#make compressed air tank

[zeroloop]

USERCENT Portatile Compressore per Auto 12v,Pompa Pneumatica Intelligente da 2000mAH 150PSI,Mini Air Pump Gonfia Gomme per Auto,Moto,Palloni,Biciclette

Portatile Compressore per Auto 12v

Portatile Compressore per Auto 12v Questo e compressore  portatile  dotato di batteria da 2000 mAh, nella confezione di vendita troviamo: compressore, cavo di ricarica USB C a USB A, cinque adattatori per, 2x palloni, 1xBici, 1 auto 1,moto. Non ho trovato un manuale all’interno ma il compressore e molto facile da utilizzare.   Il compressore e completamente in alluminio, sulla parte superiore…

[charliemwrites]

Part 10! of SpecGru reader. This is a little short, but I was so excited to post because NOVA.

Content: safe/sane/consensual sex - oral, female receiving

Nova is your partner for the day – running drills as guest instructors for recruits, working them so hard they don’t have enough air to make any stupid, sexist remarks. The two of you spend all day flirting like a new lovesick couple, your hand drifting low on her back while she teases you with double entendres. Press her up against the wall outside the dining hall after lunch, licking the taste of apple off her lips while she tangles clever fingers in your hair.

Don’t care about who might be watching, or who cares. Not like your captain does. The opposite really, as he sidles up behind you while you’re spotting Nova in the gym. He slaps your ass so hard it damn near echoes, smirking at your scandalized face while she quickly reracks so that she can laugh.

“How are my girls doin’ today?” he chuckles.

“Right as rain, cap,” Nova answers, beaming when he cups her cheek.

“Can’t be anything but good with our star girl around,” you reply, winking at her. Bark a laugh when she smacks you in the thigh.

“Yeah?” he asks, a note of sincerity in his voice now. “Those shitheads leavin’ you alone?”

You blink, realize that there has been a distinct lack of 141 overtures today. No wonder you’re in such a good mood. An orgasm in the morning, your pretty, hyper-competent girlfriend all day, and no shitty former teammates? That’s practically a vacation lately.

“Do I have you to thank for that, sir?” you ask. Remember him saying something about talking to Price yesterday.

“You can thank me later,” he answers with a little smirk.

“Gladly, sir.” He’s getting more than that at this rate.

“Just wanted to check in on you two,” he continues, tweaking your nose, “and there’s an intel brief at 1600.”

“Yessir,” you and Nova reply together.

He chuckles again, gives you both one last fond look, then takes his leave.

“Finish up in here, shower, and get there a bit early?” Nova suggests.

You turn back to her, wipe a bit of sweat off her forehead with your forearm. She huffs in (only half fake) disgust and lays back on the bench again. She’s still got half a set to finish.

“Yeah, I want to steal Price’s usual seat,” you answer.

“You petty little tart,” she chuckles.

You lean your elbows on the bar and lean over her, arching your eyebrows playfully. “I’m your petty little tart.”

“Have always had a sweet tooth,” she muses.

You laugh and get off the bar so that she can continue. Of course, you’re keeping a close eye on her – but lord, she’s distracting. Thick thighs and solid abdomen, her tank-top is even sticking to the flexing muscles. And her arms. You’re not even being subtle, drinking in each deliberate rise and fall of the metal bar. Following droplets of sweat down her biceps…

“You mind?” she huffs, though not without amusement.

You jolt a bit, flushing as you help her rerack again. She sits up, a mischievous curl to her full lips.

“What’s got into you, huh?” she asks, tilting her head.

You shrug as you switch places, trip up a bit when you realize just how nice the view is. Even thoroughly sweaty, she smells a bit like coconut. Damn.

“Not you, unfortunately,” you reply absently.

She chuckles, tapping a finger against your forehead. “Tell ya what, love – you do five extra reps and we can make that happen.”

You’ve never flown through a workout so fast.

--

You damn near stumble into the shower stall, lips and tongue tangled with Nova’s. The flimsy curtain flutters haphazardly behind her as you reach blindly for the knob. Ice cold water drenches your back, but it does nothing to cool the desire blazing in your gut. Not when she’s peeling herself out of her compression pants, shimmying out of her damp shirt, and wriggling out of her sports bra.

Don’t even care about your own clothes, dropping to your knees in awe. She’s absolutely gorgeous, your girl. Pretty brown skin interrupted by pale patches like scattered clouds, meeting of earth and sky right there in front of you. Something divine about that, you think vaguely. She certainly looks the part, all strength and confidence, dark eyes smoldering like coals. Interrupted only by slashes of scar tissue and the SpecGru tattoo on her forearm.

You’ll never get tired of looking at her.

“C’mere, love,” you murmur, hooking your fingers behind her thigh and gently urging her closer.

She laughs a bit, though there’s a breathless edge to it that makes you perk up like a dog.

“You’re still dressed, daft thing.”

You shake your head. “That can wait.”

Despite your deal in the gym, there’s nothing you want more right now than to take care of her. Just leave her a shaky, whimpering mess, until your shirt is wet with her rather than water or sweat.

“Let me take care of you, baby?” you breathe, hands skimming up her soft thighs. You caress your thumb over her labia, licking your lips at the stickiness already gathered there. “Please, Nila.”

She shudders hard. You groan softly, trailing kisses over the bundle of tissue protecting her lower tummy. Can feel her twitching a bit from the ticklish sensation of your hair brushing her ribs.

“Y-your sure?” she asks. “I haven’t washed off yet…”

“Don’ care,” you mumble, scraping your teeth over the sharp cut of her hip. Tease eager fingertips over her leaking slit, playing in the trim curls. “I gotta taste you. Stay hydrated ‘n all that.”

She tries to scoff, but it’s overtaken by a wobbly moan when you suck a modest mark into her inner thigh. Keegan’s going to pout when he sees it; that’s his favorite spot to claim on all of you.

“Yeah, babes,” she gasps, “g-go ahead.”

It’s probably pathetic, how quickly you faceplant into her pussy. Can’t bring yourself to care when the taste of her bursts across your desperate tongue. A bit of salt, but all her, earthy. You lap at her with the flat of your tongue, starting at her dripping entrance and working slowly up until you curl the tip over her slippery, swollen clit. Again and again. Until all your thoughts whittle down to this, to her. To the helpless clench of her empty cunt and the involuntary buck of her hips. Nothing to calm your thoughts like taking care of your angel.

“Fuck, baby,” she moans, blunt nails scraping over your scalp.

Your eyes roll back as shivers chase down your spine, moaning into her cunt just to return the effect. Love how her head tips back, knees quaking. You scoot in a bit closer, hook her knee over your shoulder to offer some stability. Then focus your attention on that button of nerves, sucking it gently into your hot mouth.

“F-fingers,” she whimpers, “fingers too, love. Please.”

As if you could deny her anything ever. Circle worshipful fingers around her entrance, groaning lustfully when slick begins dripping down your wrist. God, she always gets to fucking wet. When she tilts her hips with a needy whine, you test one finger inside her, rubbing gently against her walls. But she keens, clearly wants more, so you stuff a second finger inside her, curling them as you flick your tongue over her clit.

“Fuck!” she cries. “Yeah, just like that. J-Just there, babe.”

And you’re useless to do anything but acquiesce, setting a steady rhythm that leaves her squirming on your mouth and hands. Feel like you could get off on the noises she’s making alone, your own pussy drenched and aching. But you can’t be bothered to spare a single thought or movement for yourself, hands and mind too full of Nila.

Your dedication is quickly rewarded by the telltale squeezing of her pussy, the increasing pitch and volume to her voice. Don’t dare change a single thing, as desperate for her to cum as she is. Could live forever between her thighs, just like this, listening to that voice break for you.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m… c-cum – fuck!”

You moan as she drenches your chin and neck, quick to support her weak legs so that she can ride out each and every wave of her ecstasy. Suckle at her sensitive clit and circle your fingers around her spongy g-spot until she’s shuddering, gently tugging at your hair. You pull away reluctantly; don’t want to overstimulate her (when she doesn’t want it) but pussy-drunk all the same.

Give her a second to catch her breath, dotting kisses like stars around your pretty Nova.

“That was perfect,” she coos, “come up here for a kiss? I miss you.”

You make sure she’s steady before standing, smiling, stupidly charmed. “I’m right here, sweetheart, nothing to miss.”

“Miss you anytime I’m not kissin’ you,” she replies dreamily, looping her arms around your neck.

You pepper kisses along her jaw until you reach her puffy, bitten lips. Tuts softly at their swollen state before she thoroughly distracts you by licking the taste of herself from your mouth.

“Spoil me,” she sighs against your lips.

“Not spoiling if you deserve it,” you reply, hugging her close.

She giggles brightly, tucking her face against your flushed neck. Stay like that for a moment, gently swaying. Then she nips gently at your collarbone.

“C’mon, let’s get you out of those clothes.”

First | Previous | Introducing...

Masterlist

[stillfoodforguys]

I’ve been training as a swimmer my whole life, with the hope that I might enter the Olympics one day. But there was another athlete taking the world by storm, and I knew I could never catch up with him.

You could tell that Damien was powerful just from his tall, ripped body. But it was even more obvious when he swam, his seemingly inhuman strength the cause of his regularly record breaking performance. The rest of us suspected he had a secret, which might have been something to do with other trainees in our group disappearing without a trace. Little did I know, I was about to find out from the man himself.

Damien cornered me in the changing rooms after a practice session, flexing his pecs at me before making a sexual advance. I didn’t want to pass up the chance to be pleasured by this hairy hunk, allowing him to pin me against the wall and tease my hole with his fingers before the main event. His long, solid shaft slid all the way inside me, his hips slamming hard against my toned ass. His hands wandered all over my body as he fucked me, examining every detail of my muscles while he pressed his own massive, wet body against my back. With his cock firmly pressed against my prostate, he whispered something directly into my ear.

“You’ve worked hard to get your body nice and lean, haven’t you? But I’m the star athlete here, and I can put all that power to much better use…”

I felt Damien grab my neck before everything went dark, my head pulled into some kind of tight, slimy passage. I realised that he was eating me, but had absolutely no chance of fighting back against such a massive man. With a few strong gulps I was packed into his sweltering stomach, my body making his midsection round and bloated. I could hear him laugh cruelly and confidently as I squirmed inside him, but once his fun was over it was time to absorb what I had to offer.

Damien flexed his abs to crush me within his stomach, my bones creaking and air rushing out of my lungs as digestive juices came flooding into his tank. I was knocked out by the raw power of his body before it broke me down in a matter of seconds, and his bloated belly compressed back to its original size.

