#disaster con «✦» ( main

[hxllblazer-a2]

@all-nights-dreaming - starter call

It was happening again, wasn’t it? 

He didn’t make it a habit to be aware of astral space, or he at least tried to avoid it, but sometimes when the same horrific dreams haunted for years it became a bit of a habit. Probably also something to account for when said space came from one's own mind. Maybe. Magic was just stupid like that. Really stupid. 

He supposed the first sign should’ve been when the girl with the bob cut and brass knuckles started talking like a posh princess fresh out of the palace. The second? Probably the birds. Always the fucking birds. 

“Fuuuuuuuuuckin' hell... not another rainbow unicorn farty fetch quest...” His finger pressed to his temple with a bit of a frustrated groan. “Alright y’ sad soppy excuse for a secondary school goth kid, show yourself!” 

[thighsa]

BEAUTIFUL MONSTER

Artist :

StayC Isa X Male Reader (Third Person POV)

Tags :

Wardrobe Malfunction, Female Masturbation, Masochist Fetish, Kidnap, Forced Sex, Rough Sex, Rape, BDSM, Bondage, Virgin, Anal, Anal Virginity, Gangbang, Double Penetration, Blowjob, Deepthroat, Creampie, Gape, Sex Tape, Blackmail, Drug Usages, Slut, Cam Girl, Sex Slave, Prostitution, Strip Dancer, Golden Shower, Humiliation,

Warning : Non Con Smut, This smut is going to be a long one.

(please don't read if you don't like it, thanks!)

CHAPTER 1 : THE CONCERT OF A RAISING K-POP GROUP

Finding herself standing in the bustling backstage of a colossal concert venue, the air thick with anticipation and the sweet scent of hairspray. Lee Chaeyoung, or as the world knows, Isa, a rising star in the glittering universe of K-Pop as part of the sensational girl group, StayC. With her heart racing in her chest, she look into the mirror and adjust the glittering hairpin in her raven locks, her reflection showcasing her flawless makeup and piercing gaze. Isa run her hands over her curvy hips and give her thick, toned thighs a squeeze, drawing confidence from the power they hold. The sound of the crowd's roar crescendos as the opening chords of her latest hit echo through the corridor. The stage calls, and she takes a deep breath, ready to captivate the world once more with her unparalleled charm and talent. "It's showtime, Isa," her manager says with a nod of encouragement. Isa flash a dazzling smile, feeling the excitement surge through her as she step into the spotlight.

The stage lights hit Isa like a meteor shower, illuminating her scintillating, revealing outfit. The ensemble is a masterpiece of modern fashion K-Pop flair: a crop top that barely contains her ample cleavage, paired with a thick leather jacket as the outerwear, and a skirt that hikes high on her hips, showcasing her voluptuous thighs and perfectly curvy rounded ass. Her long, silky legs seem to go on forever, ending in a pair of thigh-high boots that scream confidence with every step. The crowd goes wild at the sight of her, the sea of faces blurring into a tapestry of admiration and desire.

With the opening beats of the song pulsing through her veins, Isa takes control of the stage like a tempest, her body moving in a symphony of seduction and precision. She's the main dancer, the heart of StayC's choreography, and her every move is calculated to leave the audience breathless. Her hips sway and pop in time with the music, her curvy figure a mesmerizing spectacle under the strobing lights. Her bandmates follow her lead, their movements synchronized like a well-oiled machine, but it's Isa's fiery charisma that truly sets the stage alight.

The choreography intensifies, and Isa leaps into a high kick, her skirt fluttering up to reveal a hint of the lacey thong she's wearing underneath. The fans scream even louder, their phones raised in a forest of flashing lights, eagerly capturing every moment. Suddenly, as she lands, there's a sharp tug, and the unthinkable happens: the clasp of her top gives way, the fabric parting to expose her right breast to the thousands of eyes in the arena. For a split second, time seems to stand still, the music a distant echo in the face of the impending disaster.

But Isa is a seasoned performer. Without missing a beat, she cups her hand over her breast, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of red that only serves to enhance her allure. The crowd's gasps are drowned out by the bass drop, and she spins away from the audience, using the momentum to conceal the wardrobe malfunction. The other members of StayC, caught off guard, exchange worried glances but Isa waves them off, signaling to continue as if nothing happened. Her professionalism is a beacon of calm in the storm of chaos, a testament to her unshakeable poise.

The moment Isa's breast is exposed, a ripple of shock waves through the arena, but it's quickly swallowed by a frenzy of excitement and anticipation. The flashes of cameras and phones are so intense that it's as if a thousand paparazzi have descended upon the stage. The video of her wardrobe malfunction is captured from every conceivable angle, the digital eyes of the audience eager to preserve the scandalous moment for posterity. The videos are uploaded to social media faster than you can blink, spreading like wildfire across various platforms, hashtags springing up like mushrooms in the aftermath of a storm.

While the performance goes on, the malfunction is a mere hiccup in the grand scheme of things. Isa's swift recovery and the sheer force of StayC's stage presence are enough to keep the audience enthralled. The music, the lights, the dance as they all conspire to distract from the brief flash of nudity. The other members of the group, though shaken by the unexpected turn of events, keep their cool, their movements sharp and their expressions composed.

As soon as Isa enters the backstage, the situation is a different story. The second the music stops, a cacophony of worried whispers and frantic gestures replace the organized chaos of pre-show preparations. The manager's eyes widen in horror as they watch the live feed of the performance, their hand slapped over their mouth in disbelief. "Oh no," they murmur, their mind racing with the potential repercussions. "Isa, are you okay?" they ask, rushing towards Isa.

Isa, though still flustered, nods with a forced smile. "It's fine," she says, trying to shrug off the embarrassment that clings to her like the sweat on her skin. "It was just a wardrobe malfunction. It happens." Her voice is steady, but the tremble in her hand as she adjusts her costume gives away her nerves. She quickly gathers her composure, drawing on the iron will that's brought her to the top of the K-Pop world. "We'll just have to make sure it doesn't happen again," she adds with a determined glint in her eye.

The concert ends with a thunderous applause, and as the final notes of the last song die out, Isa is ushered backstage, her heart racing not just from the exhilaration of the performance but also from the fear of what's to come. She quickly locks herself in the waiting room, the sound of the cheering fans a muffled roar behind the thick door. Pulling out her phone, her hands shaking with a mix of excitement and mortification, she opens up various social media apps, her fingers flying across the screen as she searches for any sign of the wardrobe malfunction. It doesn't take long for her to find it a video of her exposed breast has already amassed millions of views and countless comments, both supportive and malicious.

Her heart sinks as she reads through the comments. While there are fans praising her professionalism and others sharing their own stories of similar mishaps, there's also a sea of cruel words, body-shaming, and accusations of it being a publicity stunt. The weight of the negative attention is crushing, a stark reminder of the darker side of the industry she's worked so hard to conquer. She tries to push the negativity aside, focusing instead on the love and support from her devoted fanbase. Yet, the fear of losing everything she's worked for gnaws at her like a ravenous beast.

As she was scrolling at the comments, an advertisement popped up in her phone, Isa's hand trembles with anticipation as she opens the screen fills with a smorgasbord of explicit thumbnails, each one more graphic and enticing than the last. She bites her bottom lip, her pulse racing as she selects a video that promises the depraved thrills.

With the door locked tight and the cacophony of the concert now a distant memory, her hand shakes as she sets it aside, her eyes glazed with a mix of excitement and trepidation. She's never truly allowed herself to explore this side of her sexuality, but something about the raw, unbridled passion within its pages has her craving release. Her hand slides down her torso, her fingertips grazing the smooth skin of her stomach before delving beneath her skirt. The fabric of her thong is damp with anticipation, the fabric clinging to her plump pussy lips as she slides it aside. Her heart hammers in her chest as she touches herself, her virginity a mere technicality in the face of her burning need.

The video starts with a petite Asian girl, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and excitement, surrounded by a group of well-endowed black men. They're all grinning like predators, and Isa can feel the heat rising in her cheeks as she watches. She watches, rapt, as the men in the video begin to touch and kiss the girl, her cries of pleasure growing louder with every passing second. The scene is a whirlwind of flesh and desire, a symphony of lust that resonates deep within Isa's core.

Her clit is swollen and sensitive, begging for attention. With a gasp, she rubs it furiously, her other hand squeezing her full breast, the nipple pebbled with arousal. She's seen the way the men in the videos looked at the bound women, the hunger in their eyes, and she craves that same intense focus. Her imagination runs wild, her hand moving faster as she imagines herself in the girl's place, her thick thighs spread wide and her plump ass jiggling with every rough thrust. The walls of the waiting room seem to close in around her, the pressure building with every stroke. The room is filled with the sweet sound of her moans, each one louder and more desperate than the last.

Her breathing quickens, her chest heaving as she watches the men take turns with the girl, her small frame seemingly incapable of containing the sheer size of their cocks. The sight of it all is almost too much, and yet she can't tear her eyes away. Her own hand is a blur between her legs now, her fingers working her clit with a fervor that borders on desperation. The tension builds, a crescendo of pleasure that threatens to shatter her very soul.

Isa's orgasm hits her like a meteor, her entire body convulsing with the force of it. Her pussy clenches around her fingers, her juices spraying out in a fountain that soaks her hand and the floor beneath her. The pleasure is so intense, so overwhelming, that for a brief moment, she forgets where she is, lost in a world of pure ecstasy. The image of the gangbang in the porn video blurs with her own reflection in the mirror, the line between fantasy and reality growing thinner by the second. Her eyes squeeze shut, her teeth digging into her lower lip as she rides the wave of her climax, her moans echoing through the empty waiting room.

When she finally opens her eyes, the aftermath of her solo performance is stark: her hand is sticky with her own fluids, her chest heaving, and her cheeks flushed. The video on her phone is still playing, but the sound has been muted by the roar of the blood in her ears. She pulls her hand away, her pussy quivering, and looks down at the mess she's made. There's a twinge of guilt, a whisper of doubt that flits through her mind, but it's quickly drowned out by the lingering aftershocks of pleasure.

The echoes of Isa's powerful orgasm still resonate through the air as she slowly comes to terms with the reality of what just happened. Her heart thunders in her chest, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. The sticky warmth of her cum is a stark reminder of the unbridled passion that had just consumed her, leaving her trembling and slightly embarrassed at the wet spot on the floor. The mirror reflects an image of a girl who's just crossed an unspoken line, her eyes glazed over with a mix of satisfaction and curiosity about the dark desires that now lay bare before her.

As she takes a deep breath and attempts to compose herself, the harshness of the fluorescent lights seems to cast a judgmental glare on her naked form. The glitz and glamour of the stage have been stripped away, revealing the vulnerable young woman beneath the K-Pop images. She quickly cleans up the evidence of her masturbation, feeling a strange mix of excitement and fear. What if someone finds out about her newfound kink? Would it ruin her image? Would it change how her fans see her?

