#it just ran away from me...

[huntersrequiem-if]

The city is bustling, crawling with activity. Sounds upon sounds, voices competing with each other. A thousand of different scents, mortals, food.

 Thousands of feet scurrying towards their destination.

Hell, if you concentrate you can even hear the voices of the merchants in the marketplace rising over each other.

 So different from your forest, your beloved Wyldewood. It has noises, but they are familiar, soothing. Like leaves ruffling in the breeze, joyful birdsong dancing along the plains.

The babbling of the rivers traveling through the forest.

The squelch of a beast ripping its prey apart, blood dripping down its fangs.

You are shaken out of your stupor when a stranger bumps into you, roughly. You growl at them, barely stopping yourself from baring your fangs at them.

They give you a rude gesture, as they continue onwards with an uneven gait.

With a sound of discontent, you drag your hood deeper over your face. Until you are hidden in its shadow, barely two faintly shining eyes.

How embarrassing of you, to be so caught up in your thoughts.

 Right, this alley can no longer shield you. At the mouth of it lies an ever-flowing sea of mortals.

You were waiting for just the right moment to break in. But it seems like it is never coming.

Keeping a hand holding the hood still, you make your way. Shoving some, sidestepping others.

You continue until you are amidst the heart of the crowd. Follow its flow.

Ignoring the way your head is pounding from the cacophony of noises and smells. The voice of the crowd like the angry buzzing of a wasp hive.

Your claws twitch.

At least your eyes are working fine. You search for a glimpse of warm tawny skin, a shock of blonde hair glowing in the sunlight.

Nothing.

...wait. You stop in your tracks. The flow staggers, pushing into your form. The humans curse you as they avoid your prone form. Some ask if you are alright.

You ignore the ceaseless buzzing, focusing on the sweet scent. It reminds you of a summer day.

Warm sunlight on your skin, the sweet aroma of flowers.

 Your teeth sinking into soft skin. Their pulse like the erratic heart of a deer. Their little whimpers, a delight to your ears.

You bound towards it. The other mortals stop if they don't want to be plowed. Others are too oblivious to that.

It guides you in deserted alleyways, busy streets. You dodge and wave between the humans. Until.... there they are. In a less populated corner of the market, they lean against a stone building.

Santana.

The very picture of relaxation. But you know them better. Crossed arms, staring into the moving streets. The subtle tension of their shoulders. The slow taping of their foot.

Dressed in plain clothes, a white tunic and dark brown pants. They might look like a commoner. They are so much more.

Soft tawny skin, tiny freckles much more evident in the sun. Long golden blonde hair, in a messy braid. The wayward strands perfectly framing their face.  Long lashes hiding deep blue eyes.

They haven’t noticed you yet, of course they haven’t. As much as you would like to stay here hidden in the shadows and admire them, you can’t keep them waiting.

Your steps are silent, noiseless. Forty steps away, they tug at their braid. Thirty steps away, they glance at the stalls on the other side of the street. Their foot quickens its pace, each tap producing a small noise.

Fifteen steps away, they lean their head on the wall, closing their eyes.

You wonder how close you will get before they notice you.

Ten steps away. They’re absorbed in their world.

Five steps away.

Extending a hand, only for it to be slapped away when they twirl. Their other hand goes to their belt, grabbing thin air.

Blinking owlishly, they stare at you for a long moment – before their face takes a regretful look. Their eyebrows furrow. “Oh shit. I’m sorry, I got surprised.” A small smile follows. “Can I help you with something?”

It is easier this way, to ignore the bustle of the city. Just focus on their melodious words. Focus on their smell, wildflowers. Their heartbeat, how it had gone from a harried pace to a steady one.

Ignore the stomping feet.

They squint at you, trying to see under your hood. You help them, raising it slightly. Their eyes widen. “…you came?” Their face brightens up, though there is an unsure shine in their eyes, the small twitch of their brows. “I wasn’t sure you would do that.”

You blink, tilting your head. Why would they think that? “You wanted me here.”

They glance away, a small smile on their lips. Clearing their throat, they refocus on you. “I hope the line wasn’t too long.”

You frown. “What line?”

Blinking, their eyes dance between you and the crowd. “The entrance line..?” Their voice is laced with uncertainly, they speak like they’re trying to jog your memory. “The one you have to use to enter the city?”

Oh.

“How did you get here then?”

“I scaled the wall. Of course.” You shrug. It seemed like the easiest way.

They stare at you, wide-eyed. Their mouth, agape – closes and opens like a dying prey. No words come from them. “You did what?!” The words come sharp, piercing your ears.

The other passerby give them a strange look. Santana responds with an embarrassed smile, lowering their voice to a murmur. “What if someone saw you?” They glance around.

You scoff, crossing your arms. “And who could have seen me?” The mere notion laughable. From up the walls, the mortals resembled ants. Glancing at them, as they pass you by – well, you don’t see changing your opinion anytime soon.