[nectar-cellar]

Saucy Sportswear Set, Part 2

I've seen the gym shorts from my sportswear set on a lot of your sims and it always makes my day! I was surprised by just how much use it got... nothing makes me happier than seeing people enjoy the stuff I come up with.

I felt inspired to make a second athletic/sportswear set for us to ogle our sims in. Here's what's in the set.

Rolled Sleeves T-Shirt

A cute tucked in t-shirt for workouts and casual days.

Originally by Simsimi; mesh and texture edit by me; first preset is 4x4 pattern tiling, second preset is 8x8 pattern tiling.

Stringer Tank Top

🗣 Air out those hairy sweaty stinky musky pits! I'm sorry... let me collect myself.

Originally by Chasmchronicle, edited by me.

Regular version: the tank top uses a base game mesh for the body.

Bodybuilder version: the tank top uses my muscular "V3" torso mesh for the body. Has more exaggerated proportions.

Accessory version: you can wear this tank top with any custom torso, or use it as an undershirt with other clothes.

Athletic Shorts

I shrunk down the base game swimming trunks. They were cute but knee-length hems? Not on my watch.

There are 2 versions: Short (for the jocks) and Shorter (for the hoes). The shorter ones can be worn with my accessory compression underwear from the first sportswear set.

They look very cute with patterns. First preset is 4x4 pattern tiling, second preset is 8x8 pattern tiling.

In total, six items to mix and match. I hope you enjoy this set as much as the first one.

Download: simfileshare / mega

[tsimvkas]

A/N: i wrote a sentimental blurb about mase’s goal already but i think we deserve a smutty blurb for such a special moment. there’s no plot so keep in mind it’s literally just sex :)

You’ve been waiting an entire day for your man to get home. This is the worst part of away games — you need to wait so many hours to see him, kiss him and tell him how good he was.

But this time, it was practically torture. Seeing Mason scoring his first goal, doing your favourite celebration of his, sticking his tongue out.

As if it wasn’t enough, your boyfriend had to give his shirt to a fan, showing you his chest compressed by the tight tank top underneath. And of course he had to throw his head up during the post match interview, the way he likes to do when you’re straddling him.

Obviously, you texted him the whole night, anxious for him to come home. You’re not proud to think about the context of your texts, but what can you say? You were blind by desire.

When Mason finally got home you were still sleeping, so he quickly changed his clothes and tucked himself in bed, humming in content when he was finally able to cuddle you.

He wasn’t able to nap much though, as your half awake mind started to rock your bum against his hips.

Mason squeezed your waist, trying to keep his groans in. He knows pretty well that you often dream with him when you go to bed too worked up, and he just saw how worked up you were last night.

He hugged you tighter, brushing his nose against your neck.

“Are you good, babe?” he murmured gently, kissing the spot behind your ear. “Everything’s good?”

“Yeah, I just missed you” you turned around to watch him, and his chocolate eyes made your legs feel all wobbly.

“I’ve missed you too princess, but you should go back to sleep” he smiled before checking the hour. “It’s only 7am”

You kissed his chin, feeling warm and settled. “Are you tired?”

“A little bit, yeah” he confessed, and you locked your gaze on his. You know what he wants — you just felt it against you, but you also knows he doesn’t have the energy to do it.

“Would you let me take care of you?” you gently scratched his stubble.

By the look on his face you knew he was about to tell you that you didn’t need to, that he wanted you to rest and that he could wait, so you brushed your lips against his and started a slow kiss, keeping it soft until his hands slipped to grab your ass and you let a moan escape.

Mason took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth, deliciously slotting it against yours, and you bite his lower lip softly before pulling apart for air.

“Will you let me take care of you now?” you asked again, hands slightly pulling his hair.

Your boy nodded, tucking your hair behind your ear before leaning in for another kiss. You didn’t lose time, your hand roaming through his bare chest whilst your kiss became hotter and needier.

It didn’t take you long to reach the waistband of his sleep shorts, sticking your hand to grop his bulge. Mason whined, and you instantly knew that you were right — he needed to be taken care of, a special type of attention.

Without waiting any more, you pulled down his underwear and took him in your hand, smiling when a tired moan fell from his lips.

“I’m so proud of you” you murmured, kissing Mason’s chin and smiling to the sound of him panting beneath you.

“Yeah- I can feel how proud you are” he groaned. “But if you keep squeezing me like this I’ll cum embarrassingly fast���

“Like what?” you teased, brushing your thumb over his tip before squeezing his length again. “Oh, like that?”

“Y/N…” he whined, head hitting the pillow.

“What if I want you to cum fast? So I can make you cum again. And again” you murmured, your lips brushing his whilst you gave him sloppy kisses in the middle of your sentence. “What if I want to end you tonight?”

Mason slightly choked with surprise and you could feel the effect your words had on him, his member now even harder and heavier on your hand.

“Babe-” he whined, tightening his grip on your waist. “God, please. Do whatever you want. I’ll be a good boy, yeah? I’ll come how many times you want me to”

“I know you will” you kissed his chin before forcing him to lay on his back so you could do your job easier. “You’re always a good boy for me, aren’t you? So gentle and caring. Always the one taking care of everything”

You know how much Mason loves your praises, and the way his tummy’s muscles contracted told you what you needed to know.

“Let it go for me, baby. Show me how badly you like it when I touch you, yeah?”

You kept your pace, stroking him like you know he loves, watching his face when he came. You love how Mason will always throw his head back when he’s cumming, how his hips will slightly buck forward trying to chase the pleasure, how his hands will grip the sheets — or even better, your hair.

You didn’t move your hand away, slowly stroking him through his high and after it.

Mason hissed with the sensibility, but you brushed kisses all over his face, telling him how much you love him.

In a matter of seconds, your boyfriend was hard again on your hand and soon he was whining and groaning one more time.

When you finally made your way down and helped him get rid of his shorts and boxer, Mason was already growing impatiently.

“Babe, please” he moaned when you kissed one of his thighs, your breath hitting his tip torturously.

“Look at you, whining and begging” you giggled, taking him in your hand again. “Where’s the man who scored last night? All furious and energetic. Where’s your leader instinct, bubba?”

“Y/N- please, please. Do you need me to beg more? Cos I’ll do it. I’ll beg it, baby. You have no idea how much I want you right now- oh”

You giggled with your lips around his tip, which made Mason moan again. You love how he becomes more vocal when he’s tired and sensitive, and the little sounds will just slip.

Since the second orgasm it’s harder to build, you started softly and calm, just tasting him. Brushing your tongue over his tip, licking his length, slightly sucking.

It was only when his hands finally found their way to your hair that you started applying more pressure on your lips, taking him deeper on your throat.

It took him less than you thought it would to cum again, and Mason groaned and you swallowed and made your way up to give him a kiss.

“So you think you got another one or I drained you already?” you gently asked, straddling him.

“I think that what I think doesn’t matter” he murmured, hand on your waist already encouraging you to move. “But if you ask me again, I think you should fuck yourself on top of me”

You went to bed last night only wearing one of his shirts and your panties, panties that are now incredibly soaked after all of Mason’s groans and moans, and the wet material made it even easier for you to feel his length against your core.

“Just keep lying down” you asked him, a hand on his shoulder so you raise your hips and put your panties to the side before going down again.

“I wouldn’t be able to move not even if I wanted, baby” he chuckled, and you giggled with him before both moaned with the skin contact. “And I don’t want to”

You rocked your hips carefully, knowing by his face that he was even more sensitive than the second time, but slowly his pouty face became cloudy and hazy.

You kept the slow pace even when he was totally hard again, enjoying the feeling of rubbing your clit against his length. Mason tried to guide your movements and make you go faster, but you only had to give him a look to make his hands fall to the sheets again.

“If I had the strength- God” he rolled his eyes. “I’ll payback, you know?”

“Oh, you’re pissed off you can’t control my pace?” you leaned down to kiss his face, and the new angle made you moan.

“Stop torturing us both, yeah?” he cupped your face, kissing you slowly and deep.

You got on your knees and raised your hips again, using your hand to guide him where you wanted, slowly getting down on his cock.

Mason looked at you with hazy eyes, a soft smile playing on his lips while he watched you bouncing back on top of him. In order to help him build another orgasm, something that should be a bit harder, you described your feelings, always telling him how good he makes you feel.

Even though it took him a while more than his normal to feel his muscles contracting and that feeling on his tummy, it was still fast. Hearing your little and low moans helped a lot, he’d say.

When you put your hands on his knees and stretched your body backwards, Mason gave you a long and low moan, the hottest noise you’ve ever heard from him, and shut his eyes close.

Instantly connecting his thumb with your clit, he started to rub it the way he knows it makes you cum faster, and soon you were clenching around him whilst your climax took over you.

Your orgasm triggered his, and after being guided through it Mason just melted against the sheets, closing his eyes trying to breath.

“Wow” he shyly sighed, laying on top of you when you joined him and relaxing his shoulders.

“Do you like just laying down whilst I do the work, uh? Lazy” you teased, poking his waist.

“What can I say? I’m always so tired when I get back from a game that we know I often don’t have the energy to do what I want with you” he murmured, tucking his neck in your neck. “So yeah, I liked how you took control. You can take control more often”

You kissed his head to show him it was okay.

“Score next game and we’ll see” you giggled.

“If I was you, I’d start to plan what you’ll do to me. Cos I am scoring next game” Mason brushed his lips against your neck, and you could feel his stubble tickling you as well.

“Great. Handcuffs would look good on you, bae” you laughed before gently pulling his body away and getting on your feet to grab what you needed to clean him, so he could sleep a bit more.

[nanabrainrot]

Leg Lock [Pervert!Miguel]

Miguel isn’t convinced you’re as adept in as many martial arts as you say; he says you can only prove it with a spar.

Warning! NSFW content ahead. DUBIOUS CONSENT - reader is oblivious the way he’s wrestling is to cop a feel and that he cums on himself :/ what a freak

Pervert!Miguel x F!Oblivious!Reader

▰━▰━▰━▰━▰━▰━▰━▰ ▰━▰━▰━▰━▰━▰━▰━▰ ▰━▰━▰━▰━▰━▰━▰━▰

You were none the wiser. Your spidey senses just didn’t pick up on the ways of men - you were no mind reader. The definition of book smart but not street smart. It’s unbelievable you accepted his personal “challenge” to spar and no less showed up in this ensemble: the smallest compression shorts that was barely even the size of boyshorts and a form fitting tank with a v that dipped dangerously low to the stretch of skin between your tits.