The thought sends a shiver down her spine, but it's quickly replaced by a fiery determination. This is her private time, her own little secret, and she won't let it define her public persona. She tucks the magazine back into its hiding spot, her eyes lingering on the cover for a moment longer before she turns away. The concert is over, the fans are dispersing, and she's still a star. The malfunction was a blip on the radar, something to be handled with grace and professionalism.

CHAPTER 2 : THE THUGS AND THE KIDNAP

The night air is cool against Isa's flushed skin as she slips out of the venue, hoping to avoid the usual post-concert fanfare. She chooses a shortcut through a dimly lit alley, eager to be alone with her thoughts and the aftermath of her public exposure. But the shadows hold more than just her secrets. As she walks, the echo of her boots against the concrete is soon accompanied by the jeering laughter and heavy footsteps of a group of thugs. They've recognized her from the viral video, their leering smiles growing wider as they approach.

"Well, well, well," the leader says, his voice slithering through the alley like a serpent's hiss. "If it isn't the little show-off from the concert. Did you do that for us, sweetheart?" His eyes rake over her body, a blatant hunger that sends a chill down her spine. The other men close in, their intentions as clear as the moon in the sky above.

Isa's heart races as she tries to keep a brave face. "Excuse me, I'm in a hurry," she says, her voice wavering slightly. She tries to step around them, but they block her path, their bodies a wall of malicious intent.

"Oh, we'll make sure you're not late for your next appointment," the leader sneers, reaching out to grab her arm. His grip is like iron, his nails digging into her soft flesh. "We're your biggest fans, you know. We just want to show you some... appreciation." The men chuckle in unison, their eyes glinting with a predatory gleam.

Isa's mind races as she tries to pull away, her heart hammering against her ribcage. "Please, let me go," she pleads, her voice a whisper of the confident performer she was mere hours ago. But the thugs are relentless, closing in tighter, their hands grabbing at her exposed skin with a hunger that makes her stomach churn.

The leader leans in, his breath hot and sour against her neck. "You liked showing us your goods earlier, didn't you?" he growls, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "Now it's our turn to play." His hand moves to her crop top, fumbling with the clasp as the others grab at her skirt.

Isa's body tenses as the thug's rough hand clamps down on her right nipple, his grip tight and painful. He gives it a twist, a sadistic smile playing across his lips as he watches her face contort in a mix of pain and humiliation. Her eyes water, and she tries to stifle a scream, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of knowing how much it hurts. The fabric of her crop top tears under their greedy hands, the remnants of her dignity shredded along with it. Her bare chest is exposed to the cool night air, her breasts jiggling slightly as the men lean in to get a closer look. The pain from her nipple is a sharp reminder of the danger she's in, sending a jolt of adrenaline through her veins.

One of the thugs, emboldened by his leader's actions, reaches out to cup her left breast, his palm greedily squeezing the soft flesh. "Guys, look at these tits," he says, licking his lips. "I bet you've had these out more often than you've had your panties on, huh?" His leer is almost comical in its depravity, but the fear gripping Isa's heart is anything but amusing. She tries to kick him away, but her legs are trapped in the tangle of her skirt, which is now around her ankles.

The thug's hand snakes down Isa's torso, his thick, calloused fingers digging into her soft flesh as they make their way to her thighs. He squeezes them with a groan of appreciation, the other men following his lead. They all seem to have the same idea, their grubby hands reaching out to grope and fondle her thick, muscular thighs and plump ass. Isa's breath hitches in her throat as she feels the unmistakable bulges in their pants pressing against her, their excitement palpable in the tense air of the alley.

"Let go of me, you animals!" she shouts, trying to struggle free, but their grip is too strong. They laugh, their breaths hot and heavy, as they continue to maul her. The leader's hand slides up her skirt, his fingers brushing against the damp fabric of her thong. "Looks like someone enjoyed their little show," he sneers, his fingers probing further, pushing the fabric aside to reveal her glistening pussy. "You're a wet little slut, aren't you?"

Isa's body is a flurry of panic as the thugs overpower her, their rough hands tearing at her clothing and pinning her down. They're like a pack of hyenas, each fighting for a piece of their prey. Her legs kick and thrash, but it's no use; she's outnumbered and outmatched. One of the men pulls out a roll of duct tape, ripping off a piece with a grin that could only be described as sadistic. He slaps it over her mouth, silencing her protests and muffling her screams into desperate whimpers. The taste of the tape is bitter and metallic, and the smell fills her nostrils as she struggles to breathe.

Within minutes, they've managed to tie her wrists behind her back and her ankles together, hoisting her into the back of a waiting van. The doors slam shut, plunging her into darkness. The van lurches forward, and Isa's stomach drops as she's thrown around on the cold, hard floor. She can't help but wonder if this is the end, if she'll ever make it out of here to see her bandmates again. The thought of her friends, her music, her fans, it all fuels a burning anger within her, giving her the strength to keep fighting, even if it's just in her own mind.

The van ride seems to last an eternity, but it eventually comes to a jarring stop. The doors open, and Isa is dragged out by her arms, her feet barely touching the ground as the thugs pull her along. They've brought her to an abandoned house, the smell of decay and dampness fills her nostrils as she's tossed into a musty, dimly lit room. The duct tape is ripped from her mouth, and she gasps for air, the sting of pain from her bruised skin making her eyes water.

The leader of the thugs grabs a fistful of Isa's hair, yanking her head back to expose her neck. "On your knees," he commands, his voice a low growl. Isa's legs wobble, but she complies, her heart pounding in her chest. He shoves her down onto a filthy rag that covers the floor, the grime and dust of ages sticking to her skin as she lands with a whimper. The fabric is rough against her knees, the sensation only adding to her growing sense of dread and disgust.

The thugs are like hungry beasts before a feast as they strip Isa of her remaining clothing. They tear away her crop top and skirt, leaving her in nothing but her drenched thong. The fabric clings to her body, revealing the full extent of her plump, glistening ass and her thick, toned thighs. The leader rips the thong away, tossing it aside with a grunt. Isa's nakedness is laid bare, her curves and the dark patch of hair between her legs on full display for their depraved eyes. She tries to cover herself, but her bound wrists are useless, and she's pushed back down onto the rag. The coldness of the floor seeps into her, a stark contrast to the heat of the lust in the room.

"Look at her, begging for it," one of the men leers, his eyes glazed over with desire.

The leader of the thugs unzips his pants with a dramatic flourish, revealing a cock that's both terrifying and awe-inspiring in its size. It's thick and long, the veins pulsing with anticipation as it stands proudly against his muscular thigh. The other men follow suit, their cocks of varying sizes but all equally hungry for her. The room is filled with the sound of zippers and the rustle of fabric as they expose themselves, their erections bobbing in the dim light. Isa's eyes widen in horror, unable to look away from the display of male aggression and lust.

The thug's cock slams into Isa with a brutal force that steals the breath from her lungs. She screams into the gag, her eyes watering as she tries to comprehend the pain and violation. Her tight, untouched pussy stretches to accommodate his massive girth, the sensation a blend of agony and unwelcome pleasure that sends shockwaves through her body. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as he fucks her without mercy, his hips slamming into her thick ass, leaving bruises that will surely last for days. The other thugs form a ring around them, jerking themselves off to the sight of the K-Pop star's degradation, their eyes glinting with malice as they wait for their turn.

As the second thug positions himself beneath her, his cock pressing against her unprepared anus, Isa's eyes widen with terror. She's never even considered such an act before, and the thought of it fills her with a visceral fear that's only heightened by the brutality of the rape she's already enduring. He doesn't bother with lubrication or gentleness, simply pushing his way into her with the same violent enthusiasm as his comrades. Isa's screams are muffled by the gag as she's stretched to the limits, her body a battleground for their twisted desires.

The sensation of being double-penetrated is unlike anything Isa has ever experienced. The pain is unbearable, a fiery invasion that seems to rip her apart from the inside out. She tries to squirm away, but the weight of the man beneath her keeps her in place, his hands gripping her hips as he thrusts up into her. The thug behind her shows no mercy, his thick cock pummeling her pussy without pause. Her body is a symphony of pain, each movement sending a new wave of agony crashing through her.

Isa's cries for help echo through the abandoned house, her body contorting in pain as she's mercilessly used by the two thugs. Her eyes are squeezed shut, and her cheeks are stained with tears as she rides the edge of the agony they inflict upon her. Her thick, curvy body is a canvas of their brutality, each thrust into her ass and pussy a testament to their depraved hunger. The sound of her cries mingles with the sickening wet slaps of their bodies coming together, the squelching of her ravaged holes as they're stretched beyond their limits.

"Look at her, taking it like a champ," the man beneath her says, his voice thick with lust. He grabs her ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he fucks her harder, the head of his cock popping out of her asshole with every thrust before plunging back in. The other man, the one who had been watching, decides he can't wait any longer. He moves closer, stroking his cock in time with the rhythm of his friends' rape, his eyes never leaving Isa's tear-stained face.

The pain and degradation become too much for Isa, and her body finally gives out. Her vision swims, and she faints, her head lolling back as the thugs continue to pound into her, their grunts and the squelching of her ravaged holes the last things she hears before everything goes dark. Her muscles relax, no longer resisting the intrusion, and for a brief moment, she finds a small reprieve in unconsciousness.

But the thugs are not content to let her escape so easily. The leader notices her stillness and gives her a vicious slap across the face, bringing her back to the world of pain with a gasp. "Wake up, slut," he snarls, twisting her nipple to the point where she can feel it might snap off. "You're still far from done."

Isa's eyes fly open, the pain in her nipple a white-hot beacon of agony that cuts through the fog of her fading consciousness. The thug holding her by the hair yanks her upright, and she's forced to look at the man beneath her, his cock still buried in her ass, his face twisted in a grotesque mask of pleasure. "You like it rough, don't you?" he asks, his voice a sneer. "You're going to love what we have planned for you next."

The thug beneath Isa doesn't miss a beat, his hips continuing to piston upwards, his cock tearing into her ass without mercy. He's a man possessed, driven by his own twisted desires and the thrill of defiling a celebrity. The thug in front of her, his cock still buried deep in her pussy, starts to fuck her even harder, his movements punctuated by the cruel twists of her nipple. The pain is unbearable, but the fear of what they'll do if she doesn't stay conscious keeps her eyes open, her body tense.

"You're going to make a great little porn star," the leader says, holding up his phone to capture the scene. "Just think, your fans will get to see the real you." His words are like acid, burning into her soul as the thugs continue to ravage her body. Isa feels a strange mix of anger and humiliation, her mind racing as she tries to find a way out of this nightmare. But for now, she's trapped, a plaything for their sick games.

The third man steps closer, his cock bobbing with excitement. "My turn," he says, his voice guttural. He grabs her hair, yanking her head back so he can whisper in her ear. "You're going to suck me off, and you're going to love it." The taste of the duct tape is still in her mouth as he forces his cock between her lips, her gag muffling her gagging noises. He's not gentle, pushing his way into her throat until she chokes, her eyes watering and nose running with snot. The men laugh, the sound a symphony of cruelty that rings in her ears as she's used in ways she never imagined.

