#Broken Spine Productions

[nofatclips]

In my Head it is Kind of an Escape by Aidan Baker & Karen Willems from the album Nonland

[gojonanami]

cw: 18+, smut, sex (p in v), cream pie, bed breaking sex (literally), based off a post in a Reddit thread

“Toru, ngh, please, please—“

“Please what, sweets? You’re going to have to use your words if you want something,” Satoru’s hips roll into you at an agonizingly slow pace, every thrust made you cling to him harder, your nails digging into his back.

“Please, harder, i need to go harder—“

“Heh, so greedy, my girl’s a needy one isn’t she?” And you know he’s not talking about you but your cunt, your dripping wet entrance currently filled up by his dick at the moment, “but I can’t refuse my Princess when you asked so sweetly, can I?”

And he begins to rut into you, fucking you into the mattress as you body wrapped around his for dear life. Fuck, he was so long, the curve of his length reaching every spot that had you nearly seeing white.

“Still s’fucking tight for me, huh?” Your bed frame begins to creak underneath you, as he rails into you, thick cock fucking you open, as the frame rattles against your floor, “that’s it, fuck, s’ perfect for me, good girl,”

And the praise sends a ripple of pleasure up your spine, as his tip begins to hit your cervix, “Toru, s’big, ngh,” and that only seems to make him grow bigger inside you, your warm heat pulling him in deeper. He fucks you even harder, the sounds of skin slapping together ringing in your ears.

He leans back to see where your bodies meet, “Taking me so well, like you were made for me, pretty, hah,” grunts escape his lips, “never gonna let you go, Princess. This pussy, these noises, you — all just for me,”

You moan, nodding, “just for you, Toru. Only ever for you,” and that makes him pull out to the tip only to thrust back in hard.

…maybe a little too hard.

SNAP!

You yelp and he grunts as the bed frame under you both breaks to bits, mattress still in tact as you hold onto him. And you both stare at each other for a moment, a small giggle overcome by the look in his eyes — want.

He pulls out of you, a small whimper at his absence, and he’s yanking the mattress off the wreckage that was formerly your bed frame.

He’s back on top of you in a moment, sinking into you with one thrust, continuing to fuck you hard and fast.

Fuck, that was so fucking hot. You’re close, you can feel the coil of heat in your stomach grow tighter as your hips meet every rough thrust he gives.

“Toru, ‘m close—“ and his fingers reach between your bodies to rub at your clit.

“Cum f’me, cum on my cock, sweetheart,” and you do, walls squeezing his cock, as he fucks you through your orgasm, the creak of the floorboards making you wonder if he’ll fuck you through the floor too. Your toes curl, as you drench his cock with your juices and it’s too much for him

His hips begin to stutter, a low moan leaving his lips, “I’m—“

“Cum inside me, Toru,” and he groans your name, before cumming, warm, thick seed spilling inside you, the sloppy thrusts growing louder as he fucked it deeper inside. And finally he stills, lying beside you, as he eases his cock from inside you, a soft moan at the sight of his seed spilling from your cunt.

Pants fill the silence of the room, eyes shut, until both of your gazes flutter open to glance at the broken bed frame.

“You owe me a new bed frame,” you grumble.

“I’ll buy you a new one every time if we do that again,” and you snort, your eye catching his, until both of you dissolve into laughter.

“You’re a dumbass, Satoru,” and he’s grinning, wrapping his arms around you.

“But I’m your dumbass,” and you roll your eyes, “you’re the one who begged me to fuck you harder,”

“‘Begged?’” You scoffed, “you’re the one who practically seduced me tonight,”

“And you weren’t asking me to by wearing that dress?”

“No, I just—“ and he’s got you pinned under him again in an instant, “Toru—“

“I think we can use our mouths for something much more productive,” he leans down, to meet your lips in a languid kiss, his cock already growing hard against your thigh as a thought occurs to him.

“Is your couch any sturdier than your bed frame?”

(He ends up buying you s lot of new furniture the next day).

[dmitriene]

cw: dead dove, kidnapping, cannibalism, gore and dead bodies.

simon riley's butcher shop is quite popular in a small town, where, unlike the usual stores, meat products are fresher and not so overpriced, and dishes from his meat turn out to be so delicious that everyone comes back here earlier than the end of the week, because they have already eaten what they recently bought.

no one understands that on the long counter behind clean glass there is not the usual fresh meat of a once ripe cow or pig, but human flesh, among the pieces of different sizes there may be someone's overly rude neighbor, who once allowed himself to insult simon, or a young woman who was annoyingly sticky to him.

no one even thinks of the small farm in a cold, gloomy refrigerated storage room filled with the bodies of both men and women, dark metal hooks gleaming with a reflective, dim light that fades in simon's liquid eyes, the thick wooden handle of the cleaver clutched in his thick fingers, before simon raises the clean blade over his cornered victim, blood splattering scarlet and warm liquid around.

his heavy hands rest on the pale, slashed neck of the corpse to cover the grisly, blood oozing incision of split layers of the skin, allowing the liquid mess taint his bare, scarred arms and the apron, preferring to stain himself and the floor beneath rather than the walls, which would then have to be washed of ingrained dried blood and the foul smell of spreading rot.

simon is pulled out of his delicate focus as he squats down and examines each limb of the corpse, the tongue behind his closed lips running along the line of his sturdy teeth, his thick hands pondering and feeling the soft, fatty areas of the body in front of him, noting how much he can take, before a bell rings from the further side of the wall, indicating someone's arrival at the store.

he hurriedly wipes his hands so that they do not drip with viscous blood on the floor, running along the sides of his shirt with wet, soaking stripes before heading for the exit from the storage room and looking out into the store hall, eyes quickly searching for the person who came in, before his inky gaze slows down on you, meeting the peering gleam of your stare.

you're out of sorts, not on your plate, fingers tugging at the fabric of your jeans, fidgeting at the pale parts of them as you look around like a wild cat, but unlike them, you twist your nose, skin on the bridge wrinkling when you spot huge chunks of meat on the counter, the mere sight is enough to send a shiver down your svelte spine, and simon is almost ready to be offended, if it weren't for your charm.

he is used to people who swallow lumps of pooling saliva in their mouths from the mere sight of meat, even if not cooked, raw pieces attract them, because they are addicted to them like drugs, the taste of human flesh changes their typical habits of taste, animal meat seems tasteless,not so soft and fibrous, forcing them to return again and again to simon, but you are nothing like them.

you reluctantly move closer to the glass case as he lets out a hoarse grunt, his still slightly bloody hand flexes to run through the air behind the spread out pieces of meat, and when his sanguine hand hit the periphery of your eyes, you cover your mouth with your palm and practically bend over in a broken line in disgust, muffling a gag that rises from your throat, eyes rolling up and fluttering to close briefly.

makes simon wonder what would you look like if he made you sit locked in the midst of freshly butchered bodies and one still covered in flesh, not so long ago some of them were breathing, and maybe even greeting you in the middle of the street, but now their fate is to be eaten, unlike yours, and the very concept of such a depiction should not make his cock fatten up in his loose pants with dull throbbing, but here he is.

when for once, simon allows himself to speak, a smoky wheezing of a british accent envelops you in a heap cloud, immediately turning your focus to meet his rugged mug, his voice a smug tone of purr, wondering what a skittish kitten like you has forgotten here, if you can't even look calmly at the meat in front of you, could you wandered here by chance, mistaking his butchery for a grocery store.

this is your chance to leave, fly off and never come back, bottomless pools of his eyes peering at you through pale eyelashes, gaze dancing with black mirth, eyeing every inch of you with hungry, sickening interest, but you don't notice the signs, fluttering your pretty eyelashes uncertainly as your faces get a little closer together, simon's head turning aside with curiosity.

his heavy, broad body leaning on beefy hands that hold onto the counter, sleeve adorned with different shaped skulls, swirling in black ink down to his wrist, suitable for his image, which you do not yet fully know, as you mumble that you've come for some nice cuts of meat to cook a dinner, and only his store was credible.

it's flattening, knowing that an innocent bird like you recognizes his developed talent, despite all your inner disgust, and simon doesn't mind taking you further in shop to show you what he thinks will definitely fit your request, but you shouldn't twitch too hard when he squeezes your thin neck in his wide hand, fingers press into the carotid artery with a fleeting stroke, before everything floats in front of your eyes, and finally dissolves, plunging you into a gentle, sleeping heap.

simon would keep you, he doesn't want to send you on a ferry of the same fate as corpses in his refrigeratered room, despite your alluring, appetizing shapes, the curves of which he can notice even under a layer of closed clothing, imagine how your fat would feel between his teeth, filling his luscious mouth with sweet blood, instead, he may well enjoy the fat of your pussy.

there's no reason to hurt you, instead, he'll leave you to explore his own sudden attraction, cock straining against his meaty thigh from just looking at your peaceful face, maybe you'll be obedient enough to not resist his curiosity, he'll even wash the blood off himself for you, ain't no point in making an already feisty kitten scared of him.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[moonstruckme]

i think that last fic you wrote for me is my new favorite thing to reread on here! could i request a pt two where they’re all just having a chill day/ night and then they all get ready for bed together and lay down for cuddles plz? the way you write for poly!marauders is just so perfect! tysm again for reading my requests!! -🌶️

Awww that makes me so happy, I'm so glad you liked it! And of course you can my love <3

poly!marauders x gn!reader ♡ 981 words

Though James typically prefers you with no clothes on, he does think you look pretty cute in his big t-shirt. He bunches the fabric in his hands as he comes up behind you, setting his head on your shoulder. 

“What’re you doing?” you ask, smiling at him through a mouthful of toothpaste. 

He gazes at you in the mirror. “Just admiring the view.” 

“Oi,” Sirius elbows him, hands wet with whatever product in his billion-step skincare routine he’s currently rubbing into his face. His hair is scraped back into a bun to keep it out of the way. (James loves it when he wears it like that.) “Quit stealing my lines, Potter.” 

James doesn’t even need to speak; he knows the best way to rile Sirius right now doesn’t involve words. He grabs his dark-haired boyfriend by the chin, landing a smacker right on his cheek. 