The fact he turned up the air conditioner and had the fan looming above on full blast only served to sweeten the sight by making your nipples pebble against the polyester mix. If he put enough friction across your chest, if you were sensitive you’d surely moan or at least give him a choked gasp; something to jack off to later.

“You ready to eat your words, Miguel?” you huffed seriously. The comical difference between you two was shown in the shadow cast by the fluorescent overhead light in the spinning fan: he was standing hands on his hips and stone-faced at one end of the personal training room and you at the other, bouncing on the balls of your feet with hands already stiff in front like a boxer. It didn’t help it looked like a yippy chihuahua hounding a rottweiler for a fight.

“Just try to at least land a hit -“

You lunged forward, shin flying up to try and meet his neck only to be blocked by his forearm. His eyes widen at your fast pace, but narrow as he meets your onslaught of moves with defenses. The little wraps around your fists do graze his skin as you batter at him with a flurry of fists like a boxer, though your kicks definitely reminded him of capoeira. The speed of it had to be from mixed martial arts and speedboxing while your grace and precision was karate inspired. And he could tell you did jiu jitsu by the way you tried to get him in a leg lock, jumping up to wrap your legs around his waist and use your arms to push at his neck hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

You had to have known that move would have put you in this position: back pressed hard to the mat with no way out. You were incredibly skilled, surprising him with the flurry of fists and kicks fast enough to put him in a position where he could only really use defense but definitely underestimated what he was willing to do to best you.

Miguel had a black belt in jiu jitsu, teaching classes at the dojo Gabby went to back in Nueva York, hard pressed to raise a girl who could handle her own. If you hadn’t overestimated yourself and started off using so much energy, you wouldn’t be panting like this.

Your brows knit, face tense with focus as you gauged your next move but his mind was anywhere but this spar: his cock was against your groin. The sorry excuse of shorts left nothing to the imagination only confirmed that under it was nothing but your bare puffy cunt as his knees drove into the mat to set you in place under him, your wrists pinned under his. “You didn’t land a hit. Too big of an ego can get you -“

A hard impact of your feet hitting his pecs and sending him back from the surprise as you rolled back in a tuck and jumped to your feet back in a boxing stance. Flyaways stuck out from your messy hair from being pinned to the mat as your chest heaved, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

“Can get me what?” you snorted in between short breaths.

“Get you -“ Miguel lunged forward, his legs long and strong enough to dart behind you to grab you by the waist and drag you to the floor, “-killed.”

Whines and grunts of struggle left you as you tried to get out of the compromising position: Miguel had you in a nelson on the floor, big hot palms of his hands on your neck and arm pinning back your biceps as you tried to grab at his wrists to apply enough force to get him to have a looser grip.

Too focused is a bad thing, sometimes. The fabric of your volleyball compression shorts that were more like panties rode up as your ass grinded against his groin - cock hard and twitching in his sweatpants as your feet struggled to get enough friction with the mat to be able to do a backbend or tuck and roll to use your flexibility. Dozens of possible routes flit in your mind and zero of them acknowledged you were basically being dry humped by Miguel: his grunts from the friction mistakes for grunts of effort. In reality, you were easy to restrain but the issue was your agility and speed compared to his strength - a given granted his strength based workout regimen versus yours, which focused on flexibility.

“If powers were allowed, I’d have had you pinned in the first minute,” you panted, lip twitching in focus as you continued to roll your hips against his as you struggled to find footing to be able to utilize your flexibility and roll over him. He must be smart, you think (stupidly), as his legs suddenly push against the mat and have him standing: yet you hang there in a full nelson. “That’s not funny, Miguel!” you hissed, as his forearms settled under your thighs during the shift and the palms secured at your neck still. The size difference suddenly made you realize why spars had size and weight classes; but there were no weight classes with the villains and anomalies you regularly encountered, he chastisted as he offered a spar with you.

If you had your powers allowed, you would’ve had him against the ceiling by now. But you shook on it. God, you wish you had a weaker sense of integrity and just said fuck it and blasted him with your power to get out of this humiliating debacle. The only thing left in reach was his fingers.

Your hands fly to the fingers locked behind your neck keeping you mid air as you resorted to a dirty trick: scratching with nails. A low hiss emits as he drops you and loses footing, landing on top of you: groin to ass. The dirty trick leaves him huffing with anger as he suddenly has you in a head lock, your hands batting at him pathetically. You just wanted to tap out, he could tell, but he just needed one thing: to have his way.

His hips roll into your pussy, feigning it as trying to keep you pinned by shifting weight from knee to knee in a side-to-side motion and lurched forward sometimes. The fact you kept bucking your hips to get out of the pin only helped him along; the warmth of your pussy would have been nicer, but next spar. Knowing your competitive nature, you would go along with a naked wrestling competition if it meant coming out on top.

But he’s on top right now, his hot breath fanning your ear as you mewl and bat at the thick forearnms around your neck pinning you. “F-fine…!” you whine out, borderline pornographic in your pleading, “you win!”

His hips roll again, with you still bucking your hips back into him. “Say it again.” He knew your whiny nature, the way when you wanted your way you would do anything: most missions consisted of you pleading and begging to see the sights on other dimensions or stop by food stalls like you were on vacation. He fucking spoiled you but even bratty bitches need discipline.

“You win!”

“Louder!”

“You win, Miguel!”

A hot pant. Fuck, the way you were whining and bucking in this position was getting him close. A few more words and he’d surely cum, wearing the dark sweatpants and a long baggy tee that loomed over where the wet spot would be specifically with this in mind. No powers put you in a disadvantage, the height and mass difference would never let you win. A spar was just a reason to hump you as you stupidly wriggled and cried out. One more sentence, then he’ll cum, cum and stop. The urge will leave and he can go back to being sated and content without distraction; he was too busy to keep entertaining this disgusting fantasy of fucking you every day and night. Just one more sentence to freedom.

A hot puff of air in your ear before a deep raspy voice hisses, “Now tell me I’m big and strong and I’ll let you go.” Your eyes widen as you look in confusion at the mat, his face behind you as you chest was still glued to the mat thanks to his weight.

“T-tell you what?”

“Say ‘you’re too big and strong for me, Miguel.’” A roll of the hips.

“No! I can still win!” you buck back harder, hips shifting hard between his groin and the mat to try and get out. Your nails sink into his forearms but he doesn’t move. You can’t get out until you say it. It’s a shameful dawn of emotion that wounds your pride. But you can get stronger, spar with him more, until you can beat him - powers or no powers.

“Say it and you can go.” The wriggling winds down as time stretches, you finally going limp and panting on the mat with his weight still crushing you.

A gulp.

Softer than a whisper, “You’re so big and strong, Miguel…”

The cum spurts into his briefs, inevitably ruining them and leaving a wet spot in the pants. You’re too tired, limp, to feel his clothed dick twitch against your pussy through the shorts.

You don’t even feel happy when he clumbers off you; in your universe you were a master of the arts and your powers only enhanced this great feat. Yet, you still lost to your boss. You want a rematch.

No.

You need a rematch.

He clumbers away, slow heavy footfalls and low panting breaths as he strides to the exit of the personal training room. Sitting back on your heels still panting but back to him as he walked away you find enough energy to ask: “Same time next week, Miguel?”

You’ll win. You’ll run a million miles, do a thousand crunches, and eat your weight - no, Miguel’s weight in protein and come out victorious next week as you always do. Just because he’s a man it didn’t mean you had no chance: it only meant you had to work harder.

Quiet. He’s panting though, you hear it, but the strain in his voice isn’t just from the spar: “Same time next week.”

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hope yall likedd feel free to leave requests or anything in my inbox! its p empty rn - I have a hobie fic coming next <3

[ahqkas]

mhm no thoughts, head empty just ghost & könig helping you out in the gym (illusions of nsfw !!)

༉‧₊˚. as a soldier, the precious time in the gym was something you needed because your strength and stamina didn’t come with you from your mother’s womb. the base’s gym was your first choice in the decision which gifted you in the way of two gym partners: ghost and könig

༉‧₊˚. their choice of clothing is rather eye catching to you, the tight compression shirts and tank tops that hug their muscled frames with ease and show off their pump after the workout (you are ashamed to say that you enjoy the sight of how their muscles bulge under the clothes). their ripped chests, wide shoulders and upper backs drive you crazy and the image of their biceps being the size of your head makes you feel some things you shouldn’t feel

༉‧₊˚. just imagine ghost standing above you as you laid down on the bench with a bar moving up and down towards your chest, his meaty thighs almost touching the crown of your head with how close he was to you. his arms were by his sides, twitching occasionally when he noticed the struggle you were going through and eventually wrapping on the place next to your fingers when you couldn’t push the bar anymore. the source of your distraction was the sight of his tattoos in your peripheral vision, the ink on his forearms sent a tinge straight to your stomach which caused the bar go down. ghost mostly coaxed you to trail till failure, his deep accent reaching your ears as you bench pressed another rep. “come on, lovie, i know you’ve got one more in ya.” the sudden urge to please him and prove his words to him was strong and you actually managed to do another rep, surprising yourself and making ghost proud of you. “see? you did great.”

༉‧₊˚. könig made his job to spot you during squats. at first he’d instruct you how to work with the bar so you wouldn’t hurt your spine, his big palms moving to adjust your smaller ones on the bar so they were in the right placement. the warmth of his calloused skin caused your head to spin and his close presence didn’t help as well. when you got the form right, the austrian man would stand behind you, going up and down with you as you squatted carefully. his hands were hovering in the air right beneath the bar, letting you know he wouldn’t let you fall no matter what. he was standing so close you could feel his chest slightly touching your arched back and his crotch was almost pressing to your ass every time you went down. just like ghost, training till failure was the right way to workout in this man’s mind and he made sure you would do just that. “one more for me, hase, yeah? you can do that.” and of course, you did what he asked. “that’s it, schatz, you’re doing so good.”

༉‧₊˚. when the gym doesn’t have an assisted pull-up machine and you aren’t able to do a pull-up on your own yet, they’re both eager to help you out, big hands grabbing onto your hips and assisting you up and down in your movements like their palms found the place they belonged to (your hips). and later on, when you can finally do ten pull-ups in row on your own, their hands somehow refuse to let you go, softly resting there as you moved without their help

༉‧₊˚. to wrap it all up, working out with ghost and könig can be exhausting and make you feel all sore, but in the end it’s all worth it because you’ve got all their attention on you 🤭

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

[covered-up-bondage]

Courier by hazelinne

She takes step after step after step in her weighted boots and heavy backpack, keeping a cruel pace for fear of the electric shocks if she should so much as slow her pace even a little. Hot, muggy, hellish, the smells her own waste, her own sweat, stinking up the suit. Every now and then the suit disinfects the waste, passes it as a fine cloud which makes the passers-by wrinkle their noses and look askance at her. A sharp shock at her right, and she turns right, not slowing her pace. It is a sunny day, and the there is a fine breeze blowing, perfect for a walk out, but the glass of the helmet barely lets her see any more than she needs to avoid collision, the earplugs block out all noise, replacing it with loud crackling, and the suit is impermeable to air and water alike.

