#nub of certainty

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Demon-haunted computers are back, baby

Catch me in Miami! I'll be at Books and Books in Coral Gables on Jan 22 at 8PM.

As a science fiction writer, I am professionally irritated by a lot of sf movies. Not only do those writers get paid a lot more than I do, they insist on including things like "self-destruct" buttons on the bridges of their starships.

Look, I get it. When the evil empire is closing in on your flagship with its secret transdimensional technology, it's important that you keep those secrets out of the emperor's hand. An irrevocable self-destruct switch there on the bridge gets the job done! (It has to be irrevocable, otherwise the baddies'll just swarm the bridge and toggle it off).

But c'mon. If there's a facility built into your spaceship that causes it to explode no matter what the people on the bridge do, that is also a pretty big security risk! What if the bad guy figures out how to hijack the measure that – by design – the people who depend on the spaceship as a matter of life and death can't detect or override?

I mean, sure, you can try to simplify that self-destruct system to make it easier to audit and assure yourself that it doesn't have any bugs in it, but remember Schneier's Law: anyone can design a security system that works so well that they themselves can't think of a flaw in it. That doesn't mean you've made a security system that works – only that you've made a security system that works on people stupider than you.

I know it's weird to be worried about realism in movies that pretend we will ever find a practical means to visit other star systems and shuttle back and forth between them (which we are very, very unlikely to do):

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/09/astrobezzle/#send-robots-instead

But this kind of foolishness galls me. It galls me even more when it happens in the real world of technology design, which is why I've spent the past quarter-century being very cross about Digital Rights Management in general, and trusted computing in particular.

It all starts in 2002, when a team from Microsoft visited our offices at EFF to tell us about this new thing they'd dreamed up called "trusted computing":

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/05/trusting-trust/#thompsons-devil

The big idea was to stick a second computer inside your computer, a very secure little co-processor, that you couldn't access directly, let alone reprogram or interfere with. As far as this "trusted platform module" was concerned, you were the enemy. The "trust" in trusted computing was about other people being able to trust your computer, even if they didn't trust you.

So that little TPM would do all kinds of cute tricks. It could observe and produce a cryptographically signed manifest of the entire boot-chain of your computer, which was meant to be an unforgeable certificate attesting to which kind of computer you were running and what software you were running on it. That meant that programs on other computers could decide whether to talk to your computer based on whether they agreed with your choices about which code to run.

This process, called "remote attestation," is generally billed as a way to identify and block computers that have been compromised by malware, or to identify gamers who are running cheats and refuse to play with them. But inevitably it turns into a way to refuse service to computers that have privacy blockers turned on, or are running stream-ripping software, or whose owners are blocking ads:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/02/self-incrimination/#wei-bai-bai

After all, a system that treats the device's owner as an adversary is a natural ally for the owner's other, human adversaries. The rubric for treating the owner as an adversary focuses on the way that users can be fooled by bad people with bad programs. If your computer gets taken over by malicious software, that malware might intercept queries from your antivirus program and send it false data that lulls it into thinking your computer is fine, even as your private data is being plundered and your system is being used to launch malware attacks on others.

These separate, non-user-accessible, non-updateable secure systems serve a nubs of certainty, a remote fortress that observes and faithfully reports on the interior workings of your computer. This separate system can't be user-modifiable or field-updateable, because then malicious software could impersonate the user and disable the security chip.

It's true that compromised computers are a real and terrifying problem. Your computer is privy to your most intimate secrets and an attacker who can turn it against you can harm you in untold ways. But the widespread redesign of out computers to treat us as their enemies gives rise to a range of completely predictable and – I would argue – even worse harms. Building computers that treat their owners as untrusted parties is a system that works well, but fails badly.

First of all, there are the ways that trusted computing is designed to hurt you. The most reliable way to enshittify something is to supply it over a computer that runs programs you can't alter, and that rats you out to third parties if you run counter-programs that disenshittify the service you're using. That's how we get inkjet printers that refuse to use perfectly good third-party ink and cars that refuse to accept perfectly good engine repairs if they are performed by third-party mechanics:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

It's how we get cursed devices and appliances, from the juicer that won't squeeze third-party juice to the insulin pump that won't connect to a third-party continuous glucose monitor:

https://arstechnica.com/gaming/2020/01/unauthorized-bread-a-near-future-tale-of-refugees-and-sinister-iot-appliances/

But trusted computing doesn't just create an opaque veil between your computer and the programs you use to inspect and control it. Trusted computing creates a no-go zone where programs can change their behavior based on whether they think they're being observed.

The most prominent example of this is Dieselgate, where auto manufacturers murdered hundreds of people by gimmicking their cars to emit illegal amount of NOX. Key to Dieselgate was a program that sought to determine whether it was being observed by regulators (it checked for the telltale signs of the standard test-suite) and changed its behavior to color within the lines.

Software that is seeking to harm the owner of the device that's running it must be able to detect when it is being run inside a simulation, a test-suite, a virtual machine, or any other hallucinatory virtual world. Just as Descartes couldn't know whether anything was real until he assured himself that he could trust his senses, malware is always questing to discover whether it is running in the real universe, or in a simulation created by a wicked god:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/28/descartes-was-an-optimist/#uh-oh

That's why mobile malware uses clever gambits like periodically checking for readings from your device's accelerometer, on the theory that a virtual mobile phone running on a security researcher's test bench won't have the fidelity to generate plausible jiggles to match the real data that comes from a phone in your pocket:

https://arstechnica.com/information-technology/2019/01/google-play-malware-used-phones-motion-sensors-to-conceal-itself/

Sometimes this backfires in absolutely delightful ways. When the Wannacry ransomware was holding the world hostage, the security researcher Marcus Hutchins noticed that its code made reference to a very weird website: iuqerfsodp9ifjaposdfjhgosurijfaewrwergwea.com. Hutchins stood up a website at that address and every Wannacry-infection in the world went instantly dormant:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/10/flintstone-delano-roosevelt/#the-matrix

It turns out that Wannacry's authors were using that ferkakte URL the same way that mobile malware authors were using accelerometer readings – to fulfill Descartes' imperative to distinguish the Matrix from reality. The malware authors knew that security researchers often ran malicious code inside sandboxes that answered every network query with fake data in hopes of eliciting responses that could be analyzed for weaknesses. So the Wannacry worm would periodically poll this nonexistent website and, if it got an answer, it would assume that it was being monitored by a security researcher and it would retreat to an encrypted blob, ceasing to operate lest it give intelligence to the enemy. When Hutchins put a webserver up at iuqerfsodp9ifjaposdfjhgosurijfaewrwergwea.com, every Wannacry instance in the world was instantly convinced that it was running on an enemy's simulator and withdrew into sulky hibernation.

The arms race to distinguish simulation from reality is critical and the stakes only get higher by the day. Malware abounds, even as our devices grow more intimately woven through our lives. We put our bodies into computers – cars, buildings – and computers inside our bodies. We absolutely want our computers to be able to faithfully convey what's going on inside them.

But we keep running as hard as we can in the opposite direction, leaning harder into secure computing models built on subsystems in our computers that treat us as the threat. Take UEFI, the ubiquitous security system that observes your computer's boot process, halting it if it sees something it doesn't approve of. On the one hand, this has made installing GNU/Linux and other alternative OSes vastly harder across a wide variety of devices. This means that when a vendor end-of-lifes a gadget, no one can make an alternative OS for it, so off the landfill it goes.

It doesn't help that UEFI – and other trusted computing modules – are covered by Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA), which makes it a felony to publish information that can bypass or weaken the system. The threat of a five-year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine means that UEFI and other trusted computing systems are understudied, leaving them festering with longstanding bugs:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/09/free-sample/#que-viva

Here's where it gets really bad. If an attacker can get inside UEFI, they can run malicious software that – by design – no program running on our computers can detect or block. That badware is running in "Ring -1" – a zone of privilege that overrides the operating system itself.

Here's the bad news: UEFI malware has already been detected in the wild:

https://securelist.com/cosmicstrand-uefi-firmware-rootkit/106973/

And here's the worst news: researchers have just identified another exploitable UEFI bug, dubbed Pixiefail:

https://blog.quarkslab.com/pixiefail-nine-vulnerabilities-in-tianocores-edk-ii-ipv6-network-stack.html

Writing in Ars Technica, Dan Goodin breaks down Pixiefail, describing how anyone on the same LAN as a vulnerable computer can infect its firmware:

https://arstechnica.com/security/2024/01/new-uefi-vulnerabilities-send-firmware-devs-across-an-entire-ecosystem-scrambling/

That vulnerability extends to computers in a data-center where the attacker has a cloud computing instance. PXE – the system that Pixiefail attacks – isn't widely used in home or office environments, but it's very common in data-centers.

Again, once a computer is exploited with Pixiefail, software running on that computer can't detect or delete the Pixiefail code. When the compromised computer is queried by the operating system, Pixiefail undetectably lies to the OS. "Hey, OS, does this drive have a file called 'pixiefail?'" "Nope." "Hey, OS, are you running a process called 'pixiefail?'" "Nope."

This is a self-destruct switch that's been compromised by the enemy, and which no one on the bridge can de-activate – by design. It's not the first time this has happened, and it won't be the last.

There are models for helping your computer bust out of the Matrix. Back in 2016, Edward Snowden and bunnie Huang prototyped and published source code and schematics for an "introspection engine":

https://assets.pubpub.org/aacpjrja/AgainstTheLaw-CounteringLawfulAbusesofDigitalSurveillance.pdf

This is a single-board computer that lives in an ultraslim shim that you slide between your iPhone's mainboard and its case, leaving a ribbon cable poking out of the SIM slot. This connects to a case that has its own OLED display. The board has leads that physically contact each of the network interfaces on the phone, conveying any data they transit to the screen so that you can observe the data your phone is sending without having to trust your phone.

(I liked this gadget so much that I included it as a major plot point in my 2020 novel Attack Surface, the third book in the Little Brother series):

https://craphound.com/attacksurface/

We don't have to cede control over our devices in order to secure them. Indeed, we can't ever secure them unless we can control them. Self-destruct switches don't belong on the bridge of your spaceship, and trusted computing modules don't belong in your devices.

I'm Kickstarting the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/17/descartes-delenda-est/#self-destruct-sequence-initiated

Image: Mike (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/stillwellmike/15676883261/

CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/

#pluralistic #uefi #owner override #user override #jailbreaking #dmca 1201 #schneiers law #descartes #nub of certainty #self-destruct button #trusted computing #secure enclaves #drm #ngscb #next generation secure computing base #palladium #pixiefail #infosec

[bitten-by-astarion]

Nectar

Astarion x f!reader drabble

Tags: explicit | cunnilingus | biting | blood

His teeth grazed your most intimate areas, almost a threat, causing a tidal wave of fear and shameful arousal. You couldn't say with any certainty that he'd hold back the impulses you knew he held as he roamed your body; if you failed to ask him to stop, you'd likely be dead by morning. You couldn't blame him. The hunger was his nature, and his desire for your blood would always be stronger than that for your flesh.

He let out a barely audible growl as his tongue dipped between your folds, swiping across the swollen bundle of nerves that housed the unbearable tension you'd held all day. You shuddered, thighs squeezing his head that prompted a dark stare through hooded eyes. His grip on your legs tightened, nails digging into your skin and leaving painful indents that paled in comparison to the pleasure you felt in between your thighs.

Every lick, swirl and suck sent you further into a craze, blood rushing away from your head so quickly your ears pounded and hearing dulled. You whispered his name as you approached your peak, gripping that silver hair with a desperately tight grip, only spurring him on in his vigorous assault on your cunt. His tongue dipped inside you, lapping at your juices as if he were starved; and he was, but for the sweet nectar that ran in your veins.

"M-make me come...and you can suck me dry," you sighed, meaning every word.

That got his attention, his piercing eyes searching yours for any hint of a lie, before he delved deeper, harder, faster. You were so close, absolutely terrified amongst the lustful want of being able to sate him, completely. As his tongue returned to your nub, his fingers delved inside your dripping entrance, curling and teasing the very last of your restraint from you.

"Fuck, yes..."

He purred against your skin in response, and you fell apart, back arching and body writhing as the pulsing waves of ecstasy crashed over you again and again. He didn't stop, holding you still with a bruising grip as he continued to lap at you until you pleaded; stop, please...

The next thing you knew, his teeth were sinking into the soft flesh of your thighs, icy cold fading to an aching numbness. You looked down as he feasted, barely able to focus your eyes but intent on watching as the blood stained his lips and his eyes flashed a vivid red as he watched you through every second. His gaze almost held a thanks, amongst the glazed look of his desperate hunger and unimpeded lust.

Your head swam, deep red streams streaking your legs and splattering on the cold floor, but you let him drink. Just a little longer. Your last lucid plea was to stop, before the darkness overcame you.

