#the fragility of human's sanity

[fieriframes]

[Yeah, we do lots with this dough. Human sanity was a poor, fragile thing at best. Big dilemma.]

[yellowlaboratory]

Appreciate you for coming back for jiara week and giving us so much amazing content! X

aw thank you so much anon 💛💛 Jiara week is a lot of fun and a lot of stress but the amount of content everyone created was amazing!!

[cinnamonsikwate]

don't listen to them laios!!! your monster form totally fucks!!!

[youryanderedaddy]

Tw: captivity, obsessive behavior, made up fantasy lore, mind fuck (?)

He never calls for you - he only ever sends his servants, poor, confused little creatures of the night once lost just like you. They gather at your door like an army of darkness, scratching and biting at the delicate wooden frame, howling piteously with full chest until you're faced with the choice of either opening the door, or suffocating yourself with the fluffy white pillow. You give in after what feels like an appropriate time - not too soon as to feed his ever - growing ego, yet not so late that the creatures' heads start to roll under your nose.

You slowly walk down the endless corridor, refusing to look at anything for longer than a second - even as it calls to you with the sweetest voice of desire. Everything is enchanted to the very last candle on the wall. The countless paintings depict wealth and opulence beyond your wildest dreams, an adundance of riches upon riches, of honeycomb amber and pure green emeralds. The silk carpet is as soft as a dandelion just before it bursts open, and the crystal chandelier embarks such a soft light the human eye can never properly adjust to the tender shades of yellow and blue. The castle is tempting you with every passing breath - begging you to stay here forever. Begging you to love it, and everyone inside - especially His Majesty, the Lord.

You try to calm your disheveled thoughts as you carefully open the heavy gates to the throne room. Your breath hitches deep into your throat as your eyes gaze upon the feast spread out before you, and suddenly you're starving like a wolf. By now you should know better than to let yourself be lured in by magic - but the pull is too magnetic and you quickly find yourself stepping closer to the piled up table. You take in the smell with unsatiated hunger - golden apples baked inside fine sugar crystals, tender deer fillet dripping with berry sauce and smokey mushrooms, the sort you can only find inside an enchanted forrest. Cream puffs and mountains of stripped ice soaked in jam and vanilla essence upon stacks of fruit and more goblets of red wine than you can count. And yet he remains ever the centerpiece of the vision.

"You're late, mona grece tide*." His voice slowly fills the room with its overbearing softness, always on the verge of dropping into silence. It's painful to look at him - as if everything about the mythical man was created a touch too symmetrical, to the point where the sharp features all blend together. His lips are too full, his eyes - if the golden slits beneath his brows may be called that, are way too bright under the sun, and they reflect a time you don't wish to remember. And his hair is so long and pale, so very white and smooth, you have to stop your hands from reaching into the wounded transparency of his wild locks, less you want to lose a finger or two.

"Tidea." Khaal snaps his finger more aggressively when you don't respond to his call the first time. You squint in an attempt to block the light coming from the tiny cracks in his face - the birth lines of his dragon. "Sit down. Don't make me come to you."

Tide. Tidea. Love, as you eventually learnt the meaning of the word in Lohemian. My little love, the words still rest on his tongue, because what are you if not a small, fragile human?

"I'd hate to inconvenience you so, my Lord." You eventually bite back, breaking out of the trance. Slipping in and out of consciousness and constantly guessing your surroundings is taking a toll on you, but you'll lose your sanity before you give into his madness. "Touching a filthy human like myself will surely sully your pretty golden flakes." You smile with venom, tearing into the nearest sun-pear. He watches the juice drip down your chin with angry narrowed eyes, and with another swift snap of his fingers he's standing before you, towering above.

"Insolent child, you are." He grips your face carelessly, inspecting it from all sides before finally materializing a clean cloth and wiping you clean. "You're foolish just like any other human." His brows twist together with anger, but his expression remains angelic to the untrained eye. "I can give you everything you've ever wanted. The sun at your feet, the moon on your shoulders. All the knowledge of the world." His fingers suddenly stop rubbing along your jawline and his gaze falls upon your cold, quivering lips. "All I ask in return is your loyalty." His sharp nail begins stroking your lower lip. It doesn't draw blood, but you wish it would. You can't stand the anticipation - the moment before the violence entails.

"Don't let your eyes wander. Gift me your warmth." The dragon king pulls you closer to his chest, and all fight leaves you. His form is perfectly defined with thousand metal - like flakes, one on top of the other like a flawless shield. It's probably a great weapon on the battlefield - but it lacks the naked vulnerability of human skin, and it's so cold it hurts to stand close, much less touch it directly. "Look at me!" He suddenly roars, and you fall back from the sheer power of his voice.

Everything hurts - as if the floor is suddenly melting, you feel like you will never stop falling down.

"I can't. It's too painful." You whisper weakly between hoarse broken sobs threatening to tear off your heart in two. "I wasn't made for this world, f-for your... world." You bite your lips, averting eyes to the ground. "Everything in you wants me dead. Your love will kill me." You whimper, squeezing your left hand to your chest. The dead weight of the broken bone is pulling you down, luring you deeper into sleep.

"I'd like to see you try, mon'tidea." He sinks down to your level, quick as a shadow. Stealing a kiss as light as a sparrow, he pushes you down. "Die as many times as you want. You'll always end up here in my arms." His lips are grazing your ear, warm breath hitting your neck. Another illusion, you realize - his body can't create warmth. It's simply reflecting your warmth back to you. "Because once you enter my realm, there's no coming back."

[sweet-as-an-angel]

MW2 w/ a Sex Slave

Warnings: 18+, Implied Initial Dubious Consent, Stomach Swelling, Cum Inflation, Unprotected Sex, Degradation, Slut-Shaming, Victim Blaming, Mean MW2, Rough MW2, Gentle MW2, Sex Slave! Reader, Kidnapping, Dark Fic !!!, Captive/Captor Relationship, Mention of Pregnancy, Implied Contraceptives, Implied Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapping, Descriptions of Smut, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except 'You'.

MW who saw you shopping alone once and decided they had to have you, following you home and slapping a soaked rag over your mouth and nose before you could scream.

MW whose intentions with you are unclear. Until you notice the bulge in their trousers and the purr in their voices, their provocations, as they watch you writhe against the restraints, watch you helplessly struggle against a fate they’ve already decided for you.

Ghost, König and Soap are the roughest with you, often the ones to just tear your pants off when they’re desperate, filling you not long after.

They’re rarely gentle, instead opting to take you raw and use you for their own ends, slamming their hips into yours as they call you their ‘Cumdump’ until you hear them release a guttural roar, emptying days’ worth of hot semen inside you.

Your first time with Ghost almost left you feeling like you were about to burst with how backed-up he was, his balls bulbous and slapping the skin of your backside red and raw with each thrust, primal in his disposition as all he could do was growl, your body tight around him, driving him over the edge of frenzy.

He’d made sure to leave his mark on you, the prominent bulge in your stomach slowly deflating as he pulled out and his semen leaked out of you, his teeth marks embedded deep into the juncture of your shoulder and throat, bruising you.

And while Soap and Ghost’s loads are somewhat palatable given how frequently they use you, how little time passes between when they last had you and when they’ll take you again, König almost always leaves you feeling like you’re about to rupture.

Given his height, he’s the biggest of all your captors. Not only that, but his cock is thick enough to leave you feeling like you have rocks in your stomach whenever he forces himself into you, his strokes long and pounding, making sure you feel every inch of him.

And just like Soap and Ghost, he’s degrading. Merciless.

“Pretty little whore – only good for being used and fucked,” he pants, a cruel smile hidden beneath his veil as he slams into you, making you yelp. “I bet you wanted us to follow you home – wanted to be used as nothing more than the dumb cockslut you are.”

Price, Gaz and Alejandro are a lot more gentle, understanding that, while you’re there solely for their pleasure, you’re still fragile. Human.

They’re soft and slow with their thrusts, giving you time to adjust to their size before continuing.

