#straight from my brain to your eyeballs

[kathybluecaller]

when I give up on fully drawing Strive so my boy despawns for a solid 6 frames

(don’t mind the animation rant in the tags that I may continue on a later date)

[wokelander]

LIMERENCE !

ft. jimmy x fem!reader

tags. implied/reference rape, failed rape recovery, talk of incest and underage but not in regards to reader, public humiliation, obsession on readers part, sort of stalking, one mention of suicide, slight boot kink, just humiliation tbh..

note. waow.. don’t know what this is.. unedited and kind of sucks.. rbs n feedback always appreciated. ignore any typos!

What do you do when your rapist is the most handsome man you’ve ever had the pleasure of fucking?

He wasn’t ugly or fat and he wasn’t the tallest, but everyone has their shortcomings.

You feel like a total fraud, picking at the lint on your sweater as you listen to a girl bawl her eyes out while recounting the time her father raped her in the back of his pick-up after school.

The woman before her was gang-raped by her delinquent boyfriend’s lackeys, the man to her left is the victim of his middle-school teacher, another lady pushed out two rape babies from her deadbeat husband before she managed to get away from him.

They’re all ghosts; beaten down, so broken, and you are you.

The same as before, if not a little bit better.

In fact, you’ve stopped getting those night terrors where all your teeth fall out.

You got raped and everything just felt right.

Like he knocked something into place, dug so deep into your cunt he rewired your brain.

Your therapist said this would be a chance at community, some place to bring you comfort, like-minded individuals who have gone through all the same things you have. Circle time for victims of brutal, life-ruining—life-changing rape, you should fit right in.

But you have never felt more out of place.

Pick-up girl can’t continue, she’s choking on her words, they come out her throat like the creak in an old floorboard. The box of Kleenex is significantly lighter.

“We can move on,” says a lady with kind eyes, shifting on her chair to face your way.

They all look at you with their haunted, dark eyes, gaping black chasms that lead right to fucking hell. God. You’re going straight to hell.

“Erm..” You squeeze your hands into fists. You unstick your thighs from the plastic chair. You count to ten and try not to think about how nice he looked on top of you.

“It’s okay, honey, take your time.” She places her hand on your knee. You think of him. His hand on your thigh, squeezing your tender flesh until it came right off the bone, the way it inched up your skirt.

You go stiff and she notices, gasping softly like she has done something wrong. And she has. She’s turned you the fuck on, the warmth of her encouragement going straight to your cunt.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think about—“

“No, it’s okay,” you strain to get it out, avoiding her eyes like sympathy is a highly contagious disease of some kind.

They’re all feeling bad for you when you have finally started to feel good about yourself.

Man, you suck.

“He was my boyfriend.” Your voice cracks for dramatic effect, hold the applause. You wish he was your boyfriend. “He did it almost everyday.” You wish he did it everyday. “It would be after I came back from work…” It would be great stress relief after your Friday shift, it’s nearing Christmas and everybody is crushed into the stores like cattle in free stall barns.

You open and close your mouth, unsure of where to go from here, so you stand up and the chair screeches against the ground. “Sorry… I’m so sorry—I need to go.”

You leave and it looks real.

Like you are a real victim with a real story and very real feelings. The type you see on TV, dressed in white, trembling like lambs, abhorred by the notion of anything sexual. Squeaky clean like you should be.

For just a moment you feel normal. Your therapist is not eyeballing you like a mildly fascinating organism in her Petri dish. Your friends don’t give you a funny look when you say you’re fine—great actually. Your mom is not hanging her head in secondhand shame when you refuse to file a police report, disturbed when she unearths your bloodied underwear beside the prayer book you keep tucked beneath your pillow, rosary nowhere to be found.

They mutter quietly amongst themselves.

Poor thing she can’t even speak about it, it must’ve been awful, I can’t even imagine what she went through, so young.

You can’t speak about it, you really can’t, you might start reciting wedding vows if you think about him longer than a second.

Your loneliness is like the crack in a China cup, fine and glossy on the outside but delicate from years stowed away in show cabinets, passed from bidder to bidder. He pressed golden lacquer into the seams of your fracture, put you back together like you were something worth holding, something to be used.

Stored away in your bag, a sacred place your mother has not yet invaded, is his work ID. You say his ordinary name like you’re uttering a prayer, you drag the jagged tip of your nail over his tiny photograph. His hair and beard are longer than you remember, he’s handsome underneath the scruff, a strong nose and a broad chest. The collar of his company-issued jumpsuit is half popped, and he’s scowling at the camera like it’s an inconvenience.

There’s no phone number on it and part of you is glad you won’t have to call into the company, requesting Jimmy like The Pony Express is a sex hotline and he’s their newest, youngest, bustiest doll.

You wait outside the warehouse instead. It’s a big old thing, the last of its kind, muted in colour, blending into the silver skies. You look at the horse who sits on top like a weathervane on a cathedral, oversized features and the stomach of a pudgy toddler.

Every day from two to eight you circle the block a few times, take a window seat in the cafe opposite until the staff begin to stack tables and chairs, sit at the bus stop beside the same lot of people who wonder why you never get on.

The horse watches from above, wide eyes glowing in the dark beside the moon, unsettlingly reverent, sparkling with diamond-sharp logic, like it knows something you do not, a silent witness to your dog-like devotion.

One day, you leave work early and find a truck parked in front of the hulking, metal mass. Two men are unloading it, one is old and the other is blond, but they don’t matter to you. A third steps out of the cab, your breath gets caught in your throat, scared your exhale might blow him away.

You don’t look when you cross the street.

“Excuse me?” You call out, you’re sure he hears you, but he’s choosing to ignore it. “Are you Jimmy?” You ask once you're close enough to go unnoticed.

“Depends,” he says in that voice you have heard so many times in your dreams, rough like the serrated edge of a knife. “Who’s asking?” He hasn’t looked up once, disinterested and completely unaffected while you burn just being near him.

There is a woman near those other two men, leant down amidst some crates, a clipboard pressed to her chest. Her face is white and her nose is long like the snout on a hound dog, her charcoal eyes are sad and droopy.

You wonder if he has touched her like he has touched you. Either she just has one of those faces or she can take your slot at circle time. She would fit right in with the rest of them. Herbivores hiding in long grass.

“I’m asking.” You clear your throat, he looks up at you with his lidded eyes and you don’t look away, openly admiring the colour of them, how they look in the sunlight. There are a million things you want to ask him.

Was it just me? Was I your first and only? Have you been thinking about me? Do you want a summer wedding or a winter one? Vanilla or chocolate cake? We could do floral arrangements in your favourite colour.

He seems to grow slightly antsy when you continue to stare, Adam’s apple bulging out of his throat when he swallows. He looks like he’s started to feel sick, like he’s waiting outside the principal’s office after breaking a window.

It’s different, he’s different in the day. Long gone is his barbed tongue and wolf-like smile. “What do you want?”

You.

Your fingers toy with the rounded edges of his employee card, if you hand it to him now it’ll all be over.

“Listen,” Jimmy starts, lowering his voice, “if it’s something I did, I’m sorry.” Apprehension twists his mouth into a frown, and he doesn’t sound all that sorry. “But you can’t show up—“

“Here.” You fish his ID from your purse, reluctant to hand it over. His fingers don’t brush yours like you hoped and he seems all too eager to get rid of you.

“Thanks, cool,” he says with all the enthusiasm of a funeral celebrant, tucking it into his breast pocket for safekeeping, his disengagement is a knife in your chest. You’re a stain on a shirt he has no intention of cleaning.

“Yeah…” Does he not remember you? Is there nothing about you that is worth remembering? Were you not good? “Cool.” The longer you stand there the more likely it seems he’s going to grab a broom to chase you away. “Well, bye, Jimmy.” You blink at him sadly, expectantly, longingly. This is it.

You walk away and that was it. That was it. You’ll never see him again, you have no reason to be caught lurking outside the warehouse.

You start to think long and hard on your way home about the fuck is wrong with you.

Everyone is shaped by the sum of their exposures. A product of the people you meet, the enemies and friends you make, who you go home to. Every smile, every scowl, every bad habit is the reflection of another. But to be completely fucking honest, you think you’re just like this. The root of the problem is you, it stems from deep inside your very core, a fundamentally fucked up instinct that makes life a fucking inconvenience. It turns everything into a complication and that is why you’re like this.

God, you wonder what it would be like to wake up and think about normal things like normal people who do not have this constant flurry of wrongness whirling around inside of them. You want to go through life like you’re meant to be on earth, not like an alien species that crash-landed here and never managed to get out, unable to acclimatise to the human way, not like you’re a manufacturing defect.

You want to laugh at the right moment, you want to know what everyone else is thinking, you want to be raped so badly. Again and again and again. You can’t be normal if you can’t stop thinking about the most abnormal thing about you, that just defeats the fucking point.

Your friends think it is their fault for bringing you home that night, for letting you go home all on your own, for getting drunk and leaving you sober. They feel responsible for the best night of your life and you hate it. You hate that they don’t get it. You had a good time in your own right, they don’t need to feel guilty—Or maybe you need to start thinking how they do. Like normal people. They’re horrified when they’re supposed to be horrified. Their minds are tailored to the tastes of this world, yours is somewhere else, some rotten, tumultuous, toxic planet.

Therapy is supposed to be helping you learn how to be even slightly human, little by little, step by step. But you can’t take it in small doses, you need all of this wrongness gone at once like a decidual cast. It doesn’t make you lighter, it doesn’t put a pep in your step, it doesn’t do shit.

So you keep going to wait outside the Pony Express warehouse. You camp out in that cafe all day on days off from work. The staff know you by name, six holes punched in your reward card, special access to the staff bathrooms. You’re set for stalker life.

He never comes again, but you do everyday.

The nights are getting darker, stars bleed into the sky as the sun dims, the moon is larger than usual tonight and if you weren’t so taken by the brightness you would be quicker to notice the dark figure in your peripheral.

When you finally do, you think it’s the devil, cloaked in darkness like the devil probably should be. “Oh, it’s you.” You try to hide the smile in your voice as you watch him put a cigarette between his crooked lips.

“Yeah, it’s me.” He’s unbothered in tone, indifferent in manner. It would be flattering that he remembered you if he hadn’t said it like that.

“Do you remember me?”

“Yeah, from last week.” Jimmy’s eyes glow radioactive in the dark like tiger eyes when he lights his cigarette, the flame flickers and casts him uneven light, softening the right side of his face with a golden haze and plunging the left into shifting darkness. “You stalking me?”

“No!” You say all too quickly. “No, no… I study at the cafe opposite you.”

“Okay.” He was joking you think, making fun of you maybe, you wouldn’t be able to tell either way. “Studying the menu or what?”

That was a joke, that has to be a joke. It’s your cue to laugh so you force one out, it crackles unnaturally. “I wish, but I meant before that, do you remember me from before that?”

You look different under the street lamps, they do nothing for your skin, light pools unfavourably in every pore, the jewel-toned dress you picked out today must look washed out.

Jimmy’s lazy eyes rake up your body, and then he shakes his head slowly. “No.” Even to someone like you, it’s clear he has no interest in taking this conversation anywhere.

“It was in November, the beginning, I was on my way home, and it was late...” You should’ve done this at circle time. “You grabbed me and I let you take me, and then after you told me to walk down the block and call a cab, and I did.”

