#haunted ridge

[mtg-cards-hourly]

Haunted Ridge

Artist: Piotr Dura TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

[oh-wow-im-still-here]

Everytime I come across an anonymous ask from one of those danmei confessions blogs that is so utterly, bafflingly wrong I take psychic damage.

[bumtown]

Brugmansia or datura... "Angel's blow their trumpets down from heaven while Satan looks up tolling his bell."

[rustbeltjessie]

On the tape deck was Bruce Springsteen’s most haunted album, Nebraska, blue guitar, harmonica, his voice that cut through us like a rusted knife, like the wind whistling through the car windows, tangling our hair with ghost hands, we were far from Nebraska, in a different landscape though just as haunted, so

much history, how could anywhere with so much history not be haunted, how could anywhere anywhere not be

—Jessie Lynn McMains, from “Spook Hill” (TMP Magazine #6: Haunted Highways, October 2023)

[halibellecter]

Necromancy in my Ghost Hunter HiC AU

I'm jotting some of this down to add to later because I'm at work and need my work brain back...

This is a place where I drew heavily from canon, and a lot of things are the same. Having a spirit under your control is a power boost, but it's dangerous, and the spirit is probably not happy with you. The longer a binding runs, the more power... and the more rage.

It's vitally important to keep your practice as clean as possible. This is why Jonah has a sterilizer in her workroom. If too much of a body is left behind after destruction, the spirit might not be able to move on. This is why necromancy used to be a lot more dangerous; they didn't know this for sure and they weren't able to really clean everything the way a modern practitioner can. Nowadays, a practice with good sterilization protocols and strict controls on binding practice is pretty safe for the mage running it.

Binding is best kept as short as possible. Some ritual desecration and general marking up is unavoidable to strengthen the spirit's connection to their remains and establish and maintain an open line of communication. For Jonah to figure out why someone can't move on, the binding runes that we see in canon are necessary, but for shorter term 'contracts', they don't have to be permanent. Her tools range from the same instruments used in canon to surgical body markers for smaller amounts of remains and permanent alcohol based markers for full bodies, still single use. That was fun to explain to Matt when he walked in on her Sharpie-ing runes onto someone's corpse. She's even used eyeliner in a pinch. As part of releasing the spirit, she cleans the runes off if they were temporary before putting the body into the crematorium. It's not necessary, they'll burn up just fine, but a multi stage release ritual is easier on the spirit. Harder on the practitioner, but hey, when has Jonah ever cared about her own welfare? She's also, on occasion, had to work with bones or non-bio materials for a binding. Nothing much you can't do with a Dremel! :))))) Special care has to be taken for all that dust to be properly cleansed of course. Pain in the ass really.

Smocks - this is a big deal in necromancer culture. They're ostensibly just a fancy canvas thing, like a kappogi apron, that laces up the back, but they're very heavily symbolic. It's a much safer practice nowadays, but it has always been dangerous, and so is a specialty that's never worked by one mage. Dyads, triads, and teams are the standard and that's the reason that the smocks are *smocks*. They tie in the back. They lace up, very complex, and have to be tied off by *someone else*. Masters and apprentices tie each other off. Equals in a team all cover each other's back-- literally. Jonah's... I need to draw it. Her smock is not just worn backwards. It's painted on the "front", now the back, as a statement. Not only is not the front. It will never be the front again. She will never work with another. We're not beating the traumatized cop allegations, here. She lost her master in a really traumatic way, and she's DEFINITELY not over it.

Okay I think I can work now phew.

[wulfskins]

heat lightning 

[frogliftcertified]

still havent processed the australian grand prix. actual carnage race. why was it so cursed. is australia just cursed

[flawedplant]

Witches In The Wooded Ridges (2024)

Dungeon synth from Querétaro, Mexico. Deeply inspired by the melancholic beauty of Mexico's woodlands and forests.

[corythewitchboy]

The roots of Blue Ridge grow deep in my soul.

It was the place that raised me, not the people. As a youngster, I played in the woods, amongst the ruins of a failed industry, where the sorrow and hope is abundant. Grow wild, child.

The ghosts of your ancestors might whisper to you, and show you places long forgotten through the gentle, breezy hint of direction. You may see something not quite human just behind a tree, or a deer might stand just a bit too close to you. One thing was certain; respect the woods, respect their inhabitants, both the physical and the spiritual, and they will respect you.

Bare feet on the forest floor might turn up a railroad stake nearly too rusted to recognize. Perhaps a hunk of coal eroded from the mountains, or the remnants of a moonshiner's still.

It is here that anarchy, chaos, and beauty time in their own sense of a natural order unknown to man.

I miss them. Even if I never live there again, my heart will always dwell there.

[httpsserene]

I have been having SUCH a thought since the Thigh Riding, and I NEED to tell you.

We know reader has been loving Max and Charles’ thighs, but have you seen those silicone thigh toys? They’re basically ridged pads you strap to your thigh and…well you can guess what they do with them.

I just- I feel like it would elevate it, their sweet girl opening up to the world of toys whilst in the comfort of something she loved.

𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞 | 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐬 | 𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞: 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞

summary: all my (terrified and oversensitive) homies hate vibrators!! max and charles introduce you to something better.  content warning: 18+ only. mdni. explicit sexual content. vibrators. thigh riding. sex toys. non-penetrative sex. edging. praise kink. corruption kink. dom/sub undertones. coming untouched. sub!charles. sub!reader. dom!max. pairing: max verstappen x charles leclerc x fem!black!reader word count: 2.4k words.

author’s notes: this is from december 2023, jesus christ. about fucking time right, @vetteltea? this has been haunting me in my sleep ever since this hit my inbox, now it’s y’all’s problem too < 333 psss, next post will either be toasty part two (toto) or a smau xxx

(if you’re unsure about what these specific thigh toys are, don’t worry, i would link an example but idk if that would get me put in tblr jail and i’m on thin ice with my mentions, tags, and even dms not working :| look up “grinding pad sex toy” to get an idea of what i’m referencing in this fic. )

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You’ve deeply repressed the memory of your orgasm-deprived outburst that kick started your sexual exploration with Max and Charles. Vaguely, you can remember saying that you possibly considered the thought of buying a vibrator to get yourself off since riding your pillow wasn’t enough anymore.

[…you’ve become depraved enough to consider buying a vibrator, but all packages delivered to this apartment have to be approved by max or charles to be sent up, and you’re definitely not bold enough to go out and buy one (and risk being seen by one of their fans or have to physically talk to someone to buy one)...]