Wait. Their heartbeat quickened. Glancing at them, you find them worrying their lip, eyes darting around. Oh, shit, they’re agitated.

You take a breath. Mellow your voice once it comes out like a soothing whisper. Open hands. You approach them, this time trying to make sounds.

Not like you are stalking your prey. No, no. You’re only trying to help a wounded deer.

When you are right in front of them you move your hands near their shoulder. Not touching. They’re already skittish enough. One wrong move and they might bolt.

“Hey, hey. Santana. Look at me,” their eyes dart to your face. You’re not sure what they see - a beast with sharp fangs and glowing eyes? A concerned smile? Whatever they see, it works because their eyes stay glued on yours. “No one saw me. I was very careful.”

They nod, slowly and then with more force. “Yes, yes. You might be right.” A soft sigh exhaled through their lips, they gave you a small smile. A hand gently tugs at their braid. “I suppose I’m just nervous.” The smile wobbles, just the tiniest bit. “I haven’t done this before. Lovers’ Day, I mean.”

You give them one last sweep, stepping back. Their heart is calm again.

Still, their choice of words gives you pause. Haven’t done it before? You open your mouth, ready to – what do you mean? We did it countless times before. Looking into their eyes, glance away. Right, not that Santana. Not yours. You close your mouth.

They caught that. Something in their face changes, is more taut.

A charged moment passes, you ‘admiring’ the market, and they looking at your profile.

The stalls are brightly colored, with a multitude of things for sale. Some you know – pelts, fresh meat. Some you don’t know – silk, gems. All have little symbols, little figurines of the stallkeeper’s chosen deity. Nothing for you, of course not.

They clear their throat, your eyes dragged back to them. “When was the last time you were here?”

Much has changed, that’s for certain. When you were up to the walls you had a change to see the layout of the city. It expanded.

You shrug. “A few centuries at least. It changed.”

Their expression withers, glancing down. “Right. It must been a sight to behold.”

You tilt your head. What have you said now? Why are they upset?

You don’t like seeing them like this. Your tongue licks over your fangs as you think. Ah, something to do might cheer them up. You clear your throat. “Truthfully, I…,” prefer is too strong a word, not with all this damnable noise, “like it more now. It is prettier.” It doesn’t feel satisfactory, but it made them look at you. “You could give me a tour. Show me all the new things added this century.” You try to smile.

They perk up. A hesitant nod follows and they step forwards. They show you their favorite stalls, their favorite places to get food. And to their credit, the scent is enough to make your mouth salivate.

It would been perfect really. If only this damned city would just shut up. It makes your teeth ache, your hands twinging. One swipe and you could shut them up. The humans who bump into you. Into Santana.

The last straw was when someone stepped on Santana’s  foot with enough force to make them yelp.

You growl, lunging toward the human, grabbing them by the collar. Your claws slice through the thin fabric as you bare your teeth towards the fool.

You might’ve taken a bite of them too, if desperate hands didn’t drag you away. Initially you tensed up, ready to destroy the idiot who dared grab you. Still, you relaxed and let yourself dragged away when you recognized Santana’s warm palms.

They have a vice grip on your forearm, hastily retreating from the whispering crowd. Running from shame…?

A dark alley appears soon. They throw the two of you towards it. Their hurried steps slow down only when they reach a dead end.

With a sight, they release your arm and learn on the cool wall. They slide down it, meeting the hard ground.

You do the same. You rub your face. How stupid of you, to get so carried away.

Your ears pick up their heart galloping in their chest.

A few moments, minutes pass. It slows down.

“Did this happen often?” You glance at them, finding them with looking heavenwards.  “With the original me, I mean.” A gulp. “Or former me?” They give a weak laugh, devoid of any joy. “What would they done in my place?”

[littlefankingdom]

Bruce died(?) again

Jason: Well, it's my turn.

Dick: What are you talking about?

Jason: Everytime Bruce is gone, one of you starts to act just like him, pushing everyone away, acting as only you can be right, and fighting anyone that gets in your way. Dick did it, Tim did it, even Cass kind of did it. So, this time, I will do it.

Tim: Isn't that how you act all the time?

Jason: Whoa, fuck you. You are so banned from historical drama movie nights.

[cod-indulgences]

may i suggest 141 going out to and meet stripper!reader

Poly!141 x female!reader, stripping, gangbang, dubcon, fingering, oral, spit roasting, deep throating, breathplay, anal, comeplay, noncon drugging, kidnapping yes these got darker out of nowhere

Anon I hope you like this because something in it ate me alive and I blacked out into 4.5k of smut and a hard left into fucked up land

now posted on AO3!

Now this was a good night to be working.

Everyone had picked good music, the drinks and cash were flowing, and you had managed to land four of the biggest guys in the place all to yourself.