Whenever they’re being intimate with you, they try to comfort you as best they can. A stark contrast to Ghost and Soap’s incessant name-calling, degrading and claims that you’re their “Good little slut whose only use is to take what we give you.”

They’ll stroke your hair, press their forehead to your shoulder (only to feel you tense beneath them, anticipating a love bite or harsh suck) — anything to try and make you feel less like you’re a sex slave and more like a friend with benefits.

They’ll ease you onto them, telling you you’re “Doing so well, Love,” as your nails drag down their back, insides spasming as your body tries to accommodate their girth.

Of course, you worried the first few times they had their way with you that their pumping you full of their seed would leave you pregnant.

However, they always provided you with means of preventing that.

But, much to your horror, you felt as if they’d impregnated you with an idea, a feeling.

That being that you enjoyed what they were doing to you, ravaging you, pumping you full of their load until they were satisfied and your stomach was swelling.

And while your sanity tried to reason your way through your acceptance — that you were being held prisoner by literal military-men-turned-kidnappers — your mind, for better or worse, didn’t care.

Not when they were providing for you, bringing you luxury food, clothes, anything your heart desires — things you were certain would be nigh impossible to obtain were you working an ordinary 9-5.

Or, perhaps you were rationalising your willingness to stay here with them, to live as their human sperm bank, reduced to an existence of bending to the will of militant captors whose semen dripped down your thighs, whose hands forced your face into pillows or made you bounce on their cocks while looking at them, giving you a glimpse into their eyes, the monsters they hid behind a veneer of humanity; whose stamina and strength leaves you whining, crying and almost begging for more whenever they finished, more often than not forcing orgasms out of you, making you push back into them, body willing to take every ounce of their cum and inch of their cocks.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

[aajjks]

Desperado (m)

synopsis. There was no time for intimacy and jungkook learned the hard way.

warnings: MÄTÜRE THÈMÈS. YÄNDÊRÊ, DÄRK, mêntǐöns öf prẽgnâncy, mêntǐöns öf älmöst dy-ng dürïng chïldbïrth, obsěssïvè bëhävïöür, pössessïvênêss, jk ïs cräy cräy, cryïng, smüt (förëpläy), kïssïng, lüsty jk, he ïs jǔst hörny änd w-nts tö fück lmäo

note. I understand that this kind of a topic can be a sensitive topic for many of us, pregnancy is not something everyone is comfy reading about so viewer discretion is advised!

He never wanted you to get pregnant.

This was not supposed to happen,

Jungkook couldn’t help but glare at the tiny little sleeping human in the white crib as he sat right infront of it.

The baby’s chubby cheeks huffed as he took little breaths, a little hue of pink sprinkled over them.

how could he sleep so peacefully after ruining Jungkook’s life! Jungkook bit the inside of his cheeks in jealousy.

This tiny little brat has already taken you away from him. You were Jungkook’s only happiness but now ever since you gave birth, you are obsessed with this little devil.

You have forgotten about Jungkook completely. He who was the reason you got pregnant in the first place!

Jungkook regretted doing that… why can’t he ever control his lust when it comes to you, and now his lust was the result of the baby who was sleeping so peacefully right infront of him.

And now, here he is after so many sleepless nights to watch over the baby while you were busy showering. You are really paranoid and possessive when it comes to the child and it’s safety.

And you have made jungkook promised that he’s going to watch over the baby while you tend to your business.

Jungkook’s head hurts so much. When was the last time you guys had sex? He can’t even remember. It’s all gone now.

You have been snatched away from him and he can’t do anything! Jungkook will never understand why you wanted to have this baby anyways?!? You guys together were already perfect.

And not to forget that you both are still so young, and there was no need to hurry.

This child is a devil and you fail to see that! Having this baby almost killed you, your fragile self was not ready for it, Jungkook hated him so much, so fucking much.

But you have always so stubborn.

Your maternal side was something that Jungkook used to adore, because you were always so loving and caring towards him.

But now? Now that you were an actual mother, you completely neglect your boyfriend. Jungkook huffs in annoyance as the thoughts run through his mind.

You always wanted to become a mom.

His glare never left the baby who was soundly asleep, it was unfair that how much he looked like Jungkook, anyone could tell that that was his son.

It was undeniable. The baby even stole his face!

Jungkook hates his child so much!

Jungkook hated children, he always despised the idea of someone else coming in between you, you were always supposed to be his and only his!

Jungkook is a needy person and he knows that… he needs your love and attention like a little child, he is addicted to you, and now that his addiction isn’t being satisfied.

He is starting to lose his sanity.

“Y/N…” Jungkook whines into your warmth as he feels your fingers scratch his head, his warm breath hitting your tummy as his hands grabs wrap around it, his legs are resting onto yours as the man is on top you, laying so peacefully and your scent is calming his mind and your touch feels so good, His eyes are closed as he snuggles deeper and deeper into you.

Your hair is still wet, and you smell so fresh.

God… you smell so good, how much he’s missed this… you.

“Y/N…. I miss you so much..” You hear Jungkook speak in a broken tone, like he is so tired. “You don’t pay me any attention anymore, you don’t care for me anymore…” he cries, his head shaking to the sides, as he lifts his face up from your belly. “I need you so much… you don’t even make love to me anymore!”

He whines again, complaining as he looks into your eyes while you look at him with confusion, Jungkook stares at your face, he notices the tiredness, your eyes are absolutely tired, dark circles present. “Please love me too! You only care about him!” He groans as he nuzzles his face in your neck.

It tickles because hes breathing so heavily.

“When was the last time you touched me, do you even remember Y/N? Fuck… I ache for your touch on my body… please.” He could barely whisper, but his tone changes to a seductive one as he presses light butterfly kisses on your neck. You close your eyes as your heart clenches in guilt when you hear the desperation in his voice.

Even though he’s complaining most of the time, but he’s not completely wrong.

It is true that you have been neglecting him, heck, you love your baby so much that you have forgotten about Jungkook.

“I’m sorry baby… you are right… I’m sorry… but I’ve been so tired ever since… Ji-Hwan came into our lives… I’ve been super focused on him- “B-But what about me yn?” he cut you off, eyebrows furrowing as he removes his head from your neck, and he is glaring at you, “I should be your first priority!” Jungkook harshly says but when he sees you getting shocked at his sudden change in demeanor.

And now he feels guilty.

so his eyes soften, and he apologizes,

“But I can’t really blame you because you are so tired… please, let me make you feel good… you look like you need it.” Jungkook gets up from your body and takes your hand and guides it towards his crotch.

You gasp as you feel it.

“See? I’ve been so needy for you that your touch got me all hard… please kiss me, can I have a kiss now? Baby don’t you think that I deserve it?” Jungkook’s eyes are dark, hey bites his lower lip, eyes filled with lust, as he leans close to your face stopping his rambling.

He looks at your body, and he notices the dress that you’re wearing. It’s cruel how much you look good in that dress, it’s so simple yet so sexy.

Your lips were only a centimetre apart, until Jungkook connected them together, your lips immediately melt into his.

Jungkook doesn’t waste a second to take your breath away by sliding his tongue inside your mouth, exploring it, his tongue hitting every corner of your mouth.

His hands grab onto your breasts as he squeezes them, moaning into your mouth, his kiss only gets more feverish as he starts to grind close to your heat.

You moan lightly at the fraction, as he presses his lips to yours harder, moaning again.

“F-Fuck… you feel so good baby… need you now..” he cries, voice all breathy and you can’t help but whine in response, your body feels so hot.

His husky voice sends shivers down your spine, he pushes you into the bed as your lips finally disconnect after what felt like hours.

Jungkook quickly takes off his shirt as he climbes on top of you, impatient and hungry.

His hand plays with the strap of your floral dress, but it’s been so long that his warm hands feel so cold and, foreign to you. “Fuck fuck fuck!” He curses in excitement as he pulles you in another kiss.

Your lips connecting together once again, Jungkook groans in desire. His strong hands grip on your shoulders so tightly that you welp in pain.

