#the dream brought the concepts to my brain | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

happyhauntt · 26 days

Text

— march fic recs, brought to you by happyhauntt.

a wee fic rec post for a few of the fics i read in march that altered my brain chemistry!! i've put a lil comment next to each rec because honestly writers don't get praised enough for their work these days and i wanted to show my appreciation for these talented souls!!

grishaverse.

➡ kaz brekker.

what do you want from me by @rubysunnday. notes: literally perfect wtf.

dark days by rubysunnday. notes: i reread this literally constantly, it is so perfect, kaz's characterisation is perfect, i adore it.

bloody hands by rubysunnday. notes: i devoured this whole thing like a starving person it was sO good.

when am i gonna lose you? by @crowsmybeloveds. notes: this is so beautiful honestly i have no words.

the lost princess by @ellewritesalright. notes: look it's only part one but elle is a fucking wizard and i'm a sucker for an anastasia au.

you and me (a whole lot of history) by @heliads. notes: this was so cute and such a clever concept i fell in love!!!

schat by @amourology. notes: fully choked this is so adorable.

soulmate by @magpiencrow. notes: KAZ BREKKER SOULMATE AU didn't know i needed this but now i need 100 more!!!!

➡ nikolai lantsov.

nine long years series by @ellewritesalright. notes: i am actively fucking screaming over this fic. i will never stop. this might genuinely be the best thing i've read in a LONG while. everything about it has me sobbing i actively CANNOT COPE. and it's not even finished yet.

one of us by @songofpatrochilless. notes: literally had me sobbing you don't understand the domesticity of it all!!!!!.

come on back to me by @atlabeth. notes: there is a very strong chance that i'll literally never stop screaming about this fic.

dreams of you by @wh0refornikolailantsov. notes: every cell in my body is SCREAMING.

this love by @lantsovsupremacist. notes: did not, in fact, give you permission to hurt me like this do it again.

salt in the wound by @in-my-feels-probably. notes: brain goes brrrr this has everything i need to survive tbh.

wanting was enough by @rubysunnday. notes: beautiful stunning magnificent i want to eat it.

an exhausted smile by @writing-havoc. notes: think i had an aneurysm reading this it was that amazing.

run away with me by @sumsebien. notes: i am still sobbing over this.

in emerald hearts, emerald minds by @undiscovered-horizon. notes: love love love love love. there aren't enough words in any language to describe how much i love this.

➡ alina starkov.

alina starkov x reader by @heliads. notes: alina does not get nearly enough love and this was so fucking sad and cute and brilliant.

➡ nina zenik.

the ten steps to 'i love you' by @sophierequests. notes: this was SO HEARTWARMING AND SWEET i adored it!!!

➡ zoya nazyalensky.

forget-me-nots by @syllvane. notes: not enough zoya fics on this hellsite. but also this ripped my heart out and made me sob so RUDE. i feel devastated.

➡ inej ghafa.

inej ghafa x reader by @heliads. notes: INEJ MY SWEET BABY, this fic is everything to me. everything. and it's so beautifully written!!!

➡ the darkling.

the dark side of the moon series by @myhairpintrigger. notes: this fic is ASTOUNDING. i haven’t cried this much reading something in a long time. i was FULL-BODY SOBBING. i don’t even like the darkling. i am Not a darkling girlie. but i was intrigued by concept of this fic and i can safely say it has ruined my life. this is Emotional Damage Incarnate. i will never recover. author, i salute you.

911.

through the smoke by @borntobewondering. notes: spent twenty whole minutes sobbing after reading this. i felt undone i felt hollow i felt so utterly fucked. author is a genius and that's all there is to say.

not so one night stand by @shmaptainwrites. notes: this was so fuckin adorable i'm in love.

d.c. to l.a. by shmaptainwrites. notes: bobby my guy just doesn't get enough fucking credit and this is so fucking adorable.

criminal minds.

➡ spencer reid.

trouble almost all my life by @januaryembrs. notes: this series is. it's literally. everything. i love bugsy like she's my own child. sister relationships are everything to me. i spent an hour sobbing in my bed over parts 2 and 3. i want this tattooed on my forehead.

➡ aaron hotchner.

found by @benedictscanvas. notes: DADDY i mean what. all jokes aside this was so sweet and beautiful and i'm in love the writing!!!

doctor who.

rage rage (against the dying of the light) by @morganas-pendragons. notes: felt feral after reading this. kayla just gets me in my feels every time.

heartbeat by morganas-pendragons. notes: this was the most emotional devastating thing i've ever read and i fully needed 3-5 business days to recover. rude. i want 100 more.

untitled by morganas-pendragons. notes: PAIN i love this so much.

ache by morganas-pendragons. notes: just scoop my heart out of my fucking chest i don't want it anymore after reading this.

a mind full of blissful terrors by @magiccath. notes: simply fucking amazing.

light in the dark by @i-imagine-my-doctor. notes: screaming please i adore this so much.

baby talk by @kisstherainwriting. notes: THE ABSOLUTE CUTIEST EVER. there's not enough clara fics and this had me squealing and feeling all warm and fuzzy!!!

holding my hand by kisstherainwriting. notes: angst galore this was STUNNING.

in another's eyes by @cas-kingdom. notes: PERFECTION.

where do we go now series by @theetherealbloom. notes: literally so fucking amazing i don't have enough words.

marauders.

the winner takes it all by @ellecdc. notes: brb faye is having a STROKE--

come back, be here series by ellecdc. notes: i think i had a full on stroke while reading this series. the attention to detail is insane. the characterisation is perfect.

i don't know you anymore (maybe i never really did) by @thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels. notes: SCREECHING i'm in love you don't understand.

bridgerton.

➡ anthony bridgerton.

distractions by @peterpparkrr. notes: simply immaculate.

right person, all the wrong times by @wwinterwitch. notes: did you mean one of my favourite tropes bc this is it.

right in front of me by @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69 & @thirteenisles. notes: i felt feral after reading this tbh.

➡ sibling!reader.

reluctant caretaker by @rubysunnday. notes: this fic hit my heart in all the right places okay sibling stuff means everything to me.

did she have a cookie by rubysunnday. notes: a joyous read from start to finish i CACKLED the whole way through.

moon knight.

come back to me by @mgparker. notes: still sobbing. immaculate.

the other sarcophagus by @starryevermore. notes: i literally reread this constantly i adore it so much!!

marc spector x reader by @softlyspector. notes: i had an aneurysm reading this and i haven't been the same since.

more marc spector x reader by softlyspector. notes: i am having an intense emotion hold on. anytime i see autistic stuff in canon content for any fandom i SQUEAK. and this is so well done honestly.

star wars.

heartless by @youvebeenlivingfictional. notes: i reread this constantly, it's so amazing and heartwrenching and beautiful and i want to eat it.

little talks by @light-yaers. notes: you simply do not understand how much i adore everything beff writes. i adore this fic more than i need oxygen to breathe.

right where you left me series by light-yaers. notes: personality-defining series. i LIVE for this fic. every update adds five years to my lifespan. if you're not reading this you are MISSING OUT.

a light, a song, a bluebird by @millllenniawrites. notes: made me SOB 10/10 would recommend if you like emotional trauma.

invisible string by @campingwiththecharmings. notes: pining!!! loneliness!!! i adore!!!

hard landings by @softlyspector. notes: no. no you don't understand. this fic doesn't just own my soul it is my soul. i want it tattooed on my face.

misc.

hopper x reader by @luveline. notes: you don't understand this might be the cutest shit i've ever read and jade is a fellow welsh person which automatically makes them brilliant in my book.

muña by @in-my-feels-probably. notes: alicent means fucking everything to me and this had me sobbing.

mistletoe magic by @writingsbychlo. notes: literally the cutest fucking thing ever, had me kicking my legs and squealing!!

#* faye's monthly fic recs.#* type: fic recs.#nikolai lantsov x reader #kaz brekker x reader #poe dameron x reader #marc spector x reader #spencer reid x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #anthony bridgerton x reader #evan buckley x reader #the doctor x reader

706 notes · View notes

germiyahu · 3 months

Text

Antisemites are desperate to assert that Judaism is a religion and nothing else (calling them ignorant is too generous) because that means that being a Jew is an ideology one ascribes to. And when pushed against the wall Jews can and should give up this ideology. This gives the antisemite plausible deniability when they continue to hate and persecute Jews as a people anyway.

And, they're desperate to assert that Zionism is either a fringe offshoot of Christian doomsday theology or Jewish racial supremacy (but I thought Jewishness was just a religion?) so that, logically, the answer to the (ahem) Zionist Question is just for Israelis to... stop. Move to Brooklyn, or just stop being Islamophobic and accept their new Hamas government in stride.

Zionism is not an extension of Jewish culture, it's not an extremely diverse oft debated political and social philosophy that is by Jews and for Jews. It's whatever non Jews say it is. Much like Jewishness/Judaism is whatever non Jews say it is. The goal is for the non Jew to justify their own beliefs about Jews and their own actions against them. Nobody will listen to what Jews define for themselves about themselves.

The real goal is to confound any discussion of antisemitism as a concrete real form of bigotry. "But I don't understand why calling the Israeli government a cabal of bloodthirsty fascist babykillers has anything to do with hating Jewish people as a religion," is exactly what you think it is. It's playing dumb. It's gaslighting.

And when antisemites want to strip Jews of their Jewishness and assimilate/fade into the background, to renounce everything unique about their culture and religious practices... well we already know that won't help because there are no Good Jews... but it also gives the antisemites permission in their own brains to blame Jews for antisemitism. If you don't unsubscribe from Judaism as a sterile cold ideology or disconnect from the concept of Israel as a fulfillment of a 2,000 year dream of a People, then you brought it on yourself. Because like in my mind it's so easy, I don't understand why you can't bring yourself to do it if you hate people calling you fascists so much? There must be a reason you can't do it. Hmm... I guess you actually secretly are a megazionist genocide apologist?

And all you did in this conversation was complain that people were harassing you for being visibly Jewish.

#jumblr #antisemitism #leftist antisemitism #israel

528 notes · View notes

be-my-ally · 1 year

Text

Let Yourself Go

Overstimulated Reader! Request.

my darling, what a dream request - thank you anon! for both your very kind words + excellent request!!! this has consumed my brain for the past week; I originally intended it to be short like 2.5-3k, and then it turned into 4k and then I realised that in all of those words elvis had only been treated once so it turned into 6k. so this is 6.7k of pure, absolute, filthy smut just for you that i really hope lives up your expectations!

summary: slightly innocent!reader is convinced girls can't really orgasm - elvis sets out to teach her how wrong she is.

pairing: afab!reader/elvis (big daddy e)

warnings: 18+, 18+, 18+, tiny bit of daddy kink, implied age difference, oral (p+v receiving), p in v sex, fingering, mirror sex, overstimulation, very brief spanking. I think that's it? Reader does attempt to stop the proceedings a couple of times and elvis doesn't stop but it is all consensual.

wc: 6.7k

suggested listening: the end of such a night + of course, let yourself go.

You’ve not been together very long and you were still learning about each other in many ways. It confused you a little that he, who you knew had girls throwing themselves at him, would take the time to bother to get to know you better. He’d picked you out of the crowd and put you on his lap in his dressing room before he’d even learnt your name. When you’d told him, earnestly, that you didn’t expect to be married or anything but you were a good girl, who wouldn’t sleep around, you’d expected him to tell you that he wasn’t going to see you again. But no, he’d put in the effort and here you were, a few weeks later, at Graceland of all places. You’d been brought back with him after his engagement at the International ended for this year, allowing him a short break before he resumed touring.

He’d taken you out on his bike earlier, showing you the sights of Memphis and you’d loved the rush, so unlike anything you’d experienced before. Despite the fact that you dreaded the call from your parents at the photos that would inevitably be published of the two of you - you hadn’t really been dressed to go out (the outing unexpected), nor had you been able to help snuggling into his back, your hand resting on his solid thigh at the lights. When you’d gotten back to the estate you’d expected a party - a celebration of his homecoming, and you’d been bracing to have to deal with losing him for the evening, but you’d been pleasantly shocked when he’d kicked everyone out after dinner, announcing that he wanted a night just the two of you.

You wanted to tell him that his expectations were a bit forward, to not get his hopes and that you still weren’t sure you were quite ready to have actual sex with him but in all honesty, you were ready and only your (perhaps misguided) morals had prevented you thus far. You had been slightly surprised at how unbothered he had seemed at the concept of sex - he’d laughed you off when you’d told him you didn’t want to sleep with him on the first night; telling you that was all very well but would you sleep with him because he couldn’t “bear the long nights all on my lonesome”. He hadn’t pressured you at all, less than your last boyfriend for sure, and seemed to genuinely enjoy your makeout sessions as much as you do. To tell the truth, you weren’t really sure why anyone was that bothered by sex - it felt fine sure, but it didn’t blow your world apart, was mostly very awkward, and you couldn’t understand what the fuss was in general.

You’d followed him into the bedroom, into his room, and while part of you wanted to inspect every little detail of this hidden, protected space, the other part of you could feel his impatience from the bed and when he smiles at you - all cheeks and teeth, asking;

“Wanna have some fun tonight darlin’? Cleared the place out for ya, didn’t want you to go all shy on me…some girls get nervy at the number of people in the place. Get real quiet and the like, even though I tell ‘em I got the sound locked down.” You forget any desire to rifle through his drawers and instead stare at him, slightly confused - just hoping he’s not going to be disappointed;

“Uh, oh, well, I can’t say I’m that loud anyways, always, I always thought that was just a thing girls, uh, exaggerated?” You look down, embarrassed that you may be having to burst his bubble - you don’t want to be the first to tell him that from what you know there’s nothing to be shouting about. But he doesn’t react in the way you expect - blinking at you from under his glasses and patting the bed next to him.

“C’mere doll, tell daddy what you mean.” You sit where he tells you to, tiny shorts hiking even further, and you curl your legs up underneath yourself.

“I don’t, sorry, I don’t understand what you’re asking? I’m just, just, saying that I never understood what those girls on the … on the … the stuff you like to watch, what they’re shouting about is all. Never seemed like anything worth carrying on like that is all.” He’s a little shocked but not altogether surprised - you’re young and a little sheltered, perhaps more than he thought at your reluctance to even said the word ‘pornography’ and he knows your only other relationships have been serious with boys from home, less about fun and more about futures, and he knows that they don’t always put the effort in they should. Still, he needs clarification - his eyes burning with curiosity;

“You mean you ain’t ever .. got your rocks off? Never creamed those lil’ shorts of yours?” His thick hand finds its way onto your thigh and he flicks the hem of your shorts, practically between your legs. You giggle, pushing his hand off.

“Elvis. Don’t be silly, unless you’ve been with some funny sorta people - girls can’t do that! That’s… I might not know much but I do know that.” He looks back at you, utterly stunned, before smiling like all his Christmases have come at once, a full cheshire cat grin.

“You - you ain’t never?” He’s shocked, but desperate to know your answer, taking his glasses off, leaning closer and waiting with practically bated breath in excitement, clenching his hands on his thighs.

“I just told you E, that’s not something girls can actually do. Don’t you think I’d know! If you’re just gonna tease me I swear I’m gonna walk right out of here!” He laughs again at your indignation, shaking his head,

“Naw little one, don’t do that, don’t do that - I just uh, I think I might be able to teach you a few things tonight is all. Just, ah, need to re-evaluate some things’all.” He frowns, “You know the other day, baby, when I stroked your little pussy and you pushed me off - told me you were all done?”

You remember the incident he was talking about, He’d had his fingers up you, rubbing you exactly how you needed and you’d crunched with an involuntary shudder, couldn’t quite catch your breath properly and had told him to stop. You’d pushed him away in a panic that you didn’t know what was coming, but that that was certainly enough. He’d been a little worried then, worried that he’d pushed you into something you hadn’t wanted to do. But, he’d relaxed when you’d relaxed on the bed - he wasn’t happy with leaving you like that, on the edge, but he’d figured you were just shy, nervous that his entourage was a mere wall away. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him that you genuinely believed that was you finished.

“Yeah, but what about it? We were done - I was done, it was starting to make me feel weird. I actually think we went too far.” He lets out a pure incredulous laugh, shaking his head.

“Oh baby, baby. I’m gonna, I’ll teach you baby, it’ll be ok.” You nod, but you’re honestly a bit confused about what he’s even planning on teaching you, but you don’t want to tell him he’s wrong again. You suppose he does have quite the reputation, so maybe he does have some things to show you, you doubt it somewhat but keep that to yourself.

“Right, yittle, need these all off of ya,” He tugs at your shirt, starting to unbutton it. “and these, these slutty little shorts need to come off, lemme see what I’m working with.” He’s practically crooning at you, slipping your shirt off gently, divesting you off your shorts - undressing you as if you were a babe. He strips you of your bra, leaving you in little white panties, before pushing you back onto the bed to lie flat. He doesn’t give you time to worry about your nudity, cupping your cheek with one thick hand, leaning over you to kiss you.

His tongue slips in, it’s like he’s mapping your mouth and you don’t bother to fight for dominance, letting him in, submissively brushing your tongue against his. He pulls away slightly, grabbing a breath and you can’t help it, his pouty perfect lips too tempting, you surge forward to softly suck on his bottom lip, nibbling gently. He responds in kind, pulling your head back, baring your neck - he tugs your lip between his teeth pulling as he pulls away. You moan at the little sting, and he presses a soothing peck against it. Before trailing down and pressing little open-mouthed kisses at your cheek, mouthing at your neck - tiny little suctioning touches until his hand, which he’s not resting on, is trailing further down. His fingers spread across a breast, fingertips playing with your nipple. You can feel the heat coiling in your tummy - your throbbing heartbeat between your legs. He’s pressing little kisses down your soft stomach, and he grunts as he repositions himself - up on his knees slightly. It worries you briefly, he’s been using a cane as more than just an accessory more frequently lately - his youthful actions having been hard on his knees and legs, before your mind is wiped by his actions again.

His hand trails lower, even as he continues to press soft kisses on your stomach, and he swipes down in a languid stroke over your panties, feeling your pooling wetness through the forming damp spot. He pushes it into you, rubbing you over them - the fabric catching slightly, along with your breath. He moves his head back up, sucking you by your collarbone and on your neck, hard enough to leave a bruise. The noises coming out of your mouth are unlike how you’ve ever heard yourself before, and as he hooks his fingers into your panties, pulling them down and off - the dampness making them pretty much see through - you would normally cringe in embarrassment but as you watch him lift them to his mouth and suck on them you can’t do anything but stare in an absolute state of shock and arousal. He’s still fully dressed although his shirt is so lowly unbuttoned, his chest with its covering of hair, god even his nipples practically out, that it barely counts. You can feel his own arousal growing against your side, still confined in his tight, slightly flared, trousers the heat of it, and can’t help but wiggle against him. He folds your panties, scrunching them up, before shifting to push them into his trouser pocket. You gape at him,

“Good lord, you can’t - they’re so dirty Elvis - you can’t keep them. They need to be washed!” He smirks at you, smirk turning to a grin as he leans over you to whisper in your ear, moving his hand away from you as he does.

“Baby, when they taste that good, I’ll do what I damn well like.” He licks your cheek, and it's something that you would have found disgusting from anyone else, but somehow him doing it makes your heartbeat pulse in your core. He lets his hand come back down, lightly slapping against your pussy, you jolt forward, mouth falling open, and eyes rolling slightly at the sudden intense pleasure from it. He chuckles into your ear, tickling your neck, “Oh - you like that mama? Like that baby?” He does it again, and you’re horrified at the wet slapping noise - but also at the sudden surge of wetness, you can feel.

“Oh god, Elvis, you gotta - gotta do that again. Please.” He obliges, patting you once, twice, three times before letting his hand fly slightly harder, you can feel your heat rising - and you shiver slightly. You’ve reached the peak of where you’d been before. Your heartbeat fast, and a constant thrumming at your centre. He laughs, teasing you in a low tone,

“God, who’d have thought you’d be such a dirty fucking girl, letting me - begging me to spank that yittle cunt of yours.” He puts an inflection onto yittle, as if even when talking about your ‘cunt’ he’s unable to stop his penchant for baby talk.

He uses his fingers to spread you apart, middle finger sliding in your slick. The metal of his ring is cold against your burning skin, sending goosebumps down your flesh. You think he can’t make you feel any better when he slips two of his fingers inside you. His huge square ring catching on your entrance for a moment and you buck your hips as he slides it in. He pumps them, in and out, as you squirm on the bed. Your eyes fall closed for a moment and he whispers to you,

“You like that little? My fingers in you? Gonna show you how girls do it, teach ya how it goes.” You respond with a whine - his words causing a blush to travel from your chest. You’re simultaneously embarrassed at needing to be taught something about your own adult self and aggressively turned on by his narration.

