#Tyrone fan fiction

[megamindsecretlair]

Have Mercy

A/N: Based on this ask. It contained porno links. Whoever you are, ya nasty and I love you. This is a bit of a deviation so I'm sorry if it wasn't what you pictured! Thank you for the support!

Pairing: Pornstar!Tyrone x Black!Shy!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. FILTH for nearly 5k words! PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (fem receiving), cum play, possession kink, size kink, dirty talk, degradation/praise kink, Daddy kink, orgasm denial, overstimulation, all consensual. Use of n-word. Disrespectful Tyrone. Drug use. Established friendship.

Summary: After a very steamy porn video by Tyrone, you can't help your curious questions as you hang out and discuss his work. You'd been too shy to ask before, but you're dying to know what it's like in person.

Word Count: 5,284k

A/N: I was just waiting on the right spark to answer this ask. And...look, you all know how fuckin' feral I am for Tyrone. It's not a surprise. I promise 5k words is worth it. This was so fuckin' hot to write. I hope you enjoy it! Please, please, consider leaving a comment or reblogging to help support writers. I can't get better with no feedback!

Taglist: @planetblaque @dayjlovesromance @sevikasblackgf @melaninpov @amyhennessyhouse @henneseyhoe @honeyoriginalz @justheretostan @black-fairy3 @superhoeva @jarfulloftears @hereformiles @montysstuffs @westside-rot @blackerthings @blowmymbackout @euphoric05 @miyuhpapayuh @nicolexnight @8ttached @judymfmoody @wakandas-vibranium @soft-persephone @justabovewater20 @notapradagurl7 @mcotton0928 @soapjay @heyauntieeee @theyscreamsannii @mybonafidefeelings

“Okay, but like…they just kind of sit there and…” You stopped talking and started jerking your hand. You looked across the hazy space towards Tyrone. He was laying across the bed and looked at you down the blunt he held to his mouth. The orange-red spark glinted and then dimmed as he pulled it out. He licked his lips and then blew out the smoke.

“Shit, ion know. I do this shit myself,” Tyrone said. 

Tyrone passed the blunt and you grabbed it, bringing it to your lips and inhaling. You turned your head towards the ceiling, your eyes expanding. “So, you got a camera and microphones and shit?” You asked.

“Yeah,” Tyrone said and took the blunt from you. “Got to these days. If I’ma be rocking somebody’s shit, then everybody gon’ see it.” He brought the blunt to his lips and pulled on it. 

You tried to picture it. Your head was so blessedly silent for once. You actually formed a thought and kept it. Tyrone on the bed, naked. Showing off ropes and ropes of thick muscle. Arms strong enough to break coconuts. Thighs begging to be ridden. 

Your core heated up, a small tingle working up the back of your thighs. You bet he was the type to hold on and get to work. But you smirked at him and started to giggle. 

“You always talk that shit, Ty,” you said. Your giggles kept going, making your stomach hurt. You flattened your hand on your stomach. “Don’t make me laugh! My tummy hurt!” 

Tyrone stared at your high ass and smirked. Fuck. It took forever to make him laugh. Like the mu’fucka was born with ice down his throat. You longed to hear that rare, raspy laugh. 

“I talk big ‘cuz my dick big,” he said and huffed out a chuckle. It was barely enough to call it a laugh. 

The mention of his dick had you clenching your thighs. You’ve memorized the way Tyrone walked. He walked like he was swangin’ dick down there. Also, you’d never in a million years tell him, but you’ve seen his videos. 

You had second hand evidence that he was packin’. You have came plenty of times just to the sound of his voice on those videos. He rarely fucked the same girl twice. They were all different women; all Black women, and all thick Black women. 

You weren’t a snob. Sometimes you’d watch the woman getting their back blown out and wish it were you. But his voice. You were knee deep in his comments and he was gaining popularity just from his voice alone. 

You giggled again. “Where do you even find these women? You being safe?” You asked. You knew perfectly well that he fucked without a condom. Hell, you’d let him cum in you too. 

“I get checked every month and only fuck bitches that’s clean. Some hit me up. Some I find in the wild,” he said. 

He puffed on the blunt after you handed it back. Your body wasn’t floating but it felt like it. There was an all around hum on your body. 

“The wild? Like…damn, you just find women willing to have sex on camera and release it?” You never had enough courage to ask these questions before. But after last night’s video, you wanted to know. Your burning curiosity finally won out and started asking about it.

“You’d be surprised how many mu’fuckas wanna watch themselves. Some don’t wanna be seen. That’s fine. Hide they face and whatever. But the real nasty ones don’t cum unless the camera in they face,” he said. He released a cloud of smoke to join the rest.

You thought of being one of those women. Showing your face on camera for millions to gawk at. Cum to. You’d never in a million years…but the thought wasn’t terrible. There would be evidence that Tyrone fucked you and he’d control it. He could do anything with it.

“Do you rehearse and shit? Like do you know what you’re gonna say before?” You asked. 

“Hell naw,” he said and huffed again. 

He comes up with those filthy things on the spot? You bit your lip. Maybe…having sex with Tyrone wouldn’t be good. He’s a different breed. In a class all on his own. Sure, the videos could have told you that. But hearing it from the source? You weren’t so sure you wanted to find out what he was like. 

“You real curious tonight,” he said. The orange light from the blunt casted soft shadows over his face. 

You shrugged. “We ain’t talkin’ bout shit else,” you said. 

“You forget I know yo ass? You real curious,” he said. He looked at you skeptically. You looked right in his eyes. You were not going to give him an inch. You had years worth of experience pretending to not be in love with him. That every video wasn’t like a stab in the heart. 

He was making good money though and you weren’t gonna fuck with someone’s bag. So you kept your mouth shut. Pretended that you were just his friend. Just a friend. 

The bed shifted and Tyrone leaned closer to you. His eyes searched your face. He leaned in closer than he has ever been to you. His nose lightly grazed yours, making it both tingly and itchy. 

You swallowed hard and you knew you made a sound. Tyrone huffed, the breath fanning across your face.

“You trynna find out?” He asked. 

“Naw nigga,” you said. You didn’t know where this boldness came from. But your heart thundered in fear that he would learn your secret. You’d kept it so close to your heart for so long. It was like its own tiny dagger always piercing your heart. But sometimes removing it hurts you worse than keeping it in. If you opened your big mouth, you’d ruin this. This time spent together. 

Tyrone kissed your cheek. His lips lingering against your cheek as he spoke. “Every time I mention gettin’ down, you tell me I’m lyin’. So let me prove myself,” he said.

You giggled, the weed making him glow. You stared across his regal looks. You bet he was  a king in a previous life. 

You wriggled on the bed and took a deep breath. Stay strong. Stay strong. “You actin’ crazy, Ty. Not every girl wanna be yo bitch,” you said. You sounded weak to your own ears. 

“Mhm, I think you the one lyin’. I think you been cravin’ this dick,” he said. He pecked your cheek and traveled down. His lips kissed a trail of fire down to your neck.

“What you say that for?” You asked.

“You wanna know what it’s like to be fucked by me, don’t you?” He asked. He kissed up to your ear and laughed. “I know what desire look like. I eat that shit for breakfast,” he said.

His words made your mouth drop open. Words of denial rushed to your lips. But your mouth turned dry. The fuckin’ weed speeding along your anxiety at being exposed. 

“You trippin’, man,” you said. You shook your head, but he kept up the pressure on your neck. Practically making out. Little swipes of his tongue made you bite back a groan. Your panties were so damp, they were sticking to you. You ran the palms of your hands up and down your thighs. 

“You talk big game. You aint tell me to stop yet neither,” he said.

Fuck. True. But how could you? He hadn’t even done anything to you yet and you were ready to burst. You just made yourself cum this morning, thinking of the video last night. He had looked delicious pounding someone into the bed. How you wanted it to be you. 

Your words died in your throat. What could you say? He was seducing yo ass. Did you really want that to stop?

“Fine then, nigga. Break my back,” you said. You looked him in the eyes with the challenge in your eyes. He looked up at you and grinned. Yo momma ain’t raise no bitch. You got nervous sometimes but that’s okay. It’s okay to be nervous. Do shit anyway. 

The words sounded nice, but you were terrified of the look in Tyrone’s eyes. That was not the look of someone who was going to be sweet and loving in bed. Tyrone the Pornstar was here. 

He got off of the bed and moved the ashtray off of the bed and onto the nightstand. The sound of the glass was like a gunshot. You flinched and watched his every move. He stood up to his full height and stared at you.

The look in his eyes was not friendly. It was predatory. You were an unknowing baby bunny and he was a starving wolf. He reached out with his hands and ran them up and down your bare thighs. You gasped and flinched away from him. 

“When was the last time you been fucked?” He asked. 

You’ve taken your fair share of guys to your bed. Some were even good. None ever came close to Tyrone. Each time you came, it was to the sound or memory of Tyrone’s voice. 

“Been a while,” you said. 

He nodded his head. He reached for the zipper of your shorts and you let him unzip it. He didn’t pull your shorts down all the way. He opened your zipper as far as it would go and then pulled down the front just enough to see your panties.

You were hoping to disrobe in a quick rush. You weren’t exactly prepared for sex tonight. You wore one of your boring and safe panties. It didn’t bother Tyrone. He stared at it, like he’d just unwrapped a present. 

“Talkin’ all that shit. Why yo panties wet then?” He asked. 

You looked away briefly. “Thinkin of this guy at my job I got a crush on,” you said.

Tyrone dug his fingers into your panties and you cried out. “Every time you lie to me, that’s another orgasm,” he said. “I’m already thinkin’ of..four, maybe. I can keep goin’,” he said. His deep voice made you shiver. 

His fingers were right there. Your stupid panties were in the way. You felt the pressure but not his beautiful, strong hands. “I’m not lyin’,” you said.

He dug his fingers in more and you jerked from the strong wave of desire. It was like you drank static. 

“A’ight that’s five. And I want you to count ‘em out too,” he said. 

“Wait, I’m sorry,” you said. You never had your limits tested, but you were pretty sure you’d die after the third one. If he went for five, you weren’t going to survive. There were too many things you wanted to accomplish before you left this earth. 