The parcel delivered, she obediently follows where the shocks direct her to a station to replenish the air in the compressed gas tanks on the back. Enough for her to breathe for a few more hours, infused with the bodily fluids of many men, utterly humiliating to even breathe in. It is many more years before her sentence will be served, and until then she is not allowed out of the suit, not allowed to breathe a breath of fresh air. A shock drives her back toward the distribution centre: there are many more hours before she can finally take off the backpack, shackle her hands and feet together, and curl up in her tiny cage to sleep.

[bakugosatoru]

Pretty for the Press

Requests Open! Warnings: Graphic Smut (This is pure PWP smut, MDNI) Genre: Smut Fic Type: Medium Length Fic (4.5k Words) Fandom: My Hero Acadamia Ship: Dabi x Hawks Authors note: My first longer fic! I'm not sure how I feel about it but I like it enough that I do want to share it! I've been working on it for an embarrassingly long time so I hope you like it! Also Dabi is really soft in this and its a little out of character but oh well. Synopsis: Hawks has defected to the side of the villains and is now standing in the League of Villains hideout bathroom, and he needs a haircut. Dabi offers to help. What could go wrong.

Also here on AO3 if you prefer to read over there.

It isn't exactly the Marriott. The yellowing porcelain of the benchtops and the stained brown sinks work to remind him exactly where he is. The bathroom at the league of villains hideout. The porcelain is cool against his hands, his face leaning in towards the cracked and dirty mirror.

It's been three months since Hawk defected to the side of the villains, away from the world of heroes, the world of being a hero. So here Hawks stands, instead of his hero funded penthouse with the nicest things money can buy, he stands in a bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. Tugging at the strands of his hair. He always forgets how quickly hair grows when not being cut every two weeks to keep up an appearance. 

“So this is why you spend so fucking long in the bathroom huh? Damn you really love looking at yourself that much Birdie?”

Dabi stands, lounging against the doorframe dressed in black sweatpants and a ratty old tank top. Hawks scowls, wondering how long he’d really been there.

“Fuck off Dabi, was just trying to figure out which one of you psychos I’d trust with scissors to cut my hair” The ex-hero smirked, leaning back from the mirror to meet Dabi’s gaze.

“And what was the verdict?” Dabi mused as he wandered over to stand next to Hawks, whose wings quickly tucked into his body to make room. 

Hawks didn’t answer, just going back to pulling and rearranging his hair before huffing and messily tying it back in a stubby ponytail. Dabi spun around and sat against the sink, watching Hawks intently. Hawks feathers puff and ruffle slightly, subconsciously, as he feels Dabis gaze dig into him. It's not often they get time alone together, usually they are either surrounded by other members of the league or fighting for their lives. Doesn’t exactly leave a lot of time for talking. Dabi picked up the discarded and rusted scissors off the counter and held them in front of his eyes, cutting at the air a few times for good measure.

“I mean, I could do it..” Dabi said, spinning the scissors around his pointer finger and tapping his other hand mindlessly against the counter.

“Promise I won't slice ya” 

“Well that just fills me with confidence” Hawks scoffed.

“I mean, the offers there if you want. If you want to keep growing out your hair ‘till you start looking like a homeless guy hanging outside the headquarters that's your call Birdy” 

Hawks paused for a moment, looking over at Dabi. Dabi glanced at him momentarily before returning his gaze to the scissors spinning in his hand. Hawks hated to admit that Dabi was probably his best choice. He couldn't trust Compress or Twice to just do a small trim (they always had a flair for the dramatic), Himeko might get a bit too snip-happy with the scissors and Shigaraki isn't exactly a big fan of… hygiene in general. 

“Fine” Hawks huffed, finally leaning back from the counter.

“Yea?” Surprise painted Dabi’s voice as he hopped off the counter and strolled behind Hawks, yanking a cheap plastic chair over from the corner of the room and placing it right in front of the mirror.

“Well take a seat, get comfortable. Want me to wash your hair first, scalp massage maybe? Perhaps I should get you a cup of tea?” Dabi mocked in a sing-song tone.

“Oh please do, I expect only the best service from a stylist as famous as yourself” Hawks scoffed as he rolled his eyes. He sat down on the chair and leaned back, Dabi now towering behind him in the mirror. A moment paused between them as Dabi looked down at his hair, a hand reaching out gingerly to hold a few strands between his fingers, the back of his hand brushing against Hawks neck gently. Hawks felt a shiver pass through his body to the tip of his wings and he just prayed Dabi didn’t notice.

“Uh actually I might have to wash it…” Dabi mumbled, all the joking bravado in his voice replaced with a nervousness Hawks had never heard coming from the villain before.

“Hm?” Hawks questioned, tilting his head to look up at Dabi, seeing the living skin on his face dusted with a soft pink hue.

“It's just easier to cut wet hair.” Dabi said as he spun the plastic chair around, so that Hawks was now facing him, his back to the sink. Hawks' breath caught in his throat as he looked up at Dabi, who was leaning over to turn on the faucet. Was Dabi going to wash his hair? This really hadn't been how he expected this to go, he assumed Dabi would cut a few inches off his hair and be done with it, but this was a side of Dabi he hadn't seen before. A softer side.

“Okay lean back, the water shouldnt be too hot but my hands aren't exactly great for gauging temperature so if your skin melts off, not my fault.” Dabi said as he moved over to the shower in the corner of the bathroom and snatched up a bottle of shampoo and conditioner. Hawks leant back, awkwardly tilting his head under the faucet to line himself up so the water was in his hair instead of covering his entire face.

“Twice will kill you if he finds out you're going to use his weird expensive shampoo”

“No, he’ll kill you. You're the one using it, I'm just putting it in your hair” Smirked Dabi as he strolled over to the left of Hawks and reached into the sink to help rinse his hair. Hawks felt himself tense as Dabis fingers brushed against his scalp, before relaxing into the touch and letting his eyes shut to prevent getting water in them. 

“So what about that tea you offered?” Hawks smirked as he felt Dabi pour some shampoo on his head and start massaging it into his hair. If he tried really hard he could probably pretend he was back in one of those swanky hair salons his agency used to send him to, but honestly? He preferred this, though he wasn't fully sure why. 

“Hey what the-” Hawks sputtered as he felt water be splashed onto his face. Dabi laughed as Hawks wiped his eyes with his sleeve, opening his eyes to look up at Dabi. His mouth opened to scold him but he paused, Dabi had this mindless smile on his face, not one of his signature smirks, but a genuine smile. 

Hawks hadn’t ever seen Dabi smile like this before.

“I was about to say you were good at this but after that I might have to retract that statement” Hawks teased.

“Aw c’mon Birdy, you like it” 

“Yea I guess I do” Hawks said, his voice quiet, so quiet that Dabi nearly didn't hear him…. But he had heard him.

“I’m sure you had this done all the time when you were a hero” Dabi snipped, a strange venom in his voice, but Hawks just shook it off.

“Yea, too much actually. They would send me every few weeks to make sure my hair was always perfect. ‘Gotta keep up appearances’ they would tell me. So they’d send me to some overpriced salon and get me all dolled up for the press” Hawks sighed, remembering his old life wasn’t exactly his favorite pastime. 

“Which do you like better?” “Hm?”

“Your old salon experiences or this one?” Dabi asked as he washed the last bit of conditioner out of Hawks hair and swapped to rinsing the hair clean. Hawks paused for a moment, staring up at Dabi.

“My old hairstylist was never so gentle” Hawks mumbled, still gazing up at him. Dabi tensed at his words, pulling his hands away and wiping them on a towel. Hawks scolded himself in his head, he was having the perfect moment with Dabi and he had to go say something stupid and spook him. 

He opened his mouth to apologize, or try to play it off, or do something to turn back time to only a few moments ago, but he was stopped by Dabi’s hand resting against his cheek as he leaned in and began to softly dry his hair. Hawks leant forward so he was no longer halfway in the sink as Dabi gently dried his hair with the towel before using the towel to wipe away the water that had splashed on Hawks face.

“I'm sure your old hairstylist never did this either.” Dabi whispered as he placed the towel on the counter and leant down, cupping Hawks face in his hands and brushing their lips together ever so softly, as if asking for permission. Permission that Hawks was more than happy to grant as he reached up and wrapped his arms around Dabis neck, kissing him deeply. Hawks’ mind was racing at a hundred miles an hour. Never in his wildest dreams could he have expected this. Of course he liked Dabi, Dabi was strong, funny, passionate and beautiful. But Dabi was also, well, Dabi; he didn’t expect him to feel the same way.

“Well?” Dabi asked, breaking the kiss but not pulling away. Their lips softly brushed against each other as he spoke.

“Oh, huh?” Stuttered Hawks, every thought in his brain fully occupied with what had just happened.

Dabi chuckled softly, gazing at Hawks' kiss-drunk expression. 

“Have any of your hairstylists ever done that before?” He smirked, kissing Hawks for just a moment before pulling back to allow him to answer.

“No, but I don't mind if this one does” He murmured, mustering every ounce of confidence in his body to stand up and pull Dabi back into a scathing kiss, his hands gripping his black spiked hair, being careful not to pull any staples or hurt the scarred skin. Hawks was usually good at this kind of thing, being a confident hero was all part of his image. Swooning the ladies, charming the press, it was second nature to him. But this? This was different, he had never felt so exposed, he was laying himself bare for a man who he had assumed wanted nothing to do with him. He was offering himself to Dabi, and if Dabi pushed him away now? He would never recover.

But Dabi took his offer

“Wanted to do this for months” Dabi whispered against Hawks lips. Scarred hands gripped his thighs and lifted Hawks up onto the bathroom counter. The plastic chair clattered to the side as Dabi stood between Hawks thighs, kissing him deeply. One of Hawks hands began to tug at the hem of Dabis' shirt. Dabi lifted his arms, allowing him to lift the shirt over his head and toss it to a corner of the bathroom. His hands began to trail along his scarred chest, his finger gently tracing the seams between scarred and living skin. For the first time, Dabi seemed to pull back, breaking the kiss and turning his head to the side.