“Sorry baby can’t really contain myself… I need to be inside you so bad!” His voice was laced with lust, he was almost crying, his apology is rushed.

But as soon as his hands are between your legs, his fingers taking your panties off, you’re waiting in anticipation, And he’s almost taken them off,

I can’t believe that he’ll finally get to have sex with you after so long. His heartbeat is so loud and he is so impatient but then the luck isn’t really on his side, because you guys hear the baby monitor beep, and your senses awaken immediately in realisation.

“Jungkook get off! He’s awake, he must be hungry!” You push the man off you as you quickly get up,

Not giving a chance for Jungkook to react or even comprehend, what just happened now, he’s watching you with shock in his eyes,, you exit the room while fixing your dress before, he can call out your name.

And behind you, Jungkook cries, cussing out loudly, growling,

“FUCK MY LIFE.” with a raging boner.

[armageddidnt]

Welcome to My Collection of Random Thoughts during my nth* rewatch of Good Omens Season 2

*only amazon prime knows the exact number at this point but I’m fairly certain it’s in the double digits

Episode 1: Gabriel’s fly lurking in the box when Aziraphale first takes it inside 👀

Crowley’s promise of “two minutes” basically means that he’s been homeless and living in his car for the past 4 years strictly so that he can be within 2 driving minutes of Aziraphale at all times in case his angel needs him I’m not crying you are

So here I think the key word is “fragile,” Crowley knows they are ostensibly safe from their respective sides but that could change at any moment so he’s basically spent the last 4 years in anxiety-ridden terror hovering as close to Aziraphale as he can to try and protect him from heaven, hell, and anyone else that would want to bring him harm after all that business they pulled in season 1 with stopping Armageddon

Episode 2: I just happened to pause the episode while Aziraphale is lying to the angels about his miracle and LOL Michael really outdid himself here (Sheen, not the Archangel)

Gabriel trying to swat flies and almost smashing the repository of every single one of his memories

I’m cAckling

So if Good Omens exists in Good Omens, does that mean Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett exist in Good Omens?? Do you think they based their Aziraphale and Crowley characters on Aziraphale and Crowley??

Episode 3: So I’m trying to find any hints or foreshadowing of the Gabriel Beelzebub thing bc tbh I did kind of feel like it came out of nowhere which is really the only issue I have with them. I found this one scene where Beelzebub almost ?? seems to be concerned about Gabriel ?? But it’s blink and you miss it and there could be lots of other reasons why Beelzebub doesn’t want to fail in locating Gabriel (pressure from/leverage over heaven, etc) so idk

More Foreshadowing Fly content 🪰

Episode 4: So here we’ve seen that Shax can just appear inside the Bentley bc she did it earlier to talk to Crowley. Shax only pretended to be a hitchhiker so she could be invited in because Azirpahale was driving so technically she needed permission to cross the threshold of an angel 👀

This scene will never not destroy me the 1941 flashback is the absolute sOFTEST thing ever to happen on this show

We really need more context here I need to see the Crowley-Furfur Monkey Rides

Episode 5: ahahaha thank you google translate for absolutely destroying my sanity this evening

POP goes the Ziraphale

Okay I know you can’t hear it in the gif but just before Nina takes Maggie’s hand, there’s a very quiet miracle noise, like Azirpahale literally MADE Nina dance with Maggie, he said I’m writing a Mina Jane-Austen-Ball-AU and my otp will KISS godDAMMIT

Azirpahale seems lowkey kind of manic this whole scene tho, he’s controlling literally everyone to force Nina and Maggie together and whenever Crowley says anything that pokes holes in Aziraphale’s Magical Jane Austen Ball Fairytale, Aziraphale just straight up denies it. He wants Nina and Maggie to dance and he wants him and Crowley to dance and he refuses to acknowledge anything beyond that.

Is this just Shax insulting Crowley for how much of a nuisance he’s been or a reference to his former status as an angel ???

They’re both completely dismissive of each other when they’re trying to say something important and that’s the main issue they’ve been having this entire season tbh

Episode 6: I think it’s funny that Crowley describes the angels as bees here because in the book, Neil/Terry describe humans the same way. Guess we have more in common than we thought huh?

So the metatron was the one who originally decided Gabriel would be memory wiped and not sent to hell, and he was also the one that decided not to sound an alarm about Gabriel for some reason and said ‘just go find him yourself’ instead. The metatron has definitely got his own agenda and you can bet he doesn’t want Aziraphale up there in heaven because he’s a “leader” and he’s “honest” like that’s exactly what Gabriel was and look where it got him 👀

There’s just something I can’t quite put my finger on about the metatron bringing Aziraphale a coffee from “give me coffee or give me death” and then asking Aziraphale if he’s going to take the coffee he’s giving him…

I have not seen a single person talk about this since s2 came out but Nina literally calls Maggie “angel” because that’s the term of endearment they hear Crowley using for Aziraphale !!!! I’m still going fERAL over this and I can’t believe no one else is eitHER

Something about this part of The Final Fifteen compared to this scene from the first episode is so representative of the entire season. Azirpahale keeps saying “my way or get out” and Crowley finally hits a wall and can follow Aziraphale no further. So he does just that. He goes.

I’m sure a lot of us by now have seen this post that brings up how Aziraphale literally pushes the remains of Crowley into his mouth and swallows and it’s the only thing I see when I watch this now

We still don’t know for certain if Crowley queued up this song to play on their way to the Ritz or if the Bentley started playing it all on its own and it’s driving me insane

Basically how I am doing after my Truly-Alarming-Number-th watch of this traumatizing episode/season. WELP hope you enjoyed this garbage dump of my thoughts and feelings time to go cry for a bit again BYE

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

🕯️ Shadows & Symbolism: The Gothic Writer's Grimoire 🦇

Hello writers! I hope you're all doing well. Autumn is my favorite time of year, and I'm sure many of you love it too. With Halloween just around the corner, I thought it would be nice to start getting into the spirit a bit early. For those of you working on a gothic or fiction book, I wanted to share some themes and symbols to help bring that spooky, gothic, and dark vibe to your writing. 🦇

.˚���.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆.˚⊹.🎃₊˚.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆

🕸️Themes and Symbols for Gothic & Horror Stories🕯️

🌙 The Moon 🌚

Symbol of mystery, the unknown, and the supernatural

Represents the cycle of life, death, and rebirth

Can signify madness, hysteria, and the primal forces of nature

🕷️ Spiders & Webs 🕸️

Symbolize entrapment, deception, and the unseen

Represent the intricate, tangled nature of evil and darkness

Can foreshadow impending doom or the unraveling of secrets

💀 Skulls & Bones 💀

Signify mortality, the fragility of life, and the inevitability of death

Evoke a sense of the macabre, the morbid, and the occult

Can represent the lingering presence of the dead or the afterlife

🖤 Darkness & Shadows 🌑

Symbolize the unknown, the subconscious, and the mysterious

Represent the hidden, sinister forces that lurk in the corners

Can signify a descent into madness or the loss of control

🦇 Bats & Ravens 🦇

Portend ominous events, death, and misfortune

Symbolize the supernatural, the occult, and the Gothic

Can represent messengers from the underworld or harbingers of doom

🕯️ Candles & Flames 🕯️

Signify the fragility of life and the ever-present threat of extinguishment

Represent the struggle between light and dark, good and evil

Can symbolize the human soul, spirituality, and the afterlife

🧠 The Mind & Madness 🧠

Explore the depths of the psyche and the fragility of sanity

Represent the battle between reason and the irrational

Signify the descent into obsession, delusion, and the unknown

🏰 Crumbling Mansions & Castles 🏰

Symbolize the decay of the old order and the erosion of power

Represent the weight of the past and the burden of history

Can signify the collapse of the elite and the rise of the macabre

Use these evocative themes and symbols to craft your next Gothic or horror masterpiece and chill your readers to the bone! 💀 Let me know if want more post related to everything spooky!