You’re breathless and while he’s looking at you with a soft smile on his face - pure concentration in his burning eyes, you can’t help but wonder what he’s getting from all of this attention on you. But to be the centre of his focus, him looking at you like you’re the whole world - the only thing in the world, is another level of high. Behind him you can yourself reflected in the mirror above - you look fucking debauched, unlike yourself and seeing him from above, in all his iconic glory, reminding you this is Elvis fixated on you brings you even closer to the cliff edge.

He pushes into you, unnecessarily - his fingers were long enough he could reach with his thumb without having to strain at all - to reach your hooded clit. He finds it expertly, rubbing it just so. You shudder, and he keeps going just as he was, but kisses down your neck to your nipple again, swirling it in his mouth, pulling it with his teeth slightly and you can feel yourself about to fall. You panic at the unexpected and unknown feeling and try to throw him off,

“Elvis! Elvis stop - stop I can’t - I can’t do it, it’s too much - you gotta, you gotta st-“ You’re thrashing about the place, arms flailing as you try to push him away, but his fingers don’t stop and he hushes you as he’s suddenly stroking this little spot inside of you. You can feel it’s different but can’t quite tell how until he crooks his fingers and presses. You shudder, your mouth falling open, although you’re still far quieter than he’d like - he makes a mental note that his aim tonight is to make you scream. And then you’re shaking, convulsing on his hand - stomach and core muscles clenching of their own accord. He rubs and strokes you through it. Your mind is blank and all you can feel is your thighs shaking - your head rolling from side to side. He keeps going and you keep going for him, clutching the covers in tight fists, mouth open in a silent scream as one of your legs randomly seems to jump about. He can tell you’re at the end of what you can do for him at the moment. He softlypulls his fingers out, trying to bring you down gently. His fingers leaving feather-light touches across your mound and thighs.

“That good, baby?” He pats his sticky, wet hand on your tummy and you can’t speak, taking heaving breaths.

“W-was,” You’re slurring as you come back to, your ears ringing, “Is that, what I’ve been missing? Is that meant to happen?” He laughs at you, finger drawing little shapes on your stomach,

“Yeah, when you’re with someone who knows what they’re doing.” He puffs his chest out a little, clearly proud of himself, “A real man.” You laugh, and he kisses you again and again until your lips are swollen and bitten raw and you’re gasping for air. You lay back for a few more moments, looking up at him leaning over you. He moves his arm, and you’re not quite sure what comes over you, but the movement had spread his shirt even more and it’s not something you’d ever considered doing ever before, but he did do it to you earlier so you gain the courage to ask;

“El- can I, can I…please can I taste you?” He raises a brow at your polite request, but is not going to turn down such an offer,

“Sure baby, lemme get lil’ Elvie out now - “ You frown, interrupting him.

“No, no… can I just… like you did earlier?” He looks slightly confused, his brow furrowed, but he agrees nonchalantly - clearly used to letting whoever do whatever they like with his body.

“Sure - “ He starts to say something else, but you’re too distracted by the permission, rushing forward to kiss his chest, moving down to capture his nipple. He jerks,

“Christ - Oh lord,” You’re practically suckling him, one hand threading through his chest hair, feeling his stomach, the hard line where he’s definitely still muscular somewhere underneath but is soft and cushy above, grasping at his pillowy sides. His hips are bucking, circling with the effort not to throw you off accidentally, “Oh gods, baby, christ little one, lord, oh lord.” He’s unable to be silent, constantly babbling a stream of curses and praise. You pull off, and suddenly, you’re mortified.

“Oh my goodness, Oh, Elvis, I - uh, sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” You’re shocked at yourself but he’s panting, and you can feel him straining against his pants.

“Oh darlin’, lord, darlin’ it’sss ok, it’s so good, so good baby. Love your lil’ mouth on me.” You smile a little bashfully as he pats at you as if praising a dog. “Think now little Elvis would too baby, get him out - show him how much you ‘preciate him too?” You pant back at him nodding your agreement. He’s resting further up on the bed than he was before, you’d both travelled around the last few minutes and he sits to take his shirt fully off, before unbuttoning his trousers finally and wriggling out of them. He shuffles further back and you get yourself situated between his legs, bracketed by his thick thighs on either side of you, their covering of downy hair tickling your sides. You lean down, gently stroking his hardening cock - but then pause,

“Elvis, I ain’t ever - you gotta tell me how to do it.” He groans, his head falling back,

“Goddamn, like you were made for me, fucking made for me honey,” he peers down at you, over the slight swell of his stomach, tucking his chin in - one of his meaty fingers stroked the side of your face before gently grasping your head, lowering it to his cock. “You gotta, gotta say hello little one, give ‘im a little hello kiss now - “ You do as he says, brushing your lips against the very tip. You’d seen it briefly before, so although not this close, and you had given him a … helping hand over the past few weeks so you’re not surprised to see he’s uncut nor at the size of him - generous in length and girth, but it’s still fascinating to you up close. You can't help but study it briefly - assessing how his foreskin is starting to retract back slightly and you absentmindedly reach for it, gently rolling it forward and back a little bit, unsure how far it should go. His hips jerk,

“Christ, baby, you gotta warn a man first.” You smile, meeting his blazing blue eyes and amused expression.

“Sorry - I thought me being here was warning enough.” He laughs and pats your cheek.

“Right little one, back to work. Kiss down little Elvis, let him know how much you wanted to see him - ‘ You obey his orders, pressing little kisses all the way down his shaft. “Ok, now doll you're gonna take him in that hot little mouth of yours - gonna be re-eal careful of your sharp little teeth, got it?” You obediently bob up and down in a nod, making sure not to scrape him.

Instinct seems to kick in and you take a moment to suck down on him, flattening your tongue against his underside. His other hand finds its way into your hair accompanying the one still resting on your cheek and neck, hand spanning across the distance. His hip jerks forward and it causes his dick to knock further back than you were expecting and you pull back with a little cough.

“S’ok baby, sorry, felt so good, couldn't help myself, not gonna make you take all of him tonight, you can use your hand go on, show the rest of him how much you love him.” He pats you again and it’s enough encouragement for you to go back down on him. You do as he suggested, stroking and pulling him with your hand where your mouth can't comfortably reach, growing bold enough to reach down and delicately hold and stroke his balls. His hands are insistent on your head, not forcing you but certainly moving you exactly how he wants you. You can taste the thin salty trickle of precum starting to dribble out of him.

“That’s it, baby, I was already so close, just from touchin’ ya honey, just gotta suck me just like that, that’s it like a damn popsicle.” His hands grow a little rougher, tugging on your hair slightly, as his hips circle and his thighs clench around you. “Gonna, you gonna stroke me now, yittle, you just gonna stroke me, I’ll let you have a taste, give you a treat but that’s enough for now - ’s about you tonight, about you honey.” He's babbling now, and you're not paying much attention to his words coming out of his mouth except when his request filters through to your brain, and you pull off with a little wet pop, stroking him to completion. He squirts over your hand - ribbons of white hitting you on the chin and chest, moaning as he does and his eyes falling closed.

He leans back, breathing heavily as his cock finishes jumping about, slowly softening before your eyes and you glance around, before grabbing his discarded shirt to wipe your hand on. Before you can raise it to your chin to wipe it off of there he sits up and moves his hand from your face to swipe a finger through it. “C’mon baby, gonna have you swallow it next time,” You're uncertain about this, but don’t bother to say anything right now as he rubs his fingers on your lips, “Go on, open up honey, have a taste for me. Lick it clean.” You do as he commands, tasting the salty tang of a man’s cum for the first time. It's not wholly unpleasant, although you're not sure about the texture, but you can’t say you'd be jumping for joy at the prospect of swallowing his full load. He watches as you suck his fingers, licking them completely clean looking up at him under your lashes as you do.

He leans forward to kiss you but then suddenly grimaces, frowning. Twisting slightly in an attempt to relieve some of the tension from his hips and back.

“I’m sorry, honey, but I gotta- I gotta lie down again.” You frown, worried.

“Of course! don’t - you’re meant to be relaxing!” He’s proven himself to you - taught you that there was something on the other side of the cliff edge and it was good. But you weren’t worried - didn’t see any reason to continue, you’d both been taken care of and you were now perfectly happy to be tucked up in bed for the night.

“Oh no, I don’t mean I’m done. Get over here, little girl…” He manhandles you, ringed fingers digging into your thighs as he arranges you over the top of him. He then lies down, sliding between your legs, before huffing a tiny bit as he heaves you up from his chest and down onto him. “That’s it, mama, right over my face. Lemme get to that poor little kitty of yours.” You’re confused as to what he’s going to be able to achieve from this angle - he can’t possibly just want such a closer look, can he? But then, without warning, he pushes his head up licking down your labia before pulling you off balance to literally sit on his face.

“Woah - Oh, Elvis I’m gonna hurt you like this, I can’t just - I’m too heavy!” You try to move away but you can’t escape from his tight grip.

“Ain’t gonna hurt a fly baby - lemme just.” And he pushes his tongue into you, spearing into your hole. You’re sopping wet already, his fingers having seen to that, and the noises are obscene - the wet smacking and sucking.

“Elv-oh my god, Elvis you can’t-“ You try to get off but his hands don’t let you move at all - pinning you onto him. But as you struggle your thighs touch and you can feel the wetness and the stickiness that’s spread throughout - tangling your curls, sticking your thighs. “It’s- it’s - it’s dirty, you can’t, you shouldn’t - that shouldn’t, you’re not meant to do that.” You can feel him chuckle, the vibration making you gasp, but he doesn’t even respond, simply holds you down and goes harder.

You’re supporting most of your weight on your own legs but every time you clench or move you can feel his fingers digging tighter in - sure you’ll have bruises where his rings and fingertips have been. You can’t help but move, grinding onto his mouth. It’s outrageous and you can’t believe this is something people do, but now it’s happening you wonder how you’ve lived this long without it, without knowing how this feels. His tongue is flicking between lapping at your hole and your inner folds. Your hips circle and one of his hands comes around your thigh - curling around to join his mouth. He moves his mouth up to suck on your clit, and the warm wet pressure, the suction, the everything - it’s too much. You’re losing control again, fighting the panic for a second time that evening - but this time, the pressure is growing even stronger and though you recognise the feeling now it feels different.

“Oh my god, Elvis, god, Elvis, Elvis please, please, you gotta stop! I’m gonna-” You grind your hips again, but he must be able to hear the sudden change in your tone - the sudden, very real, panic. And despite his instinct telling him not to he worries it’ll make you lose your relaxed state and he pulls away, kissing your inner thigh,

“Relax baby, dontcha worry, oh my poor baby’s little neglected pussy - you’ve got no idea, just been waiting for a real man, for daddy, to show you what you’ve been missin’ all this time.” He croons into you, hands stroking your thighs, soothing you into compliance. As soon as you relax into his hold again he surges forward once more. Your folds are swollen and slick, feeling like they’re burning, you feel so hot. And your entire focus is on your cunt and Elvis. Unable to even think about your thigh cramping or your foot falling asleep. He kisses up you, capturing your little puffy clit in his lips again and sucks hard. You think you might be about to pass out - it feels so overwhelming, but suddenly the pressure changes - and as he slips a finger back inside you it starts to feel a little too similar to something else.

Your panicked noises come back out, and you once again are begging Elvis to stop warning him; “I think I’m gonna pee, Elvis, seriously! I can’t - I can’t hold it! Elvis - daddy, fuck, I can’t, I seriously think I’m gonna - gonna pee.” But he doesn’t stop this time, not even to reassure you, just continuing his steady ministrations, speeding up, and the pressure is steadily mounting again, reaching the peak. Your orgasm rips through you and you have to throw your hands out to support yourself on the headboard to simply stay upright but you’re barely able to think about it, moving on instinct alone. You’re shuddering and he’s continuing, won’t leave you be. And then, the pressure seems to burst - slowly yet somehow quicker than anything you’re ever felt. It’s like your vagina is simultaneously your whole body and also entirely separate from your body as it clenches before you’re gushing, liquid shooting out of you. It drenches his face, it’s in his hair, in his sideburns, and he sits up, as you fall off of him to one side, and he’s glistening.

You’re in a daze but a little embarrassed, both at him covered in your juices and that he was right and you were wrong about your abilities. But his reaction makes you second guess your immediate response - he’s grinning, licking his goddamn lips like he’s just eaten the best-tasting dessert of his life. He uses one of your discarded shirts to wipe his face off, smiling at the damp patches it causes.

“There we are baby, Daddy got’cha there, got you to that special place - that’s what it’s meant to be like darling. Told you didn’t I, told you, you just gotta listen to me, let yourself go.”

You lay back panting - you’re a little sore and a lot tired and you’re sure you’re done. You can feel his cock hardening against you again in a gentle coaxing sort of way, and you reach over a hand. You can do this, but you’ve just not got the energy for anything else - and your pussy is still pulsing, soft and swollen and puffy. He bats your hand away though,

“Right, mama, gonna show you how it’s really done, you’re gonna reach your little o on my cock, and you’re gonna know that’s how it should be every time.” He kneels up on the bed, pulling you up onto your knees too, and he’s putting you exactly where he wants you. You want to refuse, but he’s so convincing, and you are a little curious at how he might be able to make even this so spectacular for you, an act that you’d been ambivalent about, mostly put up with; knowing it was something women just did to keep their partners happy. He manhandles you into the perfect position for him, your back slightly arched, hands clutching the top of the headboard and he brushes your sweaty hair off of your neck, kissing where it lay before.

You stay where he puts you, slightly shell-shocked at your easy compliance, and at what he’s suggesting. You glance up from under your lashes and notice the huge mirror above the bed - you’d seen the one above yourself in the bed but not the glass above the headboard - and can see how you look. You watch your face contort slightly as he presses a few of his fingers into you again, testing if you’re ready. But you’re loose, in a novel sort of way - so aroused that it’s easy in a way it’s never been before. You’re studying your fucked out face, shocked at how wide your pupils are, the redness of your lips and cheeks, before you turn your attention to Elvis watching his rosy reflection - his hair sticking down, body and chest shimmering with sweat, clinging to his chest hair, his plush lips bitten red and his face still with a hint of damp, blue eyes sparkling. You’re about to utter something completely embarrassing like, “Oh my god, you’re so pretty,” or “I love you.” But you’re (somewhat thankfully) distracted by him rubbing himself on you a couple of times before fucking into you. You jolt forward, mouth falling open as he simply pushes his whole length in, immediately pulling back out to shutter his hips forward again - gripping your waist and pulling you back onto him too. You’re shouting, finally, garbled noises and moans as he gives you no time to adjust and instead slams you back and forth to him, his balls slapping against your wet skin.

He spanks your ass and you shudder, the tinge of pain mixed with the pleasure of him hitting that spot in you, getting in so deep you feel like he’s in your soul and not just your body. You can feel yourself starting to go again, starting to ride the crest of that wave when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror again and you can barely breathe, noises catching in your throat at the sight.

“That’s it sweet, that’s it sugar, look at yourself,” He wraps an arm over your chest and grips your chin, pointing it straight at the mirror, “Look at us honey.” You can see him behind you, behind your flushed body - himself pink and damp with sweat from the exertion, its practically dripping down his forehead and onto his chest - he lets go of your chin and moves one hand to fondle your breasts, pinching your nipples, the other to slip between your legs. You jerk when he strokes where the two of you are joined. It’s filthy. You’ve never been this visible like this before, having very much been under the covers with previous lovers, and your knowledge of positions was limited to on your back, on your front and your side. Very much lying down. The image of his cock sliding into your folds, the pink fuzzy base barely visible through your own fuzz and his hand splayed over your stomach as if supporting where he sits internally is filthy in the best possible way.

You feel utterly surrounded by him, you can’t think of anything but how he feels, how he looks, you can’t sense anything else. You can’t see anything but him, it’s all him as you look around - the mirrors on the back wall and above you reflect back the image of the two of you, but your eyes skip over yourself only seeing him. His thick form. He’s muscular in a solid way, an accidental way, and the layer of softness that covers all of him, but especially over his tummy, only makes him more attractive to you, more real. When you close your eyes the vision of him is imprinted on your eyelids, and all you can smell is him. He’s got a slight sweaty musk to him from the exertion and activity, but under it you can still smell the hint of his cologne. His sheets smell aggressively like him, like the Vegas him and the home him - he must use the same products (or his laundry service must) wherever he is. The room too - there’s his unique blend of homely smells but also the heavy scent of the blend of his favourite specific brands of cigarettes and cigars. The smoke, despite him claiming he only smoked very irregularly, clings to his thick curtains and the drapes that surround the room. The room which screams, as much as the rest of his house does, of him - of solely him, of his outrageous, outlandish, tacky, wonderful, style.

You aren’t able to have any of these thoughts though, as his fingers stroke himself before once again finding your clit. He captures it between his fingers, rolling it, before brushing his finger over it and before you know it you’re quivering - shaking as your orgasm overcomes you again. It’s too much, your body has barely had a chance to recover and while you’re not passed out you’re also not…all there. Your body slack as Elvis holds you up, just a rag doll for him to take what he needs for his own orgasm - chasing his completion. He does, barely a few strokes later, a litany of praises spilling out of his mouth, pulling out as quickly as he could, seemingly caught a little by surprise. And you can feel the last few sprays from him as he splatters over your already sticky and trembling body. You slump down without him holding you up by the waist and hips, and he catches you - laying you out on the bed. He lays next to you, panting, chest heaving for a few moments before propping himself up on an elbow next to you.

You’re sore, internally and externally and worse - sticky, but he doesn’t let you sleep yet, running his cum-covered fingers through your soft pubic hair, before tracing shapes on your lower tummy, gently brushing lower and lower until his fingers are stroking through your sticky soft folds. You squirm, sleepy, and he hushes you,

“C’mon baby doll, give me one more, gotta make up for lost time darling. Give em all to you tonight. One more baby, c’mon do it for daddy, give daddy one more.” He’s speaking lowly, so as not to disturb your sleepy state, but what he’s asking you to do is bringing you back to awareness. He’s barely touching you, nudging your little stretched hole with his wet fingers, barely pressing the outer rim before delicately stroking your sore, puffy, clitoris again. You feel your legs shaking, seemingly of their own accord, and can’t focus on anything he says, resorting to begging over top of his continued whispers;

“I can’t, I can’t, Elvis please, daddy, please, it’s too much, I can’t,” but you’re already so close to the edge that you gasp, mouth open, as he inserts his fingers again, and it only takes him crooking them just so for you to shudder and scream. It’s borderline painful, and your legs are shaking, “Lord, daddy! Oh my god, Elvis, daddy, oh my lord. Oh - “ and as he continues to stroke that little place inside of you, as you ride the waves that wash over you, your words trail off to just noises. You're practically yowling as you slump over, still shuddering and stomach still convulsing when he slows his ministrations and pulls his fingers away. Your vision is white and black and you can't focus on anything he's saying through your ringing ears although you're aware he's talking. It takes a few minutes for your body to calm down, Elvis’ large hands gently rubbing you down like a horse after a race, and it's not until your heart rate slows again that you’re able to open your eyes and try to focus on what he's saying.

“Told you didn’t I, you gonna learn to believe your daddy now? Believe what he tells you?” He’s unbelievably smug and you can hear it in his voice, and in the way his eyes crinkle looking down at you.

“Course, Daddy,” You blush, “Elvis. Of course, I just - I just didn’t know! I didn’t know what that was…inside me.” He laughs,

“Well, not everyone can find it doll, it keeps itself real hidden like, less you’re just the right fit.” He squeezes your cheek as he says it before he pats you again and heaves himself up into standing. “Right honey, gonna have to get you all cleaned up - you’ll be drippin’ all night else.” You wince as he wipes at you with a little towel, even his expensive cotton too much abrasion on your still throbbing centre. You roll into the bed, far too exhausted to even stand up, and your eyes are closing as he comes back over with a glass of water, he makes you drink half and you do so, sleepily, while he maintains his grip on the glass. “We’ll have to shower in the morning honey, think you’re fixin’ for a snooze now.” He pulls the top comforter off, throwing it on the floor, and you can just see through your hazy tired gaze that there’s a large wet spot on it. “Least we ain’t gotta change the bed.” He mumbles as he climbs into it. You squirm as he pulls you close against your chest and his hands find their customary positions - one just a little too close to between your thighs but he pets and shushes you, humming a tiny lullaby that makes you fall deep asleep almost immediately.