The camera's red light glares at her, a silent witness to her degradation. The thug filming zooms in on her face, capturing the tears streaming down her cheeks, the snot bubbling at her nose, the pain in her eyes. He moves it down to her gaping pussy and asshole, the juices of her rape mixing with the grime of the floor. "You're going to be famous, baby," he says, his voice a sadistic purr. "Everyone's going to see you like this." The thought of her fans watching this, of her family discovering her darkest secret, fills her with a despair so deep she thinks she might drown in it.

But Isa isn't one to go down without a fight. With a surge of strength she didn't know she had, she bucks her hips, trying to dislodge the cocks inside her. The men laugh, tightening their grips, but she doesn't stop. Her body is a whirlwind of pain and fear, but she refuses to let them have complete control over her. The thug filming moves closer, his cock pressing against her cheek. "Suck it," he says, his voice a demand. "You know you want too."

The thugs continue to abuse Isa's unconscious body, her muscles now limp and unresponsive. They take turns fucking her, their cocks sliding in and out of her gaping holes with ease. Her pussy and asshole are stretched to the maximum, the flesh around them raw and torn from their abuse. They laugh and jeer as they use her, their sadistic pleasure clear in every grunt and slap against her flesh. The one filming keeps a close watch, making sure to capture every moment of her degradation.

"Look at her, she's like a fucking ragdoll," one of the men says, pulling out of her pussy and smacking her cheek with his wet cock. "I bet she's never thought she will be fucked like this before." he added.

The thugs, sated by their depraved act, stand up, their cocks still dripping with Isa's blood and cum. They laugh among themselves, basking in the power they've exerted over her. The leader grabs a roll of rope from the corner of the room and approaches her limp form. They hoist her up, her body hanging lifelessly as they tie her wrists tightly to a metal bar that's bolted to the wall. The cold metal bites into her skin, leaving red welts that stand out starkly against her pale flesh. They bind her ankles as well, spreading her legs wide, her gaping holes still on display.

"Leave her like this," the leader says with a malicious smile. "It'll be a surprise when she wakes up."

The men chuckle as they pull on their clothes, their eyes lingering on Isa's bruised and bloodied body. They grab a few bottles of water from a dusty shelf, tossing them at her feet. "You're going to need these," one of them says, his voice filled with mock concern.

Isa slowly comes to, her head lolling to the side as she tries to make sense of her surroundings. The pain between her legs is a constant, pulsing throb, a stark reminder of the horror she's endured. She looks down at her bound wrists, the metal digging into her skin, and feels a wave of despair wash over her. She tries to scream, but her voice is gone, lost to the screams of the night before. All that comes out is a hoarse whisper that's barely audible even to her own ears.

Her eyes fall on the bottles of water, a cruel taunt in the face of her suffering. With trembling hands, she manages to untie the knots around her ankles, the rope scraping against her raw, bruised skin. Wincing, she uses the bar to pull herself up into a standing position, her legs threatening to give out beneath her. Every movement sends a fresh wave of agony through her body, but she refuses to succumb to it. Determined to survive, she hobbles over to the water, her legs shaking with effort.

The liquid is lukewarm and stale, but it's a gift from the gods as it hits her parched throat. She gulps down half the bottle, feeling a semblance of life return to her. Her eyes scan the room, searching for anything she can use to free herself. The metal bar digs into her wrists as she tries to pull herself together, the pain a stark reminder of her new reality. In the corner, she spots a rusty knife, discarded amidst the detritus of the abandoned house.

CHAPTER 3 : ANYTHING TO RELIEVE MY PAIN

The leader of the thugs saunters back into the room, a sadistic smile playing across his face as he watches Isa's futile attempts to free herself. He's followed by two of his laughing comrades, their eyes raking over her bruised and bloodied form with predatory interest. Isa tries to shrink away from them, but her bound body refuses to cooperate. The leader pulls a syringe filled with a murky liquid from his pocket and strides over to her, his cock already thickening at the sight of her fear.

"You're going to love this, sweetheart," he says, his voice a sinister purr as he approaches her. "It's going to make you feel so good, you'll be begging us to come back." He grabs her chin, forcing her to look at him. "You're going to be our little addict, aren't you?"

Isa's eyes widen with terror as she watches him prepare the syringe, her heart hammering in her chest. She tries to pull away, but the metal bar is unforgiving, holding her firmly in place. The needle pierces her skin, the cold liquid invading her body, and she feels a rush of warmth followed by a nauseating wave of dizziness. Her legs give out, and she slumps to the floor, the thug holding her up with a grip on her hair. The drug takes effect quickly, a euphoric haze clouding her mind, muting the pain and fear.

"Look at her, she's already a junkie," one of the other thugs says, laughing. "This is going to be so much fun."

The leader chuckles, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. "You're going to be our little slut for as long as we want you," he whispers in her ear. The drug is already starting to make Isa feel woozy, her thoughts a tangled mess of fear and confusion. She tries to fight it, to cling to the last vestiges of her dignity, but the haze is too strong.

As Isa's eyes roll back in her head and she succumbs to the drug-induced faint, the thugs chuckle to themselves, their sadistic games successful. They leave her there, sprawled on the cold floor, her body a canvas of bruises and abuse. The abandoned house is silent once more, the only sound the distant echoes of their laughter. Days pass, and the drug takes a firmer hold on Isa's system, turning her into a desperate, addicted wreck. The withdrawal is a monster that gnaws at her bones, making her crave the very thing that has brought her to this state of despair. Her mind is foggy, and the pain between her legs is a constant, pulsing reminder of their brutality.

Isa, desperate and overwhelmed by the relentless craving for the drug, finds herself succumbing to the thugs' twisted demand. With the camera's red light blinking in the corner, she hesitates for a moment before sliding her trembling hand down her bruised body. She's lost count of the times she's been violated, the rapes and abuse leaving her feeling both physically and mentally shattered. Her fingers tentatively trace her swollen pussy lips, the sensation sending a jolt through her despite the pain. The drug has turned her into a sexual creature, her body now a tool for their perverse entertainment.

The thugs circle around her, their cocks hardening at the sight of her submission. They jeer and leer, urging her on with crude comments and lewd gestures. One of them grabs her chin, forcing her to look into the camera. "Smile for the camera, slut," he sneers, his breath hot and rancid against her cheek. Isa's eyes are vacant, glazed over with the need for the drug that will dull the agony of withdrawal. She whimpers, her hand moving faster, her thumb brushing against her clit, trying to coax out the release she so desperately craves.

The leader steps closer, his hand stroking his own cock as he watches Isa's pitiful performance. "That's a good girl," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. "Now, spread those legs wider for us." The pain in her thighs and ass is unbearable, but she complies, her body now a tool for their depraved amusement. The camera zooms in on her, capturing the raw desperation in her eyes, the tears that roll down her cheeks. The men cheer, their excitement palpable as they watch her degrade herself for a fleeting moment of relief.

Isa's hand moves faster, her fingers slipping in and out of her wet pussy, the sound of her masturbation echoing through the room. The drug has heightened her sensitivity, and even the slightest touch feels like a bolt of lightning. Her body responds despite her mind's protests, her hips bucking involuntarily as she tries to get herself off. The thug holding the camera leans in closer, his breath hot on her neck. "You're going to be the best little slut we've ever had," he whispers, his hand reaching out to tweak her nipple, sending a fresh wave of pain through her.

The leader watches with a cruel smile, stroking his own cock as he decides how far to push her. "Keep going," he says, his voice a command. "I want to see you cum for us." The other two thugs sit back, watching the show with eager eyes. They've grown bored of the usual rape and pain, the novelty of her masturbation a new form of entertainment. They make lewd comments, egging her on as she fucks herself for them.

With trembling hands, Isa takes the massive dildos from the leader's outstretched hand. They're much larger than anything she's ever seen before, let alone had inside her. Her eyes fill with fear and revulsion, but the desperate craving for the drug overpowers her. She knows what will happen if she refuses, the memory of the withdrawal agony fresh in her mind. With a deep, shuddering breath, she slowly inserts one of the dildos into her already abused pussy, the thickness stretching her beyond what she thought possible. She bites back a scream, her teeth sinking into her lower lip until she tastes blood. The other dildo is cold and unwieldy in her hand, but she knows what's expected. She reluctantly brings it closer to her asshole, the memory of their violent rape making her shiver.

The thugs leer at her, their cocks fully erect and bobbing with anticipation. The leader's hand is still wrapped around his shaft, stroking it with a leisurely pace. "Go on," he urges, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "You know what to do."

With a whimper, Isa braces herself and pushes the second dildo into her asshole, the thick head popping in with a wet sound. She can feel the cold plastic filling her up, the sensation both terrifying and oddly comforting in the face of the pain she's come to expect. She starts to rock back and forth, the dildos moving in tandem, filling her completely. The thugs cheer, their eyes glued to her stretched, gaping holes. The pain is intense, but she's learned to separate her mind from her body, focusing instead on the task at hand.

The leader steps closer, his cock now fully erect and pointing at her like an accusatory finger. "You like that, don't you?" he sneers, his hand reaching out to tweak her clit. The sudden contact sends a jolt of pain through her, and she gasps, her eyes squeezing shut. "Look at us," he commands, his grip on her chin brutal. "Look at us while you fuck yourself."

Isa's eyes fly open, and she looks into the camera, the dildos moving in and out of her in a macabre dance. The pain is unbearable, but she knows she has to keep going. She starts to rub her clit with frenzied strokes, her eyes never leaving the camera. The thugs cheer her on, their excitement feeding the darkness inside her. Her orgasm is a strange, twisted thing, born from pain and fear. Her body convulses around the dildos, her muscles clenching and releasing in a desperate bid for relief. She cums hard, the sensation a blend of agony and pleasure that makes her scream, her voice raw from days of abuse.

"Good girl," the leader says, his voice dripping with satisfaction. He steps closer, his cock now fully engorged. "Now, you're going to take us all again." The other thugs chuckle, eager for their turn. They unbind her from the chair, her limbs trembling from the effort of holding herself up for so long. The withdrawal pains are starting to creep back in, a persistent reminder of her dependence on them. They push her onto her hands and knees, her plump ass in the air, the dildos still lodged inside her. The leader steps up behind her, his cock nudging against her bruised asshole. She feels a fresh wave of terror, knowing what's coming next.

"Please," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "Please, no more. It's hurt so much."

CHAPTER 4 : THE TWO FACED CEO's

The leader's cock slams into Isa's ass, the thick dildo still lodged in her pussy. She feels like she's being split in two, the pain so intense she can't help but cry out. The thugs laugh and jeer, their excitement building as they watch the K-Pop star degrade herself for their amusement. The camera captures every moment of her anguish, the video feed streaming to the eager eyes of the old VVIPs on the dark web.