“That sorry shit don’t work on me,” he said and grinned. “Now be a good little bitch and tell me you want this dick. And you want me to film it,” he said. 

A breath stuttered out of you. He was even better in person. “Don’t show my face,” you said. You borrowed boldness for tonight. If you survived to tomorrow, then that’s when you’d freak out. For now, you wanted the entire Tyrone experience. 

“Naw, this my personal stash. I wanna see that sexy ass face,” he said. He leaned over you and ran his thumb outside of your panties. You were leaking at the edges and his thumb glided so close to where you needed him. 

“Personal stash?” Maybe if you kept him talking, he’d give you a reprieve. You just needed a moment to think. To find a way out of five orgasms. 

“The ones I watch to get myself hard. The ones I cum to, thinkin’ of it when I’m balls deep in pussy online,” he said. 

Oh shit. “But–” your dry throat ached. It paled in comparison to the ache in your tummy. That deep, hidden place that few men actually hit. 

Tyrone slipped his thumb under your panties and crested the very outer area of your clit. You gasped and twitched, your legs couldn’t open wider because your shorts weren’t all the way off. He looked into your eyes. 

He licked your open mouth. “See, the game to porn? Focus on the woman. Always,” he said.

He increased his strokes until you were a shaking mess. You didn’t know you could make those types of sounds. But all of the tiny grunts and yips, turned to moans as you came from his finger circling your clit. He didn’t even touch it directly. 

He pulled his finger away and watched you jerk and twitch until you calmed down. He licked his thumb, made a surprised sound, and stood up. Your eyes tracked him as he stepped back and took off his black T-shirt. His jeans went next, his briefs tenting with his erection.

He stroked himself over his briefs and looked at you with his head crooked to the side. “Fuck, you’re sexy,” he rasped. He moved to the side of his room and there was the sound of devices getting moved around. You laid on the bed, your eyes back to the ceiling. 

This was really happening. You fought the urge to pinch yourself as Tyrone set up the camera. It had a retractable viewer and he flipped it around to the bed. You saw yourself lying there, staring at the camera.

Your pussy clenched at the thought. Tyrone had always been a man of his word. If this was his personal stash, he was the only one that would see you getting fucked. You wanted it so desperately, you leaned up on your elbows and started to remove your shorts.

“I say you can move yet?” He asked. 

You panted at his aggressive tone and shook your head, not trusting your voice. “Lay yo ass back down,” he said. You followed his command, laying back on the bed. Your body was floating this time. You felt every nerve in your body twitch up and await what Tyrone had in store. 

Tyrone puffed on the blunt as he finished setting up the camera. A moment later, he brought the camera closer and pointed it at your face. You blushed so hard that your cheeks burned from it. You knew they would be hot to the touch. 

“Smile for Daddy,” he said. 

You giggled and swiped at the camera. “Fuck you,” you said. 

Tyrone chuckled a little louder this time. He moved the camera down your body. “Take off the shirt first, nice and slow,” he said. 

You sat up and looked at him. Focus on him. That’s all you had to do. You’d make this the best damn video he can’t release. You took off your shirt, exposing your mismatched bra. That came next, slowly sliding it off your arms. You threw it at him and he caught it with one hand. 

He smirked from behind the camera and dropped your bra. He commanded that you stand up and take off your shorts. He told you to turn around and slightly bend over as you took off your panties. You stepped out of it and he groaned.

“Fuck, look at that pretty fuckin’ pussy,” he said. 

You clenched and then clenched again knowing that he was picking it up on the camera. “Crawl on the bed, get on your back,” he said. 

You did as he told you. You climbed onto the bed and exaggerated yourself crawling to the top of his bed. You flipped over, dropping onto your back. “Get comfortable,” he told you.

You moved a few pillows over to cradle your head and back. You instantly felt better. You closed your eyes with a smile. Your knees were pressed together, still feeling that lingering shyness. 

Tyrone tapped your knees. “Open them up for me,” he said. Tyrone had the viewfinder half flipped between you. He had it focused on your knees. You hid your face behind your hands and shook your head. 

“C’mon, do what I say,” he said. 

You groaned but opened your legs. You threw your arm over your eyes, not wanting to see his reaction. “Open them pretty eyes and look at me,” he said. His tone, more than anything, made you open your eyes and stare at him. Tyrone was not the gentle type online. He barked and commanded and did nearly unspeaking things to women. Soft wasn’t in his vocabulary. 

“You know how sexy you are?” He asked. 

“Of course I do,” you said. Your sexiness didn’t depend on no man. Not even Tyrone. You knew you were fine as hell. You ain’t pull niggas for nothin’. But you were still fuckin’ shy. Damn. 

“Don’t hide it then,” he said. He climbed onto the bed and moved the camera beyond your head. You craned your neck to see him fix the viewfinder where he could see. There was a perfect angle of the length of your body, your legs spread open, and Tyrone hovering above you. 

Tyrone then kissed you, rolling his tongue all over yours. You don’t know how long he spent kissing you. It was long enough to make you relax for half a second. When he felt your body go slack, he added his hands. He lowered himself to your body and rested on his elbows. His hands, he ran them all over your chest. 

He massaged your breasts, rolling your nipple between his warm fingers. Each twist was just this side of painful. And you groaned. Your head flopped on the pillow as he nipped at your neck. 

You brought your hands up to grip onto his back. Your nails lightly scratched him. He groaned. He kissed down your neck, moving onto the top of your titties. “Oh, shit,” you moaned as his lips latched onto your left nipple. 

He sucked like he was mining for gold. He rolled his tongue over the budding peak. He ‘d stop and examine his handiwork, see if it was satisfactory, then return his attention to it. He licked a long strip down the center of your chest to your tummy. 

He paid careful attention to each stretch mark, each tiny scar from you being clumsy, and every mole. His hands worked their way down too. Squeezing your sides. The upper, fleshy part of your thighs. He reached around and gripped your ass, squeezing the globes. 

He continued downward, running his tongue through your pubic hair. He reached the very edge of your pussy and you squirmed away. A cold patch started inching its way under your ass. Your arousal was already flooding his bed. 

He flattened his tongue against your pussy lips and you bucked off of the bed. “Oh fuck, Tyrone!” You yelled. 

Your skin was itchy. You needed relief in the worst way. He chuckled and nosed his way through your folds. He swirled his tongue lazily around your clit.

“Did you know you taste good?” He murmured into your pussy. His lips caught your clit and part of your pussy lips. You made an unholy moan. 

“Could eat this for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and still want some,” he said. 

“Fuck,” you whined. Your pussy clenched thinking of a repeat with Tyrone. How else he could be so nasty. 

The wetness of his tongue made you wetter. He began to increase the flicks of his tongue against your clit. “Oh shit, right there, right there,” you begged.

Tyrone backed away at the last second and you growled. He chuckled and kissed your clit. “You think just ‘cuz you want it, you s’posed to have it?” He asked. 

“Please, please,” you said. 

“Mhm, I knew yo lyin’ ass was gon’ regret what you said.” 

“Or maybe I just wanna cum and I’ll say anything,” you said, goading him into proving you wrong. You’d gladly be wrong, many times over, if he kept eating you like that. 

“Guess, we goin’ for six then. Start counting,” he said. 

“What?” 

“And the first one ain’t count neither,” he said. 

“That’s cheating!” You yelled. 

He looked at you from between your legs. You had to sit up some to see his half lidded eyes. “I look like a nigga that play fair?” 

Your chest rose and fell and you looked at him. You shook your head. “No, but–what can I do to bring that number down?” You asked. 

“Not a mu’fuckin’ thing,” he said. He kept watching you as he descended on your pussy, running his lips up and down, licking up your arousal. He watched as he tried different things, trying to see what you reacted to most. When he did something you liked, he stopped and switched tactics. 

You tried not responding, quieting your moans but then he’d bit the sensitive spot between your pussy and your leg. You’d jerk, complain about the pain, and say, “Don’t give a fuck.” 

You were back to moaning uncontrollably. So out of your mind in bliss, that you barely noticed that he stuck a finger inside of you. He pumped you, his finger getting wetter on each slide. “Oh fuck, oh fuck,” you chanted. 

“Let Daddy hear you,” he said. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you continued. Each word ended on a shriek. Tyrone sucked and you came, with a loud moan. Your hands moved down your stomach, down your thighs, scratching underneath them. Your moves were jerky, flopping against the bed. You didn’t know what to do with your body as you came. 

When you were done, air whooshed across your heated, sweat-slick skin. Tyrone licked up whatever was left over, making you twitch from your sensitive clit. 

Tyrone kissed up one side of your thighs. He slapped your pussy, making you cry out. “One!” 

He then pushed your legs back, your thighs grazing the bedsheets. “This where I want ‘em. Keep ‘em there,” he said.

How the hell was he still in so much control? You were a ruined mess. You couldn’t survive any more. 

Tyrone had other plans. He trailed his fingers around your clit and you moaned. “I can’t,” you said.

“Aw, you wanna tap out?” He asked.

You nodded. Your eyes were closed. You weren’t strong enough for another orgasm. 

“Still don’t give a fuck,” he said. He leaned up and over you. His thighs pushed at yours, folding you. He leaned on his fist, his muscles bunching and contracting. A vein started near his elbow and ran down towards his hand. You longed to lick it, but his arm wasn’t close enough.

You resorted to rubbing his arm. He brought his other hand to cup your pussy. Then a finger disappeared inside you. “Oh shit!” You said and jerked.

He added a second finger and you twitched. Your moans were turning painful. Robbing the breath from your lungs. You’d gasp for any little molecule of air. And then seize up once more as his fingers pumped in and out of you. “Mhmm,” Tyrone said.

“Nasty little bitch, ain’t you.” He added a third finger. 

“Ty, Ty,” you croaked out. 

“What? You need four?” He asked. He added a fourth finger and you rounded your eyes at him. As he pumped it into you, he turned his hand. Two fingers slipped out. The first two, he continued to pound into you. Then he crooked his fingers in a come hither motion and you exploded.

Your back lifted off of the bed as your orgasm steam rolled you. Your legs shook like mini earthquakes, each wave cascading through you like aftershocks. You reached for his chest, needed to feel something solid under your hands. He slapped your hand away and tilted his head at you. 