#elvis smut #elvis x you #elvis x reader #elvis fanfic #elvis presley smut #elvis presley x reader #fic request!!#be-my-ally #big daddy elvis

1K notes · View notes

itgomyway · 8 months

Text

you are FREE

in life, i want you to truly understand that you are now free. there’s no pain. there is no suffering. there is no more having to settle with “that’s life”. there is no more desiring, the word itself implies separation. there is no more. just be.

you are everything. consciousness. everything you see around you are forms of consciousness. everything around you, IS you, just in a simplified form your brain can process. this is why forms of consciousness are not real. theres no real separation in your reality.

your dreams, your illusions, your “4d”, your imagination, your “physical world”, are all fake. these are just forms of consciousness brought on by your awareness. your dreams are just as real (or fake) as your physical world. you refusing to see this is the only problem.

that is what you are. that is all there is. THIS WILL SET YOU FREE. everything you could possibly think of in life already exist. everything you couldnt even imagine being “real” is already real. this isnt just hypothetically spiritual talk used to make it sound mysterious. ITS YOU!

if you know you observe consciousness (you) through your awareness(also you) and things can only exist because of your observations then truly, what is missing, exactly? what is there to do except be? why waste your time playing with forms of consciousness when you can just be?

you really dont have to do anything because given the fact that you are already everything its kind of redundant to try, no? i mean u CAN but know that while doing it, ur still free. theres no “maintaining” your desires when you are already every single existing version of said desire

i will never tell you to do anything but let yourself be. you dont need to affirm, you dont need to read anything (yes, including my post!), you don’t need to work on your “self concept” and you dont need to do a damn thing but be.

#consciousness #nondualism #nonduality #law of assumption #awareness

422 notes · View notes

grunckle · 2 months

Text

Void Worms as the Demiurge and Iterator Inverses (And also clearing up some things about the Qualia post)

So, I'm going to be going a bit more in depth on the Yaldaboath-Void Worm comparison I brought up in my previous post. Here's the post for anyone who didn't see it already:

I also just wanted to expand upon some things and maybe clear up some confusing parts that I didn't cover in the original post.

But first I'll give a quick explanation on what Yaldaboath (who I'll just be calling the Demiurge from now on) is before drawing the comparisons. The Demiurge is a being in Gnostic belief that created the material world. He is often identified as the god of the Old Testament, and is malicious and inferior to the True God called the Monad, who is above all else.

Of course this is very simplified and I'm leaving a lot out, but what you should take out of this is that he created the material world.

So back to void worms, they heavily resemble the Demiurge in a few ways. Visually, they both share a long, serpent-like body, and glowing "halos".

But beyond that, they indirectly share a few celestial motifs. The Demiurge gave birth to Archons who ruled over different, "celestial spheres." Celestial spheres are a concept in Rain World cosmology, as it's mentioned in the Deep Pink pearl.

"On regards of the (by spiritual splendor eternally graced) people of the Congregation of Never Dwindling Righteousness, we Wish to congratulate (o so thankfully) this Facility on its Loyal and Relished services, and to Offer our Hopes and Aspirations that the Fruitful and Mutually Satisfactory Cooperation may continue, for as long as the Stars stay fixed on their Celestial Spheres and/or the Cooperation continues to be Fruitful and Mutually Satisfactory."

But, even beyond that, they straight up appear visually in the depths through Guardian Halos.

And then Gnostic celestial spheres for comparison.

Void Worms are also described as "stars" within ancient dreams and our own.

Now, this is only a tangential relation to the Guardians who also reside in the Depths, but there is one more thing that I believe cement the Void Worm Demiurge theory that is much, much bigger in the context of Rain Worlds narrative.

Void Worms have a lot of iterator parallels, which lead me and others to believe that they act as a direct inverse to Iterators. Iterators usher beings to ascend past their mortal confines, and Void Worms trap beings in the material world like the Demiurge.

The first of which are just some design similarities between the two. They both have round heads with bug-like eyes, and they both have halos.

Next, the scenes in which we see iterators and the void sea are very reminiscent of each other. There are thousands of iterators above, and thousands of void worms below.

Void worms have 8 arms/tentacles, iterators cans have 8 legs.

But probably the most striking piece of evidence for this parallel is the music that plays atop the Wall and in the Void Sea. They share the same musical motif.

youtube

And, as a quick fun side note:

It's pretty common knowledge at this point that Void Worm skin is corn, but whats less common knowledge is that it's also made of fractal patterns and neurons.

Basically I think all this points to Void Worms being iterator inverses and working like the Demiurge, manifesting the material world and trapping beings within it.

Now, just to clear up some things about my previous post. I don't think the rot itself is made from the ancients' mutated brain matter, but rather the method in which both cabinet beasts and the rot are made are similar. They're both made by taking neural matter, (Five Pebbles's brain in the case of the rot and the Ancients' in the case of cabinet beasts) and mutating it into something else. Its more just a conceptual comparison than evidence the two are related.

Second is more about personal interpretation, but I don't really think that each Void Worm we see is manifesting it's own world. All together they act as the concept of the Demiurge, manifesting one universe. Perhaps they're not even conscious about it, and experience a divine realm similar to us while they swim around aimlessly in the Void Sea.

And finally, adding onto my last point, that's why I don't think the parallels give a lot of insight into how the cycles work, other than that by entrapping creatures in the physical world those creatures are also subjected to the cycle. I have my own cycle theory that I believe works a bit better that I might post later. But yeah I just wanted to clear that stuff up.

#rain world #rain world spoilers #rain world lore #long post #void worm #demiurge #Youtube

187 notes · View notes

sserpente · 3 months

Text

My little assassin

You share the bed with Gortash after you rejected Bhaal, and the Chosen of Bane makes the mistake of making it known to you that he is rather disappointed in your decision. Perhaps he needs to be reminded of his place...

A/N: I’ve done it. It’s too late now. Gortash wrapped me around his finger. Oh well. Enjoy this little piece. It’s literally based on a dream I had and when I woke up, I was like… 😲 I have to write this!

Words: 710 Warnings: implied smut, mentions of death, blood, murder, decapitation and necrophilia, evil Durge!Tav/Reader (duh)

It was strange, the concept of freedom. Considering all your sins, it was a feeling soaked in both relief and uncertainty to know that the next time your weapon struck, it would be because you willed it so—not because the God of Murder urged you to carry out his bloodthirsty message to the world. But for the first time in too long… you felt at peace, bathing in the silence this new-found freedom brought.

With an audible sigh, you stretched your naked body in the soft satin sheets. Dusk was near, you could see the last sunrays retreating and slowly drowning Gortash’s chambers in comfortable and soothing darkness.

For just a moment, everything felt right. Like you’d never been gone, never been backstabbed by Orin, never been abducted… never ended up with a damn tadpole in your head… never suffered from amnesia.

Your memories were taking their sweet time to come back to you still. But you were getting there. Bits and pieces, crumbs of information your own brain was withholding from you began to form a bigger picture.

If there was one puzzle piece, however, that had already fallen back in place, it was that Enver Gortash and you shared a history that went well beyond an amenable alliance. You were rather unfamiliar with the concept of love and so was he. What you had was a filthy connection made of lust, greed, and lechery. But you liked him—more than you wished to admit. There was no doubt you would viciously slaughter anyone who dared to touch him. Only one person was allowed to kill or fuck him—and that person was you.

“Tell me, what are you thinking about, my little assassin?” His raspy voice was accompanied by the faint rustling of the bed sheets as he turned to face you.

“You. Me. My past. The life that lies ahead of me now that I’m free to do what I wish.”

“Is that so…” he responded with slight dismay, “In all honesty, my dear, it’s a shame you rejected the God of Murder. To be Bhaal’s Chosen… an honour and a responsibility that would have kept you invincible… and more powerful than ever, fit to rule by my side.”

The sudden anger surging within you felt like daggers made of ice boring into your chest. Enver was many things but he was no fighter. He was a cunning politician with a hand for charming people into what he wanted. Before he even had a chance to react, you had already pinned him down on the mattress, straddling him. Your hand closed around his throat, squeezing just hard enough to cut off his air supply but not hard enough to keep him from speaking.

“Do you think I turned good? That I want to become a hero now? That I rejected Bhaal because I could no longer bear the thought of my sins? Oh no,” you spat, “From now on forth, my sins are my own, not Bhaal’s. You’d do well to remember that and respect my decision, Chosen of Bane because as much as I enjoy the idea of your warm corpse drenching the sheets in blood, I’m not much for necrophilia.”

Enver swallowed, and you could feel his Adam’s apple dance beneath your palm. There was a sliver of panic in his dark eyes—it was one thing you liked about him. He’d never underestimate you or what you were capable of. “Of course. You can… let go now, my little assassin.”

You obeyed—for it would indeed be a pity if your renewed companion withered away so quickly. You had no intention whatsoever to kill him just yet, if ever. Still, when you voiced your threat to give your hazardous anger a vent, you knew deep down that you were not lying. “Do not question me again or I will start questioning whether your head should remain attached to your body.”

Gortash laughed, a sound you enjoyed for it usually expressed his admiration for your ruthlessness; and just like that, another snippet of information dripped into your mind. You remembered. You used to enjoy him praising your cruel savagery. You made a good team, you and him. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

#gortash imagine #gortash x you #gortash x durge #enver gortash #gortash x reader #lord gortash #lord gortash imagine #lord gortash x you #lord gortash x durge #lord gortash x reader #enver gortash imagine #enver gortash x you #enver gortash x reader #enver gortash x durge #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 imagine #jason isaacs #lord enver gortash

165 notes · View notes

squash1 · 3 months

Text

THREES THREES THREES:

Oh hello. I want to talk about the stylistic/textual role of Threes in The Raven Cycle.

Threes – as a general concept and as a number – are a major symbol and motif in the series. Maggie tells us that threes are important from the very first book: from Maura’s favorite saying being “good things come in threes” to Persephone telling Adam that “things are always growing to three or shrinking to three,” threes are discussed at length in the text of the narrative. Maggie also shows us that threes are important as a motif/symbol for important aspects of the story: three Raven Boys, three Fox Way women, three Lynch brothers, three main ley lines, three sleepers, etc. Threes are, textually, incredibly significant in The Raven Cycle, and we know this because we are shown AND told it throughout the entirety of the books.

We all know the significance that is given to threes in the story itself, but what I want to talk about is the usage of a thrice-repeated word or short phrase (going forward I’m referring to this as “Threes” or “a Three”) as one of Maggie’s writing signatures (across the series, there are 65 Threes). This creates a meta level to threes being an important aspect of The Raven Cycle universe. A classic example of a Three (one of my favorites, in fact) is from The Dream Thieves:

“As they walked, a sudden rush of wind hurled low across the grass, bringing with it the scent of moving water and rocks hidden in the shadows, and Blue thrilled again and again with the knowledge that magic was real, magic was real, magic was real.” (TDT, 12)

In a way, the Threes join the intradiegetic (what is happening within the narrative itself) with the extradiegetic (what the narration is communicating solely to the reader). The reader and characters are told explicitly that the number three is significant, important, notable, and powerful. In using Threes as a writing signature after giving the reader that information, the Threes are designed to signal to the reader that this line, this moment, is important.

So the question is: What Are The Threes Trying to Tell the Reader???

Amazing question.

In my recent TRC reread, I was already keeping track of Threes, because I was curious to see how many times they appeared. And then my sister, who was also rereading, said something interesting (after reading this Three from The Raven Boys):

“He was full of so many wants, too many to prioritize, and so they all felt desperate. To not have to work so many hours, to get into a good college, to look right in a tie, to not still be hungry after eating the thin sandwich he’d brought to work, to drive the shiny Audi that Gansey had stopped to look at with him once after school, to go home, to have hit his father himself, to own an apartment with granite countertops and a television bigger than Gansey’s desk, to belong somewhere, to go home, to go home, to go home.” (TRB, 370)

My sister said: “Adam’s like Dorothy.” And then she said: “Wait. Do you think the Threes are like a spell? Or… a wish?”

Which was……. Interesting.

What I have determined, after completing my reread and spending way too much time analyzing this, is that a Three is either a wish, a hope, a longing, a prayer – or, alternately, a warning, a curse, a negative promise.

In either sense, Threes are a foreshadowing of what is to come – whether it be good or bad. Threes exist to signal to the reader that they should be paying close attention to whatever is being said or observed.

Threes in….. Everything Else:

Before we get too far into TRC Threes, let’s talk about the precedent for three being an important number in art, math, storytelling, etc. I found some interesting information about how three is a satisfying number for the brain:

Grouping things in threes leverages the power of repetition to aid memory; denote emotional intensity or importance; and ease persuasion (research by Shu & Carlson (2014) found that three positive claims is the most effective for persuasion).

Three is the smallest number that the brain can still recognize as a pattern, and the brain loves pattern and repetition. This is true in visual art – having three main compositional figures to create a pleasing image – and also in storytelling and narrative. Using threes for repetition in storytelling is a very common occurrence.

Some classic examples of repetitive threes are Shakespeare’s “tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow” or Lincoln's “a government of the people, by the people, for the people.” In each of these examples, a repetition of three is used to create pleasing auditory rhythm. There is something inherently memorable about literary Threes.

Perhaps the most interesting information I found while digging into the precedent for threes is about the rule of threes in folktales. This information happens to come from Wikipedia (side note: Wikipedia is a modern tool of collective consciousness and we should utilize it more). This page describes how in its most basic form, the rule of threes in storytelling is just beginning, middle, and end. Because this is such a common convention, writers tend to “create triplets or structures in three parts.” It then talks more directly about the use of threes in folktales:

“Vladimir Propp in his Morphology of the Folk Tale, concluded that any of the elements in a folktale could be negated twice so that it would repeat thrice.”

This is especially interesting to me. The idea that an element of a folktale “could be negated twice so that it would repeat thrice” shows up prominently in the plot of The Raven Cycle – a book that is heavily influenced by folktale motifs – but also in so many of the folktales/fairytales we all know. A classic example of this would be Goldilocks and the Three Bears – Goldilocks must try porridge that is too hot, too cold, and then, finally, just right. The journey of these three actions is satisfying to the brain because it is a complete pattern: the third and final result of “just right” porridge is only satisfying because of the two “not right” porridges that preceded it.

Getting back to Stiefvater Threes:

For anyone who’s seen The West Wing (and even those who haven’t), here’s a good way to explain what I think the Threes are doing. You know that thing they do during a The West Wing “walk and talk” where two characters will be throwing information and little quips back and forth at each other rapid-fire, and then suddenly, they will both stop walking, and the camera will stop moving, and they’ll say a line that contains really important information that you need to know to understand the storyline of that episode? That’s what Maggie’s Threes are doing for the reader. That’s what 6:21 is doing for the characters. It’s intentional: the writers/directors/actors/camera operators on The West Wing know that they’re throwing a lot of information at you, and know that they need to get you to pay attention to the most important parts somehow, so they do it by forcing the viewer to lean in and listen. It changes the focus and energy of the scene from something with momentum to something that pauses, and therefore makes you pause.

The Threes compel the reader to pause and consider the information being delivered as more important than they might consider it if it was not written as a Three. “Maura’s expression was dark” does not read the same as “Maura’s expression was dark, dark, dark.” And in a text where characters directly state the magical importance of threes, compounded by three as an overarching motif, there is clear intention and meaning behind these written Threes.

In the context of TRC, Threes act as a fourth-wall break.

They are essentially a way to poke the reader and say: “Are you paying attention? Because you should be.”

These Threes use a symbolic motif – the rule of three – that is already heavily discussed in the text – to get the reader to pick up on the internal motivations of the character who is “wishing” their Three or the narration which is using a Three to foreshadow some important aspect of the plot.

The Threes are like the literary equivalent of a record scratch. It stops you in your tracks, breaking the established rhythm and making you take notice of what is being said in a new way.

Let’s Look at Some More Threes (but just a few don’t worry)!

1. We get a classic Three, and a very Gansey Three, right after the group comes out of Cabeswater:

“‘What about that thing in the tree?’ Blue asked. ‘Was that a hallucination? A dream?’

Glendower. It was Glendower. Glendower. Glendower” (TRB, 231).

Finding Glendower is one of Gansey’s core wishes, one of his core longings. Although this line is a literal answer to Blue’s question – he saw Glendower in the tree – in making it a Three, Maggie has given it added weight and meaning. It is prayer-like in its intention. It is almost an incantation: by saying it in Three, Gansey wishes it into being.

2. In The Raven Boys, after Gansey has bribed Pinter to keep Ronan at Aglionby and has learned that Noah has been dead the whole time they’ve known him, we are given this Three:

“The Pig exploded off the line. Damn Ronan. Gansey punched his way through the gears, fast, fast, fast” (TRB, 311).

This moment foreshadows what directly follows: a distinct lack of fast as the Camaro breaks down and Gansey is held at gunpoint by Whelk. This Three is not a prayer, but a warning, and an indicator to the reader that something important is about to happen. Had Gansey not been trying to go so “fast fast fast,” the car might not have broken down; because the Three incanted it, disaster follows.

3. To return to a Three I have already mentioned, but follows the typical Three structure:

“...to go home, to go home, to go home” (TRB, 370).

In this scene, Adam’s wish is less about actually wanting to return to his literal home, because his house was never really a home for him. Adam’s wish/longing is for a home that he could return to, that he would want to return to. He is longing for a place/feeling/experience that does not exist for him. The Three in this sentence comes after a string of active wishes/longings, and by ending with this Three, it casts a spell of sorts, honing in on the truest underlying wish that Adam has. In using the phrase “to go home” three times, the narrative is making sure you, the reader, know that this want, this need, this wish, is the most Important to Adam, and will drive his actions for the rest of his story.

Most of the Threes feel like this. They are often tacked on at the end of a sentence or embedded in a sentence. They’re an addendum to the action of the story. They’re like casting a spell – once to manifest, twice to charge, three to cast.

…..And Some Other Types of Threes:

Then there are the Threes that don't follow the typical pattern of the same word repeated three times one right after the other, but are still a Three in a different way.

There are short phrases/sentences that are repeated three times throughout a page or chapter. In the prologue of The Raven King, we get this:

“He was a king…

He was a king…

He was a king.

This was the year he was going to die.” (TRK, 1-3)

In this case, the Three acts as a promise of Gansey’s kinghood, but in ending the sequence with “this was the year he was going to die,” the promise of the three is given a condition: it is not going to be a joyful kinghood, but instead a kinghood intertwined with the death we’ve known is fated for Gansey.

One of Adam’s Threes from Blue Lily, Lily Blue, uniquely breaks the mold of Threes in a format that does not appear anywhere else in the four books:

“It was his father.

He opened the door.

It was his father.

He opened the door.

It was his father” (BLLB, 242).

❋ (We’ll talk about this one more in-depth later.)

There are also a few “unfinished” Threes:

In The Raven King when Ronan is having a nightmare (infected by the demon) about Matthew and the mask, he has this Three:

“Ronan’s throat was raw. I’ll do anything! I’ll do anything! I’ll do anythi

It was unmaking everything Ronan loved.

Please” (TRK, 96).

With the uncompleted Three, there is an uncast wish. Ronan’s wish is about Matthew, yes of course, but also about being willing to do anything to keep those he loves (ie. Adam, Gansey, Blue, his brothers) out of the reach of the “unmaking.” This unfinished Three serves to foreshadow the harm that does ultimately befall first Adam and then Gansey as a result of the unmaking of Cabeswater by the demon: without the Three spell completed, his wish is not fulfilled.

*This is Not all the uncommon/mold-breaking Threes, just a few that are interesting!

Do All Threes Come to Fruition???

The short answer is: No. Or at least not in that way.

Once again looking at the text of The Raven Cycle, we are given an answer of sorts. In discussing Gansey’s predicted death, Maura says:

“First of all, the corpse road is a promise, not a guarantee” (TRB, 155).

This seems to apply to Threes as well. Threes are not a guarantee. They are a promise. Not all Threes come to fruition the way one might expect – or at all, for that matter. The important part of Threes is not that they will definitely come true, it’s that they could come true, because the Three gives them the potential to come true.

Structure, Structure, Structure:

The main Threes structures are:

Three of the same word separated by commas:

“magic, magic, magic” (TRK, 59).

A short phrase/sentence separated by periods:

“My father. My father. My father” (TDT, 369).