-

"Good morning, darling," Astarion said, his sultry voice waking you slowly from your slumber.

You felt weak, dizzy, and as you opened your eyes the light caused you to wince in pain. His face swam into view; still stained, bright and happy.

"Morning," you managed to stutter weakly.

"I'm sorry if I went a little too far. You're just so delicious," he said, his warm breath ghosting the skin of your neck. "Not just your blood."

"Anything for you."

#astarion #astarion fanfiction #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion x tav

[danytherelentless]

They Will Suffice

Jon Snow x fem!reader

summary: a pleasurable moment during your pregnancy with your husband

warnings: smut, illusions to sex, fingering, sweet talk, a little bit dirty, pregnancy, slight pregnancy kink (if you squint really, really hard)

The wind is howling and furious outside, it rattles the shutters of the windows and whistles through the gaps it manages to slither through the walls creating a chill in the air in spite of the warm pipes within the walls of the castle.

You lie in bed with your husband, a quiet and comforting moment between two lovers. Basking in the afterglow of love-making leaning back into his strong arms as they wrap around your front and caress you belly.

His bare knuckle grazes where your child kicks. A budum rhythm over and over again.

"It appears we have awoken them," you muse, looking up to see him. His handsome face is wrought with concentration, dark brows furrowed close.

"He," he corrects you.

You huff a laugh, "he? So sure are we?"

"Yes. I dream of our son in your arms. Of him playing in the Godswood with Ghost," he presses a kiss to your brow.

"Every man wishes for a son. But dreams will not make our child grow a cock if they do not already possess one," you warn. You can't help but feel a little nervous at his surety of a son. What would happen if you birthed a daughter instead?

"I would not be disappointed with a little daughter, my love. I just know that this..." he strokes the underside of your belly where there is another thump, "is our son."

You hum in acknowledgment, a small smile curling at your mouth.

"And what shall our son's name be?"

"Edric," his response is instant.

Your eyes soften, "for your father?"

"Hm. Little Ned," he is smiling now, a small, beautiful and oh so rare thing. It makes your heart swell and tears well up in your eyes.

"When we have a daughter you shall name her," he tells you, as if it is a certainty.

"And what if we shall only have sons? Or only this one child?"

"Then you can name them too. You're the one doing all the hard work," he tells you.

"I suppose you are right. Though you certainly take care of me," you respond with a teasing grin.

"I do now, do I?" he teases right back, one hand going further down to your .

"Mhm. I find myself quite satiated in your presence."

"Careful, I might become unbearable with all this flattery," his teeth graze at the side of your face. You sigh as you sink further back into his arms.

"We can't have that now, can we?"

His hand slips between your thighs, your knees parting some more to allow him better access.

"I find myself not fully satiated tonight, however," you continue, a stir in your lower belly, an urge to squeeze your thighs tightly together.

"Oh. We can't have that now, can we?"

His fingers slide between your folds, already slick once more. He had already cleaned you up after your previous bouts of love-making quite nicely, though is appears it was for nought as you would soon be a mess again.

"I'm not sure I have such energy as you," he admitted as he slid a curled finger into you, thumb circling your nub. A moan broke past your lips as he moves much to slowly.

"Well... your fingers will have to suffice," you let out another broken moan as he gathers your wetness and slides in a second finger.

"Hmm, so wet. So warm," his lips are pressed against the side of your face, teeth grazing the flesh as he whispers his sweet praises into your ear.

His practiced movements speed up, your knees part wider. His cock is hardened somewhat against your back, though not nearly at full mast.

"I can't believe I have you, so perfect, so tight, right in my arms," he speaks, lips dragging across your jaw as you throw your head back against his shoulder.

His fingers curl further, rubbing along that soft spot inside of you which had your thighs twitching and your eyes rolling back as your nails dig into his flesh.

"Right there," you moan, breathless, "please."

"Please what? What do you want?"

"I want to cum. Please make me come," you let out a louder moan.

His movements speed up, "come for me, wife. Finish for me."

You reach your peak, your third that night, fingers curling into the flesh of his thighs, a high, broken keening sound passing your lips, eyes squeezed tightly shut and mouth forming an 'o'.

"So pretty," he strokes your thighs and swollen belly, "so perfect."

You don't hear what he says next as you are lulled into a peaceful slumber, howls of the wind distant to your ears as his warmth envelopes you whole and drags you down to the depths of rest.

comments are greatly appreciated, don’t be a stranger :)

you can find me on Wattpad and AO3 by danytherelentless

let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list for any of my works (character specifications and smut or not)

#jon snow x reader #jon snow x you #jon snow smut #jon snow imagine #jon snow #asoiaf x reader #asoiaf smut #got x reader #got x you #got smut #smut #fluff

[acapelladitty]

Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter - Tit Job (Kinktober #15)

Summary - As part of their ongoing efforts to enjoy the other in every possible way, Will's fascination with Hannibal’s chest does not go unnoticed.

Straddled across Hannibal’s stomach, the heat of Hannibal’s skin against his ass was welcomed as Will stroked a messy hand across his hard cock. The taste of Hannibal’s release, warm and salted against his tongue, still played across his mouth and he paused to admire the vaguely blissed-out look which sat easily on Hannibal’s relaxed features.

“Will, look at me.”

Complying with the soft demand, Will’s eye slipped up from Hannibal’s handsome jaw to settle on his eyes, meeting his heated gaze with a soft gasp. Hannibal was beautiful like this, with the soft morning light flittering through the blinds as the birds which lived in the nearby trees cried out their pretty song to harken in the new day.

A thin sheen of sweat coated Hannibal’s brow, a result of the wicked ministrations Will had spent the last hour delivering to his satisfied body, and Will paused to brush away the few stands of hair which had fallen onto his forehead. His own cock, still painfully hard due to its neglect, jutted free of his groin as he slipped his ass lower until he straddled Hannibal’s lower stomach.

“What are you doing? Have I not suffered enough?” Hannibal continued with a low purr, clearly enjoying the movements as Will’s hands tapped along his stomach on their path up to his chest. The thick patch of healthy salt and pepper hair which spanned Hannibal’s chest was a constant source of delight for Will who used any opportunity to run his fingers through it.

Doing just that with a small smile, Will paused as his palms encased Hannibal’s stiffened nipples.

“You’ve had yours.” Rubbing the nipples with his palm, Will cocked his head as he enjoyed the feeling of Hannibal’s thick body beneath his own. “Now I think I’m going to take mine.”

Shifting his hands, Will caught both of Hannibal’s nipples within his thumbs and forefingers – squeezing the sensitive buds with a familiar playfulness. The shudder which rolled through Hannibal’s tensed frame as Will teased the hardened nubs was electric, sparking him to clamp his grip even tighter to the point of discomfort.

“I can feel your hesitation,” Hannibal groaned, “so tell me what you want?”

A flush of embarrassment sitting high on his cheeks, Will remained painfully silent as shame prevented him from voicing his wants. He had killed with Hannibal, fucked Hannibal across every surface in their home, and yet something about this request fostered a childish shame which made his lips lock shut.

As perceptive as ever, the maroon pinpoints of Hannibal’s eyes flashed with understanding as his dexterous hands came to sit atop Will’s as Will’s fingers continued to pluck, almost absent-mindedly, at his nipples.

“Do you want to fuck them?”

Will gasped as Hannibal asked the question, his accented syllables growing out the words with a tease that spoke of his certainty of the answer. Between his legs, his cock throbbed at the thought as the image of it disappearing between Hannibal’s chest as he fluffed him to completion made his throat dry.

Hannibal’s firm hands came to rest on his ass, encouraging him to shuffle further up his body until his cock stood – pre-cum leaking from its tip – just above the expanse of Hannibal’s chest hair. Those same hands left his body slowly, trailing a gentle pattern along his skin until they broke free, instead returning to Hannibal’s own body as he placed his palms at either side of his pecs – pushing them together to make an inviting space for Will to bury his cock.

Enjoying the teasing spark which alit in the very depth of Hannibal’s eyes, a hint of maroon peeking free, Will watched with heated eyes as he wrapped a hand around his cock and guided it low.

His cock slid along the divot between Hannibal’s pecs, each small thrust alighting a delirious heat in his groin as his ultra-sensitive cockhead brushed along the silky skin. With Hannibal’s hand pushing up the sides of his chest, it formed a pillowy valley which perfectly allowed Will to slide his cock between them and something in the act was so fucking hot that he didn’t bother to hide the small whimpers which slipped free of his lips with every buck of his hips.

“You’re beautiful in these moments.” Hannibal commented, the words so low that they were barely more than a growl as his attention split between Will’s cock and his loose expression. “When you take charge and chase the pleasure which you desire so much. That which you deny yourself time and time again.”

“Hannibal…”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.” Will muttered without fire, refusing to allow the building tension of arousal in his groin to be snuffed by Hannibal’s inability to simply enjoy the moment.

#hannibal #hannibal lecter #will graham #hannigram #will x hannibal #hannibal x will #mads mikkelsen #hugh dancy #nbc hannibal #nbc hannigram

[merv606]

Daniel being all confused and flustered in Mercy whenever Terry goes to town on his cute little chest. He has no idea why Terry likes to do this; he was the one who did this to Amanda (a dangerous thought) when they were together, but then again, she had breasts, and he… “But…I’m not a woman,” Daniel manages one day, while Terry happily sucks away at his nipples. It feels amazing, and Daniel can hardly stop whimpering and arching at Terry mouthing him like this, and yet…”why do you…you know.” Daniel asks as Terry pulls back.

“Why do I what, sweetheart?”

Daniel blushes and squirms under the intense blue gaze. It’s just like Terry to make him say it. “You know…play with my chest. I’m not a woman, I don’t have um, breasts.”

Terry smiles.

“I am well aware you aren’t a woman, sweetheart, well aware,” he stresses, dropping a hand down to Daniel’s cock, hard in his pants. “Doesn’t mean it can’t feel good though, does it?”

Terry holds Daniel’s head in his hands, so that the younger man is looking at him. “And it feels good, doesn’t it?”

A moot point, Daniel is pushing his chest into Terry’s mouth, arching his back like a cat in heat, and grinding down into Terry’s lap, like he’s now sure which feels better.

Body worship - especially those cute little 🍒 🍒

Terry convincing Daniel of how desirable he is especially his softer chest.

So NSFW

Apologies, I don’t usually write a lot of 🍒🍒 worship so I’m hoping it doesn’t come off as awkward.

They’re sensitive, his nipples, they always were, but they were never really played with, not like this, not this, quite frankly, graphically or this long - and certainly not with someone’s mouth. However, since he and Terry started being intimate well, the older man’s mouth has barely left them; it’s the first thing he goes for, so Daniel swears now they’re like a live-wire to his dick. He swears also that they’re constantly hard - stiff peaks viable under his shirts, sucked red and raw by Terry, the barest touch of fabric against them has them hardening; has him hardening. They’re just so much more sensitive now because of Terry.

And okay, maybe Terry makes sure he has the best satins and silks - the way they rub and show off the hardened nubs - and the softest of any other material he dresses Daniel in.

When Terry is fucking him from behind, both men standing, with Daniel slightly bend over, bracing himself against something, he loves to cup those cute little mounds with large hands, rubbing them between the seams of his fingers, feel how it makes Daniel’s ass tighten around him, the little moans he tries to bite off. Loves to fondle and feel the slight jiggle of his soft chest as thrusts inside.

At first Daniel was self conscious - not of how sensitive they were or how good it felt with the older man lavished such love and attention on them (okay he was but there was nothing he could hide from Terry) but it more so about the fact that there was more soft flesh around his nipples than there used to be.

And them compared to Terry who had none. Compares to Terry who, well, Terry was so damn fit; impossibly broad and strong.

All the things Daniel was, decidedly not.

So the first time Terry had sort of pushed them together, making two small, soft mounds, groaning out about how perfect they were - made to fit in his hands - “the perfect little handful, sweetheart” - well Daniel never heard the compliment it was intended to be - didn’t see how they make Terry’s mouth water (because they’re also the perfect mouthful too).

And although he certainty felt at that moment, how hard it made the older man come inside him (and he felt it all through out the next day too) he never chalked it up to Terry just loving how perfect he thought his boy was - everything about him in fact - but god his chest was something else - one of Terry’s favourite parts.

So when Daniel starts to work out more with Terry, focusing on his chest, Terry puts two and two together (really there is nothing Daniel can hide from him). He works out the why of it all.

All that lovely softness, Terry can’t stand the thought of losing that.

And he won’t.

So, it’s up to Terry to make his boy see - like he has for everything else. Up to Terry to show him how hard Daniel makes him, every part of him, but especially his gorgeous suckable, bite able, lickable nipples.