"Look at her, she's loving it," one of the thugs says, slapping her ass as the leader pumps into her. The CEOs of the K-Pop companies watch, their own hands working their cocks as they revel in her degradation. The thought of them watching, getting off to her pain, adds a new layer of horror to the situation.

Isa's body shakes with each brutal thrust, the dildo in her pussy slamming against her cervix with every thrust. The pain is unbearable, but she's learned to find a twisted sense of control in the chaos. If she can just endure this, if she can just make it through another round, then maybe, just maybe, she can find a way out of this hell. But the drug's grip is strong, and with each passing day, she feels herself slipping further and further away from reality.

"She's going to be a star," one of the thugs says, slapping her ass again. "The old fucks are going to pay a fortune for a piece of her."

Isa bites her lip to stifle her scream, but she opens them again, focusing on the camera as if it's a lifeline. The other two thugs move in, one holding her head still, forcing her to watch as they take turns with her.

The thugs, their excitement reaching a crescendo, pull Isa's limp body away from the metal chair. Her legs give out, unable to support her after the hours of abuse, but they catch her, their grips bruising her skin even more. They strip the dildos from her ravaged holes, tossing them aside with a wet slap. The leader steps back, zipping up his pants with a smirk. "Let's get you ready for your next performance," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The thugs, having struck a deal with the VVIPs on the dark web, begin to prepare Isa for her next ordeal. They strip her of any remaining dignity, cleaning her up as best as they can without showing any semblance of care for her wellbeing. Her body is a canvas of bruises and abrasions, a stark testament to the horrors she's endured. They tie her up in a new, more elaborate position, her thick thighs and curvy ass displayed prominently for the perverted gazes of their wealthy patrons. The anticipation of what's to come fills her with dread, but she's too broken to fight anymore.

"You're going to make us so much money, little slut," one of the thugs says, running his hands over her body, his fingers lingering on the swollen mounds of her breasts. "These old fucks are going to line up for a taste of you."

Isa's heart races with fear as she's hoisted back onto the chair, the ropes biting into her skin as they secure her in place. The knowledge that she's being sold to these high-profile perverts is almost too much to bear. She tries to keep her breathing steady, but her chest heaves with the effort of not breaking down completely.

Isa numbly stares at the array of skimpy, revealing clothes laid out before her. The thugs had brought in a selection of outfits that would make any self-respecting woman cringe - garments that screamed "slut" and "whore" with every thread. Her mind races with the thought of what fresh hell awaits her, but she knows that resisting is futile. With trembling hands, she picks out the least offensive of the bunch, a tiny bikini top made of nothing but a few strategically placed strips of shiny fabric and a pair of booty shorts that barely cover her ass cheeks.

The thugs watch with hungry eyes as she peels off the tattered remnants of her original outfit, her body on full display. They make lewd comments and whistle, their excitement palpable. One of them hands her a roll of duct tape. "Here, use this to keep those nipples hidden," he sneers, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. Isa's cheeks burn with humiliation as she takes the tape, her eyes downcast. She carefully tapes her nipples, trying to maintain a semblance of modesty despite the futility of the gesture.

The thugs exchange glances, their grins widening as they watch her struggle to put on the flimsy bikini top. The fabric clings to her bruised and swollen breasts, the tape barely containing them. Her stomach churns at the thought of what the CEOs will do to her, but she forces herself to stand, the shorts barely hugging her thick thighs. They laugh as she wobbles, her legs still weak from the days of abuse. The leader steps forward, his gaze raking over her. "You clean up nicely," he says, his voice a sneer. "Now, let's get you ready for your clients."

Isa, dressed in the skimpy stripper-like attire, is led out of the abandoned house, the thugs' hands rough on her arms as they guide her through the dark streets. The cold air hits her bare skin, sending goosebumps rushing over her body, a stark contrast to the warm, stifling air inside. They throw her into the back of a van, the metal floor cold and unforgiving against her bruised knees. The vehicle lurches forward, the bumps in the road jostling her in her seat, the dull ache between her legs a constant reminder of her situation.

The drive seems to last an eternity, the only sounds the grumbling of the engine and the occasional lewd comment from the thugs up front. The van eventually stops, and Isa is pulled out into the dimly lit parking lot of what looks like an exclusive club. The thugs lead her through a back entrance, the heavy door slamming shut behind them, sealing her fate. The music thumps through the walls, the bass vibrating in her chest as they ascend a staircase to a private room. The anticipation of what's to come is suffocating, her heart racing in her chest.

The door to the room opens, revealing a dimly lit space filled with the thick scent of cigar smoke and the low murmur of male voices. The CEOs are seated around a large, circular table, their eyes lighting up at the sight of Isa. They're all dressed in expensive suits, their faces a mix of excitement and greed. The leader of the thugs shoves her into the center of the room, where she stands awkwardly, her legs trembling. "Gentlemen," he says, with a flourish of his hand. "Your entertainment for the evening is finally here."

Isa, trembling with fear and humiliation, steps into the center of the dimly lit, smoke-filled room. The old men's eyes are glued to her, their gazes greedy and predatory. She knows she has to go through with the dance, hoping it'll buy her time or at least some form of mercy. She takes a deep, shaky breath and starts to sway her hips, trying to remember the choreographed routines she's done countless times on stage. The music begins, a slow, sensual beat that seems to mock the horror of her situation. She moves her body in time with the rhythm, her bruises and sores screaming with each twirl and gyration.

The CEOs lean back in their chairs, smoking cigars and sipping on expensive whiskey, their eyes never leaving her. They murmur to each other, placing bets on how long she'll last before breaking down. Isa tries to ignore them, focusing instead on the task at hand. The shorts ride up, exposing more of her thick thighs and the upper swells of her plump ass, making the men's eyes bulge with lust. She reaches behind her, her hand slipping into her shorts to caress her ass cheek, eliciting a chorus of lewd cheers. Her movements are forced, the dance a twisted parody of the ones she's performed for her fans, but she's determined to maintain some semblance of control.

One of the CEOs, Mr. Kim saunters over to the stereo and cranks up the volume, the bass thumping louder, the beat faster. "Alright, slut, don't waste our time anymore" he says, his voice thick with excitement. "Now, you're going to strip for us, nice and slow." The room goes quiet, the CEOs leaning in, their anticipation palpable. Isa feels their eyes on her, the weight of their lust and greed a heavy burden. With trembling hands, she reaches behind her neck, her fingers fumbling with the strings of the bikini top. It's a struggle, her coordination impaired by fear and pain, but she finally manages to untie it. The top falls away, revealing her bruised and taped-covered breasts, the fabric clinging to her skin.

The CEOs let out a collective groan, their eyes glued to her chest. Isa can see their cocks straining against their pants, their faces flushing with desire. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady her trembling legs, and continues to dance. Her movements become more erratic as she fumbles with the strings of her shorts, the pressure building with each passing second. Finally, the shorts fall to the floor, pooling around her ankles, leaving only a g-string covering her pussy.

The thugs cheer, egging her on, while the CEOs lean back in their chairs, stroking their cocks through their pants. "Keep going," said Mr Han, his voice thick with lust. "Show us what you've got, what you hide underneath your idol stage outfits."

Isa's hands shake as she reaches for the strings of her g-string. The room seems to spin around her, the strobe lights flashing in time with her racing heartbeat. She pulls the string, the fabric slipping down her hips, revealing her plump, abused pussy to their eager gazes. The CEOs lean in closer, their breathing labored, their hunger for her degradation insatiable. She's never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. But she knows that she has to endure this. For the drug. For the hope of escape.

As Isa continues her erotic dance, her thick thighs jiggle with every move she makes. The CEOs' eyes are glued to her, their lust-filled gazes burning into her very soul. The room's temperature seems to rise, the heat of their desire melding with the smoke from their cigars. She starts to twerks, her plump ass bouncing to the beat of the music, the cheers and catcalls from the men spurring her on despite her fear. The leader of the thugs circles her, filming every move with a grin on his face, knowing the kind of money this footage will bring in. The sound of their zippers echoes through the room as the CEOs free their cocks, stroking themselves in time with her dance.

Mr. Han, a particularly portly man with a greasy combover, stands up and waddles closer to her. He grabs her by the hips, forcing her to grind against him. Isa tries to pull away, but he's too strong, his grip bruising her tender flesh. He whispers lewd things into her ear, his hot breath reeking of alcohol and cigars. Isa feels his cock, thick and hard, pressing against her stomach, and she can't help but gag. But she keeps dancing, her body moving on autopilot, her mind desperately searching for a way out of this nightmare.

Mr. Han's patience snaps, his lust overtaking his sense of decorum. He stands with a grunt, his grip on Isa's hips tightening. With a grin that's more a snarl, he hoists her into the air, the muscles in his arms bulging with the effort. Isa squeals in fear and surprise, her legs kicking wildly as she's held aloft. The room goes quiet, the other CEOs watching with rapt attention, their cocks in their hands, stroking in time with the music.

He slams Isa onto the table, the impact knocking the wind out of her. Her bruised body bounces slightly with the force, her taped-covered breasts jiggling from the impact. The table creaks under her weight, the surface sticky with the residue of previous debauchery. The thugs laugh, watching as she tries to push herself up, only for Mr. Han to slap her down, his hand leaving a red mark on her cheek. Her thick thighs spread wide, her pussy glistening with a mix of her own arousal and their previous abuse.

"Hold her down," he barks, his eyes wild with lust. The thugs move in, each grabbing an arm and a leg, spreading her out like a ragdoll for the CEOs' amusement. Mr. Han with the combover licks his lips, his hands fumbling with his belt buckle. "You're going to take us all, by turns" he says, his voice a low growl. "You're going to scream for us, and we're going to fuck you until you can't walk."

Isa's heart races as the Mr. Han unzips his pants, revealing a cock that's both terrifying and repulsive in its size. She tries to struggle, to fight, but the thugs' grip is too strong. The other CEOs crowd around the table, their eyes gleaming with excitement. One of them, a man with a cruel smile and a glint in his eye, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a marker pen. He starts to write on her body, his hand moving with a disturbing level of precision, leaving behind crude words that sting almost as much as the physical abuse. "Thigh Slut," he scrawls on her thigh, his breath hot against her skin. "Cheap Whore," on her stomach and "Bitch Korean Idol," on her ass cheeks. The others laugh, their hands reaching out to touch and grope her.

Mr. Han with the combover steps closer, his erection bobbing in the air. He grabs her face, turning it toward him, forcing her to look into his eyes. "You're going to scream for me," he says, his voice a mix of excitement and malice. "You're going to beg for it." He lines up his cock with her pussy, the head nudging against her swollen entrance. Isa's eyes widen with horror as she feels him push inside, the pain making her back arch off the table. She lets out a guttural scream, the sound echoing through the room.