Normally you didn't like the military types- they spent a lot but also expected extra just for their "service", as if sitting around a base and driving jeeps made them special. These guys, though, were something else- scarred, bulging muscles that looked like they came from work, not the gym. They introduced themselves with what sounded like code names, and you knew those were legit because the only one that was sort of impressive was Ghost, and he was the quietest of the bunch, sitting in the corner of the booth. Their captain, Price, had an air of authority that made you purr daddy at him while thanking him for a tip, he blushed, fucking cute, which got a laugh from Ghost, also fucking cute.

And they definitely knew how to make a girl feel appreciated.

Money slid down the strap of your shoes and tucked into your bra, Soap and Gaz grinning and bringing bringing folded bills up to you in their teeth, so you can tug it free with your tits or curl your tongue around it like a kiss. When you sat on Price's lap and stole his hat for yourself, offering to return it if he bought you a drink, the man's hand had come up like he was about to grip your thigh and then deliberately pulled away, which holy fuck, was he actually obeying the no touching rule?? He didn't even try for a pinch or pretend he didn't notice??

You signaled the bouncer a peace sign, and held Price's gaze as you slowly dragged his fingers up the outside of your thigh, letting him feel your skin all the way to the narrow strap of your thong panties, before letting him go. The other three all oohed at him, teasing him for being the first one to get a hand on you, while he blushed again under his mustache.

This was dangerous, because now you were starting to like them.

The men kept you busy, anytime you weren't on stage being beckoned back to them, money flowing from their hands to yours, drinks bought, your fingers tugging belt loops, plucking their shirt sleeves, climbing into their laps and teasing your weight along their cocks. You could touch them, and kept the bouncer in eyesight, but they all kept their hands to themselves unless you gave permission.

Gaz took a shot out of your cleavage with Soap holding your bare tits from behind, his hands big and warm, and you laughed as Gaz turned bright red when he choked on the drink.

Soaps thumbs slid over your nipples as he let you go, and oh fuck, there's that little clench that means you need a break. Because you like stripping, you like the fast cash and attention, but the dark dirty secret was, it turned you fucking on.

Bouncing your ass on stage, spinning on the pole with your thighs open and only a tiny little thong to cover your pussy. Tits squeezed and groped under your own hands just for men to line up for a taste, a little touch, before you're away and leaving them wanting. All the validation you could need combined with the sheer physical pleasure of dancing, enjoying your body, feeling your muscles warm and your skin flush under the strobe lights.

Except you don't get a break, because Gaz is coming back with two shots and hopeful eyes, wanting a second chance, and Soap already has your tits squeezed up against the cold glass, and Gaz is licking into your cleavage and dipping his tongue to curl into the glass, oh shit.

You whimper as Soap's hands tighten, and he grinds against your ass. You flash another peace sign, and behind Gaz, Price smirks, Ghost leaning in to say something in his ear.

Gaz holds the second shot to your lips and you open obediently, swallowing the liquor as Soap wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing your neck.

"Give 'em that sign, love, you know you're fine," Soap says, and you flash another peace sign at the bouncer, watching him nod and turn to check the other dancers. Gaz tugs you out of his arms and over to their table, and you slide in and climb into Ghost's lap, feeling a little lightheaded. The big man pulls you to sit properly against him, back to chest, and spreads his knees so that your legs part around him. Price stares at the little scrap of fabric over your pussy, and you actually feel a little gush of slick when he licks his lips.

"Give us a dance, love?" Ghost says into your ear, and when you've barely squeaked out a yes before he's fucking lifting you up, carrying you back toward the sectioned off booths for private shows. You gape when Price puts a thick wad of cash into your hand- fucking hell- and you realize that all four men are following Ghost back to the booths. Together.

You clamp your thighs together and peel off a few of the bills to pass to the bouncer on booth duty. He raises his eyebrows and whistles at you, then pockets the cash and waves you in.

The booths aren't monitored, is the thing, which is why someone is always outside. They're supposed to track how long a girl is in a booth, if she's dancing or maybe doing something else- but even the good guys who check in and walk dancers to their cars after a shift can be bought off to look the other way for a bit.

You've never had to buy them off. You've always danced, maybe teased a little more than you would on stage, and then gotten paid your due. You'd been too nervous, maybe somehow shy, about crossing the final line, no matter how much money was flashed your way.

Now though- four big men crammed into the little booth, music pounding in your head- now all you want is to let loose. When Ghost sets you on your feet and rubs his thumb over your lips, you realize you'd be doing this for fucking free. You let his thumb pop in and suck on it, flicking your tongue around the base, and he grins, scars creasing his cheeks. He lets you go, and you spin in place, Ghost sitting down next to Price on the cushioned bench seat, Gaz and Soap leaning on the walls.