“Hm,” Jimmy shrugs, though you notice his hand trembling as he raises his cigarette to his lip, “nope, don’t remember that.”

Frustrated, you clench your fists, wondering what could jog his memory—Did he do it often? Nab a girl off the street corner so regularly that he didn’t remember a single one, faces all blurring together, the same hole with a different set of tits.

“Remind me again.”

“How?”

“Take off your jacket.” Jimmy’s cigarette gets crushed beneath his boot, he’s looking at you now. Really looking at you, and this is where it all goes pear-shaped. Your whole life is pear-shaped of course, but this is just fucking sad. You beg yourself to think it over, to think of the dozens of security cameras on this street alone. None of it seems too important when he’s here.

And then, you shrug your coat off your shoulders.

“Okay.” You’ve always been obedient because you have no reason to say no, you don’t care if he’s going to mug you, at least he’s talking to you now. At least he is looking at you.

“Think I’m gonna need to see more to know who you are,” he says, detached like there are a million better things he could be doing with his time, but he’s spending it with you. “Take off your dress.”

“What…” You’re shaking slightly in the cold, wind stings your cheeks and the tip of your fingers have started to ache.

“Take off your dress, I might know you.” Fair enough. He’d seen your ass more than your tits and your tits more than your face. It was forced into a flat pillow for three quarters of the night, between his thighs for the last quarter.

You take off your dress, edging it off your ankles. He drapes it over his arm - he’s got enough humanity to not leave your pretty clothes on the pavement.

It’s cold. The type of cold that makes your brain freeze, the type of cold that only Siberian Huskies and yetis enjoy.

And yet here you are in nothing but your cotton panties, t-shirt bra and boutique winter booties looking like the most expensive kerb crawler in all the world.

“Turn around,” Jimmy hums, his hand is cold but not as cold as you, tracing along your spine when you listen like a good girl.

From here, the horse is watching you. Seeing it all, cartoonish eyes forced in your direction. It’s late so the cars that whiz past have no intention of stopping, some houses have their lights on.

Humiliation prickles your skin, it could be the cold, but you don’t think the cold gets inside of you like this. What are you doing? What are you doing? What is mom going to think? What is dad going to do? What are they going to tell your family when you’re sectioned for Christmas?

”That’s good,” his voice comes out in a whisper, “take ‘em off and get on the ground.” Lukewarm hands slide over your hips, checking you over like a piece of meat.

“Okay,” you whisper back to him, and you’ve gone so far there’s nothing to lose, stepping out of your underwear and doing just as he says.

There’s no praise from Jimmy’s end and you don’t expect any. His stern face, his flat tone, it’s all unforgiving like this cold, hard sidewalk is on your hands and knees.

“Jesus, there something wrong with you?” He sounds surprised and you don’t know what you’ve done wrong. (You do know. You do know.) Isn’t this what he wanted? “Sorry,” Jimmy says, not sounding sorry at all, “I shouldn’t say that, you’re not all there.”

Your head isn’t entirely intact, and there is this worm hole that eats away at your insides, but you’re here. You’re here and you’re on the ground, on your knees with your cunt bared to him. Does he not see you?

The horse sees you, perpetually wide-eyed and forever watching.

Something cold, like the nose of a dog, presses against your pussy. It takes you a moment to figure out that it’s the toe of his boot, the leathery texture is wet almost, smooth and still textured, grainy. The cold is making it too hard to focus on the feeling of it nudging your swollen clit. You close your eyes and focus on anything but your hands burning on the ground, how the wind is going straight to your bones.

You’re going to make this worth it. You will. You’ve been wet for months and you won’t let it dry up so quickly, not when the cause of the leak is here to plug it up.

Just as you’re about to push back into him, grind your clit into the leather, show off how much you want him—He kicks you down, your body skids forward, elbows scraping on the cement. It’s painful, but you’re so cold, so shocked, so confused.

Quietly, you hear him under his breath. “What the fuck… Fuckin’ freak.” You don’t know if it’s in awe or disgust. He drops your coat and dress over the flat of your back, you scramble to put them on. “Why did you do that?” Jimmy asks, and he is looking at you like you’re crazy, like he’s disgusted.

You can’t tell if it’s a trick question. “Because you told me to.” It’s a simple answer, the only answer. Your chest heaves, teeth chattering as you stand on aching legs. God. It feels like your bones are fragmenting.

“Are you a dog?”

“No.” You check your pockets to find some loose change is missing.

“Then you didn’t have to do that, it’s not fuckin’ normal.”

Rape is not normal. And neither is asking seemingly nice, well-meaning girls to undress in sub-zero temperatures. But you don’t want to talk back, you don’t like to talk back, you don’t want to scare him off.

“Okay… Then, I’m sorry.”

“What…” His tone lilts in what might be confused laughter, everything you say is a twist or turn in a tangled thread he can’t quite follow. “Don’t say sorry, no, I don’t—I don’t know, just go home.”

“You’re not going to take me?” You gaze at him sadly. Wanting, yearning. “I think I’m going to kill myself tonight,” you proclaim softly, not because you want to make him feel bad, but because you don’t know what to do with yourself and he is distant enough to confide in.

“Alright,” Jimmy shrugs, he lights another cigarette, the smoke billows out of his thin lips, lined with the slightest smile. “Tell me how that goes.” Well, now you feel stupid and wish to take it back. Then, before he goes, he asks a little too casually, “Your dad touched you or something?”

“No…” You answer slowly, wondering if you should’ve said yes, if that was what he wanted to hear, gauging his reaction like you’ll be able to read it at all.

“Right.” He laughs, and his shoulders are still shaking in disbelief as he wanders into the dark like something out of a nightmare.

You look over to the horse, it tells you he’ll be back.

Considering he works there and all you thought the same, so you’ll be back alive and well.

[cillsworld]

My devotion to you✧₊⁺

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Ship|Jonathan Crane x fem!reader

Summary|you fall for your corrupt psychiatrist and he takes advantage of that.

Word Count|2765

Warnings|smut(18+!), age gap, abuse of power?, mentions of violent acts, oral(m rec!), rough sex, forced breeding!, baby trapping, (very) mild use of fear gas, mentions of drugs.

Notes|Jonathan is canonically 26 and reader is 18, reader is horny asf which is so real honestly like girl is down baddddddd. Also this is my second fic/piece of writing ever so that's cool, honestly it's a bit repetitive but I don't hate it sooo enjoy!

masterlist

You had always been an aggressive individual, constantly getting into fights both verbal and physical, being a headache to your parents, teachers, fellow peers and sometimes even the police.

Their last straw was when you beat a girl to unconsciousness for whatever irrational reason your brain had come up with and decided that you needed to be confined in a nut-house in order to change.

The first few days you were here, you were kept in solitary confinement with a straight-jacket to contain you from scratching your own eyeballs out, if you weren't insane before, that experience surely confirmed it.

But your disdain for the asylum went away as soon as your first session with Dr. Crane started, in high-school you were never big on crushes or boys really, since they all looked like wet rats and you couldn't bring yourself to be attracted to them.

That all changed when you saw the man that was meant to be your psychiatrist, Dr. Crane was the only thing keeping your remaining sanity intact, the man was so breathtakingly beautiful that all you ever did in your free-time was fantasize about him and count down the minutes to when you'd get to see him again.

Each session would consist of your failed attempts to flirt with him while he tried to bring your attention back towards the topic at hand, he was also the only psychiatrist you hadn't been violent against, that's why he was the one who actually stayed, just like you wanted him to.

So here you were, a smile present on your face as he walked into the room where you sat, confined by a straight jacked but nonetheless excited to see him, "you look unusually giddy today, what's the occasion?" He questioned while taking a seat across from you, looking down at the clipboard in-hand as he adjusted his glasses.

"I'm getting to see you after a whole week!" You responded with a giggle, leaning over the desk a bit as you usually did to get a better look at him, he looked back up with a raised eyebrow and sighed.

"Maybe if you didn't attack that man in the cafeteria, you wouldn't have been kept in solitary for a week and you would be able to see me earlier" he spoke with that usual stern tone of his, his words making you frown immediately, he looked and sounded so upset with you that you wanted to cry on the spot.

"He took my apple! What else was I supposed to do?" You retorted defensively almost immediately, jumping up a bit, all he did was stare at you, with that look that he knew would make you contemplate everything you just did, you calmed down and slumped back in your chair with that cute, conflicted look on your face.

"I'm sorry for yelling doctor Crane, are you mad at me?" You questioned quietly, your voice going soft and barely above a whisper, he swallowed with pursed lips before looking back down at his clipboard, writing something down that you tried to peer over to get a look at.

"No.. No, I'm not mad" he responded dismissively with a shake of his head, "but I have to say, this session isn't starting quite the way I had hoped" he continued making your expression falter, looking back up at you, "don't you think you've given me enough trouble for the week?"

"I gave you trouble doctor Crane?" You questioned with confusion lacing your voice and expression, leaning over the table with furrowed eyebrows, hugging yourself tighter then you were being forced to.

"Yes. I wasn't going to tell you but your little outburst caused me a lot of trouble with my seniors, they think I'm not making progress with you fast enough and they should give you to someone else" you immediately opened your mouth to protest when he said that but a raise of his hand signaling you to keep quiet was enough to make you shut yourself up.

"Now, I'm going to need you to be well-behaved for this session or I might as well hand you over" he threatened, almost daring you to challenge his words, "so.. Are you going to be good for me today?"

God why'd he have to word it like that, you quickly nodded while absentmindedly rubbing your thighs together, "yes I will Doctor Crane, I promise!" You responded, perking up and he nodded muttering a small "good", almost smirking at your compliance of anything he says in response to the simplest threat of being away from him.

“Now, I want you to tell m-“ you couldn’t help but cut him off, at this point it was a habit of yours and a casual occurrence, “what’s in that box doctor crane?” You questioned with a tilted head, nodding towards the briefcase that he’d brought in for the first time.

Usually your interruption would annoy him but this time it caused a rush of excitement in him, “I’m glad you asked darling..” your face heated up at the nickname that he called you rarely, every time he had said it, it had caught you off guard.

He opened the little black briefcase and as soon as he did the air felt different, heavy, your heartbeat had started to rapidly increase and every inch of your skin was becoming sweaty and clammy as anxiety filled you and your brain went panic mode.

”What’s in there doctor Crane?” You continued with the questioning now looking as if you were incredibly sick, your skin pale and flushed, “this, is a special creation of mine.. it’s what I use to keep extreme cases in line..”

His voice gradually became more raspy and deeper as he talked about it, looking into the briefcase with so much admiration that you almost wished you were it.

“I don’t like it..” you mumbled weakly as he brought it closer to you, instinctively leaning back as he did so, your vision going a bit blurry as your stared down into it, Crane on the other hand scoffed at your words.

“You aren’t supposed to like it" he replied in an almost snappy tone, closing it shut as he did so, "my dear, I need you to understand that if you keep misbehaving as you have recently.."

"I won't hesitate to give you an actually proper dose of what is in here" he patted the case as if to emphasize his point and you let out a soft gasp, "why would you do that doctor crane? I said I was sorry.." Your voice shaky and quiet, starting to understand why those patients you'd overhear would always talk of Crane as if he was the devil.