“You okay? Does that hurt?” Hawks quickly started to pull his hand away but Dabi grabbed it and placed it back on his chest, holding it there and squeezing it slightly.

“No it's fine, just… been a while since anyone touched them, I guess; weird feeling. Just…keep going” Dabi sighed, his head dropping against Hawks shoulder, his hand dropping to the birds thigh as he began kissing along his neck.

“Okay” Hawks whispered, his hands dragging along Dabi’s chest, dragging down towards the hem of his sweatpants, mindlessly fiddling with the drawstring for a moment as he felt Dabi bite down against his neck, licking at the indent left behind.

“Shit- Dabi” Hawks hissed, his hips twitching. 

“Your room, now, please” 

“Don't gotta tell me twice songbird” Dabi hummed, stepping back and dragging Hawks off the counter.

Songbird… Hawks liked that one.

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

Hawks got the wind knocked out of him as Dabi slammed him against the now closed door to his room. He was going to wake up the entire League and he truly didn't seem to care. Because he finally had that stupid bird in his arms.

“Do you know how long i've been trying to get your attention?” Dabi growled against his ear, his hands grabbing Hawks waist. Hawks let out a whine, flattening his chest against Dabis.

“So fucking pretty birdy, everyone wanted to be with the hero Hawks hm? Fucking sucks for them all, ‘cause I get villain Hawks and he is so much better.” Dabi used his grip on the ex-heros waist to push him towards the bed, shoving him backwards. He fell back, his wings splaying across the bed. Dabi couldn't help but smirk. Laid out just for him. He crawled over and straddled Hawks, before leaning forward to catch his lips in a kiss once again, their hips rolling against each other sloppily. They were making out like two teenagers and they couldn't care less. Hawks broke the kiss for a moment to rip his own shirt over his head, but it took a little longer as he had to slide his wings out of it, which Dabi thankfully helped with.

“Always wondered how those wings got in the way of getting dressed, guess now I know” Mused Dabi, his thumbs rubbing circles in Hawks thigh.

“Heh, yea, just as cumbersome as you would think” Laughs Hawks as he finally manages to escape his shirt, launching it across the room.

Dabi paused for a moment, his hands now pressed flat against Hawks chest as he shifted his weight, sitting on his lap. 

“Well Birdy, how do you wanna do this?”

“I mean, being on the bed is a good start…”

“No you dumbass,” Laughed Dabi.

            “Do you wanna top or bottom, I don’t mind either, I mean I usually top but I could be convinced to switch…I just need to touch you” He hummed as he dragged his nails across Hawks chest.

“Oh yea.. um” Hawks paused, his heart leaping into his throat as he looked at the ceiling, his face going bright red.

“Songbird?” Dabi paused, his hands flattening out to gently rest against Hawks hips.

“We don't have to do this if you don't want to. I didn't mean to…” Dabi trails off, self doubt filling him. Did he force Hawks into this? Hawks was probably grossed out. Was it his scars?. Dabi's mind raced a hundred miles an hour as he slowly went to climb off Hawks lap.

“No No it's nothing like that” Hawks exclaimed with a slight panic, his hands pulling Dabi back to his lap. He paused, Hawks entire face was burning red.

“I've just… fuck this is embarrassing. I've never done anything like this… before?” He mumbled, his eyes still avoiding meeting Dabis at all cost.

“What? Really? This is your first time with a dude?” Dabi exclaimed. He didn't mean to sound so surprised but, the number 2 hero? The professional flirt? Had never been with a guy?

“No not just with a guy” Hawks whispered, he looked like he wanted to curl in on himself until the world itself disappeared.

“Birdie, you a virgin?” Dabi asked, surprise lacing his voice.

“Yea…. The commission didn't exactly like letting me out of their sight and dating or hookups were out of the question so…” Hawks shrugged. 

Dabi paused for a moment before reaching a hand out and gently tilting Hawks chin down so their eyes met.

“Songbird, do you want to do this?” He asked, his voice that soft whisper from before that made Hawks heart melt.

“Mhm”

“I need words, Birdy.”

“Yes,” Hawks said before kissing Dabi softly. There's no one else he'd rather have his first time with. He threw his old life away to join the league, but deep down, he threw it away to be near Dabi, he wanted a new start, he wanted to do all the things he could never do, and if one of those things is getting railed by his hot edgy villain friend? Then he was going to do it.

“Alright then Songbird, here’s what we’re gonna do, you're going to leave everything to me, I’ll take the lead and take care of ya’. Any point you wanna stop, just say the word and we will.” Dabi smiled, that sweet smile again. Hawks would trust this man with his life… ironic considering their past. Dabi hooked his fingers into the loops of Hawks pants and worked to pull them off his legs. Hawks lifted his hips so Dabi was able to fully free him, his boxers doing absolutely nothing to hide the shape of his arousal straining against the fabric.

“This hard for little ol’ me Birdy? I’m flattered” Dabi teased, his mouth latching to Hawks exposed collarbone as one of his hands gave Hawks a light squeeze over his boxers. Hawks opened his mouth to reply, but he was only able to muster a whispered whine as Dabi set his mind racing with just a few touches.

“Fuck, your voice Songbird” Dabi groaned as he pulled back for a moment, quickly ridding himself of his own sweatpants. He grabbed Hawks hand and pulled it to feel against the growing bulge in his boxers.

“Feel what you do to me baby?” Dabi asked, Hawks didn’t respond, his hips shifting as he fought to get any friction against the growing desperation between his legs. Dabi smirked. Watching Hawks get so desperate before even getting his boxers off was driving him crazy. Dabi finally gave Hawks some respite, grabbing the waistband of his boxers and pulling them off him, his cock red and the tip wet with precum. 

“Lie back for me okay? I’m going to make you feel so good” Dabi murmured as he tilted Hawks back on the bed before positioning himself between Hawks legs. He leaned over to the nightstand and grabbed the small bottle of lube he kept there for… personal reasons. He quickly discarded his own boxers before pouring some of the lube on his fingers and warming it up.

“This might feel weird at first but I promise it gets better” Dabi said as he dropped his slicked up finger down between Hawks legs, gently circling it around the rim before pushing it in softly. Hawks let out a hiss as his body got used to the strange intrusion. Dabi leaned forward and kissed along his collarbone in apology as he began to work his long finger in and out. He kept going until he was sure that Hawks was ready.

“Shit” Hawks moaned quietly as Dabi slipped a second finger into him, moving them around and scissoring them apart gently, working him open.

“Oh just you wait Songbird” Dabi smirked as he started to move his fingers slightly deeper, moving around, looking for that spot that would make his Birdy see stars.

“Fuck Dabi!” Hawks clenched around his fingers as he moaned loudly.

There it is.

Dabi let out a chuckle as he slipped a third finger into Hawks, loving how the ex-hero had begun rocking back onto his fingers. He kept working him open, making a conscious effort to only brush against his prostate once and a while, as to not end their fun too early, it was the birds first time after all. Hawks moans grew louder as Dabi continued to fuck into him with his fingers, his lips attacking any blank patches of skin across the birds chest, covering him in hickies. They would definitely have some questions to answer from the rest of the league tomorrow but neither of them could care at this moment.

“Dabi, fuck me please, I can’t take it anymore” Hawks whined out, his hand gripping against his partners scarred shoulders.

“Well how could I say no to that pretty voice baby?” Dabi purred out, but his mind was anything but calm. He didn’t realize how much of an effect Hawks voice had on him, he was shocked he didn’t cum right on the spot from hearing him beg, he was even more shocked he had just called Hawks baby. But no time to unpack that right now, right now all he needed was to get inside the stupidly sexy bird hero strewn in front of him. He quickly poured some more of the lube onto his hand, stroking his neglected cock a few times. He locked eyes with Hawks, the ex-hero was breathing heavily, his eyes watching Dabi hungrily, his whole face and neck bright red, besides the patches of hickies that were already starting to turn purple. Every breath seemed to send a quiver through each and every one of the feathers that sprouted from his back.

“Deep breath for me Birdy” Dabi pushed Hawks thighs apart as he lined himself up between his legs and slowly began to push inside. 

“Holy shit”

“You okay? Need me to stop?”

“Stop and I’ll rip your dick off” 

Dabi let out a laugh that quickly tapered into a groan as he bottomed out inside Hawks. He paused for a moment, his thumbs rubbing circles in Hawks hips, in an attempt to give the bird a moment to adjust. Hawks quickly let out a frustrated chirp and began to rock himself back against Dabis cock.

“No fucking patience” Dabi smirked as he slowly started to thrust into Hawks, not wanting to be too rough and hurt the poor bird. He dragged his nails up and down Hawks chest and shoulders, worshiping his toned body and the way his feathers quivered every time he brushed them with his fingers. But it wasn’t enough for Hawks, he wanted more. Don’t get him wrong, he was very thankful that Dabi was being so gentle and patient, but he didn’t want gentle, he wanted Dabi to make sure he never forgot this feeling. He wanted Dabi to make him scream. He rocked his hips impatiently back into Dabi’s thrusts, willing him to speed up.

“More Dabi, please” Hawks pleaded again, in that begging voice that Dabi couldn’t resist.

“Your fucking insatiable” Dabi chuckled darkly.

“Here I am, trying to be a gentleman” He slowly pulled out, until only the tip was still in.

“Be nice and gentle for your first time, but I think you just want me to fuck you into this mattress… isn’t that right Birdbrain” Dabi quickly slammed back into Hawks, yanking his thighs to bring them flush against each other. Hawks let out a choked moan, nodding eagerly as Dabi set a brutal pace, using Hawks hips and thighs to yank him back to meet his thrusts. Moans began spilling out of Hawks mouth completely unashamed, his hands gripping into the sheets for any kind of support as his body shook with each of Dabi’s thrusts. Dabi reached up and grabbed Hawks face, yanking him into a searing kiss, his tongue exploring every inch of the whimpering bird's mouth. 

“Fuck me your tight” Dabi growled against Hawks lips.

“Your jus -fuck- just big” Hawks choked out between his moans, eliciting another laugh from Dabi. He gritted his teeth, still slamming his hips roughly into his whimpering Birdy. Dabi really didn’t want to cum first but fuck did Hawks feel fucking incredible.

“Hey Birdy, roll over for me okay, wanna try something” Dabi said, pulling out and helping Hawks roll onto his stomach, his wings splaying out into the air after being cooped up against the bed for so long. Dabi slowly pushed himself deep back into the ex–hero, Hawks letting out a satisfied coo as he felt himself be filled again, this position making it feel even deeper. Even more intense. Hawks lifted his hips up, leaning forward on his knees, arms folded on the bed, his head resting against them. His ass on full display.