Really, as much as he loves his boy, he can be so dense about somethings, as clever as he is for others.

Terry fucks him at every available opportunity. Daniel standing still too long is an invitation to bend him over in Terry’s book.

And his hands, if not on those hips that haunt his dreams, are on his chest.

Even when not fucking, or making love, he’s always grabbing for a feel. His hands itching for it. When they’re on the couch, pressed against the wall, or anywhere else making out, a hand will always find its way quickly up his shirt, to tease at his sweet peaks.

“I could come for this, just from my cock in your ass, hands on your hips and my mouth on those pretty little tits, honey.”

He loves his boy bouncing in his lap for the same reason. To watch them bounce and move with him and because it’s easy access - the perfect position for him to suck and nip at them as Daniel rides them both to orgasm.

Ice cubes, and other things, Terry tying him down with a plug in his ass nestled snug to his prostate, as he makes him come from that and having his 🍒 played with.

But the best, and although by this point his boy is finally starting to see and understand, the thing that truly convinces Daniel is Terry fucking between them. The slow, heavy the drag of his cock between them - the shiny line of precum, how he has Daniel push them together to fuck between them proper - coming between them embarrassingly quick when he does - which surprises Daniel - Terry can last - but it just helps to prove how crazy it makes the older man.

Terry takes himself in hand, making sure every last drop is out of his cock until Daniel’s chest, the soft skin a lovely canvas for Terry to paint, smearing his cum into the skin. His boy looks best absolutely covered (that is when it’s not dripping out of him). When Terry finally stops coming, the older man looks wrecked, smearing his cum into the skin.

That is, it’s the best until Daniel starts touching them himself while Terry is fucking him. It may be a bit awkward and shy the first time, like a lot of things were. Unsure of how to be with anyone else, his boy was, what with being married for so long. But also unsure of how to be with a man, especially a man like Terry.

To be so openly wanted and desired (in all forms); even if he didn’t understand why. To be do adored, and in a way he never has been before - completely and utterly, no part of him unseen or unloved.

Still, as awkward and stiff as it was, especially when Daniel had first brought his hands to them, if it wasn’t one of the hottest things Terry has seen, Terry doesn’t know what it.

In encouragement, to show his appreciation for the scene in front of him, and because his balls had instantly drawn up, Terry grabbed onto his hip, fucking up as he yanked Daniel down, filling his ass seconds later. Daniel had kept rocking on the hard cock still inside him until Terry pulled out, putting him on his hands and knees, one large hand on his ass keeping him open so he could eat Daniel out, with another hand on his chest, fondling the softness there, a direct contrast to the hard nipple under his palm. Daniel for his part, was frantically fucking back against Terry’s face, his own hand rubbing at the other nipple.

But like all aspects of the physical side of things, he gets better, more confidant now that he knows what it does to Terry - what he does to Terry - what he does to Terry for simply existing.

Making sure he faces Terry when he rides the older man when he’s flat on his back, makes sure to play and push them together, pinch and rub at them, to moan out that he wants to feel Terry’s mouth on them - how hard it makes him, to have Terry sucking on them, how good it feels to have his tongue on them.

Yeah, that might be one of the best ones of all.

#ask #I got an ask 🤩 #cobra kai #daniel larusso #karate kid #terry silver #silverusso #silverrusso #mercy is a sharp knife #🍒🍒

[the-masculine-alpha]

Breaking A Straight Cop

Officer Ryan didn’t know how much more of this he could stand, how long he could last before he finally gave in and told them what they wanted to hear. He was so tired, so incredibly tired. They’d kept him on his feet, his legs spread wide-apart by leather cuffs, close on 24 hours now. His thick thighs and calves felt like they were on fire. All Officer Ryan wanted to do was lie down or at least sit down. That’s all he wanted. But they wouldn’t let him - they wouldn’t let him until he told them what they wanted to hear, until he told them that he wanted them to fuck his cop-hole, to core out a pussy between his ass-cheeks and turn him into their fuck-bitch, their cum-dump, their sex slave.

Ryan was so tired, so incredibly tired. And there was always one of them in here, watching him, making sure he didn’t leave his feet, didn’t try to kneel down or lie down, do anything that might relieve the monstrous pain emanating from his burning thighs and calves. Twice he’d just collapsed, crumpling down on the floor. Immediately, the dude watching him had alerted his friends and they’d all come rushing in and forced him back onto his feet and then they took turns squeezing and pinching his nipples - his boy-tits as they referred to them - until he was howling in pain. The first time they’d worked on his nips for fifteen minutes, the second time for half an hour. By the time they’d finished their second session on his man-tits, the slightest touch to his inflamed nubs sent bolts of pain ricocheting through his body, worse even than the pain he felt in his quads and his calves. And they warned Officer Ryan that if he did it again they’d affix alligator-clips to his cop tits and leave them on there for hours. And Officer Ryan knew, he knew in the depths of his soul, that if they did that, if they put alligator clips on his tenderized boy-tits, he’d give in - he’d beg them to fuck him, to make him their cum-dump, their sex slave, he’d agree to do anything to get those clips off his tortured nips. So, for the last fourteen hours, he’d been standing there, struggling to stay on his feet, enduring the ever-increasing agony in his thighs and calves, battling against the sheer exhaustion that he knew would eventually overwhelm him.

It was bound to be a losing battle. Even Ryan realized that. He was already at the edge of his endurance and the men holding him prisoner seemed totally steadfast in their determination to break him. It was only a matter of time before Ryan conceded defeat and told them what they wanted to hear. And, that being the case, the smart thing to do - the only smart thing to do - was to give in now and at least the awful tortures of his quads and calves would end, though Ryan had no illusions concerning the other uses of a sexual nature he would immediately be put to. But that was going to happen eventually anyway. Why not give in now and simply accept the inevitable? That was clearly the smart move. Even Ryan realized that.

And yet. And yet, Officer Ryan just couldn’t bring himself to say those words, to ask to be fucked like a bitch, to ask these men to make him their cum-dump, their sex slave. He knew he was going to be fucked. He knew that as an absolute certainty. There was nothing he could do to keep that from happening, no way he could protect himself from that ultimate defilement. But, if he asked them to do it, if he opened his mouth and begged them to fuck him like they wanted him to do, Ryan realized he’d be losing a part of himself he could never get back - his own self-perception of masculinity. Somehow he realized that if he did give in - when he did give in - he wouldn’t just be serving as their sex slave, he’d become their sex slave. Ryan knew that if they kept him long enough, and he now no longer doubted that they would, he’d eventually see himself as their sex slave, as their property to use and abuse however they wanted and that once that happened, there would be no coming back. Ever. And that was the prospect that truly terrified him. He had to hold out, to hold on to his masculinity, as long as he could.

But the pain and the exhaustion were so bad, so unbelievably bad. He just couldn’t stand it anymore. And then, suddenly, his voice thick with tears, Officer Ryan heard himself speaking, “Fuck me. Make me your fuck-bitch, your sex slave. Fuck me. Please, fuck me.” And, as he could hear them all whooping and hollering and gathering together to take permanent possession of all that had made Ryan a man, bitter tears rolled down the rugged face. Officer Ryan knew he was lost. Forever.

[saps0nap]

sapnap headcanons

warnings:  NSFW (mentions of: male masturbation, making out, breath play, fem eating out, alcohol consumption,) fem reader, fluff, soulmate headcanons, mentions of babies. these are just my personal scenarios and how i think sapnap would act in them. minors DNI please!

sapnap is a taylor swift stan by association just because you do. and he definitely took you out to buy midnights on its release date and surprised you with the 3AM edition.

when your over at his house he makes sure to check on you (not that he can stand to be away from you anyways) and pops his head into the room before laying sloppily on top of you and burying his head in your neck. he mumbles a “you’re so warm.” before he moves his hands that are pressed up against both your chests to wrap around you and fall asleep.

sapnap loves taking pictures of you. he has hundreds. his favorites are the ones he takes on polaroid where your stretched out naked in bed after you came over and spent the night. he says he doesn’t have a favorite because in every one you look beautiful, but secretly he loves the one of you with your ass perked up and looking at him with the after-sex-glow you’re always showing off for him. and in this one there’s a certain reflection that makes a halo form above your head. its absolutely perfect. he jerks off to that one the most.

he will randomly wake up in the middle of the night sometimes and slide his hand under your pillow to find the back of your neck to make sure you're still in bed.

sapnaps very shy in public, but that doesn't mean he doesn't like to show PDA. he’s always always wanting to hold your hand and throw it up into the air, or cupping your face just enough so people can’t actually see the kisses he gives you every 5 minutes.

he loves to make out. the kisses he gives you in private make your core throb with anticipation, knowing in minutes it will be raw from his tongue. they are so soft and full that it makes you want to cry, his kisses are you absolute favorite and you cant help but wait for the next one knowing it will be even better than the last.

speaking of: sapnap loves your pussy. simple as that. he doesn't think it belongs to him by any means, and he certainty knows that you could reject him pleasure with keeping your legs closed. so every time you spread open atop of him, already seeing you so so wet for his tongue just makes him throb even more. and he cant even control it, because the second he gets close enough to your clit its like hes sucked in and he just cant stop mouth-fucking you. except for when he’s in a special mood where he finds the strength to pull away from your lips and gasp for air, blowing the cool air onto your burning nub. at this, you squirm, letting your toes curl and nearly pulling out multiple strands of his hair before he goes back in for more, giving you only your first orgasm of the night.

sapnap is an overall softy. he enjoys the little moments just as much as big events like vidcon or your anniversary. he likes watching halloween movies and baking and trying so so so hard not to cry while helping you cook dinner. the onions always win. and most of all he loves that he gets to spend all those moments with you. and he knows its cliche but he knows deep down his life would be so much worse if you weren't in it.

when the two of you are away from each other, and the moon is looking particularity bright, he always sends you a message saying something like THE MOON LOOK, THE MOON IS FULL HURRY or NOW LOOK NOW GO OUTSIDE AND LOOK. and every time without fail you always so outside to take a picture but not after you stand outside in the cold thinking how cute the dynamic you two have is.

sapnap is obsessed with the idea of taking care of a beard. particularly one that he defiantly doesn't have...yet. you remember a handful of times him telling you in bed after waking up past eleven how much one day he wanted to grow a beard for himself and take care of it. he wanted hair oils and special brushes & combs, and going to the barber for a trim. he also wanted one specifically to give you beard burn. although his stubble burn does enough, he thinks the more hair on his face than it would be more painful for you when he’s eating you out. you like to imagine one day him with a beard and a baby girl on his hip.

being with sapnap means automatically having a date to all the weddings you attend over the summer. the fondest memory you have is at the last one in july, after the ceremony and the two of you were slow dancing. you were a little bit drunk, but it almost didn't matter because through all the wine and champagne you both had that day, everyone could tell through your smiles it was the happiest you had been in so long. sapnap was holding you while swaying gently, and a little clumsily too... but it was when he moved his lips to the top of your head and whispered, “i wanna do this again... a thousand times...” he slurred, tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you into a full hug, still slightly swaying. it made you giggle and your cheeks flush, and before you knew it you both were laughing wildly for a reason you didn’t know but couldn’t stop. sapnap and you ended the night (sometime in the early hours) with one last shared bottle of wine before passing out in your clothes in a hotel.

teenage sapnap wasn’t what he thought he was, but that didn’t matter because he was so much more than you ever could’ve thought he’d be. he thought he was the coolest guy out there-- most of the time. okay, the times he wasn’t with you that’s what he wanted you to think. but it comes back to him in the most simplest times that he gets humbled. like tonight, when you and sapnap decided in the middle of the night you wanted to get some late night snacks. slurpee’s in particular. you had driven nearly an hour away after missing the exit sign three times, finally getting there at 2AM instead of 1 when you decided to leave in the first place. but eventually, when you get there you two immediately head to the slurpee machine and start filling up your cups. you go for the classic coca cola, while sapnap heads for blue raspberry, cherry, mountain dew, dr pepper, and vitamin water... avoiding the coke all together. and you thought it was the cutest thing. you couldn’t explain it but it didn't stop you from reaching up and running a hand through his hair. he took his hand off the machine, looking over at you and asking “what?” “nothing, you're just handsome.” you said with a small closed-mouth smile. “oh.” he said, maneuvering his head slightly to shift your hand into his cheek. you rubbed it lightly and felt the heat come to the surface. and as you finally took your eyes off him, he added his drink off with a little coca-cola on top before securing the lid. 

i hope everyone enjoys these:)) this is defiantly just the first post about him there will be more, trust.

#sapnap headcanons #mcyt #sapnap #karl jacobs #soulmates #mcyt smut

[austajunk]

Alright so… we already had sfw komanami headcanons, what about your nsfw ones? >:)

-Kmnm anon :>

Oooh! Btw KomaNami anon, you’re one of the few anons that I have a 75 percent certainty of that I know who you are.

