#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/

[octoberautumnbox]

Win Trading

fromis_9 Lee Nagyung & Male Reader

Categories/warnings: smut, sloppy handjob, fingerblasting, titsucking a little bit, makeout, mutual masturbation

Word count: 2.0k

a/n: for legal purposes yes this is the june fic :DDDD happy nakko day!

Even though you’re sitting on the living room sofa three and a half meters away from her room, eating your popcorn, and with the TV blaring nonsense, the telltale signs of Nagyung’s frustration still reach you. Agitated clicking and button-mashing noises travel past her door frame and across the hallway to you, letting you know her game isn’t going all that well. The certainty of it sets in when the sounds pause briefly, followed by the unmistakable sound of her mouse being smashed onto her desk. 

Scooch over a little bit to the left, free up some space on the couch. Reach for the yet-closed pack of chips on the coffee table in anticipation of your soon-to-be movie buddy. You know it's bad; the challenge now is figuring out how bad it is. 

Like clockwork, Nagyung stomps out of her room and towards her spot on the couch. She takes her seat next to you, evidently still recovering from her earlier fuming, with her arms crossed and her brow furrowed. You've always known that she looked cute, but there's a certain allure to her when she's angry. The way her brow furrows when she’s mad sets off your cuteness aggression, but for your mutual wellbeing you keep yourself under control. 

Make a show of opening her chips for her – crinkle the plastic pack and exaggerate your arm movements. Offer her her chips and hope it calms her down. Most importantly, avoid eye contact this early on and do not rock the boat. 

Despite your best efforts, her tilt makes itself sorely known. She swats away the pack of chips in annoyance, which still thankfully lands on the coffee table with minimal spill. Nagyung, however, desperately looks for an outlet for her frustrations, and you really can't blame her. It must have been a really bad game. 

She hops on top of you, straddles you, and forces her lips on yours. You meet her halfway and in no time at all your tongue is swirling around hers and sharing spit. A moan escapes her when you hold her waist and pull her close, followed by another when you rub her tummy. She wraps her arms around your neck and you can only imagine what goes through her head when in a position like this.

Keep palming her tummy under shirt, continuing to rub from her abs to her sides to her chest. Move slow, but don’t linger; take your fill of her body, but not so much as to sate her even if it also doesn't sate you. She eats it right up and leaves her wanting more, all at the same time. Grip and squeeze at her weak spots, all the while she grows more desperate with her prolonged connection to your lips. 

You feel her need through her shorts, the warmth emanating from her core tempting you to wander farther down. You do just that, slowly again, pressing her buttons in just the right way to bring out your needy Nakko. You pull her shorts down steadily, and you find she's much more than ready. The gentle breezes of your air-conditioning meet the skin of her ass and thighs, and her exposure to the elements and to you spur her on even more. 

In response, she pulls your pants off too. She's much less careful, much less calculated – strategy thrown out the window and instead caught up in a sinful rush of emotions. Swiftly you lose your pants and underwear, and Nagyung wraps her fingers reverently around your hardening shaft. 

The slow grazes you deliver over her clit are reciprocated with steady strokes on your cock. Each swipe over her sensitive nub elicits another groan of her pleasure, again and again and again, until she finally breaks the kiss and lets a streak of saliva connect your lips. She collects everything she can on her palm before returning to your delicious handjob. 

Your shirt is the next to go, practically torn off in Nagyung's frenzy. She nearly rips the neckline, and you almost admonish her for it, but the only harm being done is how she's left your cock without her hand's immoral pleasure. Her shirt follows, and with her help you're able to do it with only one hand. Even now, you deny her respite from rubbing her clit, and the momentary obstruction of her vision as her shirt is pulled over her head elicits another groan of approval from her. 

And there she sat on your lap, the goddess Lee Nagyung, fully bare for you to ogle and grope as you please. Her perky tits bounce as she jerks your cock with both hands, her gaze intense on your tip as if making you cum would give her the victory she deserved. Her pink nipples are taut, and the moment your free hand makes contact with her chest she throws her head back and gasps in arousal. Your thumb circles her nipple, leading her to bite her lip, just as your other thumb continues to play with her clit unceasingly and in growing need. 

Each time she feels her handjob drying out, she lubricates her palms with more of her spit. She mercilessly continues pumping your cock, her head undoubtedly filling with thoughts of pride that she gets you all to herself. Each time she shoots a cursory look to you, establishing shaky eye contact, her eyes shut again just as you deliver deliciously harsh pinches on her nipples. Soon after, her fingers momentarily part her pussy lips to smear her palm with her slick, before ultimately taking your manhood in between her hands to jerk off again. All the while, she struggles back tears of impatience that she isn't impaling herself on your cock just yet. 

And of course she doesn't; she's a level-headed player in it for the late game. She knows if she holds out that she gets first place in your heart, and the prize that comes with it makes it all the more worth holding out for: riding you raw and getting her tight little fuckhole filled up with your thick and warm seed. 

For now though, she has to settle with rubbing your thick cock with her hands just as you watch her boobs bounce in front of your face. Pull her close, suck and nibble on her stiff nipples, only rub and tease her pussy lips to heighten her need. 

It’s here you find yourself in the ultimate war of attrition: straddling your lap is the sexiest woman in the world naked for you and you alone, pumping your cock with everything she's got and relishing in how shamelessly you feast on her perfect, flawless body. You can't take your eyes off her perfect breasts, how they jiggle and bounce in your face, how every little lick on her sensitive nubs only makes her leak more of her pussy juices for you to fingerfuck her even better. 