He grabbed your nipple and pulled and you shrieked. “Fuck,” you said. He arched his brow at you. “Two,” you said. 

You came down with tears gathering in your eyes. You sniffled as you shivered. Tyrone rubbed your arms, smirking at you. 

“Shit, may not need the camera. I’m gon’ remember this shit,” he said. 

You completely forgot about the camera. It turned you on that those orgasms were recorded. That he’d watch them again and again. 

He kissed your tummy, bringing your attention back. He kissed and suckled your skin. You watched it disappear into his mouth. You groaned when he started to hurt. He moved on to more patches of skin, kissing the underswell of your right titty. He caressed your hips and massaged your ass as he kissed his way to your neck. 

He bit your shoulder and then licked your neck. He placed kisses on your jaw and then kissed you. He licked the swell of your bottom lip. 

Your body relaxed into the feel of his lips on you. The weed still did its thing. Every kiss was its own inferno. Burning your skin and leaving no end in sight. 

Tyrone returned his attention to your neck, kissing along your ear. He licked the shell of your ear and lined up at your entrance. You didn’t even notice that he took off his briefs.

He slid in and you groaned. You brought your hand up to push at his chest. He stroked and coated his long dick with your juices. He moaned at the feeling of you. He threw his head back and you saw his neck swallowing. Tiny huffs escaped him.

“Goddamn, this pussy feels as good as it tastes,” he moaned. You clenched at his dirty words and he moaned again. 

“Wanna get fucked like a good little bitch?” He asked. 

“Yes! Yes, Daddy, please,” you begged, nodding your head. 

His strokes were long, languorous. His hands pinned your upper arms to the bed. “What happened to all that shit you was talkin’?” 

He wanted you to speak? Speak when he had his third leg half inside of you? He wasn’t even fully seated yet. 

“Talk that shit now with dick in you,” he said. 

You opened your mouth, ready to say something. But then he slammed all the way home, hitting your G-spot and making you cum instantly. You shook on his dick, eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your toes curled. The orgasm took all coherent thought. 

After, you sniffed as tears ran down your cheeks. Tyrone’s dick twitched, his eyes locked on your face. 

“Can get a nigga used to this. You cum so pretty,” he said. 

“Fuck, Tyrone. Please,” you whispered. He only smirked at you. He slapped his hand against your cheek. “Three,” you said with a cry. 

He moved his hand down your throat and squeezed. 

“Oh fuck,” you whispered. Tears fell in rivulets down your cheeks. You were past the point of feeling good in the afterglow of your orgasms. 

He kept up his slow strokes, making you feel every large vein sliding against your slick inner walls. “Put them legs where I want ‘em,” he commanded.

You lifted your aching thighs, putting your hands under to hold them open for him. “Please, Daddy.” 

“Please what? Ask nicely,” he said. 

He slowed down even more, almost to a torturous crawl. He wiggled his hips and his dick hit all the corners of your pussy. 

“Please, no more,” you said. 

“You know what to say to get me to stop,” he said. He wiggled his hips for emphasis. You whined and jerked on the bed. 

You didn’t want to punk out. But you truly couldn’t take another one. Still, one built up anyway. Tyrone chuckled at you, condescension poured out of him in waves. 

“You know I’m cummin’ in this shit right?” He groaned. He threw his head back and his hips twitched. 

You pictured him filling you up like a twinkie and your pussy clenched. “Like that? Want me to nut in you?” 

He squeezed your neck one last time. He moved his hand to your lower tummy and pushed down. You felt his dick from the other side, felt how deep he was inside of you. The tip of his dick kissed your G-spot. He kissed you, soft and nasty. “Talk yo shit then. Can’t talk with dick inside you?” 

Tears gave everything a watery haze. It streamed down your face. Tyrone licked up your tears and moaned low to your ear. “Gimme that nut then,” he said. 

On command, another orgasm rushed through you. Spots danced behind your eyelids. You squeezed your eyes shut. “Show me them pretty eyes,” he said. 

He smirked as you locked eyes with him. He angled his hips and your jaw dropped open. “Mhmm, I know. I know,” he said. 

As you were calming down, you muttered, “Four.” 

Tyrone slipped out of you and you drew your first real breath in what felt like hours. He leaned down between your legs, his mouth suckling on your clit. 

“Oh shit, oh fuck, oh fuck, Tyrone, Daddy. Please,” you moaned. 

“Open them fuckin’ legs,” he growled. You opened them wider, both your arms and legs were tired now. He brought his mouth back onto you and sucked roughly, dragging another orgasm out of you. Your eyes were permanently glued to the back of your head. Pleasure coursed through you, making your legs shake of their volition. Your soul left your body, your feet cramped. Sound exited your right ear and you felt this one in your eyes. 

You squirted and Tyrone leaned back. “Mhmm,” he encouraged. “Nasty fuckin’ bitch,” he said. He licked up your sopping mess. You continued to squirt, the pleasure still so intense. He leaned back and watched you cum, watched you squirt. 

“F-f-five,” you shook. Your teeth clattered and knocked against each other. 

“Look at you, bein’ a good little bitch,” he said. “You made Daddy wait for his nut though.” His voice turned sinister. 

He leaned up and slapped his dick against your clit. The wet slap turned you feral, and you cried for more. You begged for more. 

“Fill me up, Daddy,” you cried. Your fingers tore at your body. You wanted more even though you were ready to tap out. Ready to give it up. 

Tyrone chuckled as he slammed back in. “Oh fuck,” you cried and collapsed your legs. 

“Uh-uh, open them fuckin’ legs. Keep that shit open,” he said. 

You cried, tears long since dried up. He bottomed out and then rubbed your clit with his thumb. “Oh fuck,” you moaned.

“I know,” he said. 

He slid in and out, stroking deep. Deep enough to make you see stars. “Oh, fuck, Daddy,” your voice was high-pitched. “Fuck me, Daddy, fuck me,” you chanted.

“Im finna nut,” he moaned. “I’m finna nut, I’m finna nut.” Hearing his moans was like the spark you needed. You came again, gushing and soaking his dick. He threw his head back and unloaded inside of you. 

He kept going, kept fucking his cum into you. Hot splashes coated your pussy. You felt every pulse and twitch of his dick inside you. He emptied his balls into you and you moaned and scratched at his back. 

He slowed his deep strokes, stilling inside of you. 

“Good fuckin’ bitch,” he said. He slipped out of you, his cum leaking out behind him. He panted, his sweaty chest rising and falling almost painfully. 

“Oh,” you cooed and moaned. Your legs flopped onto the bed, instant relief from keeping them up so long. “Six,” you whispered. Your voice was hoarse. 

Tyrone kissed you. He breathed in your ear. “You ever have any more questions, you come let me know.” 

You were already gone to the world as he said whatever it was that he said. If you woke up in the morning, it’d be a miracle.

&&&

You okay? Need more? The Secret Tyrone Files

[8ttached]

"she's a real gem huh?"

pairings - (possessive) Fontaine x blk reader

warnings - (18+ smut, minors dni!!) not proof read, car sex (dont know if I would consider this as public sex since it's in an empty parking lot but you have been warned!!), aave, use of the n word, make-up sex

authors note - heyy I've been so caught up with other shit that i almost forgot about Tumblr but i finally whipped something up after weeks of writers block but i hope you guys enjoy!!!

word count - 946

(reblogs and comments are most definitely appreciated!! )

possessive Fontaine 

You always knew Fontaine was the possessive type. Not the loud “yells at anyone who stares at you” kind of possessive. But the “I know I'm lucky” possessive. The type to plant hickeys all over your neck for other niggas to see when they're talking to you. he gets a kick outta the ones who stare at them for too long

You were at the bar with yoyo and slick. Fontaine decided not to go since in his words “he got other shit to do.” your main plan was to stick together incase some weird shit happens but after a few drinks that plan was dropped. Yoyo was dancing while slick was god knows where and now you’re chopping it up with some nigga that claimed to “know you from way back.”

“Yeah, you haven't changed a bit! Same eyes as your mama” the older man said. You laughed nervously as you looked around the atmosphere. The guy began to compliment you again and again. Comments like “you look just like ya mama” and “you've gotten so grown” made your skin crawl.

You look at your phone checking the time, but you ended up seeing missed calls from Fontaine. not just one, but Multiple. You looked around looking for Yoyo and slick knowing that if Fontaine called multiple times, it was something serious. 

The older man's words suddenly turned into mumbles as you looked around seeing Slick and Yoyo nowhere in sight. You look down at your phone worried as you start to call Fontaine but something stops you. The older male said something as you weren't paying attention and a tall broad man stood behind you. 

“Yeah, she's a real gem huh?” he agreed.

The dark male's voice sent chills down your spine causing you to turn your shoulders, face to face with your boyfriend. Fontaine didn't say anything to you. His low-lidded eyes said more than enough. As you walked outside you remembered Slick and Yoyo were still in the club. Or so you thought.

“What about yoyo and-”

“They left.” 

Fontaine didn't look at you. His hands in his pockets, eye facing straight ahead, it all worried you. But what worried you most was Yoyo and Slick leaving you at the club knowing what could have happened. Especially with the weirdo you were talking to. 

You both get into his car. As you look down on your lap you feel a heavy shake from Fontaines side of the car. You smack your thick lips. “Damn nigga you ain't needa slam the door that hard.” but he didn't say anything, let alone look at you. He was giving you the cold shoulder. 

 “..taine” cold shoulder again. You sigh deeply. The car ride home was quiet

Fontaine set the car to park and took his key out the car. Before he could open the door you grab his shoulder. “Fuck you touching me for?’ he mumbles. “Fontaine it wasn't what it looked like” Your hand laid on his shoulder. “So you at the bar flirting to some older nigga wasn't what it looked like?” he turns to you, his grills shining as his nose turns up in irritation. “No, it wasn't! And you know I wouldn't do that shit to you” your voice cracked. You didn't want Fontaine to be worried about you. You were a big girl and you didn't need some hood nigga taking care of you, but you also didn't want him to think you were someone to share around. “Then what was it?”