“Fuck Birdy, you’re gonna be the death of me” Dabi growled out as he returned to the brutal pace he had started before. Hawks kept up his chorus of moans, whimpers and chirps as he felt Dabis cock hit his prostate head on, this position making it even harder for him to keep it together.

“Dabi” He stammered through his whimpering tears “Not gonna last”.

“Gonna cum for me Songbird? Need to feel you clench around me, come on baby” Dabi cooed, one of his hands snaking down to Hawks dripping neglected cock, stroking it roughly in time with his thrusts, while his other hand grabbed the base of his wings roughly, his fingers curling and tugging on the sensitive feathers.

“Agh- Fuck Dabi!” Hawks let out a litany of loud moans and whines as his back arched into Dabi’s touch, his climax hitting him at full force, painting his stomach and the mattress with his cum. 

“That's it Songbird, just a little more, you're squeezing me so tight… shit” Dabi gasped out between gritted teeth as he felt Hawks climax rack his body. Both his hands shot to the base of Hawks large wings, gripping them tightly as he hit his limit. He collapsed forward against Hawks back and wings as he came, filling Hawks as deep as he could. Hawks mewling and chirping from the overstimulation. 

They laid there, both desperately trying to catch their breath. Dabi using the last of his energy to pull out, earning him a quiet whine from Hawks, and flop to the side of his sweet, exhausted bird (being careful not to crush his wings).

“C’mere birdy” Dabi mumbled, yanking the tired bird onto his chest, allowing him to nuzzle into the crook of his scarred neck, a hand gently running over his sides and the tips of his wings. The large wings had curled around the two of them, covering them both in a soft red canopy.  

“You good?” Dabi asked, turning his head to press a kiss onto the side of Hawks head.

“Mhm, so good” Hawks sighed, his words muffled by Dabis' shoulder. Dabi lets out a relieved breath he didn't realize he was holding and wraps both his arms around Hawks waist tightly, kissing the top of his head. 

“You know, we still have to cut your hair, Songbird” Dabi mused, resting his head against Hawks’. 

“Can do it tomorrow, don’t wanna move” Hawks whined.

“I have a feeling we’ll be a little busy tomorrow” Dabi smirked.

“Why? I didn't think we had a mission” Hawks asked, suddenly much more conscious.

“We don't, but Birdy, you just moaned on my dick loud enough that I'll be shocked if anyone didn’t hear it. We’re gonna have some questions to answer”  Dabi laughed, rubbing Hawks back as he saw his neck and ears turn red.

“Shit…” Hawks let out a groan. He had forgotten about that… tomorrow was going to be a long day. Dabi let out a laugh, hugging Hawks tightly to his body.

“A problem for tomorrow Birdy, get some rest for now” Dabi sighed, pulling the blanket over the two of them and relaxing back into the mattress, clutching his Birdy closely to his chest. He finally had him, he wasn't going to let him go any time soon.

[octuscle]

Hi Chronivac Support, I need some help, I'm a 23 year old Korean American and every time I try and get myself transformed writers first thought is to turn me into some big white guy in his 40s Could your app give me the transformation of my dreams? I want to be turned into a huge muscle freak but stay young and stay korean american. I'd love to grow bigger randomly at inconvenient times, like if im on a date with a guy my nice button up stretches and rips as I swell bigger. I want to sweat so bad everything I own stinks. I fantasise all the time about getting stuck in door ways, being so big I break furniture by sitting on it, sweating and stinking so bad people laugh at me for it. Please just make me a big gross muscle freak

Your wish is my command! And we start directly. During a business lunch. Your back becomes a good deal wider in one fell swoop. Your jacket tears open over your back. You struggle to get out of the jacket. The buttons above your chest are still holding.

You excuse yourself, get up and leave the restaurant. You need air. The first button of your shirt flies off. And the fabric rips over your swelling biceps. And a short time later, your pants give up the fight with your thighs.

It doesn't help, you have to buy something new to wear. At the fitness store across the street in the mall, you get compression shorts and a tank top. And return to your lunch. Your coworkers make a few funny remarks, but no one really seems surprised by your getup.

For the rest of the day, all you can think about is the gym. You drink one protein shake after another. And with every protein fart you feel like you've gained another kilo of muscle mass. And while all your colleagues are still diligently sitting at their screens at 5:00 p.m., you just can't take it anymore. You have to lift weights now. Now! And leave the office.

The next morning you work from your home office. Of course, you went to the gym as soon as you got up. You were sweating like a pig. But now you're showered. You even found a shirt that fits. But you have to wear your compression shorts with it. There were no shorts that fit over your massive thighs. It will do for video conferencing. The first conference is barely two minutes in when your fresh light-colored shirt gets dark stains. You're sweating even more than you did during the workout. After a short time, the shirt sticks to your upper body, soaking wet and stretched to bursting. You try to stay cool. But you hear your colleagues giggling. Now you just have to tense your chest muscles. You have to free yourself from this straitjacket. Your buttons bang like pistol bullets on your screen. And your nipples shine into the camera, freed from their prison. Your boss sends you a private message. Whether you are still in your right mind. You can't help but tear the shreds of your shirt from your sweaty torso. And you let your pecs dance in the camera. Your immediate suspension is already in your e-mail inbox.

You don't care, you can spend more time in the gym. It doesn't matter that you sweat and stink of sweat. You don't need to wear a shirt or a tank top. Everyone should see your sweaty upper body. As long as you need a new job, you can work in the gym as a janitor.

Chronivac Inc. supports its customers wherever possible. Also in the search for a new job. I think I have found something suitable. It doesn't give a shit if you sweat through your uniform. Your partner is a gym rat too and almost stinks more than you. Any crook who has to ride in the car with you is almost punished enough.

However, I can't guarantee that at some point even this uniform will suddenly become too tight…. Take care of yourself!

[usafphantom2]

SR- 71 up in the clouds …Everything about the SR 71 was exceptional and brand new, but let’s get into some details.

Special hydraulic fuel was created that would function at unusually high temperatures. The JP 7 fuel had a flashpoint that was so high that a lighted cigarette tossed in a pail of it would go out!

Pure rubber tires filled with air would’ve exploded and caught on fire, even when retracted in the wheel wells, so BFGoodrich came up with tires whose rubber was mixed with aluminum powder to make them fire-retardant and then filled them with nitrogen, not air so that they wouldn’t burn in the heat. The wheel wells into which the landing gear retracted were themselves shielded and surrounded by tanks of very cold fuel tanks, which were what engineers call heat sinks. The fuel absorbs heat in the wheel wells and elsewhere, as a cold compress absorbs heat from a fevered forehead.

The following incredible idea that worked was the hot fuel, which had absorbed much of the plane's body heat, was pumped into the engines, which made them more efficient!

How fascinating!

William Burrows

@Habubrats71 via X

[stillfoodforguys]

“Nearly there now buddy, don’t worry!” That was the reassurance I received from the designated driver of my mates’ road trip, after having swallowed me before our journey began. His car only had 5 seats, and as the unlucky 6th person to show up I’d been unwillingly volunteered to spend the whole way resting on his lap within his fat, bulging belly.

Not only was the sweltering hot air inside his tank making it hard to breathe, the tightness of his stomach walls was putting huge strain on all of my bones and muscles. This was only worsened by the seatbelt pressing into his flesh, which kept his gut from being able to stretch should I have wanted to try and get more comfortable.

He was insistent that he would release me once we got to our destination, but I could tell that was a lie from the way his stomach slowly compressed me and replaced my air with hot, fizzling acid over time. That and how I would feel him rub his belly occasionally, as though satisfied with a filling meal, made it clear that I wasn’t getting out of here alive.

He’d just play it off as an accident and get a free lunch out of it, something about not knowing the strength of his stomach or another lame excuse. And if anyone tried to argue with him, he’d know who to choose for his next snack…

[ohtobemare]

Happy 100 Hon! You deserve it!

Requesting fluff number 5 with Ice because why not? I cannot wait to see what you come up with!

Congratulations again!

Fern. FERNNN. This destroyed me, just a little. Enjoy your Ice, because I know I certainly did.

I've Been Thinking

Viper had droned on about this damn mission briefing for nearly an hour. Somewhere, someone had told you that Metcalf was a man of few words with an iron fist, but you were fairly certain that someone had either meant an entirely different Mike Metcalf at a totally different Top Gun, because this man seemed to just hit his stride at the forty-five minute mark. 

Rookies from all corners of the country make up the current class, seated in perfect little lines much like you had the few years before. Stalk straight and unyielding, nobody had so much as breathed as Vipe had outlined the day’s training objective, the room’s air just about as dead as a corpse. It was stifling, you were sweating through your compression shorts and tank-top, and it was becoming more and more difficult not to fidget. 

Viper had ordered an at ease, but even the posture of standing akimbo was starting to hurt. You were itching to get outside, under the sun and in the breeze, and actually get these kids in the air. They were eager, too—the room was tensioned so thick, you could’ve cut it with a paperclip. Even from here you could see the seat on the profiles of the rubber sock newbies, their eyes catching glimpses of activity beyond the hangar, looking for a fight that wasn’t there. Yet. 

Ice rocked lightly on his feet to your right, his elbow nudging yours. Shoulders back and chin level with the floor, you can’t exactly see the look in his eye from behind his aviators, which are unnecessary in the hangar but a staple to Iceman’s persona. However, the little lift of the corner of his mouth, followed by him ever-so-slightly rocking back on his heels, cues you in. 

As instructors, you don’t have to stand at attention and look so enthralled with Viper’s instructive preamble. But, it’s somewhat expected, more of loose rule than anything else—nobody liked being “that guy” who makes an ass of himself and gets on Mike’s bad side. Long ago you’d learned to just put up and shut up during the lecture portion of the day’s instruction, though it was last on your list of preferred exercises. 

Eyes steady forward, you blink, trying not to smile as Tom edges a bit closer to you. From the corner of your eye, you see him leaning just so, wagging his tongue at you playfully, eyes still forward watching for Viper’s reaction. Mike doesn’t seem to notice, he’s too busy pacing in front of the greenies, hands behind his back, and your bottom lip rolls inward when Ice brushes shoulders with you. 