The glances you steal of her eyes in the rare times you make eye contact spell disaster for the both of you, as Nagyung eyes your body with a similar lustful desire. The way you look into her soul sends a signal to her mind, and you unconsciously tell her to lick her lips, moan another sultry moan, jerk you off harder. Tears start to well in her eyes as she struggles to keep them open, slowly being overcome with the pleasure you inflict on her sex. It's one thing that she's getting off to you're watching her naked form commit such sinful acts, it’s another to try and get you off to her body, and another still that she's drawing such obscene joy from having your cock in her hands with no other objective in the world than to look pretty for you and make you cum. 

Eventually she stops trying to keep her eyes open anymore, and naturally her tears follow. They run down her cheeks as a pained yet pleasured expression takes over her goddess-like features, signaling her defenses starting to falter. Her head hangs to the side and her hand job grows harsher; you know as early as now that by the end of tonight you're going to be sore for a week. Still, the way she diligently pumps your hard cock with nothing but love and need makes everything worth it, and with how you flex your fingers inside of her and rub the walls of her tight, needy cavern, you’re determined to make it worthwhile for her too.

And true to heart, it works. Your fingers hit every single one of her good spots, even the ones she didn’t know she had, and she practically melts in your hands. Her entire being follows your will, and you manipulate her like she’s just a puppet under your control. 

All good things come to an end, however, and yours is just about up. Nagyung fulfills her mission and, technically, wins the game, and you’re more than happy to let her have this victory (like you had a choice). Her gaze is filled with a sinister lust, and it’s aimed at nothing else in the world but you. Your cock is coated with the perfect amount of her slick, your tip leaking copious amounts of fluids to lubricate even more, and Nagyung has you on the ropes fighting a battle long lost. 

A blinding white flashes in your eyes, your defenses fail, and it all comes crashing down. Your head is thrown back in pleasure, a defeated groan escapes your mouth, and spurts of cum shoot out of you, painting her perfect belly with your thick and warm seed. She doesn't stop rubbing along your entire length in deep and fast strokes, and you could swear she knew everything about you to keep you shooting your baby batter all over her tummy, giving you constant pleasure and squeezing every single drop of your delicious cum for her toned and sexy abs. As the final nail in the coffin, Nagyung abruptly stops pumping your cock, and it shows off how she was in control the entire time. The sudden lack of pleasure forces you to start humping her hands, and she goes crazy at the mere sight of you, eyes shut and fucking the closest thing to her pussy that you have right now.

Her good time inevitably draws to a close as well. In the midst of her relishing in her victory and your warm cum smeared across her midriff, a single well-timed push of her button is what sends her careening over the edge right after you. Just as your finger makes contact with her weak spot, her eyes go from shut impossibly tight to wide open in a matter of milliseconds. Her body seizes, her pussy clenches, and all hell breaks loose. A cry of world-ending release rips through her throat, and her girlcum sprays out of her in streaks, the sheer amount of it coming and coming like it’s the first time she’s ever been touched in ages. Tears fall generously from the corners of her hypnotizing eyes, and her hips jerk and hump against your merciless fingers again and again like it’s the only thing she knows. 

Once it's all over and you’re both unmistakably spent, Nagyung crashes onto your chest, her own chest heaving in life-or-death attempts at getting air back into her lungs. Her arms fall on your shoulders on either side of your head, and she wraps your neck in a hug. At the same time, you withdraw from her abused pussy and pull her in for a hug of your own by her waist. You spend an unknowable amount of time like this, just breathing, just recovering, just you and her. 