But let’s get into the spicy stuff for KomaNami <3

- Nagito is big on oral love. For some reason, he just has a gift for it and loves to go down on Chiaki. Kissing her thighs, murmuring praise to her and declaring how lucky and blessed he is to be between her legs, then teasing her coyly… his tongue is such a dangerous thing in bed.

- Chiaki really loves to tease Nagito’s nipples. Nothing makes her happier than possibly restraining him and then pinching his nipples, rolling her thumb around them gently until he whimpers. He’ll sniffle and say that he’s sensitive there. That it’s a cheap shot. But it’s an easy game won when she kisses and sucks on those sensitive little nubs. And yes, it is payback for all the times he wakes her up by eating her out.

- Chiaki falls asleep during sex sometimes. It’s just a thing she does. But that’s okay. Nagito likes to admire her and wax poetic to himself about how peaceful she looks. Sometimes he’ll roll her up into a blanket like a sushi roll. Other times, a devilish streak will overtake him and he desires to push Chiaki by filling her with more Hope. A cream pie does so nicely.

- They’ve fucked a lot in their respective hoodies. Nagito just really finds her cute in her cat hoodie and has to pounce her.

- Chiaki hates bondage as she does the tying up in this relationship. But sometimes she just gets engrossed in a game and forgets to set Nagito free. And right after she’s sucked him off to full mast and left him aching for hours. But he’ll endure it for Hope.

- Chiaki will get so stuck in her video games that Nagito will try to surprise her by fondling her or rubbing his cock along her soft cheek, but she pouts and pretends not to notice him. He has to work so damn hard for that attention!

- They totally play dirty, degenerate, hot eroges and VNs together. Nagito strangely likes showing her some with dark romance and humiliation themes. Chiaki prefers more slice of life and exhibitionist/strange kink ones.

- Nagito gets pegged. You know he does.

- Chiaki’s favorite position is cowgirl because she loves a hot ride and when Nagito sinks his nails into her ass. <3

As usual, I’ll think of more as they come to me. You all see me post my random spicy thoughts anyways. <3

#danganronpa #danganronpa 2 goodbye despair #nagito komaeda #chiaki nanami #komanami #thanks for the ask! #headcanons

[ilaiyayaya]

Gundam Is Too Scary Crying Emoji

crawls out of gunpla mines covered in vomit and blood and plastic shavings Finally, no more, I've done it, no more gunpla, ever again, never, I never have to touch a runner again for the rest of my life.

Yea ngl I think gunpla just kinda isn't my thing, like I don't hate it but like, I don't love it either, specifically the actual process of building, and especially cutting the pieces from the runners and sanding them, the end product is usually pretty cool, sometimes. This motherfucker has been wasting space on my desk for 6 months, I refused to move her so I'd be forced to eventually put together Miorine, and I guess it worked, cause she's finally done. These are meant to take like, 1 or 2 hours to build, I don't remember exactly how long Suletta took me, but definitely longer than 1 or 2 hours, this time Miorine took nearly 5 hours I don't know how I'm this fucking slow. Halfway through I couldn't even be bothered anymore to sand and polish the parts because it was taking so long, and also because I'm really bad at it so it didn't really help much anyways, so now there's just a bunch of very visible marks all over them so they look super scuffed. But like, they're done now, I never have to worry about them again, and from far away, they look so good together!

Now my desk is clean, there's nothing on it except a few random USB cords and a tiny optical drive, I finally have usable space again, I can bring my drawing tablet back out and like obviously not actually use it but like, it can exist again.

I still have this bisch:

but gonna be honest as cool as she is, and as much as I'd love it on my shelf, it's not getting built, it's just not, I both do not want to go through the process of building it, and am also too afraid to fuck it up and have it come out looking awful and covered in nub marks and filing residue. But look at her she's so Dlanor A. Knox-core. Unfortunately Robo-Knox will be staying sealed away in her box 5ever cuz like this stuff is too scary for me 😢

It's good to know now with 100% certainty that model kits just aren't really for me, and therefore now I will never ever waste any more money ever on another one except I just learned that Buster Doll Tank exists and like I do really like the color combination of neon green and black so perhaps...

Time to keep the productivity train going and reorganize my entire shelves >:) (which means I'm gonna have to move the 2 gay lesbians and fuck up their posing which like isn't that good at the moment anyways but like I don't like posing them their joints feel weird and I'm afraid I'm gonna break them by bending them the wrong way 😔)

#gunpla #me? gongaga #I really need to buy a fucking camera like jesus christ my phone's camera is crusty af #miorine peak hair goals frfr #my lungs are so filled with microplastics now #rhythm heaven fever #suletta x miorine

[grasslandgirl]

people asked for it, here’s my nauseatingly projection-filled fig meta

pov you’re fig and you’re cute and you’re at least semi popular in middle school which is a feat in and of itself and you’ve got a good solid group of friends and you all cheer together and go to the mall and have sleepovers and sometimes the boys on the teams you cheer for ask you out and you all go with your various friends groups and you and him sit in a separate booth when you get ice cream and hear your friends giggling from across the shop and it’s awkward but kind of nice bc he keeps looking at you and blushing and he says you look really pretty even though you’re kind of sweaty from practice and the skirt you’re wearing you borrowed from one of your friends so it fits kind of weird but you believe him anyway and you smile and you duck your head and you giggle about it with your friends at school the next day, flush with flattery and giddiness even you don’t really talk to the guy again after that.

pov you’re fig and the summer after eighth grade your scalp starts itching and then it starts hurting and then you wake up one day with horrible little nubs sticking out of your head like something out of a nightmare and you go back to bed thinking you’ve hallucinated it but when your mom comes in to badger you awake at 11 am she stops dead still in your doorway when you sit up in bed and your stomach sinks with the horrifying knowledge that everything is going to be different. she takes you to the doctor that afternoon and you hear his voice echo in the sterile white room when he tells you that you’re a teifling.

pov you’re fig and your mom and dad scream at each other every night when you’re trying to fall asleep and you like at the tender skin around your- horns, you’ve got horns now because you’re a- and when you meet up with your friends again for the first time that summer they all stop and share awkward looks between each other and it’s the first time you’ve been on the outside of one of those whisper-giggle-eyeroll moments instead of one of the crowd. You freeze, standing too far away with a plastic smile on your face, until they stop laughing- at you, you know with a horrifying certainty, they’re laughing at you- and beckon you over with greetings that ring false. And after that they start texting you less and less until the group crystal chat has gone entirely silent save from your handful of halfhearted attempts at conversation and you know they’ve made a new one without you. And the worst part is that it’s not as much a surprise as it should be, your friends have always been a little catty, a little cliquey, but you never paid it much mind because you were safely ensconced in the middle of the group, the cute little flier cheerleader who winked at the junior varsity bloodrush players during halftime and made all the other girls laugh until they couldn’t breathe- not one of the outsiders. Not one of the loners or the losers your ex-friends turned their petite noses up at. Not until now. 

pov you’re fig and your new reality doesn’t really sink in until you run into the guy you went on one ill-fated “date” with in the eighth grade at the park. He looks up at you, the same flicker of recognition on his face, and he starts to smile, starts to lift his hand in greeting, you see the beginning of a flattering ruddy blush gathering on the back of his neck- and then his eyes catch on the horns on the top of your head. And his expression shutters and his hand falls and he turns away, politely pretending his hasn’t seen you, but not before you catch the flash of what can only be called disgust on his face. And your world comes shattering down around your ears entirely. You never put much stock into being pretty- you weren’t the prettiest of your old friends, but upon reflection you weren’t the least pretty, either- but the loss of it stings anyway. The knowledge now that the first thing people think when they see you on the street isn’t oh what a cute girl, it’s oh god she’s a teifling stings. Pokes at a tender, self conscious place in your heart that you thought you’d armored over until your ex-friends glanced at you out of the corners of their eyes and laughed, like you were a pitiable joke. 

pov you’re fig and you don’t really believe it when people say you’re pretty anymore. All you hear is the tittering laugher in the mall cafeteria, all you see is the way your single-day-boyfriend’s hand fell when he saw your horns. People lie all the time- you know that better than everyone. They lie to make people feel better, they lie to make themselves feel better, they lie to get what they want. Even your mom and dad lie, guilt heavy on their faces. Your friends lie, squinting through rose colored glasses you’ve blinded them with. Maybe they think you’re talented or charismatic or even pretty in the right light now, but someday the truth will come crashing down on them like it did on you- you’re not that girl anymore. The skinny little cheerleader with a bright smile and who could look herself dead in the eyes in the mirror. You’re fig, now. The infaethable. You’ve got horns and you’re eyes have turned purple and you bear your teeth when you smile and you’re not as stick-bone-skinny as you were when you were twelve and still had to be light enough to be thrown through the air. You wear black instead of a school uniform and platform boots instead of white sneakers and fishnets under ripped jeans instead of a skirt. You’re cool and you’re punk and you’re scary and you’re- something. You pull away and turn your back on people first, now.  Because you don’t want to see the looks on people’s faces when the facade finally falls and they see who you are. 

pov you’re fig and you flinch away from your reflection in the mirror.

#brought to you by that one lucy dacus lyric- 'you called me cerebral/ i didn't know what you meant/ but now i do would it have killed you/ #to call me pretty instead?' and also my personal history with toxic ex bffs and being the fat funny friend hahahahahhhahaha #fig can hold SOOO much sav projection in her #fh #fig faeth #d20 #d20 meta #tyyy to bea and calico for encouraging me

[novelconcepts]

Excuse you...😭 The first prompt being absolutely Older Jamie having a cat that bonds with her AND Dani... Sad hours in this house, damn

She never let them have pets. There isn't much Dani Clayton regrets--isn't much point, she's found, in the endless, boundless stretch of after--but sometimes, she does regret that much. Jamie always laughed it off, said she didn’t mind--What do I need pets for? Got more than enough to keep alive, thanks very much.--but Dani knew she’d never had animals growing up. Hadn’t stood still long enough for a cat, or a rabbit, or even fish. Maybe it’s true that you can’t miss what you never had, but she can’t help wondering if Jamie’s got some little puncture, deep down, that should have been filled with a big-hearted creature who would have put her first. 

And Dani, to her eternal chagrin, hadn’t been able to fill that. Hadn’t been able to allow herself that. The beast, she was sure, would someday rise, and it was bad enough to think of Jamie going without. Bad enough to imagine Jamie staring hollowly at the door, wishing for Dani’s key in the lock. What would a dog have done? What would an animal who had only ever wanted love and to be loved have thought, the day Dani inevitably left and could not return home again?

How she’d thought of it in life, anyway. Now, she’s aware of so much. Aware of time in a slipstream around her, of the immediacy of the past, the present, the future all bound up with gold-edged ribbon. She is Dani Clayton, eight years old and watching her father waste to nothing, and she is Dani Clayton, twenty-nine and watching Eddie laugh at their engagement party, and she is Dani Clayton, thirty-one and watching Jamie nervously place a moonflower on a counter. Forever, she is Dani Clayton--the lost little girl, the stubborn young woman, the beloved wife. 

And Jamie? Jamie does not yet understand forever. She isn’t yet a part of the slipstream. Jamie is silver-haired, twisting that ring: a gardener and a widow, a storyteller and a scarred heart. Jamie doesn’t get it yet. Dani wishes she could tell her. Wishes she could impart the wisdoms of after while Jamie can still make use of them. 

She can’t. She’s tried. Her hand on Jamie’s shoulder, night after night, she’s tried to will the knowledge into the love of her life. I’m here. I’m always right here. You have to keep living, Jamie, you have to keep going, because I will always be right here. 

For years, she’s worried it’ll never sink in. For years, which are moments, which are blinks, she watches Jamie stagger through the world. Jamie, making bargains with gods and ghosts. Jamie, unable to see her, unable to let her go. Jamie, desperate and grieving and miserable. It sets an ache in Dani’s chest she hadn’t thought she could feel anymore. All time is now. How is there still pain?

But watching Jamie--watching her run baths, button into Dani’s old blouses, prop that god-forsaken door open in dozens of hotels over the years--how could it not be painful? Watching Jamie hurt is the worst of the world. Watching Jamie in her recklessness, watching solid, grounded Jamie crack open one empty mirror at a time. How could it not dig at her?

You’ll understand, Dani thinks--and it is as much a wish as a certainty. Someday. Soon. Now. Always. You’ll understand. The gardener always learns. The gardener always listens. The gardener can’t not piece it together, given enough time. 

But, for Jamie, it’s slow. It’s linear. It’s one day at a time, one year after another. For Jamie, it’s another Christmas alone. Another of Dani’s birthdays celebrated in silence: a lit candle, a photo, a woman bent over her own knees as her shoulders shudder. For Jamie, time plods. Time bleeds. Time is a wound she can’t stitch shut.