You’ve been together for almost six months, now. It had started as nothing really all that serious, just a couple of dates with the hottest guy in the class—until it hadn’t just been nothing serious. Ice was a pretentious, cocky son of a bitch that knew what he wanted and strove for excellence in everything. You and your obsessive-compulsive drive for perfection weren’t far behind in the game of “I’m the best at Top Gun.” The only one better than either of you at flight maneuvers was Pete Mitchell, but even he had a thing or two to learn about composure and calculated decisions. 

Precise and, just as his name implies, cold as ice, he’d told you practically from the jump that he wanted to go steady. It had been date numero tres, and had been going pretty spectacularly, despite the wait at the bar for drinks and the broken AC unit to boot. 

You’d been sitting back in a booth at the O-Club, one leg draped over the other, watching the hoard of bodies mesh together in the most chaotic attempt at a group dance you’d ever seen. Tom Kazansky had turned to face you, a dead serious expression on his face as he’d lifted his aviators to the top of his head, thick forearms planted on the table. Looking up at you, he’d taken a slow drink of his bourbon racked with ice, before setting aside the glass and falling back against the booth. 

Dressed in his whites, like always, he’d never looked more delicious. “I’ve been thinking.” 

You’d cracked your usual, goofy smile. “Uh-oh, watch out. Thought patterns initiated. Prepare for evasive maneuvers.”  You’d snorted into the neck of your beer, trying to sound official and professional as your foot bobbed to the music filtering through the bar. Unable to stop your minxy wink as he rolled his eyes, you leaned across the table and reached for his hand. 

“Oh, stop it, Ice. What’s on your mind, lover?” 

His smile had barely registered. “I want us to go steady.” 

You’d snapped bolt upright in the booth, nearly dropping the Blue Moon slung between your fingers. Collecting the shock on your face, the little “o” parting your lips was unavoidable. 

“What? Are–are you serious? Already? It’s only been three weeks!” It wasn’t supposed to be anything more than just dating. At least, that’s what you’d interpreted when he’d asked you out the first time. The second time had been dinner, a little more formal. That night had been the third date, dancing and drinking at the O-Club with the rest of their class. 

“Do I strike you as the kind of guy that is anything less than serious?” 

The rest, as they say, was history. From somewhere in the back of your brain you didn’t think going steady with Tom Kazansky was all that good of an idea, but, you’d agreed—you were, after all, head over heels for the guy. And who couldn’t be? The icy eyes, the sandy hair—arms the size of small trees. Confidence in leagues. And his hands….oof. The hands. They’d held every part of you just so, like God Himself had designed them specifically for every inch of your body. 

Nothing ever seemed to rattle Kazansky, in the air or on the ground. He was a magnificent pilot, handled aircraft unlike anyone you’d ever seen. He was calm and collected. Precise, calculated. Sure of his actions, and of his ability. And that was the exact kind of steadfastness you needed to balance the hellion, wildchild blood your father had christened you with just days before you’d enlisted with the U.S. Navy. 

Viper swung about to stand akimbo before the class, chin lifting in that superior way. “Dismissed. Wheels up in twenty, tadpoles.” No sooner did his mouth close from the statement did the class practically leap from their desks, gathering the reading material that they’d been given from the jump. 

The bustle of activity was hectic as you, and everyone else, hurried to prepare for the hands on portion of the day. You wouldn’t be flying today, graduates were expected to be on the ground as support while Viper was in the air with a group of students, but there were preparations. Getting the rubber socks geared up, fitted, and checked was a task in and of itself—one that you remembered clearly, from the first day. 

You’re about to open your flight locker for sunblock when a familiar, thick hand slaps it closed in front of your face. Startled, you jump back half a step and turn, Ice smirking at you with his head tipped to the side. He leans against the locker, other hand on his hip, fisting in the material of his flight suit. 

“Ice,” you smile halfway at him, eyes tracking down his body for a second. Everyone knows you two are an item—everyone of your peers, anyway. You’d decided to keep it from the brass, at least for a while. Something about Mike and his echelon knowing didn’t sit right in your gut, and you’d communicated that. Clearly. 

“What’s up?” 

Ice wasn’t bothered. Reaching out to tuck a loose curl behind your ear, his smile is easy, familiar. Eyes mapping the features of your face from over the rim of his aviators, he pushes them up with the pad of his finger. You watch his tongue track over his top teeth in that telltale, “I like what I see” way, until he clicks it off the wall of his mouth, matter-of-factly. 

“I’ve been thinking,” he angles to bridge the daylight between the two of you, the hint of whatever gum he’s chewing hitting your senses in just the right way. He’s a breath from you, so easily kissable at this dance, and you can see his eyes behind the shades. Memories from that third date smack you between the eyes, and yours track his, even behind the dark lenses.

You chuckle, shrugging a light shoulder. “Uh-oh.” The smile parting your lips is devious. 

Ice angles back to check the area, and you do the same over your shoulder—nobody’s around, most of the team has gathered outside the hangar’s overhead door, checking gear well away from the lockers. The sounds of mechanics tearing at engine parts, the rattle of steel on steel, the light plod of feet on concrete ensures that nobody can actually hear, or care, about your conversation with Ice. 

Goose and Maverick are already there, helping the rookies gear up—neither of you are exactly missed. You’re probably overstimulated and hyperfixated on the notion of getting caught. Knowing you’re blowing this out of proportion doesn’t ease the thud of your heart against your ribcage, or slow the heat that’s creeping through your blood when he looks back at you, lips lifted in that little way that only belongs to Tom Kazansky. 

True to form, you have to ask him what’s on his mind. He never tells you, likes you to ask. Or to try and read his mind. Either way it puts him in control of the situation, and Iceman loves his control. His finger lifts beneath your chin, his thumb stroking lightly, and you see his eyes drop to consider your mouth for a heartbeat. 

“I’m headed home on leave, next weekend. Thinking I want you to come with me and meet my folks.” 

Flabbergasted, your mouth drops open. The Iceman parents, as they have been deemed by your team, are legendary. Ice’s dad is former Navy, his mother an army nurse. Together they’ve raised a son that not only controls the skies, but is nearly second-to-none in reputation alone. Maverick had met them, once, after the group had been invited for Thanksgiving by said parents—you hadn’t been with, on a deployment. 

They were nice people, but just as their son appeared—affluent, poised, and exceptional. Or so said Pete Mitchell. 

The idea of actually meeting them implied two things—one, that Tom was more serious about this relationship than you first imagined. Going steady for six months had implications, yeah, but nothing like this. And second, did they want to meet you? Unsure if Ice had properly relayed your reputation to his mother and father, you worried about their expectations—you were loud, you were funny, and you were not the calm, cool, collected person that everyone had expected Ice to seek out in a SO. 

Sure, you were charming, but so was Tom—in an elevated way you could never hope to master. The fact that he loved you, the idea that he obviously wanted you to meet his family, suddenly vanished out of your brain. Tone in your ears rattled every coherent thought from your brain, and it was difficult to raise moisture in the back of your mouth, your tongue suddenly swollen to twice its usual size. 

Your little, “Really?” squeaked out weaker than you would’ve preferred, which made him chuckle. 

“Really. They’re excited to meet the girl I’ve told them so much about. My mother is already picking out colors for the nursery.” It was a joke, the easy shake of his shoulders off the laugh implied so, but your heart constricted behind your ribs. 

You felt the color bleed out of your face. “Tom, I—” 

“Say yes,” he tipped your chin back just a little, and stepped even closer. From here you could see every one of his pores, feel the heat of his breath. Being this close, being this dangerous while on base, curled your toes in your boots. Tasting the mint on his breath, you swallow thickly, trying to register his words. It’s hard. 

“Oh gawd, I—Ice. Your parents? I don’t even—” 

“Say yes,” he reiterated, a bit harder this time. He reaches to slide the aviators into his hair, moving to push off the locker and stand fully in front of you. His other hand comes to lay against your jaw, his thumb gently skipping over the apple of your cheek. “I want them to meet you.” The tick of a smile lifts the corner of his mouth. “They’ll love you,” 

You can’t think of anything else but his body heat crashing against your chest, the strength of his hands so gently cradling your face. Vibrating, half from nerves over this sudden news, half from the idea of someone here actually seeing you, your eyes fluttering closed for a heartbeat—enough time for him to chuckle and release a slow breath, his chest brushing against yours. 

“You have any idea how hard it is to stand here and not kiss you?” 

The out-of-nowhere statement makes you squeak out a little gasp, your eyes flying open to find his intense stare riveting you in place. You can’t move, can hardly breathe. Sweat has your tank-top and compression shorts clinging to your skin for dear life, it feels like a freakin’ furnace here in the hangar. Your mind is racing, and you wonder if Ice can actually feel your heart trying to rip out of your chest. Breathing shallow and unfulfilling, your fingers curl into the material of his flight suit, clinging for life. Sanity. Stability. 

Fairly certain you need the infirmary for the barrage your heart’s left against your ribs,  but wholly unwilling to leave this moment, your tongue skips out to trace your bottom lip, eyes darting to his mouth. You want to do it, you can taste him on your tongue even just thinking about it, but you can’t move. He’d promised you he wouldn’t kiss you on base, at your request. 

Damn you and your stupid, stupid decisions. “Ice. Please—”

Unraveling, he can see you’re unraveling, and you watch the moment unfold on his face as he winks at you and his smile grows. “Just know that I wanna kiss you, Lieutenant. I’m a man of my word.” 

Instead, he lifts on his toes and presses a kiss against your forehead. His soft mouth brushing against your hair sends a pool of heat straight to your core, and for a moment you fear your knees are going to give and send you to the floor. Fingers digging into the material of the suit, you pull him close, brushing your nose against his jaw as you lift to press a soft kiss behind his ear. 

“If you don’t kiss me right now, Kazansky—your ass is going to regret it.” 

[naturalrights-retard]

The totally irrational war on carbon is already destroying farmers all over the world because, they say, “the food system generates about 35 percent of total global man-made greenhouse gas emissions.” Now they are claiming that your urban garden is SIX TIMES WORSE! Brace for an all-out effort to ban or limit urban gardens for personal food production. I can already hear the climate crazies chanting, “Eat ze bugs!”

Univ. of Michigan spun this study out of taxpayer money. Yet, there is no understanding of the carbon/oxygen cycle of life. Green plants need CO2 to produce foliage, which gives off oxygen for us to breathe. When large greenhouses are constructed to grow things like tomatoes and lettuce, the first equipment to be installed is a CO2 generator/concentrator to enrich the air to maximize growth. I have never heard of a worker dying as a result of working in such an environment.

Here is one company that makes CO2 generators; their website says:

As a greenhouse owner, you know that carbon dioxide is one of the essential ingredients in green plant growth. Controlling the impact the outside environment has on the inside of your greenhouse helps balance the limiting factors for optimal plant growth.