Sirius shouts just as James pulls back, grimacing. 

“Fuck, Pads, what’s in that shit?” he wipes his mouth on his sleeve, getting rid of any remaining product from Sirius’ face. “Have you poisoned me?”

“Serves you right,” Sirius shoots back. “Everyone else knows better than to mess with my routine. I hope you are poisoned for contaminating my skin like that.” 

James looks about for support, but you only roll your eyes, spitting into the sink. 

“Don’t wish poisoning upon people, love,” Remus says mildly from the bedroom, and it’s not much, but James seizes upon it. He sends Sirius a triumphant look. 

“I only wanted kisses, Moons,” he whines, padding into the bedroom and laying himself pitifully across Remus’ lap. “You get it, don’t you?”

Remus smiles, bending to press his lips to James’. “Merlin, Sirius,” he says teasingly, “you really don’t know what you’re missing.” 

James chases him for more, propping himself up on his elbow and keeping Remus close with a hand at the nape of his neck. 

It doesn’t take long before Sirius is rushing out, his skincare routine apparently finished for the night as he chases you into the bedroom. James and Remus both stop to watch the spectacle as he grabs you around the waist, dipping you low and kissing you passionately. You make a sound of muffled surprise against his lips, breaking away after a second. 

“Sirius!” You laugh, flustered. “You cannot just attack me because you’re jealous! I won’t be a pawn in your game.” 

Sirius puts on a show of hurt, straightening you but keeping his hands steadfastly around your waist. “You’re not a pawn, baby. You’re the best piece on the board.” 

You let out a loud, barking laugh at that, extricating yourself from his hold. “That’s really awful,” you tell him, stepping backwards towards the bed. “If you think James is stealing your lines, you need to come up with some better material.” 

Sirius’ mouth drops open, and James snickers. 

You sit down on the bed and launch into your nightly routine of demolishing your joints, twisting around to coax painful-sounding cracking noises from your back, and Remus moves away from James to begin his nightly routine of trying to foil you, taking your shoulders in his hands before you can rotate your spine in the other direction. 

“Quit that,” he says, looking at you severely. 

You nod, but no sooner does Remus remove his hands from you than you’re contorting your back again, eliciting a series of popping noises that makes James wonder whether you might’ve broken something. 

Remus shakes his head at you, disappointed but not necessarily surprised. “I’m going to kill you,” he promises.

You grin. “You’re all talk.” 

You’re nearly as bad as Sirius when you get like this, but Remus knows just how to handle you, wrestling you flat onto the bed and laying down atop you. He toys with your hair lazily, a little smirk tugging at his lips. 

“Are you ready to wind down?” he asks you placidly. 

You’re laughing, squirming feebly underneath his weight, and James can’t help but chuckle, grabbing one of your hands by the wrist when you try to pinch at Remus’ side. 

“Traitor,” you say to him. 

“I take no sides,” he replies easily. “Sorry, angel.”

“Darling,” Remus hums lazily, getting your attention again. “Are you ready to go to sleep?” 

You roll your eyes and sigh greatly, but nod. Remus doesn’t let you off that easily this time, though, passing you immediately to Sirius, who tugs you tight to his front, your nose squishing into his cheek as he peppers your face with kisses. 

“Oh, I see,” James says, getting into the opposite side of the bed. “So they can touch your face, but I can’t, huh?” 

“Anyone can, once the product has dried,” Sirius says cooly, settling down with one final kiss to the tip of your nose. “Your mistake was jumping the gun, Potter.” 

“Can we be done with this?” you ask. “Remus is tired.” 

“Don’t use him as your scapegoat,” Sirius says, but peers over you to see Remus anyway, a tiny bit of worry in the squint of his eyes. “You’re not tired, are you Moons?”

“Only the normal amount,” Remus says, eyes already closed. 

James coos, touching his lips to the high point of Remus’ cheekbone, just beside a jagged scar. 

“Poor boy, we’re tormenting him,” he says lightly, and Sirius rolls his eyes but quiets down. 

For a good, long while, it’s silent. James watches the light in the room change as cars drive past, their headlights filtering through the curtains. The breathing around him becomes slower, more even. His own body relaxes into the mattress, eyelids drooping as he starts to give into that sweet, soft heaviness that waits just past the threshold of sleep. 

He hears a quiet rustling of sheets, and then a loud cracking sound comes from your side of the bed. 

A low voice. “Don’t make me come over there.”

[impala-dreamer]

It's Fucking Unprofessional

A Story from The Boys Universe

~ While working as a PA for Vought, Y/N has made one promise to herself: to stay the fuck away from Soldier Boy. Some promises are too easily broken…~

Soldier Boy x F!Reader

2,434 Words

NSFW. Snark. Cursing. Assholery. Fucking. 

For @jacklesversebingo “You couldn’t handle me even if I came with instructions”

JacklesBingo Masterlist

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

He was terrifying up close. 

It wasn’t just the knowledge that he could rip her apart with a simple flick of his wrist, or shove her so hard she’d splatter against the wall like a bug on a windshield. It was much worse than all that. It was the fact that he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. His green eyes behind that mask were piercing… the way his muscles pulsed beneath the suit was mesmerizing… the way he walked with that bow-legged swagger was sexy as hell. Being attracted to the epic piece of shit was way more dangerous than the threat of death.  

When Y/N got the job at Vought Studios, she made a promise to her diary and herself. In no way would she get so close to him as to give away the fact that her innocent pussy dripped whenever he was around. She would ignore him entirely. Besides, his behavior was reprehensible. His attitude toward women was disgusting. His ass was so perky and tight and… No. She was going to be strong. She was going to steer clear of all that nonsense.  

Not that he’d ever pay attention to someone like her. The key aspect of her job was to be neither seen nor heard; just a person waiting in the wings to hand off a prop, run and get coffee, and clean up the dressing rooms. It would be easy to stay in the shadows, completely off his radar. 

Soldier Boy was pissed. 

He may have actually been pissed as well as just angry: he stank of rye and stale cigarettes, and fumbled over his lines more than a few times. 

For over an hour, he held the crew hostage while attempting to film his required Anti-Drug PSA. Vought was trying to score some points with the public by helping out D.A.R.E. by pimping out their celebrity supes for commercial spots. Soldier Boy was next in line and very unhappy about it. 

After the twentieth take, he demanded caffeine and production halted until Y/N returned with a styrofoam cup full of black coffee. 

Y/N held her breath and tried to walk away without really looking at him, but Soldier Boy flipped. He sniffed the drink and sneered. 

“Is this hot?” 

Y/N stepped back as he stared into her eyes, daring her to say something. A wave of arousing fear washed over her as he slammed the cup to the floor. It splintered like rotted wood and the hot liquid went everywhere. 

“Iced!” 

She jumped. 

He raged on. 

“Iced coffee!” he screamed. “It’s not hard!” 

Nerves ran down her spine and Y/N moved to grab a rag from the craft table.

“It’s fucking unprofessional!” 

A knot formed in her chest and instead of shying away, she felt a surge of defiance. 

“You’re fucking unprofessional,” she ripped under her breath. 

Soldier Boy’s head cocked to the side. She felt his eyes on the back of her neck, digging in. 

“Excuse me?” 

Y/N turned back with the cleaning rag in hand. “Hmm?” 

His jaw clenched and his upper lip twitched. “The fuck did you say to me?” 

Batting her eyes innocently, Y/N shrugged and bent down to mop up the spill. “I didn’t say anything.” 

His anger followed her down, watching as she dabbed at the floor. Leaning close, he whispered a warning. “I have super hearing, you know.”

Y/N hummed as if she found him boring even though she was screaming inside. “That must be fun for you.” 

Again, his teeth gnashed together and she swore she could feel the air around them grow hotter. A deep growl rumbled in the back of his throat and Y/N met his gaze, unfazed but terrified. He was taken aback by her bravery and somewhat impressed by her attitude.

“You know-”

The director called for attention and Soldier Boy sat back up, getting ready while keeping one eye on the mouthy PA. 

“OK! Let’s run again!”

If he got through two lines in a row, it was shocking. More than once, he stopped just to glare at Y/N. She couldn’t tell if he was contemplating snapping her neck or undressing her with his eyes, so she kept her arms crossed and her expression cool. 

“If taking drugs is uncool,” he mumbled, laughing at himself, “then I’m the most uncool motherfucker on the planet…” 

Some of the crew laughed along, but Y/N sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. “You really are,” she muttered. 

His laugh died away instantly and he threw daggers with his eyes. “Fuck you.” 

Y/N cocked a brow. “Like I’d let you,” she laughed. 

Soldier Boy straightened up, surprised. His annoyance turned to interest and he licked his lips. “Oh, I think you’d let me.” 

She tongued her cheek and popped a hip. “You think?” 

“I know.” 

“Pfft.” Y/N rolled her eyes. “You couldn’t handle me even if I came with instructions.” 

His smile faded and she turned away, giving him a literal cold shoulder. 

The air shifted and her heart stopped when his big hand wrapped around her upper arm, jerking her back a step. 

His lips grazed her ear. “You wanna rethink that last statement, sweetheart?”

Y/N tried to wrench her arm away but his grip was absolute. She spun around to face him and nearly lost her footing. He was impossibly close and regrettably gorgeous. She gasped. 

“Get off me.” 

He blinked slowly and looked her over. He could hear her heart pounding, see the blood rush to her cheeks, smell her arousal. “You’re so… interesting.”

She swallowed hard. “W-What?” 

“Defiant and bitchy, but oh so hot for me.” 

“Fuck you, no I’m not.” Again, she twisted her arm to break free but it was no use. 

His fingers tightened, bruising her flesh. “You are,” he grinned. “I can smell it.” 

“You’re disgusting,” she spat. 

Behind them, the director tried to regain control. 

“Um- let’s uh- if we could just go one more time-” 

Soldier Boy shook his head. “No. We got it.” 

“We really didn’t,” the man pleaded. “I really think we should go again from the top.” 