 You ended up telling him everything that happened. From the plan, to the creepy comments. You made sure to lay everything onto the table. 

“Why didn't you say shit at the club?” he sighs looking straight at the driver's wheel as he sucked his teeth. “ ‘cus I know you taine and ion need that type of attention on me.” your eyes stuck at your dress. “That dress giving you every type of attention” Your boyfriend examines your short dress with a deep breath and hand rubbing his beard. He thought you looked jaw dropping but knowing Fontaine, he wasn't gonna let you see him fold so quickly, especially after what just happened. What’d you expect? He's stubborn. You smile, “Whatchu meannnn..” you laugh as you cross your hands, looking at him from the side. 

And like that, flirting quickly turned to fucking. 

Fontaine's rough hands groping your titties, ass, and hips time and time again. His name leaves your thick lips over and over again. the car windows steaming with warm breaths of ecstasy.

“Ion won't no other nigga looking at you” Fontaine groins. “ion care if yo ass was green, don't no nigga need to be laying they eye on what's mine.” you nod, too breathless, too caught up with with the feeling of Fontaine's hands rubbing that spot on your clit. ‘I'm all yours taine” you finally sigh. Your legs shaking as you finally came. But the rhythm of Fontaine's hips continued. His hands gripping your ass as his head lays back. 

“Fontaine, i cant..” you hold his arm. ‘I know baby i know, just relax mama m’kay?” you nod lightly laying yourself on his chest. Your warm breath on his neck. “Where you want it baby?” Fontaine's raspy voice asked. You were so fucked out of it, you couldn't let out coherent words. “In…side..” you moaned as Fontaine came inside you.

“You got it all on my dress!” you yelled out quietly as Fontaine grabbed the house keys. “That’ll show dem weird niggas ya already fucking with someone.” you notice his grin from the side which made you smile.

He really made you feel like a gem tonight. 

[emwritesfootball]

Clingy | Tyrone Mings

Hi, would you be able to do a longer, really fluffy, clingy Tyrone one, thank youuuu

A/N: Written a lot of filth the last couple days, so here’s some fluff. Also, I know I have a blurb or something with a clingy Ty but I cannot find it for the life of me so if there are similarities to that, just disregard xo

Warnings: slight mention of sex

- - -

The sun was already streaming in through the window, alerting you to the fact that it was morning but you couldn’t care less. You and Tyrone had had a late night the night before, staying up and watching a movie that turned into going to bed well past midnight. 

You rolled over, greeted by Tyrone still lying in bed next to you. Usually he was up well before you, either getting an early start to the day with a workout or checking in on one of his various endeavors outside of football.

“I don’t wanna get out of bed,” you murmured, voice still thick with sleep as you shifted to rest your head on his chest. 

Ty instinctively pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Me, either. It’s the first morning in a long time that I don’t have anything pressing.”

“Relax, baby. You deserve it.” You knew how hard Tyrone worked in all aspects of his life; sometimes you didn’t know how he did it, juggling a football academy, an interior decorating firm and his personal life outside of his football career. 

You traced the compass tattooed on his chest and moved to the words on his collarbone when you were done. 

“I’ve missed mornings like this,” he whispered, taking your hand in his and bringing to his lips. In one quick motion, you were underneath him and his face was buried in the crook of your neck.

“Me, too. I’ve missed having my own personal weighted blanket.” The two of you giggled, cuddling and kissing as you enjoyed your lazy morning.

When you finally got out of bed, both of you were practically attached at the hip. Tyrone didn’t leave your side as he joined you in the shower, and you followed him into the kitchen to cook breakfast together, feeding each other bites of toast and forkfuls of fruit while you waited for the eggs and bacon to cook.

You migrated to the sofa after breakfast, Ty with some interior design book and you with the latest book recommendation. He leaned back so you could lay between his legs, your back pressed against his chest while the two of you read. You exchanged kisses like page turns, losing track of time as the sun started to fall.

“Shall we order in?” Ty asked, already placing an order at your favourite nearby takeaway place, barely waiting for you to answer.

The food ended up like the two of you, all mixed into one big plate that the two of you shared. 

“This has been the most perfect day,” you said, climbing into Ty’s lap for cuddles and kisses.

“We should definitely do this more often,” he agreed, his hands coming up to wrap around your waist and trace circles on your back.

You went to bed entangled in one another, slow lazy kisses turning into slow lazy sex to end the day. 

If only you could do it all again tomorrow.

[fanchik-ua]

Tyrone, Tandy and Charles

° 🤍🖤 ° Tandy and Tyrone are characters in Marvel Comics.

°❤️‍🔥° Charles is a fictional character of my friend.

This art was created for the fan fiction "Once Upon a New Year's Eve".

That feeling when I tried to draw Tyrone.

But it turned out to be Aubrey Joseph 😅

[they-cloned-tyrone-online-romana]

Urmăriți ― They Cloned Tyrone Filmul (2023) Online in Româna

Urmăriți filme They Cloned Tyrone Online Subtitrate (2023) Gratis in Româna, Vezi They Cloned Tyrone la înaltă deFiniție și la calitate HD.

They Cloned Tyrone este un film american de comedie științifico- fantastică din 2023.

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Premiera They Cloned Tyrone (2023) la Cinema in cinemov

They Cloned Tyrone | Premiera la Cinema Elvire Popesco, Cinema Elvire Popesco, Bucharest, July 21 2023 | cinemov.lat

Unde să urmărești They Cloned Tyrone?

mai multe moduri de a viziona online filme They Cloned Tyrone în SUA Puteți utiliza servicii de streaming precum Netflix, Hulu sau Amazon Prime Video. De asemenea, puteți închiria sau cumpăra filme pe iTunes sau Google Play. vizionați la cerere sau pe aplicații de streaming disponibile pe televizor sau pe dispozitivul dvs. de streaming, dacă aveți cablu.

Ce este un film They Cloned Tyrone?

They Cloned Tyrone este un film american de comedie științifico- fantastică din 2023 , regizat de Juel Taylor în debutul său regizoral, dintr-un scenariu de Taylor și Tony Rettenmaier. Filmul îi are în distribuție pe John Boyega , Teyonah Parris și Jamie Foxx (care este și producător) ca un trio improbabil care descoperă o conspirație guvernamentală de clonare . David Alan Grier și Kiefer Sutherland apar și în roluri secundare.

Dezvoltarea filmului a început în februarie 2019, când scenariul a fost opționat din Lista Neagră de către MACRO Media. A fost conceput ca un omagiu care distruge genurile filmelor Blaxploitation din anii 1970, prezentând elemente de satiră , groază și umor absurd . Brian Tyree Henry a fost inițial atașat să joace ca rol principal, dar în cele din urmă a fost înlocuit de Boyega în octombrie 2019. Parris și Foxx s-au alăturat distribuției în septembrie 2020. Filmările au avut loc în Atlanta , Georgia , din noiembrie 2020 până în aprilie 2021.

când apare filmul lui They Cloned Tyrone în romana?

They Cloned Tyrone a avut premiera la Festivalul american de film negru pe 14 iunie 2023. A început o lansare limitată în cinematografe pe 14 iulie 2023, înainte de a fi difuzat pe Netflix o săptămână mai târziu. Filmul a primit recenzii pozitive din partea criticilor, cu laude deosebite îndreptate către interpretarea rolului principal.

cine l-a jucat pe They Cloned Tyrone film?

În rolurile principale : John Boyega ca Fontaine Teyonah Parris ca Yo-Yo Jamie Foxx ca Slick Charles David Alan Grier Kiefer Sutherland J. Alphonse Nicholson ca Issac Tamberla Perry ca Biddy Eric Robinson Jr. în rolul lui Big Moss

Informații complete despre filmele lui They Cloned Tyrone

They Cloned Tyrone (2023) R 06/14/2023 (US) Comedy, Science Fiction, Mystery 2h 2m

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Nu există niciun semn de They Cloned Tyrone Trail pe Disney+, dovadă că Casa șoarecilor nu are control asupra întregii francize! Acasă la titluri precum „Războiul Stelelor”, „Marvel”, „Pixar”, topurile National GThey Cloned Tyrone, ESPN, STAR și multe altele, Disney+ este disponibil pentru un abonament anual de 79,99 USD sau o taxă lunară de 0,99 USD. Dacă sunteți doar un fan al uneia dintre aceste mărci, merită să vă înscrieți la Disney+ și nici măcar nu există reclame.

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The Road to Water de They Cloned Tyrone nu este pe Paramount Plus. Paramount Plus oferă opțiunile de abonament potrivite: o versiune de bază acceptată de reclame a Paramount + Essential pentru 4,99 USD pe lună și un plan premium fără anunțuri pentru 9,99 USD pe lună.

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[neko-naruto]

An old friend

Summary: It has been years since anyone last set foot on Stans property, every since he had been hospitalized.

Dipper is planning on changing that with help from his sister, and maybe someone else.

Warnings: Cloning, hospital mention, implied suicide, abandoned buildings, implied blackmail, check tags for further warning.

Tagging: @max-the-hecker

Authors Note: I just watched the episode Double Dipper, trying to savor the 41 episodes, and let me tell you, the possibilities this opened up for me to write.

Hands in the pockets of his worn out navy vest Dipper walked out of the hospital, eyes stuck on the cracked pavement, he couldn't help but wish he could do something to fix Stan. He knew he couldn't, and he knew he shouldn't wish on it, but he couldn't help but care so much, Stan was his family after all. He kicked a rock across the ground before coming to a complete halt, taking note of the sound of footsteps rushing towards him. He stayed still while Mabel caught her breath, leaning on Dippers shoulder, she could practically feel the stress emanating from her brother.

"Do you, uh, do you wanna get some ice cream...?" Mabel asked, hoping it would cheer up her brother, she knew it wouldn't but, might as well try.

"No," Dipper replied with sharply as Mabel straightened out her posture and the two continued walking down the street. "I want things to be good again, I want Wendy to come back from the beyond, I want to go back home."

"Hey, Dip, it's gonna be ok," Mabel said, rubbing her brothers shoulder, brushing the tears from his face. "I can ask mom and dad to drive us back as soon as possible-"

"No!" Dipper snapped, expression quickly dropping as he tried to revoke his statement. "I-I mean, not really, I kind of want to head back to the, the Mystery Shack, or our old attic."

