As requested by several anons, a list of pacifiers that aren’t super expensive. I’ve also included pacifier buddies (cute stuffies that clip onto your pacis) and pacifier clips (you attach these to your pacifier then clip them on your clothes, so you don’t get your pacis dirty anymore if you drop them.)
I’ve included adult pacifiers and pacifiers designed for babies. You can use whichever you prefer, but adult ones will be more comfortable and can be used longer as a result. If you’re worried about baby ones hurting your teeth, they’re not going to mess up the alignment or anything, as long as you stop using them if your mouth, jaw, or teeth start hurting. If you want to modify a baby pacifier to have an adult nipple, I shared a guide here.
All prices above are valid as of 09/13/2017 22:49. Product prices and availability are accurate as of the date/time indicated and are subject to change. Any price and availability information displayed on Amazon.com at the time of purchase will apply to the purchase of this product.
Okay,having two boyfriends is pretty awesome. They’re so different but they look exactly the same, ironically. The only downside is that they - “No, Barry, you’re wrong!” Argue a lot.
The door slams behind the two as they stop in the middle of the hallway, arms crossed, mirroring each other. E1 Barry frowns, eyebrows crinkling; tan skinny jeans scrunching at his ankles. “No, Bartholomew,” he teases, poking his doppleganger square in the chest, indenting his light blue sweater vest, “You’re wrong. I know our girlfriend, unlike you.” he shakes his head, shrugging off his red bomber jacket.
Fixing his glasses, E2 Barry huffs angrily, shoulders rising. “SWEETHEART!” he shouts, storming up the stairs, into the bedroom; his perfectly styled hair bounces up and down. You peek over your shoulder, stray water droplets from the shower dripping off your eyelashes. He comes in front of you, lips pecking yours. “You like making…passionate sex, right? Like when it’s sweet, romantic?” he asks timidly, nose scrunching under his thin rimmed glasses.
A wild blush blossoms across your cheeks and you swallow, going to open your mouth. There’s a loud whoosh; hands grabbing your waist, back pressed against his soft black sweater. “No, I’m telling you, rough is her favorite, huh, babe?” E1 Barry purrs behind your ear, hard on poking your ass, making you gasp. He smirks, “Told ya so.”
Fuming, the other Barry undoes his striped silver bowtie, pulling off his sweater vest, leaving him in his white button down. He cups your cheek, tilting his head to capture your lips; lower lip sucking on your upper one, glasses jumping slightly. Carefully, he unfolds the towel, letting it fall to the ground. “I love you, sweetheart.” he hums, trailing a string of kisses along your skin.
“Barry…” you say breathlessly, giggling when the metal glasses hit your stomach. Suddenly, a pair of firm hands grab both your breasts, squeezing hard. “Barry!” you moan, feeling the speedster bite harshly on your neck while the nerd leaves butterfly kisses on your body. E2 Barry’s hands run down your thighs lovingly, going towards the inside.
The scarlet speedster continues attacking your neck, fingers only leaving your soft skin to tug his pants down. “You want my cock inside you as he eats you out, baby?” he grunts in your ear, tugging your hair roughly.
You let out a whimper but nod. “Stop, you’re hurting her, Barr!” E2 Barry warns, green eyes filled with worry, thumbs circling your thighs. The other Barry stops, eying you for a signal to continue going.
“I-it’s okay… I want…god, both of you….please…” you pant, hands flying to E2 Barry’s hair, tugging it. The speedster smirks, pulling your hair as his doppelganger moans. Instantly, his dick is inside you and you gasp, trying to adjust to his size. You rock back and forth, biting your lip while Barry’s glasses dip down his nose, tongue entering your pussy. “Barry!” you cry out, getting cut off by a pair of lips.
His tongue drags inside you, moving with each thrust of your hips. A chuckle comes from behind you. “Scream, baby, scream our name.” your boyfriend commands, groping your breasts; hips snapping back and forth. Humming, E2 Barry sucks in, cheeks hollowing slightly, tongue darting back and forth.
You pull his light brown locks, ignoring how his glasses fall to the floor, making him stand up. “Ugh, Barry!” Your hands wrap around his neck, yanking his red, swollen lips to yours. A quiet moan escapes you, feeling Barry’s dick twitch inside of you. Another pair of hands grab your breasts, lips attacking yours.
While a knot forms in your stomach, Barry’s thrusts become sloppy and his breath heavy. “I-I’m… Oh….” he grumbles, hiding his face in your shoulder as he cums. You gasp, clutching your boyfriend’s neck, nose touching his freckled cheek. The three of you pant; you’re sandwhiched between the two of them.
“How was that, sweetheart?” E2 Barry questions softly, bending down to pick up his glasses; dress shirt soaked in sweat.
You glance between the two, “Amazing. I like both kinds.”