[…you seem to have missed the fact that you sent their minds reeling and continue venting, “i don’t know what to do, maxy!  i’ve been doing the same thing, and it’s NEVER failed me before. it’s cruel that it stopped working when you guys left me for more than a month! no matter how i did it–if i did the exact same things i’ve always been doing, or tried something new, nothing worked! i was literally just considering buying a fucking vibrator! a vibrator, charles, i’d rather run naked in the street than buy that online and have to put in this delivery address–”

charles gently presses finger against your mouth, shushing you. he pulls you into a deep hug, rubbing a hand up and down the length of your back , the motion pacifying you. he hums, and it vibrates through his chest to yours, “mmm, we’re home now, mon ange. there’s no need to run in the streets naked–” “definitely not,” max jumps in, reacting possessively at the implication of other people seeing you undressed. charles rolls his eyes and continues (like he’s not just as jealous as max), “or buy a vibrator. i know it must be so frustrating…”]

Charles was right. You didn’t have to go streaking or buy a sex toy to get off, your boyfriends took care of you. That night, you were satisfied by riding Max’s thigh. Then a few days later, you learned how to pleasure your men with handjobs. A couple of days after that you were fingerfucked into an altered mental state, then followed up with watching Charles cum untouched as Max ate him out. You had Max’s mouth on you next and weeks later in a Spanish villa, you allowed them to take your virginity.

The five days you three spent in that villa were filled with pleasure, as Max and Charles fulfilled every request of yours without question. In bed, on the sofa, from the kitchen floor to the dining table, from the hot tub to the bathroom shower, horizontally, vertically, parabolically, from dusk to dawn—the two years of relationship you had without sexual intimacy had been put to rest. The understanding, the vulnerability, and the trust rooted within everyone had led to that moment. It was worth it.

So, one would understand your confusion when Max drops the idea of sex toys in conversation with you and Charles on a random morning. With an audible noise of confusion, you tilt your head up at him adorably, and genuinely question, “Why would I use a toy when I have you two?” Your tummy tightened when that sentence caused Charles to look at you with dripping molten eyes and Max’s mumbled grumble about corrupting your innocence goes unheard. Minutes later, you were bent over the kitchen island, the skirt of your sundress shoved up around your waist, and your white panties dangling off of one ankle as they took turns eating you out. Needless to say, you forgot about the subject of conversation the moment they knocked your legs open.

Eventually, they do manage to have a chat about toys without it devolving into sex. 

“Schat,” Max grabbed your attention, the clink of his silverware resting on his plate further interrupted your focus on spinning pasta onto your fork.

“Yes, Maxy?” you responded, meeting his eyes with a smile.

“After this discussion, we will never bring this up again if you are adamantly against the idea,” you brought your fork to your lips, munching away with a look of puzzlement, the Dutchman continued, “But, Charlie and I were talking…and we think, that—with your approval, of course—that there’s a chance you may enjoy experiencing and learning about sex toys, and how good they can make you feel. As long as either one of us is using them on you—and, with your hatred of them—they’re also not vibrators.”

You choked on your pasta, Charles making a noise of surprise as he rushed forward to pat you on the back.

Airways now cleared, you looked at Max with watery eyes, “There was not enough foreshadowing to let me know where the conversation was going. And, fuck vibrators. They are way too strong.”

The Monegasque’s eyes brightened with humor, “Hm. I think vibrators are nice, especially when they’re in Max’s hand.”

“You’re a menace and a freak,” the older man responded, “And she’s chronically sensitive. Don’t tease.”

Charles tugged at one of your curls, chuckling as he saw the brown skin of your cheeks redden.

“I mean,” you paused to play fight with your boyfriend, batting his hand from your hair cutely, “You guys haven’t been wrong with anything you’ve introduced me to. If you think that I might enjoy something…I guess I can try it. And, you’ll stop if I tell you to, right?”

“Always, mon ange.” “Of course, liefje.”

“Okay, then. I just don’t think there’s a toy that I’ll like?”

A smirk spread across Max’s lips when he glanced over at Charles, like they knew something you didn’t. His blue eyes were alight with humor as they looked back at you, “Let us worry about that.”

You did such a good job of letting your boyfriends “worry about sex toys” that you ended up forgetting the conversation happened. Until tonight, when you walked into your bedroom to see Charles on the bed completely naked, save for—what appears to be, a pink silicone pad strapped around his tanned, muscular thigh.

You freeze in the doorway, mouth parted, struggling to process the sight in front of you. The brunette is ruined. His hair is damp with sweat, strands of curls stuck to his forehead, and green eyes moist with dried tear tracks painting the ruddiness of his cheeks. His lips are bitten red, swollen, and moist with his spit—Max’s too. The bruises start on his collarbone, deep red marks brush along his clavicle and pecs, and there are visible imprints of teeth around his right nipple. Traces of Max’s unforgiving grip are painted on his waist, thumbprints obvious to your eyes. His cock looks painful; burning red, twitching randomly, the vein on his underside raised, and precome has been leaking out of his tip for a while if the puddle by the base is any telling. 

Employing his skill for perfect timing, the en-suite door opens, and Max steps into the room with a bottle of lube in his hand. 

“Charlie?” Max coos, walking over to the delirious man, pouting sympathetically when the brunette’s head falls forward to rest on his hip, ruffling his hair and scratching along his scalp. “Aren’t you going to thank our pretty girl for putting an end to your torture?”

“–rci, merci,” the exhausted man mumbles messily. Max hums in content, dropping the lube on the bed and gesturing for you to come closer. Tripping over your feet in haste to follow his order, you ask softly, “How long have you had him like this?”

“Around forty-five minutes,” Max shrugs, dismissively, “He was getting too excited as we waited for you to join us.”

Swallowing shakily, you inquire, “Excited about what?

“Your new sex toy.” 

You gasp and Max’s eyes flutter across your face as he gages your reaction. Max sees you shift on your feet and casts look downward; your thighs are pressed together for friction—you’re aroused.

“Do you want to try it?”

“Yes, Max.”

The Dutchman smiles at you, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind your ear, and leans forward to press a multitude of chaste kisses on your lips, laughing lowly when you whine with displeasure as he ignores your attempts to deepen them. “You’re being so brave for me. Take your clothes off, pretty girl.”

Bare in the blink of an eye, you look at your older boyfriend for his next direction.

“Our Charlie,” Max starts, helping the fucked-out man sit up straight, “Has been so kind to volunteer his thigh to you. Strapped around it,” he pauses to slap his hand down beneath the toy, smirking at Charles’ delayed yelp, and squeezing the meat of his muscle warmly, “Is a ridged silicone pad designed to simulate the vulva and clit as you grind. The waves and spikes of silicone are malleable and soft,” Max drags his finger across them demonstratively, “and are smooth and bouncy as you slide across it, allowing for a continuous rubbing sensation—I did my research.”

Giggling nervously as your eyes flicker between Charles’ cock and the daunting pink slab of plastic, “I can tell. Um—I just ride it like it’s his thigh?”