"You're already scared?" The way he said your name had a mocking undertone in it that you hadn't yet heard from him, "I said if you misbehave" he felt like a broken record, constantly repeating the same things and not getting much progress in return and frankly it was starting to annoy him too much for your own good.

He saw that sense of relief wash over you at his words, he couldn't help but want to ruin that peace and bring back the look in your eyes that sent his heart racing, "or.. I could give you a demo right now?"

"No-" you cut him off quickly, "that.. That's not necessary" you couldn't quite put a pin on the look in his eyes, was it amusement? Excitement? Either way it gave you a rush of adrenaline you enjoyed.

"are you sure about that? because I have an inkling that you'll get me in trouble yet again, if you don't learn that your actions have consequences" he was so serious, more then usual, while speaking that you couldn't even try to trick yourself into thinking he was bluffing.

"I would never do anything to get you in trouble.. Not- not on purpose" you spoke hesitantly, not trusting your words at all, "really?" He mocked with raised eyebrows, "if you're really that devoted to me why don't you prove it?" He spoke in a bored tone, leaning back in his chair as he did so.

"how do I do that?" You questioned quickly, a subtle pout on your face, "I don't know" he retorted with a click of his tongue, "you tell me.."

As soon as the idea came to your brain your heart went racing, maybe you escalated things too quickly, dropping to your knees and scooting under the table to go towards Jonathan, when you peaked out of the table from in between his legs to make contact with his widened eyes, you tried not to smile, "I can pleasure you? To prove my devotion of course.."

"well that's certainly an idea.." As usual his tone was hard to read, he really was contemplating, he'd have to admit the sight of you between his legs batting your eyelashes at him was a pretty one, if that wasn't enough to make him uncomfortably hard you being in a straight jacket on top of that made it harder for him to refuse.

"get one chance and you become a bitch in heat.." His voice was so low that you almost didn't catch what he said and you almost wished you didn't, your cheeks heated up and you opened your mouth in protest but he quickly clasped a hand over your mouth, shutting you up.

"if we're going to do this I'm gonna need you to stay quiet okay?" He told you and you quickly nodded, "good, now get to work" he said dismissively before removing his hand and leaning back in his chair, unzipping his pants and pushing it down just enough that it'd be past his hips and you could see the outline of his cock through his boxers.

It seemed almost uncomfortable as the boxers seemed like they'd burst open any minute with how his cock was straining against them, your mouth was watering at the sight though you looked up at him in confusion when he made no move to take the boxers off.

He raised an eyebrow looking down at you, "what? I really need to spell it out for you?" His tone was so obviously condescending that you almost felt ashamed it was turning you on, "your hands may be useless but you still have a good set of teeth princess, use it"

So you did, craning up your neck to take the hem of his boxers between your teeth and slowly pull them down enough to release him from, you almost gasped at the sight of him, he was a little above average in length and girthy enough to make you question if you could fit him properly in your mouth.

You stuck your tongue out and licked a strip under it from the base till the tip of his cock, taking the head in your mouth, licking the pre-cum, his hand came up to take a fist full of your hair startling you, "speed up darling, I don't have all day" he told you in an unamused tone.

You swallowed him halfway and started bobbing your head, hollowing your cheeks in an effort to impress him, your body pressed up against his legs as you moaned around him.

All you got in response was a little groan, his grip on your hair tightened and he started pushing your head up and down at a faster pace, pushing you deeper each time, you looked up at him to see his flushed face and pretty blue eyes roll to the back of his head as he cursed under his breathe.

The sight sent waves of pleasure to your core and made you uncomfortably wet, "that's it princess, put your pretty mouth to good use" he muttered under his breathe as his thrusts became faster and more desperate.

Suddenly he pushed you all the way down and you eyes widened from surprise, gagging around him for a moment as you tried to adjust to the foreign breaching of your throat, your nose pushed into his trimmed hair as you whined, looking up at him through watering eyes, he let out a soft with at the sight.

"oh don't cry darling.." He spoke with feign sympathy, "this is what you wanted right? To pleasure me?" He mocked as you whined once more, instinctively trying to pull back for air, he let you go after a few moments, only giving you a few seconds to breathe before pushing you down again.

He bobbed you at the same place, letting himself bask in the pleasure as you gagged and choked with each thrust, it went on for a bit before he completely pulled you off and up so he could see you properly, standing on your knees a line of spit was connected from the base of his cock to your lips.

He reveled in the sight of your flushed face with tears streaming down it, messy hair and chest heaving, "good.. You did good darling.." He said under his breath, patting your cheek a bit too harshly, "but you didn't cum doctor crane.." You responded quietly, a pout on your glossy lips.

"oh that's not for you to worry about" he responded dismissively before standing up and pulling you with him, making you whimper from the pressure on your scalp, he turned you around before shoving you on the table and you let out a squeak of surprise.

"what're you doing doctor crane?" You questioned quietly, even though you knew the answer specially when he reached for the hem of your trousers, you wanted him to tell you.

"m'gonna fuck you baby.. " his raspy voice responded while undressing your lower half as blood rushed towards your face, "you can see it as a reward for your hard work.."

You could feel the head of his cock rubbing on your cunt, you squirmed and pushed back against him with a whine, urging him on, he grabbed your hair yet again and pulled you up, bending your body uncomfortably as he leaned down, "stop being so desperate darling, it's not a good color on you.."

Before you even had time to process it he pushed almost all the way in and your jaw dropped as a loud moan escaped you, his grip on your hair tightened as your expression contorted from the pain and pleasure of it all, eyes fluttering shut.

"fuck, I knew you'd have a tight little cunt from the moment I saw you" he breathed out, staying still for the moment to let the both of you adjust before pulling all the way out till the tip and then thrusting in again, repeating the process as loud moans escaped you.

"thought I told you to stay quiet earlier.." He muttered before letting your hair go and untying his tie, "but that's just how you bitches are huh? Get a good cock in you and you lose all control of yourself" you whined in protest but not for long before he gagged you with his tie and tied it behind your head.

He held your hips up as his thrusts soon resumed, letting you lay limp on the rocking table, squirming and mewling as he chased his own release, he reached a hand down to start rubbing at your clit with enough pressure to make you see stars and clench tightly around his dick, making him release a loud groan.

"pussy so tight she's fuckin chocking me.." He turned you around, deciding he wanted to see your face while you both came, see your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your legs shook from the pleasure, he didn't falter in his thrusts while you came, not caring if he was over stimulating you and more focused on his release.

Even though your head felt blank and too foggy to form a coherent thought you could feel him twitching inside you and wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, making sure he came deep inside you.

Once her came off his high he quickly pulled out, "fuck, what did you do.." He panted out, raising one of your legs up to get a good look of his come dripping out of your hole and down your ass.

"now why would you do that?" He questioned; knowing you weren't allowed to or were on birth control, rising up and removing your makeshift gag, as soon as he did you craned up to kiss his stiff form.

"I love you Jonathan" you told him after pulling away with a smile, not bothering to answer his 'silly' question, all while he stayed a bit frozen, now realizing that he'd gotten himself into major shit.

[the-real-aku]