Mr. Han grunts with satisfaction, his cock disappearing into her wetness. He starts to pound into her, his belly slapping against her bruised flesh. The thugs hold her down, their grips tightening as she bucks and struggles beneath them. The other CEOs lean in, their faces a mix of fascination and depravity as they watch the scene unfold. Mr. Kim then reaches down and slaps her ass, leaving a red handprint on her pale skin. "Take it, you little slut," he says, his voice gleeful. Isa's eyes fill with tears as she's used like a ragdoll, her body a plaything for their twisted desires.

"My turn," another CEO says, his voice a wheeze as he steps forward. The thug holding her leg releases it, and the old man takes his place, his cock already out and dripping with precum. He lines up behind her, his breath hot and sour in her ear. "You're going to take us all," he whispers, his hand reaching around to fondle her breasts. Isa tries to scream, but it's muffled by the gag that's been shoved into her mouth, the fabric biting into her tender flesh. She feels him push into her ass, the pain so intense she thinks she'll pass out. But she doesn't. She's too aware of what's happening, too present in the horror of her reality.

Mr. Han with the combover doesn't bother to hold back, his thrusts violent and erratic. He's not trying to pleasure her, just to satisfy his own twisted desires. Isa feels her insides stretch to the breaking point, the pain unlike anything she's ever felt. Mr. Han laughs, his hands squeezing her tits, his nails digging into her skin. The room spins around her, the faces of the old men a blur of lust and cruelty. They take turns, each one more brutal than the last, her cries muffled by the gag, her body a canvas for their depravity. They write on her, take photos, and even film their sick acts, sharing them with each other like trophies.

Isa feels herself slipping away, the pain and humiliation too much to bear. Her eyes glaze over, and she goes limp, the only indication of her consciousness the occasional whimper that escapes her gag. The CEOs don't seem to notice or care, passing her around the table like a toy to be used and discarded. The leader of the thugs, his eyes gleaming with greed, records everything, knowing the more degrading the content, the higher the price it'll fetch. Her mind drifts to the music she used to dance to, the lights, the fans' adoration. It feels like a lifetime ago, a world she'll never see again.

The CEOs take turns, their age not dampening their voracious appetites. Each one leaves his mark on her body, a grim testament to their power and control. The pain is constant, a never-ending crescendo that threatens to consume her. Her body is a battleground, her soul screaming for mercy. The room is a blur of movement and noise, the thud of flesh on flesh, the grunts of the CEOs, and the muffled sounds of her own pain. She feels a strange mix of anger and resignation, knowing that she's nothing but a commodity to them.

As the last of the CEOs pulls out, his cock slick with Isa's blood and tears, he grabs her by the hair and yanks her head back, forcing her to look at the group. "One last thing," he says with a sadistic smile. His cock still semi-hard, and starts to urinate on her. The warm stream of piss hits her face, mixing with her salty tears and running down her cheeks. She tries to turn away, but his grip is too strong. The other CEOs laugh, some of them standing up to get a better view, their own cocks still hard from the spectacle.

The CEOs, sated from their vile act, stand around the table, their cocks still out and glistening. They look at each other with a mix of disbelief and excitement, the reality of their depravity setting in. Mr.Kim nods, a grin spreading across his face. "Alright, let's not waste any more time," he says, his voice a mix of excitement and greed. "Line up." The other CEOs eagerly queue up, their urine flowing freely as they wait for their turn to add to Isa's degradation. The first CEO's stream of piss cascades down her face, mixing with her mascara and eyeliner, creating dark rivers that run down her neck and pool in the hollows of her collarbones.

Isa's body feels heavy and numb, the pain from their abuse and the humiliation of their bodily fluids on her a new level of hell. Each man takes his turn, their urine spattering her body, soaking her hair, and pooling around her on the table. The cold liquid runs down her back and into the cracks of her ass, making her shiver. Mr. Park, the CEO with the marker steps forward, his cock still semi-hard, and with a sadistic smirk, he writes another word across her forehead, "Public Property." The thugs laugh, their grip on her arms and legs never loosening.

As Isa feels the last drops of their urine hit her skin, she can't hold back the flood of emotions anymore. She starts to cry uncontrollably, her body shaking with sobs. The CEOs laugh and jeer, their amusement only growing at the sight of their property sobbing like a pathetic animal. The thugs, bored with the show, release her limbs, allowing her to collapse onto the table, her body sticky with their piss and sweat.

The leader of the thugs steps forward, his grin fading to a look of business-like indifference. "Alright, that's enough fun for now," he says, snapping his fingers. "Clean her up. We've got more...clients." The thugs begin to drag her off the table, her limbs limp and useless. One of them grabs a bucket and a sponge, tossing it in her direction. "Get to work, slut," he sneers. "You've got another show to put on."

THE END

[hxllblazer-a2]

@normaltothemax || starter call with max!

“Yeah I—probably shoulda warned you that he does that.” Watching the last of the vines slink back into the sink pipe was admittedly a bit upsetting, but only because he really wished that the self-important cabbage god would at least learn how to use a phone. Or get Abby to do it for him. Though instead of leaving it be, he went ahead and grabbed a plate from a cupboard and put it right on top. 

Just as an extra precaution in case they had another Swampy related visit. 

“Try not t’ mind Alec any, though don’t think he answers to that anymore. Or even remembers...” There’s a pause as he exercises an option in his head. Bringing Max along was probably a really bad idea, but... 

“Y’ wanna come along?” A beat. “If there are dryads in the park again, then there’s probably an open hole t’ the Green. Not as bad as it sounds, just... a lot of primordial plant life. Like a vegan’s wet dream come true amount of ‘em.” 

[larkingame]

play the demo | patreon | larkin is rated 18+

someone is after you.

for over a decade and a half now, you’ve traveled up, down and across the country--running schemes and hunting fiends with your mentor, con-man-by-day, vampire-hunter-by-night, Wyatt Abrams--the prolific vampire slayer and the living descendant of Gregory Abrams, founder and prophet of the Abrams Family, the nomadic vampire-hunting cult that raised you--and was wiped out years ago.

carrying the abrams name means also means carrying on it's enemies--but that isn't to say you haven't forged a couple of your own along the way. now, it seems someone is trying to make good on old threats and promises. they've placed a bounty on your head.

so you and wyatt do what you do best: you run away. to some little town, out nevada ways, where the title of town preacher is unexpectedly thrust upon you--bringing back years of trauma you thought long tucked away.

as if that wasn't enough, on your first day in town the local mine up and explodes--leaving the reclusive family that runs the town--and owns the mine--to suspect you as the main culprit.

now you're left with the responsibility of investigating the disaster to clear your name, looking into the mysterious cult just south of town, the gang of outlaws who've been wrapped up deep in a feud with larkin's patriarchal family--a group of people which you suspect to be hiding a secret most monstrous--all while dealing with the ghosts of your past, and the roots your family left behind.

larkin is a vampire western choose-your-own adventure game, with focuses on romance, religion, horror and complicated family dynamics.

play a fully customizable character [[decide upon their physical appearance, gender identity, sexuality, customize their pronouns]]

dictate a unique relationship with your mentor-turned-father-figure and his former appentice

romance any of twelve characters, five male, three female, one non-binary and three gender selectable characters.

define your characters skillset and scheming tactics, select their weapons and fighting style, elect their feelings on religion, vampires and the cult that raised them.

the doctor [male] cyrus sokolov - the quasi-mayor of larkin, cyrus sokolov also operates as the town's doctor and mortician. he's immeadiately suspicious of you, the new preacher and the reputation you comes with. even though he doesn't like it, he needs your help.

the princess [female] celina sokolova - despite the misconceptions among the townsfolk, the reclusive third sibling of the sokolov family, celina, is actually the family’s eldest. hardly leaving the sokolov mansion, it’s rumored around town that she’s been struck with some sort of sun-related illness, others seem to hold the opinion that miss sokolova simply sees herself as too good to linger amongst the common folk. whatever the case may truly be doesn’t much matter to the people of larkin, after all, it's much more fun to gossip. she's very suddenly developed a fascination with the preacher, a hunger almost. but will she eat you whole?

the mortician's assistant [male] dominic sokolov - the youngest scion of the sokolov family, dominic works as assistant mortician in larkin, though he’s much more interested in larkin’s living townsfolk then the dead ones he’s been charged with taking care of. with seemingly endless information on everyone and everything that goes on in larkin, mister sokolov might not be the worst friend to have.

the lawyer [male] jacob nash -  larkin’s only practicing attorney and resident do-gooder. after passing the bar exam, nash headed out west in the hopes of making a real difference for the people there, only to spend most of his days settling petty disputes and notarizing documents. despite his disappointment, however, nash has managed to keep a level head and his fondness for the people of larkin, even though he’s not so sure the sokolovs have the townsfolk’s best interest in mind.

the bartender [female] rose holloway - larkin’s most recent transplant, that was, until the preacher showed up. former city-girl, rose has adapted to both life out west and on her own, the only way she knows how--by pushing through it. the owner and bartender of larkin’s only saloon, the emerald, rose is a popular figure around larkin whether she likes it or not, but whether that has more to do with her occupation or the fact she also happens to be larkin’s youngest widow is still a topic up for debate.

the lieutenant [male/female/non-binary] hollis - an enigmatic figure around larkin, hollis serves as a lieutenant for the mysterious rateliff fellowship. one of the cult’s few members to make the long trek from their encampment in the desert to town more than once. talked to by few, hated by most, hollis bears the reputation of the people they represent to the town of larkin--one, that isn’t particularly favorable.

the vampire hunter [male/female/non-binary] ace zhang - vampire-hunting-mercenary extraordinaire, the last the preacher knew of ace, they were the young hot-shot on san francisco’s hunting scene. once upon a time ace was a prominent figure in the preacher’s life, the first real acquaintance they managed to make on their own, someone outside of wyatt’s sphere. growing up a member of the guild, their life is one that’s mirrored the preacher’s. maybe that’s why the two seemed to be linked so closely during the preacher’s time in california, whether that was as friends, rivals or something more, their presence is one that remains prominent in the preacher's mind.

the outlaw [male] cassidy alan ward - cowboy, outlaw, bandit, cassidy goes by many names and titles, but the one he prides himself on most is leader. protector of his people, the ward gang hides out somewhere in the hills outside larkin, looming over the townsfolk as an ever-present threat, cassidy finds the sokolovs personally responsible for the death of his sister, caroline, and he is out for blood.

the gunslinger [female] ethel jackson - cassidy's right hand, ethel is a gunslinger through and through. fancying herself the robinhood type, she's got a personal hatred for the family that looms over larkin.  with the fastest gun in all of nevada, maybe even all of the west--ethel could prove to be a valuable friend--or a deadly adversary.

the stranger [non-binary] reyes - the newest addition to ward's gang, not much is known about them or their past--what everyone is well aware of, however, is the fact that nobody whose ever decided to cross reyes has ever come out of it alive.

the vampire [male/female/non-binary] montero moreau - you've hunted down their coven, debilitating any hopes for growth they had in terms of advancing in the cut-throat world of Vampires. you've made montero look like a fool, and they hate looking like a fool. They're determined to hunt you down and take revenge.

the first man [male] - adam - he believes himself to be the mirrored man mentioned in the abrams family book of genesis--the first vampire, plagued to walk the earth--and he has long been in search of his eve.

play the demo | patreon | itch.io

[hxllblazer-a2]

@huntrcsss || sc!