Max nods and offers you his hand for stability as you move to straddle the pad. Charles blinks, raising trembling hands to rest on your hips, staring at you with hazy eyes. You sigh, tangling your hand in the nape of his hair and using it to pull him forward into a kiss. His lips are clumsy but eager as they move against yours, whimpers muffled into your mouth and beard scratching along your chin. He tries to tug you downwards to have you firmly sit on the pad but is halted by Max.

“Greedy, both of you,” Max snorts, picking up the forgotten bottle of lube and uncapping it to lightly drizzle some on the toy's surface, “I know you get wetter than the ocean but, better safe than sorry.”

He pats you on the ass in encouragement, and you shake your head with shame as you lower yourself down on the silicone, draping your arms around Charles’ shoulders and pausing to acquaint yourself with the new feeling. The chill of the lube startles you but aside from that, the toy is…comfortable. The raised hump sits perfectly against the curvature of your cunt and already, you’re anticipating the focused stimulation it will provide. 

Max sits behind Charles and the bed sinks under his weight, barely jostling the Monegasque’s thigh. However, it’s enough of a movement that it causes one of the soft spikes to clip your clit, pushing a quiet noise of surprise from your lips.

“Oh,” you murmur airily.

Trying to hide the quirk of his lips, Max leans forward to whisper directly into Charles’ ear, “This seems awfully familiar to the first time she rode my thigh, no?”

You whimper audibly, knowing that he purposefully spoke loud enough for you to hear his words. Refusing to fixate on Charles’ reply, you circle your hips, breath catching as the various textures set your nerves ablaze. You understand that Max added the lube to prevent any unwanted roughness—it’s rendered unnecessary as your arousal starts to leak. Digging your nails into the younger man’s back, you rock your hips back and forth slowly, moaning freely as the waves are a consistent friction against your labia. 

“It’s–fuck—i-it’s good.”

“Stuttering already,” Max tuts, and you feel the heat in your cheeks radiate down to your bouncing chest. Your rhythm roughens; dragging yourself along the toys in desperation, toes curling at every random press of the spikes against your outer lips and clit. Charles gasps in relief, your quickened pace causing his cock to bounce and rub against his abdomen in his puddle of precome. He gets lucky on every few grinds when you undulate forwards and his cock bounces to glide against your navel. His hands grip firmly around your hips and shove them into a jerkier motion, keeping you close to him so his reddened length can be soothed against your skin constantly. 

The change in angle and position has caused the spikes to form a barrage around your clit and the waves drag over your entrance, teasing you with the feeling of being opened up. Dropping your head to hide your face in Charles’ neck, you muffle your pitchy moans and shrieks by tasting the sweat beading on his skin.

“I’m jealous, schatje,” Max speaks, “I almost want to pull her off of your thigh and have her sit on my face.”

Fresh tears spill from Charles’ eyes as he begs, “N-no-no—mmmph—please, ‘m close.”

Your hips start to rabbit against the toy, and the texture between your legs is overwhelming but too pleasurable to consider slowing. 

Max yanks Charles’ head backward with a fist in his hair, “Do you want to cum, Charlie?”

The man in question babbles incoherently, chest trembling from lack of oxygen as he continues to sob; he tries to nod, but can’t, thanks to Max’s firm grip. The burning of his scalp doesn’t subdue him, it encourages him to keep tugging so the pain floods endorphins through his body. 

“You know what to say,” Max states calmly, the words sending shivers down your spine. Your own body starts to tingle as you taste your orgasm on the tip of your tongue; you’re too delighted at the new sensations to let any embarrassment build from reaching the edge quickly.

Charles struggles to get his tongue, lips, and vocal cords to cooperate. You see a frantic look light in his eyes, sure he’s trying to puzzle out what language he’s sane enough to communicate in. He manages to verbalize sounds that could be likened to Max’s name if you brush past his whimpers and cries.

“Plea–,” Charles tries to push the word out pitifully, “—ah, sss'il te pla—” his cock bumps against your navel, and his words cut off, eyes rolling back before he can finish begging.

A humorous laugh leaves Max; this is the easiest way Max has ever made the younger man lose his speech. He softens, and gives into the pillow prince, “You did so good, Charlie. You tried your hardest for me, yeah? You begged so prettily tonight, almost as pretty as you look. Such a good boy, Charles. You can cum.”

Strikingly, the approval works for both you and Charles. Twin cries of pleasure erupt as your orgasms blur your vision and burn through your muscles. The feeling of Charles’s cum splattering against your stomach sends another burst of light through your skin as you continue to grind fitfully on the silicone pad. A lake of wetness puddled on the poor man’s thigh, that squelches as you move. 

Charles is rendered silent as his cock continues to pulse even when the flow of his release ceases. Max brings his hand down to squeeze at his base and Charles releases a choppy scream as it pushes another couple of ribbons out of him. His hips thrust upwards with every string, forcing hisses of over sensitivity to slip from you as it drags the soaked pad against your cunt. You would happily crawl off his thigh, but you haven’t regained feeling in your legs yet. 

Thankfully, Charles deflates back into Max, his cock finally softening and slowly losing some of its flush. Tears start to leak from his eyes again, his chest shuddering through little sobs. You whimper softly at his tears and Max pulls you both to rest comfortably in the bed, as he shushes you two through the comedown. When the tears, shivers, and shakes halt, a pleased tilt of lips rises to Charles's face as his eyes dance between you and Max. 

The Dutchman unclips the toy from Charles’s thigh and smirks at the wet peeling noise that sounds.

“So…I assume this toy has your approval?”

© httpsserene2023

[letsgethaunted]

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Episode 121: The Blue Ridge Witch & the Haunting of Tilley Bend Photodump

Image 01: Photo of Tilley Bend Church - the feng shui is just off here, right? Why does it look like it has eyes? Image 02: Map of Lake Blue Ridge, Tilley Bend is at the very bottom, and the church is located on the red pin Image 03: Overhead drone shot showing Tilley Bend Church, Old Dial Road, the Fellowship Hall, the cemetery, and the woods Image 04: Photo of Elizabeth Bradley (the alleged Blue Ridge Witch) and her husband Image 05: Interior of Tilley Bend Church Image 06: Headstone of Elizabeth Bradley (note that all other headstones are facing east, while Elizabeth’s is facing west. The hanging tree is directly behind her headstone.) Image 07: Close up of Elizabeth Bradley’s headstone. Since her headstone has been stolen and vandalized so many times, nobody is quite sure if this is the original headstone or a replacement Image 08: Polly Long’s headstone Image 09: Map showing the distance between the Stanley settlement and the Tilley settlement Image 10: The headstone of Buel Stanley’s arm, buried at Stanley Gap

[fleuraliasave]

❤ Version 7.0 Fleuralia Save File ❤

Download link down below (please read entire post before installing)

This save file uses all EP’s, GP’s (not Journey to Batuu), SP’s and most of the kits (Country Kitchen, Blooming Rooms, Incheon Arrivals, Retro Fit, Industrial loft, Moonlight Chic, Little Campers, Pastel Pop, Everyday Clutter, Bathroom Clutter, Simtimates Collection, First Fits, Desert Luxe, Modern Luxe, Poolside Splash, Book Nook, Basement treasures, Greenhouse Haven, Pastel Pop and Bust the Dust).