.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆.˚⊹.🎃₊˚.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆

Happy Writing! - Rin T. 🍁🎃🍂

Before you go, why not join us at The Write Right Society? We're a supportive Tumblr community where writers lift each other up. Whether you're a newbie or a pro, we'd love to have you! Share your work, get feedback, and connect with fellow wordsmiths, writers and aspiring authors. 

[tinydefector]

Rut cycle- Ratchet

Gen 1 Ratchet x human

Word count: 1.6k

Waring: smut, breeding, oral, size difference.

Masterlist

Ratchet masterlist

Rut cycle masterlist

______________

"Hey Rat, got your equipment!" A voice calls out from the entrance of the medical lab, multiple sets of optics shoot to the human who reads through the list of equipment that was needed.

Ratchet's vocals crackled with static as their sweet voice tortured his processor, the haze of his rut had made it nearly unbearable to be around any of the other mechs on base without him wanting to rip their helm off. His plating clamps uo agonisingly as he turns to the human.

Optics watch their every move as they walk through the lab, every mech's optics flicker over their form. Dimly he registered a medkit, blood samples and other equipment clutched to their chest.

A soft whine escaped his venting as the sweet yet nearly sickening scent of hormones waft from their frame. They smile, making their way towards the medical staff with the supplies. "Here those blood samples you requested, hopefully this can help you understand what about our biology seems to keep making you guys go into rut" they call out while checking over their list. “I wasn't able to get any Electrum samples after that fight with the Cons. There wasn't much left at the scuffle” they call back, Ratchet optics focus In on Perceptor and Hoist as the two begin sniffing the air.

Through the haze of full-blown interfacing protocols, Ratchet lefts out savage snarl peeled from his vocalizer at the collected optics of his cohorts. Hoist, Starscream, Perceptor and Shockwave back off, but they sling around the lab, trying to make themself look busy.

Dimly he registered supplies in tiny hands, he took them as softly as he could from them, his frame shuttering in delight at the slightest contact. A harsh keen escaped as servos servo lifted them up onto the table. It makes them laugh softly as they shake their head at him "Settle Doc, they aren't doing anything" they call out while moving about with different vials, looking at the different colours and liquids in them. Once again the others in the lab try sneaking closer.

Another savage snarl tore from Ratchet's vocalizer at the gathered mechs, plating clamping up as his servos dent the table. "Back, the lot of you!" he bellowed, a dampening field flickering with repressed urges. His Optics cycled rapidly between the crowd and their movements.

His vocalizer spat harshly "get out Now," he rasped through grit denta. The others didn't stick around after Ratchet snarled, all of them quick to leave the medical bay. A low keen escaped his vocals as he slams the door locked, servo pressed against the metal as he cycles another vent while pressing His helm against the metal trying to calm his systems down. He stands there for a moment trying to get a hold of himself before his optics shoot open as he marches himself back over to them.

A gasp leaves them as Ratchet grabs them by the hips pulling them closer "Easy Ratchet, easy!" They call out through a shaky breath as their fingers dig into the Ridge of his plating eyes focusing on his optics, watching the way they shift and flicker as he looks at them than the lab.

Ratchet shuddered violently at the proximity yet dared not release his deathgrip on their hips. Every part of his coding was calling for one thing.

Claim. Breed.

His helm nuzzled against them unconsciously, massive frame quivering with repressed force that could crumple their fragile body. The scent, the warmth and the softness has Ratchet keening softly into their shoulder, nipping and sucking the skin.

" That's bad huh?" They ask softly, one hand trailing his neck cables as they hold onto him, they knew the rut cycle was chipping away at Ratchet's sanity and restraint; they just hadn't realised How badly it had affected him. Their other hand moves his faceplate, leaning up catching his lips in a kiss as they hold him in place.

"Please." His voice box grated a ragged plea, servos trembling with a need to touch to claim. "Can barely contain protocols - damage you, never forgive myself.." His engines snarled in need. It's a miracle either of them make it to the medical berth, but the moment they do Ratchet is on them. A savage snarl tore free as he seized their delicate frame, servos tearing through clothing as if it was nothing.

His intake trails across their body kissing, licking and savouring the taste of their skin. His frame caged them against the berth, A guttural rumble leaves him as he admires their naked body.

"Ratch lay down now" they demand. He follows the command without a second question, servo guiding them to sit atop of his frame. their fingers run across the seams of his chassis and further down his body. "Mmm good boy" they praise, leaning down to press a kiss to his frame.

Their hand moves to his interface panel, running along the hatch. "Come on handsome, you know you want me on your spike you don't need to hold back anymore, let me look after you" they coo as they move further down his frame. A tortured keen ripped from Ratchet's ragged vocals His optics flickered, fields pulsing in need. His interface panel snaps open, Ratchet hisses as the pressure finally releases, a deep moan follows as smaller hands wrap around his spike.

His servos curl around their hips as they slowly work his spike with their hands and mouth. optics fixate on their backside as he squeezes the flesh of their ass, adoring the small gasp that leaves them. they pull away enough as transfluid runs down their chin and Ratchet's spike. They watch the way the shimmering liquid leaks and pools into the seams of Ratchet's frame.

"Use your words baby, can't help you if you don't tell me what you want" they chuckles as they press a kiss to the side of his spike, running their tongue up the length, lapping up the pretty pink fluid that leaves his frame. "Please - ah, please!" he managed to force through gritting denta, grasping desperately for a coherent thought. His spike throbbed in need with each touch.

His intake fluttered futilely, field pulsing arrant pleas for the relief he drags them back away from his spike. Spreading their thighs, his glossa runs between their thighs before he pulls them back onto his face. A deep guttural moan leaves him and he works his glossa into them.

Gasp and moans leave their lips as the hunch over face pressed into his chassis as Ratchet eagerly eats them out as if it were his last meal. "Inside - need to fill you up! Frag, need you" he mumbles against their trembling body.

Ratchet emitted a pained keen as he withdrew his glossa, spike throbbing with a need to fill and claim. He lets out a purr as he positions them, A stuttering exvent escaped his vents as he slowly presses in, his engine roars in delight, intake snapped open in a soundless cry, frame clamped rigidly as he begins to grind into them.

“fuck Ratchet!” they cry out as he holds them in place. His optics focus on their stomach bulging from the size leaving a very visible outline of his spike, it makes an old part of his coding coo in delight seeing them so full. He slowly begins to pull out and press back in each movement as he holds back snarls as he tries desperately to be gentle.

A desperate keen tore from Ratchet's vocalizer as they slowly rose, then sank once more upon his throbbing spike, transfluid already leaking from their body running back down his spike as he pulled them down hard. A sharp yelp leaves them which makes Ratchet cease up for a moment. “I'm alright, I'm alright, please don't stop feels so good!” They call out trying to reassure him.

His servos curled tightly upon straining thighs, guiding each plunge to fully sheathe his spike within them. Optics blazed transfixed on their body and how used they looked, stomach bulging, his transfluid gushing from them yet he hadn't even overloaded yet.

Another guttural moan leaves him as he frantically grinds into them, each thrust leaves them breathless, thighs quivering with each movement. Gasp and cries leave them as Ratchet ceases up, their name falls from his lips as he pulls them close. They whine loudly as transfluid floods their smaller body, gushing out onto ratchets' lap and the medical berth. A deep purr echoes from Ratchet's chassis as he holds them steadily against his frame.

Ratchet vented ragged exhalations as they lay against each other, condensation and sweat coating both their quaking frame moulded closely to each other, his little lover's breaths are just as ragged as they whine into his plating, cuddling close to each other as Ratchet holds them close.

His spike remained fully seated within them, throbbing and twitching involuntarily with aftershocks of interfacing. His Sensory nets drunk on the mingled scents now permanently coating their body. They smelt like him, and it made a part of him content.

One massive servo curled tenderly against the small of their back, cradling them against his chassis.

"Feeling better?" They tease softly, only to gasp as he pulls them back against his spike making more trans fluid gush from them. A deep rumble leaves him in delight. "More peaceful than I've felt in millennia," he rumbled softly, palming their stomach now swollen with transfluid

They tense and squirm before finally settling, snuggling back into his arms enjoying the warmth that radiates off his frame. "Mmm well work on the blocker tomorrow i wanna cuddle" they mumble to Ratchet.