“An’ that—said fuck off!--is why I said don’t open the fridge.” One arm and foot’s doing a decent job at forcing the door shut while the other’s blindly groping around the counterspace next to it. The fridge on the other hand? 

Well, it was shaking. Wildly. And having some very colorful opinions on why its current contents should be on this side and the very colorful things it was going to do to John’s asshole when it got out. In John’s defense, he thought the warning was pretty obvious.  

“Dumber than sodding rocks—shoulda been able t’ see it’s one way—there y’ are!” Finally his hand curls on a rather sketchy looking kitchen knife. Fridge door open again, and the thing that he seemed to have been fighting attempted a lunge—right into the knife. Blade sunk, he then knees the creature to make it fall back. Far. In fact, the distant thudding sound shouldn’t logically be possible. 

Oh well, issue fixed so he slammed the thing closed. “Alright... takeout then?” 

[evolnoomym]

I’ll Make You Love Me💋

Bfd!Joel Miller x F!OC Lucky

Main Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist

Summary: In Joel’s eyes you are an unpleasant person. Yet he has to pretend as if he would not want to get rid of you for Sarah’s sake, she loves you so much you are her best friend. Well Joel also feels terrible for the rather unethical thoughts he has of you.

Rating: 18+ mature content mdni !!!!!

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: no y/n, introducing “Lucky”, female oc character, Sarah is 18, Lucky is 21, Joel’s age is not mentioned but he’s at least double Lucky’s age, degradation, humiliation, Dark, Joel is mean, he calls you Bitch/Slut/Junkie, spanking, dub-con, Daddy Kink, Manspreading hehe 😉, pervy!Joel, tears, Joel enjoys her tears, manhandling, hair pulling, weed consumption, alcohol consumption, a tiny fluffy moment, alludes to BJ, Joel can also be nice,

If I missed anything please let me know 🙏🏻

Authors note: this is for @toxicanonymity ‘s manspreading olympics. ❤️‍🔥

Shoutout to @cafekitsune and @saradika-graphics for the dividers ❤️

Big thank you to @jennaispunk and @joelmillerisapunk for beta reading ❤️‍🔥🌙

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so if you come across mistakes it might be due to that. I’m totally here for constructive criticism or feedback on how to improve. In general I appreciate comments, likes and reblogs greatly 💋

Songs I listened to while writing:

What You Do by James Gillespie

Bad Girls by M.I.A

Maneater by Nelly Furtado

Salvatore by Lana Del Rey

Sad Girl by Lana Del Rey

Waiting Game by BANKS

Into It by Chase Atlantic

You should feel bad for thinking of him in such a peculiar way. You should be ashamed for even considering him an option. He is totally off limits considering he’s much older, a busy mature man and most importantly Sarah’s Dad. Sarah the sweet girl that has been your Bestfriend for over 2 years.

It excited you in the beginning how much Joel hated your presence in his daughter’s life. He didn’t approve of this friendship ever since Sarah at 16 years old first brought you, her 19 year old friend, over for the first time.

In front of Sarah he tried his hardest to appear polite but you could see right through his facade from the beginning. And one evening when Sarah was already fast asleep you gave Joel a piece of your mind in the kitchen.

“Mister Miller let’s stop these silly games we both know what’s going on…you don’t like me and I couldn’t fucking care less.” You scoff and get off the counter, slowly drawing closer to Joel “You hate me so much but Sarah loves me soooooo much and imagine how upset she’d be to know that her Daddy doesn’t want her to be happy. Wouldn’t that be a shame,huh?” You question with an enticing head tilt.

Now you’re right in front of him, toe to toe with big bad imposing Joel Miller. You can feel the pulling in your lower belly from being so close and most importantly smelling his manly musky scent. You remind yourself that you gotta stay focused if you want to win this game.

You get even closer until your able to place your hands on his warm broad chest sliding them slightly upwards his shoulders. “What the hell r ya doin?” Joel hisses.

You lean up to whisper in his ear “Nothing, just letting you know that I eat guys like you for breakfast, I chew you up and spit you out. You’re not a threat to me, old man.” You pull back and give him a sinister sickly smile.

The wickedness in your tone causes goosebumps to prickle on his flesh.

You feed off of seeing him scared. You enjoy knowing what kinda effect you have on this usually so collected man.

“Goodnight Mister Miller, better start sleeping with one eye open from now on.” You giggle while skipping up the stairs.

That was the start of it all.

Now 2 years later with Sarah just having turned 18, Joel realizes that you two are gonna keep him on his toes even more than already.

The 18th birthday celebration was already a disaster, what Joel assumed would be a relaxed family gathering turned into you crashing the party and taking Sarah out, of course Sarah was excited so how could Joel say no.

Well when you two didn’t return at 12 pm like promised he admittedly got worried, but he wanted to trust Sarah so he tried to stay calm.

At 3 am he hears the screeching tires from some show off guys car and loud drunkish giggling. The princesses have officially arrived back home from their trip, almost 4 hours too late.

When Joel opens the front door he sees you and Sarah practically half draped over your shoulder stubbling up the starirs in sloppy drunk steps. You two are giggling and mumbling at each other in a language Joel does not understand, it certainly can’t be English.

You immediately glock his disgruntled face, the alcohol cursing through your system emboldens you so you haphazardly shove him out of the way. You sigh loudly and obviously annoyed at his antics all while herding Sarah up the stairs.

Joel cannot believe that after dragging Sarah off, taking her to god knows where, letting her drink and god forbid smoke… you still have the audacity to behave so entitled.

You put Sarah in danger and don’t feel an ounce of remorse. Joel hates your guts, in his eyes you are an entitled little brat that desperately needs to be put in her place.

Even though Joel hates you, he at the same time cannot keep his head clear of dirty images of your young and tight body. He thinks about the pool day where you showed up in the tiniest bikini he could think of.

Prancing around all while he had to resist the urge to just tear it off. You knew he was looking and he knew that you enjoyed his eyes flitting all over your enticing figure.

The both of you were tethering on a dangerous line, that could cause big trouble. How would Sarah feel knowing this is happening behind her back.

You constantly antagonize him like that wearing short skirts and tight shirts with no bra because apparently it’s too warm for that. Running into him, pressing your perky tits against his bicep in passing, coincidentally bending over in front of him. Joel was quickly approaching a breaking point, his resolve crumbling more and more with each time that he had to tug at his throbbing length all while thinking about you.

Joel clearly underestimated how much you’d play him and how much better at it you are. At this rate you’ll win this game. He however has a plan, that might even after everything still save him the success.

Joel only has to wait for the right time to attack, catch you off guard and use that to his advantage.

He gets pulled from his thoughts when he hears something that confuses him, you are singing and it sounds beautiful.

Joel creeps up the stairs as quietly as possible to not alert either of you.

The closer he gets to Sarah's door the clearer it becomes. Joel pushes the bedroom door open by only a few inches to get a look at the situation and it makes his heart roar. You sit on the side of the bed we’re Sarah is nicely tucked in, your body facing Joel but your eyes locked on Sarah’s face. Softly singing a lullaby in a language foreign to him while gently stroking over her cheeks, smoothing the hair out of her face, almost like a mother would with her baby. Something Sarah never got to experience in childhood since her mother left so early on.

Joel realizes that despite the rough exterior you put up there’s more to you than just a cold hearted homewrecker, you care for Sarah, you take care of her and watch over her wherever you two run off to. Joel feels gratitude for someone he admittedly doesn’t know a whole lot about.

Joel has seen enough and retreats back downstairs.

When you stumble into the living room to bid your goodbyes Joel looks like he’s deep in thoughts.

So you announce “Sarah is sleeping, make sure she drinks lotssssssss of water when she wakes up and takes more aspirin if needed. I’m out.”

You turn to walk off when Joel gets up “Hey ya sure bout walkin home now? I can drive ya.” He offers but you decline “Nah it’s alright Mr. Miller I can protect myself, I’ve always done it. Besides, why do you suddenly care,huh?“ you sarcastically laugh while slipping out of the house.

When you’ve turned away from him the snarky smile falls right off your face.

Joel actually felt somewhat sorry that night for the way he treated you all those times before.

That lasted until you decided to smoke weed with Sarah in his lil work shed that was situated in the back of his garden.

Joel would’ve realized either way if not by the smells wafting up his nostrils the moment he entered the shed later in the evening, then surely by Sarah’s unstoppable giggling, her slow mumbled speech or by the food flash she got.

When the two of you begged him to let you sleep over he eagerly agreed. Chalk it up to the weed that numbs your brain that this quick reaction didn’t seem suspicious.

Joel knows you will find him, you’ll see the open back door and walk right into his trap. You never sleep the night through when you spend it over at the Millers, he can hear you getting up and wandering around the house. Sarah on the other hand has got to be blessed with an extremely deep sleep.

The thought of overpowering you makes him smile giddily into the darkness of the shed.

As usual you wake up in the middle of the night, ever since being a little child the sleeping became a struggle and nothing works except tiring yourself out.

You get up out of Sarah’s huge plush bed, slip out into the hallway and down the stairs. There you immediately catch the wide open back door leading to the garden. Odd, Mister Miller would never in a million years leave that open.

You walk up to the sliding doors and when you stand in the threshold staring into the dark backyard you see that the shed is left open too.

Out of stupid curiosity you decide to investigate, not the smartest to perhaps walk right into a burglar who has a weapon but you don’t really care.

So you pat the way across the cold grass, it tickles the sole of your bare feet and the fresh midnight breeze actually feels awfully pleasant on your heated skin. Halfway you stop and glance upward at the beautiful full moon shining down on you.

After taking a deep breath you continue onward towards the shed.

When you reach the opening of the shed there’s really nothing you can see or hear. So you step further into it, carefully putting one foot in front of the other.

You feel like someone is watching you but you are unable to pinpoint where it’s coming from. It’s unsettling so you do something considerably stupid “Hello, hello is there anyone? Mister Miller are you in here?” You call out with a shaking voice.

No response.

A light flickering in the center of the room catches you off guard and now you can see him, the one that watched you.

Mr.Miller is sitting on a bar chair behind him is his working table, he leans his back against the edge of the table.

Your eyes immediately go to his slightly sweaty face -the Texas heat is unrelenting even in the middle of the night- he looks gorgeous illuminated by the tiny lamp glowing behind his shoulder on the cupboard. He’s smirking sinisterly at you.

You let your eyes wander over his broad shoulders that are clad in a green flannel. Inevitably your eyes slip down to his wide spread jeans covered thighs, they look so big and muscular.