What’s new in this update?:

Chestnut Ridge and Tomarang have been completely redone, added multiple new lots, updated other lots and provided make-overs for the households.

Added new households (when living in world; with jobs, friends, preferences etc).

Added rental lots in multiple other worlds outside of Tomarang (Brindleton Bay, Henford-on-Bagley, Britechester and more).

Spooky Fall Festival has been moved to Chestnut Ridge (bigger with haunted house ride). The old lot in Brindleton Bay has been changed into a cemetery.

Current Status of Worlds:

Finished worlds: Willow Creek, Oasis Springs, Newcrest, Magnolia Promenade, Windenburg, San Myshuno, Forgotten Hollow, Brindleton Bay, Del Sol Valley, StrangerVille, Glimmerbrook, Sulani, Britechester , Evergreen Harbor, Mt. Komorebi, Henford-on-Bagley, Tartosa, Moonwood Mill, Copperdale, San Sequoia, Chestnut Ridge (NEW!) and Tomarang (NEW!).

Finished vacation worlds: Granite Falls and Selvadorada.

Finihed other lots: Hospital, Science Lab and the Police Station.

To be updated: the Magic Realm, will either be included in a future update or on the gallery (OriginID: fleuralia)

What do you get with this save?:

For my save file all lots are either completely new builds (almost all) or renovations, ofcourse created by me. Exceptions: I have added the official builds for the releases of the Paranormal SP by Dr Ashley and the Dream Home Decorator GP by Deligracy to this save, since I thought they deserved a spot. These two are therefore not my own creations, credits are given in the description to Dr Ashley and Deligracy. Mt. Komorebi, Henford-on-Bagley, Tartosa, Moonwood Mill, Copperdale, San Sequoia and Chestnut Ridge lots are largely created by GameChangers. Most lots have gotten smaller updates, others are completely new builds by me.

All the townies had make-overs plus I added new families to spice it up a bit. Some of the townies are made by other creators, who are given credits in the description of the household. All the townies in the different worlds have a story, some include sentiments and adjusted relationships to the story.

Added plenty of community lots to give your Sims something to do (YAY!). Almost every world has one restaurant, but it also includes festivals that represent the four seasons (park lots) and a fully functional shopping street in Magnolia Promenade (toy store, bridal store and more).

I have added rental lots so you can go on vacation in more worlds. For example in Sulani, Willow Creek and Windenburg.

Other details:

As mentioned at the beginning, this save uses almost all packs (except Journey to Batuu and some kits). This means that if you download it without owning or installing most of the packs a lot of objects will disappear from the save, but if you are not bothered by this you can still download and play in it.  

I disabled the autonomous fame gain and neigborhood action plan voting/environmental changes, you enable them again in the pack settings menu.

I would love to add some households in this save created by all of you! Add your household under the hashtag #fleuraliatownies in The Sims 4 Gallery, you can add a storyline and world in the description but thats not obligatory. If I respond on your creation it means that I have incorporated it in the save for the next update.

Sadly every game update comes with a lot of bugs. I suggest before reporting problems in the save to me, to check on forums if its related to a general bug/glitch or to mods (if you use them).

Questions and supportive feedback are always welcome, you can reach me here via a comment on this post, an ask or through a DM 😁

How to make it work in your game:

Download the save file from the link below.

Drag it in your saves folder under: PC/Documents/Electronic Arts/The Sims 4/saves.

Change the numbers if you already have a save with the same name.

It should now show up in your game as: Fleuralia Save Version 7.0.

DOWNLOAD (SFS) / Alternate (GD)

!!Don’t re-upload or claim as your own!!

Future updates will follow after each pack release (if it includes a world). The time the update will be uploaded after each release depends on how much I have to change and on my work schedule around that time.

Last but not least, enjoy and till next time! XX

Fleuralia

Feel free to support me ❤️: Ko-fi account

[redflagshipwriter]

Fast Car Chapter One (of four)

Masterpost

Danny hit the brakes hard and veered into a bicycle lane with a very Fenton sort of style and disregard for physics. He dodged the gunman in the carpool lane. He stuck his tongue out as he passed and then steered back into the right lane once he’d cleared the pedestrian. 

It turned out that Gotham rewarded the sort of drivers forged in the crucible of the Fenton tactical GAV, which was great. Jazz had gotten a job as a barista for her third year at Gotham U, so he had inherited the car that she had used as a delivery driver. She’d even somehow managed to pay the taxes on it despite the restraining orders that most government offices had on the Fenton family.

Jazz had been a pizza girl, but Danny wasn’t willing to work the late nights. He worked for three different rideshare companies. It was.. Well. It was a terrible way to make a living, if he was honest. It was wretched. But it worked! Until the car crapped out on him, this was a viable option to feed himself while he was enrolled full time at the university. He was available to drive early in the mornings and for a few peak hours on the weekends.

Danny brought an order of 17 coffees to a warehouse with serious ‘murders will happen here today’ vibes and whistled as he left. People in murder warehouses actually tipped pretty well. Worker solidarity or something. He left the early birds to enjoy their 3 am drinks and then idly checked the app to see if there was anyone else waiting for a ride or delivery. 

“Victor,” he read, and took a glance at the address. It was close! He snagged the request and turned on some bubblegum pop to enhance the ride over. 

He saw a man standing outside, haunting a storefront with metal shutters pulled down. Must be the guy! Danny pulled over, checked the app, and then furrowed his eyebrows. Huh. Seemed wrong. He fixed his face before he looked back over. 

In the app, Victor didn’t look especially young or fit. In person, he was easily over 6 feet tall and lugged a huge bulky bag like it weighed nothing. 

He also had a giant ugly motorcycle helmet with the vague impression of a caveman brow ridge built into it. Danny hid his judgmental thoughts and rolled down the window to chirp, “Hi! Victor?”

“That’s me.” Victor sounded like he was auditioning for the Deft Punks, electronics grinding out his voice to a silly robot autotune. Danny hid the way his lips wanted to tremble. You can’t laugh at clients. “Can I put this in the trunk?”