A short sentence that is repeated three times throughout a page/paragraph:

“Gansey did not breathe…

Gansey did not breathe…

Gansey did not breathe” (TRK, 209).

A word that is repeated three times and is connected by “and”:

“Round and round and round!” (BLLB, 224)

Italics vs. Non Italics:

Italics in The Raven Cycle are often used for character’s inner thoughts/anxieties. This continues to be true in the context of Threes. A Three that is not written in italics indicates a promise, or some foreshadowing of a plot point being foretold through the Three – it is typically more “real” – whereas a Three that is written in Italics seems to indicate a wish/hope/longing that is unattainable in some way. Italics almost always indicate a Three that may never come to fruition, or at least not in the way the character hopes it will.

An example of this distinction can be found in chapter three (hah) (I don’t believe in coincidences and neither does Gansey) of The Raven King:

First we are met with Ronan wishing/hoping to return home:

“That morning, Ronan Lynch had woken early, without any alarm, thinking home, home, home” (TRK, 24).

This home, home, home, is in reference to the idea of home rather than the reality. Ronan is wishing to return to a home that does exist physically, but is not the same as in his memory – he wants to be at the Barns as it was in his childhood.

Then, in the very same chapter, Ronan actually returns home and we are given this Three:

“Slowly his memories of before — everything this place had been to him when it had held the entire Lynch family — were being overlapped with memories and hopes of after — every minute that the Barns had been his, all of the time he’d spent here alone or with Adam, dreaming and scheming.

Home, home, home” (TRK, 27).

This second home, home, home, is about the actual reality of being in his childhood home – the good and bad that has existed in the years since the childhood he longs for.

The Addition of AND:

The most notable use of “and” is in Noah’s very last chapter:

“Sometimes he got caught in this moment instead. Gansey’s death. Watching Gansey die, again and again and again” (TRK, 416).

When “and” is added into a Three, it becomes circular, cyclical. The “and” gives the Three a sense of infinity, or creates a loop of sorts.

This Three operates in the same way “tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow” does in Macbeth – it is meant to convey the endlessness of time, a relentless cycle of tomorrows.

❋ While there are not many of these Threes with “ands” in The Raven Cycle, there are other examples of Threes or Three-like occurrences that fulfill the same purpose as the “and.” For example, remember this Three:

“It was his father.

He opened the door.

It was his father.

He opened the door.

It was his father.” (BLLB, 242).

In this case, instead of the word “and,” the Three (It was his father) is connected by “he opened the door.” This Three is accomplishing the same feeling as “again and again and again” – the feeling of being caught in an endless loop.

Another example of an (implied) “and” in The Raven Cycle is: Gansey’s life. Gansey starts out alive and then dies as a child only to be reborn, and then killed again through his sacrifice, and then reborn for a final time. Gansey is Alive, Dead, Alive, Dead, Alive. And so Gansey’s life is a cycle of Three.

As with the Threes that contain “and,” Gansey starts where he ends: alive.

Other Ways Threes Show up in The Raven Cycle:

I will state the obvious once again: there are three Raven Boys, three Lynch brothers, three Fox Way women, three sleepers, three main ley lines (the lines that “seem to matter” to Glendower’s story), Gansey the Third (Gansey Three, Dick Three).

There are also the more obscure: the “three kinds of secrets” in The Dream Thieves prologue and epilogue; each Lynch brother inheriting three million dollars from Niall Lynch; the three figures with Blue’s face on the tapestry and later as a vision in Cabeswater; Adam and Gansey going to DC for three days; the shield pulled from the lake having three ravens embossed onto it; Ronan having dreamt Matthew at the age of three; the door to the Demon’s room needing “three to open” it; Aurora Lynch staying awake for three days after Niall died.

And of course, we have the ley line symbol/chapter header:

And then there are the 300 (three hundred!) Fox Way “villain” readings. (This was something that was particularly interesting to me.)

The first antagonist we meet is Whelk. When he comes for a reading at 300 Fox Way, he first pulls the Three of Swords.

When the women all draw cards together, they pull identical cards for Whelk: three of the Knight of Pentacles, then three of the Page of Cups. After drawing, essentially, three threes (the Three of Swords, then two sets of three matching cards) in this reading, the first Three of the entire series appears:

“Maura’s expression was dark, dark, dark” (TRB, 124).

The second “antagonist” we meet is the Gray Man, who comes to 300 Fox Way in The Dream Thieves to “observe.” Maura, Calla, and Persephone are predicting which card is on the top and bottom of the stack and the first card, predicted by Calla, is the Three of Cups off the top of the deck that Mr. Gray is holding (a remarkably happy card in stark contrast to Whelk’s Three of Swords).

When the third antagonist, Greenmantle, comes for his 300 Fox Way Reading he also draws the Three of Swords. The fact that each of the three antagonists come for a reading is in itself a sort of Three, but to further the importance of these moments, each of them draws some sort of three-related card.

All of the examples I have touched on have been more symbolic references to Three as a motif of the books as a whole. However, Threes also show up in the literal number of times important quotes are said/written.

I was tracking some of the most well-loved TRC lines to compile them, and noticed that the lines “don’t throw it away” and “safe as life” happen to appear exactly three times throughout the series. This was honestly pretty surprising based on the importance of those quotes – I would have assumed they showed up far more. Actually, they both appear twice in The Raven Boys and once in The Raven King. Threes, and the importance of Threes, is embedded so strongly into the narrative of The Raven Cycle that even the quotes we all think of as the most beloved of the series follow this rule of Threes.

Now, could you chalk some of these up to coincidence? I guess. But Gansey doesn’t believe in coincidences so I don’t either. So what’s the point of all these Threes?

Conclusion???

In a literal, literary way, Threes are a fourth wall break to make the importance of a moment obvious, but I’m not sure what the larger “point” of Threes is. My best analysis comes from the idea of The Raven Cycle being all about time and Threes playing into the importance of time as a sort of record scratch or loop. The Threes, as a stylistic, written motif, seem to connect the time-based cycle the characters experience to the time-based cycles the reader experiences by reading the books.

But my conclusion feels incomplete and so I would like to rely on the collective for this one – just about the most Raven Cycle thing you can do. So I’m asking you, the collective you, what conclusion would you draw? What do you think?

What I do know for sure is that Threes are magic, magic, magic.

For Your Convenience: Here is the textual significance given to threes within the books (chronologically):

And here are the Threes, Threes, Threes (compiled):

(If you made it to the end of all this, I love you. Have a gold star and a hug <3)

174 notes · View notes

headspace-hotel · 1 year

Note

Thinking of your post on the problems of veganism as a movement vs veganism as a lifestyle choice/one technique amongst many, that also applys super well to my issues with degrowth (And anticonsumerism as well) as a movement vs degrowth as one technique amongst many for dealing with the hydra-crisis of overproduction/resource overuse/destroying people and places for resources.

Like, in particular as an autistic person the continual recurring insistence that we need to just "change our desires" creeps me out. As someone who's difficulties were dismissed as just "having a bad attitude" and who's interests were so often dismissed as a waste of time instead of preparing for a job in the "real world" IDK if they truly understand the full horrifying implications of that line of thought.

So here's the thing with the concept of "overconsumption"

I had to do this whole project on overconsumption in my Anthropology class where I compared my consumption habits to those of someone 2 generations older, the prof clearly had in mind that we would discover a particular result that I did not end up finding.

I had to watch this documentary called "Affluenza" which was all about how Americans consume too much and they shop and buy things for fun and it's killing the planet, and it kept making these statements like "The average american does X..." and "X" would be something insane that I've never dreamed of doing.

Now I technically grew up below the poverty line, we were always financially insecure and struggling to pay bills and there was never any extra money lying around.

But my upbringing felt average, even privileged. We had a house instead of a trailer on cinder blocks, we had food and clothes. Compared to the upbringing of my mom and virtually everyone she knew growing up, we lived in fabulous luxury.

And the "overconsumption" lesson was bizarre to me because it brought up things like "going shopping for fun once a week" and "owning 20+ pairs of shoes" as if they were normal. I wear my clothes until they're unwearable and shop for clothes like once a year, and my mom has half as many clothes as I do. She feels guilty buying anything for herself and HATES shopping.

It feels like the dominant resources on living an eco friendly lifestyle presume that we have far more agency in what we buy and use than we actually do, instead of being stuck with the cheapest or closest available thing, and that our lives are full of extraneous, non-essential "consumption."

That class brought up the idea of "conspicuous consumption" a lot, or buying things to obtain social status instead of for their concrete utility. The way "conspicuous consumption" was addressed in the class was not very immediately relatable to me—I never had the option of buying clothes just to appear "with it" socially. My parents couldn't buy an extra car to fit the aesthetic of the American dream—we had enough trouble keeping the one we had running. The "conspicuous consumption" that class addressed was just not available to me.

However, I don't think conspicuous consumption is endemic to stable members of a certain socioeconomic status, because consumption is partially driven by the trauma of poverty. People who grew up poor will buy you more Christmas gifts than you can store or use, because they want to spare you the shame they experienced. Their brains are molded around the trauma of not having enough, and giving you enough is their way of keeping you safe.

Conspicuous consumption as a habit is pushed on you if your ancestors were shaped by this trauma. It is a misrepresentation to think of it as driven by pride, because your ability to perform the behaviors and mimic the appearances of a higher socioeconomic status has a concrete effect on how people treat you.

I know J.D. Vance is a nutjob now and Hillbilly Elegy was...not great (I'm more appalachian than you bitch, and I'm not even appalachian!) but the one thing that book got incredibly right was the idea of "social capital" and the way access to financial security and wealth gives you social capital. This is the main thing the current understanding of "conspicuous consumption" gets wrong—the need to escape the appearance and behaviors of poverty is seen as vain and self-indulgent, when it's a survival mechanism and it's something you're expected to engage in to gain opportunities and respect.

Poverty is humiliating. People with money never think about the fact that they have money. They think of themselves as average, if they think of themselves in terms of socioeconomic status at all. Being poor ends up embedded in the grooves and folds of your brain.

I remember when I was about 12, I gave my friend an informal tour of our house the first time she came over, showing her every room. I realized later that this wasn't exactly a normal behavior—I had done it because my mom did the same thing when she brought her friend over, and my mom had done it because it was a way of saying look, I survived. Look, I have a place to live to call my own, isn't this nice?

At its worst, anti-consumerism just reinforces the myth that your consumption is purely a matter of personal choice. And unfortunately when the conversation is ruled by the privileged, this idea will appear substantiated—because rich people can choose the aesthetics of poverty without concretely affecting the way the world treats them. A rich person can choose to live in a "tiny house" but they will never be "trailer trash."

Anti-consumerism revolves around ideas that are almost irreparably tainted by the mythology of an unequal society. Rich people possess and control the aesthetic of restraint and frugality, allowing them to playact living a Simple Life where they live in a tiny minimalist cottage and eat Healthy Vegan Oat Gruel, while McDonalds is the emblem of American excess. It is poor people's behaviors and habits that exemplify excess and greed.

Anti-consumerism isn't going to change anything until it openly confronts the fact that poverty is traumatic and consumption patterns often arise from poverty survival mechanisms.

#random #overconsumption #anticonsumerism #was in my drafts for a long time wow

1K notes · View notes

onlyhuis · 1 year

Text

april 20th: pot luck

member | fwb!chan x f reader genre | smut, fwb to lovers word count | 3.2k synopsis | you're no stranger to smoking in the park on 4/20, but smoking in the park while chan begs you to let him make you cum? that's new. content warnings | marijuana use (smoking), there's angst for like 3 seconds but not really smut warnings | descriptions of female anatomy, oral (reader receiving), fingering, sexual acts in a semi-public setting (they're in a secluded area of a park), sexual acts while high, shotgunning, chan is clingy & cute when he's high :) disclaimer | this story is a work of fiction. both chan and reader are portrayed as consenting adults above the legal age of 21. always make sure your partner is someone you trust and have talked with beforehand while sober. remember to practice safe, consensual sex! notes | requested by @angelwoozi 🧸!! this concept is going to sit in my brain forever now agsdjkfahsd i hope you like it! also tagging @bitchlessdino because it would be a sin if i didn't. happy 420!

you hold the pre-rolled joint between your fingers, watching the way the thin smoke spirals off the end of it. chan holds out his hand as you exhale, and you pass it back to him for him to take his turn.

it's the secluded end of the park, where the trees are thicker and shadier and the grass is always a little bit damp, even during hot summer afternoons. a cool breeze blows today, and distantly you can hear birds chirping and the shuffling footfalls of joggers making their way around the park's running paths.

you lay back, settling down on top of the worn, quilted picnic blanket you keep in your car. for the first time in a while the weather's been nice enough to draw you outside, spring gradually melting into summer.

he holds the joint out towards you but you wave him off, so he sets it at the edge of his ashtray, the little yellow painted one you made him for his birthday in a ceramics class from a few semesters ago.

chan leans back too, propping himself up on one elbow as he reaches for his water bottle absently.

laying on your back, you can see each leaf on the tree, and when the wind blows you can see bits of blue sky peeking through the swaying branches. you hear chan call your name, but you ignore him, just wanting to watch the world go by for a moment. or maybe, you just pretended to hear him call your name. you seem to do that a lot recently, imagining him doing things until you aren't sure what's real or dreamed.

ever since new year's eve when you accidentally on-purpose slept with him and then maybe kept sleeping with him for months afterward, nothing's been the same. despite the fact that you definitely like him as more than just a friend you have sex with, you’ve never talked about it with him because he seems more than fine with keeping things simple; you wish he didn’t, but you don’t want to push him, so you just stick to having sex and sharing your weed.

it turns out him calling your name was, in fact, real, because a few seconds later you see his figure looming over you, blocking your view of the leaves and the sky.

your words come out lilted. "what is it, chan?"

"can i eat you out?"

you blink slowly a few times, thinking and processing his sentence and repeating it in your head so many times until you'd forgotten what he'd actually said.

"eating what? we had tacos earlier. i’ll make you a sandwich or something when we go back, i told you you should’ve brought more snacks to munch on."

“noooooo.” he whines and flops down onto the blanket on his side. "wanna eat you," he grumbles. his fingers find your arm and begin drawing shapes and patterns along your skin as he waits for your response.

it finally clicks in your mind what he's asking, and with much effort you roll your head over to look at him. "why?"

"because it's a nice day outside," he says, fingers trailing down to your wrist. "and i like it. oh my god, you're so hot. like… woah. why wouldn't i want to?"

your heart jumps, and you can't tell if it's completely from his words or mixed with how stoned you are, but you feel so happy. he sounds almost affectionate.

you shift your legs, your pants starting to grow uncomfortable the more you begin to think about chan between your thighs. it's a sight you're familiar with, but one you can never quite seem to get used to.

you throw your arm over your head, tugging gently at the cool grass beneath your fingertips to ground you to earth. "but there's sooo many people out, chan," you say, a little more giddy than you intend. "you’re too high. somebody'll see."

he closes his eyes slowly and furrows his brow, thinking deeply.

"put your bag here, then," he says finally, rolling over onto his stomach to grab your tote bag from the edge of the blanket and haul it over to your hip. it was a good idea in theory, but in reality it barely covers a tiny part of your body, and it would only be effective at blocking his head from onlookers at a very specific angle.

his fingers brush over your thigh on accident, and you sigh, legs parting just slightly. chan doesn't seem to notice, though; he's latched himself to your arm again, tracing his name across your skin over and over like a kindergartener learning to write their name for the first time.

"you really want to?" you ask, peering over at him through foggy eyes but grinning when you see him now focused on the tiny hairs on your arm.

"yes, please," he hums, and he starts kissing the inside of your elbow along your forearm. his lips are warm and so, so soft, it feels like rays of sunshine tickling your skin. until he opens his mouth and he starts gnawing on you, biting gently at your arm.

you swat at the back of his head, and then once more, laughing at how silly he is. silly feels like the right word. silly how cute he is and silly how maybe you're a little bit in love with him.

"oka-ay," you say finally, tugging on his hair to get him to stop biting you. he rests his head on your stomach and gazes up at you with big, soft eyes, and you know there's nothing going on in his head right now. honestly, there's not much going on in yours either, but there's enough happening up there to know better than to not let him have what he wants.

you pull the bag closer to yourself and lift your hips, shifting your pants down just enough to expose the top of your thighs.

"don't let anybody see—" you start to say, but chan is already diving in. he shimmies down your body, positioning himself between your legs so that it would look like he's merely resting on top of you if anyone passing by were to steal a quick glance.

in your present state of mind, neither of you are quite as sneaky as you probably think. you can only pray no one walking around the park is paying much attention to their surroundings, though your spot is far enough away from the main paths that someone would have to be intentionally looking in order to find you.

one thing you know for sure is that chan is a messy eater. in the privacy of his apartment (or occasionally, yours) he'll spend hours between your legs, making out with your pussy until you're so exhausted and overstimulated that just the thought of another orgasm makes you shudder. usually he doesn't go that far, because at the end of it all he still wants to have his cock inside of you, but that doesn't ever stop him from making a complete mess of you anyways.

but to your surprise, when he kisses you over your underwear before pulling them down your hips, his lips are slow and gentle, like wading through water. you feel his fingers kneading your waist, and you realize belatedly that you've been tensed up. you'd been preparing for a fast, rough onslaught of pleasure but clearly chan has other plans today: taking his sweet time with you. and with how fuzzy your head feels right now, going slow is more than fine by you.

he flicks at your clit, laying his tongue flat and smoothing it over every inch of you before flicking again, and subconsciously you angle your hips upward, chasing his mouth. his spit covers your cunt, and when he moves his head back you can feel the breeze cooling the heat between your legs, sending a shiver up and down your spine.

you hear a shrill scream from behind you, and you tilt your neck back to see where the noise came from. upside down, you can see two kids distantly running around in the grass, playing a game.

you yank chan up by the back of his collar and pull your pants up as far as they'll go, ignoring the insane wedgie you've just given yourself as you scramble to look like you haven’t been doing anything suspicious.

you stay on your back, craning your head around to look at your surroundings. once you’re certain nobody’s around, your eyes settle on chan, who’s staring blankly back at you. his face glistens in the sunlight from the amount of wetness all over his face that he doesn't even seem to be aware of.

"wipe your mouth," you try to scold him, but the whole situation is suddenly so funny you can't help the laugh that comes out instead.

chan sits up, a little disoriented at first but he pushes through the clouds in his mind and finally brings his hand up to his face, swiping at his mouth once with the back of his hand. he looks around and he spies the ashtray with the half-smoked joint still sitting in it, and with a lazy grin he leans over to grab it, fumbling with his lighter to reignite it.

he takes a long, slow hit, and you're surprised he's not more out of breath from just having his face shoved in your pussy for what seemed like eternity.

he holds it out to you with a little grunt, and you finally find the energy to prop yourself up onto your elbows to take it from him. you inhale then breathe out a fine cloud of smoke as you pass it back to him, and he sets it back down, giggling to himself.

you smile, his laughter contagious with your already content mood. "what're you laughing at?"

he rolls his head around in a circle, staring off into the distance with a dopey grin on his face. "i… dunno," he answers finally, and he looks back at you, his eyes full of emotion you can't really understand fully.

"well, you almost got us caught, dummy," you tell him, an involuntary pout forming on your lips as you lay back down. "if you wanna have sex we should just go back to your apartment now."

"i don't want to," he whines, and you frown at him. he opens his mouth, stops and closes it again, then finally speaks, seemingly having gathered all his words together in the right order. "of course i always wanna have sex with you but right now i wanna make you cum first. like, right now, right now." he looks over at you again with those big, stupid, pretty eyes of his. "ple-ease?"

"but somebody might see again, channie. you can make me cum at home."

he shakes his head slowly. "but we still have to finish this, anyway," he protests, pointing at what's left of the joint.

you lose focus and stare off at the trees again, knowing he's right. you'll have to stay until it's out, then clean up your blanket and put away your stash, so it's not like you were gonna get home anytime soon then, right?

he turns towards you suddenly, his mouth half open like he's just thought of something crazy. he carefully transfers the joint to your hand, wrapping your fingers around the end of it. "how about i finger you, and you can hold this for me until you cum, and then we finish it and we go home and fuck. holding two birds with one stone."

you glance around, hoping nobody heard him loudly exclaim that he wants to finger you. you think about telling him to keep it down, or at least correct his attempt at a metaphor, but the words feel like too much effort and you're still weary from the almost-orgasm just a few minutes ago.

you stare at the object he had put in your hand for a second before you decide to take a drag, putting your other hand on chan's neck to pull him close so you can exhale the smoke into his lips.

clearly he wasn't expecting it, and he coughs a couple times, but he recovers and immediately goes in to kiss you again. he kisses you for so long it feels like he's never going to pull away, and when you do finally let go for a second it seems like he isn't even breathing.

he just sighs dreamily, his eyes still closed. "i love kissing you," he says, and the way he says it makes it sound so important.

you elbow him in the chest lightly to get his attention, and he lets out a little "oof!" and opens his eyes.