And then: the first one follows her home.

It’s an accident, Dani knows--would know, even if Jamie hadn’t in recent years taken to muttering to herself in the solace of an empty room. Jamie hadn’t even realized it was happening until the scruffy little mongrel followed her off the street, into the building. It sits--curly black fur, enormous brown eyes--at her side as if waiting. As if the invitation is implicit. As if it’s already home.

“No,” Jamie says. Dani can’t help smiling; there’s something to Jamie saying no that way that has always sounded an awful lot like a wall coming down. And, sure enough, the minute the door is open, the dog saunters inside as though it has never belonged anywhere else.

A bit, Dani thinks, like Jamie after Dani had taken her hand that night. 

It’s an accident, but Jamie has never been much good at turfing out creatures in need of love once they’re inside. The dog stays. Jamie calls him Iowa--it seems to have been the first thing to slip out of her mouth, and the dog cocks his head and wags his nub of a tail, and that’s that. Jamie, for the first time in her life--fifty-seven years old, paying rent on her first flat in over a decade--has a pet. 

Dani thinks it’ll be good for her. A dog begs routine. A dog needs walks, and feeding at reasonable hours, and doors that are shut at night. That Iowa seems older--relaxed and certain and just a bit bull-headed--is even better. He doesn’t run ragged around the flat, knocking into tables, shattering flower pots. He simply trots along at Jamie’s side as though he’s always been there. 

It would be enough, Dani senses, if it were just the two of them. Jamie has always thrived in the caring for other living things. Jamie is happiest when given a task, a hands-on approach to the world. The dog, she may not have sought out--but the dog is hers, and she is his, and there is a kind of salvation in unexpected love. 

The next one is even more of an accident, if that’s possible. A huge bear of a beast, shaggy and stained and wet-eyed. Jamie finds it limping through the streets of London with mud caked on its belly and head hung low. No tags. No marker of any kind. Iowa nudges her around the knees, looking at the mountainous creature, and Jamie sighs. 

“No,” she tells him, but Dani--and Iowa--can tell it’s a lie even before the syllable is completely formed. Jamie is already reaching a cautious hand toward the trembling dog. It whimpers. It presses its nose to her outstretched fingers. Iowa’s tail wags. 

London is, when given a proper bath and brushing, quite beautiful. Her limp is temporary; her attachment to Iowa in particular, eternal. The first night, with the dog resting her chin on Jamie’s knee, stretched across a threadbare couch, Jamie says, “Found it on the street. Wanted to save it” in a tone that suggests she’s speaking from a dream. Her jaw clenches. Her eyes close. Dani has never wanted so badly to break her own rules.

Neither dog seems to notice her. She’s relieved, in a way; Jamie’s nightly ritual never wavers, save for reluctantly closing the door--as with so many features of Jamie’s world, the safety of others precludes her own--and if the dogs began barking at shadows, it’s likely Jamie would never sleep again. Anyway, these aren’t her pets. Jamie has saved them--or they’ve saved her--and that bond is one Dani can’t muster envy for. 

Two dogs and a home full of plants. It doesn’t bring the light back into Jamie’s eyes, not all the way, but she walks a bit taller these days. Fidgets a little less. Cries often enough, but now there are soft muzzles to press her face against when she does. It’s better, Dani can see. Nothing will ever be what it was, but better is sometimes the most you can ask for in life. 

The third dog is less an accident, more a surprise. A two-for-one deal, to a degree; Jamie has wandered into the local shelter, where she’s taken to volunteering on weekends, and come across a sharp-toothed, snappish shepherd no one else seems able to touch. He’s been through the ringer, the other volunteers say, sage and exhausted by similar experiences. Abuse, probably. Neglect, probably. Only three or four, but with enough mistrust baked into his bones for three lifetimes. 

“He doesn’t like men,” one weary-looking young man says. “Or people who move too fast. Or multiple people coming at him all at once.”

“Can relate,” Jamie says, her mouth quirking. Dani laughs. “What does he like?”

The volunteer points. There, in the back of the shepherd’s cage, is a lithe black shadow. It blinks lantern-gold eyes up at Jamie, tail twitching, and makes a rasping sound that might, in another animal, have been a proper meow. 

“Came in same-day. Can’t separate ‘em. Not sure how we’re going to get them adopted.”

Jamie rubs her jaw, left hand hesitating on the way down. She touches the tip of a finger to her ring and heaves a sigh. 

“Fuck.”

She calls the shepherd Paris, and though it takes time--several patient weeks, Jamie turning up at regular hours each day to coax the nervy animal into growing accustomed to her smell, her voice, her easy-slow method of moving--by the time the papers are signed, there’s no changing it. The flat is now overrun, dog hair clinging to every surface, water bowls standing sentry in the kitchen. The cat’s litterbox goes into the bathroom, Jamie frowning a little as she surveys the new landscape of her home. 

“You,” she tells the cat. “Best behavior. Anything goes crash in the night, it’s your hide.”

The cat preens, rubbing around her ankles. Jamie sighs.

“Christ, if she could see me now.”

Something tugs deep in Dani’s chest--pride, and sorrow, and love of the most fervent kind. The dogs--proud Iowa, sweet London, Paris keeping a careful distance from both--are draped around the living room. Jamie’s home is theirs. Jamie is their home. Dani knows so well what that feels like. They’re lucky creatures.

The dogs are sleepy, warm, happy. The cat--

The cat is looking at her.

Dani frowns. She’s imagining things. Must be. She’s been drifting around Jamie--traveling the world at her side, resting a hand over her shoulder each night--for years and years. Nothing has ever looked at her. Nothing has ever seen her. Not Jamie. Not the dogs. Nothing. 

But this cat. This cat, with its huge golden eyes, black ears twitching, is staring right at her. 

“Huh,” says Dani.

“Mrow,” says the cat.

“C’mon,” says Jamie, oblivious to it all. “Supper.”

Days go by before Jamie properly names the cat. She strokes her fingers gently over the creature’s back, tracing the length of spine and tail, and frowns each night. “Who,” she says quietly, “are you?”

The cat butts against her palm, rumbling deep in its chest. Jamie makes a soft pensive sound.

“Vermont?” She shakes her head. “Nah. You’re different, mm? Somethin’ else.”

The cat chirps, turning its head, gazing into the corner where Dani is leaning. Dani raises a hand, wiggling her fingers experimentally. The cat makes the same noise a second time, as if in greeting. Jamie raises an eyebrow.

“Eerie little beast. Never thought I was much for cats, y’know. But here you are.”

Never thought you were much for people, either, Dani thinks with amusement. Didn’t stop you drawing us all close. 

In the end, Jamie begins calling the cat Gremlin. A nickname, offered in warning, at first--any time she moved too near a plant, or experimentally sniffed at London’s paws while she slept, Jamie would quietly intone, “Oi. Gremlin. Back it up.” It is, in its own way, reminiscent of the way Poppins had clung to their first year--an accidental gift cherished by its recipient. 

Dani can tell the cat--rumbling her pleasure each time the name is used--agrees. Plants are left to their devices. The dogs seem strangely hard-wired to accept the cat as their queen. Jamie shakes her head. 

“So be it, suppose.”

It’s good, watching her build a routine around them. Dani hasn’t seen her stand this still since Vermont, but the dogs love the nearby park, and Gremlin sunbathes happily on the balcony, and Jamie seems, for the first time in years, to be fostering a simple sort of peace. The baths still fill, and her eyes are still too often far-away, but the door is shut. The dogs stretch out around the living room--which doubles, as all living spaces have for a decade, as Jamie’s bedroom--as if warding off intruders. The cat sets up shop on the back of the couch, peering down with regal bearing as Jamie slowly dozes off. And, when Dani inevitably presses a hand toward Jamie’s shoulder the first night--

“Hey,” she says, very quietly. “What’s this?”

Gremlin makes a raspy sort of sound, nudging toward her. She does not make contact, exactly; Dani hasn’t quite figured out touch, in all this time. She hasn’t had much cause. Touching Jamie is a dream, an ache she has carried since her death that reminds her forcefully of before, at Bly, when she hadn’t thought herself worthy or capable. Touching Jamie is the one part of all of this that still feels linear--I could touch her in life, and I can touch her when she gets here, but in between...in between...

In between, Dani can reach toward her. Can brush the space around her shoulder. Can be here, with her, in every way except directly, because some things are still unfair. Like Jamie feeling alone, even with Dani right here. Like Dani being able to always-someday-soon-now except for where it matters most.

She is in the kitchen at Bly, and she is in their bedroom in Vermont, and she is 1976, 1988, 1999, and she is--

Almost petting this cat. Almost. Her brows come sharply together, her heart thudding. 

“How?” she asks Gremlin, who seems not to mind. The cat presses in a bit harder, as if to say, Keep trying. Dani sees no reason not to obey. 

Each night, the animals spread around Jamie in a protective circle: Paris at the door, London beside the couch, Iowa nestled between Jamie’s knees. Each night, Gremlin sets up on the back of the couch, watching Jamie’s breath even out, and turns those enormous eyes on Dani.

And, little by little...

She can’t pick the cat up, or close her hands gently around her face. She can’t make the kind of contact she would as a living woman--matter pressing against matter, mass imposing upon mass. But her fingers are unequivocally brushing thick black fur. She can feel the cat’s breath on her skin. This is true, and real, and solid--and the cat, looking entirely too proud of herself, can plainly feel her in return.

Dani Clayton has been dead for over a decade, and Dani Clayton has been here all the same ever since, but for the first time, Dani Clayton is touching. Dani Clayton is feeling, not simply in the ether of memory, but now. 

She holds a breath as Gremlin rubs against her fingers. She’s still holding it when, slowly, carefully, she reaches down to the couch. 

Her fingers brush silver. Jamie’s brow knits, her lips parting. She’s always looked like this in sleep--as though some part of her just isn’t willing to shut down all the way. She’s always looked as though some part of her needs to be on guard. 

Now, with Dani’s fingers threading through her hair, that tight, armored expression gives a little bit. Just a little. 

In the morning, Dani wonders if Jamie’s eyes will flicker open and she will, finally, see her. There’s a breathless kind of terror to the idea--that she’s gone this long keeping Jamie safe from diving permanently into her own grief, only for a cat to undo all of that work. But, when the sun rises and Jamie rises with it, she gives no sign at all. No sign that she can see Dani, standing beside the couch, though Gremlin is staring right at her. No sign that anything has changed.

Except--except her hand, lingering at the crown of her head. Her fingers, sifting almost absently through her hair, tracing the same path Dani had been unable to pull away from. Her brow furrows. Her head shakes. 

“Breakfast?” she asks the animals in various stages of waking around her. Gremlin stretches, back leg popped high, and hops down. Dani doesn’t think she’s imagining the cat’s easy swagger as she makes her way to the kitchen. 

It isn’t the life she’d imagined for Jamie, laying awake and watching her sleep. Not the life she’d wanted for Jamie, hoping as hard as she could that the beast would remain always at bay. She’d never looked at Jamie and expected dogs to follow her home, hurt and lonely and in need of someone to show them the world can be kind. She hadn’t expected a cat with a swishing tail and a regal demeanor, standing sentinel. Jamie’s life has never quite veered in this direction before.

But: watching her now, as she slips a bit of apple to each dog, strokes the cat, leans her hip against the counter as she waits for the water to boil, Dani has to admit it suits her. Jamie has always been at her best giving love, even against her own better judgement. 

In time, Dani’s sense of soon-someday-now-always will broaden to encompass Jamie, as well. The years will press on. There will come a time where the brush of Dani’s hand across her sleeping cheek--the phantom press of Dani soothing Jamie out of a particularly bad nightmare--will evolve into the intertwining of finally standing on the same plane again. It is the natural order of things. Organic. Dani, standing outside of time, is patient. 

And Jamie: is slowly building herself a home again. Jamie is waking to take dogs out, and brushing down Gremlin’s ink-black fur, and looking more present in the world than she’s been in a decade. Jamie, staring into the mirror each night with Paris pressed resolutely against her legs, Iowa hovering in the doorway, almost smiles. 

“Someday,” she murmurs, “I am going to have some stories for you.”

Dani smiles. She knows, of course--outside of time, it’s hard not to know--but she can’t wait to hear them, all the same. Stories always land a little differently, coming out of Jamie’s mouth. 

Soon, she promises silently. Someday. Always. Now. 

In the meantime, Jamie reaches for a bundle of leashes, giving Gremlin a brief scratch between the ears. She pauses at the door, glancing back over her shoulder, her eyes drifting over Dani without notice. At her side, heading the pack, Iowa gives a small bark to confirm his readiness. 