Danny hated that. “Go for it.” He opened the trunk with the button and hid his real thoughts. He didn’t like people using the trunk. Why not just put it in the backseat like a normal person? There was enough room for a person and a bag there.

‘Is there enough room for this guy, actually?’ Danny wondered, looking Victor up and down subtly. Were his shoulders padded or was he actually built like that? Bizarre. 

He had the sense that Victor was tense.

‘Ah., fuck. He caught me checking out his shoulders.’

Danny cleared his throat and whipped his face forwards again. “Normally I say to sit in the backseat, but I'm not sure that's enough room for your legs. Either is fine.” 

Victor took him up on the front seat option and readjusted the passenger seat back with a casual ease. 

Danny waited a moment.

Victor cocked his head at him.

“Seatbelt,” Danny prompted.

There was a long moment. Victor silently buckled his seatbelt. 

“Awesome.” Danny put on his turn signals and pulled out. He went slower than he preferred. He’d learned the hard way that most passengers didn’t like his driving. It was great for cutting time off when he was delivering food, but no good for nervous cargo like poor Victor here. The poor guy was so anxious that he kept his emotional support helmet on when a passenger in a car. 

Danny thoughtfully drove the speed limit and let Victor change music.

They didn’t have much to talk about. Danny didn’t mind much either way. He liked quiet rides and he liked chatting alright.

“Stop the car two blocks early,” Victor said. He pointed. “There’s fine.”

Obligingly Danny guided the car to a stop and shifted to park. He jumped out of the car. “I’ll grab your bag!” He called over his shoulder. He popped open the trunk and lifted Victor’s bag with a winning smile that said ‘I deserve a good tip.’

Victor had moved to the back of the car faster than Danny expected. He paused. He looked weirdly stiff. “Thanks.” He took the bag. “...Here’s your tip.”

“Have a wonderful day!” Danny said, pretending not to be interested in how much money it was. He waved Victor goodbye and pulled out. As soon as he was a block away he counted the bills. “Fuck yeah,” he hissed. Victor tipped like a crime boss. He stuffed them into his wallet and made a mental note of the account. He’d definitely try to accept requests from him in future.

He gave two more rides before he could go back to his shitty apartment and get ready for classes. Danny parked in the little underground garage near his place where he paid a monthly fee and jogged to his place. He got his bag and left on foot.

He had a pretty normal day. The only hiccup was that it was kind of hard to focus on his lectures when he could faintly hear what had to be every TV on campus playing the same news bulletin. Danny did his best to block it out, grimacing. Having advanced senses really sucked sometimes. If he heard the breaking news jingle one more time, he might cry. 

By the time he was free he felt pushed to his limit. He went back to his place and turned off all his electronics for some peace of mind. 

The next morning felt better. He turned on the tab that said he was available for work at 3 am and ended up bringing a huge delivery of breakfast materials to the same police station that he’d left Victor at yesterday. Danny hummed as he jogged up the concrete steps with three bulging bags of baked goods and coffee grounds. He handed them to a weary-eyed receptionist and accepted his tip without looking at it. He considered cracking a joke about them being busy and decided it was better not to.

He was still an illegal entity, after all. His parents were covering for him, but scrutiny was not his friend. He didn’t want any interaction with the police or the rogue band of detective freakazoids that ran this crime town.

Back in the car, he checked his tip. Danny clicked his tongue and made a disgusted sound. He hated cops. Cheap! There was nothing worse than being cheap.

His next customer tried to rob him at gunpoint as soon as he got in the car. Danny wrestled the gun away from him and ate it while the guy watched. “Just try and report me to the app,” Danny sneered between crunches of metal. It tasted like shit and the guy probably hadn’t washed his hands, so like, yuck. But it was a choice he was making for the intimidation factor, not because it was yummy.

‘Bet my iron intake is good now.’ Danny held out his hand. “My tip,” he said, and did not unlock the car door until the shaking wannabe carjacker had given him three dollars American money. Hell yeah. “Have a good morning.”

He went into the app and canceled the ride. There was another request waiting, so he drove to it. It wasn’t the name that the app’s request had shown, but- “Good morning, Victor!” Danny waved. “Call from a friend’s app this time?”

Victor stared at him dumbly. At least, that was Danny’s best guess of what was going on inside the helmet. “Yes.” He eventually said.

Cool, cool. Very weird. But he was an ok guy and he tipped well. “Hop in,” Danny said, and unlocked the car.

[bumtown]

PREPARE TO MEET GOD

[forlix]

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀・741 / 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴・chan x gn!reader / 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲𝘀・fluff, hurt/comfort, suggestive themes so mdni / 𝗮/𝗻・inspired by our beautiful boy's bbl texts about the nylon shoot. he is so loved. i hope he knows it ♡

𝟬𝟵:𝟬𝟵 — Chan is nervous.

He doesn’t say so out loud. He doesn’t say anything out loud, actually, simply appearing in the kitchen to pluck a slice of toast off the counter. Damp curls dripping into the towel slung around his neck, brushing against your cheek when he leaves a good morning kiss there.

But there’s a squareness in his shoulders. A muted glaze over the brown of his eyes and a tightness in the smile he gives you as he pulls away. The images linger in your vision after he disappears back down the hallway, presumably to get ready for the big day ahead.

Words. There are times when they embrace Chan like orchestral musicians awaiting their conductor’s cue, like sunflowers swiveling eastward in the halcyon morning—but there are other times when they haunt him, like the faceless sea of spectators instead of the hopeful performers, like the shadows that comprise the fathomless night rather than the rays of sun that follow.

You rise out of your seat, a quiet sigh leaving your lips. Chan needs the sun, today.

Inside your bedroom, Chan’s towel sits atop your duvet, right beside the white material of the T-shirt he slept in. The bathroom door is ajar and spilling yellow light onto the hardwood. You nudge it open further.

Free to roam after the towel’s removal, transparent waterdrops pave silvery trails down the sides of Chan’s neck, over the gentle incline of his collarbones and the naked hills of his chest. His palms are pressed flat on either side of the sink, his eyes glued to the mirror before him, his jaw set as squarely in his reflection as it is on his person.

He jumps when your reflection joins his. Parts his lips, prepares to speak. But his whole vernacular evaporates when your hands find his waist, when your breath hits the nape of his neck. 

“Baby,” he breathes.

There’s a question embedded in the word. The only answer you give him is the quiet drag of your fingertips down the center of his back. He expels an involuntary shudder, and with it the muscles beneath your touch shift like fields of marigolds tousled by a kindred breeze.

You kiss the highest ridge of his spine, letting your lips linger against the smooth skin for a few moments before doing the same, just below his ear. 

“What—” He pauses, swallows. “What are you doing, angel?”

When your hands return to his hips, they request something this time. He complies, lets you turn him around, his lower back meeting the marble with a soft bump.

