Shrill Novelas e Histórias

In, out, gag. In, out, breathe. In, out, groan. In, out, choke. Shane’s thrusts sped up, his pelvis slammed into my nose, his heady scent driving me insane. Saliva dribbled from my chin as he stared down at me. I didn’t care. I stared past my lashes up at him, and his chest rose and fell rapidly. His lips parted, and I was needy, so fucking needy for his praise. “You’re the grim reaper here to claim my soul. Unfortunately, there’s nothing left for you to claim,” Shane grunted.

Public humiliation is the weapon of a desperate coward who knows he has already lost the war. Desmond leaned closer to the blinding camera flashes while letting a cruel smirk twist his handsome features into something truly monstrous. He stared down at Maren with venomous satisfaction shining in his eyes and prepared to deliver his rehearsed insult to the waiting press.

All the things I used to look forward to now cut deep into my heart. I quietly slipped into the shadows at the edge of the room without anyone noticing. My whole body was tense, but the tears kept falling despite how disgraceful it was. My chest ached as if it had been torn open. I pulled out my phone and sent my boss a message. "Something urgent came up. I'm leaving early." I got in the car, my mind blank. Suddenly, I remembered what the doctor had said and patted my chest, whispering to myself. "Don't cry… The doctor said I can't have any strong emotions… No crying…"

Her entire body tenses, arches against him, responding to each brutal, demanding thrust. She screams. It’s a raw, guttural sound, tearing from her throat, a primal cry that echoes in the narrow hallway. It’s a scream of pain, of protest, but underneath it, he hears a desperate, animalistic pleasure, a sound that fuels his own relentless rhythm. Her nails, trapped against the wall, scratch against the paint, leaving faint, desperate marks.

With a rock shiner than my forehead. The caption is simple. “Forever.” I scream. Like, into my pillow. Full banshee mode. Fists curled and my blanket over my head. I scream into my pillow again. God, I hate men.

"Do you even know where you stand? You're nothing, just some leech clinging to a man way out of your league." There was a pause, the sound of footsteps shifting, then Anaïs’ hesitant voice. "I never—" "Shut up," Sheryl sneered, her tone venomous. “I know enough, I know you won’t last. Women like you never do, and I can ruin you just as easily. I have my methods” The gasps from the media were almost audible through the screens. Then came the moment that sealed her fate—Sheryl’s dramatic fall, and the sudden shift in her tone.

"And what are you going to do about it? Do you think I haven’t noticed your lustful gaze on me?" "That’s not true," she complained. "You’re a slut, Libia," Lison spat, "aren’t I old enough for you? Is that it?" "Go to hell!" she exclaimed, clenching her fists. "You’d better watch your mouth..." he said in a threatening tone. "I’d rather die than keep listening to you." Tears fought to escape from her brown eyes, but she didn’t want to look pathetic. "I’m older than you; I’ve dealt with hundreds of girls like you."

“Holler if you need assistance.” Lucas snorted at this but didn’t dignify with an answer as he headed his own into the cells. The cacophony of yelling, swearing and angry complaints slammed into them the moment doors opened. Every syllable bounced off the wall aggressively, slicing through the air over and over. It was like walking into a dog pound. The silence was crushed into the dirt and the walls vibrated with every explosion of noise. Some of the men locked away began banging against the doors holding them in but their efforts were futile. The doors had been designed with shifters in mind and it would take a lot more than these pathetic excuses for shifters to take the doors down.

"Your existence is destructive, you'll bring disasters in the life of your loved ones" I cried my heart out, the fear absorbed me, but the dreadful voice seemed to neglect my suffering and continued "you traitor! Murderer! Wait for your karma to destroy you as you destroyed them," The voice kept on echoing. I covered my ears in horror. I screamed but I couldn't find a single soul that could offer me a helping hand. I could listen to the voice rising wild and nigher the trees and its leaves the drifting air, the ground that I was fallen on with misery the rocks that stood still in its might all that existing around me whirled in a motion and whispered "It's time for your retribution, it's ti

Whatever that thing was, but how were they connected? My visions of Grisha were painful, they were draining, and they were chilling. But my vision of the burning bird was calm, peaceful, and utterly soul-fetching. But why did it scream Grisha? Because I heard it, I heard it loud and clear and I knew it screamed Grisha! What in the hell was Grisha and what did it have to do with the burning bird? For an umpteenth time ever since I set my foot in Varagrafena, I laid awake at night, filled with nothing but questions, and more confusion!