Breaking the ice, Nagyung puts all her remaining strength into lifting her head and placing her lips on yours. Of course you reciprocate, but in contrast to the earlier needy and horny making out, your kiss now is tender and loving, as if exchanging thank-yous and greetings of a game well played. 

~~~

a/n: short one this time lmao but i had fun writing it and it was a great experiment to do! thanks as well to @leafostuff for beta and stay tuned for july :>

[ivysangel]

NOTES: started writing this back in december and never finished it so you WILL feel like you're being edged. sawry...

Neither of you had said anything as you cleaned up his wounds, the hot food waiting on your kitchen counter for when you were done. Normally, you would finish up tending to his injuries and then send him to shower while you plated up the dinner he brought, a multitude of your favorite dishes that he'd remembered over time. Instead, when all of his wounds were bandaged up, and the smell of lo mein was invading your nostrils, the two of you stayed unmoving in silence. Him sitting on your countertop, and you standing in front of him, avoiding eye contact while holding bloody towels waiting to be thrown in the small hamper you keep for this exact purpose. His hand moves up to cup your cheek, and he lightly turns your head to face him. Your eyes meet his, and you see the silent apology in them, a plea for you not to be mad. You're not; you could never, so you send him a silent "it's okay." as best you can without words.

It all happens in slow motion. His other hand cupping the other side of your face, and the split second of eye contact you make before you're both leaning in and kissing each other with such a ferocity you'd never experienced before. His hands move backward slightly, now cradling the back of your neck while your hands toss the bloody towels to the side and find his chest. You press up against him as much as you can before he slides off the counter and hoists you up in his arms, turning around and placing you in the spot he previously sat. He pulls back from the kiss, and you chase his lips, missing the feeling of his mouth on yours. One of his hands tugs at the hem of your shirt, signaling for you to raise your arms, and he pulls it over your head, leaving your breasts exposed for him to admire. He sucks in a breath, eyeing you up and down like a hungry animal, before placing his hands on your shoulders and lightly pushing you down flat on the counter. You gasp at the coolness of the granite, and your back arches involuntarily. A groan comes out of Jason's mouth as he kisses up your legs, nibbling and biting and leaving marks in his wake. He makes his way to your upper thigh, nudging at the plush skin and placing wet, open-mouthed kisses anywhere he can reach. He's only a couple inches away from the place you really want him, the place he knows you want him to be. 

You hoist yourself up on your forearms to watch as his fingers hook under the waistband of your shorts, and he pulls them down, leaving you in just your panties. The pad of his thumb finds the growing wet patch between your legs, and he rubs gently. You moan at the friction, shifting slightly to allow him more access. "Tell me no," he mutters from between your legs, the first words uttered between the two of you since you gave into your carnal desires. You look down at him, your brows furrowing in confusion. "Tell me no right now if you don't want this," He looks up at you through hooded eyes, and in that moment, you realize he's giving you an out, one chance to stop him before the dam breaks and he lets it all go. "I want this." You say with more certainty than you've ever had before. And he gives you one more look, one last silent "are you sure?" but instead of stopping him, you lay flat on your back and lift your hips slightly, tugging down your underwear as far as you can before he meets you halfway, pulling them down over the rest of your legs and discarding them somewhere in the kitchen. 

His hands grip your thighs, pulling your legs further apart and exposing your slick heat to him. "Jesus Christ," he whispers, his finger gently rubbing your slit up and down as you moan at the contact. Your entire body is on fire, and the only thing on your mind is how badly you need him inside you. His fingers stop at your clit, rubbing small circles around the nub, and you let out a whimper; your hand finding the soft tufts of black hair on his head. "Jason, please," you roll your hips into his hand, craving the friction. "Don't be a tease," you say through broken gasps, feeling the familiar knot in your stomach start to tighten. He speeds up the movement of this thumb on your clit, and you feel something prod at your hole before you feel one of his fingers slip between your folds. You moan at the sensation as he moves it in and out a few times before adding a second one and curling upwards, and you accidentally tug at his hair. You hear him groan as he pulls away from your thigh, leaving a purple mark in his wake. 

sorry again, edge ya later! (plz don't hate me, eek!)

[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."

[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)

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

Like Birds on a Broken Branch | 5

Monster! Task Force 141 X F!Reader

Previous Chapter / Masterlist / DISCORD SERVER

Context Warning: NSFW! Mentions of Dub-con/ Non-con, Oral Sex, Author's Poor Attempt in Smut & Dark Fic, Mentions of Slavery, Cunnilingus, Fingering, Fingerfucking, Biting, Overstimulation (kinda), Edging (kinda)

What the fuck.

Those three words were the first thought of train that shot up to your brain as he finished his statement, his tone and his gaze both reeking of confidence and certainty, which made something flip in your stomach.

You had always liked confident men who knew about what they wanted and had the power to back up their actions and words. But that only applied to men in fiction you have read in books. In real life? Especially after the fucking blood-sucking leech who couldn’t keep his goddamn hands to himself and just buy women he could keep fucking by his side and leave you the fuck alone, captured you and sold you, your trust and belief that one day you would meet someone who actually wouldn’t force themselves into their females had broken down like stars in the sky.

Well . . . there was Graves, the same fucking leech you wanted to kick on the balls, but he wasn’t the fucking focus right now.

You stared at Simon, lips parted in disbelief. You blinked your eyes rapidly in repeat, his words echoing in your mind like a broken record, but his low laugh shattered it.

“I see why Price told me he loves watching your expressions,” he said, untying his cloak and letting it fall on the floor.

You frowned at him, face slightly warming at the memories of Price between your thighs, his tongue working on your clit whereas his fingers curled inside your hole. As much as you hated it, the fire-breathing lizard knew how to pleasure a woman . . . and torment you.

But if this was going to keep up, if this was how the rest of your life would play out, wouldn’t it be better to get used to it soon? It wouldn’t be a long while now for them to run out of patience and tie you up on bed all day and night to take their turns to fuck you mindless.

You felt like laughing at the thought, but in your situation, the best course of action to keep them pleased and not hurt you as much was to take their offers—or rather, ask them what you could offer them.