You bring yourself close to him. Close enough to gauge his blushing cheeks and trembling breath and brown, brown eyes, crossed from trying to look at you. Close enough that you only need slightly dip your head to mould your lips to the hollow right under his jaw.

He moans, the sound melodic and low and quickly muffled by the lower lip he bites down upon. You suck lightly, careful not to leave a mark yet entirely fine with the alternative, then graze your teeth over the tender skin, pull away. You don’t go far, though, as your next destination is his Adam’s apple, which you reach not by boat or by plane but by short, wet kisses that resound in the silent bathroom, that draw from Chan’s throat another gorgeous whine.

As you progress in this fashion, traipsing across the plane of his clavicle, the valley of his pectorals, you want to tell him that he’s beautiful.

He’s beautiful when he laughs so hard that his smile turns boxy and his voice gets all squeaky. He’s beautiful when he’s trying not to cry and his eyes look like mirror pools because he’s failing. He’s beautiful in front of the cameras; he’s beautiful away from them. He’s beautiful always, your Chan, your Chris.

That is what you want to tell him.

But you don’t. Not even when his back hits the mattress moments later and he looks like your every wildest dream come to life underneath you: pupils blown so wide that they’ve swallowed his irises, lips glistening and quivering and inconceivably kissable as he sighs your name, chiseled upper body rippling when he props himself up on his elbows. Straining to look at you as you lower your mouth to his navel, undo the knot of his sweatpants with a gentle tug.

You’ll show him instead.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・@automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten・@newhope8・@weedforthoughtz・@hyunverse

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

[heejake-hoon]

Please officer ...

S: The one where Officer Jay makes sure to fuck all the senses out of you. Warnings: Jay is anything but gentle, very mean Jay, very desperate reader, spitting, choking, begging (a lot), names calling, very messy and kinda nasty sex... A.N: this is pure smut, there is barely a plot.

You sank obediently to your knees before the stern-faced officer, hands trembling with a heady mix of arousal and trepidation as they hovered over his belt buckle. Meeting his intense stare, you unconsciously wet your lips in a silent plea, hoping to convey your desperation for him to claim you.

But Officer Jay was unmoved by your blatant attempt at seduction. His expression remained impassive, brows raised in a mild show of bemusement as he simply stared down at you, making no move to aid or deter your efforts.

Swallowing hard, you slowly untucked his crisp shirt from the waistband of his trousers with quivering fingers, forcing yourself to hold his gaze all the while. You were determined to prove your utter submission, to shatter that maddening veneer of control until he couldn't resist ravishing you utterly.

With each button you undid, you leaned in closer, your warm breath ghosting in a teasing caress over the trail of toned abdomen you gradually exposed. Your lips brushed feather-light against his heated skin as you worked your way lower and lower still, until finally nuzzling against the coarse hair of his groin.

His length was a heavy, throbbing presence straining against the front of his trousers, begging for release from its confines. You nosed boldly at the prominent bulge, mouthing hot and slick along the outline as best you could through the barrier of fabric. All the while, your eyes remained locked on his, silently challenging that iron grip he had on his restraint.

A muscle ticked sharply in Officer Jay's clenched jaw as he stared back at you, his hands fisting rigidly at his sides. You could see the barest flare of his nostrils as you brazenly outlined every ridge and vein of his immense girth with your lips and tongue, leaving behind a shining trail of saliva on the material.

But still he refrained from touching you, from burying himself in the welcoming heat of your mouth as you knew he was aching to do. Never mind that his piercing gaze was bruisingly intense as it roamed your features, that his chest was heaving just the slightest bit more rapidly with his shallow breaths.

Another piteous whine slipped free as you realized just how unaffected by your efforts he appeared. Wetness seeped from your neglected core, trickling in shameful rivulets down your inner thighs as desperation swiftly eroded any shreds of self-restraint.

Grabbing his hips in your hands, you rutted your cheek shamelessly against the rigid line of his cock, your entire body trembling with need. "Please..." you rasped, sparing one pleading glance up at him through the veil of your lashes. "Please, Officer...I need you."

He said nothing, made no move to touch you as he simply drank in your disheveled, craving form for one torturously protracted moment. Just when you were certain you would go mad with lust for him, another guttural groan slipped unbidden from between his clenched teeth, the sound vibrating in that gravelly timbre that had haunted your fantasies.

And then, before you realized his intention, one corded forearm lashed out in a blur. You felt a sharp pang of discomfort as your hair was gripped in an unforgiving fist, wrenching your head back at a punishing angle to gaze up at him. His face was utterly thunderous, cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide as he finally relinquished the last shreds of his vaunted control.

"You wanton little slut," he seethed, each word ground out between grit teeth. "You'll get what you're begging for, and more..."

Jay's grip was unrelenting, bordering on brutality as he used his fistful of your hair to roughly yank you even closer to his straining erection. His free hand made short work of his trousers, allowing his throbbing length to spring free at last.

"Open," he growled, the steel in his voice making it clear it was an order, not a request.

You immediately complied, lips parting in eager obedience. But just before he could sheath himself in the welcoming heat of your mouth, he paused. His lust-glazed gaze roamed boldly over you, drinking in the desperate sheen of arousal glazing your features.

"You wanted this, didn't you?" His words were sandpaper rough, visceral and dripping with unchecked desire. "To get caught and punished like the depraved little slut you are?"

A piteous whimper slipped free at his brutal phrasing, your thighs unconsciously shifting in a silent plea for friction, for anything to alleviate the molten ache between them. But Officer Jay was merciless, ignoring your wanton display and tightening his grip in your hair in pointed warning.

"Answer me when I ask you something," he thundered, his free hand roughly gripping your chin to hold your focus when you simply whimpered again.

"Y-Yes!" you finally managed, the single word emerging high and reedy and utterly desperate. "Please, Officer... I need it. I need you inside me so bad!"

His eyes and nostrils flared at your explicit admission, drinking in your lewd supplication with naked hunger. For one tantalizing instant, his control seemed to waver before reassembling itself, his expression hardening once more into an imperious mask.

"You're going to have to beg better than that if you want to feel my cock stretching that greedy little pussy," he sneered, dragging the broad head along the seam of your lips, smearing the glistening bead of arousal there in an obscene tease. "Show me how desperate you really are for it."

Your moan was shamelessly loud at the blatant promise laced into his rough words, sounding broken and incoherent even to your own ears. Any remaining vestiges of pride or propriety burned away under the searing onslaught of your lust. You would've professed your fealty to Satan himself if he asked in that moment, so long as he rewarded you with that thick, painful-looking length sheathed fully inside you.