Note: Posting because i kinda like it atm and while I'm not happy with it I'm trying-

~~~

"We deserve a good story before we get too fuckin' pissed to walk straight," Johnny whined.

"Couldn't walk straight even if we held your 'and while sober, MacTavish. I got one, but mnot gonna repeat it after this. Got it?" Ghost stared at Gaz and Soap who gave him a mock salute before leaning on closer to their lieutenant.

"Couple years into the start of 141, was just me n' Price, you and Gaz hadn’t even been born yet-  We got sent to some base in Colorado...Colorado or somewhere around there.  It doesn't matter.  We were doing some glorified hide and seek for a training exercise. Easy enough, good at hidin'." Ghost paused, taking another sip of his glass of whiskey. 

"People forget to look up.  Holed myself up in some sturdy tree, held my weight, and kept me out of sight.  Probably too well.  Had groups of hunting parties pass me looking for others.

"Still,  no one ever looked up.  Got a few good hours of peace and fucking quiet up there.  Even had a book with me.  Dime novel or some shit I picked outta the trash.  It was nice for a shit training exercise.  Until the sun started setting, that's when more of the nocturnal beasts came out.

 "So color me surprised when a half-decent buck bursts out of the bush and slams head-first into my tree. Horns don't stick, doesn't care, it backs up and does the same thing. Over and over. I've seen heads splatter, I've done the splattering. I don't understand what it was trying to do because it kept going until brain matter splattered against the tree and an eyeball popped under the pressure.

"Then it stopped.  Not stopped 'cause it died, not just stopped and stood there before sniffing the ground. I had been holding my breath the whole time. Don't know why, everything told me this was wrong and that I needed to shut up and stay still.  But eventually, it stopped sniffin' and twisted its damn fucking broken neck to look up.  It was quiet but clear, not like anything else was moving anymore not even the wind, and whispered "I know you're there", then ran off.  

“I stayed in that tree the whole night. Pissed myself too.  Didn't care. I wasn't coming down or moving unless someone or thing dragged me down.  They found me there in the morning.  Thought I froze to death.

"They had to get Price to get me to come down from my spot.  Wouldn't say a word to them, which didn't help my situation.  They thought I was 'avin an 'episode', went crazy during the training event, and killed something or maybe even someone from the mess they found around my tree. Who was going to believe that I watched the deer do it to itself?  So I kept quiet as Price and the others escorted me back to base.  Never found it.  But no one ever said anything about it seeing as how I was clean of blood."  

Gaz and Soap turned to their Captain, eyes weary and expectant.  Price huffed, shaking his head. "Yeah, I remember. We had searched for this twat almost all night before some private found'em. He thought it was weird, the tree, and looked up to investigate and came face to face with Ghost's blank stare under his hard plate skull mask. We had two sets of pissed pants after that. When Ghost wouldn't talk about why his hiding place was a fucking mess of bone and meat he had mandatory psych evals for the next month."

[onlyrains]

hey there, i'd like to request a writing for yasushi if you don't mind. prompt can be up to you (surprise me!) thank you 🙌

a/n: i'm back with a request from a loooong time ago😫 i'm sorry for being inactive these past few months. life was harsh and now i'm trying to reorganized everything. thank you for requesting and i hope you like it!🩵

[9:16am]

—t/w: harsh words

smells of roses, blinding lights, and an odd repeating sound were things that came to your senses once you tried to crack open your eyes. it was heavy and hurts, but you gave all your strength to blink and think as you conclude that it wasn't your room.

clack.

someone entered your room and walked straight to the window on your right to close curtain so the lights would be more bearable for you.

"exc-"

"AAAAAH-" the man blurted out.

you really wanted to react the same but you felt something strangling your neck so only your eyeballs could follow his movements.

"you're sober!" he exclaimed excitedly.

"yeah, i think i am…?"

"wait, i'll call the doctor.” then he ran.

couple minutes later you found yourself being checked by several nurses and a doctor. they said you were okay and your condition was already stable—much better than before—which made you more confused.

“what happened to me?” you asked. a little hesitant at first but you couldn't fight the curiosity within you. he turned to make sure the doctor was gone and closed the door.

“you don't remember anything?”

“i remembered i was on my way home…” you stopped and so were your memory.

“you were hit by a car…”

“huh?” you almost turned your head to him but the throbbing neck muscle held you back.

he looked down before continuing. “my friend was testing his new car with me. we thought it was safer at midnight, we were wrong, we know that. he didn't see you crossing the road and … you know what happened next.”

you tried to proceed his words in your head but nothing came to your conclusion. it felt like your brain was stop working.

“w-when was it?” you asked startling.

“two days ago.”

“oh…”

“he tried to meet your family but it looks like you live alone…”

you weren't say a thing. nor did a thing. you were just staring blankly.

“but don't worry he will be responsible for all your care in this hospital.” yasushi added.

“where is he?”

“who?”

“your friend, who hit me.”

he sighed. “at work. he worked all day to pay your treatment and i'll be here all day to help you with anything you want.” a small reassuring smile painted on his lips.

you wanted to let your wrath out. to shout on his face. to pull his dry, damaged, neglected hair. to poke his doe eyes that constantly looking down. to punch his pursed lips. you really wanted to.

but you couldn't—physically and mentally.

thinking that they were responsible enough to paid the hospital costs and even take care of you 24/7 with that guilty expression, somehow melted your heart. moreover, you could finally rest from everything just as you wanted to without resigning from your work. you hadn't had a free day in two months and couldn't even take a furlough. so as silly as it sounds, this wasn't too bad for your sanity.

“he would come after work but it could be very late.”

“what's his name?”

“kiyoshi.”

“and you?”

“yasushi.”

you nodded. “how about you? didn’t you should be at work too?”

“we are actually students,” your eyes almost leave its place. “you know oya kou?” oh, the world must be joking with me.

“yeah, i know.” you can tell from his looks, honestly. but his demeanor didn't match it up at all so the thought wasn't even cross your head. of course you knew how brutal the student there. but was it because of his guilt? because of his—

“YASUSHI, IS SHE STILL UNCONSCIOUS?” you heard a slammed door with a loud voice entering your room. oh, maybe these are the real ones.

“shut the fuck up!” yasushi groaned. oh, there he is.

your three new visitors came up to you with a wonder look.

“hello?” you voiced.

“AHHH! she's alive!” the loudest one exclaimed.

“of course, you idiot!”

“don't be so loud, jamuo.” tsukasa added.

“are you … okay?” fujio asked, still with his curious look.

“no.” you replied quickly.

“of course.”

“i'm sorry, they are my friend. this is fujio, jamuo, and tsukasa.”

you nodded. “from oya kou too?”

“so you already know.” tsukasa interrupted made you tried to turn your head to see him.

yasushi quickly held your head still. “d-don't move your head too fast.” you knew your forehead was full of bandage but you could still feel his thumb brushing your temple a bit. why is this making it less hurting?

“okay.” you said quietly.

“…”

“i'm sorry this is happen to you.” tsukasa interrupting again but this time was very necessary—as he noticed yasushi's sudden tension.

your eyes now met tsukasa's.

“yasushi and kiyoshi are our friend, and here, fujio, is the student leader of oya kou. so we're here to make sure you're okay too and apologize properly.” the four of them started to stand together and then bowed to you for a few seconds. you just stared as much as you wanted to reciprocate.

“it's okay.” you said then they back to stood again.

jamuo sighed. “anyway, what a unique way to meet your crush, yasushi. finally, after a year of waiting.” he held his laugh.

yasushi turned with a unreadable expression. that was his last straw.

“GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE YOU PIECE OF SHIT.”

and again. you just blinked and watched as much as you wanted to react to the announcement.

[whumpfish]

Extractions! (Tooth vs. Nail)

I've been wanting to do this one for a long time, for all you torture fans out there...

So I metabolize lidocaine like a motherfucker, and any time I get a local, I always have to get a second one halfway through whatever is being done. For the most part, doctors and dentists listen to me when I say this... for the most part.

Tooth

(The oral surgeon did not give me my second shot when I asked for it.)

1. Any fillings you have will collapse under the pressure of an extraction, even a medicated one. (I'm not sure if this is true for metal ones; all of mine are plaster.) It produces a half-crunch, half-thunk sound that reverberates in that half of your skull and sounds absolutely terrifying.

2. The pain of an unmedicated extraction is acute and radiating at the same time. The acute part feels more like having a stiletto stabbed upward into that space than a tooth taken out in a downward motion.

2a. In maxillary extractions, the stab goes straight up, and depending on the location of the tooth, that stab can feel pointed anywhere from your eyeball (frontmost) to right into your brain (rear).

2b. Mandibular extractions* stab downward from the chin (frontmost) to the hinge of your jaw and straight down your throat (rear).

3. The radiating part spreads like a flower blooming, from a concentrated central point outward in a rolling movement.

4. Your ears might pop like an airplane taking off as that blooming pain reaches the hinge of your jaw. Sometimes only in the one ear.

Nail

(I have been doing minor self-surgery** for years because I am genetically predisposed to ingrown nails, and if I don't catch it in time, they grow straight down and I have to extract them to be able to trim them. If I really don't catch it in time, they grow straight down and then curl backward, and I have to get an actual surgeon involved.)

1. Self-surgery, split off edge of nail, 0 to 1/2" down and backward: You have to wiggle these in a sawing/rocking motion back and forth in order to get that tiny bit of root to let go, and when you "saw" backward it feels more like a steak knife than a butter knife, this time moving with the direction of the nail. Then it reverses when you actually yank.

1a. The yank hurts more than the sawing, sharp like a stab from a steak knife instead of one being pushed in slowly.

1b. You will get the best whump out of a whumper splitting off the edges of the nail and doing this and then yanking the middle part

2. Medicated: Locals in the toe/finger area hurt like a bitch. They're sharp and needling like a stiletto to a paper cut, then if someone tried to pry that cut open. At the same time, they feel hot, almost burning. (Hotter than anesthetic being pushed through an IV, if you're familiar with that sensation.) And there are so many nerves involved that just the first round of locals takes 3-4 shots.

3. Unmedicated, grown down and backward, 1/2" to 3/4": The last time I went in, my surgeon said "given the amount of times I have to shoot you up, you'll probably hurt less if I just yank." (She was right.) This sumbitch goes in both directions, down/back from where the root is, then forward. The down/back is a stabbing pain. The forward is like somebody trying to pry open that papercut, a sensation probably caused by the fact that you are in fact messing with something stuck in a very small cut in the skin, in my case the cut was just caused by the nail that has now been removed.

4. If it is a toenail extraction, you are going to bleed significantly more than teeth or fingernails, because your body has to work harder pushing blood up through your leg veins than it does pushing it down into your shoe. Especially when you take a step. Ibuprofen makes this worse. If you take ibuprofen at all that day, expect your shoe to fill up when you take a step. (Mine did, scaring the tar out of everyone present, including me.)

Pain Intensity Verdict:

Teeth > Nails. By a LOT.

Happy yanking!!

*Because of nerve fuckery, dentists using the sonic cleaning tool despite my warnings results in a pain on the level of extractions, and the sensations described here are based on my experience with that.

**This never fails to horrify my friends. They'll see what I'm fixing to work on and say, "Oh ouch, that's bad, go to the doctor," and I'm just like "nah, just get me isopropyl alcohol and some office supplies, I got this."

[deafsignifcantother]

you're gonna need somebody on your bond

♥ summary: inspired by @doliacuddles's tomie fic here, as well as another fic relating to a s/o tomie-related but i read that months ago and have no idea where it could be. - basically this about Alastor being like "you're only here because you taste good" and reader is like "okay then stop being nice to me because it's weird that you're not craved like the other men so get off my back bruh" ♥ helpful lore: reader is a demon with the abilities combined of tomie and the 'hosts' from the vita carnis series. ♥ relationship: alastor x female deaf reader ♥ word count: 3k ♥ notes: femme fatale, i'm not mentally okay, alastor doesn't know sign language, she talks though. + there's light gore in these because I'm silly goofy so my bad guys!

His claws find their way into your hips. Drawing blood as usual, he stares into your eyes, testing your regard, neither of you breaking eye contact.