___________

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[sinfulforrest]

Full of many thoughts tonight...I wanna make a yandere oc that's essentially a building-like entity that wants you and will do anything to keep you within it...the structure of it is fleshy and full of gore, but uncanny blends of normal arcitrcture seamlessly meld into the living tissue to make a strange hellscape that you can't escape from.

It creates an 'ideal' human form to take in order to interact with you, to take care of you, to love and nurture you and your fragile human body. This shell can't leave from the depths of whatever the hell you're trapped in as it gets too weak away from its body otherwise, so it goes above and beyond with keeping you under its surveillance and care.

It'd feed you prey that it drags in, or pieces of its own flesh that the shell lovingly carves away from the walls with tears in its eyes, smiling unnaturally as it forces the raw flesh into your mouth. Loving you is so painful, but in a beautiful way; it doesn't know how to put the feeling into words yet, but it hopes that one day it can explain it to you.

It loves being able to surround you completely and nurture you within it, often times using its shell to force place you within a fleshy patch so it can wrap its slick tendrils around you and spend some quality time with you...the more you struggle and thrash against its love, the more that you sink into the suffocating flesh and the tighter its tentacles secure you into your rightful place. You will rest and lay with it.

The shell often becomes unstable, not being able to hold a human form for a little while as it experiences intense emotions towards you, being reduced to a shambling mess of flesh and bone that constantly reaches for you with malformed, sinewy limbs whilst it constantly whispers your name over, and over. Even when you cover your ears, its voice penetrates your thoughts and chips away at your sanity over time, becoming more relaxing and soothing as it whispers its never-ending confessions of love to your very soul.

(More Home posts can be found on its masterlist!)

[pinechild]

Yandere! Backrooms Entity x Reader

—> Gn!Reader

Warnings : yandere themes, stalking, non-con touching, depersonalization, reader going a little bit crazy, overall creepy behavior

Yandere! Backrooms Entity not being able to move away from the scene, seeing you panic and heave through your delicate lungs stirs something inside them - an odd feeling they can’t categorize yet. Sure, they’ve seen humans (mostly unwillingly) enter this liminal plane as they pass by to travel to other realms, seeing them freak out and lose their sanity to only rot away on some corner - it didn’t matter to them or even phase them—helping out creatures who can only see in three dimensions was a fools errand on their part. But with you, it was different. They’re not sure how, but they’re willing to find out.

Yandere! Backrooms Entity watches you from afar at first, seeing you aimlessly wandering the empty, uncanny spaces as you try to hold on to your sanity. Your watery whimpers don’t go unnoticed, and rather, it makes their fingers itch to touch you, to comfort you and eat all the anxieties that ruminate in that fragile little mid of yours. Oh how helpless you are.

Yandere! Backrooms Entity gets bolder in their actions, getting more up close to you, smelling your hair and skin while you remain none the wiser to their presence, still locked on finding an exit to leave this transitional plane. But only if you knew you couldn’t; that your mere biology would never let you see such things, that you were doomed from the mere start you slipped away from your own reality. But don’t worry, they’ll take good care of you, they promise.

Yandere! Backrooms Entity that starts to touch you, invisible fingers caressing you through your clothes and massaging all the supple, delicate flesh your person has. It’s not your fault you can’t see a 6th dimensional being, nor the constant exists that litter around the place; it’s not your fault you can’t see them, they just weren’t made for you.

Yandere! Backrooms Entity can’t help but to keep touching your skin, seeing you squirm and look around in confusion with a pathetic whimper, feeling their presence burn holes into your clothes. Have you finally lost your mind? Are you watching yourself rot in real time in this inescapable, empty hell? Oh no, little one—they’re right here: you’re just at a biological disadvantage.

Yandere! Backrooms Entity that helps you keep your sanity by offering you foods you can eat and necessities they know humans need, all while you cautiously take them, fragile hands shaking like leaves. Without them, you’ll surely die and decay like the others — and the mere thought of that makes their insides surge with an acidic rage. They have to keep you alive, they just have to— Because the more and more they think about it—

They love you. And they want to keep you.

And maybe someday, they’ll even talk to you once they see you’re mentally fit for it.

And surely, y̴̳̆͗͒͗͛̽o̶̪͈͈̝̜͐̎̿́û̸̬̙͙̳̣̯͍͚̔̒̃͐̋̈̈’̷͚̈́͊̄̎̈́̅̃̾͗̾l̶̨̧̡̳͇͕̩͙͈̦͉̩̫̒̓̐͆̆̽ĺ̴̢̩̥̗̬̱͈̩̤̖͈͔̤̠̈́̀̈́̎̾͐̈́̊͆̔̚̕̚͜͝ ̵̢̯̼͑̄́͊͜l̸̗͉̺̗̗̬͈̉̃́͜o̴͇̲̥̍͠v̵̜̝̲̤̬̥̖͎̥͙̯̐̄̂͊̅̃ȩ̴̼̊͗̈̽́̓͐̽̓͐̌̕̕͝ ̶̢̞͉͇̩̠̙̟͍̦̦̞̻̫̎̈́̉̄͗̒̐́̅̋̄͘t̴̢̘̖̀ͅh̶̥͎̖͊͊̑͂̾̄̆̆͊͂̿̔̊̚͝e̸̯̜̣̞͉̟̬̼̭̹̦̩̥̯͑̌̅͐ḿ̵̝͔̥͇̜̀͜ ̶̞̯͔̲̻̍̃̌̌̍͛̀̅̏̓͝͠ͅb̵̲̗͓̮͍̮̅͑̈̚̕a̵̡̟͍̻̹̩̦͑̐͛͒̌͛̓̾̊͠c̵̻͍̙͓̥̳̓̉̑̕͘ḱ̴̛̪͇͕́̀̋͐̌̉̂̿͘.̷̧̙͕͎̯̦̮̮̱͗̀̌͊̌͊̄͊͛̌͝ͅ

[phantomwithbreakfast]

~ Phantom with Breakfast ~

The meaning behind my pseudonym. Exposing myself—yet still anonymous.

—

TW: Emotional Distress (Mental health struggles—Don’t read if you’re emotionally sensitive)

—

Morning. Or is it? The light through the curtains is dull, muted, as if the world itself shares your mood. One day. Several lives. That’s what they call mood swings—shifts that come and go like storm clouds on a broken horizon. What’s wrong? Everything. Nothing. Both. Always.

Getting out of bed feels like peeling yourself from a grave. The sheets cling like a second skin, but the voices—they don’t let you rest. They don’t let you be. They scream, they demand, pulling you from the oblivion of sleep. “Wake up.” Why? They never answer that. They just keep calling, louder, sharper, until the silence feels like a wound you can’t stop bleeding.

You listen because there’s nothing else to do. Sometimes they’re funny. Sometimes they argue. Sometimes they tear into you like glass shards in a blender. You laugh with them when they’re kind, but the laughter feels foreign, hollow, like it belongs to someone else.

Your feet hit the floor. Cold. It reminds you you’re alive—if that’s what this is. You shuffle to the kitchen, grabbing your favorite coffee mug, pour liquid that tastes like tar but promises to make you human. You sip, letting the bitterness spread through your mouth, hoping it’ll mask the bitterness inside. You sit. Try to be still. Try to prepare for the day, as if there’s anything that could ready you for this.

But then the unease creeps in, soft and insidious. A sound, a feeling. Just a creak, a whisper, a nothing—but it’s there. Your heart clenches. Your breath quickens. Your hands shake, but you clench them into fists, nails digging into your palms until it hurts, until it anchors you. But it doesn’t. The panic is already here, crawling through your mind like a shadow you can’t outrun. You tell yourself it’s nothing. But your body doesn’t listen.