“Right,” says Jamie softly. “Back soon.”

It is the first time in too long Dani has been sure she will be okay.

#fanfiction #ficlet #the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #dani x jamie #damie #right. caveat: this was way harder to do than something this short should have been #so whether I'll do another immediately or not for weeks--can't say #but your message came in and I couldn't resist building out the headcanon #because frankly the original post made my wife cry and that gave me some feelings #also wow haven’t been like. painfully anxious posting a fic in a long-ass time #whew hi I’m suddenly 14 again

[aspity-sahba]

Dreams.

Sifting through the nighttime fancies of those that slept at night, Aspity muses at the images. The diurnal creatures rest in the dark hours, but she was one of the more nocturnal beings.

It was always amusing to see what the townsfolk and others put out, not knowing that they could be seen. And many times, not even remembering the fleeting scenarios and images that the brain made to make sense of things. Revealing a fraction of their true nature.

Tonight, she was going to check on Vlad Junior, who was meant to be released. She had been tasked with giving him nightmares until he bent his will to give the Termitary to Artemy. That had passed, but the lingering need for certainty still remained.

She walked along the threads in the dream world, away from the safety of her physical body, freely dancing on bony stilts as she prowled the afterimages of the streets.

Unexpectedly, she had company.

She blinked and looked down. It was Peter.

He seemed to be somewhat aware of the state he was in. Not quite mortal nor ghost. But consciousness with form. He looked different though- little nubs of horns on his head, which looked a little like symmetrical knocks.

Aspity lowered herself to greet him, with not a small amount of confusion.

“Sayn... baina? Peter?“

@polyhydra

#dreamwalking #polyhydra

[ichoriism]

@f8less challenged x: [ ADORE ], [ GAZING ], [ GRATIFYING ], [ COAX ] i present, a whole guideline for kyung & lev 🤧❤️‍🔥

   Lev’s gaze finds Kyungmin as he crosses the door. The softness of the afternoon glow slips through the curtains and bathes it all in golden sunshine. He knows that kind of look; desire turning usual caramel into a thin ring of light around dilated pupils. Lev walks up to him, steps sure like they were once upon a time—like they are starting to show again, after years of trauma. Heat coils in the pit of his stomach, spreads like a snake, all senses tingling. Long fingers settle on his chest as he looks up at the aureate of Lev’s beauty. The tips of their noses brush, affection dripping in every tiny caress. Lips find one another, attraction unavoidable, but it’s a game of teasing and they smile through it, allowing these wants of theirs to become impatient while they remain playful. 

   The younger’s clothes go first. Kyungmin's experienced fingers unbutton his jeans and roll his t-shirt up in swift motions between heated kisses. Hands settle over the unblemished, soft skin of Lev’s sides as he laves his attention on the elegant column of his neck. Presses kisses and gentle nips at the sharpness of the base where it almost meets his collarbone. Adores him and claims him as he wants and makes Lev more bothered. Soon enough, his younger lover loses the waiting game and makes this little sound of frustration at the back of his throat. Kyungmin bites his bottom lip to refrain from chuckling as he pulls back enough for the taller man to finish getting rid of his shirt and slim-fitting pants. 

   They are past the awkwardness of new lovers but sometimes… sometimes Lev takes his time to look at him like this. Molten heat pooling in the darkness of his hues, a flush rising to his cheeks and chest. He moves closer, lips brushing against the shell of the blonde’s ear to murmur a soft ‘ You’re perfect ’, and it’s like he knows how to make him unravel. Something inside trembles with all these things Kyungmin could never be able to put into words: his disbelief of being the one Lev has chosen, the gratitude for being given a second chance, this certainty he would give his life gladly if it meant it would keep Lev happy. Kyungmin presses them backward and Lev giggles until the back of his knees hit the bed and he falls, eyes wide and skin hot.

   Kyungmin doesn’t follow him right after. He takes his time to accommodate perfectly between his legs. Settles on his knees to reach to the nightstand and grab the small bottle of lube they will need. He claims his mouth once settled. Doesn’t give Lev a breath and explores him relentlessly, allowing their lowers halves to meet and rut against each other. He wants, he wants, he wants so much. When he pulls back, bow-shaped lips red and cheeks crimson, he noses the high line of Lev’s cheekbone as his hand cradles his jaw. ❛ Look at me, ❜ he orders into his ear, aware Lev’s eyes are already half-closed in pleasure. ❛ Keep looking at me no matter what. ❜ 

   The blond descends, kissing a trail down a worked body. He lavishes his attention on the dips and curves, over the small nubs of his chest, the jutting of his hips. His mouth leaves wet kisses over the suppleness of Lev’s inner thighs while fingertips covered in lube tease his rim. Lev whines as Kyungmin ignores where his need is aching already and it makes him smile. It’s his cue however to strip Lev away from coherence. Just as his finger enters him to start prepping him, he takes Lev inside his mouth, cheeks hollowing and tongue swirling around his hardness. It’s a blur of obscene, wet sounds and pheromones taking him away too. One finger follows after the other and Kyungmin continues his ministrations guided by Lev’s long fingers gripping his hair tightly.  

   Pulsing, Kyungmin pulls back before the younger finishes in his mouth. He squeezes him at the base, edging him and staring at the way Lev’s back arches off the bed, whining high at the loss of his climax. The younger sobs then, head trashing as Kyungmin moves back up. He chuckles, kissing the sharpness of his jaw as Lev hides his face between his hands. ❛ What did I say, baby? ❜  he asks, kissing his hands before he peels them off his eyes. ❛ No looking away, let me see you. ❜ Lev peers up at him, the rouge on his cheeks more intense, pupils fully blown. Entranced by the beauty of the younger’s eyes, it occurs to him they sparkle like jewels under reduced light, catching it in every angle and amplifying it as if casting their own shine. How he loves to see him coming undone.

   Kyungmin kisses him softly. He licks his way inside his mouth just as the tip of his aching hardness presses against the prepped rim. Lev’s legs fall open as Kyungmin pushes in. Lev’s eyebrows pinch together as he looks up at Kyungmin and this little sound escapes from his throat as he fights to stay as he is and don’t hide from a feline gaze taking into every single detail of his surrender. ❛ Angel, you are so divine, ❜ he murmurs into his ear, hips rocking a few times to test Lev’s resistance. ❛ I want to mess you up and put you back together, will you let me? ❜

   They carry on. Their sense of time and space is lost somewhere between tangled limbs and demanding kisses. Kyungmin satisfies his hunger and marks rain all across Lev’s shoulder lines and hips. He eats his mewls and cries, and tastes the sweet light saltiness of sweat drops rolling down his temples and neck. Pushes all the way in until Lev can barely breathe and is sucking him in, in, in like he cannot have enough either. He loves him, holds him, cherishes him as the afternoon gold turns into silver moonlight and Lev is lost in the world of dreams, safely tucked into his side. 

#● → 𝓈𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝑒 ● ᴄʜᴏɪ ᴋʏᴜɴɢᴍɪɴ #● → 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝑒 ← ● #f8less #{ ` excuse me while i crawl into my cave to go and dieeeee } #{ ` i want to do them justice but im so rusty omg hahahaha—— } #{ ' now i'm 50 shades of mortified lmao but i hope this gave you a good time???? haha } #{ ' kyungmin is so intense and wild im just gonna choke here and hope the earth swallows us XD } #usfw

[chichirichick]

SoMa Day 7: Blush

Another day of @soulxmakaweek! Soul makes a terrible mistake (with special intervention from Black Star), but at least it leaves them both blushing. Read it on ff.net, ao3, or after the cut!

Convincing himself that the blush that was creeping from his neck to his cheeks to his ears was simply a bit of embarrassment was entirely becoming impossible for Soul. Even with the woeful look on Maka's face, the way her hands were digging against the roots of his hair to brush the now nubbed strands was forcing Soul's color from that slight tan to utterly pink, starting towards a rose-hued red that rivaled his eyes. It was only made worse by the fact that Maka wasn't looking away from it or even really acknowledging it, just rubbing against the fresh shave of his head.

That's right-- shaved. Down to the root. Practically bald. Headbands? Unnecessary. Stealing Maka's clips? A thing of the past. In the nightmarish world he was currently living in, Soul was the absolutely unproud owner of buzz cut courtesy of Black Star's clippers and devious mind. Alright- maybe Soul was not entirely innocent in all of this, having made the common mistake of falling victim to what looked like Black Star's absolute stupidity. Making a bet with Black Star often seemed like a solid plan; that is until the realization hit that while desperately full of himself and rarely the one with a plan, Black Star's bravado was never misplaced.

Black Star was a God, after all.

And this vengeful God had required the ultimate sacrifice- all of Soul's spiky yet silky strands.

"It'll grow back," he grumbled.

That earned Soul nothing more than an epic eye roll. "How did this even happen?" Maka cried mournfully while her fingers continued on their journey as if she could bring it all back with just her touch.

"A bet," Soul replied as the pink definitely disappeared, overpowered by a red glow that was now threatening to burst blood vessels in his ears.

"With who?" That was suffused with the anger that usually accompanied a Maka-chop, and honestly, he was begging for it to free him.

"Guess," he mumbled, hoping to earn himself freedom from her fingers.

Instead, she grasped a little harder, scrambling his brain with a quick shake. "Soul!"

With his hackles raised and all the stubbornness flowing from the flush that her touch was creating, Soul snapped, "Don't see why you care- it's just my hair!"

"It's-" Her lips pressed into a pout as she pushed a huff of air out her nose. "I guess it's-"

"What?" Soul barked.

Those hands instantly moved, and Soul waited with utter certainty for the crack of a book against his skull, but it was two warm palms against his cheeks instead, smooshing them together. "I'll miss it," she murmured, "but I guess you're still handsome."

His jaw was ready to drop, but Maka was holding it in place. Something close to a squeal started in his throat, and Soul barely covered it with a sound somewhere between a choke and a clearing. "Did you just…?"

"What?" Maka's tone was innocent but a dusting of pink had started on her own cheeks.

"You just-" Soul stammered as he grabbed at her wrists to pull her hands away. He instantly found it wasn't her palms that were the hindrance and his voice continued in dips and starts, "Handsome? Me?"

Maka was taking a careful step back, green eyes no longer appraising him as they tried to look busy elsewhere. "You get one compliment- and just to make you feel better about the buzz, that's all!"

He couldn't relent, his fingers steady around her wrists and denying any other step between them. "But you mean it?"

She nodded but still stubbornly refused to look at him again, that pink becoming all too rosy as it flushed down her neck.

"Then…" Soul could barely stop from wiggling her wrists in his hand in utter frustration. Handsome. She said handsome! "What about my regular hair?"

"What about it?" Maka shot back quickly as she fiddled with her wrists in his hands.

"You think that's handsome?" The word half warbled but landed true. He let his eyes drift to the floor, taking at least an ounce of pressure off his chest.

A wobbly but thoughtful hum escaped her. Maka managed to free her hands in his moment of weakness, but instead of a quick escape, her hands went back to his head, fingers sinking in the fuzz. "I liked the headband," she murmured. "Especially the thin black one."

"That one?" Soul balked and continued to tumble into shock as his eyes hit her face, now just as much color spread to her ears as his.

Maka nodded slowly. "But I-" She stuttered, trying to catch herself with a sheepish smile. "I like the way you push it back when you're thinking too hard." Her hand moved to his forehead to mimic the motion.

"So… it's handsome?" he attempted.

"I told you one compliment." She instantly tried to press her lips into a pout but it fizzled under the heat of her cheeks.

"I-" Soul took a deep breath to force his voice to its regular baritone. "I like when you have ribbons in your pigtails."

Any solidity to her expression was gone, mouth gaping slightly as her eyes widened.

"The best is when your hair is down." His hands hovered between them for a moment before reaching up to steal hers away from his head. Tangled together, he brought their hands to his chest, cradling them there. "There, so… compliment for a compliment. OK?"

"OK," she whispered back breathlessly. Maka toyed with her bottom lip between her teeth before she offered, "You're handsome."

He only allowed for a breath before he broke the silence, "And you're beautiful."

To hide the red on her face, Maka pulled their hands down to replace it with her forehead, feeling the tumultuous beat of his heart against her skin. "You mean it?"

"Yeah." Suddenly his chest was rumbling, chuckles vibrating against her face.

Maka still didn't have the nerve to uncover the blush that was holding strong to her cheeks. "What is it?"

"Hindsight's twenty-twenty."

"What's that mean?"

Soul let the laughs ring until he was even more out of breath, just worrying her fingers in his as he gathered up the bravery to continue. "I think I coulda won the bet."

She was tempted to roll her eyes but 'beautiful' was still ringing in her ears, keeping her attitude small. "What was the bet?"