The song changes and you dance, more sensual than you would on a stage- this isn't a performance, this is for them, and you feel the weight of their eyes as you play with your breasts, swing your hips and ass, touching yourself and driving your own pleasure up and up.

You brace a hand on the wall of the booth, bent at the waist with your ass facing them, and- Jesus fuck, you really are doing this- you drag your free hand down your stomach, slipping into your panties, and make sure they all can see how you slide a finger into your pussy, smooth and slick, a little moan muffled under the bass beat.

There's a deep groan of want from behind you, and you look over your shoulder to see all four of them locked on, watching you, and it goes right to your core. There's not much room- the booths are meant for a single dancer and customer, not one regular person and four giants, and you can practically feel it get hotter. Gaz brings a hand up, hovering over your ass, and when you nod at him he slides his fingers under the strap of the little (soaked) panties and-

Oh fuck, he just ripped it off, snapped elastic dangling, and the little scrap over your cunt stays put only by how wet you are-

Gaz peels it away, dropping your panties to the floor, and you slide a second finger inside and moan louder. Fuck, that was the hottest thing that's ever happened to you, and now you have your bare cunt spread out in front of them, too wet to be professional, just a girl who wants to get fucked.

Someone moves your hand away, and you only know it's Price by the scrape of his mustache on your ass as he kneels down and shoves his face into your pussy, licking from clit to hole in one swipe, and you nearly crash to the floor in surprise. Soap gets up at your face and you brace against him, instead of the wall, gripping the side of your throat with one hand as he angles your face for a kiss, sucking on your tongue, devouring you. Price's tongue is hot and wet, teasing your clit and hole both- oh fuck, licking your asshole, little soft flicks of his tongue that make you whine into Soap's mouth when he goes back to your clit again. Someone else lifts your leg up, opening your thighs more for Price. You're balanced on one mile-high heel, and when two different hands start groping your breasts you wobble dangerously.

"Here, love, let's get you settled-" that's Ghost in your ear, his lips tracing the shell, and Price pops off your clit as you're lifted and shuffled around to sit like you had at the table- Ghost behind you, back to his chest, his thighs opened up to spread yours. This time though, he gets his hands under your knees, lifting up as well as out- both your holes are presented this way, the soft pink flesh of your pussy gleaming wet under the strobes, and Price gets back to eating you out even harder, sucking deeper, curling his whole tongue inside you to stroke your g-spot, god, you'd never been eaten out this well. The only fingers that have touched your pussy are your own, all the men still have their pants buttoned, cocks big straining bulges. Ghost grinds up against your ass, and when Price finally slips a finger inside, you think of being split open on Ghost's cock while Price sucks your clit, and come right there, thighs shaking and lips parted in a moan.

Price sits back, fingering you gently through the aftershocks, his mustache wet. "Good girl, love, that's gorgeous," he says, and pats your pussy, a little wet slap. "Nice and relaxed now. Simon, you want her first?"

Simon- Ghost, you realize- huffs into your ear and lifts you up. He's fucking holding you in midair, Jesus christ, the muscle control alone- and Price pops his jeans open and holds the man's cock at your hole before you can even blink. It hits you that he's about to do just what you had imagined, and your pussy winks where a little creamy slick is leaking out.

Soap swears, "Fuck LT, either stick it in her or hand her over," and you hear Gaz laugh at him as Ghost lowers you so slowly down, his arms steady under your knees, your pathetic whimpers as he splits you open coming almost on beat. He seats you on his lap, your pussy stretched, and even before you can catch your breath from the cock shoved up to your lungs he's moving, thrusting up and pulling down, your whole body held in place to be used.

You're moaning nonstop, each thrust in shoving a little squeaky sound out, each long pull back a desperate needy noise. Your eyes slide closed, and someone tuts, pinching your nipple until they open again, whining.

Price is still kneeling in front of you, but he's got his cock out, jacking the rigid flesh to the rhythm Ghost is fucking you. He's huge too, big and thick, and you think about him shoving inside while you're still sloppy and open from Ghost.

The man groans behind you, "fuck birdie, I felt that. Got so fucking tight. You like watching him huh?" You moan a weak yes, and shake as Soap's hand comes to your clit, teasing it with just his fingertips. "Going to come for daddy to see?" You should never have made that dumb joke, but its too late now, because daddy is ringing in your ears like a bell, and Ghost is slamming his cock into you so hard it hurts, and Soap has his fingers rolling over your clit, Gaz sucking on his neck with both hands pulling out their cocks together, big and heavy, stroking them off.

You come again with white sparkles behind your eyes, and Ghost drops your legs to get his hands on your tits, squeezing each so hard you shout. It hurts, it's too much, but his grip is rock solid. He's fucking using your tits like handles to fuck you up and down the last little bit, milking his cock, and you feel another orgasm creep up on the heels of the last, pussy clenching and clit throbbing, the mess of your combined come leaking out around Ghost's cock.

