. "I heard your heartbeat from down the hall."

You tried to catch your breath, still shaken. "Just... a nightmare," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Without a word, Klaus crossed the room to your bedside, his presence alone somehow grounding you. He sat down next to you, his eyes scanning your face with an intensity that made you feel safe. His hand found yours, thumb brushing gently over your knuckles.

"A nightmare?" he repeated softly, the edge of his accent smoothing the words. "It must have been quite dreadful to rattle you like this." His eyes softened, and for a moment, the centuries of hardness fell away, revealing the man beneath the immortal veneer. "You're safe now. I'm here."

You shivered, your body still tense from the aftershocks of the dream. "I-I know," you stammered, "but it felt so real... I couldn't breathe."

Klaus let go of your hand only to swiftly remove his grey shirt, his movements slow and deliberate. "Here," he said, offering it to you. "You're sweating through yours"

The gesture was so unexpected, so tender, that you didn't hesitate. You took your shirt off and taking the shirt from him, the fabric still warm from his body, you slipped it on. It smelled of him—faintly of cedar and something uniquely Klaus. His scent wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, immediately soothing your nerves.

Klaus watched you quietly, his gaze lingering on you. He didn't speak, but the warmth in his eyes was more than enough. He moved to sit at the edge of the bed, his hand once again finding yours.

"I'll stay right here," he promised, his voice a soft murmur. "No one will harm you, not while I'm here. Close your eyes, love."

You nodded, your eyes fluttering shut, but sleep didn't come immediately. You could still feel the weight of the nightmare pressing down on you, and the silence was unnerving. Sensing your unease, Klaus shifted closer, his hand brushing over your hair gently, fingers threading through the strands.

"Rest," he whispered. "It was just a dream. You're safe. I'm here to protect you."

The steady sound of his voice, his fingers gently stroking your hair, and the comfort of his presence finally began to work. Slowly, the tension in your body eased, and your breathing evened out. The weight of his hand in yours anchored you to the present, pulling you away from the remnants of your nightmare.

With Klaus by your side, the darkness seemed less threatening, and for the first time that night, you let yourself drift into peaceful sleep, knowing that no nightmare could reach you as long as he was there.

[winged-self-indulgence]

Dearly beloved we are gathered here today to honour @queeniesblog, who enables the demon living rent free in my brain. Consider this an early-early-early gift. 1.9K words, AFAB!MC, Favor VN wedding night DLC lmao

Z insists on carrying you across the threshold. You’re not even sure where he heard about the tradition, antiquated as it was. Perhaps the demon had overheard one of your more imaginative bridesmaids daydreaming about it, or maybe Z had crashed some medieval wedding in Europe and liked the idea of tossing his chosen human over his shoulder and making off with them like a beast out of the darkest folktales. You hadn’t been able to get a straight answer out of the demon, which was such a common occurrence you wondered why you'd even tried in the first place.

“You only had to carry me into the house,” you roll your eyes, wrapping your arms tighter around Z’s broad shoulders. “Not all the way from the wedding venue. I didn’t have to be in your lap for the whole trip.”

He’s partly shifted, the transformation dial swinging somewhere between the mostly human veneer you met them as and the massive abyssal creature you’ve only seen when the demon slips into your dreams. Even then, the shape was unclear, leaving only the vague sense of being utterly dwarfed by a thing so far beyond human comprehension that your brain struggled to put the separate pieces together.

This form is easier to perceive. At the very least, the 7ft 5” frame didn’t make your brain struggle with the wretchedness of the chthonic depths.

Z’s arms tighten around your frame, tar-drenched hands sliding over the pearl-studded filigree of your snow-white gown – their idea of a joke – to squeeze the plush underside of your thighs.

“And let those weaklings doubt my claim over you?” Z’s lips pull down into an exaggerated moue of distaste. “Perish the thought, Dove. Besides, you were the one who vetoed the other ritual–”

“I’m not letting you fuck me in front of your entire court!” You cut him off, face hot with what you are choosing to label as pure mortification. The lascivious flash of Z’s teeth tells you otherwise and you do your best to glare right back. “It’s not happening, you horndog!”

“Mm, I don’t know sweetheart,” Z murmurs and holds you closer, pulling you flush against his frame. Curved fangs nudge at your throat, exerting a sharp pressure through the delicate collar wrapped around vulnerable flesh. It’s a heady reminder. It is also a delicious threat. You shudder, a breath hitching somewhere in your chest, and the demon laughs at the sound, breath hot against your skin and sending another shiver down your spine. “I bet I could figure out some way to convince you.”

As soon as the door to the bedroom opens, Z’s lips are on yours. The kiss is fervent, devouring, an arrogant forked tongue pressing into your mouth with intent that has you squirming in place. Your own hormones and the weight of his huge frame pin you to the bed while rough hands roam over your body, greedy and insatiable, the demon unable to control the sheer voracity of their appetite for you. They caress the shape of your body through your clothes, groping with palms that feel burning hot even through layers of beading and silk.

Their tongue traces a slick trail up to the sensitive skin behind your ear. The jagged pinch of canines against the helix of your ear has you choking back a desperate whimper, and the demon retracts long enough to click his teeth. “Nuh-uh. Whine for me, baby. I wanna hear every sound out of that pretty little mouth.”

The next bite is far less gentle, and the wordless cry that falls from your lips burns your cheeks. You want to retaliate somehow, but Z’s tail is infuriatingly out of reach, lashing back and forth behind the demon’s back in a manner that betrays their obvious excitement.

“There’s my Dove,” Z coos against your lips, smirking at your overheated expression. “Poor thing, you must be so uncomfortable in all those layers, darling. Here, let me help you get those pesky clothes off.”

A hand grabs the front of your strapless dress and yanks, filling the room with the sound of tearing fabric. Before you can open your mouth complain, Z’s mouth is on your exposed breasts, and your mind instantly goes blank. Your back arched, head falling back against the pillow as the demon laves his tongue over your nipples, drawing them deep into mouth and sucking as though by sheer dedication he can force your tits to grow swollen with milk.