He's been drawn to you since the second he saw you, which hasn't surprised you in the slightest. What was a surprise was how non-sexual the draw was and how classy he had formerly been. Now he settles on trying to scare you; his heart races at the idea of you fearing him. But you never do. You just give him a cocky smile, running your tongue over your teeth as if you're mocking his attempts. It only makes him want to tear you apart.

He pulls you closer to him, dragging his nails across your skin, blood staining your red dress. His eyes glow despite the darkness of the alleyway. He had been planning on killing you, but somehow, the amusement of your neutral reactions is saving your life. He's fighting his urge to devour you by devoting his time to scaring you. No matter how many cuts he makes to your skin, how many times he's dug his teeth into your neck after sneaking up behind you, you never scream, never give him a proper reaction. Sometimes, you caress the side of his head, petting him like an animal.

His mouth opens, and your face grows a smile. His breath is hot on your face, tongue dripping with lust as it makes its way to your neck, licking up your tendon, leaving a trail of hot saliva. Instead of pulling away, you tilt your head to give him more access. It disgusts him. His body language and his thoughts offer two different stories.

He leans back, moving one of his hands to grab your mouth, pushing his claws in so deep that you can feel the sharpness against your gums. He whispers something you can't understand before the stinging of his impaling becomes unbearable. Your eyes water instinctually.

Oh, my little girl. He had said.

He shakes your head back and forth, wedging his way into your mouth, nails caressing your tongue.

With a strength only he possesses, and in one quick pull, he rips your jaw off.

:3

With your regenerated jaw, you sigh, rub it, and look over at the baby-like version of yourself growing from the detached part of you. Its eyes are angry, and it grinds its teeth and growls. The small, pointed, undeveloped teeth show off as if they're any sort of threat.

There is no off-switch to the abilities Hell had gifted you. Even since you first fell down, demonic men would lick their lips and lunge at you. You've gotten accustomed to the feeling of teeth ripping you apart, and admittedly, sometimes, it excites you. This Mrs. Potato Head magic you're stuck with has pros and cons. One of the pros, and your favorite pro, is having the infamous Radio Demon at your every beck and call.

So, in his room, you watch him devour the early-birthed head. Brain matter fell from his lips, mixing with blood and whatever fluid was lodged behind your eyeballs. It's eyeballs, not yours. The stomach-turning sight of him ripping the flesh straight off its face, the layer coming off like the skin of a chicken's breast. Degloves, the sight of the red and orange meat around your skull makes you squint.

You look away.

The tension between you and the sounds you can only imagine is unbearable. Sometimes, you're grateful you're deaf. You don't fear Alastor, not entirely, but that doesn't mean you can't be disgusted by his bestial traits. Watching him eat you is not the most attractive sight. A bit of an ick if you do say so yourself.

He licks away the remains of your runny, sticky tissue until there's nothing but the pure skull. His long, slimy tongue had licked up the rest of your brain from where he cracked it open.

He is prepared to rip you apart and devour your creations once again. He approaches, practically on all fours, his shadow corrupting your seated form. You look so good on his floor. He could pounce, dig his nails into you like he loves doing, or maybe he can impale you with his sharp antlers.

But all he does is give you shivers as he pets your silky hair, and when you expect him to yank on it, he puts his face into it and sniffs. Your spine straightens. Dirty man.

You turn, staring at his bloody face, his sharp eyes, and his tight smile. He is so handsome like this. The swoops of his hair and the shoulder pads on his coat give him a unique figure; everything about him is exceptional. When you reach out to him, hand heading towards his face, he leans back and eyes you. Your hands don't hold claws like most demons; they're surprisingly gentle for a woman tainted with morbid curiosity. Your feminine charm is a part of his interest. The blood on his face goes from endearing to annoying when he doesn't let you wipe it off. Seriously, you wish to sign, come here. Though he'd never understand a word you'd say.

Testing his apprehensiveness towards you, you stretch your arm out anyway and rub the blood from the corner of his mouth. He again leans away from your touch, bending his head to the side, his smile turning into a snarl.

He can eat you alive, but you're not allowed to touch his cheek? Ridiculous. You match his snarl, animalistic vocabulary through two demons' language barrier. He uses his trigger fingers to grab your wrist, not breaking eye contact.

Your perception of Alastor is inconsistent. Will he bite your hand off or kiss your knuckles? Will he rip your throat out or lick it gently? You can never tell. His intentions are quite versatile.

This time, he just lets you go, patting your head before standing. He extends a bloody hand to help you up.

The empty skull behind him is disregarded but will soon be another treasure he'll place on his shelves next to the other ones he's gotten a taste of. Oh, how addicting your flavors are. And you're so willing to let him debase the creations your body births. He loves your snarls too, the way you copy his facial expressions.

His hand caressing your cheek reeks of sincerity. You stand shorter than him, bodies never close enough to touch but close enough to reach. If Vegas had odds on it, you'd step closer, and he'd be okay with it.

Out of fascination, of course. Nothing else.

He laughs and you step back. You've been comfortable with the blood and remains, obviously, but the rancid scent of your remains on his breath is the worst part of knowing him.

:3

Husk opens another bottle for you with his claw, eyes facing the floor to Alastor's command. Your position in the hotel is a unique one. You're another 'staff' member brought by Alastor, as he's convinced Charlie that you'll be more than able to get people into the hotel. This is true, as a lot of men have come in, some getting disemboweled by Alastor the moment they try and touch you. But some of them are less attentive to you after a while.

Here's the formula, you hand out fliers, wink, and head back to the hotel. Then, men will appear at the doors for days (or all coming at once within a few hours). You caress their cheek and tell them you'll be all theirs if they follow Charlie's plan. That's when Alastor locks you in his room. He's discovered through this process that your spell will go away with a lack of contact. Three days, to be exact. The men will follow your single command, granting Charlie willing participation and fulfilling Alastor's help for the hotel. Pentious was a harder participant, especially considering he couldn't kill him for his attempts, but those went away with everybody else's. In his room, you get your own vanity, one placed so you can watch the fireplace and have a small view of the door. Homey, not the worst place to be locked inside.

This is one of the few chances you can be out and about without Alastor directly standing behind you. Husk hands you the bottle.

"Thank you," you grab it and, instinctively, brush your fingers against him. He mumbles a response before mentally facepalming.

You put the bottle to your lips and try to hide a smile, but your eyes never leave Husk, teasing him to meet your gaze. Come on, you little kitty cat, entertain me.

He's not an idiot. Between knowing your tricks and following Alastor's orders, there's no chance he will amuse you.

Angel sits beside you with a drink already in his hand, always utterly unfazed by your abilities, and toasts you. His mouth holds a lopsided smile, and his eyes stare unread. You clink your drink against his. Staring into his eyes is relieving; there's no threat, not one you're used to.

Quickly, you realize why he had stepped over. Alastor forms behind him, obviously having followed, and he stares at you while addressing Husk. His lips are impossible to read with that smile.

"Don't mind her, Husker," his voice deepens, heavy with static. "She's always chasing the knife."

"Yeah," he looks Alastor up and down, "I can tell."

Alastor barks out a laugh before passing by Angel, leaving a vast distance, grabbing your wrists, and forcing you to your feet. This is why he doesn't like letting you roam without him. You don't behave. What could he have done if Husk fell for your charm? Kill him? No, no, that's only for the useless. Nobody in the hotel would want to deal with an unstable alcoholic in heat. Have you lost your mind?

You're lucky you're so delicious.

Alastor grabs the bottle from your hand, eyeing it, tapping it a bit before tossing it over his shoulder. It travels a distance and shatters against a wall. With a sarcastic wave of a finger, his other hand grabs your hips (his favorite place) and forces you to follow him back to his room. With how he touches you, one would think you're his best friend. Your relationship is admired by those who knew you least. However, Nifty notices that he holds you similarly to Rosie and smiles at you the same way he does at Nifty. Still, Husk recognizes the dreadful deadlock no matter how kind it may seem. And though your presence makes him uncomfortable, Husk will never turn you down when you approach the bar. Mainly because there was once an instant where you weren't trying to ruin his week with your mental prowling. You brought him a gift. It was from before you were tethered permanently to the hotel, back when Alastor brought you in to show you around. In the days when you could go in and out, you brought Husk some expensive Lucky Larger he hadn't seen since he was alive. You were the one that adverted your gaze. As much as a mosquito-like woman you've ended up being within an ample amount of months, there was still a semblance of a kind woman. You drank it together, and your shell cracked open like an egg. When you spoke to him, you had the voice of a teenage girl permanently stuck in the past. He could not respond in a way you'd understand, but he lent you an ear anyway. The drunker you get, the smaller your voice becomes, and the more watery your eyes get, but the moment Alastor comes by, your voice turns into a loud, cocky laugh, and you hold a snarl at Husk. He got it. He understood.

So when Alastor throws the bottle over his shoulder and leads you to his room, Husk takes notice of the slight stumble of your feet.

"Oh boy," he turns his attention to Angel. "This'll be good."

Alastor doesn't miss your uneven steps, either.

You grumble, "I wasn't doing anything."

He lightly shakes his head, a motion unnoticed by you. The words he'd say if you could hear them.

His gloved hand remains on your side, and his heeled boots match steps with your shorter stride. You place your hand over his, securing his grip on your waist, your blood-colored nails fading with the shade of his coat. He gathers the strength not to pull away. Your hands are warm, as warm as the arteries stringing your body together; he wants to cut you open and bury himself inside you. His grip on your waist tightens, but when you try and draw back, he interlocks your fingers and places them back. I'm just making sure you don't fall, he convinces himself; you're stumbling like a calf.

His other hand sports his microphone, using it as a cane.

"Alastor," you say his name with a velvety tone. Thank God you can't hear the glitching tones the speaker just let out. Whatever you were going to say never left your lips. He removes his hand, slipping away from you, and opens his bedroom door. You enter, and he follows, closing the door, the most routine part of your days, much grander than the standard living 9-5.

His hand lingers on the door, where you imagine a soft clicking of the lock; he keeps his eyes on you as he does.

He approaches you in a few straightforward strides, placing both hands on your cheeks, the ends of his nails softly scratching at your atlas. The fireplace ignites, the lights dim, and his hands slide closer to the back of your head. Your hair brushes from your face.

You love these little (and a tad bit sensual, but he would never describe them that way) staring contests.

His teeth part. "What a lovely thing you are."

You close your eyes, preparing for a bite. But when it doesn't come, you peak.

There's no change in his expression, but he's laughing through his teeth. Alastor is not good at affection; he's mostly known for just allowing people he likes to give it to him. But when you don't initiate, he finds himself taking the lead. That's why he grips your hair and tilts your head back, looking at your eyes as your lids drop with the angle. Your brows even furrow, a genuine smirk growing on your lips. Oh, that's interesting.

Your closed lips part as your jaw relaxes. He tilts your head more, leaning over you, his neck bent to overwhelm your form. The ridges of your esophagus lead to perked tendons and high collarbones. Your head flutters strangely. Are you struggling? Your hands even lift to touch his elbows.

"That hurts," you say. That hurts? He's clawed you, split you in half, swallowed your eyes and chewed your fingers off, but this is what makes you complain?

He speaks. "You're so strange."

You just stare at him.

He continues. "You prance around as if you have all the power in the world but you melt at any caress. What does that make you?"

Would you do that to any other man?

You just blink, your expression filled with discomfort, and he lets you go. Alastor even takes a respectful step back. With a shifted attitude, his eyes squint, and his smile closes to be a joyful line on his face.

When your mouth opens again to speak, he raises a finger to shush you. He gestures to the wall with his head, his hair bouncing, and his ears following suit before his outline dissipates into traveling shadows. How will you act if you didn't know he was watching?

Your face drops. You definitely got Husk in trouble.