“How would you like to do it?” you questioned in a hushed tone.

Simon blinked, confused by the sudden query, but quickly understood what you meant, and huffed. “No, how would you like to do it?”

For fuck’s sake, this man got a way with words more than the fucking siren did.

You remained lying on the bed as he got up and leaned down on you, the balaclava hoisted up to the bridge of his nose. At first, he seemed hesitant, you both were, but when you flattered your eyes closed, and he was the first to dive down onto a kiss.

It started soft, patient—not any sign of aggression nor cruel hunger in his lips. And as thanks, you reached up to his head as he splayed his now ungloved hand on your stomach. Then, it began to travel down south, slightly tugging on the hem of your dress.

He broke the kiss, slightly pulling himself away from you, and you opened your eyes, meeting a pair of deep brown eyes, but quickly left the contact. You watched his hand disappear under your dress, going under the band of your undergarment. Somewhat, you did not feel any sense of disturbance or disgust being this close to him. The roughness of his calloused hands, instead, made your skin crawl with anticipation.

“Use your words, love,” he muttered the command to your ear.

You took a deep breath. “Go on.”

You shuddered at his touch as you felt his warm digit brush against your wetness, trying to keep yourself relaxed as he circled the small bud of nerves. You let out a pretty little noise, tilting your head back each time his finger dipped into your entrance, and felt your core tighten up and drip onto his hand. You sunk your teeth into your lower lip when Simon found your sensitive nub, running his fingers on it up and down.

A hum escaped his lips. “Here?” He pressed on your clit, eliciting a whine from you, and moved his hand down, letting his thumb do the work while his fingers dove into your entrance.

You grabbed onto his arm, knowing what it did to Price before, only to confirm it going with Simon as well.

He inserted another finger, which your cunt easily welcomed in, and continued his dirty work. His calloused thumb swirled constant maddening circles over your clit, his fingers dragging in and out of your slick walls. He knew you were close, clenching around his digits and your breathing growing quicker. Then, he stopped at the brink.

“Simon,” you cried, cursing in your mind. “Please.”

He quickly resumed his actions, his fingers pushing deeper into you, and his palm smacking against your clit. In return, you chanted his name, and pleasure shot throughout your body. But he didn't stop, still moving his fingers as they grew drenched in a languid pace, till he pulled out.

Simon moved south, pushing the dress up to your abdomen and quickly getting ahold of your panties, pulling them off. You found yourself swallowing as he fixed his mask over his nose and looked up at you. “Keep your eyes on me.”

Bare hands traveled along the skin of your outer thighs, keeping them spread, and using his hands, he pulled your hips closer, bringing your core against his mouth. Like a continuance, his thumb rolled your sensitive bud as his tongue buried deep into your.

Your hand slammed against the mattress, clenching on the sheets at the sensation of his tongue lapping up your fluids, and the feeling began to grow too quickly the moment he threw one of your legs over his shoulder.

Simon clamped his lips over your clit, sucking hard as he watched your back arch onto the bed, and in comparison to the way you held yourself back before, a song of moans and whines left your lips, and never in his life he had heard something so captivating.

You came quicker this time, your hips rolling against his mouth, your flavors flooding his tongue, and reluctantly he pulled away. You watched him crawl over you, tearing your nightgown apart like paper, completely exposing yourself to the monster once more.

However, this time, you didn't mind. You had brought this to yourself and you were willing to take the risk.

His hand traveled along your chest, his rough fingers brushing over your delicate nipple while he bent down, taking the other with his mouth. Without any words said, his free hand went to the buttons of his shirt, and he straightened up, jerking his clothes off, showing off what had been underneath.

Scars dusted his body, trailing like the tails of shooting stars. With how they scattered on his fair skin, it would seem that they were almost connected to form constellations themselves, adorning his muscles.

It was hard not to stare.

But it was harder not to think that he was this beautiful this whole time underneath those blasted layers of his.

“You're staring,” he remarked, and tilted his head, in a way that made something flip in your stomach. “Like what you see?”

“Yes.” You splayed a hand on his abdomen. You brushed your finger along his skin, nails scraping the bumps and craters of the scars as you slowly pulled yourself up to sit. As you reached his shoulder, trailing over his nape, you leaned in and pressed a kiss on his chest. “Quite well.”

Simon found himself smiling. He placed a hand on your lower back and pulled you onto him, your face on his chest, yours against his stomach. In swift yet careful movements, he flipped you over. With his guidance, you maneuvered on his lap, your wet sex pressing against the tent on his pants, and your hands resting on his chest whereas he settled on your ass. Following the movements of his hands, you ground back and forth, shivering, quiet moans leaving your lips, and your breath hitched as he bucked up.

You watched a smirk play on his lips, which you frowned at, and Heavens forbid your impulsive thoughts—you reached between your thighs, unbuckling his belt, leaving it just as that, and popped his button open. You pulled him out from the confines of his pants and swallowed at the feeling of his cock in your hand, precum leaking from its tip. It stood proud for a moment, before falling on his abdomen.

“Go on, I did ask you how you would like to do it,” he reminded and slowly, you began stroking his length, eliciting a groan from him. “Fuckin’ hell.”

You gave a few good tugs, before adjusting from his lap and slid your core against his cock. You gasped out at the sensation, clenching your core over nothing, just as he grunted, squeezing your ass and guiding you once again to grind onto him.

Your eyes flattered close and you let your head tilt back, rolling your hips faster with each passing second. Your thighs began to tremble, brows knitted as you whined his name, to which he responded with murmurs of your name, till strings of his cum shot out, painting his stomach white.

You slowed down and leaned down to him, not minding the stickiness that spread on your abdomen as your skin met his in a searing touch. You rested your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat that seemed to be almost in the same rhythm as yours, whilst his hands traveled up to your waist.

“Come here,” he demanded. You tilted your head up and raised a brow in question. He smiled. “On my face.”

Your eyes widened. “You want me to—”

“Very much so,” he cut you off, swallowing hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Just move how you would on my cock.”