“No,” he repeated, dragging his eyes down her trembling body. “That’s a wrap!” 

She wasn’t sure if he was carrying her or if they were simply moving too fast for her brain to register her feet on the ground. 

Soldier Boy broke the lock on a random office door and shoved Y/N inside. He flipped on the lights and kicked the door shut as he turned to smirk at her. 

“Now, where were we?” 

Y/N backed away, internally battling her desire and aversion. “I believe I was telling you what a piece of shit you are.” 

He laughed at her daring words. “You’re something else, you know that?”   

She shrugged, playing it cool. “It’s been said.”

“Yeah, but not by me.” With a smug smile, he pulled the mask from his face and ran a hand through his hair. 

Y/N felt her defenses crack. Her vision blurred for a second. “Um… I… really don’t care what you think, actually.” 

He clicked his tongue and took a step closer. “I think you do, actually.” 

Her heart skipped two beats in a row and then struggled to catch up. “Actually, you can fuck off.”  

“Maybe.” Soldier Boy grinned and closed the space between them. “Or…” He reached for her throat and her body tensed. Instead of a death grip, he slipped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her close. He was gentle, but she could feel the strength pulsing underneath his touch. “I can fuck you.”

She couldn’t think of a protest that would even remotely come off as true but it didn’t matter anyway. Before she could speak, his lips were on her and her mind melted. He slid his tongue between her lips and her breath stopped. He ran his left hand across her tits and her legs went weak. 

When he pulled back, she swayed forward, caught in his pull and utterly on fire for him. 

His laugh was smug. His lips were wet and plump. 

“Knew you couldn’t resist me,” he teased. “But it was a nice try.” 

Every bit of resistance faded into his grin and Y/N dove at him, grabbing a fistful of the fabric collar loose around his throat. He laughed into her hungry kiss and set his hands on her hips. He lifted her as if she weighed no more than a feather, and slammed her down onto the desk like she was simply a toy for his amusement. 

He rocked into her and Y/N moaned loudly. His cock was hard and she reached down, rubbing him through the spandex tights. 

“How- how do these come off?” she whimpered, tugging at his bottoms. 

Another deep kiss blew her mind and Soldier Boy held her chin in two fingers, stretching her throat and setting her face where he wanted. She held the pose while he backed away and stripped for her. Layer after layer of forest green and woody brown fell away and Y/N clenched her thighs tight as more muscle was revealed. 

“Fuck… you’re gorgeous,” she breathed. 

He smirked and spread his feet apart. “I know.” Grabbing his dick, he stroked himself slowly and nodded at her. “Now you.” 

Y/N shivered and hopped down from the desk. Nervously, she tugged at the hem of her oversized periwinkle sweater and yanked it up. 

Soldier Boy sucked his teeth. “No. Slowly.”

She took a breath and started again, this time lifting away the soft polyester slowly and deliberately. Next came her jeans and he hummed in lustful admiration as she tugged the acid-washed denim down her thighs.  

“Very nice.” 

Embolden, Y/N turned and shook her ass for him as she unhooked her bra. 

“Go on…” 

She tossed the garment over her shoulder. 

“Keep going.”

Aching with anticipation, she slid her hands into her panties and inched them down, bending at the hips and showing him everything. 

“Fucking hell…” 

He was on her in a second; big hands tight on her hips, hard cock snug between her thighs. He settled there for a moment, letting her juices drip down onto his throbbing shaft. She leaned back and he scratched his fingers up her sides and scooped her tits into his warm palms.

“Fuck… your hands are so big,” she mewed. 

He jerked his hips and the tip of his cock slid against her clit. 

“Just my hands?” 

Y/N bit her lip and wiggled against him. “Let’s find out.”

He flipped her over like it was nothing and threw her down on the edge of the desk. She spread her legs wide and he set up camp between them. 

“You ready?” he asked, already lining up. 

She nodded breathlessly and arched her back off the desk, begging. “Do it. Please!”

It was almost painful the way he snapped his hips into her. His thick cock spread her apart and her flesh burned at the pull. She bit back a scream when he pressed all the way in; dropped her jaw when he tugged her hips down off the desk. His blunt nails sunk into her soft curves, nearly drawing blood. She held her breath. He thrust his cock deeper inside. She lost her mind. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” It was all she could say and it amused him like nothing else. 

With a grunt, Soldier Boy lifted her legs high and pushed forward, bending her in half. The new angle pushed him in so deep Y/N thought she could feel his cock tap against the base of her throat. She gagged and her eyes rolled. He laughed and dipped down to lick at her lips. 

“What a good little bitch,” he teased. “Taking my cock so good.” 

She moaned with each hard thrust and her tongue rolled out of her mouth. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. There was nothing but mindless, pounding pleasure and his bright green eyes. 

He ran his tongue up hers and hummed. “That’s a good idea.” 

In a flash, she was on her knees, swaying side to side as he stroked his cock. His fist was a blur, her eyes were white. 

“Open wide.” 

Y/N dropped her jaw and he slid inside. 

“Suck.” 

Her lips clamped down and she took a deep breath, pulling at his velvety skin. Her tongue undulated against the pulsing vein of his big cock and Soldier Boy fit his giant hand on the back of her head. He held her in place and bucked his hips, jabbing his cock down her throat. She choked on him, moaning in bliss and protest as spit spilled from the corners of her mouth and coated her tits. 

“Fucking perfect,” he grit, throwing his head back and enjoying her desperate whimpers and the tightness of her throat. 

Her eyes began to water and he could hear her lungs screaming for air. He set her free. 

“Fuck!” Y/N wobbled on her weak knees and nearly fell to the floor. 

Soldier Boy caught her quickly and set her back on her feet, bent over on the desk. Her tits smashed against the wood and he kicked her legs apart. 

“You’re one hell of a PA,” he praised. 

Her cunt pulsed as he ran the tip of his cock across its lips. “It’s… my… job…” 

He grinned. “Sure is.” He pushed inside. “Gotta give the talent your full attention.” He slapped her ass hard. “Give them anything they want.” He grabbed the back of her neck and lifted her off of the desk, arching her spine awkwardly. “Isn’t that right?” 

She moaned. “Yes!”

“Correct.” 

He let her go and she fell back down, just a ragdoll for him to fuck to his satisfaction. 

When he was done he slapped her ass, leaving a welt behind as a souvenir. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, already forgetting about her as he tugged his suit back on and fixed his hair. 

Y/N crumbled to the floor, her legs spread wide, her back against the desk. She sat there for a long while, feeling his palm print burn on her bottom and his cum leak from her cunt. He didn’t look back as he left, didn’t even shut the door. 

Soldier Boy disappeared down the hall and Y/N shook herself, wondering how the hell she’d broken her promise and let him get to her. 

Not that she was mad about it. 

Just sore. 

[pastel0rchid]

A Gift from the Gods (2)

Hiccup x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.2K

Warnings: Wounds and blood

A/N: And we're back! Thank you to everyone who has been so patient while I muster up the motivation to finally sit back down and write. I'm so sorry that it took so long, as I was struggling with studying for my content exam (which I passed! Yay!), but also a lack of creativity. I finally bucked up and put on a music playlist while writing to my heart's content, and this is the product. I hope you all enjoy it! Until next time <3

Previous Chapter .~.~. Next Chapter

His questioning words linger in the air for a few minutes, nothing following but an uncomfortable silence occasionally broken by heavy panting from the previous chase. The wound on your upper arm throbs in pain. His grip was tight, something you’d never expect from someone as scrawny looking as him. Your eyes remain locked with one another, your heart thundering in your chest as the reality of the situation hits you like a ton of bricks.

You had gotten captured.

Suddenly, the sound of familiar screams and the scent of familiar smells fills your senses as you comprehend the realization. The acrid smell of smoke fills your nostrils, even though there is no fire around you, and the sweet scent of what used to be your mother’s favorite flowers brings a fresh wave of tears to your eyes. The memory of your mother screaming at you to run while she and your father barricaded the door to your once quiet home. Your senses overload as you can hear your mother and father both pleading for you to run, for you to hide, for you to save yourself.

As memories of your parents' desperate pleas flooded your mind, a surge of adrenaline mixed with fear propelled you into action, your heart pounding so loudly you couldn’t hear anything else. With a swift motion, you whipped the end of your wing towards Hiccup's head. It slices through the air before making contact with a satisfying thud. His body is thrown off of you with a grunt, and you take in a desperate breath, your lungs now free from his weight. You barely had the chance to see him hold onto the side of his face, to see the pain flash in his eyes as he watched you quickly turn onto your hands and knees.

You could faintly hear him in the background pleading with somebody, saying that you were just frightened and didn’t mean to hurt him. His words never registered. The only thought on your mind was to run and to hide.

Your wings didn’t even have the chance to spread to give you your freedom before a blinding pain erupted at the base of your skull as a blunt object made contact with it, sending shockwaves of agony through your entire body. Darkness crept into the edges of your vision as you fought to stay conscious, the world spinning before fading to black. Your parents’ desperate pleas continue to whisper to you as you go unconscious.

—

Your mind slowly returns to the conscious world with a dull throbbing on the back of your head increases. The feeling of something coarse and rough wrapped tightly around your wings and wrists makes your eyes snap wide open, the pain quickly forgotten while being replaced with dread.

Your eyes flick around the room and take in the new surroundings, teeth grinding together as you begin to struggle, the rope around your wrists digging even deeper into your skin.

The room was dark, except for the lonely candle flickering beside the little bed of furs where you were placed, bathing the surrounding area in a warm glow.

After taking in the room, you begin to check over yourself.

Your wrists were bound together in front of you, the rope going behind you to wrap your wings shut against your back. Flexing your wings, you find that it only causes the rope to tighten even more. The cut on your arm from Stormfly’s spine had been bandaged, a few patches of blood staining the cream-colored cloth.

The sudden sound of a door opening causes your gaze to snap towards the intruder, the movement so fast that it aggravates the throbbing in the back of your head. In the doorway, the sun casting a halo of light around him like he was some savior to your darkness, stood the brunet from earlier.