"hurry up so we can go home. i wanna suck your dick," you say, clearly deciding to let him have his way as you push your pants down once more.

his hand slides over your body, and the way he smiles when his two fingers make contact with your pussy gives you goosebumps. his touch feels heavenly, and you have to put all your focus on holding the joint upright so you don’t accidentally drop it. but it’s so hard to stay focused when you can feel his fingers so deep inside you, moving in and out and curling and scissoring and it drives you crazy.

at least in this new position, it’s not as obvious what you’re doing. with shaky hands you take another hit, a bigger one this time, trying to finish it as fast as you can so you can go home and not have to worry about being seen.

chan pushes a third finger into you and you hold back a whimper, wrinkling your nose in pleasure.

he opens and closes his mouth at you, and there’s a few seconds before your brain catches up and you realize he wants you to help him smoke while his hands are occupied. you carefully hold the joint up to his mouth and he wraps his lips around it.

the sight of him laying on his side, his hand cupping your cunt as you act like his personal helper is hotter than you expect it to be, and you clench around his fingers, heat burning in your abdomen.

he sucks in a sharp breath and leans his head away from your hand to cough again. “are you— close?” he asks once he’s recovered, his tone almost pouty. “you’re squeezing my hand so hard and now my dick hurts because i imagined fucking you instead.”

you sigh, leaning your head back against the blanket and letting your eyes close again, your hand propped up in the air. “yeah… i reeally wanna fuck you.”

he pries the joint out of your hand to take a hit by himself, then puts it back in your grip and moves his other hand to massage your breast over your shirt. you whine, not expecting it, and buck your hips up.

“fuck, chan– faster, please,” you mumble, your head swimming.

he puts his thumb to your clit and presses down, his fingers moving more roughly inside of you to draw you closer and closer. after a while you open your eyes, and you find him staring at you with such a sweet, empty look on his face, it makes you want to kiss him forever.

you pull him down on top of you and push your lips against his. your teeth clack with his but you don’t care, because you feel too good everywhere else to even pay attention to one little bad thing.

just like the way chan eats you out, he’s messy when he kisses you, and even more so when he’s high. you can taste yourself on his tongue and it makes you whine into him, the rest of the world falling away so that the only two people who exist in the entire world are you and him.

without warning you feel familiar waves wash over you and you practically go limp under him as your orgasm knocks the breath out of your lungs. he stills his fingers inside of you but continues to pet at your clit with his thumb as your walls spasm and contract around him.

when you start to regain some of what’s left of your senses you grab his hand to stop him, pulling him out of your aching pussy. he sighs and pushes his face into your chest, humming against your boobs.

caught up in the moment you hadn’t noticed when you’d dropped the joint, but luckily there was a god or some being out there in the universe that was on your side, because you’d dropped it directly onto the ashtray and not the blanket or the grass.

chan sits up and folds his legs cross-legged as he lights it one more time and hands it to you. there’s not much left of it by now, so it doesn’t take long for you both to finish it. your clothes stink of smoke and you’re a lot clumsier than usual, but you’re more content than you’ve been in a long time.

it’s not the first time you’ve had sex with him while high, but something feels different this time. maybe it was the way he clung to your arm walking back to his apartment, giggling with glee about how he couldn’t wait to have you all to himself. but it was probably more the fact that he told you he loved you right after you came and then proceeded to beg you to let him kiss you again.

of course you let him, your heart and your head soaring as you laid in the grass, casually making out for at least a quarter of an hour. you were in no rush to be anywhere, especially not when you had everything you wanted right here. and it seemed like he had everything he wanted, too: when you finally started to pack up your things to leave, he’d panickedly asked if you would stay with him.

“of course i’m staying,” you laughed, pushing him off of the blanket so you could fold it and put it away. “aren’t we going back to your place?”

“yeah, we are,” he said shyly, plucking a dandelion from the grass. “i meant like… all the time. i don’t wanna do this anymore.”

you looked at him, suddenly scared and a little confused at the sudden change from how excited he’d just been. “…you don’t want us anymore?”

he shook his head. “no, i want you! serious, like boyfriend and girlfriend! i want us to be us.” you don’t immediately respond, and he frowned.“you don’t want to?”

your eyes softened. “i do want to,” you smiled, crawling over to him to cup his cheeks in your hands. “i want to, very much.”

it would be a while before you finally made it back to chan’s apartment, but it was worth the wait. everything was worth the wait.

next year, when you sat in the same spot at the same park to spend your anniversary together, you joked that he had waited until april 20th to make it official because he’d wanted your anniversary to be on a funny date. but really you didn’t mind, because it just gave you more reasons to celebrate.

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it lets me know this is something people want to see more of and it helps a ton with being motivated to write. thanks for reading!!

> taglist | @wonderfulshinee @noniestars @onlymingyus @just-here-to-read-01 @wonuziex @enhacolor @yourfavoritefreakyhan @dkakapizzaboy @zozojella @rainyjeno @jwnghyuns

> strikethrough means your blog cannot be tagged, please check your visibility settings

> if you want to be notified when i post a new fic, you can join my taglist here!

#kflixnet #k-labels #[📌] — june.writes #[💟] — dino #[❤️] — smut #dino smut #lee chan smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #chan smut #svt imagines #dino imagines #dino x reader #chan seventeen #dino seventeen #dino fanfic #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic

730 notes · View notes

megamindsecretlair · 11 days

Note

Could you do a quick one shot where someone tries to flirt with the reader from vampire Tyrone. How does he react?

Chapter 5 Chapter 7

Pairing: Vampire!Tyrone x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. Public sex, PIV, cursing, AU Tyrone, Toxic Tyrone. Dark fic. Dirty talk. Mentions of blood, overstimulation. Slighty bratty reader. The concept of "rolling" is brought up when Tyrone is able to hypnotize reader, but it is consensual. Exhibition kink. This one is a littler darker, reader gets aroused by violence and violent thoughts. Non-inclusive language used.

Summary: A chance meeting at a club introduced you to the enigmatic Tyrone. He was interesting in ways that you weren't expecting. Back in Tyrone's world, full of heavy clouds of lust in the air, Tyrone catches you flirting with another man and he loses his mind.

Word Count: 4,101k

Midnight Sin Masterlist

A/N: Woooo, had to get this one off my chest! Are you sneaking a look at my outline, anon?? I swear I love jealousy in fiction! I don't tag ageless blogs. Toss a comment or reblog to save a writer!

Taglist: @planetblaque @westside-rot @umber-cinders @kindofaintrovert @notapradagurl7 @twocentuar @blackerthings @sevikasblackgf @beenathembo @theyscreamsannii @lovedlover @henneseyhoe @dayjlovesromance @melaninpov @blowmymbackout @miyuhpapayuh @soft-persephone @eggnox @browngirldominion @longpause-awkwardsmile @slippinninque @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @nworbaij

You felt desired. You bravely walked through the room in nothing but your panties and black high heels, parading around. Back at Tyrone’s sex house, he had been teasing you all night. He combined rolling with wine, and fingering with powerful kisses so now you were in a sex-crazed brain fog and loving every second.

You asked him to roll you and make you do something. It was a sign of extreme trust and you didn’t know where it came from. You only wanted to see what it was like once. If he could truly make you do anything and if you would remember or if it would feel like a dream.

You also told him that if he did anything that crossed one of your hard lines, he’d never see you again. Vampire or not. He promised to behave himself. You’d had many, many talks about your boundaries and his. He never wanted to make you uncomfortable.

That was why you were comfortable letting him roll you all night. God. If they could bottle this feeling and sell it, it’d be the fastest selling drug to ever exist.

The other vampires and donors, who were members of Tyrone’s club, looked at you as if you were the sexiest thing in this room. Tyrone rolled you to make you strip slow for him and walk around with your breasts out.

Getting pounded in front of a mirror was one thing. It felt like you and Tyrone were the only two people in the room, though he constantly reminded you that there was an audience. And they loved seeing you.

You still had your wits about you, but you had to do what Tyrone asked you to. You wanted to. Your clothes were too hot and itchy and you clawed them off, relishing the cool air that rushed over your skin.

The way Tyrone stared at you…like he wanted to eat you made you desperately horny. And now others stared at you too while you walked around. You modeled for them. Modeled your body. Modeled everything your mama and God gave you. And the men nodded appreciatively. The woman gave you knowing smirks.

You’d never felt more alive. More in control. Turn around for me. Tyrone’s voice whispered through your mind. You turned around, eyes searching for Tyrone. He stood at the other end of the playroom, one of many in his giant ass mansion. This one had dark walls and low lights strung across it.

In the middle of the room, there was a platform where a scene played out of a male vampire getting dominated by his female donor. She cracked the whip against the man’s flesh and tortured ecstasy sprang from his lips. Some in the room watched. There were chairs, tables, and couches set up around the room and some took advantage. There was also a room or three in the back for people who wanted a little privacy.

You, however, only had eyes for Tyrone. He only wore his briefs, so his chest was out and shining against the lighting. He would be an angel if he wasn’t a confirmed devil. You grinned in his direction. He was so gorgeous. So sexy. So otherworldly you wanted to pinch yourself. Come here.

Your foot moved without a second thought from you. You were aware that he was still in your mind, still commanding you. But you couldn’t stop moving towards him if you tried. It was freaky and exciting.

Kneel and crawl.

You stopped and then lowered yourself to your knees. Your wet pussy squelched and you bit back a moan. You were achingly wet, so hungry for Tyrone’s dick that you were ready to sing for it. You crawled to Tyrone, eyes eagerly on his.

He smirked and let you stop, not wanting you to hurt your knees on the rough floor. A loud crack split the air as the whip hit the vampire again. His moan was longer this time. He was getting his. Why the hell couldn’t you get yours?

Tyrone closed the distance and stared into your eyes. “Come back,” he said. His voice echoed in your mind. You felt like you were getting yanked through a pit of darkness.

“Come back,” he repeated. That pit of darkness was endless. You weren’t afraid just…reverent. Like there was something in the darkness with you that recognized a kindred spirit and winked.

Like death.

“Come back.” His voice stopped echoing and you stopped feeling the flighty, floaty feeling of rolling. It was a trip being pulled back into reality, but Tyrone wanted to give your mind a rest.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

You nodded. You wanted to tell him about the odd visions and feelings in your mind whenever he rolled you. You weren’t sure if it would give him concern or if he would stop. You had lunch with Nikki tomorrow. You needed more answers.

Tyrone answered as much as he could, but it seemed like he acknowledged that you were unprepared but was unwilling to teach you more. If there was something bad waiting for you at the end of this, you were going to be pissed.

Tyrone kissed your cheek and held your hands. “I’m going to make sure everyone is behaving and bring you some water,” he said. “That means you behave too.”

You smiled at him. He was so damn cute. “I always behave myself,” you said.

Tyrone shook his head and moved away lightning fast. You moved about the room. No one approached you. No one talked to you. You could only guess that it was Tyrone’s doing. Everyone too busy being afraid of him than to extend a hand to you.

They still looked at your body, at your breasts. They could probably smell how needy you were. How wet you were, clenching around nothing. Wishing Tyrone would go on and fuck you.

You were surrounded by debauched people, each giving in to carnal desires right before your eyes. You scooted around a couch where a couple was practically in each other’s laps. They got each other off, staring deeply into each other’s eyes.

There was still the vampire on stage. You stopped and stared at him, at his prone form in supplication to his donor. She was a gorgeous, thick Black woman with tightly curled hair in puff balls on her head. She wore nothing but high heels, digging that heel into his side.

“Are you okay, baby?” The donor asked.

“Yes, yes, yes,” the man said, chanting like he wasn’t really here anymore. Even though the donor was in charge, there was genuine love and affection between them. They constantly checked in on each other, knowing exactly when to push and when to pull back.

Would that be you and Tyrone one day? Would you let everyone look at you while Tyrone dominated you so publicly? Your thoughts turned sour as you imagined a future with Tyrone. One in which you start to get older, wrinkly. If you managed to live that long.

“I thought these things were supposed to be arousing. Why you frownin’?” Tyrone asked from behind and off to the side of you. You started to turn around.

“Mhm, eyes forward,” he said. He sounded…different. Like his voice got deeper or he scratched his vocal cords on something. Tyrone’s voice was always deep, but this one seemed different.

You faced forward, interested in this new game of Tyrone’s. You watched the couple on stage.

“I am aroused,” you said. If he would fuckin’ touch you, he’d know that. Maybe you just weren’t used to denying yourself an orgasm. Your previous lovers were ehh. Certainly nothing to write home about. Certainly nothing like Tyrone who could say two words and have your panties dropping to the floor.

Your pussy throbbed and you rubbed your thighs together. Your panties were ruined at this point. You wanted to be ruined.

“Why do you smell so good?” He asked. He took a deep sniff and you shivered.

You huffed, the breathy sound burning your lungs. You were out of your mind with desire. You didn’t have another rolling in you if he didn’t touch you. Your body felt acutely aware of everything he did. He stepped closer, running a finger down your side.

You moaned, that much contact from him was too much to bear. Your skin tingled where his finger had been. Your breathing increased, feeling like a rabbit caught in a wolf’s path.

Tyrone stepped even closer, dropping a simple kiss to your neck. He smelled different. You tilted your head, confused about his presence. Something was telling you that something was off. Something was wrong with Tyrone.

You turned your head but Tyrone roughly grabbed your chin and pushed it away from him. “You are too damn beautiful to be standing here by yo’self,” he said.

“Ty-” You went to say but he was suddenly away from you. Snarls filled the room. You turned to your left and then did a double take.

Tyrone stood next to…Tyrone. There were two of them? There were two of them. Only, the other wasn’t half dressed like everyone in the room. He still wore dark jeans and a hoodie. His hair was wilder, kinkier, sticking up and away from his head. He had a bigger beard than your Tyrone and grills in his mouth.

He smiled, running his tongue along his golden, elongated canine tooth. He gave your Tyrone a wink. “Little brother,” he said. He held out his hands as if inviting your Tyrone in for a hug.

You were so confused, your head bobbing back and forth like you were watching a tennis match. The intensity of the room seeped away to curiosity and nosiness. The moans and groans and curses stopped. There was only your Tyrone and the…other Tyrone. You were still trying to wrap your mind around that.

“She’s mine, Fontaine,” Tyrone said. There was your man. Deep voice, but with a thick LA accent.

Fontaine, the other Tyrone, tilted his head at you. His eyes raked over your body but you didn’t feel the need to cover up. Everyone saw your body tonight, he’d already gotten an eyeful. “Must be special, little brother,” Fontaine said.

He looked at you and his red eyes seemed to swirl in the low lighting. His face clouded over like he’d just inhaled something delicious. “Smells really good in here,” he said. He stepped in your direction and Tyrone punched him.

“She’s mine,” Tyrone said once more.

Fontaine smiled, blood pooling in his mouth before he licked his lips. “Heard you the first time,” he said.

“Tyrone, what the hell is this?” You asked.

Tyrone rolled his neck and then looked at you. He held out his hand but you were too nervous to take it. He looked feral. Animalistic. But you still got the sense that he was holding back. That he refused to show you the monster beneath.

You stepped closer but only eyed his hand. If you touched him, you’d get distracted. Tyrone was a sin in and of himself. One touch and then you’d be on hands and knees sucking him off.

He withdrew, staring at his lonely hand before turning to Fontaine. “This is my brother, Fontaine,” Tyrone said. He introduced you by your name and Fontaine said it a few times, getting the hang of it.

“Nice to meet you,” Fontaine said.

“Tyrone? Explain?” You asked.

“My brother is usually on the East Coast or overseas. It’s rare for him to make it back West. It’s been some time since he’s been here last,” Tyrone said.

“I didn’t even know you had a brother,” you said. You looked at Fontaine. They were eerily similar. And yet wildly different. Fontaine seemed rougher around the edges. Like he liked to pull on girl’s hair while he disrespected your soul.

“Tyrone don’t never talk about me. He knows I’m usually the one picking up the pretty girls,” he said with a wink. You rolled your eyes, but smiled a little. The next punch to Fontaine’s face made you gasp.

You didn’t see Tyrone move. You didn’t see him cross the short distance and knock Fontaine’s head to the side. Red fire lit up Tyrone’s eyes as he looked at his brother. Fontaine wiped his mouth, another bloody smile for Tyrone.

“I’m going to find some hole to stick this long dick into. You get tired of him, find me,” Fontaine said. He winked at you and then looked at Tyrone. “I’ll see you later.”

The threat was evident in Fontaine’s tone. He slunk off through the room, leaving entirely. Tyrone had other playrooms, you’d yet to see them all. You wondered what else Fontaine was into.

“Did he touch you?” Tyrone asked.

“I thought it was you,” you said, biting your lip. Fuck. Did you screw all of this up? Were your days of being a donor over now because he never told you to be on the lookout for someone who looked and talked like him?

“Where?” Tyrone asked. He stepped closer to you, hands gripping your arms. It wasn’t hurtful. It was more like desperation. Like you were the only thing keeping him sane at the moment. If he let go, there was no telling where his mind would go.

You floundered for what to say. Fontaine hadn’t really done anything bad to you. Nothing worse than what you dealt with on a daily basis growing up a woman. Tyrone looked so pissed…until his dick slapped against your thigh. You looked down at the growing tent in his pants. He was…turned on?

“He only touched my side. And kissed my neck,” you said.

Tyrone’s nostrils flared. Without a word, he moved from the room. There were too many people looking at you. Vampires with fangs bared like they wanted some of what you were having. You were confused and horny and you weren’t sure if you wanted answers at the exclusion of a dicking down, or to hope you getting dicked down didn’t mess with your desire to have answers.

Tyrone dragged you up the stairs and to his side of the house. In his bedroom, no sooner had he closed the door than did he slam your back against it. His kiss was punishing, hard, and rough.

His breathing fanned over your face. He panted so hard like he’d just run a marathon. He ran his thumb over your lip, cupping your jaw and tilting your head. “You’re mine,” he said.

His dark, red eyes still had that feral glint. He wasn’t all there, not truly. You weren’t sure where his mind went. But you hoped he stayed there a little longer. You liked that he was taking off the kid gloves. You wanted to see him unleash that tight hold on his control.

“Is that so?” You asked. You didn’t know where this wild, reckless part of you was coming from. This fascination with toying with a deadly creature. It was like you were flirting with your own mortality. You’d spent so long worried about the curse, that you started to admire it. Study it. Tease it.

Tyrone’s grip tightened around your neck. You groaned, tilting your head up and rolling your eyes. Tyrone stepped closer, pushing his erection against your belly.

“I’m not fuckin’ around right now. I’ll allow a lot of things, little doll, but this ain’t one of them. I’ll kill anybody that look in your direction,” he said.

Shivers wracked your body. You stared into his red eyes. He had to know, right? He had to sense how turned on you were. You rubbed against his erection, palming him. He hissed and moved away. He used his free hand to grab your wandering one and pin it against the door.

You still had your left hand free and you moved it closer to his body. You slipped your fingers beneath his black briefs. He was still shirtless from your little game earlier. When you found his dick once more, you rubbed him.

“I can’t be held responsible for shit you didn’t tell me,” you said.

Tyrone’s eyes widened before he smirked. “You trynna be cute right now?” He asked.

“Telling the truth,” you said.

Tyrone chuckled. Too fast for your brain to comprehend, your cheek was pressed against the cool, smooth wood. One of Tyrone’s hands pinned both of your wrists behind your back. You hadn’t felt like you moved. One minute you faced him, one minute you didn’t.

Tyrone leaned down and bit your ear. Hard. You cried out, a big wave of arousal flooding your panties again. “Ty-Ty–” You shivered.

“I’on usually deal with brats, so we gon’ fix you,” he said.

He moved behind you and then he was pulling your panties to the side, grabbing his dick and swirling it through your dripping entrance. You cried a wretched sound. You were incredibly sensitive. Too sensitive.