You swallowed, and finally, after a few seconds, you gave him a nod. Rising from his chest, he picked you up and easily perched you above his face. Then, when he lied back down on the mattress, he lowered you to his mouth and began licking. You gripped the top of the headboard, throwing your head back with a trembling sigh, and just as he said, you ground on him as he devoured you once again.

Simon delved deep, tasting, teasing, and pushing you further and further until you writhed in his grip. He sucked on your clit, hard, bringing you close. Your knuckles had turned white, trying to come back down on the bed, when he let go of your sex to sink his teeth in your inner thigh. You sucked in a harsh breath, and fuck—turned on instead of pained. So close to your sensitive clit, the bite was wildly blissful, and finally, you came together with him.

He groaned, kissing the spot where he left his mark, while still moving you against his mouth and jerking himself off, albeit both slowing down.

When you came down next to him back on the bed, he immediately wrapped his arms around your naked flesh, pressing his lips on your hairline, and didn't seem to mind the sheet of sweat coating your skin.

“I . . .” You paused, catching your breath. “ I thought you were new to this.”

“I am.” He caressed your back, gently massaging your muscles. “But I've seen enough to know and learn.”

“Fucking hell.” You grumbled on his chest, to which he responded with a low chuckle.

“Let's get you cleaned up.”

You blinked away the sleepiness as you felt the warmth of the sun kissing your skin through the gap in the curtains. You shifted on the bed and groaned at the foreign weight over your waist.

“Morning.”

You jolted at the gravely deep voice that reverberated at your side and looked over to see Simon next to you.

He inched closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck, where his breath fanned your skin, his teeth grazing over a vein. “Surprised to see me beside you?”

“No,” you placed a hand on his arm over your waist. “Did you have a good sleep?”

“Best one yet.”

You found yourself staring at his eyes, reflecting the light like a pool of melted gold, and smiled. “I think I slept well.”

You flinched once again when the doors of your chamber slammed open, and the incubus, the freaking catalyst of the events of the night, sauntered in.

“I knew it!” Johnny yelled and joined you on the bed, taking your free side. “No wonder I couldnae tap into her head!”

Simon shook his head and pulled you closer to him. “Apologize first.”

“What, why?” Mactavish questioned, making you frown.

“Our wife couldn't sleep last night because of you.”

“Oh.” There was a short while of silence before he carefully took your hand. “I'm sorry, Bonnie.”

But you did not answer, annoyance filling your brain at the lack of sincereness in his voice. You pushed yourself further into the wraith's embrace.

“Bonnie? Love?”

You closed your eyes and heard Simon’s scoff.

You heaved out a sigh, staring at the white clouds blotting the blue sky. The wind brushed your skin, making your dress flatter against the grass that prickled your bare back and delivered the scent of the flowers surrounding you. You had never been in a garden before, barely even touched the grass or walked on a field without fearing for your life. But in this place, one you would and could call a cage, you found an unexpected warmth and comfort.

Well, except for the blasted incubus next to you, who hadn’t probably blinked for a few minutes now, eyes as blue as the sky never leaving your face. You still hadn’t answered him when he had been relentlessly apologizing to you, much to Simon’s amusement.

“Love, won’t ya talk to me?” he cooed, and you averted your gaze as he peered into your sight. “Please?”

“I’d be down on my knees if I were you,” the siren’s silvery voice made its way to your eyes, and from your peripheral, you noticed him walking toward you. He sat down next to you and extended a clenched fist to the wraith. “Good call stopping by her room, Ghost.”

“Consent is the key,” Simon remarked, making you roll your eyes, and adjust your head on his lap as he bumped his fist with the talking fish.

“Go to hell,” Johnny glowered at the both of them.

“I dunno ‘bout that,” Kyle leaned down on you and ran his fingers along your jaw. You leaned to his touch, watching his lips curve to a satisfied smile before you latched yours onto his. Quickly, he responded, tracing his tongue over your lips and you parted them, to let him in, but your attention was stolen by a thing hovering in the sky, slowly descending.

You pulled away from Kyle, squinting your eyes at the being, and raised your brow upon realization it was John. Ah, right, dragons can fly.

As he neared, the wind began to blow hard, and Kyle pulled you close to him, shielding you from the harsh breeze, which soon died down when the King touched down.

“Gained intel about the party,” Price fished out some papers from his pocket and handed them to his brothers, before dropping to his knees. He picked up your hand and brought your knuckles to his lips. “My Queen.”

“John,” you simply replied and looked over your shoulder, his words about the upcoming party catching your interest, only to watch Johnny frown upon the contents of the paper.

“That leech is coming?” questioned the incubus, raising a brow at the dragon.

“Graves?” you couldn’t help but wonder. As far as you knew, Graves was the only one who got called ‘Leech’ by his fellow monsters.

“A different kind,” Jonathan intervened. “That thing’s more like an octopus.”

Simon threw the paper away. “Fuckin’ tentacles.”

“Well, Graves is also coming,” Kyle answered on their behalves, making you turn your attention back to him. “But he is not who we are concerned about.”

You frowned. “Who, then?”

The siren sighed. “In the deep sea, there are two kingdoms that have always been in bad blood, and war could break out any minute with one wrong move. That’s my kingdom, the Sirens, and the Krakens.” He handed you the paper, letting you read what was written in it. “And their king, famously known as ‘Konig’ is going to attend the party, when he hadn’t been for as long as we didn’t.”

You found the name he mentioned on the paper. “What’s bad about that?”

“He was at your auction,” Johnny fessed and scoffed. “Why would he even go, he didn’t even buy a female this time.”

“Because of her,” Simon nodded at your way. “I have a feeling he got a word about her before we even laid our eyes on her. If Price wasn’t any faster, she would have been . . .” he trailed off.

You sighed and plopped back down on the grass. “What’s new about that? If he was the one with me now—”

“You would have been dead already,” Simon finished.

As though a bucket of cold water had been thrown at you, you froze in your place, his words repeating over and over again in your mind. You had heard of this Konig, before, from the news and Graves, and Simon’s statement wasn’t far off. The King of Krakens was infamous for killing every woman he was with for unknown reasons. As if that wasn’t enough, he was also known for murdering his own men.

He was the embodiment of monstrosity, the pinnacle of all mortals, the horror of every race.

To think that he was there in the crowd just as you were being sold, watching in the shadows, about to get his hands on you, before Price swept in, made your heart hammer against your ribs. And it only led your mind further down into the hole that maybe, you were lucky to be here, after all.

“One more thing,” John spoke, breaking into your reverie, fiddling with your fingers with his rough ones. “The females will have to perform something.”