Don't feel bad, you remind yourself, just think about what he could do if he had looked into your eyes.

Alastor protects you from that.

While you're not too positive that Alastor would be keen on you roaming through his stuff, this room might as well be yours, too, so you run your fingers across the books on his shelves. Your buzzed state gives you lenience to his rules (in your eyes). Does he even read these? The only time you've seen him here is late at night when he lights the fireplace or during the times when he feeds. There's an outlier in the books, and when you look closer, you realize it's more of a thick folder. After glancing behind you, you test your luck and pick it off the shelf. It truly is a folder. It's filled with sheet music, once blank bars filled with hand-written notes and braces. When did he have the time to write these? A lot of the circles aren't filled all the way, and many of the dots are just black pits. Rushed? Does he write these with passion?

You flip through the papers, just glancing over his writing before a doodle on the edge of a page catches your attention. You almost miss it; it's on the far left side, hidden by the pages on top of it. The folder finds its place on his bedside table, open to the same spot, and you take the sheet out to look closer.

It's you.

It's a doodle but recognizable. The lines have been sketched many times as if he took the time to work on them. You have a neutral expression, a 3/4th view with your eyes locked on the perspective. It's not the drawing that captivates you; many people have attempted drawing you before, but it's how simple it is. There are no twisted expressions, no figures ripping themselves through your face, or your body ripping in half.

You glance behind you again, almost expecting him there. Being alone is more sentimental; his absence is relieving. When you look back down, you will see a wet patch. You touch your cheeks. Tears. Are you crying? That's embarrassing.

You tuck the page back and close the folder. Any possible further drawings are unseen; you're going to avoid seeking them out; this one is satisfying enough. The second you put it back on the shelf, your self-control loosens, and you stumble back, knees wobbling, and sluggishly fall to the floor. Laughter escapes you. Why are you laughing? No matter, your throat keeps releasing laughs, loud and uncontrolled. What a disgusting man.

[femmemortes]

My top five most brutal SAW traps even though absolutely nobody asked for my fucking opinion:

5 — Pound of Flesh, SAW VI

I feel like this isn’t a trap that’s talked about often enough considering the actual shit you have to do to survive it. I mean come on. Cut off enough of your flesh to survive? And it’s not even like there’s a set amount anyway, it’s a competition between you and another person to see who can do the most. No guidance as to what specific body part to cut off either. You just have to take the knife and just start going crazy. It makes having the punishment for not doing it look not as bad but, then again, actually thinking about having screws drilled into the sides of your temples? Yeah, no thanks babes xxx

Simone was a total badass just hacking her arm straight off like that and living. Just sent it all the way and won, you love to see it.

4 — Silence Circle, SAW 3D

If someone asked me to do this trap I would actually just kill myself instead. Gun in my mouth, bang, gone. Same with all of these to be fair but the fucking idea of the key on a fishing hook in your stomach? And that just raking up your insides as you’re trying to take it out? Fuck that. Fuck. That. I think the only thing that would make me do this would be the other person pulling out the string because if I had to do that shit myself? I’d just scream as loud as I could to make the spikes impale me instantly. I am not doing that shit.

This one gets bumped down a bit because we don’t actually see the visual of the hook going up through her? Which makes it an easier watch than the others on this list, but I still think it deserved a place here because of the sheer insanity of the entire thing.

3 — Bone Marrow Trap, SAW X

Fuck. This. Trap.

Actually fuck it. In my opinion this was the most brutal trap in SAW X. Yes, I know some people make arguments for the brain surgery trap being pretty brutal and yes taking out your brain is just… Wow. And I’ll agree it is bad. But you don’t FEEL your brain.

THIS ON THE OTHER HAND?

CUTTING OFF YOUR LEG AT THE THIGH? WITH A GIGLI SAW NO LESS? The amount of blood loss, the fact if you want to live just have to take that fucking saw to your leg and just DO IT? And then once you’re done you have to take that stupid little fuckoff tube and stick it in your bone and get the bone marrow out, which is ALSO PAINFUL???

Also the part where she grabs the gigli saw in-front of her with her hands… Fuck, just fuck.

Valentina really didn’t deserve to die here, I won’t lie to you. She cut off her leg, was taking out the marrow. I believe had the tube thing for the vacuum to measure how much bone marrow or whatever the fuck had been shorter, she would’ve lived. Yes she started later but like, come the fuck on.

2 — Venus Fly Trap, SAW II

I’m going to start this with, this trap being the first trap of SAW II is an actually insane tone shift from what we had in the first movie. Like, the only trap I really consider brutal in SAW is the reverse bear trap, but we don’t even see that one go off since Amanda survives it.

So seeing this shit right out the gate is just… Oh my god. Wow. Just wow.

This trap has always given me reverse bear trap vibes in appearance, it’s probably the whole thing of, it’s on the head, closes, shuts whatever. I don’t know but it’s got a similar energy to it.

First of all, the whole nails in your face thing? Yeah, hate that. But what I’m most concerned about is the KEY BEHIND THE EYE.

FUCK.

THAT.

SHIT.

The visual of him cutting into his eyeball with the scalpel? And you actually just have to fucking go at it and just… ugh. I was pretty torn between either this trap or the Bone Marrow trap for this kinda reason. Cutting off a leg or cutting open your eye? And honestly the eye is just. Worse. Like just digging into your eye to get out a fucking key? Like all things given, at LEAST I can turn off my brain somewhat while cutting off my leg. Just back and forth with a saw. I don’t even have to look!

THIS? WHAT I’M CUTTING IS DOING THE LOOKING. I STRUGGLE TO PUT ON EYELINER, HOW THE FUCK DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO THIS?

1 — The Rack, SAW III

There is a reason why people think this trap is the worst one. There is a reason and it’s fucking obvious.

You’re on a mother-fucking crucifix looking ass thing, legs and arms out, and if this other guy doesn’t take a bullet for you, your limbs are going to be twisted.

YOUR ARMS, LEGS AND NECK are going to be ROTATED 360 DEGREES. ONE. BY. ONE.

Oh and the guy who’s taking the bullet for you? It’s Jeff by the way, stupid fucking Jeff. So you have no chance xxx

The visuals. I can’t watch this trap without looking away, I see the limbs start turning and my line of sight is directly away from the screen. No.

No.

The image of twisting flesh and the fucking shot where you see one of his legs start to move?

NO.

AND HIS HEAD. HIS FUCKING HEAD.

NO.

I DON’T NEED TO EXPLAIN WHY THIS IS NUMBER ONE. FUCKING LOOK AT IT.

Honourable mentions under the cut:

Honourable mentions go to The Angel Trap and Ten Pints of Sacrifice. I didn’t include the angel trap because I feel like, while yes getting your ribs ripped out is horrific, you don’t really suffer much while alive? Which to me, the more they suffer while alive or trying to complete their trap, the more brutal it is. Ten Pints of Sacrifice isn’t on here because I was doing 5, had I been doing like 10 you would’ve definitely seen this on here. Oh and also, Needle Pit isn’t on here because I’m entirely unfazed by it. I hate to do Mandy like this but I just personally don’t really wince at it at all.

[ryoshudoodles]

The Plushū Diaries

This is a long post about the plushie I made as a beginner and just me venting about the process. Just skip this is you don't like long posts. Also I will probably mix up UK and US English a lot here. The usual Internet learning experience.

Canto 1- I can (not) make a plushie myself

So... As you may gather from the existence of this blog, I love Ryōshū a very normal amount. And like many other PM fans, I wanted a plushie of my best girl.

Two problems arise.

Independently made plushies made by commission are EXPENSIVE (For a very valid reason, this things take AGES to make and require a lot of work and skill.).

And

All the "Mass" produced ones by indie designers that I saw had animal ears or features, which I don't really like.

So, Sunday at around 10:00 pm, I, in all my wisdom, say to myself "I want it! So I'll make it!" I already had some material from a previous failed attempt, so might as well use them.

I dug up the doll skeleton and the body I had and stuffed that thing. By then it was already late and I had to work on Monday so, to bed I went.

Canto 2- The Real Start

By morning on the following day, I had already gotten over the Idea of making a plushie myself. Too much work. Too little skill. Like any other good little ADHD demon, I am allergic to completing my own projects and I jump from new idea to new idea too quickly to get anything done.

So, imagine my shock when at 11:00 pm I get that little itch to just make the thing. That little night owl brain magic that happens when everyone else is asleep and you are just now deciding to be productive.

So I grab the body, my embroidery thread and a bathtub of coffee and I just started.

Luckily I already had a pattern that a friend printed out for me two years ago. But then, the mistakes also started.

Mistake 1- Improv

I had no idea what I wanted to make. I had a design that I had painted In photoshop before but I didn't have that materials nor skills for that. So I made a simpler one on the spot. I don't own a printer. I don't have transfer paper. So... like a person with a very aesthetically pleasing smooth brain, I just drew the design STRAIGHT ON THE FABRIC with BRIGHT red pen.

Mistake 2 - The bright red pen

At the start it wasn't much of an issue just something to mark the design because I don't have a tearaway stabilizer.

By the end of this saga, those smooth clear lines had bled SO MUCH I could no longer tell the difference between te guide and random stains. Oh! And you can also see the guidelines from the outside of the doll. Cool.

Mistake, the third - The felt hair

This doesn't seem like a mistake, but trust me, It will haunt the narrative.

Mistake forever after - Hubris

It took... around 1 hour to line up everything correctly on the embroidery ring? Why? Because I am stupid, that's why.

During this first day I decided that I didn't need to use pins. I could just put it on the ring by eyeballing it. How bad can it be?

I was a fool. There's a reason why professionals use them, and there's a reason why some people sew some pieces temporarily during certain steps of the process before finally attaching them together. Pins truly are unsung heroes.

Canto 3- The unembroidered

So... embroidery. Embroidery is hard. Symmetrical embroidery is hard. Symmetrical embroidery with bleeding guidelines and no stabilizer is HARD. Symmetrical embroidery with bleeding guidelines, no stabilizer and you are a total beginner is maddening.

I watched someone do it by hand on YouTube before and I tried to mimic the process as much as I could. It didn't help much. Youtube tutorials can only do so much to compensate my lack of experience.

By the time I had done one eye I was already seeing problems. My stitches were all scattered to the four winds. They were all going in different directions. Some of them were too far apart or too close to others. The lines in the back of the doll were piling up and there were more knots in the thread than in your average omegaverse fic.

I went colour by colour. First black since I needed it to line the hair and it was the most used colour, then white just for the little highlights and finally red.

(Funny thing, the number of this red thread of this brand is 666 wich is kinda funny for miss hellscreen over here.)

After the red thread it finally started to look kinda decent (by beginner standards)

Canto 4 - Revenge of the felt hair

After all the embroidery was done it was finally time to get her off the ring and sew the parts together.

For those unaware, the regular soft plushie material, Minky, is really lightweight and very thin. Felt... isn't thin. And when you are sewing a plushie head with may parts and layers, all those millimeters of fabric pile up really quickly. One layer of felt is easy to pierce with a needle. Five layers? Not so much. Several needles were broken in the process of joining the front of the head with the back. I do not own a sewing machine. I did all of this shit by hand.

Thank god for the tetanus vaccine. When I say this little creature has my blood, sweat and tears, I MEAN IT.

The curse of the felt hair didn't end there.

Now that the head was done, it was time to stuff it.

Naturally, I had to rip parts of the stuffing to get it inside the head and around the skeleton. This sent bits and pieces of the thing flying everywhere. My room is FILTHY. And the felt hair got the worst of it. All those little dusts and microfibers stuck to it like a fly in a web. As I write this I am still trying to rip out bits of stuffing without damaging the felt. It is horrible. My girl is DIRTY.

(Also, plushie heads take WAY more stuffing than I thought. Holy shit.)

Finally, on the last day, it was time to attach the body to the head and sew the back of the hair. (I should have done that before but... more layers of felt. Broken needles. You know... nheeeeeee)

So, with a lot of fear in my heart I ladder stitched those bastards together and mocked up a decent enough pattern for the back of the hair. And just like that.... she is done.

Canto 5- The Plushie Defining

So... what did I learn?