"Dipper, it's been shut behind chainmail fences, barbed wire and padlock upon padlock for years." Mabel said as they took a turn, coming up to the motel their direct family had rented two rooms in for their most recent visit, coming once every month just in case Stan doesn't last.

Gravity Falls has become stale, nothing new has happened in forever, Dipper and Mabel suspect the creatures have fled. Wendy is no longer in town, in a better place for lack of better terms, leaving both Mabel and Dipper with a fresh wound their parents don't understand whenever they bring up the trapper hat. Soos is still in town, but he's moved on from the Mystery Shack, holding onto the book Dipper once possessed for safekeeping, having returned it to the lad when he noticed Dipper back in town.

With a heavy heart Dipper swung open the door to the back seat of the car, Mabel slid in first till she was against the door opposite of the one Dipper opened. Dipper hopped in second, slamming the door shut and crossing his arms, pulling the comfort blanket from under himself and tossing it over to Mabel. Normally he would be fine leaning against the window and just sitting silently while the two wait for their parents, but today he was especially broken. He forcefully slammed his torso into Mabel who was unfazed by her brothers aggressive plea for attention, she simply wrapped an arm around his shoulder before draping the comfort blanket over him.

The two sat, marinating in the humid heat of the car, one window open just enough so they wouldn't suffocate in the mid summer heat of Gravity Falls. The silence drilled into Dippers head, maybe it was the blanket draped over his shoulders causing to much heat, was he getting heat stroke? No, he knew what heat stroke felt like, this most likely wasn't it, he sat up before twisting around a bit so his feet would be pressed against the window Mabel sat by, his torso on leather seating.

"Moms gonna kill you if you scratch the window." Mabel said, Dipper opted to rest his legs on the headrest behind Mabel who didn't seem to mind as she slouched against the window, one leg dropped nearly to floor behind the drivers seat, which was opposite to her, the other one resting on Dippers abdomen.

Dipper tossed the blanket on Mabel who tossed it back, they sat tossing a balled up blanket back and forth until their parents arrived and gave them the key to their room. The two rushed to reach their AC filled room, they found the key wouldn't fit perfectly due to the extreme heat causing the metal to expand. They took turns jamming the key into the door trying to unlock it, Mabel got closest to unlocking it before putting out a hand expectantly, Dipper reluctantly handing her the spare bobby pin he had learned to keep on hand.

When Mabel swung open the door they were greeted with a gust of chilling wind, they both heaved a sigh of relief as they dashed inside, Dipper ending up on the pullout couch before Mabel could take the preferred bedding. Mabel found herself throwing a half frozen root beer to Dipper who was greeted with an aluminum can to the face, he groaned in pain before popping the tab and taking a long slurp. Mabel swung her legs over the end of her bed, a can of orange crush in her hand, tongue stained the shade after she finished chugging the can with a satisfied sigh.

"You want to go to the Mystery Shack, right?" Mabel asked, the sudden question shocking Dipper into snapping up, ending up spilling soda on his shirt in the process, he quickly shed his orange shirt before the liquid could hit his skin.

"Yeah, kind of, but, I mean," Dipper said as he put his soda on the carpeted floor, tossing his now sticky shirt somewhere else. "But it got taken away from society when we could've kept it going."

"Dipper, we were fourteen-" Mabel tried to counter, be cut off sharply by dipper.

"Legal in some parts of Canada!" Dipper snapped, pointing a finger at his sister in an accusatory manner, Mabel rolled her eyes, Dipper giving a weak 'Sorry.' before lying down once again, propping his head on the arm rest at an angle that would cause problems later, he wished he could go back to working at the Mystery Shack like the good days, but no, just cause Stan got hospitalized the family business got driven into the dirt.

"Dip, do you want to go to the Mystery Shack or not?" Mabel asked sharply, Dipper nodded, unable to muster a proper vocal answer.

"Yeah, I do, but it's locked up." Dipper said with a sigh as he reached for a light blanket and turned away from Mabel, pulling the blanket over his head as he did so.

"I'm sure we could just, break in." Mabel offered, Dipper sat up slowly, still draped in blanket.

"Mabel, thats illegal." Was all Dipper had to say with a sigh of disappointment.

"Technically it's family property." Mabel stated as a counter argument, that gathered Dippers attention fully, he practically jumped to his feet as he tore through his suitcase for a fresh shirt.

"Then pack your fucking bag, let's go." Dipper said matter of factly before Mabel grabbed her backpack, emptying a few unneeded items, making sure she kept a battery pack, why she had one, no one was quite sure, but she knew she would need it one day.

---

Here we find Dipper and Mabel alike standing at the bottom of a chain link fence, barbed wire coiled in spirals at the top. Dipper put out a hand, Mabel handed him a pair wire clippers, he started working at the lowest possible row of wires, leaving only a foot to crawl through, up and down. Mabel crawled through first, able to slide through with ease, Dipper ended up ruining his hat

"Wow," Was all Dipper had to say. "They really let this place go to shit."

"Yeah man, they abandoned this place." Mabel said, nudging her brother with her elbow, smirking a bit before walking to the front door, Dipper followed close behind.

"Mabel, they didn't leave the door unlocked," Dipper said, Mabel jiggled the handle until it gave way and fell from its socket, that's certainly welcoming. "Mabel, you broke the door handle."

"I'm sure we'll be fine." Mabel said before pulling open the door slowly, a loud creak sounding off as rusted hinges fought to stay shut.

The two were greeted with a cloud of dust and a room coated in webs, some cob and others active. Oddly enough the light shining in from windows was enough to keep the room well lit, they even found that most of the souvenirs were still in place. Out of sheer curiosity, Dipper attempted to turn on the lights, finding the bulb flickered aggressively in an attempt to stay on, enough electricity for just barely one bulb.

"Mabel, can I have that battery pack," Dipper asked, Mabel gave a questioning look at his brothers question. "Please give me the battery pack, Mabel."

"Alright, I'll be on the roof if you need me." Mabel said before handing Dipper the battery pack and jumper cables, one can't simply go without the other.

"Kay, I'll be downstairs if you need me." Dipper said before sliding the battery pack and jumper cables into his own bag, tossing Mabel a can of cream soda, she caught it before walking up the now breaking ladder, Dipper heading to the basement.

Dipper pushed open the door slowly, finding that their was no light in the basement and the stairs faded into darkness. With a sigh he reached for his flashlight and flicked the switch, a cone of light shining down and lighting the way. The roof and stairs were covered in webbing, all of which cob, along with sticky and dried substances, he chose to believe were spilled pop. He took one step onto the first step, a loud creak sounded off, one that could've turned to a crack, he was lucky it didn't as he stepped further down.

When he reached the last step he realized how cold it was, he blindly reached for a light switch, flicking on the single light. It wasn't exactly bright, but it helped, he started on his way to the closest lamp that shone more light than the actual light in the basement. He found that nothing much had changed from what he remembered, one item was underneath a sheet though, and without anything better to do in an abandoned basement, he reached for the sheet and yanked it off.

Dipper was greeted with the sight of the old copy machine, the one that could copy human flesh and bring life to it.

He remembered what this machine had caused, he hated to think of it, he knew three and four were probably still out their living their best lives, none the wiser to Stans case.

He kicked the copy machine with a grumble, never wanting to see it again.

But, he might as well see if it still works, he did miss his copies.

He pulled off his bag before crouching and pulling out the needed items to try and jump start it. He unplugged the machine before hooking up each jumper cable to their respective location, unsure if this was even a mildly ok idea. Without a second thought he started the battery pack, everything was silent before the machine started to hum in contentment as electricity started to flow.

Shakily was how he lifted the lid of the machine, it snapped off, he hoped he could fix that as well. Hoping it wouldn't break under his weight he hopped on and laid down on his back, pressing the button on the side of the machine. He took note of the how the green strip of light tingled against his skin despite the vest and pants he wore, he had to refrain from squirming as his genetics were copied.

He heard the sound of paper being shot out as the green light shut off, he slid off the glass screen before waiting for the paper to finish printing.

As the paper fluttered down to the floor he stood expectantly for something good to happen.

Dipper sat on the creaking floor as he waited, nothing happened for quite some time, maybe he was wrong hoping that the old thing would work. He picked up the paper and held it in front of him, nearly dropping it when the copy started to push from the paper, he did fall back when he was hit with the full weight of his double. The internally rotting floorboards nearly snapped under their combined weight, they shared a look of fear.

They both scrambled to move from the floorboard, Tyrone ending up slamming himself into the copy machine, he gave a weak groan as his still forming body ached. Dipper ended up knocking the lamp off the edge of the counter, the bulb shattered with a high pitched sound as the metal cooled and dimmer. The two sat in near perfect darkness and silence, relatively heavy breathing the only thing that could be heard.

Tyrones heart beat pounded in his ears, suddenly back again after so long, how long had been out for?

Oh, he was confused.

He couldn't believe he had been brought back, a swarm of fresh memories hit him. His confusion turned to grief and stress in a second as he crossed his arms loosely.

"So, I guess you've forgiven me after so long." Tyrone said as he stood up, plain blue and white cap in his hands.

"Yeah, one could put things that way." Dipper said before standing up, rubbing one of his arms nervously.

"Ha, it's kind of awkward you know, I haven't been in existence for so long, yet, I'm back again, in your time of need, again," Tyrone said nervously, looking to the side as he rolled his eyes. "If you could call Grunkle Stan dying in a hospital a time of need."

"Guess so, it's been really rough lately, and I guess I wanted to see someone who would understand." Dipper said quietly.

"Do you want a hug or something?" Tyrone asked, considering he had only existed for only four and a half hours, he had no clue what was socially acceptable in this situation, didn't help he was Dipper, that only made things worse.

Dipper nodded slowly, nearly on the verge of crying, if it weren't for the distance he would've felt safe to body slam Tyrone as a hug substitute. Instead of a body slam he took a running start, knocking Tyrone back onto the printer, the battery kicked out of the way in the process. The edge of the printer dug into Tyrones back, but he didn't complain, simply attempted to comfort Dipper instead, not one hundred percent sure of how.