You don't bother trying to stand up, you can't, feeling so fucked out and you've only had one of them, fuck. Soap helps you sit forward, and you whine as your thighs twitch.

He tuts and pushes your hair back from your face, damp with sweat. "Poor lass, gone all come drunk already. Want to take her with me Kyle?"

Gaz grins and pulls your hips up, off Ghost, and you're turned sideways. The man is sitting on the bench looking rather come-drunk himself, eyes dark and sweet, his cock still sticky as it softens against his belly. You did that, you put that look on his face and that streak of slick down his balls, and you shiver and moan as the other two arrange you between them, kneeling down, Gaz behind you and Soap in front. You realize what they're after as Gaz pulls your ass cheeks apart, rubbing the tip of his cock up and down your pussy, spreading the slick around further, and Soap cradles your head and helps you brace against his thighs. "Nice and easy, lovie," he says, and you open your mouth and slide down onto his cock as Gaz slides his into you.

Full at both ends, the heavy hot taste of cock in your mouth, another smoothly thrusting in and out of you, and you lean into the easy rhythm and let go. The two men are big and strong, they can move and hold you where they want, all you have to do is keep sucking and not choke. It's good, comforting even, feeling a slower syrupy arousal building up in you. Your breasts hang and bounce, and you're hyper-aware of them, of your nipples and how you want them to be pinched again, groped by Ghost's huge hands.

Then Gaz shoves in deep and holds himself still, both hands gripping your waist, and you have a moment of confusion before Soap pulls your bracing hand away and pushes, cock going all the way back, bumping your throat. You try to cough around him and you can't, and can't pull away or get leverage- a little curl of fear grows in your belly. You whine and plead up at him with wet eyes, and Soap grins at you like a jackal.

Gaz pulls back a little and slams home, and your body pushes forward, and Soap pops into your throat for an eternal second, and you have a sudden realization that he's fucking your throat the same way Gaz is fucking your cunt, making a space for himself. Both men pull back out, not all the way- you cough and gasp and feel your pussy drooling- and then thrust in again. You hear the wet garbled sounds you're making- you can't moan or breathe around the cock stuffing your face- feel a string of slick snake down your thigh where your pussy is already overfull of come and cock- and fuck it. Who cares if you make it out of this. You've never felt hotter, more wanted, your clit throbbing, and that syrupy arousal climbs through your limbs again. You feel suffused with it, a warm glow, and Gaz groans as your pussy begins to bounce.

"fuckin- she's fucking half gone and still working her pussy on me. Soap, hold up a sec," and when the man slows and holds his cock half in your mouth, you whine and lick sloppily at it, your hips grinding back, wanting more of what they're giving you. Soaps gets a hand down to pinch your nipple, and tugs, pulling the little nub until your whole breast is peaked, you're whimpering and trying to smack your clit back on Gaz's balls, and he lets you go to grip your head in both hands and fuck your face, too fast to breathe around, drooling a frothy mix of spit and precome as your eyelids flutter.

"imagine what she'd look like in ropes, tied up all proper," he grunts, and Gaz's hips stutter, fucking you out of rhythm with Soap, your body jostled and bouncing, groaning and quivering and coming between them. Your pussy aches and your throat spasms around Soap, one hand weakly coming up to clutch at his wrist, as he holds you down against his balls. Your belly heaves as you instinctively fight for air, and the lights around Soap's head flash a halo of pink and blue prisms as he comes down your throat, pulling out to jerk his cock over your face, sloppy, your makeup streaking and ruined. You collapse onto the floor, your hips held up as Gaz keeps fucking your pussy. The mess drooling out of your mouth smears on your cheeks, bubbling as you whimper, your overstimulated body feeling the aches and aftershocks of multiple orgasms, dancing, being stretched and fucked.

There's so much come and slick spread around your pussy, it's wet up your ass, and you feel at a remove how Gaz is swiping his fingers through the mess, scooping up a palmful, but it doesn't register really.

Until he pauses his hips and you feel two fingers slide into your ass.

You keen into the sticky floor as his fingers probe deep. "Opened right up," he comments, and fucking hooks his fingers, using your asshole like a grip to fuck into you again. It hurts, and your pussy clamps down tight, struggling under a new pressure from the inside. Your moaning goes unheeded, and Gaz shushes you with a little pat to your ass. "Settle down, you're fine," he soothes, and rubs your clit. It's still swelled up and sensitive, and your moaning hits a new pitch, muscles tensing in anticipation of another orgasm as he plays you with both hands, fingers stroking and pulling in your ass, thumb flicking over your clit like he's lighting a match, and you sob into the puddle of spit and come under you as your body betrays you, coming in a wave down to your cramping feet. Gaz holds his cock deep inside, grinding, and you feel his come spilling out: hot drippy mess that oozes onto the floor when he lets go and you collapse, splayed out, both holes winking at the men gathered around.