“Perform?” You echoed in a meek voice, getting uncomfortable with how the conversation was going.

“Yes, it’s like a . . .” He smacked his lips. “Showcase, or to strike a deal, a trade. If a monster happens to like another female than the one he bought, he can trade with another monster. But if the monster is satisfied with the one he’s got, then nothing will—”

You sat up. “You’re not—” You gripped tight on his hand. “You’re not going to trade me, are you?” You gazed into his eyes, your vision slightly blurring at the welling tears, which you fought back by blinking. “I don’t know what kind of performance I can do, I’m not used to crowds, but I’m–I’m beginning to like it here—”

He cut you off, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that burned the air from your lungs.

Stalemate.

Someone will deserve an Oscar. Also, as stated, there will be "scenes" with Konig, and he will be an antagonist for better or worse, along with some other canon characters. If you don't like it, shoo--I mean, feel free to not read, because I don't intend to write him in the way that the readers will like him.

He may be good in my other fanfic, but here? If you are up to, uhm, real like for real real, dub-con/non-con things, then wait for Konig. I guess. But he won't be the end game.

Remember, This is a TF 141 fanfic!

Next Chapter / Archive of Our Own / DISCORD SERVER

Comment if you want to be on the tag list

Taglist: @cringeycookies, @sunndust, @noonespecial475, @spooky-skeletonie, @casualunknownrunaway, @lialucis, @tanaari, @mc-cos-charm, @demonic-bird, @thriving-n-jiving, @teenagellamaangel, @nightriver99, @drenix004

[snowblossomreads]

Day 22- Shivering Certainty

Pairing(s)/Character(s): The Interrogator x Fem!Reader

Summary: In where the Interrogator acts on the solution he has given his prisoner. Continuation of Day 14 - Deceptive Kindness

Tag(s)/Warning(s): Smut ( Restraints, oral - fem receiving, overstimulation, coersion/dub con, electric play, begging, 'no means yes'), abuse of power, slut shaming

A/N: I hope ya'll didn't think there wasn't going to be a part two to this because why would their not be LOL. This man is uhinged and we need a little bit of something from him of course. : ) Be free my friends and enjoy the teasing from this man.

When she had agreed to play his little game, she didn't think she would end up like this. Spread eagle on the table that had been extended to accommodate her height, and then cuffed down onto it by hidden manacles that came with the piece of furniture. Granted it was more like a piece of equipment than furniture.

Not only that, but he then pulled out an interesting little device that had two wires extending from a black box. When she inquired about it, he told her not to worry too much about it. That it was just something he thought she might enjoy as he set it up, placing the box on the table by her legs.

Once he had set it up, she felt his hand roaming all over her thighs, stroking up her legs until he reached her bare cunt. A soft whimper left her lips as she felt him attach something sticky to each side of her folds. And instead of questioning him, she just kept silent, letting him pet her. His fingers stroked the outer edges of her cunt, before he moved over to caress her wet silt that quaked at his touch. 

It wasn't the only thing that was quaking when he pulled away from her either. Her whole body was ablaze with a want and need she didn't know she had as she watched him walk back closer to the top of the table where her head lay.

She also didn't expect it to excite her so much either as she watched him slowly roll up his sleeves. Folding the pristine white fabric up his forearm methodically, one crease at a time as his eyes hovered over her body. One which was only covered with a thin baby doll dress that was now bunched up at her mid-section. It left her upper thighs, arms, and collarbone all exposed to the cold air of the room, yet she wasn't cold at all in the present moment.

Quite the opposite as she had warmed up quite quickly from the cruel words thrown at her that turned into her allowing him to…

She quickly dismissed the thought. Telling herself that it was all in the name of self-preservation.

"Now, now that's enough thinking." 

His command came in low murmur, as she felt his fingers suddenly brush against her cheek lightly. It caused her to let out a startled gasp as he trailed his digits down her face, and towards her neck where he placed his entire palm against the area before squeezing it lightly. 

A whimper, mixed with fear and something else escaped her lips at the pressure that constricted her airways slightly, and the smirk that flashed across his lips told her that he had enjoyed the sound of it.

"It's what got you into this mess in the first place."

He finished his sentence by giving her throat one more squeeze before letting go of her, and she sucked in a harsh shaky breath as he stared at her with amused eyes. His fingers continued their travel down her front, and her belly was taut with nerves as he brushed over her collarbone before gliding lightly over the stiff peaks of her breast. 

Even with the fabric covering them, his touch still shot a surge of desire through her belly as curious fingers circled lightly around the flesh, before he was pinching the pert nubs. Rolling them in his fingers, before tugging at them harshly, causing her to let out a loud squeak, her hips jolting upward slightly at the treatment.

"Oh, you like that?" He purred, noticing her reaction, and testing it again, pulling at the sensitive skin with even more force. The sound she made caused his eyes to light up like the star on a Christmas tree, and she truly wondered what she had gotten herself into. "You like pain."

It was more of a statement than a question. Yet she felt the need to shake her head.

"N-no I don't." She stuttered out, even as she tried to suppress the mew that wanted to leave her as he pinched the sensitive nub one more.

That answer seemed to dissatisfy him, and a frown appeared on his lips as he peered down at her from over his glasses. The look sent a chill of fear down her spine, and for a very good reason, as she watched him reach down the table for the device that he had placed.  

'What is he-.'

"AH!"

A sharp scream pierced the air just as a wave of electricity shot through her lower half and down her legs. The burning pain of it had her writhing away on the table as the feeling knocked the breath of her. 

"Now, now what did I say about dishonesty?" He questioned, his voice becoming hard suddenly as he turned off the machine. Her muscles instantly relaxed, and the forced contractions stopped, leaving her body tingling with pain and her mind racing. "It will get you nowhere, no matter how charming I think your lies are. Remember, I am your guide, and your only hope is through me. Now tell the truth. You like the pain don't you?"

She hesitated, watching him and when he began to move back to the device, she nodded furiously before letting out a panicked,

"Y-yes."

A groan left his lips at her answer, and the sound somehow soothed the pain he had inflicted on her. God what was wrong with her?

 "Oh you are going to be a troublesome one, but," his voice dropped almost a whole octave this time as he practically pressed his nails into her breast, causing her to let out a whine. "I know how to deal with all sorts. Your kind though? Your kind are my favorite."