Then there’s that person. The one who makes you feel like the world isn’t so bad, the one who keeps you afloat. They smile at you, and you try to mirror it. Your lips curve upward, but it’s a lie—one you tell well. The mask fits perfectly, even when it suffocates. Inside, there’s a storm, raging, roaring, screaming to break free, but you hold it back for them. For the illusion.

And then—snap. A trigger. Just one. Small, insignificant to anyone else, but to you, it’s the needle that bursts the dam. The anger floods in, sharp and hot, blinding in its intensity. You split—fractured, raw, and all the worst parts of you take control. You lash out, words or actions you can’t take back. You watch yourself do it, powerless to stop, even as something inside begs you to. But it’s too late. It always is.

When it’s over, all that’s left is the void. Hollow. Empty. You sit in the wreckage of yourself, confusion gnawing at the edges of your mind. You don’t understand—how it began, why it happened, why it always does. You want to scream, to cry, but all that comes is silence.

One day. Several lives. Too many emotions. Too many masks. Too much of everything—and nothing at all.

———————

The only escape, the only fragile thread keeping you tethered to something resembling sanity, is the therapy you’ve made for yourself—drawing lines that bleed onto paper, writing words that scream louder than you ever could. You pour yourself out, ink and graphite carrying pieces of you you’re too scared to hold onto. But even here, even in this, there’s no freedom. Just another cage painted with pictures.

You lose yourself in the fantasy. You get lost because it’s safer than being found. It’s a world you’ve made, a labyrinth of stories and shapes, yet every corner feels familiar, like a path you’ve walked before but don’t remember choosing. Stuck. Yet moving forward. A path you might not know, but somehow, you know.

And yet, the real world seeps in. Overwhelming. Heavy. A storm crashing through your carefully built walls. You stand, trying to stay grounded, trying to feel the floor beneath your feet. But deep inside, there’s nothing. Or maybe too much. A cold stream winds its way through you, freezing your core, numbing everything you might have felt. Everything you should feel. And then there’s the heart. That stupid, stubborn heart. Beating. Keeping time. Letting you know you’re alive. Or are you?

You want to fly, the night sky is calling you, infinite and empty, getting lost in the stars. To be weightless, to forget everything, floating in nothingness. You stretch your arms wide, soaring, even as you know the ground is still far away beneath you.

For a moment, it’s perfect. You hover in the darkness, suspended between nowhere and nothing, and it’s like the world finally lets you go. But then—there it is. The pull. A weight at your back, clawing at your chest, dragging you down when all you want is to stay. A tether you can’t see but always feel, yanking you back to earth. Back to reality. Back to everything you were trying to leave behind.

You fight against it, heart pounding as you push higher, trying to go faster. But the pull is relentless, tightening like chains around your ribs, and suddenly you’re falling. The sky slips away, the stars dimming, the cold air turning into something suffocating.

And then, you’re on the ground again, feet planted, heart racing, chest heaving. The freedom you tasted is gone, leaving nothing but the weight. Always the weight. You stand there, trembling, wondering why you thought you could escape. Wondering why you keep trying.

———————

Life feels like walking on a tightrope in the middle of a storm. The wind never stops, and neither do the voices. Some days, the rope sways so violently you think it’ll snap, and other days, it’s your own hands letting go because holding on feels too exhausting. The world demands balance, but balance feels like a cruel joke—like asking the ocean to stop its waves or the wind to still its breath.

Your mind is a carousel that never stops spinning. Thoughts flash past so fast you can’t grab onto any of them. You start a task, drop it, pick up another, then forget why you started in the first place. Time slips away, hours melting into each other, and you’re left staring at the mess you didn’t clean, the calls you didn’t make, the life you’re failing to keep up with. Everyone else seems to move forward while you’re stuck in quicksand, fighting to breathe.

And then there’s the chaos inside—the storm of emotions that never rests. One minute you’re fine, or at least pretending to be, and the next, anger surges out of nowhere, sharp and uncontrollable, leaving you staring at the wreckage of another bridge burned. Then the guilt follows, creeping in like a shadow, whispering that you’re too much. Too loud. Too broken. And maybe you believe it.

You feel everything too much and yet not enough. Your highs are dizzying, euphoric, like touching the stars, but they never last. The crash always comes, slamming you down into the hollow ache of emptiness. The kind of emptiness that sits in your chest like a stone, heavy and cold, reminding you that no matter how hard you try, you can’t outrun it. It always catches up.

You want to scream, but the words get stuck. You want to cry, but the tears won’t fall. You want to stop feeling, but the numbness terrifies you more than the pain. You try to reach out, but how do you explain the whirlwind inside? How do you make someone else understand when you don’t even understand yourself?

Unstable. That’s the word they’d use. But it’s not just instability—it’s exhaustion. It’s the weight of carrying a brain that never quiets, a heart that feels too much, a soul that’s always searching for a place to rest. You’re tired of the fight, tired of pretending, tired of holding on when you don’t even know what you’re holding onto anymore.

And yet, somewhere deep inside, there’s a tiny spark. Faint, flickering, but there. The part of you that still hopes, still dreams, still believes that maybe one day, the tightrope will steady, and you’ll find your balance. Until then, you keep walking, step by shaky step, because that’s all you can do.

———————

It starts as a flicker—just a small distraction from the chaos of your mind. A character on a screen, a name in a book, a voice that feels like it was made for you. They’re not real, but they might as well be, because they feel more alive than you’ve ever felt. They become a lifeline, a beacon in the overwhelming storm of your thoughts, pulling you in until you can’t let go.

At first, it’s comforting. A safe place to rest your mind, a world where you can lose yourself without judgment. But then it grows, consuming every quiet moment. They slip into your thoughts like a thief in the night, stealing your focus, your time, your energy. You find yourself obsessing over every detail—how they’d sound if they spoke to you, what their touch might feel like, how their presence might fill the hollow ache you can’t escape.

It’s not just admiration. It’s need. It’s longing so intense it feels like your chest might crack under the weight of it. You replay scenes in your head, write stories where they save you, or maybe you save them. Because in those stories, you’re not too much. You’re enough. You’re seen. Loved.

But reality doesn’t bend that way. They don’t exist, and you know it. Geez, you know it. But the knowing doesn’t stop the wanting. It doesn’t stop the way they haunt you, like a shadow that clings to your every step. You try to let go, but the thought of losing them—this one thing that makes the noise bearable—is unbearable.

Your friends don’t get it. “It’s just a character,” they say, as if that makes it easier. As if you can just turn it off. But they don’t see the way you’ve built a connection, a whole life in your head where things make sense, where you’re not broken or empty or drifting. They don’t see how it feels like this person is the only thing keeping you from falling apart, even if they’re not real.

And yet, the obsession comes with its own kind of pain. You hate yourself for needing them this much. For the hours lost scrolling through fan art, watching clips, reading and rereading their stories, like they might change if you just look hard enough. For the nights you lie awake, wishing they could step out of your screen and pull you into a world that feels safer than your own mind.

It’s suffocating. You know it’s unhealthy, but it’s the only thing that feels like it fits. They don’t judge you, don’t get tired of you, don’t leave. They’re perfect in ways no one real could ever be, and maybe that’s why you hold on so tightly. Because the real world is messy and loud, and people always seem to find a way to hurt you. But they? They never do.

And still, it’s lonely. Because no matter how much you adore them, they’ll never doing it back. You scream into the void of your own mind, wishing you could pull them closer, wishing they could save you. But all you have is silence. And it hurts.

It hurts more than anyone could ever understand.

———————

Eventually, I found myself searching for the bright side sometimes, guided by a quote I made my own:

‘Better crazy and a freak, than being normal and boring, right? Right.’

———————

You can find my phan fic stories here.

———————

This drawing of Danny reflect the moods I navigate through on certain days—not every day, but on those days when everything feels heavier. It starts with coffee—a quiet moment to steady myself—but it always ends with a random trigger that flips the day on its head. Whether it spirals into euphoria, anger, or deep depression, the shift is sudden, uncontrollable, and all-consuming.