How long had you even been back here? How long had they been driving you insane with pleasure?

Price's boots are in front of your face, and some buried desire pushes you up, brings your tongue out to lap at the leather, over the tight laces. Ghost moans above you, and you hear the other voices swearing.

You scrape yourself to your knees, blinking up at Price with eyes full of tears. You're still in your heels, but it's the only clothing left, your makeup smeared away and hair in a wild tangle. There's come over your face, drips down your chest and tits, smeared all over your pussy, ass, and thighs.

Price is hard, the foreskin pulled back and tip wet, still so heavy he hangs down over his balls. You open your mouth and kiss it, licking clumsily along the shaft, little whimpering moans trickling out of you. Price cups your cheek gently, and fresh tears trickle out of your eyes. You'd give him anything right now.

"Sweet thing, any other day I'd be fucking your throat even harder than Johnny did, but tonight I've got other plans for you," he says, and the bench seat scrapes the floor as Soap hauls it over, turning it cross-wise, and Price helps you stagger upright just enough to lay down on your back. You sigh in relief at the relative comfort of the padded cushion, and Ghost sits on the end just behind your head, straddling it. His cock is back in his boxers, pants still open, the half-hard shape of him bumping the top of your head.

Ghost lifts your hands and presses them to his belly, twining your fingers together. You wonder muzzily what he's doing, and then a slow awareness grips your addled brain. Price is between your legs, pants down and open, cock fully out, and you look down to see him pressing in.

Why does it feel so strange?

It's another moment before your brain turns over and your mouth opens on a moan, a sob, a plea- the heavy hot cock isn't going into your pussy, but your ass.

Tiny little hole barely opened up with two fingers, smeared inside and out with come and slick, stretching out over Price's fucking hammer, and your thighs start to spasm as an ache grows in your lower back. He's splitting you in two, your hole squeezing tight to try and keep him out, but you can't- you're too exhausted, muscles weak with orgasms, heart hammering in your chest as you realize he's going to fuck you nearly dry, and you're going to come while he does it.

Your pussy throbs from abuse, swollen and sensitive, your clit erect and aching, straining up like it's own little prick, ready to be stroked. Your nipples are so hard they hurt, breasts sore from groping and the rough floor, and when Price works the last final inch inside you cling to Ghost's hands and take it, the burning in your ass and the empty clenching of your pussy, pouring slick down onto your asshole and making each thrust a little smoother, wetter. Ghost gets one hand free and pinches your nipples as you cry, smacks your breasts, grips one in his fist and squeezes like he's going to crush it. It hurts so much it goes around to good again.

If you have any words they're nonsense, if you have any sounds other than a cry or moan they're lost to you. Price's cock slams in and out of your asshole and your body sings with it. The music still plays, a thumping beat that you feel in your chest.

Ghost's cock appears by your cheek, the wrong angle to suck it, but you can watch his fingers stroke over the skin, the precome dripping out of his hole, the shiny thin skin of the head flushed red. He comes with a grunt, and the warm wet streaks splash over your breasts, puddling in your cleavage and down your neck. Price swipes a hand through the mess and puts his fingers to your mouth- you open and let him stroke your tongue, too blissed out to suck but eager for the weight in your mouth.

Low cursing, and Price puts his hand down on your throat instead. You lay your head back, giving him more room, and feel his hips slam in, fucking into an orgasm, your clit smacking at his groin when he bottoms out. It's nearly enough, just a little more to drag you over the edge one last time, please let this be the last time, and you get it when he looks down into your eyes and says, "Come now, pet, come for me."

You black out.

You wake up- or blink- or something. Your body aches and burns, and someone is gently wiping down between your legs with a soft cloth. Someone else is kissing your throat, licking away the come and sweat, and another does the same to your breasts. The lights are flashing too brightly, the music too big and loud. Someone shushes you and cleans your face, this time with a damp wipe, and you gasp for water that comes to your lips in a plastic bottle. Its cool and sweet and you blink up at Soap, holding it to your lips, feeling shivery and precious.

Price finishes cleaning you up with a little, careful touch around your clit, and pats your thigh when you flinch. Your shoes are missing. "There, love, take it slow," he says, "don't stand up yet. You're alright."

Gaz takes one last lick of your tits, suckling on your nipple to get the drop of come that was stuck. Soap does the same behind your ear. Ghost- oh, he's holding you, cradled in his arms like a comfort toy.

There's no way you can go back out to the floor, talk to girls and guys and act like you didn't just have a religious experience in this booth. How long have you been there? How many song changes? Was anyone looking for you?

As Price stands with a groan, hands on his knees, you reach out and catch his wrist. You swallow around the lump in your throat. "Don't leave," you beg, and he blinks at you before smiling so kindly you tear up.

Ghost squeezes you up, big arms strong and safe, Gaz and Soap so warm right next to you. The lights are still too bright, a halo around their heads, Price outlined in sparkles.