"Hey Dipper, do you have any more cream soda?!" Mabel shouted down the stairs as she slowly stepped down, coming to a complete halt when she reached the bottom.

Ever so slowly she raised her phone, smirk growing wider as Tyrone silently begged her not to, she ignored his silent plea as she snapped the picture.

"I guess my brothers gay for his clone."

"Mabel, this is nothing like what it looks like."

"Sure."

[megamindsecretlair]

I wish you would write a fic….

with a submissive Tyrone.

Like he’s hesitant at first, not really with it, but as it goes on he opens up a little bit more. I think he’s think he’s too tough to “wine” or “sound like a bitch”, but maybe reader convinced him somehow, and while he doesn’t eventually makes some sounds he begs more with his words, he gets all squirmy and he keeps chasing his hips you reader’s touch….. or something like that. 🫣

Ask and ye shall receive, sweet anon!

Pretty (Pretty) Boy

Pairing: Sub!Tyrone x Dom!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. FILTH. PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (male receiving), teasing, cum swallowing, dirty talk, praise kink, D/s lite, breeding kink if you squint, all consensual. Use of n-word. Referring to female anatomy as "she".

Summary: See ask. For Valentine's Day, you decide to shake things up. You ask to take control in the bedroom and it unleashes a side of you that you want to see more often.

Word Count: 4,946k

A/N: This ask been kicking my ass!!!!! It has been in my box for so long, I am SOOO sorry, anon! I definitely got in my head for too long and didn't think I could pull it off. Whew! I had a bad day and this absolutely cured me. I need to lay down!! Sorry about the wait, but I hope you enjoy! Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

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“Can you at least try to enjoy it?” You pouted at Tyrone’s scrunched up face. You had tied him to the headboard because you knew your man. You knew that the things you had in mind were going to make him want to grab you and touch you. 

And once he started touching you, he would get his way. He always got his way. Not that you were complaining. Tyrone was addicted to your body and couldn’t help but touch all your smooth curves. But you had been floating this idea in your mind for a few weeks and tonight was the perfect night to try it. 

For Valentine’s Day, you asked Tyrone… if you could be the one in charge. Just thinking about having the entirety of this man at your mercy had you clenching your thighs beneath your robe. 

He tested the restraints by tugging on them. “You tied these a little too good. You been takin’ notes,” he said. He gave you a smirk, licking his lips and tilting his head to try and get a peek beneath your robe. 

You grabbed his chin and pushed his face to meet yours. You gave him a quick peck. “If you’re good, you’ll get rewarded,” you said, dropping your voice to a silky purr. 

You saw your words sink into his eyes. They rounded for half a second before his eyes drooped. “Aight, aight, but I ain’t no bitch,” he said. 

You gave him another peck. “Of course not,” you said. You gave him a wink and finished checking over the restraints and that he couldn’t secretly get out. You made sure the ties were well out of reach of his long fingers.

Those fingers were capable of bringing you intense pleasure and deftly worked over every inch of your skin. If he could get out of the ties, he absolutely would take over. 

The sweet, subtle aroma of honeysuckle and orange flower blossoms filled the room from the candles you had lit. The lights were dimmed giving it a completely intimate feel despite it being a basic room you were overly familiar with. 

You glanced at Tyrone as he watched you, a bit wary. You giggled. “I ain’t gon’ hurt you. Don’t you trust me?” You asked. 

“I trust you. I just..Ion know about this one,” he said. 

You leaned down once more and got close to his face. “Hey, we have a safe word. At any point you want me to stop, I will,” you said and pecked his nose, knowing he secretly loved that shit. He relaxed onto the bed, the rumpled sheets beneath him bunching up. 

“Come on then, baby. Show me what ya got,” he said.

You grinned and stood up, surveying your work. He looked damn good, sitting up against the headboard like a concubine. He still wore black briefs fit snug over his lower half. So plump and thick in thighs and ass that you wanted to take a bite out of him. 

You held yourself back and then told him you’d be right back. You went to your phone on the dresser and turned on your “Grown” playlist on Spotify. The deep croon of Ro James floated softly through the speakers and you left the room. 

You went to the bathroom, nerves bubbling in your gut but you stamped it out. Tyrone was being brave and letting you play out a fantasy of yours so you had to be brave as well. You took a few deep breaths and let your other side come out. Let your inner freak rise to the surface and completely take over. 

You looked good, he looked good, and you were getting everything you wanted and then some. So you threw your shoulders back and admired your sexy lingerie. You checked over the baroque garter belt with the straps pinching pleasurably into your thighs. The thigh high fishnet tights were flushed against your legs and your bra had your girls looking lovely. 

You left the room and walked back to your room. When you opened the door, Tyrone’s eyes snapped to yours. Heat brushed all over your skin as you walked further in and he took in your outfit. 

His briefs began to tent a little with evidence of his arousal standing at attention. You walked over to him, giving a dramatic swing of your hips. You trailed a finger from his legs to his thighs, to his stomach. His stomach contracted as you reached higher and he inhaled sharply as if you burned him. 

“Got damn,” he said, licking his lips. He moved his hands forward but was held back by the ties. He looked up and cursed, a smirk on his lips. “Forgot already. I really can’t touch you?” He asked.

“Ion know, maybe if you ask nicely,” you said. 

You bent down and grabbed the bottle of lotion there. It was unscented, but it would do the trick. He looked at you funny until you squirted some in your hand. He watched as your hands descended on his legs, rubbing the lotion into his skin.

“What you doin’?” He asked.

“You take care of me all the time. I want to take care of you. Now sit back and be quiet,” you said. You gave him a stern look and he smiled. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. 

You smiled, pleased that he was trying in his own way. You rubbed his legs and feet. He was jumpy by the time you got to that point, not used to anyone touching them. You kept it brief since you weren’t at the torturing stage yet.

Your eyes flicked to his as you worked on the other leg, an evil smirk on your face. He had no idea what he was in for. Was this how he usually felt? Drunk on power that he could do anything he wanted to your body and you would enjoy it? And you had no fuckin’ clue?

You advanced up to his thighs. A tiny sound escaped him, too low for you to hear what. He smiled at you to cover it up, biting his bottom lip and sitting back against the headboard. His eyes were lidded.

“Aren’t you being a good boy,” you said. 

“I like to please,” he said. 

“Mhm, you like to tease,” you said. You worked his massive thighs, spreading lotion all over. It was such a small thing, but you were mesmerized by the way the lotion sunk into his bronzed skin. 

He had a smattering of hair on his thighs as you relished in the feel of him. The power in his thighs alone. He could crush watermelons and you thought about how you were going to ride him.

You had been debating how to do just that once he said yes to doing this. Your pussy clenched thinking of riding him reverse cowgirl. Bouncing on his dick while you fondled his balls. Or you could ride him cowgirl and dig your nails across his chest. You could watch his face while you selfishly took what you wanted. 

The back of your neck tingled. You probably shouldn’t do this too often in the future if he was open to it. You were entirely too excited to use him like your own personal sex toy. 

You bent low over him while you pretended to work a problem area. A part of your arm grazed his dick and he hissed, ending with a small sigh. You pressed kisses to his stomach, intentionally skipping his dick. But your mouth was close enough that a little dip to your chin would bring your lips to the base of him. 

“You are the most amazing man ever. Do you have any idea how much I love you?” You asked. You peppered your praise in between kisses. “Do you have any idea how happy you make me?” 

You looked up at him while he had a wide smile on his face. His toothy grin brightened his face, making him as open as you've ever seen him. He was usually scowling, so damn serious all the time. His mind stayed on his money and his lady. You smiled at the joy you saw there. 

“Shit, got a nigga blushin’ over here,” he said. If you weren’t mistaken…his voice was a little thick with emotion. 

You weren’t going to point it out so you kissed his dick through the fabric. “You’re doing so good for me, Ty. You comfortable?” You asked.

“You could loosen these ties,” he said. 

“Nice try,” you said. You stood up and put more lotion into your palms. You worked your way over his chest, rubbing his solid stomach and studying his dips and grooves. You’d been together long enough that you knew every inch of him.

But it was rare when you got to explore his body. Take your time and see what you could do to him. Your hands crept up his sides and when you wiggled your fingers, he twisted away from you. 

“Aye, aye! Don’t start that shit!” He yelled. 

“Excuse me?” You asked. 

“Don’t start that shit!” He said. 

You slid your fingers upwards anyway and tickled him in earnest. He twisted and writhed beneath you, his legs flopping on the bed.

“Because I seem to remember begging for mercy and someone said no,” you said. You giggled as you watched his face in a mix of pain and happiness. He threw his head back trying to get away from you but he was powerless. 

“You’re lucky I’m nicer,” you said. You stopped tickling him and moved your attention to his arms. You licked your lips as you ran your hands over his muscles. Back and forth, back and forth. His muscles contracted and you traced one long vein down his forearm.

His tattoos were an aphrodisiac all on its own. The lion was your favorite. He said it represented his dueling spirits, both lover and fighter. You worked the lotion into his wrists around the restraints. Too bad you couldn’t rub his hands. He had such big hands, big enough to grab your ass whenever he felt like. Which was all the time. 

Tyrone loved you out loud and that was your favorite part about him. There wasn’t an inch of your soul that didn’t love and cherish this man. You didn’t have the words or the comprehension to let him see how much you loved him. How much you woke up everyday and had to wrap your fingers around your arms and squeeze them tight. To make sure that it was real and you had a man who adored you. 

You just wanted to make him feel good. To make him feel a fraction of what he did for you on a regular basis. You cleaned your hands on a towel on the nightstand. “Feel good, baby?” You asked.

Tyrone groaned, his eyes drooping further as if he could go to sleep. He smiled, wide once more. Fuck, you would never get sick of seeing that look on his face. You would take a mental snapshot and lock it in your heart. You would pull it out a thousand times a day just to remember this over and over again. 

“Yes, ma’am. I see why you always askin’ for one now,” he said with a chuckle. Hell yeah. When Tyrone rubbed your calves after a stressful day on your feet, you were jelly in his hands and would agree to absolutely everything he wanted. If he wanted to pour ice cream on your pussy and lick it off, you would not object. 