Muscular arms reach down to hitch your hips around Z’s waist. It’s a stretch in this form, huge as he is, and your thighs split embarrassingly wide. You gasp, feeling the solid weight of his bulge prodding against your barely clothed cunt and you can’t stop yourself from pushing harder against the thick length. The lingerie you’d worn for your wedding night was designed more for form than actual function, hardly more than a few thin pieces of pearl-white lace held together by thinner ribbons. A single tug from your fingers would send it fluttering to pieces.

Already sheer enough to narrowly fit the definition of underwear, your juices have turned the fabric nearly transparent, moulding it against the lips of your pussy. In the face of that, Z’s cock seems like overkill – prominent veins grinding back into the motion of your hips with enough force to knock the breath from you.

“Look at you, getting my cock all nice and slick,” Z groans into your ear, an arm hiking your left leg higher while the other pinches your chin and drags your face to meet his fiery gaze. “Fuck, you’re drenched baby. Such a needy hole, huh?”

“Z!” You spit out the demon’s name, fed up with their teasing. “I need–! Just put it in already!”

“Put what in?” He taunts, blinking those amber eyes innocently while a fat glob of precum pools at the tip of his cock. You feel the obscene warmth when it reaches the sodden cloth barely protecting what’s left of your chastity. You open your mouth to repeat your demands, but another jerk of Z’s hips has you whining again. When he speaks again, his voice drips with false regret. “Whoops, I’m so sorry Dove, I didn’t mean to. Come on, use your words baby. I’m listening. Where exactly do you want me to put my cock?”

“I-Inside,” you gasp, struggling to hook your ankles at Z’s back so you can draw the demon closer to you. “Please, I need you inside!”

“Then get those pretty panties off, Dove,” Z pushes themselves up, taking the weight off their arms and off you. The sudden change fills you with a strange sense of loss, until you lift your head and find the demon still looming over your, eyes still fixed on your debauched state with terrifying intensity. It’s inhuman; a flat, hungry stare that promises to swallow you whole – bones and all.

A hand is wrapped around their cock, rhythmically squeezing dark flesh up and down and occasionally pausing to thumb the bulbous tip that oozes sticky precum. The sight makes your mouth water, until Z lets out a dark chuckle.

“Dove,” he croons, hand never stopping or slowing down, “you know how impatient I can be. Unless you want me to shove my cock down your throat instead of that pretty little cunt, I’d advise you to stop looking at me like that.”

Huffing, you manage to tear your eyes away and focus on reaching for your underwear. It’s practically tissue at this point, scarcely more than scraps clinging to your cunt, and yet the act of peeling them away feels somehow obscene. Instinctively, you try to inch your legs shut, but a large hand catches you by the ankle and drags you into the embrace of an inferno.

You catch yourself against Z’s broad chest, yelping when you find yourself back in a variant of your earlier pose – this time balanced upright in the demon’s lap instead of pinned prone on the bed. Z’s cock finds itself back against your pussy lips, this time without even the minuscule protection of your underwear. A glance down reveals the sheer difference in size between the two of you, his cockhead reaching beyond your navel.

“You can take it, honey,” Z hums, reaching down to press two fingers through your slick folds. The stretch has you gasping his name, wrapping your arms tighter around his shoulders as your pussy squeezes around Z’s pointer and middle digits. He stretches you out, whispering filth into your ear while he fondles you with a teasingly condescending sort of affection. “Aw, is it too much for you, pet? You can handle a little more for me, can’t you? Oh no, no, no, don’t you dare hide your face from me, darling. You’re so cute when you cry. That’s it, give it to me.”

Z jams his thumb against your clit, curling his fingers at the same time. Your vision goes white, blurry with tears, as you careen into an orgasm so intense that you swear you see entire galaxies spinning before you. When you manage to come back to yourself, the head of his cock his lined up with your hole. A pleading moan is all the acquiescence Z requires before it pops in, and you scramble to cling to your sanity.

The stretch burns, a pleasurable heat that arches your back and forces another inch of Z’s cock into your cunt. “Shit,” the demon curses, an arm holding up your weight and the talons of the other gripping the mattress below in a concerted effort to hold back as best he can. “Fuck don’t do that, Dove. So goddamn tight, you’ll make me come if you don’t stop squeezing me like that.”

“Feels too good,” you moan back, fighting the urge to obey gravity and sink down onto the girth splitting you open. Only Z’s grip on your waist prevents that from happening, and it’s your turn to grow impatient. “You said I could have anything as long as I asked. Are you going to deny me on our wedding night?”

“Hm, I see someone’s grown spoiled,” Z smirks down at you, unmoving despite the flush high on his cheeks. Behind him, his tail thrashes back and forth, belying his smug words. “Ask me nicely pet.”

You barely refrain from rolling your eyes, before biting back a sardonic look of your own. Leaning closer, you force yourself to balance on your knees – dislodging Z’s cock completely, causing him to curse under his breath – and press your lips to his ear.

“Pretty please, oh Great Marquis, won’t you please come inside my cunt?” You whine in the most breathy, put-upon, amateur porno actress voice you can muster. “I’m so wet for you, and I need you to shove your fat cock into my tiny little pussy and fill me up so much that I can’t even stand. Please Z, please fuck my wet little – ah!”

“Be careful what you ask for,” Z hissed, spearing you on his cock. Once again, your world vanishes, reduced to nothing else beyond broken moans and the burning pleasure of Z’s swollen cock abusing your aching cunt. “Don’t worry, Dove, I’ll make it up to you. Since you want my come so badly, I’ll make sure to fuck you niiiice and full. After all, we have all the time in the world…”

[parkavenuesmiles]

Dental Veneers: Debunking 8 Myths and Revealing Facts About Them Modern dentistry provides patients with many options to improve the appearance of their smile and solve dental problems. One of the innovative solutions popular among patients and professionals is veneers, which improve the appearance of teeth and restore lost functions. However, there are a lot of myths and misconceptions that circulate around this technology, creating confusion and misunderstanding. In this article, we'll shed light on eight common myths about veneers and get to the bottom of the facts behind them. Read more: https://otherarticles.com/health/dental-care/272384-dental-veneers-debunking-8-myths-and-revealing-facts-about-them.html https://www.yonkersdentalspa.com/dental-veneers/

[izvmimi]

where there's smoke, there's fire - izuku x reader

summary: it's hard to get out of a loving relationship.

cw: yandere, horror, home invasion, manipulative behavior, abusive relationship, reader's kinda sick in the head too, smut, fem!parts, noncon/dubcon, oral sex (fem!receiving), penetrative sex

a/n: idk every overpowered person needs a killswitch ig.