"Oh, dove, we won't leave you, not ever. And you won't leave us. Been keeping an eye on you for a while, finally took our chance when we could, we aren't giving you up now."

You nod along, happy down to your bones. You didn't know you missed them until you had them. Your men, your boys, they'll take you home? Keep you forever?

Wait- which home? Your home?

Soap brings the water back to you and you swallow gratefully, parched. Your throat aches, but it's a good ache.

Ghost lifts you up like he did the first time, and you snuggle down into his shoulder, closing your eyes. You're so fucking tired.

There's a shuffling, low voices you can't make out over the music. Gaz has your bag from the dressing room, that's sweet. You'll need your normal clothes. They help lift your sweatpants up your legs, work your rubbery arms through the T-shirt. No shoes, Ghost picks you up again. Out of the booth, down the hall- the sudden chill of open air and a door that takes you into a calm, quiet night. A big van with blacked out windows, soft leather seats you lay across with a sigh. A heavy coat over your shoulders, more murmuring that's not important. More sweet water down your throat, more soothing touches and kisses.

The van's engine turns over, and drives off, your dancing heels left in the corner of the booth and your phone sitting in the locker where Gaz had stolen your bag. The bouncers who looked the other way pocketed thick stacks of cash and shrugged when asked if they saw you leave. The only things left from the night were a couple of dirty shot glasses, one with a little filmy layer stuck to the bottom, and your shoes and the snapped elastic of your panties shoved into a corner.

[pomegranateplumes]

The entire comic in one post ⚔️🌌

the post that started it all

[ittybittyremy]

"While all this is happening, Orym has gone full shell shock mode. He's not talking anymore. He's going to go slump down onto a rock and is listening to all the debating at this point and he doesn't know what to do. He's been so sure for so long, and doesn't know what to do. Going in feels so wrong to him. But he hears the logic that it's only a matter of time before someone or something, a day from now, a year from now, six months from now. And just let's them figure it out, because he's took all his energy to make it to this point."

- Liam, C3E118

[bibxrbie]

"Luke Skywalker isn’t like the old Jedi. He saves Vader with his attachments!”

Wrong!

Luke Skywalker, at the end of Return of the Jedi, after his confrontation with the Emperor drags Darth Vader through the destructing Death Star. He’s desperate, knuckles white under the heavy weight of his father’s body, a little boy dragging his dad to safety. He sets Vader down for a moment, to catch his breath or maybe to get a better grip. He goes to grab Vader again, but Vader, uncomfortable and in pain, asks Luke to take off the mask. He wants to see Luke through his eyes instead of the eyes Palpatine built for him. Luke refuses, says that removing the mask is a sure way for Vader to die. Luke doesn’t want Vader dead, he wants Vader alive. Not to hold him accountable for his many evil acts, but for the same reason why Luke Skywalker can’t kill Darth Vader; Vader is his father and Luke loves him.

And yet, after a moment, Luke removes Vader’s mask. He doesn’t want to, he hesitates, but he removes the mask with enough slowness to allow Vader to take it back. In that moment, Luke sets aside his desire for Vader in his life, sets aside his desire to see him live, and sets aside his entire mission, the reason he was even on the Death Star in the place. In his compassion for his father, Luke stays with Vader until he dies. It is this moment where we see him be the best damn Jedi he can be. I’d even argue that this moment is the greatest example of non-attached love we see. Because Luke lets Vader go! He lets his father die, and in some ways, by removing the mask, he too kills Vader, he stays with him until his last moment, gives him the kindness of granting his last wish and finally chooses Vader.

And Luke doesn’t have to do this. If Luke Skywalker’s love for his father was an attachment, he would ignore Vader and continue dragging him to the escape pod, put his desire for a father as his central focus and ignore Vader’s wants and discomfort. Maybe he would even save him. But he doesn’t. Instead, he watches as Vader dies.

He builds a Jedi burial for his father and watches it burn the remnants of Vader and Anakin Skywalker away. He mourns Vader, he mourns what they could’ve had as father and son, considers what ifs and maybe-if-I-did-this. Vader/ Anakin is released from his mortal body, from his ‘crude matter’ and Luke lets him go. He says one final goodbye to Anakin. Then, he joins Leia, Han, Chewie, Lando, and the rest of the Rebels and celebrates their victory. He lives in the present and celebrates what he has instead of what he lost.