It’s like a heavy breakfast that lingers through the day, even when you feel like a ghost—like a phantom. A Phantom with Breakfast.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Zombie! MW2 w/ a Human Sex Slave

Warnings: 18+, Monster Fucking, Zombie Fucking, Implied Initial Dubious Consent, Stomach Swelling, Cum Inflation, Unprotected Sex, Brief Worry of Infection, Rough MW2, Gentle MW2, Zombie! MW2, Human! Reader, Sex Slave! Reader, Captive/Captor Relationship, Implied Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapping, Descriptions of Smut, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except You.

Zombie! MW2 who found you scavenging alone one day out in the wasteland, entirely unaware of their presence.

Zombie! MW2 who capture you soon after, not ones to waste time.

You were the first lone human they’d seen in months, and they’d be damned if they were going to let you slip through their fingers.

Zombie! MW2 whose intentions with you are unclear. Until you notice the bulge in their trousers and the purr in their groans as they watch you writhe against the restraints, watch you helplessly struggle against a fate they’ve already decided for you.

Ghost, König and Soap are the roughest with you, often the ones to just tear a your pants off when they’re desperate, filling you not long after.

They’re rarely gentle, instead opting to take you raw and use you for their own ends, slamming their hips into yours until you hear them release a guttural roar, emptying days’ worth of semen inside you.

Your first time with Ghost almost left you feeling like you were about to burst with how backed-up he was, his balls almost bursting and slapping the skin of your backside red and raw with each thrust.

He’d made sure to leave his mark on you, the prominent bulge in your stomach slowly deflating as his semen leaked out of you.

And while Soap and Ghost’s loads are somewhat palatable given how frequently they use you, König almost always leaves you feeling like you’re about to burst.

Given his height, he’s the biggest of all your captors. Not only that, but his cock is thick enough to leave you feeling like you have rocks in your stomach whenever he forces himself into you, his strokes long and pounding, making sure you feel every inch of him.

Price, Gaz and Alejandro are a lot more gentle, understanding that, while you’re human, you’re still fragile.

They’re soft and slow with their thrusts, giving you time to adjust to their size before continuing.

While they can’t talk, they do try to comfort to as best they can.

They’ll stroke your head, press their forehead to your shoulder (only to feel you tense beneath them, anticipating a bite) — anything to try and make you feel less like you’re a sex slave and more like a friend with benefits.

Of course, you worried the first few times they had their way with you that their pumping you full of their seed would infect you, turn you into one of them.

However, after weeks went by, you were still you. No rotting skin, no cannibalistic thoughts, no loss of autonomy.

But, much to your horror, you felt as if they’d infected you with an idea, a feeling.

That being that you enjoyed what they were doing to you, ravaging you, pumping you full of their load until they were satisfied and your stomach was swelling.

And while your sanity tried to reason your way through your acceptance — that you were being held prisoner by literal parasite-infested corpses — your mind, for better or worse, didn’t care.

Not when they were providing for you, bringing you food, clothes, blankets — things you were certain would be nigh impossible to obtain were you roughing it alone in the wastes.

Or, perhaps you were rationalising your willingness to stay here with them, to live as their human sperm bank, reduced to an existence of bending to the will of militant captors whose semen dripped down your thighs, whose hands forced your face into pillows or made you bounce on their cocks while looking at them, giving you a glimpse into their eyes, the people they once perhaps were: whose surprising stamina and strength left you whining, crying and almost begging for more whenever they finished, more often than not forcing orgasms out of you, too, making you push back into them, body willing to take every ounce of their cum and inch of their cocks.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

[matenrou-fan]

Some demon brothers in heat because I'm silly today

Mammon, Asmo, Belphegor

GNreader, humping, mention of crempie, oral (giving);; rough sex;;

NSFW UNDER THE CUT

;MINORS DNI;

-A needy boy. That's it.

-It's just so terribly embarrassing to actually approach you and say how bad he wants to fuck you, so instead he would just cling to you as always, begging to spend some time in his room.

-And he really was trying to control himself, wishing for nothing more but for some peace that your presence always brings in his soul, yet poor demon didn't realize today your smell and the look of your body would be actually more triggering that soothing.

-So of course everything ended up with you being pinned to the floor as he just hump your leg like some kind of puppy, sobbing and whining about how sorry he is.

-Well, maybe this kind of humiliation was even more arousing for him, as Mammon cum surprisingly quick, groaning as his dick was still rock hard, throbbing even more now. So now it's time for something more than your knee.

-Really, really tries to be gentle, especially in the beginning, but when you start moaning like that, wrapping your legs around his waist, he loses the last pieces of sanity, almost pounding you into the carpet with such aggressive thrust.

-And if usually he tries to be more quiet in bed, today he's loud af, moaning and whimpering right in your ear about how sorry he is and how good you feel, that he just can't stop. + even more possessive, holding hands and hugging with you, and you already lost count how many times he kissed you.

-Cause even in such a state Mammon still can't stop thinking about your feelings too, as only your pleased moans can bring him to the edge.

-Ok but he just can use his connection to spend such a hard day with a few succubus and incubus..

-Yet he's here, kissing you deeply as his tongue plays with you, whining in your mouth every time your arms touch his dick. You're such a lovely doll, obey so easily when he asks you for some help..! ♡

-Of course he's waiting to be pampered, even when he's the one who's in need here. But isn't it logical? Such a beauty, and only for you today, of course you need to do anything as a thanks for this devilish blessing!

-But even when everything start like a small ask to jerk him off, then to suck his dick, quickly it's turn into some heated sex as Asmo can't stop thrusting in you just in just perfect pace, making you lose your mind absolutely, maybe even more than he's in his heat.

-Cause as avatar of Lust he knows perfectly how to delight anyone, and especially his most precious human too..! And mutual pleasure feels even more good, actually, as now he's pushing you for another round, and another, and another..

-Demon who's thinking about something sinful most of the time.. Of course he has one of the best stamina, hiding pretty wild energy in this fragile body that he would open just for you today.

-And even when you start sobbing, telling it's your limit, Asmo's whisper brings you back. Just a little bit more.. It's just a siren's call, yet you fall into this trap again, letting him use your body for the whole night.

-The lazy one.

-Just which one of you two are actually in heat - you or him?! Cause it's more like you're the one who wants everything, bouncing on his dick like that, while he's just laying here, watching lazily and making teasing comments about how tight you're already.

-But don't think that means you can be in charge here, as a few right words and looks from Belphie are enough to make you feel absolutely under his control, even if he's still just yawning in bed and not even trying to manhandle you or something.

-Cause he's surprisingly good at holding back his wild urge, wanting to bring you almost in the same state before something more interesting. Small tickles of his fingers on your body, some slow play with your nipples and dirty talking - the contact between his pretty cold touches and this heat between your thighs as you almost jump on his hips at a rapid pace is mind shattering..

-And only when you would start sobbing, asking him for something more as your legs get too sore to move in needed place, only after you beg him good, Belphegor would change position, surprisingly quickly get up and push you in the mattress for someone who was almost asleep all this time.

-Well, but you didn't think he would actually be so lazy the whole time? Now it's time to show you where he can put all this stored energy, so be prepared to be absolutely unable to walk for a few days.

[cherubmm]

🩸⛏ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ BLOOD.Bath࿐ྂ

⊱.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ━━━━FEATURING: HORROR.sans

⊱.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ━━━━CONTENT WARNING: Yandere in general. Soft yandere. Unhealthy attachment. Unwanted advances. Obsessive & Possessive thoughts. Imprisonment mention. Vaguely mention of cannibalism. Hint of stalking. Violence. OCC. Not proof-read

⊱.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ━━━━PROMPT BY : oozgin

Everything was a mess, and it had been for a long time. The underground had never been a paradise, but it wasn’t always like this. The slow collapse into chaos had started with that human child—a little terror with a face too innocent for the damage they caused.

They’d kill, reset, and kill again. Each time, it felt worse. Worse for everyone. Monsters were beginning to lose what little hope they had left, and each reset took a piece of their minds along with it, even if they weren't fully sentient about it.