Soul let out a blustering breath. "Gettin' the guts to ask you out. Kinda was supposed to yesterday but, you know…" He finished that sentence with a shrug only for him since Maka was still hiding away. "So, buzz it was."

Maka couldn't help a giggle and his fingers tightened around hers.

"Hey, Maka," he called as he just barely brushed his chin against her hair.

"What?"

"Go out with me?" That still brought a little tremble to his voice but Soul exerted all of his strength for the next, "Not a meister-weapon, a partner-friend thing but a you-me thing."

For a horrifyingly long second, Maka was silent. "Will you grow out your hair again?"

A nervous laugh twittered from his throat. "Well, yeah."

Maka lifted her head, showing him the pink of her cheeks so she could see his. "You really could have won that bet."

#soulxmakaweek #SoMaWeek2021 #Soul Eater #SoMa #blackstaristhecauseofalltrouble

[idreamofplaid]

The Gift

 Summary: It started with a gift, and the end result was something extraordinary.

Characters: Sam x Reader x Dean

Word Count: 2561

A/N: This was a request from @akhuna01 during a Christmas past. I had the greatest time writing it. This girl is greedy. She has so many orgasms it’s hard to keep count (but who wouldn’t with Sam and Dean in their bed?). I’m am completely jealous of her!

A/N 2: Happy Half Christmas! Day 4 All the Info Here

It was supposed to be a joke, but no one was laughing. Sam looked at the green knitted object he was holding. He lifted his eyes in your direction, eyebrows raised with a questioning expression. Dean was holding a similar gift you had made for him. His was a bright, merry holiday red. You noticed him swallow; his mouth fell slightly open, and he bit his lip. Sam's eyes caught Dean's briefly. Dean shoved his present back in the box and stood up quickly. He asked, "Anybody want eggnog?" 

 Sam and Dean disappeared in the direction of the kitchen leaving you alone to look at the boxes on the table and wonder what happened. Your knitting skills weren't the greatest, but you thought it would be funny. After all, it was something you were pretty sure neither one of them had ever had before. Had they? Handmade cock socks weren't something you would give everyone, naturally, but you had known Sam and Dean for a long time.  They helped you out with a little poltergeist problem a few years back; you'd kept in touch, and you considered both of them to be close friends. To be perfectly honest, you had thought of dating both of them. Problem was, you really couldn't make up your mind.  Add to that the fact that neither of them ever asked to help you break the tie, so nothing came of that idea. 

Your relationship with both of them had always been comfortable before, but now you were feeling pretty awkward and regretting your decision. Particularly since you had exaggerated the size of the socks to something most would consider to be extra large at the very least. You put your hands on one of the boxes briefly and shook your head  then got up to join the boys in the kitchen. The night was spent drinking eggnog, catching up by sharing stories, and pretending the present thing had never happened.

Later That Night

You were sitting at the desk in one of the bunker bedrooms brushing your hair preparing yourself for bed. You were no longer trying to figure out what had happened earlier; you were just relaxing, enjoying the holiday mood.  This year you actually felt like celebrating for the first time in a long time. Christmas music played in the background, and it put you in a dreamy mood.

You'd never had a perfect Christmas, never had anything close to the one that lived in your mind, the one with snow falling gently outside the window, a crackling fireplace, a tree sparkling with lights, and homemade cookies on the coffee table. What fantasy, Christmas or otherwise, would be complete without strong arms around you? You closed your eyes to picture it, and you could almost smell the cologne he was wearing.  The scent was woodsy with a touch of warm comforting musk. The man in your fantasy was tall and muscular; his voice was deep. He nibbled on your ear and whispered all the things he planned to do to you. They were wonderful, naughty, sexy, delightful things. 

You took a deep breath and slipped your hand down into your panties and moved your fingers slowly through your damp folds. You imagined the touch of much bigger fingers than yours, long fingers that were thick like Sam's. You parted your legs wider to get better access. Your fingers brushed over your aching clit; it had been too long since anyone else had done it for you, and your hand moved in ever quickening small circles. Your breathing became more rapid, eyes still closed. You were so involved in moving ever closer to your climax that you didn't even hear the door open. The deep voice from your dreams became a reality, and you heard Sam say "Am I interrupting something?" You quickly pulled your hand from your underwear; your eyes popped open, and you turned toward the sound of his voice. 

Your breath caught in your throat, and you could feel your walls clench around the emptiness. Sam was standing before you completely naked but for the green, knitted, very special Christmas gift you had given him over his erect penis.  You had made it so huge as a joke, but the fit was snug. He looked like something that had fallen from Mount Olympus; he was a god. You stood up stuttering,  "Sam, Sam I… ."  He walked toward you taking the ends of your hair in his hand and gazing intently at your lips. You had imagined him naked many times, and undressed him with your eyes almost as many. He hadn't noticed, or at least he pretended he didn’t. His hazel eyes caused your heart to flip in your chest. It was pounding so hard you couldn't think; you couldn't breathe. You couldn't form words. 

He brushed his thumb across your cheek. "Do you want me to finish what you started?" All you could do was nod. There was absolutely nothing funny about this now. "Would you help me thank you for putting so much time and thought into my gift?” Sam tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I'd really like it if you took it off." 

Your eyes didn't leave Sam's as you reached out and wrapped your hand around his impressive length. The yarn was soft, but what lay beneath was rock hard. You pulled the sock from Sam's body earning you a moan that came from deep in his throat. You were totally aroused now, past aroused. Sam lifted your night shirt over your head and leaned in to take one of your tight nipples into his mouth. He sucked on it gently and swirled his tongue around it in tantalizing rings. Your core pulsed longing to be filled. He moved his hand to your other breast pinching, pulling, and rolling the firm little nub.  His mouth sucked your other nipple while his hand made its way down into your panties right to your throbbing little bud where your own hand had been just minutes before. His fingers felt so much better. 

Your hands grabbed onto his shoulders to keep yourself steady. Your orgasm was already close. "Sam. Sam, please take them off."  

He leaned in close to your ear.  "Not yet.  There's plenty of time for that later."  He moved his fingers faster, taking them away from your clit down to your opening and back again. He pushed the tip of his finger inside you, and pumped it a couple of times before going back to your throbbing clit. He was watching you; you could feel his eyes on you as your climax built in the pit of your stomach. Your nails dug into his shoulders; your nipples hardened, drawing tight. 

"Sam. Sam. Sam. Gonna come. Please, please. God." He pushed two fingers inside you and quickly pulled them out again pressing them against your clit, fingers swirling. He alternated his motions driving you crazy. "Sam, I can't take anymore." He kept you right on that edge.  "Please let me come. Please. I'm so close. Sam, I'm so close."   It was building to the point of bubbling over.

 You were panting out of control now. "I want to hear you say my name, Y/N. I want to hear you say it over and over. I'm gonna make you come so many times."  Your orgasm swept over you in a huge wave, and you said nothing but Sam's name exactly like he wanted. Sam talked you through it. "You're so perfect, Y/N.  It's going to get even better. I promise. Just let it all go. You are so beautiful when you come.”

"Yes, yes, yes!" You screamed his name again squirting all over his fingers.  Sam eased his hand out of your underwear. He picked you up and placed you back down on the bed. You were still shaking from the intensity of your climax. With a swift movement, he pulled your panties all the way off. Before you came all the way down from the orgasm, his tongue was inside you. He thrust it as deep into you as he could, bringing you quickly back to your peak.  This orgasm went on and on. You looked down and saw Sam moving his tongue over you.  His fingers pushed in and found your g-spot.   “Sam!"  Your legs were spread wide, and he was making the most incredible noises. It was unbelievably sexy watching him flick his tongue over your little bundle of nerves.

 Sam's eyes found yours.  "Come again, Y/N." It was the sound of your name, the slide of his tongue, the curl of his fingers inside you. It was too much for you to hold back even though your last climax had hardly subsided. Your juices gushed from you again covering his face. 

"Oh, my God.  It's incredible, Sam. I can feel it. I feel it. It's happening." 

"Nice show."  Dean's voice rumbled low from the doorway.  Sam was still licking you and fucking you with his tongue. He didn't stop.  Dean was watching you come while his brother ate you out with his hand around his own dick encased in his bright red, merry holiday cock sock. He pulled off the sock to reveal his gorgeous erection. You dropped your head back against the pillow. Things started to go dark. Then you heard Dean's voice again. "I think she passed out, Sammy." Dean was holding the side of your face in his hand. "Hey there, sweethear. Are you with us?" You kissed his hand.

 Sam kissed the inside of your thigh. His fingers were still deep inside you; he added a third stretching you, pulling you open. Your words weren't frantic anymore; they were quiet. "Inside me. Please don't make me wait anymore." 

Dean brushed his knuckles down your cheek. "Who do you want inside you, baby?" 

You looked into his deep emerald green eyes. They were filled with a soft intensity. "I want both of you... at the same time." You'd thought of them both individually but never that way.  In that moment, you knew with all certainty that was exactly what you wanted. You didn't want to choose.  Sam licked back down your inner thigh to your core and gave you a chaste little kiss as he moved out of the way so Dean could settle between your legs.

 Sam moved around behind you and rested his back against the headboard. Your body lay back on his chest.  Dean took his cock in his hand and slid it up and down between your folds teasing you before thrusting in all the way with one stroke. Sam's mouth was next to your ear. "Do you want to come for Dean?" Sam's arms were on each side of your body, his hands holding your thighs down and your legs open. You took in a breath and let it out through your mouth. "Does he feel good?"

Your eyes rolled back into your head.  Dean was so deep. He was pumping in hard, stretching you wider than you'd ever been stretched before. You moaned and said yes. Sam's voice was husky with arousal.  "Where do you want me, Y/N?" Do you want me next to Dean, our dicks touching while we thrust into you together? Do you want me in this pretty ass of yours? Has anyone ever been inside that hole? Do you want me there?" That idea was too much for you to take. You were coming again; your hands reached for Sam behind you. Your arms wrapped around his neck. Sam brought his hands to your breasts to knead them. He bit your neck, marking you, and you pressed your hips up against Dean. Sam's fingers pinched and rolled your nipples while the sound of Dean's grunts filled your ears as he continued to thrust into you. 

Sam spoke promises against your neck. "We're going to do so much more to you. You're going to come until you can't come anymore. We're going to make you come until you're too tired to beg. I know it's what you want; it's what we want too, Y/N." You were moaning loudly; Sam moaned in answer. "Come for Dean, Y/N.  Come for him like you did for me."  It felt so damn good.  This orgasm was the most intense one yet. Dean was filling you up; Sam's hands were still working your nipples. 

"Kiss me, Sam."  Sam's tongue twisted and wrapped around yours. Dean maintained a steady rhythm with his thrusts."Unhhh." You moaned into Sam's mouth and tightened around Dean's dick coming in spasm after spasm. Sam moved his hands from your breasts and placed them flat on your stomach. You couldn't come completely down from your climax with Dean still thrusting inside you. You were deliciously trapped on that edge, not able to get enough. "I want more. Please. Sam?"

 Sam eased his tongue from your mouth. "Are you ready for us, Y/N?" You nodded. Sam kissed the corner of your mouth before he lifted you up to face Dean. Dean took you in his arms and leaned back far enough to expose your ass to Sam. Sam gathered some of your juices to use as lube then slipped a fingertip into your hole. He gave you time to adjust before pushing it in deeper. You started rolling your hips, and Sam put a second finger inside you. The angle was perfect for your clit to rub against Dean. Sam scissored his fingers back-and-forth.  Then, when he added a third,  you came again clenching around both of them. 

Sam pulled his fingers from inside you and placed his cock against your entrance. He pushed in slowly, just the tip. It burned, and he waited. Sam kept completely still. "Are  you okay, Y/N?" 

You had closed your eyes when he first entered you. You kept them closed and put your hand over his where it was resting on your waist. "Yes. Give me more, Sam." He did as you asked and started to move. The burn gave way to pleasure.  Both of them were holding you and moving inside you. When Dean pulled back, Sam pushed in. Your orgasm was building. You felt so full. Sam was filling your virgin hole; Dean's mouth was on yours. Sam played with your nipples just the way you liked. He could read you so well. 

Dean's mouth was hot; he tasted like whiskey and mint. You felt like you were splitting open, impaled on two enormous cocks. Another orgasm was building. Both of them were calling out your name. You came screaming; they shattered you completely. Dean came soon after you. His dick throbbed, and he released his load into you. You melted into his arms. With just a few more thrusts, Sam spurted his hot come into you. 

Sam pulled out and lay back on the bed; Dean guided your body down to the mattress. You turned in toward Sam and put your head on his shoulder. He nuzzled against you and kissed your forehead. Behind you, Dean kissed your shoulder. He put his arm over your waist bringing you close. You could feel the entire length of his warm body. "Sleep, Princess." That's exactly what you did between the two men who hadn't made you choose.