He catches your staring and drops a hand on his thigh that slowly starts stroking up and down. Making you gulp audibly.

“M..M-..Mister M..Miller what are you doing here?” You stammer out.

“I was waitin for ya to come find me.” He huffs gruffly.

He continues “Close the door behind ya Lucky.”

You feel somewhat hypnotized by his slow calculated words as you, out of pure reflex, reach for the handle behind you.

As you shut the door, effectively trapping yourself with him he murmurs “That’s a good girl. Ya do know how to listen Lucky Girl.”

Hearing Joel call you a good girl in his signature dark molasses like voice had you squeezing your thighs together.

“Hmm ya like that baby, huh?” He inquires

“N..no, that would be fuckin weird.” You try sounding sincere but to no avail Joel has seen through you a long time ago.

“Lucky you are liar, a slut, a junkie..-“

You hiss “What did you just say?” While stepping closer to where he sits.

“Ya heard me right Lucky, you are a fuckin junkie, smoking weed in my shed with Sarah. Are ya outta your mind?” He throws back

“You gotta be kidding me, right? Big Bad Mr Miller is shitting his pants cuz of a bit of weed.” You wheeze.

“That’s enough.” He decides, getting up in one swift imposing movement. Suddenly he’s the one towering over you and he looks pissed.

He’s on you in the blink of an eye threading his hand through your hair grabbing a decent amount by which he pulls you with him.

“Ouch…ouch what the fuck let me go.” You huff while trying to get his hands out of your hair. But he doesn’t appreciate the disobedience and starts pulling even harder, which brings you to tears from the pain.

“Ohhh poor baby Lucky, look at those tears, ya not havin’ fun huh? That’s too bad darlin’ but I don’t care.”

He sits back down on the chair and in one swift motion pulls you over his thighs. Your belly rests on his crotch and your whole world is turned upside down.

“Clearly no one has ever taught ya a lesson, that’s why ya always behave like a bratty bitch.”

His free hand flits to your sleeping shorts and practically tears them off of you. At the ripping sound you yelp.

“Hmm look at that plump ass and those sweet lacy panties…ya always wear this slutty underwear when ya have a sleepover?” All while he’s groping you.

“What the hell are you doing Joel?”

“Aw is it not Mr.Miller anymore? Have we lost our manners lil girl? Or is there a better name for me, hmm?” He inquires.

For some reason you know exactly what he wants to hear but you're not inclined to give in. Yet.

“It’s fine baby ya don’t need to say it now, I’ll make you scream that goddamn name you fucking slut.” He pulls on your hair “Ya hear me bitch.?”

All you manage is a meak nod before he lets go off your face.

You can feel his warm and calloused hand on your cheek squeezing, stroking and poking. Then his hand is gone but not for long. You can’t even react. He's that fast in delivering the first smack to your behind.

“Ya gonna take what i give ya and behave cuz you wanna be a good girl, right? Ya wanna be my good girl,hmm?”

“Y..y-yes I do Mr.Miller.” You say defeated.

“Atta Girl. I think 10 should do it, for now, until ya feel like acting up again..”

He is unrelenting when it comes to punishing you, each time the impact is harder and more unexpected than the previous. You have to bite your lip in order to suppress a moan, even though it hurts it’s incredible. You can feel yourself becoming wet, with each time that his hand collides with your behind more slick gushes out of your pussy. At this point there must be a wet patch visible.

His bulge pressing against your stomach tells you how much this is affecting him too.

“Lucky I know ya try to hide it but I can smell how she’s leaking and if I check I’m sure I’ll find that cunt all sloppy for me, right?”

“Y..y-yes.”

“That’s what i thought.” And with that he continues the assault on your cheeks.

And it may be only ten but he makes them count, the blows are measured and hard. You guess your cheeks must be glowing at this point.

When he finally reaches 10 it feels like hours have passed since you decided to go wander around. He’s massaging your bruised ass. You finally feel like you’re getting a moment of peace but that couldn’t be further from the truth, because Joel threads his hand back into your hair and yanks you to face him.

He’s just staring at you, accessing you and then he kisses you.

It’s rough, teeth clashing, tongues swirling around, his hands urgently grabbing your face, your fingers tangled in his graying curls.

Though the kissing is over before it can escalate too far, Joel is once again pulling you by your hair, this time he’s more gentle, he pulls you off of his knees and pushes you down on them in the space between his spread thighs. You’re at eye level with his crotch now that looks painfully hard.

As you peek up at him through your lashes you muse “Looks like you got a problem, a big problem…Daddy. You want me to help you?” All while innocently tilting your head at him.

He grabs your face roughly “Shut up Lucky and put ya smart mouth to better use.”

“Don’t underestimate me Daddy. I’ll make you love me.” You say while giving him a cheeky wink.

Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI, thank you 🙏🏻

Npt: @toxicanonymity @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @joelmillerisapunk @joelslegalwhre @joelsdagger @tonysopranosrobe @luxurychristmaspudding @mountainsandmayhem @moonlitbirdie @joelalorian @sawymredfox @thundermartini @ace-turned-confused @almostfoxglove @pedropeach @joelsgreys @joelstummy @ovaryacted @iamasaddie @wintrwinchestr @littlemisspascal

[hxllblazer-a2]

@normaltothemax and the one bat he'd Actually Like || sc!

“Y’ don’t look half bad for a dead guy.”  

He probably could’ve also lead off with something condescending like ���my hero’ or ‘at least it’s you’. Time and a place, probably, and right now apart from struggling a bit with the key he had slid up his sleeve John was also doing quite the concentration number in keeping his keepers grounded. 

Well, more like drooling in separate corners muttering vague nothings about things at the edge of their eyes. It was still at least better than making them blast their own brains out. 

“They’ll be fine. Assuming they forget this mess in a few hours.” A bit of a grumble as he wiggled from the rafter. “You mind? Each one’s got a key in th’ left pocket.” 

[hxllblazer-a2]

@huntrcsss || sc!

“Y’ know, Theo, I like to think I’m pretty good at the whole not being found bit. Makes me mysterious.” 

Of course he’s trying to not be serious about it, especially because he was used to people and things showing up. It came with the territory, though John couldn’t say he was used to the things being of the slightly more living variety.  

Case in point now where he’s doing his best to try and wave off the one laughing in his ear and making comments about how John was clearly getting sloppy in his old age. Emma, if he had to guess from the way the light voice still made his chest tighten and tickle at memories best left with his past life. It’s been so long since he ever heard her happy about anything... 

“Make yourself at home with the rest o’ the peanut gallery I s’pose--” Another voice in his ear, male this time, probably and—for fuck’s sake... “Hang on.” 

Attention turned again to the space just behind her. Empty—or probably empty to her. He didn’t pretend to understand completely how attachments and shit worked with hauntings but John knew how to clear ghosts for a bit. Hands cupped around his mouth and... 

“Anyone not with a pulse, piss all the way off ‘n keep on going! Privacy necessary, not that I expect you tits t’ get that!” And just for good measure... “You lot don’t move an’ I’ll personally stuff ye in the First’s fucking fish tank next to Ric!” 

That at least seemed to get them to dissipate. “Fucking arseholes always nosing whenever...” 

[animeyanderelover]

Anon: Nsfw Hc’s for Sukuna?

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, sadism, isolation, abduction, afab reader, Sukuna is a heavy trigger warning, Nsfw, non-con, blood kink, public sex, bondage, blindfold sex, humiliation, blowjobs, gagging, degradation, dacryphilia, breath play, period sex, breeding, branding, murder

Tags: @lovley-valentine7

Nsfw Hc’s

🗾There’s one principle that has always applied to Sukuna and that will always apply to him. That he will always take everything he wants. Throughout his entire existence Sukuna has always indulged in his hedonistic desires, has killed and devoured humans all in the name of his own entertainment and pleasure. Reborn in a new era with new rules and morals, none of that changes. This all spills only disaster for you when you suffer the worst fate of all by becoming the object of Sukuna’s desire and obsession. In his eyes you are no equal. No, you are an object that he will solely use for his own pleasure and it takes no Einstein to realise what this means. To state it simply and painless, Sukuna couldn’t care less about your own consent. He takes you whenever he wants however he wants and the more you scream, cry or suffer the more he will revel in it all. A sadist to the marrow of his bones, there’s nothing but a pleasant tingling that scratches his brain when you are squished beneath his body, snot and tears running down your face as his thick cock rams into you, rearranging your insides. Everything Sukuna does, he does for his own pleasure and your suffering is his pleasure.

🗾You have to be prepared to be available for Sukuna all the time. It doesn’t matter what time it is, if the King of Curses wants to fuck you, you will let yourself be fucked. Spread your legs for him and let him pound into you like the fuck doll that you are. Go down on your knees and worship his cock with your hands and your mouth. Suck him off until he splashes his cum into the cave of your mouth and swallow everything obediently to not waste even a single drop. All you have to focus on is his own pleasure, your own needs and feelings are of no worth. After all isn’t the entire purpose of your existence now to entertain and serve him? To Sukuna it doesn’t matter that he fucks into your mouth so hard that your throat hurts for hours afterwards and you start gagging and heaving. No, if at all your pathetic display of humanity only brings him more sadistic joy and only pushes him on to keep tormenting you. He thrives on humiliation and degradation, often refers to you as his “fuck doll” or “whore” whenever you are forced to suck him off. Don’t deny him those tears of fear and humiliation or he will fuck you raw until you are nothing but a blubbering mess pleading him to stop.

🗾Literally doesn’t matter where the two of you are. Sukuna will pound into your pussy whenever he feels like it and nothing and no one can stop him. As with all things in regard to him it is best to try to never speak of your uncomfortableness too much as this is but an open invitation for Sukuna to inflict more suffering upon you. After all what better way to show the world how big of a slut you are than to have you bend over and loudly moaning whilst he hammers his cock into your soaked cunt? There’s nothing quite like it as he forces everyone through a traumatising experience. The one suffering more than anyone else though is always going to be you as you are the main star of everything. After all those people are nothing but a temporary audience for him until he has fucked you stupid and decides that he wants a small snack. All you can do is watch helplessly with cum-stained thighs as he slaughters all those innocent people before he returns between your legs, the ecstasy of death and fresh flesh aiding his arousal as he’s rock hard once more. Cry, give up or even pass out and it won’t make a difference. Sukuna will only stop once he is fully satisfied.

🗾Everything that will only add to his dominance will be used. However, no toys will be put inside of you. The only thing that will be stuck in any of your holes is his dick and nothing else. Everything else is only ever going to be garnish and never more. Sukuna still makes frequently use of it all. From bondage where he gets his hands on purpose on rough ropes that burn your skin and rub it raw so that he can watch the growing discomfort on your face to blindfolds that he forces you to walk around with before he even rips your clothes away, encouraging you to entertain him in a little game of the blind and helpless mouse and the predatory and superior cat. It only adds to your terror as one of your major senses is taken away, only his haunting cackles in your ears as you stumble and fall around only to eventually feel the cool air on your skin as your clothes are torn apart and one pair of hands pulling you closer by the hips, spearing you onto his erect cock with no warning nor preparation. Your neck is a common target as you look far too pretty with one of his hands wrapped around it, chocking and coughing as he slowly cuts your airways off.