In one of Hiccup’s hands, he held a small wooden bowl, your nose instantly picking up an acrid smell that causes it to bunch up. In the other hand, he carried more bandaging cloths.

He freezes in the doorway when he notices you awake and staring at him intently.

Your eyes follow his movements, slow and methodical, as he begins to walk towards you, leaving the door open to give much-needed sunlight. He moves as if you were a wounded animal, afraid you would scamper off further into the building if he moved too quickly.

“I tried to convince them to keep you untied, but it’s pretty much impossible to change the mind of a Viking like my father.”

A small chuckle leaves him at his words, almost as if his amusement would help relieve the thick tension between you. He keeps his tone gentle like he was talking to a frightened child, his eyes locked on your own as he kneels beside where you sit. Now that he was closer to you, the candlelight illuminating his face, you noticed the red welt that spanned from the middle of his right cheek to the middle of his nose.

Internally cringing, you feel a tug of remorse at remembering that the wound was because of you, but the other part of you feels a tiny sense of pride for landing a hit on your presumed attacker.

Hiccup begins to set the bowl and bandages between the both of you, glancing between your eyes and the wound on your arm.

“Can I rebandage that for you?”

Your intense gaze turns quizzical at his question, having not expected him to ask for permission. You silently observe the man before you, like you are searching for an ulterior motive for his kindness towards you. You can’t find any as you stare deep into his green eyes.

They reminded you of the grass fields you used to run through with your parents, the leaves from the trees that you would perch yourself in while playing with the dragons on the island you lived on for all of those years.

His eyes feel like arms opened wide as they welcome you home.

These thoughts scared you.

Even with the worry coursing through your veins, you move your body slightly so your bandaged arm can be closer to Hiccup, keeping your eyes on him and watching every move he makes. Taking this silent invitation, Hiccup begins to unwrap the soiled cloth around your arm, a grimace flashing across your face when the bandage tugged against your skin from where the dried blood connected it.

His soft apology could barely be heard over your mind beginning to wander while starting to shift your wings. In your earlier struggle, you had moved your wings too fast, causing the ropes to tighten around your wrists, but now that you were moving your wings around slowly, you started to notice flaws.

Your eyes remain locked on his hands as they grab a pre-wetted cloth, wiping down the dried blood around the wound, as you continue to shift your wings, making it look like you were just trying to adjust them.

Hiccup grabs the orangey paste in the bowl, the smell just as bad as it was when he stood further away, slathering it all over the wound before wrapping a fresh bandage around the cut.

“The paste is something Gothi made, she said it should help with the healing process.” He explains while sitting back on his haunches after tying off the bandage cloth.

He didn’t seem to mind your silence, taking it and the fact that you weren’t actively fighting back against him as progress. You move your eyes from his hands on his lap to his own, keeping his gaze as you shift your wings.

His gaze turns into confusion at your actions, before slowly widening in shock as the ropes become displaced. He tries to hold his hands out to stop you, noticing your eyes widening with glee.

“No, wait! Wait-!”

You ignore his hurried pleas as the rope falls from where you manage to move your wings out from under them, though your wrists remain bound before you. Your wings spread behind you and give one strong flap, which causes you to shoot into the air. The force of it even knocked Hiccup onto his butt.

Flying towards the door, you slam your body against it to open it even more. You had turned your wounded arm towards the door and didn’t care about the stinging sensation that trickled through the wound on your arm.

Shocked cries and yelling fill your ears, but you pay them no mind, only focused on the sight of the cloud-filled endless sky. You could hear Hiccup yelling as he ran out of the building you had been placed in, but that was ignored too.

Your freedom was within reach, just at the tips of your fingertips.

You were suddenly yanked from where you were flying, the rope around your wrists being grabbed as it dangled below you. Gaze snapping down to whoever was holding you back from escaping, you find a large Viking holding the rope with one hand.

You immediately noticed an auburn-colored beard that was just as vast as he was. While meeting his sharp gaze, you are instantly aware of how similar his eyes are to Hiccup’s.

He only keeps your gaze for a small second before giving a deep grunt and wrenching you towards him, the strength so much that you didn’t have time to fight against it before tumbling towards the ground.

A croak of pain leaves you as your body thumps against the earth, thankfully landing on the unwounded arm. A crowd quickly swarms around the two of you while the Viking keeps a tight grip on the rope.

Scrambling to your feet, your wings remain spread and open as you gasp for air, your lungs burning with exertion from the pain throbbing all over your body and the distress coursing through your veins. Any time you flapped your wings to try and take off again, the man would tug you closer, his grip on the rope shortening the distance between you.

You struggle against the rope wrapped around your wrists, your breathing becoming more ragged as the man towers over you.

The small comfort from being with Hiccup had quickly disappeared in the presence of this Viking. This was the man your parents had warned you about, the look in his eyes was something you had always feared to be aimed in your direction.

Hostile and aggressive.

“Dad! Stop!”

Your eyes glance over towards where Hiccup had pushed through the crowd, moving to stand beside the man who was his father. Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you glance between Hiccup and his father, the pain and the fear slowly becoming too much.

The crowd felt like it was drawing closer and closer, the whispering amongst them becoming louder and louder. You could see Hiccup glancing over at you as he talked to his father, but his words didn’t register, only a ringing that was quickly invading your hearing.

A sudden touch to your wounded arm causes you to recoil, your gaze torn from the father and son duo as the ringing slowly dissipates and your attention is brought to the short, older woman standing beside you.

She begins to observe you, one hand holding her staff while the other pokes and prods at you. Your eyes watch her curiously, your breathing slowly returning to a normal rhythm. When she moves to grab at your wings, you shut them quickly and pull your lips back to reveal your sharpened canines.

This little move of hostility does nothing to deter the old woman as her observation is quickly turned to your mouth. Her fingers graze over your fangs, pushing the edges of your mouth as if she were seeing if any other teeth were sharpened. You yank yourself away from her grip, your anxiousness quickly turning into confusion at this woman’s actions.

The woman responds with a small ‘hmph’ before her gaze is set on the bandaged wound on your arm. She tuts at the sight of it before gripping her staff and starts drawing familiar symbols in the dirt.

You had seen these before from the elder in your village before the attack, having to have somebody translate the words to the people.

A stout man with a blond beard stepped forward, his most noticeable features being his hook for a hand and a wooden peg for his foot. He leans over beside the woman and begins to read the symbols while occasionally glancing at you.

“She says that ‘You’ve opened the wound, I’ll need to ditch it’- Ow-!”

Your eyes widen as the woman suddenly hits the man over the head, her eyes forming into a glare as she looks up at him.

“Stitch! She’ll need to stitch it.” The man says while rubbing the part of his head that the woman had smacked with her staff.

While the man mumbled something under his breath, you moved your attention to your wound. Your eyes widen in shock at the sight of blood slowly dripping out from under the completely soaked bandage, the paste leaking with it.

Before anyone can react, the woman uses one of the many dragon teeth tied to her staff to cut the ropes around your wrists, gripping onto one of them before dragging you with a strength you wouldn’t have expected her to have.

You glance over your shoulder towards Hiccup and his father, finding him staring back at you while his father talks with the translating Viking, tossing him the rope before pointing at you as an order to follow.

All Hiccup manages to give you is a small, nervous smile.

How reassuring.

Taglist:

@spiderlily-w1tch-blog @millie--billie @persipeoni @honethatty12 @oscarissac2099 @up-l4te-4t-n1ght @morishitoshi @nctikki

[0rosexmulti0]

Personal Assistant-Part 1

Paring: Millionaire Reality Star!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

This will be broken up into parts!

Part 1 | Part 2

You and bucky had been best friends since you could remember. After college you had lost contact until you started looking for a job. You wanted to get into acting so it wasn’t a surprise that you took a job offer from your new friend. The day of auditions you got the address from the friend. You weren’t prepared of the role you were applying for, so you dressed nice. You took an uber to the audition, you arrive at a mansion. You immediately are more nervous than before. You walk up to the door and knock gently. A man dressed in a suit answers the door. He asks if you are here for the audition. You nod, he smiles and takes you into the living room. He offers to get you a drink and you politely decline. A few minutes go by, and you get brought into a studio. You walk to the other side of the glass; you notice a ring that looked oddly familiar. The tell you that the role you are auditioning for is a personal assistant in a reality show. As you start to read the script you are interrupted by a familiar voice. As he walks into the room you make eye contact. James Barnes but this time he wasn’t a kid anymore. This time he was taller, stronger, and more handsome than you remember. He was wearing an expensive black suit with the sleeves cuffed up just enough to see a few veins in his arm. You swallowed hard at the sight of him, you could feel old feelings resurfacing. He doesn’t say anything to you, he just starts looking around. You realize he’s looking for the ring on the table of your side. You grab it and walk around the glass and ask him if it’s what he was looking for. His expression starts to soften but not before he realizes where his is. He coughs and takes it, “Thank you Ms-?” he looks at you waiting for a response. “F/N” you say looking at the ground. He sits on the couch spreading his legs. “Well, since I interrupted, I might as well watch your audition. Saves us time, I’m the one who calls the shots. If I don’t like it, you don’t get a call back” He grabs a notepad and pen, you walk back to the other side of the glass and read the scripts. At the end you see Bucky hand the producer the notepad. Buck starts to walk out, as he leaves you swear, he throws you a wink. “Y/n?” The producer says calling you into reality. “James wrote that he wanted you hired now”. You thank them. They say that you will be moving in until production ends. Explaining filming is in a week, they want the main cast to adjust. You nod and they escort you to a car. You arrive at your home and collect your things. You head back and they show you to your room. You gasp at the room’s size. After unpacking you decide to explore. As you walk out on your phone you bump into someone causing you to drop it. You quickly look up to see who it was. Bucky looks down at you with a smirk and pins you against the wall, before saying “Who’s so important you to not be paying attention?” You try to answer but the words seem not come out. He grabs your chin, “Are you planning on answering your new boss’s question doll or do you need a lesson of professionalism and manners?” Your face is beyond pink from blushing its practically red. “Boss? What does that mean? I was just having an argument and it got heated that’s all” you try to turn your head, but he holds it still. “You didn’t know that I’m the person you will be assisting in this show? Was it Steve?” he says the last part with a concern in his voice. “How did you remember? You didn’t even remember my name.” You say rolling your eyes. He smirks “How could I ever forget you doll? I just have a reputation to worry about now. I didn’t want it to seem like I gave you this position because you’re the cute girl I used to hang out with” As he says the last few words it feels like he breathed them into your ear sending a shiver down your spine. Before he releases you, he says “Don’t think I didn’t know about your crush doll.” He cockily grins at you then walks away leaving you lost for words. You hear him hum to himself “This’ll be fun”.