But tonight was about making him feel good. You smiled as you went to the foot of the bed. You turned your palm until you were cupping his balls. 

“Now, what do we have here,” you said. You increased the pressure a bit, squeezing his balls until he groaned a little louder. 

You turned your fingers, massaging his balls in the way you knew made him glitch. He jerked and twisted beneath you, his breaths coming in choppy and weak. Your pussy throbbed, watching the mix of emotions play out over his face. 

Oh, you could get used to this. Used to driving him wild first. “Okay, okay, okay,” he huffed. He drew his legs up to try and dislodge you. His arms wrestled with the ties as he tried to get free. When it felt too good, when his voice was low in the back of his throat, he would make you stop. 

He assured you that he couldn’t cum this way, but you wanted to know what would happen if you kept going. If he didn’t stop you by pushing your hands away. You continued fondling him and he squirmed beneath you. His arms shook more violently as he tried in vain to stop you.

“You know what to say to get me to stop, baby. You gon’ say it?” You asked. 

His eyes were closed tightly, head thrown back. You relished the look of strain on him. How he looked so…pretty. 

He sounded so pretty too. His little staccato whimpers were turning you on in the worst way. You were dripping wet already and you hadn’t really done anything yet. You were going to burn up before you had a chance to let the night play out.

You were too excited, too turned on. Electricity danced in your veins. Your fingers tingled. Everything seemed amplified. His hair is just a touch more coarse. His voice throaty and guttural. The honeysuckle scent invaded your nostrils and now you would forever associate him with the scent. 

“Hol’ on, hol’ on, damn,” he groaned. 

“Ah, ah. You’re a big boy, use your words,” you cooed to him. You leaned forward, getting closer to him so that you didn’t miss a single thing.

The way sweat gathered on his brow and slid down his neck. The way his wide nose flared. The way his pink tongue darted out to lick his parched lips. Those sharp intakes of air. It was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

Your heart cracked in two as you finally got a sense of what he had been talking about. How him hovering over you, looking down at your face, made his entire world light up. You understood now. You felt that same light burst out of you. You were breathless with it. 

“Babe, babe,” he said. His voice was so strained. You were so wet. An empty ache pulsed at the core of you. You needed this man inside of you. But you wanted to savor each moment too. 

“Words, Tyrone, or I stop,” you said.

“No, no!” He shouted. 

“Oh, so you can use your words,” you mocked. 

“Yes,” he hissed. 

“Well then, show me. Show me you can use your words like a good boy,” you said. 

“Don’t stop,” he said. 

“Do better. Beg me, Tyrone,” you commanded. 

It was a desperate need to hear the words on his lips that crawled over your skin. 

“Fuck,” Tyrone said. He licked his lips a few times. His breathing was choppy. The rapid rise and fall of his chest had you clenching and unclenching around anothing. 

He was trying to hold onto that bit of control. That stubborn fight in him was costing him unnecessary torment. You moved closer so that you could peck him with kisses on his temple and cheek.

“Shh, shh. It’s okay. You can let go, baby,” you whispered in his ear. 

You huffed and jerked as if he would cum but it didn’t seem like he was going to bust. You knew his face and that wasn’t it. 

You moved your hands to the band of the briefs. He took in deep breaths as your fingers slipped below the band. 

“You gotta tell me the magic words,” you said. 

“Come on,” he groaned. 

His hips moved side to side so subtly you almost missed it. Your fingers slid across his skin and you smiled. He was enjoying this. He really was lucky that you were so nice. You weren’t going to lord it over his head. 

“You come on. You want that nut, don’t you, baby?” You asked. You lowered your voice so that it was a little softer. He loved the sound of your voice and when you talked like this, like an innocent little doll, he said it made him brick up instantly. 

“Fuck,” he huffed out. “Please, babe. Touch me,” he said.

“Hm, that sounds like a command. Are you ordering me to do something, Ty?” You asked.

“No, ma’am,” he said. He shook his head back and forth. 

“Come on, be good for me,” you said.

“Please, please, please touch me.” he said. 

You kissed his cheek. “Thank you, pretty boy,” you said.

You began to stroke his long, thick dick. Your hands barely wrapped around him. You used both hands to stroke him slow and hard. 

The song switched to Sevyn Streeter and you shivered. Her songs always made you feel so sexy and in your feminine power. Impatient, you moved his briefs down so that you could look at your handiwork.

You looked at your hands with your nails painted in your favorite color. Your hands sliding over his dick, getting all kinds of delicious sounds from him. How it seemed you were pumping the cum out of him. 

He was still so pretty. Dicks were not supposed to be pretty. They were wrinkly and hairy. You’d seen one, you’d seen them all. Perhaps that was only for men you didn’t like. Because Tyrone’s was like no other. He wielded that thing like a deadly weapon.

It had been inside of you, handing out orgasms like it was sustenance. He kept himself well trimmed and groomed. Telling you that he needed to keep your plate clean. You watched your hands and suddenly grew jealous that they were having all the fun.

You got onto the bed and straddled him in a reverse cowgirl stance. You leaned across his thighs and stomach, scooting your ass back until it was tucked high in the air. Your face was level with his dick so you sucked him down. 

“Oh, fuck,” he jerked off of the bed. You rode him, wiggling your ass for him. His breath fanned across your ass as he tried to lean forward. There wasn’t much slack on the ties so he only got so far. 

“Umf, lemme taste you, please?” He asked.

He was a quick learner. You suckled the tip of his dick and the roar in his chest almost made you cum on the spot. You let him go with a wet pop, licking your lips to collect wayward precum. 

“You know my pussy wet, Tyrone,” you sung. You wiggled your ass. You looked back at him. His eyes were transfixed to your jiggly ass, the globes shaking with its own gravity. He groaned. His hands flexed. Like if he could just grab hold all would be right in the world. 

“You got me so fuckin’ horny, baby,” you moaned. 

“Oh, I need to taste it, babe,” he said. 

“You wanna taste me?” You asked.

Tyrone nodded, tearing his eyes away from your ass just long enough to give you a quick glance. 

“You gotta earn that. Be a good boy for me and cum in my mouth,” you said.

You put your lips back on him and sucked on him just the way you wanted. You went at your own pace, bobbing your head up and down and trying to fit as much of him as you can. His hips bucked on the bed. The heels of his feet dug into the sheets as you gagged on him. 

He lifted his hips and came with an aggressive growl. You sucked and moaned as his cum filled your mouth. You swallowed all of it. Usually you stopped and went to wipe your mouth of any more. But this time, you kept going.

These sounds were different. These were raw and primal. He muttered and sputtered through all kinds of excited sounds as you sucked the fucking soul out of him. 

“Uh, u-” he moaned.

You gyrated on his chest. You felt that moan deep down inside. All the way down to your womb. 

“Shit, I-!” He bucked his hips again and came one more time. His cum splashed the back of your throat and once more, you drank him down. You slowed your strokes, running your tongue lightly down his shaft. He made tortured moaning noises that had you seeing double. 

You stopped with your lips around his tip and then finally let go. You moaned and looked back at him. He was definitely in pain now. That shouldn’t quite turn you on this much. But who were you trying to fool?

You loved this look of pain on his face. Where he gave way to his base instincts. To fuck and be fucked. 

“You earned an award, baby, for being so good,” you said.

Your left hand descended down to your pussy where your fingers instantly slipped through your wet folds. You collected your essence and brought it to his lips. He panted before smelling your scent on your fingers.

His eyes were closed so he moved by the tilt of his wide nose towards your fingers. He opened his mouth and suckled them into his mouth. His tongue ran over your fingers, collecting every last drop.

“You so pretty, Ty,” you breathed. 

“Timeout,” he panted. 

You nodded and got up off of him. The song switched once more to Victoria Monet. It was a good song to relax to. You laid down next to him, wrapping your arm around his middle and staying there. 

He groaned and shook beneath you. His eyes were so tightly closed you wondered if he was intentionally getting himself hurt. 

“Are you okay, Tyrone?” You asked.

“Too much,” he whispered. 

You nodded and focused on not setting his skin on fire. You gave him small, tolerable kisses while he calmed down. You checked on him periodically, making him talk it out like he did for you. 

“Baby, please, I need to be inside you,” Tyrone finally whispered. You looked down the length of him. He was growing by the second. He swelled against your thigh, filling up just for you. 

“You sure you want to keep going? We don’t have to. You’ve already given me so much,” you said. 

“Please,” he said, his voice breaking on the word. “I’m going to die if I don’t get to feel you. I’ll get on my knees and beg right now, untie me,” he said.

You looked up and brought your hand up to cup his face. Stroke his beard. Your hands slid down to his arms, past the tattoos all over his arms. There were some on his chest as well. You wanted to lick every single one. 

You straddled his hips and leaned up so you could look at his face. His eyes immediately went to your breast, concealed by your peek-a-boo bra. The sheer lace let him see your nipples. You played with your breasts as you began to tease him.

You slid your wet pussy across his chest and he licked his lips. His eyes dipped down to where you gyrated on him. His eyes. There was so much you could glean from his eyes alone. He wanted to devour you whole. 

You didn’t give him what he wanted. This was still your fantasy. You turned around on him, getting into a sitting position. You moved your panties to the side and grabbed his dick. You guided him inside you. He was as hard as a brick and nearly as thick as one. 

You groaned, sitting yourself down on that beefy dick. His head thumped on the headboard a few times as you seemed to continue sliding. Only Tyrone could get so deep that you felt him kissing your cervix. You clenched around him thinking of how he could fill you up directly. Shooting his load to the heart of you.

You weren’t sure when or how you became obsessed with being filled up by him but the image was provocative. Everytime he went inside you, your mind instantly flashed to how passionately he would grab your hips and slam you down on his dick.

You groaned and began to bounce, the bed creaking loudly over the music playing. It spurned you on more to hear it. You bounced faster, chasing your pleasure with reckless abandon. 

“Fuck, use me,” Tyrone moaned. “Use me, baby.” 

Your hands gripped his thighs and held on. You steadied yourself and bounced to your heart’s content. He moved seamlessly inside you, pulsing every now and then with his desire. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” you moaned. Your screeches were getting louder and louder. 