Dread filled her stomach instantly at his words as he continued his travels down her body. Walking down along the edge of the table to explore her. What did he mean by that?

Her question wasn't left unanswered for long.

Once his fingers reached the edge of her dress, he trailed the ends of the fabric before sliding his palm up her thigh grabbing at the skin, pinching as much flesh as he could reach. She let out a soft whimper at the pinches, her body reacting positively to it as the urge to rub her thighs together to calm the pressure inside of her grew. Yet with her tied down basically, she could only endure this teasing while he explored her at his own pace. 

It was torture as he dragged his blunt nails against her heated skin on his way towards her cunt that was crying out for him. And she was ready to do that same thing, wanting him to touch the ache that had grown quickly in her. 

"Needy are you?" He chuckled lightly, looking at [Y/n] whose chest rose and fell erratically as his fingers finally found their way to her damp opening that throbbed the moment he brushed against it. "Already so wet. Just from a few touches and a little bit of pain. A sign of a true whore," he chuckled darkly as he began to stroke her warm flesh.

Her breath hitched at the touch, her fingers clenching and unclenching as she sighed out a moan as he touched her. And he took his time, too. Unhurried feathery strokes against her core that begged for more.

"P-please," she whimpered, her body aching for something more than the delicate strokes he was giving her.

"Oh? Does the little whore want something?" He asked, a smile on his lips, and his eyes shining with glee which was so off-putting. 

Yet her mind was too focused on the pleasure, or lack thereof to even care at this point about the name calling. He could call her whatever, but she needed more than what he was giving her and she nodded her assent. 

"No none of that," he growled, the cheerfulness in his eyes switching to darkness in a dizzyingly fast manner. And then the pain came again.

Just as fast as his emotions switched, the shock of the device pierced her once more. Her body stiffened, and a loud gasp was ripped away from her again. But before she could even realize what was happening to let out a scream, it was off again and he was speaking words that her mind was trying to wrap around.

 "Confess it with your mouth. Admit that you're just a little whore whose only crime was wanting to be fucked. Come on, the faster you do it, the more of this you'll get."

The squeal of pain she was meant to let out, morphed into one of delight the moment he said that, as he took the chance to push his fingers inside her with no warning. His thumb joined in on the teasing by rubbing her clit and sending a jolt of pleasure down her body as he teased her. It didn't last long though of course, as he stopped the moment he felt her wet hole clench around his fingers as her insides tried to suck him deeper.

It caused a desperate whine to leave her and he only chuckled his amusement.

"Come on, confess little whore," he urged, his thumb lightly flicking her bead that quickly swelled with pleasure at his devious touches. "Confess and I'll give you everything those other people couldn't give you, we don't have much time. Once I leave this all stops."

And stop he did, his fingers pausing the teasing of her clit, and she swore out loud before letting a desperate cry leave her. 

"Please! Please I promise I haven't done anything," she cried, warm tears brimming at the edge of her eyelids as she struggled against the manacles, needing his touch but getting nowhere as they held her down. "I just…I just."

"Almost there, you can say it, don't be shy now. Don't you want this?" He stroked her clit one more time, and she knew it was her downfall.

"Oh god!" She cried out, the tears that she tried to hold back streaming down her face, blurring her vision and the dark predatory look on the man's face. "Please I promise! I promise I only met them because I needed to be fucked," she confessed, "Mmm just a whore for them I didn't do anything please!"

"Good girl, very good girl!" He praised, his demeanor changing back to the kind man that she had first encountered at a dizzying pace. Yet he kept his promise. 

His thumb placed a delicious pressure on her clit as the fingers he had buried in her wet heat began stroking her insides with expertise that had her lips parting yet no words left them as he stretched her open. "So wet little whore, oh so wet. Did those men ever make you feel like this?" He asked, thrilled at the way she writhed from his touches that elicited sobs and moans from one end and wet slickness from the other.

"N-no!" She whined, shivering with certainty that she had never felt so hot, so turned on, in her life.  

"What an honor little whore," he purred, "maybe I should give you something else for being so honest. Would you like that?"

"Y-yes please, please more fuck me please."

"Oh I will sweet whore, but not until I get a taste of you. Not until I see how much this cunt can take, then," he purred, his face inches away from her heat that glistened with her juices. The scent of her made him lick his lips as if he were about to devour a most delicious meal. "Then, I'll fuck you, make you my little whore."

It was the last thing he said to her before he dived forward, his tongue tracing her inner folds as it joined his fingers in drawing out the most delicious cries from the woman below him. Her legs shook and tensed, and the urge to shut them against his head was incredibly strong, but she was forced to stay open for him as his tongue dipped into her.

A noisy growl escaped his throat as he tasted her sweet cunt which only provided more of her wetness for him. Wetness that he eagerly lapped up noisily, wanting her to hear how good she tasted to him, which only made her stomach knot up even more as she felt the rush of pleasure invading her mind.

The sounds of her cries increased as he increased the speed his fingers were fucking her, and it was no surprise that when he went and wrapped his lips around her swollen clit and sucked it harshly. Tongue darting out to lick her, before he scraped his teeth against the sensitive bundle did the pain and pleasure of the action send her over the edge.

Her body arched as much as she could being pinned down, and her insides clenched so much that it almost became painful.

She let out a loud, long, and watery cry of, "FUCK!" That filled the air as he continued to suck at her, his fingers only slowing down as her insides clenched around them in an attempt to draw them in deeper.

Truly the cunt of a whore. He grinned at that, yet he didn't stop his assault on her body as he happily licked at her bead, his touch turning painful as she writhed underneath him.

"P-please too much too much," she sobbed, yet her body seemed to want more as it pressed against him, and the dark joy he felt was tremendous as he pulled away from her cunt, his fingers still stroking her even as she begged him to slow his movements.

"Oh no little whore," he grinned madly, watching tears stain her face as she cried and wriggled helplessly. "Weren't you listening to me earlier? I'll stop when I think you're done. And you are not done."

A distress noise left her lips as he dragged his fingers in and out of her. Yet it wasn't long before those noises morphed into ones of pleasure again. The cycle starting once again and lasting until he wanted it to end.