Jay's grip tightened further, to the point of pulsing pain as he leaned in until his face was just inches from yours. His scorching gaze skewered you, pupils swallowing up nearly all the brown of his irises as molten lust and vicious control warred for dominance.

"Well?" He rumbled, voice like gravel ground underfoot. "I'm waiting..."

The hint of challenge, of threat, in his resonant tone snapped the final thread tethering you to coherent thought. With a broken, garbled cry, you strained up as far as you were able in his unrelenting grip, mouth stretching wide in mute, mindless entreaty.

A snarl twisted Jay's features into something fiercely primal as he watched your submission play out. He released your hair abruptly, only to fist both hands into the sweat-dampened strands and yank your head back until it was nearly bent in half.

Then, without any further preamble, he shoved himself fully into your waiting mouth.

A raw, hoarse sound of mingled pleasure and relief rasped from his throat as he bottomed out against the back of your constricted airway. You gagged indelicately around his punishing girth, eyes watering and throat convulsing in a desperate bid to accommodate the thick invasion.

But any protest you may have attempted was ruthlessly silenced as he immediately established a ferocious tempo, slamming into your mouth with piston-like thrusts. Spittle and errant strands of your hair whipped wildly with each savage drive, his testicles slapping with emphatic cruelty against your chin.

"That's it, take it like the cock-hungry slut you are," Jay snarled, his voice utterly wrecked with lust. "Feel how hard your desperation's made me, you filthy little one."

You sobbed around his punishing length, saliva spilling obscenely down your chin with each ruthless impalement. But the cruel degradation only inflamed your arousal further, your core clenching with each molten pulse in shameless yearning to be claimed next.

As if he could sense the depths of your depraved cravings, Jay wrenched back abruptly and shoved you away with enough force to nearly topple you over. You instinctively flinched back from him with a broken, keening cry of distress, fearing he planned to leave you hanging on the precipice once more.

But his ferocious gaze swiftly disabused you of such notions as his eyes roamed over your disheveled and thoroughly ravaged form with naked hunger.

"Get on the fucking table," he barked, already shrugging off his jacket and flinging it carelessly aside. "Hands against the wall where I can watch you try not to scream for me."

An electric thrill zipped down your spine at the unyielding command in his tone, wholly eviscerating your plans to begin pleading once more. You scurried to obey without hesitation, nearly stumbling in your haste to clamber atop the metal table and press yourself against the concrete wall as he'd ordered.

Your fingers splayed helplessly against the rough surface, trembling with equal parts trepidation and frenzied anticipation. Before you could so much as draw your next breath, you felt the rough caress of his palms gliding up the sensitive backs of your thighs, dragging deliciously along your sensitized flesh.

Deftly, his hands hooked under the hem of your skirt and shoved the restricting material up over your hips, bundling it around your waist and leaving you completely exposed to his ravenous stare. Your panties were similarly stripped away with one sharp, impatient tug, ripped off and fluttering forgotten to the floor at his feet.

You whimpered at the vulnerable position he placed you in, undeniably on display for his lavish consumption. Your slick, glistening folds were utterly bare to his intense scrutiny, your arousal undoubtedly coating your inner thighs in a mute testament to your complete desecration under his touch.

"Fuck, look how fucking soaked you are for me," you heard him grate, the growling words punctuated by the crinkle of a foil packet being ripped open behind you. "Like a bitch in heat, just desperate to be bred and pumped full of my seed."

A piteous whimper was your only reply, your arms already trembling with the strain of holding position under the onslaught of his filthy praise. The wet heat between your splayed thighs grew slicker and more insistent with each crude phrase falling from his lips, your body urging you towards the pinnacle of release you craved.

"Hold still," was his only brusque warning before the rounded head of his cock notched itself with unerring accuracy against your weeping entrance.

Then, with one blindingly vicious thrust, he sheathed himself fully inside your scorching, velvet depths.

You cried out in a strangled melange of pained shock and wanton relief as Jay's considerable girth speared into your scorching walls. Not an inch was left unfilled, the stinging burn of your pussy's brutal parting only stoking the inferno raging within you higher.

He gave you no quarter to adjust, no chance to savor the exquisite penetration you'd been yearning for. With a bestial snarl, he immediately set a pace so harsh, so ferocious that your cries evaporated into a mantra of breathless whines.

"F-Fuck...oh god,yes!" Each savage thrust punched the words from your lungs, sweat-dampened palms scrabbling for purchase against the unforgiving concrete. His hands were vicelike on your hips, nails scoring crescent moons into your flesh as he used his brutal grip to yank you back onto his jackhammering cock.

The shock of penetration soon mellowed into a delirious, mind-shredding pleasure that sizzled with delicious friction. Your cunt clenched and fluttered wildly around Jay's invading length, desperately milking him as if to draw his seed from the very depths of his being.

Each wringing constriction of your inner muscles was met with a punitive slap of his hips that jarred you viciously against the unforgiving surface, uncaring of the abrasions and bruises surely blossoming along your front. Every grunt, every profane curse and fragmented exhortation tumbling from his lips in that gravelly rasp only served to incense your lust higher.

"That's it, you cockwhore...fucking squeeze me. Take what you wanted so fucking bad!"

Unable to form any semblance of coherent response, you could only whine and shudder against the merciless onslaught. The tiny bit of give the table permitted allowed Jay to change the angle of his strokes, until he was prodding against that swoolen, ripened knot buried deep at your core.

Blindingly intense rapture ripped through your overwhelmed senses with each brushing against that magic button. A tidal wave of euphoria crested ever nearer, threatening to drag you under into sweet, welcome oblivion.

"Please...please I'm gonna..." You could barely gasp the disjointed pleas, head thrashing in mute entreaty for the release you so desperately craved. To your shock and dismay, Jay reacted by abruptly withdrawing his length from your clenching sheath with an imprecation.

Before you could so much as vocalize your confusion, you were being forcefully manhandled. With enough strength to make your bones protest, he hauled you backwards until your knees impacted the unforgiving tabletop with bruising force.

Your head lolled back helplessly, jaw hanging open and chest heaving with exertion as his hands remained fisted in your hair. The position arched your spine at an obscene angle, leaving your weeping pussy lewdly displayed and utterly vulnerable to his merciless assault.

"Needy little slut" he snarled, dragging two calloused fingertips along your swollen, flushed folds. "You'll come when I tell you to come."

Then, without further warning, he hilted himself to the throbbing root in one punishing snap of his hips.

Your rasping mewl of stunned pleasure was abruptly silenced as Jay's large palm wrapped itself around the slender column of your throat. Not choking, at least not initially, but rather a full-handed vise caging your airway with the mere promise of asphyxiating cruelty.

His fingers clenched almost idly, stealing your breath in erratic, gasping hitches with each languid flex. The lack of oxygen only made you grow lighter-headed, more pliant and malleable as he took his barbaric pleasure from your body.