Use pins. Stitch things temporarily with an obvious visible line that you can cut out after and test things before committing to a permanent stitch. If you are a beginner, like me, and are afraid to sew pieces together because you don't want to ruin your embroidered parts that you spent SO LONG working on, do this before.

Fuck felt.

Don't use a bright red pen.

Mess up. Make your plushie. Make it ugly. If you hate making bodies like me, buy one made and practice the head. Despite everything, I love my asymmetrical girl a lot. Like... I made this little bastard. She is MINE and I made her. This never stops being magical. It's a nice feeling.

And I did it without specific materials.

Some cheap threads, a body you can probably make too, some felt I found at the discount bin and random needles. That was all. No tearaway stabilizer, no sewing machine, no printer, no embroidery machine. The minky fabric is the only thing that was more of an investment. The rest is pretty accessible.

Do you know that post that says "Everything worth doing is worth doing poorly." Yeah, that applies to artistic projects. Go for it! Just... don't start with something hard like a human... Christ sake that was a nightmare.

I'm probably still gonna get a better plushie of her in the future, but for now, this is my baby.

Goodnight Tri-state area.

[weemietime]

Idiot leftists calling us Nazis for pointing out that these Gaza donation pages are clearly fucking bots and scams - - my condolences for your brain worms. You have literal holes in your brain. I get like 20 asks a day from accounts that are brand new, that are all formatted the same way, that all have the same pictures and that all are clearly written by AI, and that never ever respond to a single message and have zero personalized engagement of any kind.

No, this shit isn't fucking legitimate and you can choke for somehow turning our posts where we provide exhaustive lists of reputable organizations to actually donate to Gazans in need into some bullshit Noble Savage fuckery. Yeah, Gazans are suffering and dying and the only thing they can think of to do is create empty Tumblr accounts and send hundreds of asks per day to Zionist Jews, lmao. Do you even understand how many Gazans there actually are?

A SCAM. IT'S A SCAM, YOU FUCKING MORONS. Do you even understand the likelihood of you encountering even a single Gazan on this website let alone literally hundreds of them? Shut the fuck up. We are doing our due diligence since you're too stupid to comprehend basic internet security, but somehow that isn't good enough for you.

We are doing our part to contribute tzedekah but because we recognize a bot and correctly call it out never mind, I forgot we have to believe every single thing anyone who claims to be Gazan said because they're little babies who just don't understand how to use the internet.

And by the way, these people on Tumblr who fucking "vet" the bots, lmao, you understand that those are also bots and scammers, right? Those are also people affiliated with Hamas, until proven otherwise. And if they're claiming to vet people and tell us whether we are interacting with a straight up terrorist, with someone who has potentially been involved in murdering our fucking friends and family, who is vetting those guys?

Oh! It's a random dude whose identity I don't know! Better trust that guy and give him all my money since my moral purity test told me to believe every single thing I read online completely uncritically. You fucking idiots.

How about you do us a favor and leave @tributary and @spacelazarwolf names the fuck out your mouth instead of smearing them with horrific accusations that aren't fucking true. A pedophile??? Original, not like people haven't been calling LGBT and Jews nasty evil pedos since your Lord and Meth Fiends Sturmabteilung burned down the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft (then you motherfuckers claim queerness while supporting terrorists who kill us all and denigrating Magnus Hirschfeld).

PROVE IT. A pedophile! How horrible! Prove it, or shut the fuck up. It's not like we have intergenerational trauma growing up looking at pictures of NO JEWS, JEWS UNWELCOME, JUDE!!! JUUUUDE!!! with pictures of a goblin with beady little eyes and claws clutching piles of shekels. His nasty warty hooked nose eyeballing that baby in the crib he's gonna eat later.

The JEEEWWS I mean ZIONISTS are so mean and evil asking for the bare minimum of common G-d forsaken fucking sense before parting with our shekels I mean money, I mean two pennies, I mean BLOCK LIST TIME, HERE'S A LIST OF JEEWWSS I mean Zionists to harass and laugh at and mock and verbally abuse and send bomb threats and SWAT teams. Tumblr is JUDENREIN obviously!

Real fucking original, dipshit. We have never heard it before that we are all pedophiles and greedy soulless Nazis! (Don't forget to call us a Nazi, since we know how much you love making fun of Jews and weaponizing our pain against us.) Oh, sorry, "Zionist."

[voxofthevoid]

I'm so sorry you get so many hate messages. You're always so cool about it and don't let them get to you but I know it must suck anyway. So I just want to say I think all of your jjk opinions are correct. But seriously, your characters are always on point and I especially love how you write Yuji. People are crazy for complaining about something you chose to write and share with the world. Anyway, you're a really skilled writer and I love all of your fics and ideas, so please keep sharing them!

Thank you, anon 💗

I do appreciate the support, especially because I've been in a bit of a shit mood the last few days. This was a nice pick-me-up.

I won't deny I've been very lucky. Half of it is my internal workings; the hate messages piss me off, but they don't affect my confidence or creativity. However, I've been at this for well over a decade now, and my brain chemistry was never prone to things like imposter syndrome. Newer authors or authors who struggle with self-esteem issues often don't have that internal scaffold.

The external support I get from you guys is the other half. It's the community aspect that makes a fandom worth staying in for me, and if I were to be treated solely or mostly with hostility, I'd have packed up my bags and found a new home a long time ago. I have no control over which ship/show I fall in love with, but a hostile fandom is the greatest killer of passion. The reason I stayed so long in the MCU was that its people were wonderful and vocally so. JJK isn't quite that pleasant overall (younger, more drama-prone fandom, I suppose), but the vast majority of my readers are amazing, supportive, and very kind. That's why I'm still here.

I had an exchange with another author on Reddit the other day, and they were saying that the reason they quit writing for their current fandom was that, when they got harassed, the larger fandom's reaction was to ignore or actively dismiss the harassment. I see plenty of posts/discussions in fandom spaces, from subreddits to blogs on here, about people getting bullied out of fandoms because of the toxicity of a few bad actors and the apathy of the rest.

I don't post/share all of the hateful messages I get because some of them straight-up don't deserve to be inflicted on human eyeballs, and they're blatant, unrepentant attempts to actively hurt my confidence as a writer and my dignity as a human being. I do not have sufficiently harsh words for the kind of filth who'd do that.

I hate that people have the fucking audacity to try this and that it's distressingly effective most of the time. Nobody wants to spend their hobby hours fending off assholes. I don't know if fandom as a whole has become more hostile recently, but I do find the overall atmosphere more toxic and downright violent than it was when I started actively participating in fandom in 2014. For all our sakes, I hope it gets better and soon.

Sorry, that got way longer than I intended 😅

On a cheerier note, I'm delighted to hear you enjoy my takes on JJK and its characters! And nothing makes me happier than hearing you like how I write Yuuji in particular. Thank you again 🥰💗

[beefrobeefcal]

I love your writing and am so excited to read more! Chubby!Frankie is so hot and feral 🖤 I want to make him a birthday cake just for him and watch him eat it on his birthday ❤️ Most of my thots are food themed so I'm excited to find this type of fic! Have a lovely day!

ASK AND YE SHALL RECEIVE!

Everyone enjoys a bit of cake... some enjoy more at a time than others - thank you, @neverwheremoonchild for your generous contribution to the THOT TANK!

Beefro 👌🥩💜

--------<3----------

Beefro Proudly Presents:

a Chubby!Frankie one shot

The Catfish & The Mouse: Happy Birthday, Frankie! Part 1

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader (Mouse!)

Summary: Frankie has his cake and eats it all.

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Word Count: 1,623

Content Warning: Smutty smutty smut smut (alluded to), Belly Worship, Belly Stuffing, Oral (m-receiving), shirt popping, birthday nonsense

Author's Notes: Chubby!Frankie is a happy boy! Part 2 coming soon to a Beefro's Bistro near you!

Thank you @theywhowriteandknowthings for their time, energy & eyeballs - you're review is greatly appreciated!

__________________________

“So… what’s the verdict? A barbeque or are you going throw him a private party yourself?”, Hannah asked, wiggling her eyebrows at you from across the table.

You laughed and took another drink of your latte. “Not sure… I asked him and he didn’t give me a straight answer. But he was insistent that he get a Reece’s Pieces birthday cake.”

You had gone out shopping with Hannah, and the topic of Frankie’s birthday came up. Anytime it was one of the group’s special day, there was generally some sort of get together, and Hannah was the queen of party planning.

“Oh, Frankie… what are we going to do with him?”, Hannah mused. “How about we just take him to the bar and make they guys watch as we drink ourselves stupid?”

“Love that idea. I’ll tell him that because he didn’t answer, you and I planned something special for him – us! Drunk!”, you nodded with a big laugh.

By the time you got home, you’d worked over your bank account pretty well picking out birthday gifts for Frankie. As you were hiding your haul in the linen closet, you heard Frankie come in through the kitchen door from the garage.

“Mouse? You home, baby?”, he called out. You heard the fridge open and him open a beer.

You shoved the rest of the bags into the closet – you’d sort it out later – and skipped into the kitchen.

As you rounded the corner, you stopped and stared at Frankie. He was covered in grease and dirt… and was standing in your clean kitchen. Your eyes looked at the dirty foot prints on the floor and the finger smudges on your fridge.

Your face must have projected the internal screaming that blasted in your brain and Frankie held his hands up.

“Baby.”, he said, taking a step towards you with a cheeky glint is his eye. “Come and give me a kiss.”

Another step towards you. Your eyes widened and your jaw tightened, as you took a step back, knowing where this was going.

“Come here, princess.”, he smiled wryly. “Missed you, baby. Gimme a kiss.”

Another step to you. And another step back from him.

“Frankie… stop.”, you warned, swallowing thick. As much as you hated the mess, seeing Frankie dirty and sweaty from working in the garage did something to you. But you would not allow him to make a mess of you or your house right now!

He flashed you a bright smile, his hands in front beckoning you. “Pretty baby… just a little grime… come on, princess, come get dirty.”

He took a quick step towards you, and you hopped back and yelped, “Stop right now or no birthday cake!”

He stopped in his tracks and pouted, hands falling to his sides. “Aw, Mouse… don’t say that! I’m gonna clean it up!”

“You better, Francisco Morales!”, you shook a finger at him. “Or no cake.”

*****

It was here – Frankie’s birthday! You’d stay up late the night before to finish decorating his cake. You wanted it ready and waiting for him when he got up, as he insisted that “cake is for breakfast on your birthday”. It wasn’t a rule you followed for yours, but you would happily make sure Frankie got his wish.

You got up before he did and made your way to the kitchen to put up a few decorations. You had him for the day, and tonight, Benny had a fight. You’d all go to the bar to celebrate Frankie afterwards – it’s what Frankie wanted.

Once the final streamer was tacked up, you heard Frankie calling you from the bedroom.

“WHERE’S MY BIRTHDAY BLOWJOB?”, he yelled.

You barked out a laugh as you hopped down from the counter. “Coming right up, Frankie!”

You walked into your room and crawled onto the bed as Frankie laid back, lazily stroking his cock.

“Getting it all fired up for you, princess…”, he grunted, voice cracking with sleep. “Take your top off… wanna see your perfect tits.”

Not one to argue with a birthday boy, you straddled one of his thighs and took it off and shook your tits; Frankie groaned and reached out his free hand to grab one. “Oh fuck…”

“When we’re done here, I’ve got breakfast all ready for you, honey.”, you cooed, as you reached and took over stroking his cock.

Frankie sat up and grabbed the back of your neck, maneuvering you in position, then he gently began pushing your head down. Your open mouth took in his weeping, angry tip, and you rolled your tongue over it and sucked.

“If breakfast is what I think it is, then you need to get moving, princess.”

*****

After Frankie unloaded into your waiting mouth, and you both cleaned yourselves up, you had your hands over Frankie’s eyes as you navigated him to the kitchen.

“No peeking until I say so!”, you laughed, making sure his eyes were closed as you scampered to the other side of the kitchen table, and Frankie nodded, eyes covered.

“Okay, look!”

Frankie opened his eyes and scanned the table; a small pile of presents and a double-layered sheet cake that read, “Happy Birthday, Frankie Baby!” across it.

“Happy birthday, baby!”, you shouted as he came around to hug you.

*****

Frankie had opened his gifts while you sat with him. When he asked how big of a cake piece he should cut for himself, he just about fell off his chair when you informed him that the whole cake was his piece if he wanted it.