A/N: no regrets and now i wanna write all the unhinged smut with this man.

[stabbyfoxandrew]

Ahh!!! I'm finally on time again for wip Wednesday! I'm so excited! I would love some Angel Neil.

(I loved the long snippet from last week but obviously I will love anything of any length you post)

WIP Wednesday (9/18) | Guardian Angel Neil AU (Part 235)

So he's going to once again get Bee's thoughts on the angel. He's going to make her tell the truth and admit one way or another if she thinks he's got a serious problem. (If she calls Neil an imaginary friend again, Andrew might bite her. No, no. He wouldn't bite Betsy. But he might light a fire in her office.)

See, Andrew ruled out Neil being a side effect after Monday morning. He'd come charging up here first thing during his nightmare-induced rampage, without taking his meds, and Neil was here waiting for him like always. Andrew's quite sure he's not actually psychotic, no matter what his teammates like to say. But he wants to check his notes against Bee's one more time.

This way, if he ever starts to doubt Neil again he can remind himself that Betsy thinks he's fine and that Kevin knows the Butcher's son. That's what he would need, reassurance from the two people he trusts most. God, how did Kevin Day end up on this list? Andrew digresses. The biggest problem with grilling Bee about this is Neil himself. Because Neil said he would stay as long as Andrew believed in him. If he were to overhear anything... Would he leave for good? Is he actually able to? Andrew does not want to find out.

Andrew realizes with a start that his cigarette is nothing but a tiny burned up nub between his fingers. He looks at it, annoyed, then flicks it into the bushes below. When he turns, Neil is staring from where he's propped on an elbow. Has he been staring this entire time? (Andrew thinks he could stare at Neil for days. That's beside the point.) He cocks a brow.

"You know, I'm right here." Neil says, looking amused. "That means you can actually talk to me instead of just thinking about me real hard."

Andrew flusters and bristles simultaneously. "Who said I want to talk to you?"

Neil laughs like Andrew's being stupid. "Your head is going to explode, Andrew. Or maybe mine is. I can't tell. But it's getting annoying, so just say something."

"I hate you."

"There you go." Neil smiles. "Let it out and stop pounding on the insane of my skull."

"Is that what it feels like when I think about you?"

Neil sighs, "Not always. Sometimes it's a little pinch. Maybe a tap on the forehead, a flick to the ear. But sometimes you get real... Thunderous."

"Thunderous."

"Yeah. Like I can't think because you're too busy thinking about me." Neil says, sounding only slightly accusatory. "You're doing it now. Want to tell me why?"

"You told me you don't come into Bee's office. Is that still true?"

"Of course."

"Isn't it the angel's right to know what's going on with me?"

Neil looks almost offended that Andrew thinks he'd eavesdrop. "No. I've told you before. Whatever you have to say to her is none of my business and I certainty don't care to hear what she thinks about me."

"Right. I know."

"Then why are you asking this again?" Neil asks suspiciously. "Should I be listening in on you for some reason?"

Oh fuck, time to backtrack.

[akirakirxaa]

FFXIVWrite Prompt 11: Surrogate

Rating: G

Word Count: 650

Summary: Stella brings Hades a picture while he's working. [Takes place in the OT4 AU, while Hades and G'raha are still at odds with each other. Note, very rough draft, words did not agree with me tonight.]

[Master Post]

Hades glanced over his notes, head leaned hard into one hand while a quill rested in his other (how long until he replaced every painfully primitive quill in the house with an easier to use pen, he wasn’t sure). He had overheard only a little of Akira’s daughter’s new abilities that were making themselves known, and though his help had been spurned before even asking him — and of course he certainly did not want to help anyway — he couldn’t help but ponder over it. And the more he pondered, the more he wrote, and now his desk was covered in notes he had no way to give Akira without admitting he had overheard. Not just her suggestion that they seek his help, but also the firm dismissal of—

“Up!” He glanced down at the small voice, finding the tiny red-haired frame of Stella, shoving the sketchbook he’d made for her at him to hold, barely waiting for him to grab it before letting go and climbing into his office chair, pushing insistently until she was crammed into it with him. She reached for the sketchbook and, while for anyone else he might grumble…he handed the book back, giving her a little pat on the head between her miqote ears.

For a while, they sat like that, Stella balancing the little book on Hades’ lap as she colored, Hades himself going back to his notes, occasionally glancing at the toddler. He snuck glances at her soul, as if someone would be able to tell if he lingered too long, fascinated at how the color almost precisely matched the ambient aether of the aetherial sea. He was deep into a multi page tangent on what it could mean combined with what other signs he had heard she was exhibiting when she tugged on his sleeve.

“What is it, dear?” Hades’ voice was softer than his usual prickly demeanor; he would never use the term of endearment if he suspected her father to be near, knowing with certainty now that, if the archon had his way, that Hades would have nothing to do with his daughter. But no matter what any of them did, Stella still sought him out with just as much regularity as her father, mother, or Hythlodaeus.

Stella flipped her book around proudly, ears flicking and small nub of a tail doing its best to swish while trapped between the arm of the chair and Hades’ leg. It was a little drawing of five stick figures, one much shorter than the others, three with red hair, one with purple…and one with white. For a moment, Hades was lost in the dozens and dozens of lives he’d lived, little children destined to live chaotic lives and die tragic deaths proudly bringing their ‘father’ their little creations looking for affection.

“Eme!” Stella pointed helpfully at the white-haired stick figure, and it broke Hades out of his reverie.

“No, no, Hades,” he corrected, and she frowned, pointing more forcefully at the figure.

“Eme!”

“Ha-des,” he pronounced slowly. Where had she learned that name? Now her face had a smirk that reminded him all-too much of her father.

“Eme!” she giggled at his frustration, and he let out a groan.

“You might as well give up,” Hades glanced up from his torment to find Hythlodaeus leaning on the frame of the office door. “Once kids decide what they want to call you, there’s no changing it.” Hades slumped forward onto his desk dramatically, and Stella jumped down with her prize, running over to Hythlodaeus and holding the book up to him.

“Oh, how lovely,” he crouched down to see it better. “I bet your mother would like to hang it up. Shall we go show her?” Stella nodded and, with one last smug look at his love, Hythlodaeus led her out of the office before her enthusiasm was the death of Hades.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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

[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.

[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