Luke Skywalker is THE Jedi. Everything about Luke Skywalker serves as the foundational cornerstone of the Jedi, everything about the Jedi as a culture and philosophy is reflected in his character. Luke’s desire for the New Jedi Order isn’t to throw away the values of the old Order, but to vitalise them, breathe life back into dying lungs, and rebuild a path that people set out on their way to destroy. (Yes, his Order is different from the Old, but that’s because it has to be. He doesn’t have the resources or the safety of the Old Order.) The philosophies of the Jedi are difficult and they aren’t for everyone, and like the perfect Jedi that Luke is, he struggles and stumbles and sometimes he even rejects it. But, no matter how far he falls, it is a way of life he chooses again and again and again. It is a way of life that welcomes him back each time

[scribz-ag24]

one of these villains is not like the others

also one last gengar being a bastard

[luuxxart]

✨⭐️🎄and so he finds himself utterly mesmerized by the kid from Christmas Island 🎄⭐️✨

[boarloved-art]

Wei Wuxian should be able to get drunk for once. I think he'd either be singing bawdy drinking songs on the roof of the Jingshi or he'd be getting irrevocably lost no matter where he is. He's found in the bushes behind the mountains like a cryptid, and then he's like "I can't believe you all got lost" (extremely slurred) as if he didn't get embarrassed by something Lan Wangji had said and just somehow disappeared when everyone looked back at him

oh ABSOLUTELY im walking with u and nodding and agreeing, i can see him becoming an absolute menace to keep track of at his drunkest.

anyway heres wonderwall The Gang (Wangxian & their fave group of ducklings) in a city known for its STRONG wine and wuxian being like well. ur all grown now, youre technically not juniors anymore. we have to see whos lasting the longest against this stuff!, smash cut to a suspiciously wei ying-less group of the worlds drunkest cultivators being wrangled through the woods by designated driver hanguang-jun, with at least 2 of them clinging to his robes at all times.

[veilspun]

my beloved darling girl lena whom i love very much

[justgaara]

❄️ A new illustration has arrived from the "BORUTO" team ❄️

~Focusing on Gaara and Shinki's daily lives~

As the cold weather continues, please take a look at this heartwarming photo ‼️

Illustration by @o_hqfu on twitter

[charleemoon]

has this been done yet

[chronicowboy]

eddie needs to be held up by buck's big beefy arms and slammed against a wall whilst kissed so tenderly it brings tears to his eyes and then buck gets a little teary eyed too and they both whisper i love you at the exact same time before buck peppers every inch of eddie's face with soft kisses. this has now been prescribed to him by a myriad of professionals including a cardiologist, a therapist, his captain and a priest!

[gremlinbean]

Anyways. Stone made his motorbike. Robotnik could have, absolutely, but he didn't even think about it. Why would Stone need a motorbike when he could just travel how Robotnik used to?

Except. Stone loves bikes. Always had. Thought they were the coolest thing as a kid. So. He built his own eventually. It was his pride and joy, his baby. Then it got destroyed when the Crab went down the pipes. So broken it was almost unrecognizable.

In the end, that damned bike, which Robotnik had hated with a vengeance he didn't understand (he was jealous, that Stone was paying attention to the machine and not him), was what kept Stone going after his Doctor was gone. It gave him a purpose, a reason. At first, he just wanted to stick around long enough to fix it, to give it to someone else who'd use it. Like maybe Maddie. But it eventually became the only thing worth living for. And once the bike was fixed, it gave me Stone the itch.

The need to fix more things.

Which is how, one fateful day, Dr. Ivo Robotnik entered the secret garage of the Mean Bean coffee shop (which Stone had reopened just to have something to do, after he decided to stick around) and found his syco-friend sat in the middle of the room, fixing up an old forgotten project. One Robotnik had planned to do, before he landed on the mushroom planet. The sight of the only person who had ever cared about him, fixing up his unfinished work, was enough to make Robotnik break.

That project later took its pride of place on a raised platform, next to that bike. Stone didn't need to ride it anymore, anyways. He and Robotnik made a new bike. Together

[warlenys]

we talk about wilson being awful and evil deep down and he is but importantly that doesn’t erase the sincerity of his kindness. he is truly kind. he needed to help that old woman in post mortem because he does care about people. what makes him interesting is that he doesn’t want to. he gets mad at himself for being kind and nice and selfless and enabling. he wants to be selfish and mean. he would be happier that way. meanwhile house hates himself for being selfish and mean. house wants to be kind. house would be happier if he was wilson and wilson would be happier if he was house. and both of them are only able to be those versions of themselves when they’re together. they not only want to be with each other, they want to be each other. but the fucking tragedy of it is that they actually need to be the versions of themselves that they don’t like to be together. because if wilson was mean he would’ve dumped house ages ago and if house was kind wilson wouldn’t find him interesting. house loves that wilson is secretly evil but needs him to be kind, and wilson loves that house is secretly kind but needs him to be evil. they can’t change. they have to suffer themselves to enjoy each other. they’re plagued with an inability to be who they want to be in anyone’s arms but each other’s, but they both have to be who they don’t want to be to be in each other’s arms. the immutable tragedy of the hilson paradox

[dustykneed]

i just think spock has great mom friend potential tbh. strong contender for the cutest thing i've ever drawn