I live a 10 minute walk from a huge graveyard in St Petersburg. I go there sometimes to think- it’s a quiet space in the middle of the suburbs, and is filled with trees and birds. About a year ago, I found this lady, and was immediately drawn to her photo. A Soviet woman dressed in a striped blazer and bowtie, with a defiant face. Her name is Irada. I’ve spent time looking for information about her, but can find none. I visit her now almost every month, and have seen a full set of seasons around her grave. In the spring, I planted tulips and watered them throughout summer. It’s winter that I love the most. When my Mum died, we sprinkled her ashes into a river and watched her being carried out to sea. Irada though stays. I am sure I’m the only person who visits her grave. Is it possible to remember somebody you have never met?
pairing: lin manuel miranda x reader, daveed diggs x reader
summary: Your cousin Anthony drags you along to one of his neighbor’s infamous parties with his girlfriend, keeping you from a night in. Mr. Miranda, the host, is a mysterious man, but that isn’t the part that gets to you.
warnings: smut, cheating, lil bit of angst, 1920s slang(??), my portrayal of a 1920s burn, lots of fluff
words: 6660 (im so sorry for so many reasons yall)
a/n: Alternatively titled: Poor Anthony™
hi guys i swear i still write stuff! it’s just been a crazy last month, but I’ve finally finished this part! I’m so sorry it took so long, I feel kinda bad about it, but I hope it was worth the wait!
I figured out the only bright side to burning my arm this past week and treating it at home; firsthand research and experience for TMM! I learned more in 2 days than the 2 weeks I had spent researching the topic.
Thank you to @psychedemigod for keeping me company while I was writing a lot of this and helping out here and there, and thank you to@secretschuylersister for being so supportive and reading it over, leaving much-appreciated commentary.
If you want to be tagged in the next parts, just shoot me an ask! I absolutely love to hear feedback from anybody and everybody, I can’t begin to express how much it means to me.
“Her heart sank into her shoes as she realized at last how much she wanted him. No matter what his past was, no matter what he had done. Which was not to say that she would ever let him know, but only that he had moved her chemically more than anyone she had ever met, that all other men seemed pale beside him.” -F. Scott Fitzgerald
Apodyopis-- with Draco doing that on Hermione! All the love xx
Modern AU Draco x Hermione - Apodyopis; the act of mentally undressing someone. Coupled with - Gymnophoria; the sensation that someone is mentally undressing you. Author’s note in tags.
the oppressive architecture of textile
Hermione Granger, actual poster girl for due process, has had a rough week. She’d just barely survived on six hours of sleep for the last seven days, passing papers with topics ranging from Marxist readings of Shakespeare to the existence of feminist apologetics in Abrahamic theology, and just- give her a break. If she wants to virtually inhale the ultimate commodity fetish (vanilla bean crème frappuccino®, whole milk, extra whipped cream, grande), then, well.
And, okay, that’s not all, exactly, it’s not the worst thing she’s done that’s against her convictions. There’s also this very tiny, almost inconsequential thing, and she can’t help it, okay, she - well, actually, she could, except that it would take willpower and god-breathed strength she frankly doesn’t have, to keep herself from mentally undressing actual starter pack Draco trust fund trash Malfoy. And- and -
It’s the stupid white-and-mint striped bowtie accentuating his Adam’s apple. And the gray cashmere cardigan falling just so across those broad shoulders. Malfoy has got the whole mass-produced, Instagram-worthy hipster aesthetic down pat, and Granger loathes it, absolutes abhors the whole principle behind the thing, but he’s pretty, in that distinct patrician way objected to by the patriarchy, so -
She imagines tearing his clothes off, basically - untying that ridiculous bowtie, unbuttoning his starched dress shirt, his designer jeans, letting them fall at his feet, the feeling of expensive, skin-warmed fabric falling away because of her fussy fingers. She imagines messing up that meticulously coiffed hair, kissing his pretentious tortoise shell Ray-Bans askew. Kissing him, full stop -
( - and continuing to take it further, with skin on skin, his mouth on the underside of her jaw, her fingers clutching his hair. She imagines the sounds he’d make, the low grumble ripped from his throat - imagines the sounds she’d make, his name in a variety of pitches - )
( - it’s the fantasy of it, the almost wrongness of this rich pretty boy starring in her bleary-eyed strip shows in the middle of a crowded Starbucks, the ridiculous strangeness of her wanting to give it up to this particular person, right-wing and out of her league. It’s what does it).
She’s snapped out of her - daydream? inappropriate cinematic thought process? - reveries by the sound of a chair being pulled out beside her. And it’s just her luck, really, it’s just the universe deciding to upfront screw with her, that she looks up to see Draco Malfoy smirking at her, arms crossed over his chest.
“I’m a pretty liberal guy, Granger, but at least buy me dinner first.”
The straw she’d been chewing on falls unceremoniously into her Starbucks cup. “What?”
“Please. I’d been watching you stare at my crotch for the last fifteen minutes, mentally undressing me, and it’s - a feeling I get.” If possible, his smirk hitches higher on the right. “It’s totally fine, by the way. It’s the least I can do on behalf of generations and generations of male-propagated female objectification.”
Hermione rolls her eyes, forgetting to be apologetic in the face of this asshole. “Okay, so what are you still doing here?”
Draco Malfoy, idiot, smiles. “So. Are you buying me dinner, or-?”