🗾There’s no rationality to any of his cruelties aside from the sadistic kick of dopamine that the King of Curses receives every single time. It is all the motivation that you need. Especially during your period there is never a day where you aren’t fucked as you drive Sukuna crazy with a bodily phenomenon that you can’t even do anything about. He loves the taste of blood, especially your blood so if your body can’t help but be a free feeding station for him who is he to deny it? Your period week is the only time where it won’t be his dick but instead his tongue mercilessly thrusting into you, his face buried in the curly locks of your pussy. Your cramps are completely forgotten as instead you experience the pain of overstimulation over and over again until you’re shaking and sobbing, your whole body trembling. At times Sukuna doesn’t even let you wear anything to cover your lower body as he considers it to be a waste of material that will ultimately be torn apart by him anyways. It’s uncomfortable, especially when you have your menstruation and the blood stains your thighs but it is this sight that Sukuna finds all too arousing, the taste of you already lingering on his tongue.

🗾There is going to be a point in time where he will brand you, using his fire to burn his name onto your body whilst continuing to slam his hips against yours, the force and speed of his thrusts increasing as you start trashing and screaming around the moment the pain invaded your senses. You should worship him for it is only through his mercy that you are still even alive, should be honored that he chooses you as his cockwarmer and cumdumpster. In fact it is a special case that there are no other women he keeps as bedwarmers but even if they were, they wouldn’t last long. You’re always left in a rough shape after Sukuna is done with you and in multiple cases you are left unconscious as well. Deep scratches from not two but four hands, aching parts of your body where he squeezed too hard and bite marks all over you, ruining your skin. Often you aren’t even able to walk the next morning, the sharp and hot pain not enabling you to walk on shaky legs. Uraume tends to look after you whenever Sukuna has had his way with you. He knows that his servant is much more talented with such things than he could ever be so he leaves you in more capable hands.

[hxllblazer-a2]

@ultramariiin || sc!

"... This ‘cause I said y’ look handsome for a dead guy?” 

It was a joke, or it was supposed to be a joke. Honestly? Shit was hard to tell when one had spent the hour or so on the worse end of the internal possession job being handled by a thing that really shouldn’t have been trying to possess someone who’s soul was already a tattered dish cloth. In John’s defense, he had warned ol’ Percy that would be a terrible idea. 

Or maybe it was Phil. It was hard to tell with old demonic sometimes. 

“Look--thought you suit sorts ‘d be happy for once I did the good thing without getting anyone killed?” There’s a frown as he stands—or rather struggles to stand. Everything’s pounding, everything hurts, just side effects from punting out a body neighbor. “Just be—thankful it’s gone now.” 

A grunt, followed by John pressing a hand to his forehead and swearing. “Sodding sickness...” 

[hxllblazer-a2]

@bruz3r || sc!

“Bit unfortunate innit? Cat missed the tongue.”  

Where did he come from? Probably best no one actually thought about it, much less how he seems to have let himself in. Was the absolutely dramatic and disrespectful way he seemed to languish on a couch like a cat actually necessary? Probably also not, but John took a special kind of enjoyment. 

Sure, he could just hand over the rock but where was the fun when he couldn’t just annoy the privileged masses just a little. 

“Not gonna ask what y’ might think this is for, but I’m still team ‘smash it with a hammer and pray the side effects ‘re not gonna bung up me day’.” John went ahead and tossed the shiny rock over, shrugging. “But that’s just me.” 

[hxllblazer-a2]

"Why should it?" He shrugged, a rather obvious little shrug at that. "Mate, I've tossed 'n tangled with things that'd drive a normal bastard right fuckin' mad from glimpsing. I've experienced things that y' probably woulda blown your fuckin' brains out over. Be understandable, that, this life's not for the sane and sound of mind."

John snorted. "Could also be 'cause I'm scarier than anything y' beasties think's scary. Just some food for thought."

Ethan was sure that he'd never watch a horror movie in the same way again. Though it wasn't really something he did anyway, aside from whenever his brother managed to rope him into watching one. "Don't it ever scare you? I mean... all... all this? What's out there?" Including himself, he supposed.

[hxllblazer-a2]

[COMFORTS] The sender reassures the receiver, offering comfort while tending to the injuries. || @elliotglover

It was probably the thousand-yard stare that was doing it, or the fact that John was still alarmingly quiet. Either way, he hadn’t really expected Elliot to shake him just a bit after applying the antibiotics on the worst of the burn marks.

The glare was instinctive, but he wasn’t upset at Elliot. No… he was upset at himself. Even whatever sweet, sweet words were being spoken wouldn’t change any of this. He dragged Elliot in after promising to keep his bullshit out. He put Elliot in a position to let that fucking—thing out…

“… Y’ shoulda left me to die in Dis.” A sigh, tired, and he ran a hand through his own hair. “Open yourself to better opportunities t’ actually care about yourself. Get a better fiancé, a better life.”

[hxllblazer-a2]

"You're a mess. How did you even get into this situation?" || @thejadedking

“This you bein’ sweet? Should I expect dinner ‘n present on your bed with a bow on me bits that says ‘dessert time’?” Definitely up for debate if any of that was a joke or what percentage of that was most definitely the concussion he definitely had after taking that fall.

On the plus side? Majority of the impact was cushioned. Donwside? It was a very smelly and very gross cushion… And John definitely wasn’t going to spend too long even trying to think about just what the red and muddy muck clinging to his skin was. He could already smell it and fuck was he going to hate how he was going to have to burn these clothes later.

A shame, really. He was rather fond of these trousers…

“If you gotta know, the butler did it. Like… literally just—” He mimicked the whole picking up and throwing thing—or at least did his best to one handed. “Dunno what the shit y’ got me involved in but I’m tripling me finders fee. And using your shower.”

[hxllblazer-a2]

"Hold still, John, this might sting a bit." || @nosaintxavier

“Think that’s—ow, th’ nicest thing I’ve heard all week.” The snort is dry, even in the middle of what had to be the fifth bandaging this week. God, why did it always have to be the chair? “’m not paying for it, y’know… not me fault th’ dickhead uses his favorite mahogany—ow.”

Alright, maybe he deserved that one… There was probably some joke to be made about it not being fair and crimes against furniture but John was, surprisingly, more keen on complying. Or at least his ribs were going to probably kill him if they didn’t get set. Again. Hell of a way to go meet the maker and then some if he had any say to it. “Didn’ fix yer thing but think they’re—mn, less keen on nosing about now.”

A beat, thinking for a moment. “Maybe. Anyways. Fuckin’ nosey tight arses, you’d think they’d have more fun stalling up your Congress than trying to ‘fix’ the nonexistent problem at the front lines…”

[hxllblazer-a2]

“I’ll keep those in mind if they ever start makin’ fake sheepskin rubbers outta beehives.” It’s the thinnest shred of a half-joke. Partially to distract, somewhat. No real sense in ruining the moment with a dabble of trauma dumping, though it’d definitely be on track for the latest round of self-inflicted cockblocking habits. 

Not that it was important to remember at the moment. The hot breath in his ear and tempting heat pressed against his dick was doing a lot of heavy lifting for his focus.  

“Didn’ ever want any in the first place... but I tell y’ that story? It’s gonna kill the mood.” A beat. “And m’ dick.” At least the Constantine charm of being an idiot in the bedroom hadn’t been stolen away yet by the devils so he had that going for him. Laughing against her, it gives the silliest idea he could possibly come up with in order to forgo the inevitable questions or push them off to later. 

In all fairness, he at least had fond memories of this going over quite well with a number of women in the past. 

“Now c’mon... think you’re overdue for your yearly checkup, Beth.” Grinning, it’s with a surprising bit of effort to twist their positions but John’s careful to not put too much weight down. It’d probably knock the sharp ache in his back, knowing his luck, and right now he wanted to just forget about the ravages of time. “Let’s see here...” 

Bedroom magic was always a careful effort, and right now was no different. A quiet whisper and weave of something simple, less costly to keep a hand comfortably hot to the touch, the other with the illusion of chill. Not the weirdest thing he’s let a goblin or imp nibble a piece over, but it was at least fun. He muttered quite a bit of nonsense he was sure feigned enough sarcasm to sound jokingly smart as he shimmied down. Squeezing the flesh of her breasts, feigning an inquisitive hum of thought as he rubbed and rotated each mound. 

“Aaah, think I found th’ problem.” A particularly lazy drawl as he pinched at both nipples, rolling the nubs between his fingers. “Not enough attention. Real bad for comfort ‘nd all that, y’know?” John then shifted a little further, enough to lick a solid line before sucking on a nub. 

“Luckily? Got a good treatment for that.” 

"Mmhmm. Wool, too. An' bees." Not that she thinks John is about to whip out a sheep or a beehive but stranger things have happened, specifically with him, in the course of their relationship. Softly shifting her thoughts away from the visceral want of him is what she needs right now. To let go by degrees so she doesn't feel like she's being immolated from within. Everything feels tilted on its axis around her and if he could only hear the internal howling of her disappointment, at odds with such a simple caress as his thumb. The quaver that runs through her when one grazes the three aquamarine studs that are more-or-less bolted in place. He tries to change the subject, offers a lie on his lips about the reasoning, though she doesn't think her counterargument would hold sway. Since being marked by her 'aumakua, she's never suffered any scar. No broken bone, no common cold. Life flows through her preternaturally to the point that even when she sits perfectly still in another room, it flows outward and slips into others, bringing health and vigour without any need to cast a spell or make a wish. And while she has her own footing in the spirit world, Beth doesn't really know much about the denizens of the dark umbra that John wages his battles against, save what Father Vinnie tells her of mortal sin and vigilance toward temptation. "What a weird and storied life you've lived." Her resolve wavers before him, the way her eyes shut, or the soft noises she makes between words. "Couldn't give you one anyway, even if you asked." A patina of actual hurt washes over her face but it doesn't have anything to do with him. "Can't conceive, bad genetics, don't have working parts." Behind her eyes she catches a glimpse of a smiling toddler with his hair and her green eyes. It vanishes like smoke with a quietly garbled curse that hisses out between her lips. Beth doesn't use that language and the word doesn't come out completely. His lips catch hers but he doesn't let her delve into his mouth, doesn't let her savour the whisky and nicotine and something a little like rosemary on his tongue. Beth caves with the sinking of her knees on the edge of her bed. Pitches her forward until she braces herself with palms flat on either side of John's neck. Her hair falls into his face and the bed dips beneath him. Her hips twist. The heat between her thighs is inviting as she presses against his own need, stroking him with that shift. In tandem, one hand comes away from her duvet to settle itself on the column of his throat. With the lightest squeeze she forces his chin up and kisses him.