Everything Forever: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @onethirstyunicorn @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshurley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @ledzeppelinsbonzo @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661​ @tumbler-tidbits​ @67-chevy-baby​ @fandom-princess-forevermore​ @terrarium-jpeg​ @emoryhemsworth​ @crashdevlin​ @heycasbutt​ @jules-1999​ @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @sammyimpala-67​ @queenoftheunderdark​ @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @mrs-meghan-winchester​ @timelordy-fangirl2​ @sweetness47​ @hobby27​ @awesomesusiebstuff​ @kickingitwithkirk​ @gh0stgurl​ @becs-bunker​ @sandlee44​ @supernaturalgrandma​ @lonewolf471​ @sea040561​ @dawnie1988​ @maddiepants​ @volleyballer519​ @outcastedangel​ @iknowwheremytowelis​ @kdfrqqg​ @lizette50​ @daisymoder72​ @sorenmarie87​ @oldfreakything​

Sam/Jared Love: @girl-next-door-writes​ @stunudo​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @winchesterxfamilybusiness​ @idabbleincrazy​ @evansrogerskitten​ @i-joined-social-media-finally​ @wingledsam​ @autumninavonlea​ @spnxbsessed​ @durinsbride​ @deansyahtzee​ @wendibird​ @fantasy-shadows​ @team-free-will-you-idjiot​ @waywardnerd67​ @neii3n​ @fullmooner​ @supernatural-took-me-over​ @julesthequirky​ @songbird400

Dean/Jensen Love: @flamencodiva​ @deanwinchesterswitch​ @waywardrose13​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @akshi8278​ @ladywinchester1967​ @sgarrett49​ @wingedcatninja​ @coffee-obsessed-writer​ @adoptdontshoppets​

#happyhalfchristmas #sam x reader #dean x reader #sam x reader x dean #sam smut #dean smut #spn christmas

[remember-to-be-gentle]

I’ve been working on this piece for over a MONTH and it still needs work, but I’m tired of keeping this to myself, so here it is. 

Subject: BNHA, Tamaki Amajiki + Dabi

Title: Hungry Hero, Vicious Villain (NSFW, pro hero!fem reader)

TW: Non Con, Penis/Balls expansion, bisexual?, Coercion, Implied Kidnapping, I genuinely don’t know what else I should tag this

This couldn't be happening. It was supposed to be an easy raid on a potential hideout for the League of Villains. You and your finance, Tamaki, had gone in together and things had quickly gone South when you were captured. Arms pinned above your head and a knife to your throat, you heard Dabi say, "Wait, are you actually getting hard right now?" 

Tamaki's face burned red, his ears slouching and shoulders scrunching. "I'm sorry." You stared in disbelief at the bulge in his costume. 

The two of you had refrained from sex until the wedding and conversation about kinks hadn't come up naturally, but could sweet and shy Tamaki really be into something like this? 

Dabi laughed in disbelief. "Hey, Suneater, you're a virgin, aren't you." It wasn't a question. Tamaki nodded. The laughter that came from Dabi's throat was dark, malicious. "A hero who hasn't even gotten his dick wet. Well, since your raid of our hideout failed, why don't I do you a favor?" 

A dark feeling settled in your stomach. 

He leaned into your ear, "If you so much as twitch I'll burn you to a crisp." His hands made their way down your costume, yanking open the buttons and zippers, exposing your breasts. Tamaki couldn't take his eyes off them. One of Dabi's burning hands wrapped around your breast, carefully groping and massaging the skin until your nipple hardened. Tamaki looked like he was going to drool. "You haven't so much as seen these yet, have you? Your girl has nice tits, you're going to like playing with these." 

Tamaki didn't respond, his breathing heavy and hands twitching at his sides. The bulge was getting bigger. 

Dabi continued to pull your costume off of you, he could kill you at any moment and Tamaki was completely entranced by what he was doing to you. Was he so sex-starved that watching a villain rape you could be satisfying? 

Dabi ripped off the bottom of your costume, leaving you completely nude, yanking your legs up and apart. "You see her pussy? It's real pink, isn’t it?”

Tamaki’s eyes went wide, focusing on your exposed hole. You wanted to squirm, escape Dabi’s hands grasp, and reclaim some sense of dignity, but if you did, you’d die. 

“If you want to enjoy it to the fullest, we need to make it drool.” Dabi’s voice settled into a growl. Behind you, you could feel his dick getting hard, excited but not nearly as much as Tamaki was. “Do you want a little taste of your wife-to-be?" 

Tamaki nodded. 

"Why don't you give it a taste then, eating hero." 

"I shouldn't..." He was giving you a pathetic look, the one where he pouted when baristas forgot sugar in his coffee and he didn't have the confidence to ask for a remake. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth, eyebrows furrowed. He wanted to. 

"If you don't, I'll burn her breasts off." 

That spurred him forward. Tamaki gave you an apologetic look, but you could see him licking his lips, eager for a taste. This needed to end. "Stop this," your voice was far smaller than you’d like, "please, there's no need for any of this." 

Dabi hushed you. "Watch him," he hissed. “If you look away for even a moment, I’ll burn you.”  

Tamaki looked overwhelmed between your legs, staring at your clit and slit as if it were a food he wasn't sure how to eat.

"Instruct him," Dabi murmured in your ear. “You know what happens if you don’t.” 

Damn it. How had a simple raid ended up like this? "Suneater," you said, careful to use his codename, "use your tongue. There's a pink nub toward the top, just start with that." You’d had a few minor sexual experiences before, fingers and humping from old partners along with your own dildo, but nothing this direct. You were almost as much in the dark as Tamaki. 

“Pink... nub...” His face vanished between your thighs and then you felt it: hot tongue on your clit. It took everything not to cry out, sharp tingling tightening your muscles. Dabi laughed when he felt you tense, but didn’t say anything. “That one?” Tamaki's voice shook, whether with excitement, nervousness, or a combination of the two, you couldn't tell. 

Damn it, why was he asking? “Y-Yes.” Where you’d been able to hold back your reactions, the facade was fading fast now that he was actually touching you. Your face burned and fingers clenched into fists uselessly at your sides.

That tingling came again, longer in its duration, as Tamaki licked you slowly. He lapped at you experimentally, gauging your reaction to his tongue each time. Sometimes a little harder. Sometimes just barely gliding over your sensitive bud, testing how each stroke of his tongue made you squirm. And then he bit down you. You couldn’t hold your voice back anymore, nearly screaming at the sensation of his teeth rolling across your sensitive clit. “Tamaki! Stop! I—.” 

Dabi hissed at you into silence. “Suneater, why don’t you play with these a little?” He bucked at you from behind, sending your entrance into Tamaki’s face and making your breasts bounce. “You can use your mouth on these, too.”

Begrudgingly, Tamaki dismounted his face from your entrance. He reached for your breasts, hesitancy making his fingers curl. 

“Flick her nipple. Do it before I get bored.”

Tamaki obeyed. His finger shot out, hitting your nipple with enough force to make the entire breast jiggle. He shuddered. Those hesitant hands grabbed your breasts, roughly squeezing and groping them. He brought himself closer, the huffs of his panting breath loud and needy. 

Dabi pushed you forward, making your crotch connect with Tamaki’s. He cried out, eyes wide. Something hot and wet spread between you two. You realized with a terrible soberness that Tamaki had just creamed his costume. He groaned, rubbing his hyper-sensitive cock against you, using your breasts to keep him grounded. “I...” He swallowed. “I want to be inside.” 

Inside? You looked down at his crotch where he was still heavily erect under the tent in his pants. 

“Then take it out, hero, show your precious fiancee your filthy hero cock.” 

“It's not... filthy...” he muttered, unzipping his crotch so his erection could spring free. 

Dabi whistled. You stared. It was enormous, slick with the load he’d exploded in his pants. You’d seen Tamaki naked before, it was a hazard of sharing a changing room at your agency and spending so much time together. You could say with certainty that you’d never seen Tamaki that big. His balls hadn’t been that big, either. They looked swollen with unused cum. 

“So it's true,” Dabi laughed, “you do have to have huge balls to be a hero.” He got on his knees, spreading you out on the floor. “Go ahead. Use her pussy until it becomes your cumdump. She deserves it for keeping you waiting, doesn’t she? And even if you don’t want to, I’d burn her to nothing if you don’t.” 

“It's too big!” You shouted. Dabi pushed you down into the ground, his grip bruising. 

Tamaki looked away, pulling his hood over his face. “I’m sorry... It's a side effect of my quirk. Anything I don’t use has to go somewhere...”

Dabi licked his lips. “I knew playing with you two was a good idea. I wonder how big we can get that dick, probably big enough to tear you apart. Fuck, now I’m wishing we’d gotten here sooner. Whatever, stick it in, Suneater.” 

“But you said... it should be drooling...” 

“Close enough. We’ll get it there next time.” Next time? Before could you think more on what he meant, Dabi pushed his fingers inside you. They spread you wide and you squealed, feeling his fingers play with the slick that had built up. A slimy smile spread across his face. “This should be fine.” Slowly, Dabi set you on the ground, keeping your legs spread open, “Go on, hero, put it inside.” 

Tamaki didn’t wait for Dabi to finish speaking, shoving his cock inside you. You cried out, feeling his swollen dick spread you out completely, nearly creating a bulge in your stomach. You grabbed his costume, unable to feel anything except his length inside you, twitching with anticipation, filling you to the brim. Tamaki moaned, clenching his teeth at your tightness. 

“You’ve been waiting for that, haven���t you?” Dabi purred, “I bet you fantasized about it every time she so much as bent over. Every time you were home alone with her sleeping form and you knew it would have been so easy to use that plush little mouth to get you off.” 

Tamaki shuddered, making a pitiful little noise in the back of his throat. He had. 

“Tamaki—.”

“Keep that pretty mouth of yours shut. The only thing I want to hear out of you is how much you love your fiance’s cock.” Dabi growled. He grabbed Tamaki’s hood, forcing him down, “Now fuck her like you’ve always wanted. Like the wild fucking beast you are.”

And then he did. Tamaki pulled back and slammed back in, groaning as he did. It felt like lightning up your body, pooling in your fingers and toes with each twitch of his cock. Behind you, Dabi praised him, dribbling words of encouragement as if it were honey. Each word seemed to make Tamaki shiver and pump inside you more erratically. His pace left no room for long strokes, he’d found his spot and couldn’t stop rubbing it against the top of your pussy until ropes of his cum were coating your insides.

 But he didn't stop. He kept fucking you through his orgasm, slamming against your cervix and then you felt it. By accident, Tamaki's enormous cock had found your spot. The noise that erupted from your throat was impossible to contain, a strangled, breathless cry. He stopped, staring at you as you twitched around him. "What was that?" 

"You found it," Dabi answered, "that little spot will make her feel good, too. You can make her cum, too, if you hit it." 

"I can make her cum?" The excitement in Tamaki's voice sent a shiver of fear down your spine. He was going to do it, exploit your g-spot until the only thing you could think about was your next orgasm. 

"Can you find it again, Suneater?" Dabi pushed. 

Tamaki plunged back in, watching your face for the tell-tale sign that he'd found your spot. That massive cock of his slammed right into it, making your muscles tighten and voice cry out. An unhinged smile spread across his face and he did it again. "Does it feel good?" 

“Answer him.” Dabi hissed.

You nodded reluctantly, struggling to stop yourself from moaning aloud. 

For a second, Tamaki stopped pumping, his cheeks turning bright red, eyes looking away. He was building up his nerve. “Can you say it?” Tamaki pushed. “Say that you like it when I’m... inside...” 

“I...” Your voice on the edge of moaning. “I—I like it...” It was getting harder to control, the more he slammed inside of you and rubbed at your spot, the more your voice threatened to leak into moans. You couldn’t show that you really like it in front of Dabi, he could use that as leverage against you: blackmail. On the other hand, Tamaki seemed to have lost himself completely in pleasure. He looked like he was drooling on top of you, hot panting breaths and needy high groans. 

Dabi cursed. “Shit, I don’t have time to be waiting around, but...” You looked up at him, your vision blurry and unfocused. What was he planning now? “Hey, hero,” he hissed at Tamaki. “We’re taking this show on the road. Take your dick out, you’ll finish up later.” 

What? 

“What?” Tamaki blinked slowly, his wild thrusts coming to a slow stop.

Dabi reached out a scarred hand, brushing his thumb across Tamaki’s cheek, “You two are coming with me.” 

#raven writes #bnha #suneater x reader #tamaki amajiki x reader #dabi x reader #tamaki amajiki #suneater #dabi #x reader #tw non con #tw #penis expansion #tw balls expansion #i will recylce this trope every time i use tamaki #tw coercion #let me know what other trigger warnings i need on this #tw kidnapping