[karlachismylife]

Side note but Cerberus Ghost but it's hyena Cerberus

This thought graced me briefly a couple of times, but now that you said that out loud, why not make it into official first spinoff episode of the hyena 141 au?

I present to you hyena Cerberus!Ghost (and hyena task force 141) headcanons:

Tug-of-war 3 vs 1 as in every Ghost head gets to play with its own opponent out of other three boys at the same time. It's the only way they can have a chance against the mass of this huge monster, since whenever one of them tries to go one on one, he gets flung around with the piece of rope they're competing over. Yes, when they're in their human forms too. Hyena Cerberus!Ghost is a force to be reckoned with even more than normal hyena!Ghost.

Every head of the hyena Cerberus has a unique mane. The right one (the left if we're looking at him directly) is a hyena buzzcut basically, kept short and neat: it grows unevenly and quickly becomes patchy if he doesn't groom it that way. Just like with the skull shape (yes, I'm making it canon that it's not a natural pattern, but something he needs to bleach regularly, otherwise he'd have a normal cute hyena muzzle), Price is the one Ghost trusts to do that. When the fur gets too long and starts acting out, he comes to his Captain and sits patiently as John works the humming shaver, leaving a nice streak of short, thick and very fluffy to the touch fur. It's the softest out of the hyena Cerberus Ghost's manes, so it always attracts Soap's restless fingers - he buries them in the fluff, tugs and scratches, and that absolutely melts Ghost, even if he tries not to show it, since this scruff always gets particularly itchy.

The middle head has, on the contrary, the most coarse mane, it grows the longest, since it's not a liability (there really isn't a way to grab onto it in combat, the brave idiot that tries gets his hand chewed off faster than he can realize his mistake), and is striped, dirty blonde broken up with patches of brown along the long crest all the way to the back. It's the most extended one, too, going past Ghost's massive shoulder blades along his spine and slowly mingling with the shorter fur somewhere in the middle of his back.

Finally, his left head (or right if you look at him head-on) has something similar to his human hair: blond and wavy, so even if it grows as long as the middle one, it looks shorter due to the curls. It's Gaz's favourite mane, he never misses a chance to get his deft fingers into the soft strands and twirl them - or nuzzle into them and chew on them in his hyena form. Gaz also tried putting products into this mane, softening it further and trying to make the curls even more prominent, and Ghost got so pissy every time, grumbling and scowling all three mouths at Kyle, yet still allowing him to do it. If only because then he gets hyena!Gaz cuddling up to him and sniffing at the nice smells of the products massaged into Cerberus's hide...

Technically could easily be the most dominant one in the clan (until they get themselves a Queen, obviously), but requires someone's leadership over him, so never undermines Price's authority unless it's during play/train time and only without witnesses. If someone (probably a rookie, these dumb cunts always run their yappers without a single braincell active) even suggests a possibility of hyena Cerberus!Ghost overthrowing his Captain and taking his place, they get jumped by all the hundreds of kilograms of the beast, cackling at them menacingly in three voices, and cannot get up until Price calls his guard monster off.

Yes, he is extremely loyal. Ghost is in general the definition of loyalty, now make it cubic because of three heads, each with a more or less separate personality, even if they are still connected into one conscience. Complicated? No shit, but you don't really have to think too hard about it. At the end of the day, this is still Ghost, he is still a terrifying enemy and the best ally. And he has his human and hyena traits and moments just like anyone else.

Hyena Cerberus!Ghost is weak for ear caress just like normal hyena!Ghost. Reliant on hearing, he obviously demonstrates immense trust whenever he lets someone cover his plush round ears and massage them, turning him all putty and pliant, or, if it's one of the other hyena boys, lick and nibble on his tender shells, tickling them with hot breath and gentle grumbles. This is also a good way to ground him when he has a flashback or struggles mentally: cover all three pairs of his eyes and lavish some sweet attention on his ears, filling them with nothing but loving words and soft humming. No explosions or cries, no alarms allowed to go off in his heads. Only safety.

He loves to be cuddled. Any version of Ghost does, being the little spoon or laying cradled like a baby is that man's joy of life, he needs that safety cocoon, but if it's relatively hard to accomplish even with normal sized Ghost, hyena Cerberus!Ghost needs the whole clan to swarm around him in a mess of human and hyena limbs, all flanks covered and protected. When not everyone is available for a giant cuddle pile, whoever Ghost sees first, falls victim (literally) under his weight plopping on top. How come Soap is the one that gets squished the most?..

Only lets all three of his heads sleep at the same time when he feels completely safe, which isn't often, but having everyone dear to his big monstrous heart huddled around definitely helps. His right head (with the short buzzed mane) snores the loudest, but the middle one makes weird gurgling noises. It's okay though, just some trauma aftermath.

It's actually more or less impossible to put collars/collar on him because of the way his anatomy works, but it never stops everyone who loves him from trying. However, I recommend trying headbands (with bows or other season appropriate toppers - like soft antlers for Christmas or devil horns for Halloween). If you think a giant mass with three rabid, drooling, scowling snouts gets less intimidating with a pretty pink bow on the middle head, think again.

While he tolerates (hardly) headbands, he actually enjoys when you or Gaz braid tiny braids into his middle mane and put small beads or feathers or other little tokens there. He never says that, but he actually considers those lucky charms that keep him from harm.

Needs help with grooming. His mass and three heads partially glued together make it hard to reach some places on his hide, so it falls on his more than willing partners to do it for him. Everyone has their own style, with Soap being an absolutely unbearable playful menace about, Gaz going extra miles to pamper his Lieutenant and Price staying methodical, but extremely thorough. Hyena Cerberus!Ghost's hide is always in the best condition no matter what trouble he gets into, because there are people (hyenas) that love him. And will lick him clean of blood whenever he gets drenched in it.

Actually hates being alone. One-headed Ghost, human or hyena, already prefers to always be a silent presenсe in his partners' vicinity, but three heads and the jumbled thoughts, voices and other unpleasant experiences that come with those, make him even less of a loner than everyone thinks. Having Johnny talk/cackle all of his ears off is a much better alternative to being consumed with three separate inner monologues that sometimes take him to very, very dark places.

One of his (and everyone's in the clan) favourite things is to hug him around his partially grown together necks. Hyena Cerberus!Ghost is a thick boy, so you need to spread your arms veeeery wide to grasp all his might in an embrace, but it always feels like drowning in the softest, fattest, sweetest giant plushie. Three fluffy snouts nuzzling the hugger's head, low, slightly distorted purring coming out of three throats. Hyena Cerberus!Ghost needs love, and he is finally at the point in his life, where he has it in abundance.

Series masterlist | Main masterlist

[howlingday]

Arcs Don't Get Cancer

A sad Shark!Faunus Jaune story.

Weiss: Ruby Rose, how many times do I have to tell you to stop using my hairbrush?!

Ruby: But Weiss, it's cushy to hold onto~!

Weiss: And I told you over and over again to buy your own!

Ruby: But Weiss~!

Blake: (Hears knocking, Answers) Hello, Ren.

Yang: If you want, you can use my hairbrush.

Ren: Good evening, Blake. Is your leader with you?

Ruby: That's Zwei's dog brush!

Yang: Never said it was for my hair~.

Blake: ...Yes, she is. Are you looking for her?

Ren: No, but... Have any of you seen Jaune?

Blake: Not for a while. (Turns) Has anyone seen Jaune?

Weiss: I haven't.

Yang: Nope!

Ruby: We've been pretty busy with missions this month. Shouldn't he be with his team?

Ren: He should, but we haven't seen him and we're worried.

Blake: Where did you last see him?

Ren: He was walking out of our dorm.

Ren: Just after you left for your mission this month.

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The following may be disturbing for some readers. Literary discretion is advised. I'll allow you time to prepare before clicking "Keep Reading". Once you are ready, you may continue...

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Jaune awoke to a burning, itching feeling in his arm. He groaned, desperately trying to fall back to sleep, but the darkness would take him no longer. Now, there was only the light and the horrors it revealed around him.

"Good morning, Mr. Shark." A man said with a smile, but there was no joy to be shared in it. No, the grin on his face was as empty of emotion as his lab coat was of color. "How is your recovery going?"

Jaune could only whimper in response. That was all the strength he had to do anymore.

"You'll be happy to know that your pain is not in vain." The man gave a chuckle, clearly delighting in his own wit. "Our company's product, of which your contribution plays no small part in, has brought comfort to patients in hospitals and clinics all over Atlas. At this rate, we'll be able to expand and help people in other kingdoms!"

A chill ran up his spine as his mind ached. How could his bones do the things they say? There were no medicinal properties to the fingers, toes, and rib he's had surgically removed. Though his body was numbed to the furthest extent it could be, he could still vividly remember the cracking, the snapping, the ripping done to his body as more and more of him was taken under the knife.

"Doctor?" A woman in lab coat called from the end of the room. Jaune looked to her direction and saw the bloody bandages that were used to patch his wound. "Here are the X-rays you requested." The woman approached with a clipboard, extending it to the man. She had a giddy look on her face. "It seems our hypothesis was correct! His bones replaced themselves~!"

There was a beeping sound that increased frequency that Jaune only took notice now. It was his heart that was beating so fast. Even as his skull throbbed with the pain his brain recalled, he understood the coming fear of his body being harvested over and over again. All to make lien off his suffering.