He hadn’t done anything yet and you were ready to explode. He got the tip wet with your juices and then slipped inside you. You gasped, bucking away from the door. Tyrone shushed you, kissing along your ear and neck. He found a spot just below your ear that made you giggle. It felt good, but was too sensitive to hold for long.

“Nothin’ more to say? It only took one hit?” He teased, nibbling on your ear. He could bite into you at any moment. You didn’t tell him, but you loved when he drank from you. When he gained energy just by biting into your soft flesh.

“If that’s all you got, then you can’t really claim me,” you said, taunting him back.

Tyrone chuckled. He looped his arm around your torso, grabbing hold of your titty like he was holding a liferaft. His fingers toyed with your nipples while he started to stroke roughly, making you take his big dick. Incoherent moans left you, crying with every deep stroke.

“This pussy know who own it,” he growled in your ear. “Feel how wet she is. Takin’ this dick too fuckin’ well.” He moaned in your ear and you nearly came undone right then and there.

He stroked deeper, groaning as he found a new angle. “My fuckin’ pussy,” he moaned.

He stroked harder and it sounded like you were stirring thick cake batter. It was wet. It was lewd. Tyrone had you against the door like he couldn’t wait for the bed. Like he needed you at the first opportunity you weren’t around other people.

Like he couldn’t wait. Like he needed you.

Tyrone had your arm pinned so you couldn’t leverage yourself against him. Your heels dug into the carpet of his room and you were amazed that you hadn’t toppled over yet. “Oh fuck!” You shrieked. “Dick feelin’ so good.”

“I know it do. This all mine,” he said. To prove his point, he angled his hips against until he was thrusting up and hitting that perfect spot that made your eyes cross. You climaxed, screaming to the rooftop with the force of your orgasm.

It was unbelievable. Primal. Beast and prey. Prey and beast. There was nothing but the underlying drive to fuck. To copulate. To poke and be poked.

You shook on Tyrone’s dick while he continued to stroke. “Mhf, gonna fuck this shit outta this pussy till you beg me to stop,” he moaned.

“Don’t stop,” you moaned, twitching on his dick while he continued to take his pleasure from your body.

“Can’t stop,” he groaned. The sound of him deep in it made you moan even louder, rivaling him at this point. You loved a vocal man. The way he didn’t care about what he looked or sounded like. Your pussy was just that damn good where he couldn’t stay quiet. He had to let you know.

Whether it was by the way he squeezed your nipples past the point of pain, or your wrists bound by his hand, or the wet and aggressive smack of his balls on your clit.

“Fuuuuck,” Tyrone moaned, unleashing a hot sticky load into you. You moaned, dropping your head against the door.

Still, Tyrone kept fucking you. The force of his dick inside was keeping you upright. You slid up and down his dick like he was your personal toy and you squealed and moaned. “Don’t fuckin’ stop, don’t fuckin’ stop,” you moaned. You were on the heels of another orgasm.

Tyrone kept his same pace, but angled his hips again. He pushed into your hips until you were practically flush with the door. He dropped your nipple and it grazed the door. You hissed from the cold and it bloomed into unnameable pleasure.

Tyrone slapped your ass, moaning as your ass jiggled from it. “So fuckin’ gorgeous. I’ll never let anyone else have you,” he moaned.

And fuck if that thought didn’t send you over the edge. Your nails clawed at the door as you whined, panting, huffing, lungs burning, and knees wobbling. You felt like you were being burned from the inside out and you liked it.

As if sensing your thoughts, Tyrone cursed through an orgasm of his own, your name on his tongue. His hips jerked and twitched, but he still sloppily slammed into you. His cum began to seep out of you, leaking down your legs. You moaned from the weird sensation. You were full and not full enough.

Each encounter with Tyrone felt like he was splitting you in half. You lived in a sea of dichotomy. Living in excess and moderation. Bliss and pain. Where ‘stop’ hovered on your lips but your brain knew not to make you say.

Your mind drifted into some other realm. A space in your mind where you were at home in your body. Completely in yourself and not only feeling the pleasure, but your overly analytical brain finally shut off.

A silent hum of pleasure vibrated along your skin. His hand massaged your ass. His other had your wrists against your lower back. Sweat dropped from him and onto your back and ass. Sweat gathered in all of your crevices.

Huffing pants of ecstasy filled the air. Tangled with moans and soft fucks. “I-ca-can–” You stuttered.

“Sure you can. You was big and bad earlier, where that go?” He asked.

It was on the tip of your tongue to apologize. To take it back. But Tyrone wasn’t done. He slowed down, letting more of his cum slip out of you before pushing back in. You heard the wet noises and it made you clench harder around his dick.

For what seemed like hours, there was a call and response to your orgasms. Tyrone came over and over inside you, an endless supply of cum. He said he had decades worth of cum to give you. Every time he came, you were hot on his heels. Coming with loud, raucous moans. Your throat was dry and ragged.

No more than bursts of air escaped you. Your face was covered with tears and snot. You lost track of how many times you came. You were going to be sore as fuck in the morning. You were sore now. Tyrone absolutely bullied your pussy and the sick part of you wanted to hurry and recover so you could do it all over again.

“No more,” you whispered. Tyrone panted beside you. Rivulets of sweat ran down his body. He smirked.

“No more, little doll,” he said. He planted a kiss on your forehead. He massaged feeling back into your arms, having been kept in the same position too long. He apologized but that was the least of your worries.

The floor beneath you was wet with your combined, nasty juices. Your legs wobbled with aftershocks from a deep fucking and you sighed dreamily, ready to fall asleep. You thought getting fucked to sleep had been a myth when you were younger. Tyrone changed all notions about that.

You didn’t notice that Tyrone had lifted you and placed you on the bed. You didn’t notice that he was placing you down into a warm hot bath. He slid in behind you and kissed your neck and back, cleaning you off from what you shared. You tried to kiss him back, but he told you to relax.

“Don’t you fuckin’ say sorry neither,” you mumbled before you passed out, tucked softly into his bed. This wasn’t his resting place, but it damn sure smelled like him. Like home. You curled up and went right to sleep.

Masterlist | Chapter 5 | Chapter 7

#Megaminds Secret Files #The Secret Tyrone Files #Tyrone x Black!reader #Tyrone x Black reader #Tyrone x Fem!reader #x Black reader #x Fem reader #Tyrone x Fem reader #Tyrone x plus size reader #Vampire!Tyrone #They Cloned tyrone smut #They Cloned Tyrone fanfic #They Cloned Tyrone fan fic #They Cloned Tyrone fan fiction #They Cloned Tyrone fanfiction #John Boyega fanfic

61 notes · View notes

ariundercovers · 5 months

Text

When Paths Cross (Javier Peña x Reader)

Pairing: Javier Peña x Afab!Reader (No use of y/n!)

Length: ~7k words

Summary: Chucho's been like a father figure to you since he helped you out of a sticky situation on your second day in Laredo. What happens when you finally meet his son, the former-DEA agent, who just happens to ignite you in a way that you haven't felt before?

Warnings: explicit 18+ graphic descriptions of sex, p in v, fingering, oral (f receiving), alcohol consumption, spanish nicknames, idk what else its honestly pretty chill

a/n: This idea came to me partially in a semi-lucid dream but then I ran with it and it rotted my brain until I could get it fully out onto a page. I really love this concept, so I'll be doing at least a sequel, which is already in progress! Sorry for letting the smut get away from me. Javi possessed me, you can blame him for this. I hope you enjoy it!

Read the next part (II) HERE

Laredo was just about what you expected it might be.

Simultaneously urban and rural, with the Rio Grande rushing right through it, it was a huge shift, moving from the northeast down to the US-Mexico border. But you liked the museum that hired you and it was a step up, or two really, in your career. You had always wanted the freedom of being the head curator of an institution.

So it goes without saying that when you took the job, you weren’t in it to be making friends. Yet, here you are, on the outskirts of town once again, hand raised as you reach for the knocker of the old farmhouse and tapping it against the door twice.

Chucho opens the door in his wide-brimmed hat with a big smile on his face.

“Come in, come in! We’re almost ready.” He leads you into the house, one hand gently on your lower back as he pushes you toward the kitchen. There's a man standing there, hip propped against the counter with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He’s wearing the most frustratingly well-fitted flannel shirt you think you’ve ever seen and a pristinely trimmed mustache on his face. He lifts his glass almost imperceptively toward you and nods as Chucho steps in, gesturing toward him.

“This is my son, Javier.”

The man smiles at you, eyes trailing up and down your body once or twice before he gives a curt nod. “Just Javi is good, too.”

You nod back and offer your name as well, feeling a bit of heat radiating in your cheeks from his intense stare. You turn away from him to Chucho and ask him, “Anything I can do to help? I brought pastelillos de guayaba - where I’m from you don’t dare show up at someone’s house empty-handed. I hope that’s okay?” He takes the tin from you with a grin and walks it over to the counter, setting it down.

“I’m sure they’ll be wonderful. Thank you. Why don’t you have a seat?” He pulls out one of the dining room chairs and you do as he asks, eyes flitting back and forth between him and Javi as you go.

They bring the food out to the table relatively quickly as you all sit down for a shared meal. The conversation is easy like you’ve fit in with them forever and not just for the last few hours. There are no awkward lulls like you’re used to, just warmth and camaraderie and an easygoing sense that you’re not sure you’ve ever experienced before. It’s captivating, and you want more of it.

After dessert, Javi brings out the whiskey, which Chucho promptly declines, but the two of you continue to drink as you all chat. Sometime later, when Chucho stands up and announces he’s turning in for the evening, you look at your watch and see that it’s past midnight. You really had wanted to be home by now. And now you feel like you’ve overstayed your welcome, too.

“Oh, shit. I didn’t realize how late it was, I’m so sorry, Chucho-”

He shakes his head ‘no’ in response and offers you a smile as he tucks in his chair. “No, no. I’m an old man. You young people please feel free to continue. I’ve only met my limit on waking hours today. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course, Chucho. Thank you for having me.” You stand up and walk over, wrapping him up in a big hug before he heads off and you turn, heading back for your seat once again. You go to reach for your jacket on the back of the chair, but Javi stands and leans across the table to stop you with a gentle hand on your wrist.

“Wait. You don’t have to go just yet, you’ve been drinking.” You sigh, knowing he’s right, but you only nursed two whiskeys all night long and are feeling tired beyond anything else.

“I’m okay, I don’t want to overstay. It’s been such a lovely evening. But I should get going home.” You stop reaching for the jacket, but you look at him sternly. He narrows his eyes for a moment.

“It’s a hike back into the city though, isn’t it?”

“A bit. Maybe half an hour or so.”

He pauses and takes a breath before he responds. “Let me drive you at least.”

You shake your head and sigh, hating to be troubling them so much. “I can’t ask that, then someone would have to come get me in the morning for my car, too? I don’t want to burden you all. It’s alright, I’ll manage.”

He tugs the jacket out of your hands and places it back on the table, still holding onto your wrist. “Come on, muñeca, give me something. If you won’t let me drive you then why don’t you just stay? You can head out first thing in the morning if you need. The guest bedroom is all made up already, and then you’re not driving back this late. Take it easy.”

You sigh. His logic is sound, but you feel terrible about imposing do heavily on them after they cooked such a lovely meal for you and invited you over in the first place. The internal conflict is apparent on your face. Javi raises his glass then with a smirk. “I’ll offer you another drink? Or two. Three? However many you want, chiquita.”

You laugh lightly at the nickname and can’t help but smile back, slowly letting your guard down as you set your hands back down on the chair. “Alright. I’ll stay. But you owe me at least one more drink.” He smiles widely at you and moves over to the liquor cabinet, pulling out a clearly expensive bottle of tequila and showing it to you.

“What do you think? Or we can go back to the whiskey, instead.” Your little laugh turns into a full on giggle as he pulls out the tequila and you looks up at him from where you’ve seated yourself back down with a smile.

“Oh you can always get me to drink tequila.” He brings it back over to the table along with two ceramic shot cups, pouring you each a small cup before he takes a seat and pops the lid back onto the bottle. He raises his cup to you and you match his motions with your own.

“To… fresh starts.” He smiles as he says it, and you can tell his sincerity from his tone alone let alone the easy expression on his face.

“Fresh starts,” you repeat, clinking your glasses together before you each down the shot in an easy swallow. You hum, contemplating the taste, and nod along with it. “Oh that is good tequila. Dangerous.” Javi laughs at your response but agrees with you, pouring a second small cup for each of them.

“We know a family in New Laredo with a tequila business close to Cancún. We always get it from them.” You nod and lift your glass, sipping at the liquid this time to get more of the taste. You contemplate it for a long while before Javi speaks up again, eyes searing into your own. “Thank you, also. For indulging him. He’s been talking about this all week, I’m just glad he has something to obsess over more than just me coming home.”

You tilt your head at him as he talks, noting the sincerity behind his eyes as he explains. It warms your heart that Chucho feels so strongly about your presence already. He’s been such a guiding light for you since the moment you arrived in town. “Its not an indulgence at all, Javi,” you respond. “I love Chucho. He’s been like a father to me ever since I got here, I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done without him. Maybe turned around and run back north already.”

Javi chuckles at your description and reaches across the table to squeeze your wrist again. Your skin burns where his touches your own. “Well, thank you, anyway. It’s good to see him excited about something that isn’t me.”

“I should be thanking you, really,” you counter. “Thank you for letting me borrow him.”

He snorts then, laughing boisterously. “Muñeca, you can borrow him any time you want. No reservation required.” He laughs again and it makes you think back to the first time you ended up on this property - by accident.

It was only your second day in town and you were just driving around, trying to get your bearings. Somehow, you missed the fact that after a certain point the streets and roads are no longer numbered or labeled, and you found yourself crisscrossing through farms and ranches without any idea which way was up and which way was down. You parked your car on the side of the road and cried, hard, with no way to figure out where to go from there. The gas tank only had a few more miles left on it and you felt screwed. You just wanted to go home.

This place wasn’t meant for you.

But then, Chucho, like a guardian angel, came walking out from the ranch, right over to your car. Afraid that he’d yell at you to get off of his property, you rolled down your window and immediately started apologizing profusely, trying to explain your newness and inability to navigate the outskirts. You were afraid, worried that he’d go off on you or worse, but instead, he put a hand on your door and leaned into the open window with a gentle smile.

“Señorita. You look lost. Why don’t you slow it down, try that again, and I’ll figure out how to help you out of here?” The rest is history. He drove you to a gas station, picked up some gas for your car, filled it for you, and then gave you directions back into the city from the ranch. He didn’t let you try to follow them yourself though - he drove ahead of you, leading you the entire way. You don’t think you’ve ever been so grateful to another person in your life.

He invited you back to the ranch the next week, and since then, it’s been a bit of a standing date. You come over, ask him a million questions about the town and the area, and inevitably you help him with some kind of technology issue or bring him a home-cooked meal of some kind, one of the few pastimes you were more than glad to bring back with you to Laredo.

So, when Javi suggests that you were indulging Chucho, it sets a fire of laughter in your belly. If anything, you think he might be indulging you.

“I meant it, Javi. Thank you,” you counter. “You have an amazing dad. I wish I could steal him as my own, sometimes.” Blinking back at you, an interesting expression crosses his face for a brief moment. It’s so brief that you almost miss it, before he turns back into his smirking, good-looking self.

“Well, don’t think me coming home means you mean any less to him. I know it’s only been a couple of weeks, but he’s happy to have you around. I think he gets lonely out here.”

“I would, too, if I were out here by myself all the time. But… he’ll be less lonely now, right? With you around again? Or are you not planning on staying?” You briefly wonder if this line of questioning is too intrusive, but you’re genuinely curious about it, so you let it slip anyway.

“Not sure, just yet. Sticking around for a while. Gotta figure out where things lead me next. Been thinking about taking over the ranch for him eventually, but I’ve never been the best rancher. Not like he is. Lots to learn.” You nod in agreement and sip at your tequila again.

“Makes sense. I’m sure tons goes into running a ranch like this. It’s a huge property, too. Chucho gave me both the walking tour and the horseback tour.” Javi’s brows raise in surprise and he makes a face of approval.

“See, that’s how I know you’re special. Anybody can get a walking tour, but the horseback tour? That’s only for the best of the best.” You laugh a little to yourself again, loosened slightly by the tequila and made shockingly comfortable in Javi’s presence by his gentle banter.

“That so?”

You realize, then, that his hand still hasn’t left your wrist.

You swallow thickly and he forces a response, eyes burning into you like sunshine through a magnifying glass. “Yeah. That’s so.”

There’s a long lull in the conversation as you look at each other, neither of you willing to break the eye contact that, in most situations, you’d feel horribly uncomfortable with. With Javi, however? It somehow feels… right.

His thumb swipes across the bottom of your forearm, stroking your skin softly with that molten hot touch of his. It feels like it’s melting both your brain and your soul, breaking you down into a puddle for him that can barely remember its own name. His voice is smooth like whiskey when he breaks the comfortable silence.

“You got someone waiting for you at home?”

You answer before you can think too hard about the question, which is probably a good thing. You’d likely clam up if you thought about the connotations too hard. “Home here or home home?”

He smirks and snickers for a moment, leaning in toward you across the table.

“Either. Both.”

All you can do is shake your head, ‘no’, as he leans in further, one hand reaching up to your cheek as he brushes his thumb across your bottom lip.

“Good. I like that answer.”

Swallowing heavily, you feel the way your breath hitches in your throat, the way you naturally open your mouth a little for him, already overly willing to respond to his beck and call. Lifting your arm, you place your palm on the back of his, stroking the side of his wrist as he tugs your lip down for a moment before releasing it.

“Que linda muñequita…” Your hand trails down his arm, stopping to wrap around his elbow and lower bicep, squeezing softly. How can something so simple, so basic as eye contact and the palm of one’s hand, feel so damn erotic? You’re completely lost to it.

“Unos labios tan preciosos... besables, creo.” You blink back another sigh but can’t help the little whimper that falls from your mouth, closing your eyes in embarrassment as you take a long, slow, deep breath. His thumb slides away from your mouth, then, and you’re already regretting not having more control over yourself for a long moment until suddenly your train of thought is completely broken as there are a pair of warm, smooth lips on yours, moving slowly as his hand urges you closer to him.

You’re stunned by it, frozen in shock for a long while before your hand is squeezing his arm tightly and you’re kissing him back, meeting his every movement as the heat between you two quickens faster than you could have ever imagined. Your free hand floats up to the side of his neck, winding into the back of his hair and tugging slightly, like you might just float away if he pulls away from you now.

His lips are heavenly. Perfectly smooth, pouty, and plump, and the glorious scratch of his mustache on your upper lip while you kiss him sends you reeling. It’s not like you’ve been thinking about it all night, or anything.

His tongue darts out from between his lips, teasing along the seam of your own, and you open them for him happily, letting him lead as he starts to explore your mouth, tangling his tongue with your own. Another little moan slips out and you get the most gorgeously deep and rumbling groan from low in his chest as a reward.

“Muñeca… You’re killin’ me. That pretty mouth ‘a yours is making the most perfect little sounds for me already.” He pulls away from you and you gape at him, lips swollen and spit-shined and you have the delirious urge to bite that offensively gorgeous lower lip of his. He swipes his thumb across his own lip this time, a wild smirk on the side of his mouth as he stands, releasing you completely and stepping to the side so that he can push his chair in.

You’re nervous for a moment that you’ve been reading this wrong all along and have just managed to fuck it all up somehow, worried that you’ll have to walk out on Javi and Chucho, until Javi reaches his hand out to you, offering you help out of your chair. You take it, of course, staring up at him as you stand. He continues to look at you with that chilling smirk across his lips, quickly turning downright devilish.

“Pretty little thing you are.” He twirls you around in front of him, watching closely as he devours you with his burning gaze. You stop then when you’ve made a full 360, glad for the gentle reminder that, actually, you’re still not drunk yet.

Thank fuck. You really want to remember this come morning.

There’s a question that’s threatening to rise to the surface, and you’re just loose enough that it starts to blurt out before you even havea chance to stop it. “But what do we do about-”

Javi cuts you off with a ‘shhh’ and a finger to your lips. “Don’t you worry that pretty head about a thing. We’ll figure it out in the morning. We’re two adults, no? Wouldn’t be the worst thing to get caught sneaking around.” You chuckle nervously and shrug.

“You don’t think Chucho would be mad?” Javi laughs then, a wide, genuine smile on his face as he does.

“Oh no. I didn’t say that. He’ll be mad, but definitely not mad at you.” You sigh, put at ease by that statement, because Chucho was there first, and it was his home and his invitation and, in all honesty, It makes you a little sick to your stomach to think about doing something that would upset him and disrespect him so much. You blink back at Javi a few times and nod in agreement.