Good god, did you spoil him.

“You don’t have to eat it all-“

“I’m gonna.”, he interrupted with a grin as he rubbed his hands together.

Before he got to work, he went and changed into a different, looser pair of sweatpants, and then he dug in.

Just a few bites in, he had completely forgone cutting pieces off the cake and was now eating from the tray directly.

“Jesus, this is good, Mouse.”, he said with a full mouth before swallowing, and continued with a laugh. “Can you imagine if I was trying to lose weight and you made me stuff like this?”

You gave a little laugh and came around, standing next to him.

“How’re you doing, baby? Getting full?”, you asked teasingly as you rubbed his belly.

He put his hand on top of yours and smiled at you. “Nah, princess, don’t worry... got room for the rest.”

He went to take another bite, but you stopped him. “Frankie… I wanna try something. You know that button up shirt you have with the stain on it?”

He nodded as his grin grew on his face, knowing where you were going with this. He changed his shirt, and it was already a little tight over his tummy.

“Nice knowing ya, shirt!”, Frankie said as he went back to work.

Frankie sat back and sighed. A good portion of the cake was now causing wide gaps between the buttons and pulling the shirt taut across his belly.

“One of these better pop soon or I’m not gonna be able to finish. Getting pretty tight.”, he huffed, poking one the straining buttons.

“I guess it’s a well-made shirt.” You said as you leaned on the table, next to him. Your fingers danced over the exposed skin popping through. “Come on, baby. Get back to it.”

You got up and went to get him something to drink. You heard Frankie take a deep breath, then a few ping-ing sounds, then Frankie groan, “Thank fuck!”

You turned around to see that Frankie had popped two of the central buttons, and his belly had pushed out.

“Now I got more room.”, he said as he dove back into his cake.

By the time all the cake was in Frankie – minus some of the frosting that decorated his face – he was sitting back patting his taut belly.

The only button that remained on the shirt was the one that sat on his sternum. The rest were either on the floor or table.

“Fuck me, Mouse…”, Frankie tried to stifle a small burp. “I’m full.”

You’d pulled a chair up and sat next to him and your hands gently massaged his bloated tummy, feeling how solid it felt under your fingers.

“Oof, Frankie… your tummy’s solid.”, you gasped. “You feeling okay, honey?”

“M’fine… just full of cake… best thing to be on your birthday.”, he grinned as he patted his tummy.

He tried to stand up and winced, rubbing his packed stomach. “Fucking heavy, too. Oof.”

He stood to his full height, stretched his back and he looked adorable; he had a bedhead still and frosting on his face, and was wearing a shirt only held on with one button and low-slung sweatpants. The star of the show was his big tummy, framed by the white button up.

“How do I look? Like I’m ready to party?”, Frankie asked you with a wink and a grin.

“Oh boy, do you ever!”, you laughed, taking his had and tugging him to the den.

Frankie spent the rest of day on the couch. You spent the morning portion of his couch time sitting on his lap, rubbing and massaging his tummy, helping him deal with the heavy contents of his stomach.

“You having a good birthday so far?”, you asked as you finished his rub and patted his belly.

“Mmmmmyeah….”, Frankie moaned happily as his hands found your waist, eyes shut and feeling drowsy. “Got my dick sucked by a pair of beautiful lips, opened presents, loaded up on cake, wrecked a shirt, and got a tummy rub from this smoking hot woman sitting on my lap. I can’t ask for more.”

__________________________

TAGLIST:

@harryleatherfit @harriedandharassed @theywhowriteandknowthings @toxicanonymity

[alittlebitofrainbyyourside]

OOOOOO! Untitled Document (First line: "No, absolutely not," Sky snaps, voice echoing loud enough for Rain to hear him from meters away.  "You're not doing this to Rain.")

chaeul asked:

I should've added please and thank you but I forgot my manners over my exctement haha ---- You are *such* a cutie pie. -- a snippet from the untilted doc---

Sky's lips tighten into a straight line and oh, that is not a good sign. Sky's not always the most outwardly expressive person when it comes to pleasure, but he wears his disapproval on his sleeve. "Yes, Sig, what are we talking about?"

Sig for his part only grins, slapping Rain on the back. "You! Por and I know how hard it's been since you realized that you were into men so we decided to do you a little favor!"

Hard- it hasn't been- Rain's just been focused! That's all. It's their third year! They're all busy! Who has time to be trying to pick up girls or boys with school work up to their eyeballs.

"Favor," Sky mocks as Por looks off to the side, clearly less confident in what they're up to than Sig is. "He hired a sex worker to take you on a date."

"A-" Rain's brain goes blank. "What?! Ai Sig! This was your idea!"

"You should be thanking me, Nong Fon! And he isn't a sex worker, Sky, don't misrepresent him. He's a professional gentleman." Sig's arm slides behind Rain's back, anchoring him to place. "You'll see Rain, P'Phayu's the real deal, you'll learn so much from him."

"Rain won't, because Rain won't be going on this date. Will you, Rain?" Sky reaches out, taking Rain by the wrist and trying to tug him forward and away from Sig. "You have too much respect for yourself to let Sig pull a prank on you like this."

[brinehater]

tbh actually mentioning "Brant's line from Wilhelmina's quest" in the tags of that last post got me super thinking about it again and hhhh oh my god. I had to dig through my screenshots and I found it so now I get to be annoying about it!

OK so like I ship Wildrose with Sven very hard, I am a massive sucker for cute ships and they're a cute ship, could be adorable with an extent of longing for spice and oh boy, I die on that hill. it grabs me and tosses me off the nearest cliff. inject that prince plot potential straight into my eyeballs thank you.

but also I, brinehater? the shambling trenchcoat filled with five gremlins? marrying Sara, Menella, and Brant. but probably especially Brant, if solely because Brant has these lines in Every Rose Has Its Thorn

and it does something to my brain chemistry that makes me immediately just ohhhhhhh. I know this is Wilhelmina's quest (I also love her, but like in a "she's cool" way) but I'm here for Brant saying IF YOU WOULD DIRTY YOUR HANDS, THEN I SHALL MUSTER THE RESOLVE TO DO THE SAME it honestly instantly sends me I'm ready for marriage any time, ser.

actually most romantic thing in the game (not from a pawn), 20/10

[ashdreams2023]

Hello! Can I request a fic with Dr. Strange's daughter (about America Chaves' age) except the reader is a variant of Stephen's dead daughter. Like it can happen when America was being chased by that giant eyeball. Apparently reader got sucked into Americas powers with her. Reader is still in shock since she just saw her actual father (defender strange) die. What does Dr. Strange's reaction will be when he meets his alive daughter, albeit a variant of her. (Their meeting can be like Strange just saved her from an untimely death and when he saw who he saved his heart just stopped)

Every reality

Your day was just bound to get ruined, although you didn’t expect it to end up with you father dead and being sucked into another universe with America.

Being on the run wasn’t one of your plans either.

You were alone, with somebody who barely can control their own powers and you were no good without your dad’s instructions.

This was the day you die, there was no way to look at it.

You couldn’t even say goodbye, it was so fast, so sudden and unexpected, he was gone and you were alone and lost, you were….scared.

"Watch out!" America screamed cutting your train of thought just in time to see the huge Aline jumped straight at your way.

You made a portal and jumped in it, not caring where it took you because you were not panicking.

There was rubbish where you landed and the sound of America’s screams were still loud and clear, you didn’t go far away it seems, maybe just a few blocks away.

Which meant that thing was close.

A growled maybe you jump and turn around, scratch whatever you thought, that thing was right behind you and ready to devour you whole.

So this is how it ends? In a strange city, eaten by an ugly Aline, what a life you had.

You couldn’t even think, you closed your eyes and screamed when it grabbed you by the waist and threw you in the air, gravity graded you down immediately almost landing you in its mouth…almost.

The Aline screamed in pain and before you knew what’s going, two strong arms held you close and you were on the ground, covered in some blood with a weird blues substance that you wish to not know where it came from.

"Y/N?" You heard your name and looked up at who saved you, familiar blue eyes looked down at you with shock and worry.

"Dad?"

Stephen breathed heavily, he was holding his child, his little girl, alive and breathing. His heart hurt, a part of him knew this wasn’t really you, but a variant, then there was the father’s heart, the pain of seeing his child again.

"I think I’m going insane" he whispered holding you close to his chest, you could hear his heart beat loud in your ears, he was scared too.

"You’re not the only one" you hid your face against his chest, not daring to look up with tears in your eyes, you didn’t want to open up your eyes and find out it was just your brain playing tricks on you.

It didn’t matter that he wasn’t your actual dad but by god you were desperate and alone.

"Are you ok kid?" He asked.

You nodded your head slowly "but I can’t feel my legs"

He snorted "of course, let’s get out of here, I can’t lose another daughter" that’s when you looked up, Stephen strange, different realities but he still loved his daughter in every one of them.

[pepperbox]

What are your thoughts on the Trigun reboot?

the big tl;dr is that i'm enjoying it a lot!! there are a couple things that i'm like, not suuuuper thrilled about but overall: it's a yes from me!

(for clarity, i was a huuuuuge fan of the '98 anime and watched it with my mom as a kid! i read trimax later in life and adored that, and now the og anime is like. fine?? but comparatively falls flat for me now as an adult in my 30s. i've rewatched the anime only once as an adult but i've reread trimax uhhhhh three times in the past year alone lolol)

i'm gonna bullet point this bc that's just how my brain works best:

i love the animation! there have been a few instances where it felt off, but overall it's been a feast for my eyeballs

I'M SORRY BUT I LOVE THE NEW VASH DESIGN transmasc icon, he's perfect. i am absolutely not biased, ignore my undercut--

also it updated his look for the 2000s?? the broomhead was a Look in the 90s but it's so dated now i'm SORRY LMAO

also who out here is making hair gel on this fucking desert planet, i s2g,

the inclusion of roberto at first i was kinda ??? about but i quickly adjusted to him, esp as he started throwing soon-to-be-dead-mentor flags all over the fucking place. he cracks me up but i'm legit just waiting at this point for him to die to further meryl's development and to pass the torch derringer on to her

i do hope millie makes an appearance for meryl (so they can be girlfriends, as is only right) but her absence really doesn't break trigun for me bc uhhhh y'all, her and meryl have relatively minor roles in trimax and straight up disappear for like, volumes at a time

also i really hated her random romance with wolfwood in the 98 anime even as a kid and i will never forgive it for that

but ymmv!!!

i do think the pacing is a bit fast and i wish they either had longer episodes or more episodes to let it breathe a little! not entirely plot-wise because i actually like the reveals so far we've gotten because it's keeping even long time fans guessing for what's coming, but just for the relationships between the characters

like i would like more casual interactions between the four protags, and more vash & wolfwood getting to know each other before we jumped right to them butting heads so aggressively over morality and killing

but i do love that it also heavily showcases the consequences of vash's actions (or inaction)

because as meryl pointed out during the nebraska fight, he isn't actually doing anyone a kindness, he's just running away from pain

i am also sad that they took wolfwood AND livio's tits by the looks of it

rip 😔

also i am. not thrilled about elendira? i was really excited to see my wife on screen but instead they did that to her :(

ANYWAYS

i am curious about where the story is going to go!! because lost july hasn't happened yet but we're walking towards it, but when?

is it going to be mid-season? is it going to be the end of s1 if we're getting more than one season? will there be a time skip?

will [redacted manga spoilers] arrive?

will we get to see chronica and domina??

there's still SO much to cover, but i know they're mashing some things together (like jeneora rock was a couple different settings smashed into one, and it seems like the gung-ho guns and the eye of michael are even more woven together??) so we'll see but

I HAVE QUESTIONS

BUT YEAH like!!!! i am enjoying it a lot overall!! i have a few gripes with it but i am so fucking happy to be watching trigun again, and as much as i would adore a 1-to-1 trimax adaption like they did with fma, i am really enjoying it being a retelling because i genuinely don't know what's going to happen!! it's fun!! i'm having fun!!

also there's a really emo thought i had about all trigun adaptions just being different lives for everyone and they're just caught in a loop

history doesn't repeat but sometimes it rhymes

but!!

i also love the fact that it's screaming that it's a passion project. that people who love the source material are all working on it, with nightow. they're bringing back VAs for both japanese and english versions, fans are animating and voicing it, it's amazing and shows how much love is going into this series, and i'm so glad to be able to experience it again