You awake from a nightmare.

It's the type that has you bolting straight up to a sitting position, head pounding, throat dry and heart thumping in your chest in a frenzy. You're not sure what the dream was about, just that you were out cold for an unspecified amount of time, and while a sense of malaise is still set deep in your bones, there's an even more substantial leaden feeling in your arms, as though parts of you are still waking up.

And something is wrong, something that isn't neatly contained within the realm of REM sleep. You can sense it, keenly. It is dark in your room, and when your eyes finally adjust, you’re shocked to realize that your home is filled top to bottom with a thick haze of smoke.

Gasping, you then cover your mouth, remembering everything fire safety has taught you. Yet somehow, something about the smoke is wrong. There's no alarm going off from your smoke detectors, and you had an inspection recently, so you know those work. The smoke seems... wrong: too thick and evenly spread to be coming from a fire whose heat isn't close enough to feel. When you crawl out of the bed carefully, kicking off satin sheets, and using your fingers to make your way through the dense veneer, you realize it's still cold in fact, cold enough that you are shivering.

Perhaps it is fear that keeps the fine hairs on the back of your neck on end.

Still trailing around your mattress you maneuver further, waving a hand through the smoke. Maybe if you can find your phone, left charging on your dresser for once and not thrown irresponsibly on the other side of your bed as you slept, you can figure out what’s going on and call for help.

Your heart is still pounding, a thump, thump, thump, that is relentless.

The smoke smells wrong.

You find your phone, and somehow manage to turn on your flashlight.

The smoke is...

purple.

Your eyes widen with realization and you start to turn quickly.

"Izuku-"

There's a flash of green that seems to leap out of the darkness before you can begin to scream, and a body collides with yours, with the sensation almost like being hit by a moving vehicle in terms of speed and power; it takes your breath away, and a hand clasped firmly over your mouth refuses to let you draw a breath.

The smoke doesn't dissipate, not yet, but you can see him now, almost too clearly, and then your eyes water and your vision clouds.

"I missed you," he says, matter-of-factly. As if he hadn’t just broken into your home. As if he were welcome.

You try to say something but both the hand sealing away your voice and the firm hold he has on your body, pressing it close against his as he leans you against the dresser, allows you no such justice. Your phone crashes off the surface too loudly, and the squeak of the legs as the dresser slides across wooden flooring pierces through your ears.

Izuku's grin is wide and unsettling, like a feral cat delighted to finally have caught its unsuspecting prey. His teeth are disturbingly white in the dark, and his eyes still gleam like electricity in a storm. He doesn't need to use OFA to trap you, and nevertheless, you can see it ripple through his body as a form of intimidation.

By now, he knows that you've already given up flight, and he loves that you know that he knows. You stare at each other for a moment, recognizing the gravity of the situation, and time freezes for a split second.

Then it resumes.

"Say it back," he mutters now, dropping his hand. You'd forgotten to breathe in all this time, not even daring to inhale from your nose, and now suck in a huge volume of air, crying as you breathe it out.

He lets you weep silently for a few more moments, your hands digging deep into the edge of the dresser, watching you with the blank expression that is so unlike him but also far too much like him. It's the one that is devoid of his usual compassion, once he's decided that you are in no way worth saving but rather something to be dealt with. Swiftly, efficiently. When you catch it and recognize it for what it is, your blood runs cold and suddenly your tears dry up. They’re pointless.

"Say it back." his tone is more demanding now, and you shake your head.

"I didn-"

"Say it back." he repeats again, and he advances. The smoke is starting to clear finally, ever so slightly, and you can see a little more of him. He is superficially the same as you remember before you disappeared on him just a few months ago - same broad shoulders and imposing height, heroic frame despite the boyish, freckled face - but there’s a faint pallor under his skin, and he's just very slightly more gaunt, something you can peek from the neckline of his plain blue t-shirt, and there is a very slight tremulousness that extends to his fingertips that reminds you he is much more angry than he wants to let on.

You step back reflexively and consider standing your ground, and then you remember that the same hands that once held your face gently have leveled a building to that same ground, and you swallow hard.

"I-it's been a while." your voice is barely audible, weak, not much more than a whisper.

"That's not what I asked you to say," Izuku catches immediately. But he allows it, leaning in, and his face is all smiles again. Your stomach turns and again you're leaning back, but all that is behind you is a hard surface, and he even helps you up there, immediately hoisting you onto the short dresser so that your back presses against a mirror, something that can so easily break. 

It’s not really that unlike you now that you think about it. You are just as fragile.

He snorts.

"Did you think I couldn't find you?" he asks.

You shake your head and he laughs, and quicker than a flash he's grabbed your face by the underside of your chin, squishing your cheeks together in mock intimacy.

"How cute."

Your throat dries up again enough that a sharp breath would make you choke and sputter.

His eyes dart back and forth, inspecting every part of your body, from your face to your neck, bosom to your upper limbs, then your thighs, bare in pajama shorts. You feel unreasonably vulnerable, like he has x-ray vision, seeing to the very center of your person. There is an impulse to cover your chest, despite being covered tastefully in a tank top, and when you try to cross your arms, he forces them back to their sides.

There's a gasp you let out and then you bite your lip silent, afraid to make him angry. Izuku glares at you, licking his lips.

"You realize I only let you go so you could get back to your senses, right?"