"Doctor," The man chided, "please remember your bedside manner when in the same room as a patient."

The woman pursed her lips with a blush while the man opened the folder, smiling at the sheet in front of him. He brought it over to a hanging board, placing it snugly against the blank surface. Flicking on the light, Jaune saw the horrible truth in the woman's words.

He felt his broken hand burn as he looked on to the small, regrowing bone in his finger. The pain resonated in his toes, where too he had been harvested. His heart beat like a drum as his chest blazed like an inferno at his broken rib being replaced.

"Doctor," the woman whispered, thinking Jaune wouldn't be able to hear her, "what would have happened if they didn't grow back?"

The man hummed for a moment, looking back to Jaune, who shut his eyes and tried to fall back asleep, hoping this too was just a horrible dream. He didn't even try to keep his voice low. "Then we clean up shop. All our research purged, and all medical equipment disposed of."

"And the patient?"

"Silence." The woman covered her mouth. The man pulled the X-rays free and slid them back into the folder. "Take these to the director. He'll want to see the results for himself." The woman hurriedly exited from the room. The man walked up to Jaune, dragging a finger along his thigh. "Hm... The femoral will be tricky, but the reward will be so worth it." He then left without saying another word.

Jaune felt hot tears pour from his eyes, his spine completely iced over with fear. He wanted to scream at the injustice of his body being ripped apart for a suspected cure, but he feared whatever intentional punishment that would be brought down on him. As he grit his teeth, he had one thought...

'Save me... Ruby...'

Fun Fact! In 1992, "Sharks Don't Get Cancer," a book written by I. William Lane and Linda Cormac was published with the claim that shark cartilage, due to the rarity of sharks developing cancer, could hold the cure for cancer. However, sharks do get cancer, and this fact has been known for almost 150 years, yet companies still harvest shark body parts from living sharks to this day. As a result, Sharks Don't Get Cancer has been more devastating to sharks as a species than JAWS, which inspired newfound fear of sharks. Worse yet, the method of harvesting include cutting off shark body parts before tossing the still alive shark back into the ocean to drown.

[gorjee-art]

CULT OF THE LAMB - THE MAKING OF IDOLS

Instead of faith it runs on admiration. Goal of the game is to make the gods “beautiful”. With the help of Lunule muse of vanity and Sonule muse of soul, you’ve been gifted the powers of creation. Crawl through each realm manipulating dungeons to your personal liking, no uncultured swine is safe from your magic touch. Trap god’s likenesses in Statue Gardens, Paintings, Poetry, and Song (may be freed later on). Over the progression of this tale you will meet several side characters, however Midas will be a bit of importance as he takes interest in your quest, aiding your journey in making everything beautiful.

Finding your Corpse (Story Point) -

There it stands. The Masterpiece of a lonesome, pitiful, artist. Name unknown, it stands here forgotten, devoted to it’s craft, the love for it’s muses. Your final breath was taken here. You’ve broken and ruined every bone in your body for your art and for what? You weren’t unloved, everyone warned you to stop.

Now here you rest, Left buried in the sands of time.

Was it worth it?

Rituals

Ritual of Performance - Feel like royalty as you choose which follower gets to entertain you. The performance is judged by the crowd over how well they did. It’s up to you to spare or execute them. (Even if spared they may not survive the humiliation.)

The Knowledge of the Muses - Give followers your inner ichor for them to devour and taste, locks admiration for 3 days and increases inspiration. Weakly followers have a chance to become deformed, body unable to handle the love of their leader.

Midas’ Touch - Sacrifice one of your followers to make a decorative statue. Increases admiration every time a follower passes by it, and gives warning to every dissenter. (Gifted Ritual by Midas)

Forever Yours - Your followers may asked to be sacrificed under your name. Thus the forever immortal ritual, they’ll allow you to do whatever change you desire to them, immortalized as a work of art no longer among the living. This ritual gives helpful trinkets for your crusades (they last every three crusades before disintegrating, special followers can give hardy trinkets that last longer)

- Follower Heart : Gives more starting hearts

- Follower Spine : Melee Damage

- Follower Eye : Forcefield Damage/Copies Curses

- Follower Teeth : Long Range Damage

- Follower Lungs : Increases your Speed

- Follower Head : Dissenters/Enemies will be paralyzed with fear

Muse’s Mercy - Strike your followers with maddening amounts of inspiration , they must create! Serve! Worship! With no end in sight. This ritual will increase cult productivity with no sleep, eating, or needed care for three days. (downsides is that 80% will be exhausted as soon as the ritual is over)

Follower Traits -

Critic - Like you they are very hard to please and level up, may be bribed to increase admiration.

Zealous - Fanatics, have unending fountains of admiration they want to be just like you! May be dangerously obsessive however. Be sure to stop them before they get a chance to become you and live under your skin. Oh how they love you so…

Gluttonous - Crayon Eaters…odd bunch. They like to eat art. So pretty they deem it to be tasty…

Tortured - High levels of admiration. The pursuit of perfection can lead your followers to madness… They’ll laugh, scream, and cry. If not careful, they might be driven to die or murder another follower.

[nofatclips]

Forever In Another World by Caudal from the album Forever In Another World [Free Download/Name Your Price on BandCamp]

[mojogojocasahouse]

Literally can't get the thought out of my head that Gojo would fall for his hairdresser because they're the only person who touches him consistently. So, here it is.

Satoru Gojo x f!hairdresser reader

C: Gojo POV, fluff, a little sprinkle of angst

He didn’t mean to fall in love. He really didn’t.

In fact, Satoru Gojo had sworn it off entirely in his third year of high school outside a KFC in Shinjuku. That evening, with every step back towards Jujutsu Tech, his tears turned to cement around his heart, barricading it behind a fortress never to be broken. That had been the plan anyway.

But you’d foiled it.

It was just a series of unfortunate coincidences that had led him straight to the very depths of hell that felt way more like heaven than he wanted to admit. His normal barber had been out of town, but his hair was growing too long against his neck. It itched as it began to curl behind his ears, it reminded him of his teenage years, and Megumi had started poking fun at him. So, he’d wandered into the salon by the apartment he barely used and asked if anyone had time for a quick cut, an action he’d thought was inconsequential. 

There was no way to decipher exactly what it was that had left him slack-jawed and boneless in those thirty minutes. Maybe it had been how your fingers combed through his wet hair so gently, swirling against his scalp and loosening tension he swore was permanent. The way you’d softly turned and tipped his chin as you inspected your work and perfected every unruly tuft of snowy hair, your gaze too focused on the task to see how utterly enraptured he’d been. He’d caught you on the tips of your toes, his height still too great even with the chair as low as it allowed, so he’d slowly slunk down, his spine curling uncomfortably. He hadn’t cared about the ache. There was also a good chance he’d fallen when you mussed up the finished product, smiling into your eyes as you complimented how well he pulled off the messy look, your palms pressed to his head as you held him. Held him.

He’d never gone back to his barber again

After a year of monthly cuts and trims, he upped his frequency. One night after a mission that had tested every ounce of his resolve and patience, he’d wandered in and pathetically asked for just a quick wash. He’d noted how your eyebrows furrowed in what looked like concern, a warm hand on his back leading him to the waiting area, and a promise that you’d be no longer than ten minutes allowing his chest to loosen just enough to breathe.

Soothing circles over his temples had eased his headache, the warm water and your methodical movements lulling him into tranquility. You’d taken extra care, kneading down his neck and feathering over his eyes until he’d been half asleep, his tension swirling down the drain. Never in his life had he wanted to kiss someone as badly as in the moment his eyes fluttered open to your smiling face.

He was never the same after that.

Today is like every other, Megumi at his side as they make their way to the cafe after a mission the kid wasn’t supposed to go on. Whatever, he’d be starting at Jujutsu Tech in a few years, there was no reason to not give him a headstart. 

His height gives him the advantage, and when he spots you across the street he practically sends Megumi crashing to the sidewalk as he whirls to hide his face, fumbling with the glasses in his pocket and ripping the white bandages covering his eyes off his face. 

“What the hell is your problem?” Megumi barks, scowling in annoyance as Satoru slides his round black lenses onto his thin, pointed nose, “Why’re you changing your glasses?”

“Satoru?” Your voice sings out to him even on the crowded Tokyo streets, he can hear it clear as day. 

You’re right in front of him now, hair shining in the sun, eyes twinkling with that happy little grin he sees in his dreams. It’s unfair how happy you always look to see him. The thought that you might be is always his undoing.

“Hi,” he greets sheepishly, chastising himself for how stupid he knows he sounds, “What’re you–”

Whatever idiotic sentence he was set to spew is cut short when you reach up toward his head, and he doesn’t even realize he’s closing the distance your toes can’t reach. A little gasp of shock gets caught in Megumi’s throat as his face twists in confusion when you make contact, plucking a small pink cherry blossom petal from its icy entrapment. He can’t stop himself when his hand catches yours as you pull away, his eyes locked on the fragile, blushing scale between your fingers.

His technique had been active, he couldn’t even recall switching it off. But he had, clearly. Had it become an instinctual flip at the mere sight of you, a second nature? Warmth blossoms in his chest and radiates outward, it’s like the feeling of sun on a cold winter day. Even without looking at your face, he knows you’re confused, who wouldn’t be? You don’t understand the weight of this, no one does except the teenager standing behind him looking on at the scene.

Spring becomes summer when your other hand covers his, it’s shaking ever so slightly and he can’t bear the thought of looking at your face. Are you afraid? He couldn’t blame you. But he forgets that worry when you whisper his name again, nothing but a song in the breeze so quiet it only has the strength to reach his ears. He’s kissing your knuckles before his brain catches up, it’s too lost in thought, in you, in the smell of your floral perfume he’s come to associate with comfort and security. And when you don’t pull away he considers that perhaps his life doesn’t have to be shrouded in darkness.

“Hey,” the gruff voice of Megumi groans out, “How about instead of being a creep you just ask her to dinner?”

Masterlist

[misskattylashes]

I have finally written it!