“Are you sure about that?” He places his hand at the side of your neck and leans forward, pressing his lips to yours once more before he’s pulling back just enough to whisper.

“Promise. I wouldn’t risk messing with the two of you - he needs you, and it seems like you need him, too. Now come on, time for bed, I think. Are you joining me in mine?”

Your body lets out an involuntary ‘squeak’ at his words, and as you watch him turn and walk down the hall. He pauses in the entryway, turning to look at you with his head cocked to the ide.

“You don’t have to, darlin’. Guest room is just down the hall - last room on the right. Mine’s just across the way. Your choice, I won’t hold it against you if you don’t want to.” He winks and smiles at you, melting your heart down just a little bit further, and then he turns once more, disappearing into the room you assume must be his. Chucho went the opposite direction to get to bed - you figure he must be in the master suite in a different part of the house - but it’s difficult to know you’d have to pass by Javi’s on the way to the guest bedroom anyway.

How can you possibly say no? To that glorious hunk of a man?

The chemistry between you two is palpable. You felt it like electricity from the moment you walked into the farmhouse this evening. It’s like the entire air around you was charged with static, somehow simultaneously pulling you in toward him and keeping you at an arm’s length away.

Fuck it. You moved here for you. You can fuck who you want to, too.

Before you have a chance to chicken out and change your mind, you walk briskly down the hall and pause in his doorway, staring in at the now topless man, sprawled across his bed as he looks up at you.

“You still want me?” You ask.

He sits up quickly with a reply, “That I do, muñequita. Come on baby, come inside.” He sits up and pushes himself off of the bed, taking two short strides before he’s on top of you once again, pushing you off to the side and up against the wall just next to the door. One arm plants firmly against the wall next to your head, his torso within breathing distance of your own, and the other arm reaches to close the door slowly, letting the latch slowly settle into place with a ‘click’. He’s staring at you again, eyes meeting yours directly all the while. It’s so jarring to feel so seen by someone you hardly know, and yet so comforting at once.

Leaning in slowly, he brings your lips back together as he releases the doorknob and wraps his large hand against your hip and lower back, tugging your hips into his. You let out a breathy sigh from your nose as hips tongue presses back into your mouth, licking into every nook and cranny he can manage.

There’s more passion, more pent up frustration to this kiss now that you’re in the comfort and safety of his bedroom, no longer at the whim of any possible prying eyes. Reaching up to his chest, your hands find his shoulders, pulling you more tightly into him as you reach up into his embrace. You keep your mouth open for him as you squirm, already feeling the rush of slick that is traveling to your core.

You’re breathless when he pulls away, his eyes several shades darker as he looks at you. “Fuck, Javi…”

Half of his face turns up in a lopsided grin. “That’s the plan, muñequita,” and then he’s trailing his lips down your throat, biting lightly at your pulse point before his fingers start to work their way under the hem of your shirt. “I’d really like to get this gone though, that alright with you?”

The way he checks in with you before he just goes ahead and does it sends a shiver of appreciation down your spine. You don’t think you’ve ever been treated that well by a partner before, never been asked or confirmed with before doing. You arch up into his touch and shake your head frantically up and down, not wanting him to waste another second than he has to. “Please, Javi.”

The smirk on his face turns wicked as his hands meet at your shirt hem and tug it overhead. One wraps around your hips and the other around your back, unclasping your bra with a skilled precision that rivals your own ability to undress yourself in a rush. The bra slips forward off your shoulders so you let it pool to the ground, and then, in what feels like the blink of an eye, he’s managed to lose both your pants and his, and pour you both into the extraordinarily well-cushioned bed.

He’s on top of you, caging you in with his legs and arms, and you can feel the excessively well-hung length of him through his boxers, leaving very little left to the imagination as his cock hangs hard and heavy against your hip. It’s subconscious when you roll your hips up into his, but you groan at the friction and at the way you're able to feel him for the first time without the restrictiveness of denim in the way.

Javi nuzzles his cheek against yours for a moment, taking the time to gain back some of the intimacy that was lost in the fight to undress as quickly as possible. “Gotta get you nice n’ warmed up for me, darlin’. Alright?” You can hear the southern drawl start to come out the more worked up he gets, and it only adds to your arousal. He sits back on his heels, straddling your thighs, and shifts to spread your legs out wide on either side of his hips. He presses your thighs open and stares down at your still-clothed pussy, pausing for a long moment to just look at the very boring black underwear you just happened to have on today.

He moves his hands to trail up and down the sides of your torso. He traces your ribs, your abdomen, the outsides of your breasts, until he settles with his hands just barely cupping the fleshy mounds of your tits. He hums, leaning down to press a kiss to the skin between them, and then up to your sternum, where he lingers, lavishing his tongue along your skin as he works across to one collarbone, and then the other. Your eyes close gently as you press your chest up into him, seeking out the contact hastily as his hand drops to the hemline of your panties, fingertips just teasing beneath it.

“Oh fuck. Javi, I… can you- can you please touch me?” Your wanton need is so visible now, so palpable, that you can’t help but resort to begging. You need to feel him against you, inside of you. You’re dying for it.

“Greedy little thing, are you? Hm… I suppose I can fulfill that request.” He smirks down at you, having abandoned your breasts for a moment while he moves his hands to your clothed core. Reaching for the band of them then, he pulls your legs together, up and off of his hips just enough to slide them off of you, and then tosses them to the side as he settles your legs right back down around his thighs. His fingers ghost along every curve he can find - your thighs, your mound, the outside of your folds, your lower belly. It’s a searing touch, one you’re grateful for as it short circuits your brain and makes you feel like a comfortable liquid, all for him.

“Trying to take my time with you, muñeca, but you’re making it damn difficult.” Your breath stutters and you whimper a bit, reaching up for his neck to pull him down into a heavy kiss.

You whisper back, “Then don’t take your time, Javi. Just fuck me.”

He chuckles a bit at that and acquiesces to the kiss, lips and tongues tangling with one another as your hands work their way into his hair. You tug - you can’t help it - and he moans at the feeling as you finally manage to suck that perfect bottom lip into your mouth, biting down gently.

Javi groans in response, low and deep from his chest, and it’s like the reward you didn’t know you needed. Something snaps a bit in you as your ministrations speed up - kissing him faster, harder, and letting your hands wander down to the swell of his ass. You squeeze there, tucking your hands into the band of his boxer, and pull his hips closer to yours as you do so.

“No patience, baby. I told you - need to get you warmed up for me.” His head dips low as he takes up a nipple in his mouth, suckling gently on the sensitive bud. You keen, pressing your chest up into him once again as his other hand leaves your mound and moves to pinch lightly at your other nipple, leaving neither without the perfect stimulation.

He switches then, mouth moving to the other side, and you let your eyes close gently while he works you over. Javi stays there for a long while, moving back and forth between your breasts, until you’re absolutely squirming beneath him, begging for some touch in the place you need it most.

“Please, Javi, I want your fingers. Need them.” He pulls off your nipple with a ‘pop’ and quirks a brow at you as he leans in for another quick kiss.

“Need them, huh? Well… I always tend to my partners’ needs, so I suppose I must.” He chuckles lightly and presses his lips to your forehead, then cheek, then throat, sitting back into his heels again as he spreads your thighs open wide once more. This time, when he’s staring down at your core, there’s no cloth in the way of him taking everything in. His gaze is once again searing - it feels like he might burn a new hole right through your body if he isn’t careful enough - but the look he offers you in return is nothing short of famished. He’s craving you just as much as you’re craving him, needs you like a man starved.

He moves his thumbs to your folds, pulling them apart so that he can stare inside even better. Letting a line of spit fall out of his mouth, it lands directly on your clit, and you realize that you’ve never felt so simultaneously dirty and hot at the same time. His thumbs massage the outsides of your folds for a few moments more before he’s collecting the spit with one of them and using it to rub small, gentle circles just beneath your clit. Then he’s dipping the tip of his thumb into your entrance and your back is arching for him, silently begging for more.

“She’s so greedy. Pretty, too.” Somehow him talking about your cunt like it’s its own person has you reeling even further. It makes your head spin at the lewdness of it all. “She’s dyin’ for my fingers, I think. Gonna let her have ‘em.” He smiles up at you then as he presses his index finger into you, slowly sinking from one knuckle to the next until it’s buried deep and he’s crooking it upward in just the perfect way that somehow has you already seeing stars.

You grind your hips down onto his sole finger, already needing more, but he knows your body well enough already and as soon as the thought can take any legitimate root in your brain, he’s pressing another in just next to the first.

“Ohhh, Javi-” Your eyes close once again, riding out the waves of pleasure onto his fingers while he scissors them inside of you, alternating between stretching you out and crooking them up perfectly into your g-spot. You plant your heels onto the bed on either side of him, letting your knees open wide to the sides to give him whatever access he wants.

You want to give him all of it.

“That’s a good girl. Look how wrecked you are for me, already. Mierda. I can’t wait to give you my cock, muñeca.” His free hand smooths along the inside of your thighs for a long while until he’s gripping tightly to one of your knees and pulling his fingers out of you, flipping you over onto your hands and knees. “Just keep your ass up for me, just like this.”

You do as instructed, settling your weight back into your knees as you suddenly feel something hot and wet at your entrance. It’s his tongue, you realize, swirling around and gathering up what feels like a copious amount of slick that he’s pulled out of you already. He laps at you sloppily, licking broad stripes from above your clit to your opening each time. He presses a kiss to it then, humming with pleasure, and then his tongue is replaced by three fingers this time, moving slowly and carefully into your core.

“Had to fuckin taste you. Such a perfect little pussy, couldn’t go another second without it.” You groan deeply into the mattress, face pressed to the side as he continues to work his fingers down to the knuckle. He curls them too, using the added finger to press into that spongy spot inside of you while scissoring the others and it has you seeing stars already, perfectly working you up toward a building orgasm that you had no idea was lingering so close in the horizon.

“Oh, oh shit… Javi. I’m not-I’m- fuck I’m gonna cum!” You bury your face into the mattress as you moan, trying to keep yourself as quiet as possible, and you roll your hips roughly. He chuckles and leans down, pressing kisses and little nips to the globe of your ass while he works his fingers into you so perfectly.

“Good, muñequita. Be a good little doll and cum for me.” His words hit you like a ton of bricks, and so you do just that. It’s an instantaneous one, not the kind that feels like a slow roll to the finish line, but one that explodes out of seemingly nowhere, making your fingers and toes curl as he works you through it. You cry out, burying your face in the sheets in hopes of muffling the sound, and grind your hips back onto him, driving his fingers in even deeper. He takes you across the finish line and further still, slowing his ministrations, but never completely stopping until you’re a whining, needy mess beneath him.

He stands, walking over to the nightstand to fish out a condom and roll it carefully into his length. “I think you’re ready to take me now, muñeca.” He drags you sideways across the bed to meet him where he is now, and in barely a moment you can feel himself notching himself between your folds, drawing the tip of his angry cock up and down through the copious wetness there that will ease his path inside of you.

“Please, Javi, please.” You press your ass backward into him, hoping to punctuate your point with your own body, and you can hear him groan as you do so, one hand grips your hip tightly as the other aims his cock, the head just breaching past your opening. You curse under your breath - he’s a big boy - and he shifts to grip your opposite hip with his other hand, using them as leverage to pull you back slowly onto his cock, inch by inch until your ass is flush with his hip bones.

He has you impaled on him now, just waiting right there, buried deep inside you for a long while as he heaves out a sigh and rolls his hips experimentally into you. You keen, lolling your head forward he hits places inside of you that have rarely been touched.

But then, he starts moving, and it’s like getting transported to a different dimension. Every thrust erupts a flurry of sparks in your vision, sends a shiver or a crackle of static all the way up your spine. And the sounds he makes - the fucking sounds, Javier - send you reeling. He’s driving into you with a reckless abandon, pulling whines and moans out of you that you do your best to fight down, but you can’t manage completely.

He notices - of course he does - and reaches forward, scooping up your upper body so your’e upright on your knees with his arm tightly around your waist, huge hand holding just beneath your breast. His other hand wraps around your mouth, tugging your head back to his chest as he continues to pump himself up into you.

Well, fuck. You’re fucking close again.

How? How does he have this kind of instant effect on you like this? You’re amazed, but you don’t have the brainpower to sit and think about it right now, anyway. Your mind and body are both too full of Javi and Javi only to be able to think about anything else.

“Shhh, muñequita. Quiet, now. You can do it.” His whispered words are hot in your ear, sandwiched between heady moans that set your belly alight with the arousal of it all. The arm around your waist dips lower, then, his large hand reaching for your clit as he starts to rub harsh circles into it. The brief moment of lucid clarity in your mind makes you think you can sense a shift to his thrusts, like a bit of a hitch or a stutter, and realize he’s probably getting close, too. You’d beg him to cum for you if you could, but his hand is so tight around your mouth he wouldn’t hear you even if you tried.

Instead, you reach one hand behind you and around him, gripping tightly to his hip as if to ask him for harder, more, deeper, something, and the other reaches down to feel for the place where the two of you are most intimately connected, feel the shaft and slick and pull of where he’s spearing himself into you so deliciously.

He grunts a few times, head dropping to your shoulder for a brief moment as his hips stutter, and he admits, “You’re gonna make me come, baby. Fuck. Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ perfect like that, I can’t last.” You whine in response, wish you could tell him you don’t need him to last, just need him to keep fucking you, just like this, for a few more moments, and few more seconds, and then-

Then, suddenly, you’re crashing again, tumbling over the edge and into a pool of all things Javier Peña that you’re not entirely sure you’ll ever be able to pull yourself back out of again. You don’t particularly know if you even want to right now, content to let yourself meld into his body as your orgasm takes you over, body shaking and writhing with the sensations of it all. You can feel your walls squeezing him tightly, massaging him as they ripple around his thick, heavy cock, and then he grunts a few more times and he’s spilling over, too.

You pant together, breaths heaving against one another as you both still and start to settle, catching your breath. Javi releases your mouth, moves his hand from your clit, and eases you back down to the bed as he reaches down to hold the condom in place, pulling out carefully and gently rolling you over onto your back. He smiles down at you for a moment with a blissed out expression that you think might rival your own, before he bends over, kissing you softly on the lips and then the forehead as he finally speaks up.

“One moment, baby. Be right back.”

He leaves the room briefly, you figure likely to go to the bathroom to clean up. When he comes back in he has a warm washcloth which he uses to wipe you down completely, and then himself, before tossing it at the hamper in the corner of the room. Climbing back into the bed, he wraps his arms around you, tugging you into his chest to be the little spoon, and then reaches down to the foot of the bed where the sheets are all bunched up. He pulls them over the two of you and settles back down behind you, lips meeting your upper arm, then shoulder, collar bone, and neck as he peppers kisses all along your exposed, sweaty skin.

“I feel like I don’t even need to ask, muñequita, but I’m going to anyway. Was that as good for you as it was for me?” You chuckle, turning over slightly, just enough so you can look at him with a big, stupid grin on your face.

“Oh, yes, Javi. That was fantastic. Stupidly, perfectly, amazingly, phenomenal. Maybe it was even better for me,” you tease him, but think it might actually be true. He smiles back at you and leans in to press another soft, tender kiss on your lips. You kiss him back just as sweetly, one hand lifting to rest gently on the arm he has wrapped around the front of your body. “I don’t usually… I don’t usually do that. Well, this… with random people? It’s, um… definitely not the norm for me.”

He chuffs in response and rolls his eyes. “You don’t need to prove anything to me, muñeca. And, if it makes you feel any better, it’s really not so random. There’s a lot of backstory there.” You nod, admitting to yourself that he’s correct. You just never expected to be here when you met Chucho all those weeks ago. This was not the outcome you were hoping for - though you also have to admit, you can’t bring yourself to complain about it, either. You’re lost in your thoughts when he interrupts you with another kiss. “Get some sleep. I’ll make you breakfast in the morning and we can talk about… this. Okay?”

You smile, pretty happy with that answer. There was a part of you that assumed Javi wouldn’t want anything to do with you afterward, but you’re glad that the connection the two of you seemed to have from the moment you laid eyes on each other wasn’t just a one-way street. He must have felt it too.

“Yeah, okay.” He smiles and nuzzles his forehead against your cheek, urging you back down onto the pillow.

“Good. Get some rest. I’ll wake you up in the morning.”

The sound of his steady breathing and the beating of his heart ease you back into your exhaustion, which you had promptly forgotten about during the fucking. No complaints there, though.