This has you taken aback, despite all your fear. What does he mean, 'get back to your senses'? You meant it when you left. Things had felt wrong for far too long, and the walls were starting to close in... calling too much, worrying too much, comments about your clothing and your comings and goings, nervous about any men who he wasn't aware of becoming too familiar, even your own brother... It had all become too much the longer you dated and suddenly you were a frog nearly half-boiled, realizing it was almost too late.

Maybe it is too late now. Izuku, you can tell, is still in his own twisted way, in love with you.

After all, his hand is running gently the length of your thigh as he waits for you to speak. You won't speak, but you know you can't look away, lest he throw a real tantrum. As if stalking you right now and demanding you tell him you missed him is not tantrum enough.

The smoke continues to clear.

"You're taking too long to apologize, my love." he says, once his hand has reached your face again, and he's tilting your face to look at him. You allow him to move you, like a warm life-size doll, not a human with thoughts and feelings of your own.

"I've missed you so much... sure i've been busy, but going home to that cold bed without you, night after night? How cruel can you be?"

He turns to look at your own bed, smaller than the one you shared but still enough space for two.

"Do you still sleep on the left side?" he asks. This time he's not looking at you, still staring at the mangled sheets on both ends.

He turns back to you now, expecting an answer, and when you don't give him one immediately, he repeats himself again, sharply.

"Do you?"

"Yes." you admit, wondering why it sounds like a grave confession. He smiles, and you try not to look at him. and yet he tilts you face back in his direction before asking you another question.

"Bunny, you're so cruel, you know that? Valentine's day?" he asks. His eyebrow raises  and he tilts his head to the side. "How could you leave me on Valentine's day?"

When should I have? you ask in your head, thankful he can't hear your thoughts.

"I had a ring, love. I wanted to marry you, maybe that day even. We could sign some papers and disappear with each other for a little while… It could have been such a beautiful thing, you know how badly I need a break! So imagine how it felt to see that you were long gone!"

Izuku's grip on your chin tightens for a moment, then he pushes you slightly. The back of your head taps gently at the mirror behind you, but it doesn't hurt and the glass doesn't break, even if there is a sting where his fingers pressed onto your skin.

He steps back and laughs again, really laughs, hands running through his hair as he doubles over in amusement. 

"I looked so stupid! flowers and chocolate and stuffed animals and sparklers... I was going to fly you up to the highest point and write our names in the sky.. I was..." his voice trails off, and he is staring off into space. You are shaking now, crying too, somewhere between terrified and enraged the longer he speaks.

His eyes narrow as his gaze snaps back to you from your sniffling sound.

"Say what you want to say, dove." The edge in his voice is palpable though, as if he is expecting a hit that he will return with just as much fervor.

“You can't force me.” Vitriol seeps from your voice but it’s shaky and unconvincing.

And so he laughs, again, sinking down finally onto your bed, and laying backward, an action that makes you almost furious. A mocking laugh, arms spreading like he would make a snow angel; bile rises in your throat and you fidget but you don't move, knowing that your break for it has to be smart if it will be successful.

"But you can make me fall for you?" he asks, through humorless chuckles. "That's not fair, is it?"

Bolder now, you retort, "I didn't make you do anything."

Izuku doesn't like this response, moving fast enough that one second he's off the bed and right in your face and the other second has you thrown onto the mattress itself; so fast that you barely register it until your back is where his back was, and he is hovering right on top of you.

"You approached me first." This is said harshly, as though he is regretful of that fateful encounter and you resist the urge to spit in his face.

No, you just said hi to him first, and he was smitten that you'd given him any attention, The cute but admittedly terribly awkward boy sitting alone in a coffee shop, with an extra chair that you'd wanted to borrow for your friends. Maybe you'd given him too long of eye contact, maybe it was the fact that you didn't know who he was yet; maybe you had flirted a little the second time you met, but who wouldn't when having a chance to meet the charming hero on television, the one who hugged children and petted dogs and smiled to the camera and disappeared villains in the blink of an eye?

How could you have known he had a couple screws loose? He was so good otherwise.

Until the paranoia set in. the obsession with you and your safety and your innocence and you belonging to him and the constant explaining away of unhinged behavior, and the long periods of absence with sudden, extreme and unending demands for intimacy - he was making you as crazy as he was.

"I didn't know you were insane."  you finally say, looking straight up into his eyes, brazen behavior arising from three years of almost pulling your hair out and three short months of fear.

His eyes widen, and for a split second he looks furious, and in his eyes you suddenly see a storm - in fact, you imagine your entire home up in flames and lightning instead of smoke - and then he kisses you.

You fight back, but the grip on your wrists is like wrought iron - in fact, as though making a mockery of you as he leans all of his weight on top of you, he shifts your wrists forced at your sides to rest above your head, then uses one hand to keep them together, the other stroking the side of your face gently. The longer you kick at him, the longer he presses your legs down, then adjusts his weight to pin you fully, the longer you can feel your head start to spin from lack of air in your lungs.

"Settle down." he orders you, once you're almost dizzy, as the fight quickly makes its way out of you. He forces his tongue down your throat and suddenly, eventually, instead of biting you accept it, because this is a body you know, and a body that you've fought but you've also held, and the taste of his tongue is the same as it's always been.

His weight is familiar, and the way he sucks your tongue and his lips clash with yours is intimate, and again your fighting spirit drains further and further. Your limbs grow limp and he adjusts, now less on top of you and more fitted against you, large body accommodating to the spread of your legs.

He pulls back, and your eyelids flutter. Izuku looks at you with an unnatural amount of love, an unsettling amount of love, a love that is crushingly abundant and inescapable.

You hear him whisper, "that's my girl."

It should make you angry, but instead you're tired, exhausted even, and then you're comforted, because why fight him when you won't win and when he loves you anyway?

Will anyone else ever feel this strongly about you, enough to remove any obstacles in your path, even if it is your own silly will to be free? Will anyone else be so willing to be your own personal monster, at your beck and call?

You have the power to make the prison your home. After all, you are not only stuck to him, he is just as much stuck to you.