The Car is a concept album about an almost middle aged, somewhat isolated man looking back on his youth, and where TBHC was all about what a mess his life was due to being famous. The Car is about him being at that point we reach where we’re old enough to have a past, but young enough to look forward to a future without making some of the mistakes you’ve made. It is also loosely set like a stage production.

The show opens where our hero is emerging from a personal and professional crisis. He has temporarily lost his great love, his ‘mirrorball’, his person made up of many broken pieces, but who shines great light into his world. They have let him down previously ‘where’s that appetite for the moment when you look them in the eye and say baby it’s been nice’. But this is still one of the worst things that has happened to our hero and is causing him to reflect on his life.

Next up we deal with fame and his superficial life. Parties full of fake people who blend into one, and socialising is a chore. But he can see both islands, his fake and vaccous life, and the other island, the one where he can be happy and be with someone who makes his spine tingle. Controversially I maintain Riviera is a metaphor for a French person and she is coming into land for said ‘formation display of affection’ ie fake ‘romantic’ photoshoot.

Next our hero is reflecting on the other terrible thing that happened to him. His magnum opus being vilified and rejected because it was so different to what he was known for (‘whilst wondering if your mother still ever thinks of me’ – he has been famous for so long his young fans’ parents were once fans too). The opening line ‘how I am supposed to manage my infallible beliefs while I’m socking it to you’. TBHC was his special interest, his true self, but he was still expected to be the relatable young rock star singing about girls and going clubbing. The song ends with another glimpse of the future. Time spent with his lover who can help him step away from being himself. Living in a society with other people who have lived hidden lives. But the song ends with ‘I’ll sing a tune’, so he goes back to being the performing monkey.

Jet Skis on the Moat is about the first tentative meeting with the estranged lover. Jet Skis on the Moat quite possibly being an injoke shared in happier times. The lover is equally depressed ‘didn’t recognise through the smoke, pyjama pants and a Subutteo cloak’ sparks images of someone who has let themselves go. Our hero points out that the lover left quickly, not giving their relationship a chance. But this not a time for reproach. If the lover wants to cry, he is there for him.

If this was a stage musical, Body Paint would close act one. Our hero realises what a mess he has made of his life trying to keep up so many different faces and thinking he could have it all. His inner voice is singing to the famous persona, pointing out how he can never shake the personas completely and ends up hurting himself as well as everyone else around him.

Act two starts with our hero looking back at his childhood. Foreign holidays, being expected to behave and play in a certain way, and already starting a life of pretence, by pretending to fall asleep on the way back, quite possibly because he didn’t want to communicate and preferred his own little world.

Next he looks back on his days with the band. ‘I’ve conjured up wonderful things’. His big ideas that the band were always excited to hear, and despite all his regrets, being with them has been a thrill. He doesn’t blame fame entirely for his shortcomings because he has enjoyed so much of it.

Hello You is our hero talking to the estranged lover once again. They’re still dragging out a long goodbye and our hero is saying sorry. He talks about times they spent together as youngsters recording an album in rural France ‘overtaking the tractor, waiting for sets of winds and bends to level out again, picking a moment along a country lane, the kind where the harmonies feel right at home’. He offers to go back to the start and capture that feeling they had as young boys.

If this was a stage show at this point the lover would come onto the stage and our hero would sing to him, asking him to be patient while our hero plays the role he has to for the people around him. But one day he hopes, when the time is right, they will get a third attempt at getting their relationship right.

The show ends with our hero alone, looking back on his life and refusing to carry on beating himself up for doing what it’s taken to find happiness in the past, be it having fun with the warm up act (the lover who started off as a warm up act for the band), or drugs (delivered to a hotel), he looks back and sees it’s what he’s needed to do keep sane. But he needs to remember that his life isn’t a race and things will happen in their own time.

[theyapper0]

PART FOUR OF "FINALE"

In another second, Charlie turned back into her normal form and, with the same amount of agility as before, climbed Adam and bounced around his body with so much speed that he couldn’t keep track of her. 

“HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!” She grabbed a hold of his collar with one fist, wrapping her legs around his shoulders and with her other hand, lifted it up Heavencast and-!

FWOOSSHH!!!

Waves upon waves of fire thrusted out from her palm, PROPELLING them downwards at speeds even faster than to which they came UP!

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!”

There was no time! He couldn’t stop it-! He couldn’t react-! He couldn’t think-! 

All Adam could process was the manic laughter that filled his ears!

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!”

CRASH!!!!!

Adam crashed into what he could only imagine were the remains of the Hazbin Hotel. Not that he was thinking about that. In fact, he must have blacked out for a while, he didn’t know how long. 

But when he finally came to, amongst the rumble and remnants of this land, his ears were ringing, his vision was blurry, all he could hear was the sound of his heartbeat thumping in his throat.

And he was filled with an unimaginable sense of dread.

He couldn’t move. Too many broken bones, a fractured skull, internal bleeding. He tasted blood. 

The dust didn’t clear yet, it was so hard to see. 

A figure, too tall and hunched with two horns sprouting up from its cursed head, one straight, the other crooked. 

It was approaching. 

Adam could hardly breathe. Sulfur and ash filled his lungs and he felt like he was choking again. He needed to get away! He needed to leave NOW! THEY ALL NEEDED TO! THEY MUST RETREAT!

The little air that he struggled to hold onto left his body when the hellspawn dropped onto his chest. 

Charlie sat on Adam, hunching to keep their faces inches apart. 

She stared at him, and despite the war still raging on around them, her own ragged breathing was the only thing he was able to hear.

Adam could do nothing but stare back, fear clasped onto his spine and wouldn't let go, not permitting him to move. 

All he could do was stare at the product of the worst event of his life.

“I-.....” He croaked out through shattered ribs, he wasn’t coming back from this one, “I… should have stopped her”

He squeezed his eyes shut, “It’s all my fault”

It was his mistake. Humanity was damned because of his sin. All of humanity is doomed to sin forever and always for all eternity, human souls will continue becoming Sinners because of HIM.

The overpopulation was HIS fault, the Exterminations as a result were HIS fault. THIS BATTLE was his fault.

Charlotte sat up, her body cracking and creaking as she did. Adam winced at the weight shifting on his broken body.

She looked down at him, her face read no emotion. She just stared.

It was savage in a way. There was fire just behind those corneas, he could see it rage on when he looked at her. She was a wild animal. A beast. 

Beasts were not capable of feeling, not in the ways that Sinners or Winners could, not in the way MORTAL SOULS could. 

The spawn of Hell would always be just that, an unfeeling, unchanging, horrifying beast.

Charlotte Morningstar slashed at Adam’s throat.

And then she did it again.

And again.

And again. 

And again. 

AND AGAIN. AND AGAIN. AND AGAIN. AND AGAIN. AND AGAIN. AND AGAIN. AND-!

Charlie SLAMMED her claws into Adam and kept clawing and maiming his LIFELESS BODY. GOLD SPLATTERED ONTO HER FACE, GOT UNDERNEATH HER TALONS AND INTO HER MOUTH. BUT SHOULD SHE CARE? NO! SHE SHOULDN’T AND SHE DOESN’T! 

ALL CHARLIE COULD DO WAS CONTINUE SLASHING CONTINUE KILLING! HE WAS ALREADY DEAD, BUT SHE NEEDED TO KEEP GOING! KEEP GOING, KEEP CLAWING, KEEP SLAMMING HER FISTS INTO HIM UNTIL HE WAS UNIDENTIFIABLE FROM THE FIRST MAN!!

Charlie cranked her head down to the ground, near what used to be Adam’s head. 

Her tongue slithered out from between the razors in her maw and lapped around his halo, still shining as brightly as it had when she first saw him.

She took the halo between her teeth.

And bit it into two halves.

Vaggie is still staring down at Lute. 

Lute is still staring up at Vaggie.

Lute: WELL GO ON! DO IT! KILL ME! LORD KNOWS YOU HAVE YOUR CHANCE NOW!

Vaggie is crying just as much as Lute. 

Vaggie:I-...

Before they could continue, there’s screaming, more screaming than earlier. It wasn't the kind of battle cries or of rage and revenge. 

It was of franticness, anxiety and FEAR.

“ADAM HAS DIED!

“THE MORNINGSTAR HAS KILLED HIM!”

“WHAT DO WE DO!?”

“WHERE’S LUTE?!”

Angel, Husk and Niffty all stayed together for the rest of the battle after what happened with Alastor, they were able to stick to each other, TRUST that they had each others’ backs. 

They were in the middle of fending off a crowd of Exorcists when they all suddenly became erratic once the news of Adam’s death began spreading across the battlefield

Niffty: He’s dead?!

Husk: Charlie actually killed him?

Angel: Oh shit- WE GOTTA FIND CHARLIE!

Vaggie’s head darted back and forth, looking erratically in all directions and trying to process all the new-found chaos.

Charlie killed Adam. He’s dead. 

Vaggie looked back down at Lute, who made no move to get up. She just kept staring at Vaggie, her grip on her arm so tight it looked like her fingers might just break. 

Vaggie: Adam’s dead. I-

Vaggie stopped, the lump in her throat not allowing her to continue. She gripped her face, covering her eye as ugly sobs escaped from her clenched teeth.

“I can’t kill you” Vaggie finally admitted

Vaggie couldn’t kill Lute. And Lute couldn’t kill Vaggie.

What were they to do?

Vaggie: I want to. I WANT TO! But-... But I can’t. I CAN’T DO IT!

She couldn’t kill Lute for the same reasons Lute couldn’t kill her. Lute was her mentor. She was her confidant. Her teacher. Her EVERYTHING. 

They loved each other. 

Vaggie threw her spear to the floor, stood her ground, tall and strong, and jerked her hand up behind her, pointing, “GO!”

Lute didn’t move, she couldn’t move. She couldn’t even speak.

Vaggie: I SAID GO! NOW! 

Wordlessly, Lute got to her feet and spread her wings.

“FALL BACK!” Lute barked at the top of her lungs, her booming voice echoed through the battlefield

Charlie was still slashing at Adam’s butchered corpse when Lute’s “FALL BACK” rang through her ears.