"Look at you," he sneered in a tone dripping with vicious scorn. "Just a cock-starved set of holes for me to use and discard when I'm done."

Drool leaked freely from the corner of your lax mouth at his degrading taunts, spit pooling obscenely on the surface beneath you. You were utterly helpless to do anything but buck and writhe mindlessly along his pistoning length as he held you perfectly immobilized.

Every slick retreat of his girth granted you only the barest whisper of relief before he would surge forward once more. The squelching cacophony of flesh meeting flesh echoed lewdly, punctuated only by your gurgling whimpers each time the pressure on your airway spiked.

"You wanna come, whore?" His face was a rictus of lust-maddened cruelty looming over you. "Think you've earned the privilege of squeezing down nice and tight on my cock?"

The paltry dredges of your rationality screamed at you that any sounds you attempted to make would be the final wisps of oxygen leaving your lungs. But the insane frenzy of desperation had you nodding frantically anyway, jaw working soundlessly in feverish desperation.

His smirk was absolutely feral as his grip shifted from vise-like to full constriction, crushing your throat with merciless strength. You immediately flushed crimson, vision tunneling to pinpricks as he sustained the pressure beyond the brink of blacking out.

When he did finally release you, it was with a negligent flick of his fingers, as if casually swatting a gnat. You sucked in a ragged, wheezing gale of air, chest lurching violently as you gulped for breath. Only the sound of his gruff laugh grounded you, sharpening your focus back to his hulking frame still buried to the root inside of you.

"Pathetic," he scoffed, giving a rough shove that sheathed himself impossibly deeper. "Gonna have to do better than that if you want my load glazing those pretty little tits of yours."

Your piteous whimper was cut off as a fat rope of saliva abruptly arched from his sneering grin to splatter against your cheek. He shifted his stance, wedging your legs even more obscenely apart as his pace grew more punishing...

The sweat-slick valley of your cleavage bounced and jostled with each violent collision of his hips, your tightly-clenched nipples a shocking crimson against the ivory of your skin. You were nothing more than a plaything, a selfish source of friction for his own gratification as he railed you into insensibility.

And somewhere in the dissolute wasteland of your fractured psyche, you reveled in the abasement of it all.

When his next contemptuous glob of spit landed hot and thick against your parted lips, you instinctively swept your tongue out to lap up the degrading offering. The copper-bitterness of his saliva only seemed to add an extra thrill of shame, your swollen inner walls clenching in feverish spasms around his plunging length.

"That's right, been waiting for you to show me what a greedy little cumslut you are," he taunted hoarsely, punctuating the sneered words with an especially brutal ram of his hips that punched the breath from your lungs and sent stars exploding before your vision.

You were so perilously, achingly close...pleasure building and winding ever tighter like a compressed coil spring. All it would take was one more elemental force to send you careening over that dizzying edge into the abyss of oblivion.

Your surrender must have been scrawled plainly in your lust-glazed features, for Jay's expression twisted into one of wicked triumph. With his free hand, he wound the tangle of your hair around his fist once more, pulling your head back in an excruciating arch that left your throat a taut, tempting column.

His lips brushed the feverish skin there, maddeningly gentle in stark contrast to the feral hammering of his hips as he growled, "Then you'd better fucking come for me, whore."

Before you could so much as process the order, the merciless heel of his palm slammed squarely against your exposed windpipe.

The explosion of pain and asphyxiation was glorious in its intensity. What little remained of coherent thought shattered into a kaleidoscope of white-hot bliss as your world narrowed to his  punishing cock and the exquisite torture of his iron grip constricting your airflow.

Even as you choked and thrashed under the debilitating onslaught, the barbaric cadence of his strokes never flagged for an instant. A high, reedy whine you could scarcely believe was issuing from your own abused throat threaded through the darkness encroaching on your consciousness.

Somewhere in the whiting-out tempest of blinding euphoria, you became vaguely aware of the molten clench of your inner muscles fluttering wildly along his invading length. You were cumming...shattering into a million kaleidoscopic fractals of pure, incandescent rapture as your climax crested in a dizzying wave.

The punitive pressure on your windpipe crested in a singular, explosive squeeze right as your release peaked, choking off what little air remained in your lungs. Vertigo and delirious elation conflated into a disorienting vertigo that had you bucking and writhing like a thing possessed.

How long the excruciation of blacking out lasted, you couldn't say. But when the darkness finally receded, you found yourself slumped limply across the tabletop in a sweaty, boneless sprawl. Ribbons of spit and mucosal strands clung obscenely to your gaping mouth and hollow cheeks, utterly debauched proof of your ruination.

A low, raspy chuckle from somewhere above you cut through the lingering cotton wool wrapped around your senses. You managed to crack your eyes open just enough to make out Jay's imposing silhouette looming over your prone form, sleeves shoved up to his elbows and cheeks still hectic with exertion.

"Fuck..." he grunted in a tone caught between disgust and grudging admiration. His large palm connected with your clammy cheek in a dull slap that had your eyes rolling back in a fresh frisson of euphoria. "That's how a desperate little slut begs for my load."

Latent vestiges of his thick, musky arousal still clung to every shallow inhale, overpowering and intoxicating. You instinctively licked your lips to chase the rich, heady flavor even as he threaded his fingers back through your disheveled strands and hauled your head up off the surface with a merciless yank.

At some point, he'd sheathed his still-rigid cock from within your clenching, sloppy depths. The bloated, twisted length hovered mere inches from your slack features, dribbling thick ropes of pearlescent fluid from its bulbous crest onto your tongue as he aimed the final pumping contractions of his release.

"Open up," he growled, the words emerging strained and guttural as he fought the throes of orgasm shuddering through his muscular frame. "Gonna fill that pretty cocksleeve of yours with every fucking drop..."

The commanding rasp of his voice brooked no disobedience, not that you could have mustered anything resembling refusal at this point even if you'd wanted to. No, the taste of his briny, salty issue flooding your palate was the culmination of your most primal desires.

With a sob of pure, wanton bliss, you stretched your jaws wide and allowed Jay to guide his weeping length onto your tongue. You swallowed around the generous streams he pumped directly down your abused throat in reverent, subservient gulps, tears of rapture leaking freely down your ravaged features.

He grunted sharply with each protracted pulse, his balls drawing up tight and tight as he emptied his copious load straight into the succulent hollow of your mouth without mercy. Only once he had drained himself to the very last clinging drop did he withdraw, leaving you to lap and dribble like a bitch in heat at the lingering dregs.

"Messy fucking whore..." was all he seemed able to grind out, his voice sandpaper-rough but utterly sated.

This was not supposed to be this long but i guess m just so horny *-*