Deku is a good hero. Izuku is a good man. He is your man.

He’s strange, and he’s terrifying, but that’s because he is special. Unique. You have to understand where he’s coming from. If not you, then who else?

Your hands curl into his hair, tugging softly and your body shifts too, legs wrapping around his waist keeping him snug against you. You know if he wanted to, he would as easily melt into your skin as he wishes you would consume him. After all, what else runs through his head all day? It is only natural that separation from you should make him this anxious, this self- and outwardly destructive.

There is tragedy just as much as there is comedy and joy in fate.

"Do you love me?" you ask, as you feel Izuku grow against you with every wave of his body against your center. He nips and bites at you relentlessly, leaving hickeys everywhere he can reach. Marking you, marking you, marking you.

"Yes," he whispers. He kisses your earlobes, and your hands reach the side of his face, cupping them so that he faces you.

"Do you love me enough to ever let me go?" you ask again.

Are your eyes pleading for mercy? You know that they are wet with tears, but you can still see him. He's beautiful when he's not angry, when he's not afraid or stressed or vengeful. The sweetest man. A man you've loved. Someone you still love even if you are afraid.

Izuku shakes his head quickly, and tears fill his eyes.

"I love you too much for that to be possible."

You nod, and a tear slides sideways down your cheek. He'll never understand. Maybe one day you’ll accept it, when you’ve both grown too old to argue.

"Good."

He dips down low and kisses you and this time, you accept him more readily. It takes not long for your clothes and his clothes to be shed, and your naked bodies to press together fervently, the once freezing room now hot with twisted passion. Izuku bites your lower lip and asks you who else has touched you since him.

“No one, Izu,” you whisper. 

He’s pleased to hear it, not that you could safely give him any other answer. His cock presses hot and heavy against your pubic bone; he hasn’t entered you yet, and you wonder how he’s managed to wait this long before stuffing you full.

Izuku kisses your forehead, then your nose, then lifts himself up so that he’s rested on his haunches. You gasp as he drags your lower half upwards to his mouth as easily as lifting a glass of water, and sips, then gulps your center down, thirstily like your pussy is an oasis and he is a weary traveler seeking solace.

He’s moaning, palming your ass cheeks with fervor as he slurps you down - worse so because he is loud as he eats you up - your back arches and you grab fistfuls of his hair as you whine and mewl and squirm under his touch. It’s too much, it’s always too much and yet you can feel your head swim with pleasure the longer he goes on. 

After all, he just loves you so much, he just has a heavy-handed way of showing it. 

“God, you taste so good,” he whispers into your folds. “You’re so beautiful, you’re everything, I need you so much, bunny, don’t you know?” His tongue circles around your clit, licks long stripes to the taint, dips into your center; he sucks at your folds, bites gently even, ignoring the straggled gasp you let out, or the way your legs tighten around his shoulders as you tense up and explode into climax.

As you shudder and shake as he lets you go, laying you back down to recover from the first blinding orgasm, he whispers that you are beautiful again, and again, and again. 

You know you’re beautiful. He’s told you so many times already, enough that even if you stare at the mirror and think of yourself as less than perfect, you can hear him over and over again in your head.

Beautiful. Perfect. Gorgeous. His.

You are his.

Izuku takes no time filling you to the hilt once your breathing evens out - or once he runs out of patience - and you wince as you adjust to his size, but it’s a mostly pleasurable burning stretch as he bullies his way into your pussy, letting out a sigh as he nestles deep where he belongs, and he actually smiles, relief that you can see in the dim light when he presses his forehead again close to yours.

“Don’t we fit together perfectly?”

“Mm, ‘zuku,” you reply in the affirmative. Mollified and malleable you are now, as you should be for him, your voice is soft, barely a whisper, wavering only with the twitch of his cock inside you.

Izuku kisses your earlobe, and rolls you so that you lay above him, forcing you upright.

“So I can see you better,” he says as he nudges you, and understanding, you support your weight gently with your palms. He won’t make you ride him, he’ll do all the movement himself, but he loves to see the bounce of your breasts as they do now with every thrust upwards. Every gasp and sigh as you hold on to him, the twist of your features, the way you throw your head back when he has a firm grip on your hips and really goes to town; how you shake when you climax, squeezing your quivering thighs together in time with your fluttering walls, drawing in deep breaths for lewd, lewd moans. 

Izuku plays you like a fucking fiddle.

He pleasures you first, because oh goodness, he can outlast you nearly any day of the week, drawing climax after climax out of you until you’re dumb and quiet, waiting for the thick spurts of cum to fill you up.

He’s done this enough times, until you’re craving and needy and forget why you’re mad in the first place.

Dick sick and sick in the head, just as much as he is. 

And just like that, he forces his way back into your life. Legs tangled together as you sleep, lives intertwined anew like nothing ever happened.

You’ll become a very good liar yet again, but for now, as he rests, his face nestled into your bosom and hold unbreakable and inescapable, you decide to sleep, and leave your love problems to the morning to come.

[fleet-off]

Because it’s come up with both @lu-sn lu and @theflowergirl Lily now, and because my dentist just sent another form letter expressing deep concern for my oral hygiene should I not schedule my biannual teeth cleaning posthaste, have some wacky fic idea-adjacent nonsense:

Vegas does Pete’s dental cleanings for him.

Pete did not particularly go to the dentist before he got the job with the main family, but the main family keeps one on retainer, and Pete hated going to see him. He found it horribly exposing to hold his mouth open like that, and he really did not like how much he wanted to bite down on the dentist’s fingers. He put up with it, because that’s what Petes do, but he always dreaded it.

Neither of them much likes medical professionals at all, actually, but Vegas sees to his own teeth pretty religiously. (He has to, he’s had veneers since he was eighteen. A smooth, even smile can work wonders.)

Vegas likes Pete’s teeth. He likes Pete’s smile, and Pete’s bite, and the specific way Pete chews his food. He wants Pete’s teeth healthy for as long as possible.