“Mmhmm,” you mumble out, and before you know it, you’re asleep in his arms.

~~~

Read part II HERE

A/N: If you don't mind, please drop a like, comment, or reblog! They keep me going and I love your feedback! I'll be posting a next part very soon - it's almost finished!

#writing #fanfic #javi peña x reader #javier peña x reader #javi peña fanfiction #javi peña smut #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña smut #no beta we die like men #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal #javier peña x you

165 notes · View notes

peachkage · 5 months

Note

hi! can you do headcanons for Ace with a s/o that is a scientist? and like she just loves expirements n stuff? also she’s a whitebeard pirate right? so she’s actively trying to figure a way to make devil fruit users immune to kairoseki

(can this be au where ace lives please?)

My first request!! :3 soooo excited thank you for sending this in anon, It's such a cute concept!! I hope I did it justice, been thinking abt this all day ugh he's such a cutie!! I'd love to write more abt this :3 Ace brain rot continues!!

When Ace joined the Whitebeard pirates he was often told stories of a crazy scientist who was always causing havoc on the Moby Dick.

Their first meeting he was awoken by some foul smell seeping into his senses and was face to face with a grinning girl.

The two grew close super fast due to Ace’s ability to cause trouble and land himself in the infirmary (which just so happens to be next to her little lab set up).

Both being trouble makers they bonded in pranks

She often dragged Ace into experiments, of course Ace would never say no to her.

Getting together for them was inevitable, none of the Whitebeards were surprised. Infact Thatch even had a bet with some others on how long it would take!

She brought up her dream of being useful to the Whitebeards by nullifying the effects seastone prism would have on a devil fruit user a little bit after they started dating.

Ace understands completely where she’s coming from, she wants no harm done to anyone she loves.

Ace is always the first one to step up and volunteer for her crazy ideas

He always promises whatever she does to him would never hurt and makes sure to give her plenty of reassurance throughout.

He often gets caught staring at you while you geek out about some fancy new science fact and he is oh so in love with everything you do.

He may not look like he’s listening but trust him when he picks up on all the little things like how you really like the Nelumbo Nucifera or some of your more morbid facts like how easy it is to rip out a throat….

He also loves how eager you are to teach him all the fire facts you can find through your secret experiments!!!

When Ace is captured she can’t help but feel at fault that she was unable to finish her research for immunity to sea prism stone.

She is stressed the entire time constantly holed up in the lab, staying up day and night looking for anything to help nullify seastone.

She thinks she might’ve found something!

Marco, about to be bound by seastone prisms, flinches at the idea of the effect stopping him from saving Ace

But the drowsiness never comes and the effects are super light, nearly nonexistent. She figured something out!

With Marco’s newfound immunity he’s able to help Ace escape.

Ace couldn’t be more proud when he recovers and find out all your hard work over the last few years has finally amounted to something.

He commends you, science is a long process of trial and error but you never gave up.

“I’m sorry I was too late to prevent your capture, it must’ve been hard” she would say while holding him close to her heart.

Oh how he’s so in love with you.

#portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace #portgas d ace lives #one piece #sorry its took so long #been a long day #portgas d ace headcanons

94 notes · View notes

beanghostprincess · 6 months

Text

it wouldn't surprise me that, despite sanji being the literal cook of the crew, he had an eating disorder (ofc trigger warning here for eds, child abuse, starvation and, y'know, sanji's background in general).

he experienced the most traumatic years of his life trapped inside a fucking cell, with a metal helmet around his head and only eating when his father let him. which was 'only when the kid needs it', probably. which leads to judge saying 'i couldn't even kill my son' and it can translate to 'at least i kept you alive'. and not to turn this into irl trauma, but abusive parents constantly use the 'keeping you alive and giving you food' excuse (the bare fucking minimum) to guilt trip you into thinking that they're good and that you're exaggerating how bad they treated you because, well, at least they kept you alive, didn't they?

so here, sanji sees food as a form of loving but in the sense of 'at least my dad didn't kill me. that's something'. so his vision towards food remains positive but only because of his mom. only because his love language is acts of service and his mom took everything he gave her, even if it was horrific, as a way of saying 'i love all of you. you're perfect because you tried and the fact that you brought me your food is enough to make me feel loved. you're not a mistake' despite his brothers and his father saying that he was, indeed, a mistake and weak for wanting to give food to others instead of just taking it for himself.

both ideas of 'someone who loves you wouldn't let you starve' and 'offering food to others is opening up your heart' coexist inside little sanji's brain.

so it wouldn't be crazy to think that, although sanji loves cooking and his best early memories of it are that book that kept him dreaming while he was locked up, and his mom's words, has a hard time eating food.

besides, sanji is used to giving, not taking. he's not selfish, but actually extremely generous to the point of forgetting about his own well-being. i don't think he actually thinks about how hungry he is until it hurts. until he needs it. he only ate whenever his father let him so he wouldn't starve, and the only thing that made him feel well about food was the fact that he could give it to the one he loved and needed it.

sanji doesn't have good experiences eating food, but only cooking it. it's a great representation of his personality as a whole, to be honest.

then the whole zeff thing happens, and he actually almost starves to death and learns what hunger feels like. but once again, zeff saves him and he's the one to be hungry for not letting the kid starve. which might seem similar to what judge did, but 'not letting you starve because i couldn't kill you' isn't the same as 'not letting you starve because i don't want you to die'. sanji learns the difference that day.

he didn't know somebody could be that kind. especially to him, someone who doesn't deserve it (he thinks he doesn't) because, in his house, love only came when you earned it.

and, you know, sanji's like that. sanji's selfless. sanji does everything for others. and so the guilt eats him up first. what zeff did is beautiful and amazing and we love him for it, but we don't know about how that affected sanji at a young age. which only makes him even more selfless and more of a better, kinder, generous person. and that might be bad, considering how little he thinks about himself already-

he learns that throwing away food is awful, and that you have to be grateful for being able to eat. grateful for living. so his don't-waste-food policy is obviously a big part of his personality due to almost dying of starvation and also owing his life to his dad (zeff, the real one, of course. fuck judge).

but that can almost be dangerous because refusing to waste food leads to forcing yourself to eat only because of his concept of what food means.

and then we have luffy in wci saying the whole 'i won't eat anything that you haven't cooked' which is precious and something very beautiful to say to your cook, but that only brings sanji back to 'starving is a form of loving' and 'you can't let someone you love starve'. and no matter how much he wants to force himself to push luffy away, he gives him food because he knows his captain will keep his promise.

sanji feels guilty, once again, but he ends up fixing it.

the thing is, after everything i've said, i don't think it would be weird to think about sanji viewing food as something external. something that isn't for himself. something that he only has control over because it's for others and not for himself, and it's a concept, a form of love, and not a need. because he does not feel hungry. when it comes to food, he feels responsibility and guilt and love... but never hunger.

hunger is, by all means, a form of selfishness sanji isn't used to unless his body is about to give up completely. he can eat out of pleasure and satisfaction and love for food, but he does it to train a selfless skill that may or may not also be selfish in the sense of 'wanting to be loved and useful'.

so here we have:

seeing food as a form of love because at least his dad wouldn't let him die, but he probably learned to push away the concept of hunger

seeing cooking as the most beautiful way of showing your feelings and efforts and taking care of people

not knowing the concept of hunger due to his own selflessness

scratch the first one, actually starving for others is a form of loving. he will never let the people he loves starve even if it means he dies in the process.

he can't waste food because that would be insulting and disrespectful. no matter the context.

and i'm just saying (and this whole thing is extremely self-indulgent and me projecting again and again) that it wouldn't be surprising to me if he had some issues when it comes to eating and making food for himself.

it's not that he thinks he doesn't deserve food, it's just the thought that he doesn't need it. going back to his past it could be seeing hunger as a form of weakness (not when it comes to others. never when it comes to others), both because of what his family taught him men should be like, and the fact that the manliest man he knows used starvation as a form of love.

so it's seeing hunger as something that makes you weak, but only when it comes to himself because of course, he wouldn't apply the same rules for him as for everyone else. he's just like that.

he thinks about others first, and himself second. always second. and the thought of eating and needing it only comes when it's too much. and when that time comes, the voices in his head tell him that he's weak. and again, i don't think he sees himself as undeserving of food because he has this whole thing about everybody deserving to eat. but he has never played with the same rules as the rest, always a few steps behind, so if he can't fight the thoughts in his head contradicting his morals, that's just how he is.

not to mention the 'don't waste food' part which also would make him feel guilty about not being able to eat if the thoughts of not deserving food and being weak for needing to eat become too much. he can't eat because he doesn't deserve it and because he's weak. and he can't starve, because that would mean wasting food.

so, you know, sanji is out of options here.

if some days sanji just casually decides not to eat- forgets to prepare himself a meal while his crew enjoys his food... that's just the way he is, isn't it? and if he lies about it, it's just another form of love, keeping them away from his problems.

besides, controlling hunger and controlling food is the only way he has to take control of his messy life. when something is out of reach, the unstoppable thing called life he has never been able to control, at least he can choose not to eat. he can choose to starve, this time, with the comfort of knowing he won't. he can choose not to eat this time, not like all of those times when food was controlling him instead.

at least the strawhats will never, ever, starve if he's around. but of course, nobody thinks about asking the cook if he wants to eat. that would be absurd. and it's impossible to think sanji would have some sort of issue with it! sanji, the cook, who keeps telling them not to waste food, not eating? that would be absurd and too selfless to make sense.

that's just the way he is.

#this headcanon is literally just me projecting my shit onto sanji ngl #*holds sanji gently* you've changed my life darling i love you so much please take care of yourself #why's he such a good person and why do people always treat him like shit i am violent #i swear all of this makes sense in my head #like he's a person who's always taking control of the situation only bc he feels like he can't control what he's feeling #and yknow feeling is for the weak and men aren't weak and yadda yadda yadda fuck the vinsmokes #his eating disorder is also heavily connected to his views in gender but that's for another day #tw eating disorder #sanji #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #<- i hate this tag btw only using so it gets to more people bc i spent my time writing this ngl #red leg zeff #one piece #op

119 notes · View notes

ginjones · 7 months

Text

While it is usually Dream who makes the first move, this time it is Hob. Sharing his body with Hope in all the luxuriating pleasures of the evening. The wine and the songs and the sheer joy of it. An enjoyment, he admits, to having taking pleasure in himself. Music, while an indulgence from days long passed, is filled with stories and symbolism. He is learning, once again, to appreciate these things.

Hob has learned to channel Hope so seamlessly that it is nothing short of a wonder. It is easy then, to allow this moment of pleasure. To allow Hob to coax him into the alleyway, to press him firmly up against the wall and crowd him with his body heat and his love and his childish naivety. A youthful endless may be oxymoronic and yet-here he is presented in every golden shade. Hob clambers for him, kisses him deeply, pours a sense of prospect into his own endless selfhood. And the light which radiates from them both now is nothing short of mesmeric.

Hope is all about momentum. He is an ever moving, ever striving force and for a moment, Dream luxuriates in that attention. Caught in the warmth of their bodies together as Hob ruts into him. His body brought low under the attentions of this god of indulgences. Baccus and Dionysus are not facets of Hope in the purest sense, and yet, Dream detects a redirection of a narrative. Hob has collected the spindles of an ancient story and pushed it seamlessly within himself.

“I know what you’re hoping for love and it’s okay” Hob says, with all the resolute assurance of a being so attuned to his power. “I’m going to make you feel so wonderful. I can feel your intentions like honey in my mouth. God’s wounds, darling. You taste so good.”

Every step that has led them here has been wonderous. And yet, the old hook of self-admonishment sinks itself like a thorn in his side. What are wants to a creature like him? Despite this evening, despite it all, he cannot help but fall back on the oldest story known to him:

“I do not hope for anything.”

Hob sighs quietly and brings him out of the hold. “Dream…..Come on Dove. You of all people know that a concept extends further than its naming in one language. What’s the root of the word?”

And oh, this devilish thing. That little smirk of knowing. That yes, of course. Because he has ascended to the status of endless, Hob is privy to every facet of human knowledge. That every iteration of hope, in every language, appears to him as easily as blinking.

“Look, I’ll give you a clue… what does Hope mean in Greek?”

“There is…no direct translation of it but I suppose one would say the lady Elpis is the symbolic representation of it.”

“Yes”, Hob replies, the smile unwavering and gently coaxing him to continue.

“Elpis is expectation. Fulfilment.”

“This is my function, darling.” Hob laughs. “As much as you’re incapable or ignoring your duty to all those who dream I am incapable of ignoring an invocation to hope. And if my present state is anything to go by,” Dream regards the flush of his cheeks, the hard outline of his prick displayed proudly along the seam of his trousers, “I am absolutely, positively primed to grant you that fulfilment and fuck your brains out tonight.”

#the sandman #dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #dreamling fic #hope!hob

57 notes · View notes

wurm-food · 2 years

Text

Sunrise | New Day | Sanji x F!Reader

Summary: "When a woman lies, a real man forgives her."

Word Count: 2.5k One Piece Master List

CW: SFW, Fluff, friends to lovers, terrible lying about your feelings on your part, Sanji may be a simp but you're worse, lightly inspired by the song "Sunrise" by Norah Jones. Follow this work on AO3!

Whether you liked it or not, you were awake.

The black vignette of sleep slowly receded from your vision as you rubbed your eyes. You sat up from your bed and looked out the window towards the vast horizon, the soft glow of the sun awaited to kiss the edge of the sea. It was beautiful and serene. These were the last few hours of peace before the hustle and bustle of the Thousand Sunny would soon awaken.

Beautiful, but far too early for your liking.

You turn to your sleeping compatriots. Robin slept peacefully in her bed, a pair of reading glasses barely hanging from her fingers from her late night reading. Nami was asleep at her desk, arms crossed underneath her face as she laid on top of her latest map. A great feeling of peace washed over you even more than the impending dawn. You had only been a part of the crew for a short time, you became close to your shipmates rather quickly. Friends weren't something that came to you easily and family was a complicated concept to you. But seeing the dreaming faces of your fellow nakama warmed your heart. You quietly left your bed and walked to Robin's side, softly plucking the dangling glasses from her fingertips and setting them on top of the book she was reading. Grabbing the soft throw blanket at the foot of your bed, you gently lay it across Nami's shoulders. You can't imagine sleeping like that was comfortable, but you didn't dare wake her.

Making your way to the vanity, you stare back to your own puffy eyes and messy, tangled hair. Hey, good lookin' , you quipped to yourself. You always had a sleepless, unkempt look about your appearance no matter how much rest you got. You grabbed the worn, baggie hoodie you brought from your home and pulled it over your head, brushing your voluminous waves to one shoulder. You noted the special feeling of being wrapped in something soft to cut the chill of the morning ocean air. Carefully opening the cabin door, you intended to make your way to the washroom. Suddenly, a tall, slender figure appeared from the corner of your eye.

He stood on the stairs, leaning against the wall to light his first cigarette of the day. Radiant blonde hair fell in his face as he lifted his head to take a drag and exhale slowly, opening his brilliant blue eyes. Those same eyes slowly met yours, followed by a head tilt and a soft smile.

"Well, good morning, beautiful. Didn't expect to see you awake this early." Sanji spoke coyly with a dash of pleasant surprise.

Despite what your heart was telling you, you scoffed and rolled your eyes at the compliment. You gesture at your haphazard appearance, "In all my glory".

Sanji chuckled, which made you return a sleepy smile back. "Whatever you say, sunshine. Join me in the kitchen, will ya? I'll make us some coffee."

"Sounds great, be there in a sec." You turned and waved as you made your way to the washroom, slightly holding your breath. As soon as you close the door, you let out a long sigh.

You figured you'd run into him at some point this morning. As the ship's cook, he was often the first crew member awake. He loved his crew just as much as he loved his craft, so he rose early to prep ingredients for the day, check inventory (especially if Luffy was seeming extra devious around the meat stores), and began breakfast for the Strawhats.

You put your face in your hands and squeezed it hard enough for stars to dance around your vision before looking at your beet red complexion in the mirror. Sanji was a chronic flirt with literally every woman with a pulse and two tits. But something about him made your heart flutter and your brain turn to mush. And that feeling made you nauseous. After all, nakama was the name of the game in piracy. And though he drove you crazy (in more ways than one), he was your friend and family above all else. You would much rather be eaten by a Sea King than damage the very precious bond you had with your crew. Cold water slapped your face, hoping to wash away the residual sleepiness and school-girlish infatuation from your eyes. Pull it together, Y/N . Taking one last deep breath, you exit the room and make your way to the kitchen.

"Hey, Y/N!" Sanji turned towards you as he poured hot water from a kettle. The smell of coffee wafted towards you and you feel your senses come back to life. You take a deep inhale as the warm, caramel aroma fills your lungs. "Give it a few minutes to brew, then I'll pour you a cup."

"Thanks, Sanji", you reply with a smile. "Need any help with breakfast?"

His head turned to you again, eyes a little brighter. You were one of the few crew members he allowed in the kitchen while he worked and the only one he let help him. You never tried to steal food out from under him or pestered him about how hungry you were. You were typically silent, helping clean dishes as they were dirtied or minding the pot while Sanji attended to something else for the meal. You occasionally asked about his cooking techniques, watching with wonder as he effortlessly deglazed a pan or fileted a fish. You'd listen to him talk about the dishes he made, how important it was to care for every ingredient no matter how small. Sometimes, he'd share a story about his time growing up on the Baratie , fondly reminiscing about his teachings from Chef Zeff.

"Why don't you do the honor of choosing today's meal? I'll cook whatever your sweet heart desires.", he said with a boyish smile that made your heart sing. Though, that was a tough choice. Sanji took care in preparing meals that were balanced, filling, and delicious, perfect for a life at sea with some of the hungriest pirates you'd ever met. One dish in particular stood out in your mind. He made it a short time ago, but the delicious and comforting taste stayed in your mind, beckoning your thoughts back to your childhood. You thumbed through one of his cookbooks until you finally found what you were looking for.

"This one,” you finally said. It was a humble dish with not a lot of substance, made on a whim as a snack for the female members of the crew. Not something that would keep the crew filled for very long. "I know it's not much, but I haven't stopped thinking about it since you made it. It reminds me of home, I guess."

A small smile curled on the edges of Sanji's lips, eyes softening again when you finally look back at him. You feel a flush beneath your skin. "As you wish! I'm glad know it was well received," he said, proudly. You couldn't help but notice the slight tinge of pink on his own cheeks. You gave him a very high compliment, after all.

"I'm sure Luffy will give you a hard time looking for his next meal." you stammer, slightly embarrassed, wishing you could take the suggestion back.

"I'll prep some extra meat, don't worry. I can't pass up a special request from a very special lady, you know!", his heart-eyes practically popping out of his sockets. Your heart beamed, but you quickly tried to swallow the feeling building within your chest. You were special to him, but not that special. Not in the way you truly wanted to feel. There was no point in getting your hopes up for that.

You turned your attention to the piping hot carafe of coffee and decided to make the first move, pouring Sanji a cup of coffee first, followed by yourself. You smirk and raise your cup in half-hearted cheers as he nodded in return. "You should grab a seat and keep me company. I don't want you slinking off and acting all mysterious and distant" he said, eyeing you knowingly, somehow reading that you wanted to take your coffee to go.

" Mysterious , you say?" You played along. You admit that you were sometimes rather closed off, but the crew noted recently that you had been dropping your walls little by little. And you tended to be rather cheeky with the cook, using playful banter to deflect your own feelings towards him while keeping the air light.

"Yeah, you tend to brood," he said. "You kind of look like this. " The tall man somehow managed to make himself look small, squinting his eyes and holding his coffee cup with both hands and staring out at the sea. He let out a wistful, elongated sigh and placed one of his hands under his chin. After a moment, he perked back up and shot you a wide smile, chuckling at himself. "Did I get that right?"

You couldn't help but laugh. It was pretty spot on. "You're an ass, you know that?" You felt the insecurity in your body fade as you gave in to the joy of the here and now. This was your relationship with Sanji, friendly teasing and companionship, admiration and respect. Despite your desire to hide your romantic feelings towards him, there was no denying the fact that you had a certain chemistry together.

You found an unused surface of the counter and hoisted yourself up to sit. Sipping your coffee, you watched a master of his craft work his magic in the kitchen. Though Sanji never used a weapon in a fight, you were always impressed with how he handled a knife. He made quick work of the vegetables he retrieved from the pantry and set his mise en place in an orderly fashion. Every movement was intentional and effortless, like a well-oiled machine. No, more like a dancer artfully displaying great skill motivated by passion. Between the Sanji's movements and the relaxing sound of the knife hitting the cutting board, you became entranced by the man before you. Your eyes trailed the many details you admired about him. The strands of wispy golden hair that fell in front of his eyes, the cigarette dangling from his lips, the veins that protruded from his strong hands, the powerful stance of his muscular body...

"Getting hungry over there?" Sanji's gravelly voice snapped you back into reality. You forced your eyes to connect with his, hoping to all the gods that he didn't catch you staring. Judging by the flirtatious tone in his voice and the devilish smirk he gave you, there was no god that could save you. Shit. Your ears rang with the sound of blood rushing to your face. Was there any way out of this?

"I am!", you squeaked. "I'm always excited for your cooking, I was just admiring your technique. I can barely chop an onion without bursting into tears, haha!" An uncharacteristic chuckle rattled from your throat. You weren't doing yourself any favors, you were way too flustered.

Sanji raised a curly eyebrow at you, not buying your half-assed excuse for a moment. But alas, he decided to humor you. After all, when a woman lies, a real man forgives her. You were just too cute fidgeting on the counter, trying to hide your flushed cheeks from view. It was endearing to see the vulnerable parts of you that you rarely let show. Behind the quiet, sarcastic exterior you tried to front, you were secretly soft, gentle, and oh so obviously infatuated with him. He may have been girl crazy, but you made it very easy to figure it out. Guess it took one to know one.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he cooed to you. The term of endearment made your face feel like it was on fire. Maybe you could make up a new excuse to leave? Maybe you left the stove on? Wait, shit, that makes no sense. You’re literally in the kitchen right now! Think, think, thi-

A soft hand touched your clenched fist. The sensation was tender and warm. Its thumb lightly rubbed the top of your hand, coaxing you to relax. You looked up towards the hand’s owner to see Sanji, watching you with gentle eyes. “You know, if you have something you want to say, you should probably breathe first.”

You swallowed hard, hoping to dislodge your pounding heart from your throat. It was then that you realized you really had stopped breathing, taking in a sharp, cold breath of air that settled your body again. Sanji chuckled, relieved to see that his teasing actually helped. His radiant smile was adorned by the rosy apples of his cheeks, a sight that threatened to melt your heart all over again. You knew in your mind that he must have found you out at this point and the growing surge of courage in your chest beckoned you to finally break your silence. “I guess there has been something on my mind, something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about...”

Before you could get lost in your thoughts again, Sanji lifted your hand from your lap. Your eyes widened as he raised it towards his face to plant a small, delicate kiss across your knuckles. The warmth of his lips made the tentative butterflies in your stomach burst into a swarm, flitting through your every extremity by the gentlemanly gesture. As he placed your hand back on your lap, you needed to remind yourself to breathe once again.

Sanji returned to the pan on the stove to stir, the familiar sound of sizzling vegetables returned you back to the present moment. A flash of orange caught the corner of your eye as you looked out the window. The sun finally peaked its head from beneath the horizon to meet the new day. Feeling Sanji’s gaze on you, you turned back to him. The pools of his blue eyes looked at you with breathless affection, watching you as the sunrise bathed your face with a warm, golden light.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?,” he spoke with a voice like honey, his attention not breaking from yours. You nodded slowly, still processing the surge of emotions swirling in your mind. He raised the remains of his cigarette to the lips as your eyes trailed behind, taking one last slow drag before ashing it in its tray. A final puff of smoke escaped the smile that curled on his princely face. “We still have plenty of time before the crew wakes, if you want to share what’s troubling that pretty head of yours.”

Courage blossomed in your chest once more. There was no reason to be scared, not when you had someone like Sanji in your life. Not when you were surrounded by unconditional love on all sides. You took a deep breath in and exhaled the nerves from your body. You readied your words and spoke, letting this new day begin.

#one piece #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader #sanji x reader #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #sanji #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #op fic #op fanfic #wurm.txt #wurm.fic #one piece reader insert

361 notes · View notes