The final straw would be the permanent death of their king; Asgore, has been-long dusted. Undyne took over, fighting tooth and nail to keep things together but things went to hell even faster after that. Hunger gnawed at everyone’s sanity. Resources dwindled. Monsters were starving to the point of breaking down. And the people he deem were his friends, people he’d bonded with, had turned their backs on him, trying to rip the magic right out of his skull to fuel the Core. They figured that if they could power it again, things might go back to normal.

But it didn’t work.

And he snapped—and, OH, does he snap really, really hard. Sans obligated the source of the Core with his own hands, crushing any hope of fixing things. He nearly killed them. Alphys? Well, She was left with what could hardly be called a mind anymore, no longer the brilliant scientist she once was. He didn’t even feel bad about it. He should’ve, but there wasn’t much feeling left in him these days.

The underground became a twisted, hellish pit. Monsters clawed at each other for scraps. Most of them had gone mad with hunger, madness creeping into their bones like an old, painful infection. Sans was no different. He felt it too. It was always there, pushing at the edges of his mind, clawing, biting. He wanted to tear someting apart.

And then, out of nowhere, you appeared.

Another human, falling into their world, clueless, just like the ones before. But this time… this time was different. There was something about you that stopped him in his tracks when he first saw you stumbling out of Snowdin, disheveled but still intact. You looked like you didn’t belong there—and you didn’t, not in this cursed place—but you also looked perfect. And for reasons he couldn’t explain, it was like love at first sight.

Him? LOVE? It was ironic. He’d never had time for love, and especially not for humans. To him, humans were just sacks of meat waiting to be butchered. But you… you were different. Special. Oh, but unfortunately, you didn’t have the same power as them, no ability to reset when facing the death's door. You were fragile, small, and incredibly weak. A single slip, and you’d be gone for good.

He had to have you.

He’d done his usual schtick when he greeted you—whoopee cushion, a tired old trick he barely found funny anymore. But this time, when you reached to shake his hand, he didn’t immediately slice you in half like he normally would. He let you live. In fact, he stuck around to help you through your journey. Not because he particularly cared about your safety—okay, maybe he did—but because he wasn’t going to let anyone else get their hands on you. Especially not Undyne.

You were his.

And yeah, sure, he got it. You wanted to go home. Of course, you did. That was only natural. But you weren’t going anywhere. Not in this state. Did you really think you’d survive long enough to leave the Underground without him? The whole place was a hellhole now. Monsters would tear you apart the moment you stepped out of his sight. You had no power, no strength to fight back. He had saved your ass more times than you even realized.

So yeah, you're gonna stay. Like it or not.

You’d done the impossible. Somehow, through sheer will or dumb luck, you’d manage to make it all the way to the Queen’s chamber; Undyne. The door loomed in front of you, massive and foreboding. You weren’t sure what to expect when you stepped through, but you knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Pushing open the door, your breath caught in your throat. The scene before you was… horrific.

Blood. Dust. Carnage

The once-great hall was a massacre. The remains of royal guards littered the floor, bones skewered through their bodies like grotesque decorations. And standing at the far end of the room was him. Sans.

Before you could move, before you could react, he summoned bones beneath you, trapping you in a makeshift prison. You stumbled, falling into the pool of blood as you tried to free yourself, but it was no use. He was already in front of you.

“heh, thought you’d make it this far, huh?” Sans’s voice was light, almost teasing, as if he wasn’t holding the head of a dead woman in his hand. “gotta say, kid, you really surprised me.” You tried to stand, but the bones kept you pinned in place. You were trapped. The scent of blood and death filled your lungs, and you wanted to scream, but no sound came out.

You couldn’t even process his words. Your heart was hammering in your chest, the weight of the situation crashing down on you like a tidal wave. The blood soaked through your clothes, and you felt the cold, sticky liquid seep into your skin as Sans’s magic tightened around you. There was no escape. For fucks sake.

Sans crouched in front of you, dropping Undyne’s head beside him with a sickening thud. He grinned, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “it’s better this way, ya know? bein’ here, with me. this place… it’s a mess, sure, but i can keep ya safe. no one’s gonna hurt ya. not while i’m around.”

“well?” he asked, his voice still disturbingly light. “what’s it gonna be, kid? We don't have all day on this place. And plus, yer' all soaked up on blood, surely you must want a nice bath"

Ⓒ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐦𝐦 ──── 10/11/24 Navigation | Masterlist

[lirotation]

Ever since a discussion about the mortality of my human Tav with my fellow Tavs on Tumblr, the idea has become an intrusive thought🤣. I couldn't shake it from my mind, so I decided to confront it. I chose to explore the worst-case scenario.

Astarion X F!Tav, warning, character death.

Oh my gosh, I couldn't think about anything else! But now I feel better =) The lyrics are from the song "Let Me Down Slowly" by Alec Benjamin, which seems to be popping up everywhere for me recently! It was meant to be.

_____________________

The rain poured down in relentless sheets, obscuring the old gothic manor in a heavy gray veil. Inside, the candles flickered softly as Astarion combed his fingers gently through Amaara's hair. Her skin was pale and cold under his touch, she had passed in her sleep, her life of many decades finally at its end.

Astarion dressed her in finery befitting his princess, never taking his eyes from her still face. He lifted her fragile body, holding her close to his silent heart, and carried her through the corridors of their home, the echo of his steps filling the emptiness left behind.

Down into the secret crypt below he took her. The chamber was illuminated by candles that cast dancing shadows on the stone walls. He lay her gently in an ornate double coffin, positioning her with care one last time. His vision blurred as tears threatened to spill out at the thought of an eternity without her laughter to drive away the dark.

So soon...too soon...

A dry, wrecked sob clawed up his throat as he stretched his lean body beside hers inside the casket. He turned to face her, drinking in every beloved feature - the graceful arch of her brow, the gentle slope of her nose. With infinite tenderness, he ran the back of his hand against the line of her jaw, tracing its elegant curve.

He threaded his long, pale fingers into her thinned silver hair, soft strands pooling like mercury in his palm. He cradled the nape of her neck, his thumb caressing the tender skin behind her ear just the way she always loved. Each gesture was etched with reverence and sorrow, communicating wordlessly all the affection and devotion that overflowed from his shattered heart.

In the muted candlelight, she could have been merely sleeping, poised on the cusp of awakening. But her skin was growing colder under his touch with each moment, the last of her warmth fleeing to merge with the eternal night. Soon all that would remain of his beating heart would be a decomposing shell. The anguished realization tore through him anew, and he released a thin, keening cry like a creature skewered through the soul.

At last, Astarion forced his quivering fingers to release her. With agonizing restraint, he gently smoothed back a few errant strands of her pale hair, arranging them flawlessly across the plush satin pillow.

He shifted slowly onto his back beside her. Reaching up with a leaden arm, he grasped the ornately carved lid of the casket. As he gradually pulled the heavy cover down, shadow crept over their forms. Her alabaster features were swallowed up inch by inch in the hungry darkness.

With a muffled thud that reverberated through his entire spirit, the cover closed completely. The chamber became at once a bridal suite and a tomb, its occupants trapped by cruel fate.

Astarion shuddered in the darkness. The familiar confines of a coffin, once a hellish prison, now served as his refuge from the fresh anguish threatening to consume him.

When Cazador had buried him years ago, the crushing isolation and helplessness nearly shattered Astarion’s sanity. But here, cocooned with his lost beloved, the cold casket took on the bittersweet air of a marriage bed on their final night together. He welcomed the isolation, sought solace in it. Here he could muffle the bleeding, gaping wound in his soul with the old, healed over scars of past trauma. By wrapping himself in familiar pain, its sharp sting would numb the fresh, unendurable agony of Amaara’s absence.

In this chamber of death, Astarion found his only chance for even transient peace. Here he could hold the cruelties of time and fate at bay, if only for a few decades of dreamless slumber next to his beloved. Here he could forget, could almost pretend the sweet burden in his arms still drew breath... before mere memory of her touch faded like everything else into the hungry dark.