At the same time, Pete shouldn’t have to be uncomfortable except in those carefully orchestrated ways Vegas makes him uncomfortable, which are generally to their mutual benefit.

Vegas would not enjoy watching a dentist clean inside Pete’s mouth. (Pete would let him stay in the room, right?) The inside of Pete’s mouth is a sacred sort of place.

…Anyway, Vegas would be very jealous of the scraper tool.

Vegas does know teeth. He’s yanked a lot of them, albeit not for the benefit of the victims’ oral hygiene.

Why shouldn’t he clean Pete’s teeth himself?

note: doing dental work without proper training is a bad idea, but has that ever stopped VegasPete?

also here comes a readmore for non-explicit dentistry-adjacent kink Whoops

The dental mirror arrives in the mail first, and Vegas coaxes Pete into a practice inspection at the kitchen table that very evening. He realizes at once that they’ll need brighter light and a reclining chair—but though the inside of Pete’s mouth is dimly lit, and though his breath persistently fogs the mirror until Vegas thinks to warm it on the inside of his cheek, this first foray is enough to spark a thousand dark ideas in Vegas’s mind.

There is something to seeing the backs of Pete’s teeth—inspecting what is literally hidden behind his smile.

A vulnerability in the pink semicircles of his gums, maybe. The perfect fit of the teeth penetrating that clinging tissue.

And:

Pete’s jaw stretched wide.

The damp heat of his open mouth against Vegas’s fingers, perfectly exposed and made to stay open.

His tongue twitching like its own creature when Vegas presses it down with a gloved finger.

The slow build-up of saliva—throat muscles working to hold down his gag reflex before Vegas taps his chin and lets him swallow.

Pete’s eyes have dilated; sweat shines on his brow, and the mirror begins to fog worse with every warm-shallow breath.

The next time Vegas caresses the tops of his teeth, Pete bites down hard on his fingers.

…They abandon the mirror for other, more familiar pleasures.

Vegas buys a headlamp and a dental loupe online later that night.

To his credit, he does research teeth cleanings at this point. It’s not the equivalent to years of practice and training, but it’s something.

Then the curettes arrive with their fine metal handles and delicately angled hooks on either end; then the sickle-shaped scaler. Vegas has never held either, but they feel familiar in his hands. He’s always had a knack for instruments.

Pete looks at them in his focused grip and shivers.

His hate for dental cleanings may not be such a problem after all.

(Of course, all of this culminates in Macau walking in on them mid-cleaning in the kitchen. Vegas and Pete are actually pretty good about not doing literal sex things where Macau might see. However, many typically non-sexy things have a way of becoming weird sex things when Vegas and Pete do them.

Macau doesn’t know how this is a weird sex thing, but he knows it is.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t quite manage to nope back out before overhearing just how nice Pete’s gums are.)

[vendoramachine]

Hi! Could you do an NSFW for a velvet x female reader? Thanks!

why, of course, anon! dinner is served, velvet ladies!(*´꒳`*)

tense, huh?

velvet x fem reader

velvet is so tense after an exhausting concert, so she asks her girlfriend if she could lend a hand. you know, to help her… “relax.”

notes : mild nsfw/smut, cursing, missionary fingering, (character aged 18+)

it was nearing midnight, and i laid in bed, about to set my phone down to sleep. that was, until my notifications pinged. i scrolled through my inbox to see a message from my girlfriend.

“baby, can you come over? i’m so exhausted from the concert, i can’t fall asleep, and i just feel so… tense. i was thinking maybe you could help me with that?” velvet’s message read. tense, huh? i think i can sort that out. i typed a response, my heart racing with excitement,

“sure thing, love. do you want me to bring anything?”

“nope, just yourself, beautiful. also, veneer is sleeping, so keep it down.” she texted back. damn, she types fast. let’s just hope veneer is a heavy sleeper, and won’t wake up from the noises i’m about to make his sister scream. with that, i sprayed myself with some perfume, grabbed my keys, and hopped in the car.

pulling into their massive driveway, i typed,

“i’m here, vel <3” my message sent as i stepped out of my car and gently knocked on their front door. a few moments later, velvet opened the door, her hair slightly messy, and her robe loosely wrapped around her. she held a finger to her lips as we silently crept up the stairs and into her bedroom.

when i sat down on the edge of her mattress, vel clicked the lock and sat beside me.

“not too loud tonight. i’m not trying to wake up my brother.” velvet leaned her head on my shoulder, placing her hand on top of mine.

“no promises.” i winked at her, running my hand up and down her thighs.

“you prick.” she squirmed around as i grabbed her waist, pulling her onto my lap. my hands tenderly rubbed and massaged her thighs, velvet letting out little whimpers as i crept closer and closer to her core.

with the palm of my hand, i pressed down on her lower abdomen, right above her sensitivity. velvet let out a loud moan through clenched teeth.

“you really are pent-up, huh?”

“are you going to help me or not?” my girlfriend rolled her eyes, impatiently rocking her clothed hips on my thigh.

“so desperate…” i whispered onto her neck, making velvet shudder. my hands landed onto her shoulders, gently removing her robe and tossing it aside. my fingers slid up her shirt and into her bra, gently rubbing and pinching at the tips of her breasts.

velvet leaned back, pressing herself against me while using her hands to stay balanced. she was so desperate for friction, so my free hand traced the inside of her shorts. velvet immediately pulled them down, revealing her purple, lacey panties. she predicted where this was going way before i even got here, of course. as i continued to tease her, vel removed her shirt, leaving her in only undergarments. just seeing her so bare was arousing.

my cheeks burned with excitement, “you’re so gorgeous, vel…” the hormones in the atmosphere was almost palpable. my finger tips teased at the rim of her panties, causing velvet to lose it. she whipped her head around, darting for my lips. her sudden movements caught me off guard as she turned herself around, still sitting on my lap, but facing me.

my girlfriend devoured me, her tongue encircling with my own. velvet tangled one hand into my hair, gripping it from the roots, while the other cupped the left side of my face. when our mouths popped apart, i gasped for air, and velvet panted, “how long are you going to keep me waiting? do i really have to prove how badly i need you?” her voice was laced with horniness.