A Johnson CO2 Generator automatically provides ideal carbon dioxide level when plants need it most, year round to maximize plant growth – efficiently & economically.

Another blog article explains:

Carbon dioxide enrichment is a powerful tool for enhancing crop yield, health and boosting the number of annual harvesting opportunities. By lessening the time to maturity, growers can also save money on heat and fertilization costs and reduce the amount of water used during crop production. Whether it comes from a compressed CO2 tank or a propane tank, a little bit of CO2 enrichment goes a long way in enhancing the profitability of a greenhouse.

Now the carbon loons ignore all this and say CO2 is bad and should be removed from atmosphere.

This crazy type of thinking needs to stop before it destroys the entire food systems of the world. ⁃ TN Editor

[shamrockqueen]

Thigh Rider

Pairing : Yuri Boyka X Reader

Warnings : PWP, Thigh riding, Thigh humping, dirty talk in a Russian accent.

Word count : 1239

AO3 Link

He traced his thumb over the quote as he read it over a second time.

У человека все в руках, и все ускользает сквозь пальцы от чистой трусости (Man has it all in his hands, and it all slips through his fingers from sheer cowardice.)

He would remember to hold onto all of the gifts he has been given thus far from now until the very end of his days. A warm bed, a loving home, and a beautiful woman that holds tightly in her hand the key to his once cold and icy heart.

She stood not far from where he sat, peering past the kitchen doorway and into the living room towards him, reading his book as he rested in an armchair.

He was strong, thick of frame, with short dark hair still shaved at the sides with a thick strip down the center as he always had it. A thachy goatee circles his pink lips as he runs his tongue between them in thought as his dark brown eyes search over each page.

You only stood by your hiding spot near the doorway as you watched him, envious of the simple hardback as it stole his attention from you. You craved what you greedily took every day to always have his eyes and hands on you. So much so that you wished he’d look up from his book and back at you.

As if he heard your thoughts, he did just as they asked, pulling his gaze from the pages and directing it towards you. You nearly tried to head under his now-heavy watch, ducking sheepishly towards the edge of the doorway.

He knew what you wanted; it was always too easy to tell. Whoever you hid from like this, it meant you wanted something naughty but couldn’t work up the courage to ask.

"Speak," he called out, his accent minimal with just the one-word phrase. His deep voice booming throughout the adjoining rooms. He didn’t like playing silly games with you. If you want something from him, you’ll have to ask; otherwise, you’ll go without.

"I-I just wanted to…to see you." You answered back, as meek as ever. He hated it when you acted fearful, like a shivering lamb standing before a snarling wolf. He was your cuddly bear, and you were his wily fox.

He set his book on the table beside him and gestured for you to approach. He needn’t ask twice, but at first you only hesitantly leave your perch by the doorway to approach him.

"Quit playing mouse. You make a far better pussycat." His voice came out as a low growl, a thick Russian purr erupting from his tightly gritted teeth.

You weren’t fooling anybody.

You trot over and nearly throw yourself onto his lap to cry like the spoiled brat you were. You only wanted his attention. You never felt more special than when you had all of him to yourself, so now that he was yours again, you buried yourself in the white cotton fabric of the chest of his thin tank top. It was coupled with the compressive gym shorts he’d worn when he worked out in the garage.

You were clad in one of your little white dresses and a pair of frilly white socks, but nothing else. It left your breasts to press freely against the soft fabric and your core to be grazed by the cool air of the room.

One of your legs is wedged between his so that your knee nudged his covered cock, but the other nearly dangled over his leg and off the chair, letting your bare pussy press to his equally unencumbered thigh.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, whimpering into his shoulder, "I just wanted some attention."

It wasn’t untrue, but he could tell you had wanted far more than a little of his focus, mainly by the way he could feel your slick little cunny pressing against his skin.

He bumps you with his leg like he’s bouncing you in his lap, making you little pussy rub against him faster than you had done yourself.

You whine just the way he likes. That shrill squeak let him know he could twitch at you however he wanted. But, what he wanted to see was you getting off all by yourself on his thick thigh.

"This is what you wanted, isn’t it? You wanted to press your pretty pussy against me, right Kukla?" He spoke with a deep laugh as he looked over the beautiful display before him.

You nod vigorously with a "yes, yes please," all desperate as you palm his cock, only to have your fingers swatted away.

"You want to cum, do it yourself!" He huffed like an angry bull before bouncing his leg from under you, dragging it along your exposed flower, and ruffling your folds.

Your face turns a hot red as you do as you’re told, spreading your cunt slowly along his thigh before pressing hard and pushing your hips back up towards his pelvis.

"Good girl, Kukla" His chest rumbled as he spoke.

You give a whimper before dragging and pushing your hips again, making your little flower drool all over him. He’s goading you on as your pussy sucks at his bare thigh.

Your body shuttered with each drag of your hips and bump of his thigh. All while he looked down at you and chuckled to himself. This little game was fun, but the sight of you riding just his leg was driving him almost equally as crazy, making his cock stiffen from where it was tightly confined in his shorts. It was time to end this quickly so he could bury himself inside your sweet cunt.

"Cum, baby, I know you can." His words drip right off his tongue with a thick Russian drawl. It spurs you on to quicken your pace, chasing that sweet, fluttery release.

He bounces you on his knee as you try to shuck your cunt along his leg. As he’s grinning wolfishly down at you, his precious little doll is fucking herself against his leg like a horny brat.

You’re crying into the air as your nails dig into his skin, making him hiss. You shake your hips as his leg still shakes below you to tease you to your finish.

His little doll sings for him so shrill, loud, and beautiful that he could just wrap his thick, hard arms around you and grind you down on his leg until you’re creaming all over his skin.

Your movements are furious, but your mind is blinded by a burst of white lights, turning your little brain all hazy. You can’t think, and you only whine and cry as you spill slick all over his skin.

Your body feels too heavy to continue, but your hips propel you slowly as you ride each wave until it pulls you under and you're collapsing against his shoulder as he chuckles nice and low and hungry.

"Is my Kukla tired already?" He says as he pushes your hips off of his leg until you're further into his lap and your sensitive core is pressed against the hard bulge in his shorts, "You have no more energy for me?"

Like a dimming flame doused with kerosene, the drag of your cunt over the outline of his cock has you burning up for him all over again.

@annwoods91

[fictionalafvsmybeloved]

So your blog is the land of non-credibility right? And you review tanks? So could you review this 'gem'

I haven't done one of these in a while, so why not start off with this Wonderful design by Blacktaildefense.

(also I'm gonna change up my standard format a bit)

I'll let you know right here, this thing is more of a dumpster fire than you think.

Let's start with the basics, size. It's too big. 4 feet wider and 10 feet longer the M1 Abrams. It's longer and wider than the Maus and Char 2C, the two tanks known for being ridiculously big. It's too wide for standard US highways and railroads so the only way you can transport it is by air or sea. And its "amphibious", with almost no way to propel itself through the water.

Next is the engine. It gives the tank a mindboggleing 55 horsepower per ton, leading to a ludicrous 65 MPH top speed at an equally insane 1 mile to the gallon. BUT THAT IS A LIE. Because this uses a wankel engine, AND WANKEL ENGINES HAVE LAUGHABLY BAD EFFICIENCY. But that's not all! This is a diesel wankel engine, and you see a diesel engine works by compressing the air with its pistons until its super heated, then injecting the fuel into the chamber, causing it to combust. A WANKEL ENGINE CANNOT DO THAT, SO THE ENGINE DOESN'T EVEN WORK. And I just noticed that the drive sprocket is either missing, or half the size it should be.

20% Chobham

20% Titanium

60% Fullerene (misspelled, of course)

This is the absolute nonsense that supposedly makes up this thing's armor package. Chobham.... is not a material, it is a LAYOUT for composite armor (and an outdated one too). Titanium is very expensive, and also what the Air Force makes their planes out of. So now you're competing with the Air Force for materials, good job. Fullerene, oh boy every 2-bit sci-fi writer's favorite nanomaterial. Nanomaterials have two big problems. First, they are extremely expensive to manufacture, even on the "nano' scale. Second, the physical properties of matter change as they are scaled up. YOU HAVE NO GUARANTEE THAT THE IN-LAB NANO-SCALE SUPERPROPERTIES WILL TRANSLATE INTO 20 TONS OF USABLE TANK ARMOR. As for the thickness, it's listed in just plain inches, with no way to tell if it's talking about RHA equivalence or the actual thickness of the armor elements in that area(nor does it differentiate between hull and turret armor). If its RHA equivalent, then the armor is weaker than the Abrams. The armor at the rear is ten times thicker that it needs to be, and is just increasing cost and maintenance complexity for almost no benefit.

As for the guns, why don't we start small. Two 7mm MGs, I'm sure he means 7.62 NATO, right? Those two machineguns have twice the ammunition they need. A 20mm autocannon for firing at aircraft (not pictured but still listed). The original design plan for the M1 Abrams had one too, but the Army removed it for being "superfluous", that should tell you all you need to know. The primary armament is a 145mm smoothbore... howitzer? Howitzers are lower velocity guns designed for indirect fire, what the hell is one doing on an MBT? And it comes with- SWEET MOTHER OF GOD! WHY DOES IT HAVE 85 ROUNDS OF MAIN GUN AMMUNITION? With no blowout panels?!? If this thing takes a hit the entire vehicle will scatter itself over a 200ft area! And here I though Russian tanks where explosive. And why does it have 40 degrees of gun elevation? Is it meant to pull double duty as an artillery piece? You're just making the crew training times longer.

This overgrown, overbudget do-it-all abomination has sci-fi super armor, a magic nonsense engine, and the ability TO SWIM; but no thermal sights. Absolutely moronic.

They packed the crew in there like sardines. Six crew members, SIX. Does it have THREE loaders? Is one of them pulling double duty as an old fashioned radio operator? Do they need that many because they're using single-piece brass cased ammo? Are they using stackable charges to pull double duty as an SPG!? Do not tell me, I don't wanna know.

The final two features of note are: The "full 3d stabilization" of the drivetrain, hull, turret, and gun. I have no idea how or why you would stabilize those first three. And the smoke mortar. Mortar, not launchers. smoke mortar, like one late WWII German tanks.

FINAL SCORES

Credibility: 2/10 - Just Stupid

Coolness: 3/10 - WarThunder Sad Eyes Tank

BONUS

War Thunder for the PS1

The Areo-Gavin is up next, and I think it might drive me to alcoholism. See you soon(ish).