In an instant she jolted up to standing. NO! THEY WEREN’T GETTING AWAY, NO ONE WAS! CHARLIE WANTED EVERYBODY DEAD!!! 

SHE WASN'T GOING TO STOP UNTIL EVERYBODY WAS DEAD!

All Charlie could see was Hellfire and all she could hear were the screams of the damned and she needed MORE AND MORE AND MORE AND MORE!!! 

Angels flew by overhead and she chased them- no, HUNTED THEM! THEY WERE HER’S TO HUNT! THEY WERE IN HER DOMAIN SO THEY WERE HEE'S TO PLAY WITH, TO HUNT, TO EAT, TO KILL!

The enormous portal to Heaven opened back up at the edge of the cliff.

Charlie chased and killed as many Exorcists as she could reach, catapulting herself off debris, stomping over the corpses of those Sinners fallen, NO ONE WAS GOING TO GET IN THE WAY OF WHAT SHE WANTED! 

Lute soared close to the ground, flying past Adam’s lifeless form, swiping up one half of his broken halo.

She had flown past a rabid and HUNGRY CHARLIE!! WHO CHASED AFTER HER! Lute was fast and despite Charlie being naturally faster, she didn’t catch her. Lute knew in the back of her mind, past all the fear and her survival instincts that Charlie just wanted to play with her food. BUT LUTE WASN’T GOING TO DIE! NOT HERE! NOT IN HELL! NOT AFTER VAGGIE JUST SPARED HER-!

Charlie chased the Angels to the portal to Heaven, her long tongue sticking out from her drooling maw and her eyes blown wide, wider than any Heavenly being had ever witnessed before. It made them fly faster. 

In swarms, the Exorcist fled into the portal, Charlie not too far behind, cutting and slicing whatever poor angel that was unlucky enough for her to reach, slicing them clean in half. 

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Lute watched from directly in front of the portal, silently doing a headcount as her Exorcist Angels escaped Hell as fast as they could.

She watched as the Morningstar spawn wasn’t too far behind, painted in golden blood. She was fast approaching and Lute barked out a couple more commands to hurry it up!

The portal was off the cliff, a few hundred feet away from it, below was a sea of dark blood, crashing waves and rocks of spikes. But despite this, the demon didn’t make any efforts to slow down or stop as she was fast approaching the end of the rock face.

Then, Lute’s breath got stuck in her throat.

Charlotte pounced off the edge of the cliff. She couldn’t be serious! There was no way she could make this jump! Even for all her strength, it was too far! She’s gone mad!

And Lute was right. The demon couldn’t make the jump.

She managed to get a good birth from the cliff but it proved not enough, as soon as Charlie neared the middle distance between he cliff and the portal, her leap began dropping downwards and-

“CHARLIE!”

Lute’s head darted away from the descending demon and her eyes widened as she spotted Vaggie barreling off the edge of the cliff as well. THAT IDIOT! DID SHE WANT TO GET HERSELF KILLED ALONG WITH THAT HELLSPAWN!?

Lute felt her body jerk forward in its spot flying in the sky before she froze again-

FWOOSH!

Vaggie caught Charlotte.

Vaggie was-

“She’s flying…” Lute mumbled to herself 

Vaggie was flying. Her wings. Wings that she REMEMBERED slicing clean off 3 years ago had sprouted from her back just as any other angel could. FLYING just like any other angel.

And she had caught the demon.

All of a sudden, Lute couldn’t breathe again. 

Vaggie’s wings had grown back? How? Was it instinct? Was it pure luck? She had saved Charlotte. Lute didn’t even know it was possible for the wings of an angel to grow back after being sliced off by an angelic blade…

Vaggie had caught Charlie by under her arms and was currently flying them away from the portal and back to the ground. Lute stared at Vaggie.

How did she do that? How could her wings just… grow back like that?

Her wings grew back to save the Heir. 

Even after all this time, even after everything that’s happened, Vaggie still found ways to surprise Lute.

Vaggie glanced back at her one last time.

Lute continued to stare from the other side of the portal, even after it closed.

(This is when Vaggie's wings grow back, the FIRST TIME she has them since they were cut off, she does NOT get them in “Hello Rosie”) 

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

PART 5

[tojisun]

kinktober — 20: edging

jake sully x omatikaya fem reader

!! smut - minors dni; a blink-and-you'll-miss-it cervix penetration

kinktober mlist

jake has been at it for hours now, you think. 

time has slipped past your mind, leaving you trembling with the drawl of pleasure that he loved to rip from you; letting it build over and over, driving your pleasure to its peak, almost tipping over, only for him to stop. 

you screamed and wailed at each turn, thrashing on his hold, but jake is resolute in his pursuit of ruining you. resolute in making you feel the drags of unobtainable euphoria. 

you shouldn’t have trusted him, you think to yourself as you blink your eyes close when his cock slips out of you once again – you’ve lost count of how many rounds have passed.

it was jake who asked you to try it out, after all – this tawtute lovemaking. 

(“lemme edge you out, my sweet,” he murmured, pressing his lips against your skin, kissing and nipping. marking. 

“okay,” you told him, mind hazy from his wandering lips. “please make me feel good.”

he pulled back just enough to flash you the dangerous grin that tickles his lips at hearing your words, his fangs glinting amidst the darkness in your guys’ secret place – a product of your shared desire to slink somewhere private. somewhere where date nights could be fulfilled.

“i promise,” he said.)

like a fucking liar.

“jake, please. please,” you hiccup, eyes unfocused from the intensity of the stimulation he’s put you through, feeling the way your skin buzzed, engulfed by uncharted flames of ecstasy.

but jake just slaps his cock on the damp lips of your cunt, smirking even when his eyes have thinned to golden rings, his chest heaving from his own lack of release. 

“shh, yawne,” he murmurs, his voice gruff and rugged. “not yet.”

not yet – you are quickly getting tired of those words. 

he’s been repeating them since the teasing started, pressing the words either on the swell of your breasts or muffling them on the crook of your neck, his nose buried in the most sensitive expanse of your skin where your scent lay the strongest. it was a mantra that drove you crazy, reducing you into trembling with need.

you sob, rubbing your fists against your wet eyes, but jake just croons, teasing, and drags the heavy weight of his cock along your slit and into your entrance once more, slapping the head of it against your hardened nub once, two times, before he breaches past the tender skin and fills you up to the hilt again. 

you howl, pleasure razing your sanity, feeling its tendrils drag from the core of your heat to the bottom of your spine. your eyes roll to the back of your skull when you feel jake’s hand pressing down on your belly, rumbles of elation rippling from his throat. 

“i’m back here again, paskalin,” he whispers, his voice edging into something possessive. “can you feel just how deep i am?”

you grit through the dizzying pleasure to give him a weak nod, your toes curling when jake pulls out only to slam back in, fucking you with a broken tempo. he loves doing this – dragging out his cock in slow strokes, making you feel the entirety of its length, only to punch it into your cunt, the leaking head of it kissing so deep in you. 

“jake, wanna- ah! wanna cum!” you beg even though you know it will be fruitless. because you know him, you know your lover who is too stubborn and playful and selfish. you know that he will drag this on until you are voiceless from crying and your body is trembling uncontrollably.

because it hurts and the hurt is so good.

and jake laughs, a mean and crooning sound ripping from the base of his throat, because he knows. 

he meets your teary gaze and says, “not yet.”

tags: @pandoraslxna @stargirlrchive @plooto @liwooa

[get-the-paddles81]

A Random Dark Resus Fantasy

(TW: Negative outcome) Unable to open my eyes, I hear Alison's smokey voice. "Alex... Alex, wake up!" She jostles my shoulders, her warm hands on my rapidly cooling body. "Alex! Damnit!" I feel the force of her fist drive into the center of my chest, her violent precordial thump not enough to convert the chaotic jumble of electric impulses in my chest to a productive rhythm. She fumbles through the "play" drawer next to our bed and finds the EKG tabs. Dotting my chest and connecting the leads is easy work for her. Flicking on the monitor, the wavy green line confirms what she already instinctively knew. My heart is fibrillating worthlessly in my chest. I'll never know if she called out the rhythms of the code for herself or for me. "He's in V-Fib. Charging the paddles to 200." I hear her pick up the paddles out of the cradle. The drawer opening and the sound of the gel tube being flicked open desperately. Gel squirting onto the cold metal plates. Dropping the gel tube onto the floor in a state of panic. The feeling of the paddles pressed into my idle chest is indescribable. "Clear!" My chest jerks as the current slams my ill-behaving heart. I fall back limp. The alert on the monitor pauses, then resumes screaming. "Still fibrillating. Charging 300. Come back to me, baby. Please." She doesn't remove the paddles from my chest. I feel her drag them around in my chest hair. I desperately want to feel the shock again. "C'mon baby. Clear!" 300 joules feels like seductive fire across my entire body. I want to rise to meet her. My body does, indeed, rise. But then it falls back limp. "Still fibrillating. Fuck! C'mon Alex, don't do this to me." I don't want to, but I can't force my heart to beat. "Charging 360... clear!" The maximum power shock sends my being over the edge. It feels like I'm orgasming, even though I'm clinically dead. Pleasure surging across every inch of my body. The alarm pauses. It comes back, but it's changed. "Flatline. Fuck, Alex! No! Come back to me!!!" Dropping the paddles to the floor, I feel Alison's plump, warm lips seal over mine. I want to kiss her, make my tongue dance with hers. But it won't respond. I can only feel every amazing action that she's taking to save my life. Her warm air makes my chest rise, fall. Rise, fall. The flatline is broken only by her powerful chest compressions. I feel my idle heart squeeze between my spine and my ribs. Alison counts off the compressions. The feeling begins to fade. Everything begins to cloud. Her voice muffles. "Alex, no... you can't do this to me... come back..." She pauses compressions and the muffled flatline resumes. She lifts my head, pinches my nose, and seals her lips over mine again. Nothing. More compressions. More mouth-to-mouth. I hear her screaming at me, but I can't make out the words. Just the flatline tone, trailing off as the darkness takes me.