“o-okay, then, ms. eager.” i used my wrist to wipe my lips, which were glossy with my girlfriend’s saliva. i cradled velvet from beneath her thighs, stood up, and placed her gently onto the bed, her neck up against the pillows.

after getting rid of my t-shirt and jeans, then throwing them on the floor somewhere, i climbed onto the bed. velvet’s legs were wide open, so i comfortably placed myself right between them. with bright red cheeks, velvet pet my head lovingly, slicking my hair back.

“just relax, princess. i’ll take it from here, okay?” vel nodded as i swooped down for another kiss. our minds clouded with lust, my hands trailed behind velvet to unclip her bra. after exposing her perfect chest, velvet, herself, desperately removed the last bit of modesty she had left.

i slid my free hand down velvet’s torso, the other hand occupied with kneading her tender breasts. my pointer and middle finger stopped at her sensitive clit, rubbing it in careful circles while velvet threw her head back onto the pillows.

“vel? you okay there, babes?” i stopped rubbing her out of concern. she whined, her entire core aching and burning to be destroyed by my touch.

“i-i’m fine, babe. j-just… keep going…” velvet huffed, not even bothering to lift her head to look at me. jeez, we’ve barely started and this girl already has words caught in her throat. as commanded, i continued to stimulate her clit, putting a little more pressure on it than before. i’m not extremely coordinated, or anything, but i found that fondling velvet’s boobs while also stroking her sensitivity to be quite a simple task.

just to drive her even crazier, i began to take little nips and kisses at velvet’s neck and collarbone area. after a while of leaving lovebites on her skin, combined with rubbing her female-equivalent-to-an-erection, vel clicked her tongue. this alerted me that she was growing sick of this foreplay bullshit, and would like me to finger fuck her raw, already. my eager lover picked up her head,

“quit teasing. i need you inside me.” she demanded, to which i complied.

i crept my middle and ring finger down, and was surprised to feel vel’s desperation coat my fingertips.

“ah, fuck…” a whimper escaped velvet’s lips as i taunted her slick entrance, barely pushing my fingers inside.

“oh, god, you’re throbbing for me, vels…” easing my fingers inside her, she winced a little, but the initial discomfort wore off pretty quick. once they were fully inserted, vel took heavy breaths, looking up at me with desire in her eyes. velvet tightened her palm against the back of my neck, while her other hand clawed at my back.

as delicately as possible, i curled my fingers, gently hitting her g-spot. letting a low gasp escape her lips, velvet pulled me down closer to her.

“faster, baby…” she whispered onto my necks, the room steamy with sexual energy. vel tensed up beneath me, her head spinning due to the intoxicating sensation. speeding up the pace in which i hit the perfect spot, velvet’s moans grew louder, her grip on my neck and shoulders tightening.

i gave a reaffirming nod, to which velvet saw through her barely open eyes.

“feel good, velvy?” i questioned, and velvet left me with no verbal response, and instead, just warm moans against my chest. vel’s breathing was shaky, and her head was way too fogged up to focus on what i was saying.

“baby, baby…” velvet’s eyelids weakly lifted as i pulled away from her clutch. “…just breathe. relax, honey.” her chest began to rise and fall slower and calmer than before as she followed my instructions. doing her best to focus her attention on me, her muscles lost tension and her grip on me loosened.

taking a deep breath, “o-okay…” her small whines became more intense, my fingers continuing to thrust and curl into her.

“good girl, just like that.” in all honesty, velvet was so used to dominating, that she was actually pretty sensitive, herself. the pleasure i was giving had all of her current attention. she looked down, and watching me finger her made her cheeks burn a bright blush.

“harder, faster, y/n… p-please…” she requested, like a little girl asking for candy. hearing the disparity in her tone, i happily did so. i thrusted them faster, rougher, inside of vel. her moans were so strong and erotic, i would be surprised if they didn’t wake veneer up.

“you’re doing so good, vel…” velvet to let out a loud scream, covering her mouth as her arched back lifted from her mattress. as i hit the flesh of her walls so perfectly, the ecstasy got the better of velvet. her moans, gasps, and screams went full volume, and i was actually kinda concerned for veneer’s sake. i mean, what would you think if the noises coming from your sibling being finger fucked in the middle of the night woke you up? shit, i’d be traumatized.

if i kept this up, even just for a few more minutes, she would shatter completely. her legs shook, and she would’ve clamped them together, thigh to thigh, if i wasn’t filling the valley between her legs. she crossed her ankles at the bottom of my back, no longer able to hold back her cries of pleasure.

“you look so pretty like this, vel…” i taunted, her climax nearing closer and closer by the second.

“babe, i’m gonna- ngh, i’m gonna come… right there- don’t… stop… oh, fuck, that feels so good!”

“i know, i know, darling, but you don’t want us getting caught, do you?”

“i… don’t… c-care…” she huffed out between purrs. for some reason, this answer wasn’t surprising.

“that’s my girl.” her sounds were uncontrollable by now. vel’s walls tightened around my fingers, indicating her peak was just seconds away.

the look in my girlfriend’s eyes were of complete desperation and lust. apparently coming to her senses, velvet bit down on her lip, doing her absolute best to muffle whatever noises would soon follow. the flesh inside her became tenser, like all of it would soon be released. velvet held me tight, her mouth right beside my ear. i could perfectly hear every single breath, moan, whimper, and word.

“babe, i’m so close! i’m so f-fucking-“ the words got stuck in her throat, her voice cracking. my girlfriend’s nails dug into my skin, and vel’s chest was suffocating with ecstasy as i finished her off.

“fuck yes, oh shit!~” velvet screamed. she came with my fingers inside her, soaking me and her bedsheets. helping her ride out the orgasm by continuing to stimulate her g-spot, i’m confident that i got every last drop out of her. velvet panted, her chest rising high and low. taking shaky breaths, i waited a moment before sliding my fingers out. her arms went limp and i laid on top of her chest, snuggling close.

her breath was heavy, and vel’s eyes were shut tight. the pleasure lasted far longer than she had expected, but i could tell that this is the best she’s felt in a while.

“oh, you did amazing, baby…” i ran my fingers along my lips, tasting her sweetness, “…what a good girl.” petting her head, i planted a few darling kisses on her face. velvet blushed as i licked my fingers clean of her fluids, her breath still shaky, recovering from the events that just took place. i showered velvet in pecks and lovebites, “did that feel good, vel? all better now, babes?” her cheeks tinted pink as i smoothed back her hair, flustered by my affection.

all she managed to do was nod, the pleasure still coursing through her body. unable to get a word out of her lips, she gave me a dumb smile, embarrassed by my admiration. velvet truly never understood how or why i am so head over heels for her.

“hm, so rough with me, but you need me to be so gentle with you.” vel hated when i made smartass comments, but she found it strangely charming.

“…i-i don’t need you to be gentle with me.” she turned away from my gaze in a little pout.

“come on, vels, if i had been any rougher, i would break you.”

“you know exactly how to push my limits…” my teasing made this moment more exhilarating and enjoyable for the two of us. i have never been more in love with someone.

“you’re cute when you’re mad.” i pecked her lips before climbing off and laying beside her, cuddling my darling close.

my bare skin against velvet’s satin pillow cases and velvet (no pun intended) blankets was like being wrapped in clouds. still, nothing felt better than my girlfriend’s skin against my own.

“not so tense anymore, huh?”

“shh, quiet, i’m sleeping.”

“mm, right. sweet dreams, my love.” i pressed a kiss onto velvet’s forehead as we cuddled. her hands rested on my chest, and my arms were wrapped around her waist.

“i love you.”

HOLY CRAP THIS ONE TOOK FOREVER… sorry that the fics are literally taking so long, my tumblr is glitching or something cus it’s not letting me edit my drafts and won’t let me respond to any of my damn requests >:( lemme know if you guys want an aftercare part two for this one! (*ﾟ∀ﾟ*)

[sentientcave]

WIP Wednesday - Impound

A little peek at that tow truck driver idea I was tossing around last week, for any interested parties

He shuffled through the papers deliberately. The sound of the cop’s rubber-soled boots squeaking impatiently on the dated linoleum floor was music to Simon’s ears. “Oh, of course. The squad car. Parked in a fire lane.” He tutted, shaking his head. “You’re lucky I got there before bylaw did. ‘S a big fine if they ticket you.”

They both knew that bylaw didn’t have the stones to ticket a cruiser. The fire department might, but they didn’t go around looking for trouble either. That was really more Simon’s area of expertise.

“You could have been impeding an investigation,” Price said, steely eyes narrowing.

Simon snorted. “At Ronnie’s? I fockin’ doubt it, unless you were investigatin’ how fresh the pastries were. Everyone knows that’s Laswell’s girl. Nobody’s stupid enough to cause trouble for ‘er.”

Price’s jaw was so tight that Simon was surprised his teeth didn’t start cracking under the pressure. He could almost hear the grind of enamel. “Fine. Just get the bloody gate open so I can leave.”

“Sure, no problem officer. Just a matter of the impound fees— Y’want me to bill the precinct directly, or are you gonna pay ‘em yourself?” He set the paperwork down on the desk top and fished the debit machine out of the top drawer suggestively. “Just need some I.D., if you don’t mind. Gotta keep things tidy on my end.”

Price snatched up the invoice. “One hundred and fifty dollars? Are you mad?”

“That’s the rate. Take it up with council if you’ve got a problem with it. You still gotta pay.”

Price was pretty near growling as he yanked out his wallet. Simon made a bit of a performance out of logging in the information on his I.D. on the slow computer, of punching in the total on the debit machine, and of checking everything to make sure it was in order. Price initialled the invoice where he was directed, pressing so hard it left a permanent indentation in the cheap veneer of the desk.

“Olright. You’re all set then,” Simon said at last, when he could drag his feet on the matter no more. He got out of his chair with a sigh, pleased to find that he stood a good three or four inches taller than Price, and walked out the side door without any further ceremony. Price was still standing in front of the desk, red-faced and angry. “Come on then.” Simon stopped just past the doorway, looking over his shoulder impatiently. “Haven’t got all day you know. Some of us have important work to do.”

He half expected Price’s head to explode.

Price stalked across the lot to his cruiser and threw himself into the driver’s seat while Simon went to open up the gate. The rev of the engine was the only warning Simon had to get out of the way before Price drove through it, cutting it a little too close for comfort. Simon raised his hand and wiggled his fingers in farewell, enjoying the glimpse of that furious blue glare in the mirrors before Price turned onto the road and sped off.

“Wha’ the hell was all that about?” Johnny asked, leaning out of the building, braced on the door handle, Roach a step behind him. “Ye pissin’ off the new police chief?”

“Yep.” Simon corralled the boys back into the office. “Fuckin’ hate cops.”

“Sure, but aren’t ye worried—”

“Not really. ‘F ‘e gets to be a problem I’ll talk to Laswell, get ‘er to put ‘er fuckin’ dog back on ‘is leash. Owes me a favour.” He snagged the singular tea out of the tray of paper cups and lifted it in thanks. “See you lads later. Goin’ home. When Kristen comes in to pick up ‘er shitbox waive the fees an’ tell ‘er not to park there again. Pretend you’re riskin’ your ass doin’ it, she’ll prob’ly give one of you muppets ‘er your number.”

Johnny and Roach looked at each other, and immediately launched into a game of rock-paper-scissors to decide who would get to be the knight in dirty blue coveralls. Simon let the garage door bang shut behind him, and trudged across the dimly lit space to the back door. The acrid smell of weed smoke hung in the air, thin tendrils of it still drifting across the bars of sun coming through the back windows. Fucking muppets, smoking up while chief of police was steaming mad on the other side of the door. And they thought that Simon was the one who needed to be careful.