“Let me feel it, baby, please,” he said, tacking on the please at the last second. Old habits die hard. 

All the teasing you did to him only served to tease yourself. You were already close. Especially with how deep in your guts he was. At this rate, he could definitely rearrange some things in there. You bounced faster. You were so close. So close. So close.

You screamed as you came, howling into the night that you were in heaven. Soaring through the clouds with wind in your air and space beneath your feet. You paused, clutching his thighs as you shook on top of him. 

You cried, your voice too warbly to be coherent. No help from him and you were still a mess on top of him. Flooding him with your arousal. You clenched and unclenched his dick, squeezing him tight enough to make him moan. 

“Can I cum in that pussy?” Tyrone asked. He moved his hips, wiggling you on top of him. You moaned as he pulsed inside of you. You were still so sensitive from your powerful orgasm. A shiver worked its way down your spine and you arched into it. 

“Since you asked so nicely, you can,” you said. 

Tyrone moved his hips. He managed a few inches and your eyes crossed feeling him deep inside. You wanted him to stay there. You wanted to stay connected. If he wanted you to cockwarm him, you would. Just sit there with him lodged inside of you busting load after load into you. 

“Ouue,” you moaned. 

You helped bounce on him while he moved his hips up, bucking and fucking you. You tugged on your nipples, needing a little bite of pain to really drive your pleasure higher. You moved one hand down south, reaching under your panties and circling your clit. 

“Sheeit,” you moaned and came. At the same time, Tyrone moaned loud and proud as he came, flooding your insides. You felt it fill you up to the fucking brim. 

When you finished, Tyrone fell back to the bed, completely spent. Your legs were wobbly noodles. You didn’t think you could move. You took deep breaths, waiting for the ecstasy to dissipate. 

But he always had the strength to make sure you were okay. You were going to do the same, because you loved him and wanted to make him comfortable. You got off of him slowly. He groaned as he slipped out. You got to your feet on the carpet.

You rubbed the sweat from his brow. “Talk to me, baby, are you okay?” You asked. You untied him and rubbed his wrists, rubbing the circulation back into it. You went around the bed and did the same thing to his other wrist.

“Hm, sleepy,” he said. He yawned to prove his point. You smiled at him. 

“Not without me.”

You went to the bathroom and warmed up a washcloth. You cleaned him off, wiping your combined juices. He hissed a little as the cloth touched his dick, but he quickly settled into the bed.

You went to the bathroom and cleaned yourself up with a different cloth. You went back to the room to find Tyrone had slid down into the bed, resting his head against the pillow. Now the mu’fucka knew how you felt when you were overstimulated and speaking in tongues just to make the pleasure stop. It was almost like it was too much. But you couldn’t help but keep going, wanting more.

You blew out the candles and turned off the music. You turned off the overhead light and climbed into bed with Tyrone, pulling the covers up over your lower half. Your top half was too sensitive and overheated for anything more. 

You kissed his arms and chest once you settled into his arms. He flipped over unconsciously, pulling your back into his chest. You snuggled down into his hot body. Your back turned feverish just from his body heat. 

“Wait ‘till I recover,” he murmured into your ear. “I’ma get my payback.”

“See, that was all love. Why it gotta be payback?” You asked.

His hand flexed against your belly. He squeezed your flesh in his big hands and your pussy throbbed. You were already sore from earlier, you did not need another round. 

“Just gotta,” he said.

“But why?”

“Thems the rules,” he said. His voice was hoarse and seemed louder in the quiet, dark room. 

He fell silent and you thought he had drifted off to sleep. You were about to fall yourself when he hummed. 

“Baby?” He asked.

“Yes?” You asked.

“Can you call me ‘pretty boy’ more often?” He whispered into the air. 

“Of course. Anything for my pretty, pretty boy.”

Whew! If you need a cool down with another one, there's so much more! The Secret Tyrone Files

[melanated-maddy]

TYTON

Hey welcome to this fan fiction. I recently finished war storm and I’m in love with Tyton. Couldn’t help but want to right a fic after seeing so little on this guy on tumblr. Don’t know if I’ll write more as got exams but if you like let me know! All characters and world and everything belongs to the queen herself Victoria Aveyard

Chapter 1

“Debark, debark, debark.”

Tyton was snapped out of his musings pale fingers still gripped against the fading cover of his book. They’d finally arrived back in Ascendant after another long plane journey. A year after the kingdom of Norta was officially dissolved with Cal’s abdication there was still unrest with the Silvers. Too many houses had attempted to feel comfortable on the sparkling throne. ‘Osanos says water comes after fire, Rhambos is taking strength and power a little too literally and Merandus is trying hard to distance themselves from the insanity their own brought forth in Maven and actually claim the throne. At least there’s no more Samos worries. That ship sailed or should I say smashed along with Volo’s head with his offspring are safely tucked away in the capital.’ The soldiers on the plane had started their move off some in a rush to get home to worried families and others ready to have a drink. Davidson was the closet family Tyton had after his own lost their lives to a raid. His mother, father and two younger brothers all gone in an instant. That instance was the first time Tyton’s ability was able to properly manifest. Properly surge. Properly show how dangerous he was. It was Davidson who found him when searching the wrecks of homes and families. Still holding his brother’s Aeon’s hand tears in his eyes. Davidson was always quiet even back in those days and knelt to Tyton’s small height hugging him close. After that day Davidson properly set about burying the family well allowing Tyton to grieve and giving him another place to call home. He’d never admit it, but Tyton was lucky...relieved that Davidson and Carmadon took him in. Even if those raiders who had taken his family from him deserved his rage, he was terrified of the lightning under his skin. With a huff, Tyton uncoiled his long body from his seat standing and stretching up to remind his muscles of their function. The suit he wore was dark not one of the traditional Montfort green it just would not do for some missions. Under his seat he pulled free the small bag carrying a bottle of water, bag of nuts and stored the book into it securely. It was the last thing he’d received from his parents and even so he still struggled to get through it properly. As Tyton turned to move out the aircraft door onto the tarmac he spotted Mare struggling to reach an overhead compartment to grab something. He quickly moved forward and grabbed hold of two items: a maroon scarf and backpack.

“Thanks.”

“No worries I’m always available to help the vertically challenged.”

Mare’s face turned into a vivid shade of crimson and she moved as if ready to punch his arm when Cal swung his head back into the cabin. He seemed exasperated which quickly shifted to a swift glare as his eyes settled on how close the two were.

“Tyton.”

“Cal.”

“Mare what's taking so long?”

“Difficulties getting the scarf and backpack you decided to thrust into the overhead bin. As well as being ready to obliterate string bean here.”

Tyton gave a chuckle, although he was slightly leaner than Cal a string bean he was not.

“Don’t worry just helping her out she’s still yours, your highness.”

Cal bristled with the label, but Tyton was already strolling out onto the blinding tarmac doused in bright light.

As he got his bearings about himself, Tyton could not help feeling the pulses of electricity going off in every person around hims body. Just as you could imagine different emotions and thoughts had different electric compositions. As people moved around he recognised stress signals, pulses of joy and shifts of concentration. The signals never went away but with time he’d found away to keep them working in tandem with him so he didn’t get overwhelmed.

“Tyton come on rides here.” Rafe called his hair in the sun giving the appearance of green flames.

Tyton walked to the transport, long legs eating up the distance in a few moments to be face to face with Rafe. Ella must’ve caught a different one as the storm addict’s blue hair was no where to be seen. Together the two walked towards Davidson who was speaking to Arezzo in hushed tones. With a nod she was dismissed walking instead of jumping to wherever she needed to go. Davidson turned to the two a smooth smile on his face and opened his mouth, but was interrupted by a quick trill.

“Rafe!”

A blur of orange smashed into Rafe’s chest holding him tightly as he clutched her back.

Laughing Rafe greeted her, “Iz, nice to see you too, but you’re crushing me.”

With one last tug, Izelle released her older brother a wide grin tugging on her lips as she looked up at him. Izelle, was Rafe’s little sister by a year who shared his dark brown skin smooth and even and bright smile. In her orange dress that spun around her knees and black combat boots, she giggled letting her hair of tight curls circling her head move slightly held back with an orange band.

“Is it wrong for me to have missed my dumb big brother? Am I wrong Tyton?”

Tyton smiled and shook his head as Rafe glared at him.

“So nice to know that it won’t be a strongarm that gets me but my sister’s choke hold.”

Iz shoved Rafe as he rolled his eyes and moved to put his bags in the transport while Iz turned to greet Tyton.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

And with that Tyton opened his arms and Izelle moved into them giving him a tight hug.

‘Her hugs are always great.’

“Thanks for looking out for Rafe. I’m one hundred percent sure he’s not dead somewhere because of you.”

A deep rumble erupted from Tyton as he shook his head. They walked to the transport as Tyton asked how she’d been.

“All good here finally ready to move onto the fourth arc only two more to go before I’m a qualified teacher of education.”

“That’s excellent. You’ve worked hard for it.”

“Yeah it’s been so long definitely the hardest thing I’ve faced, but it’ll be so worth it once I’m in a class with little guys.”

“Do you know what specialism you’ll take yet Izzy?”

In Montfort, classes were not segregated at all with children of all blood types getting the same education to the best standard they could. Those who were Ardent or Silver has supplementary classes to help in coming into their abilities. However, it was courtesy for teachers at normal school to specialise in understanding one blood type well so that support chains could be used in school for any student struggling.

“I’m not sure yet to be honest. I’ve still got to think, might swing for Ardent or Red they’ve already got lots of silver specialists.”

Tyton liked listening to Izzy speak. Her mind although more hyperactive than most was one he enjoyed feeling the thrum of. She would be an excellent teacher one who was fun and silly, but able to understand and be serious when needed. For all her loudness Rafe often called her the thunder to his lightning. As Izzy spoke she tended to often get enthralled by her words and lost her bearings of where she was. So much so she didn’t see a smaller transport squealing into her path. In seconds Tyron had pulled her back allowing the small buggy to rush past on its was.

“Izzy.”

“Ha sorry about that. Forgive me.”

And with a smile, all was forgiven.

“Come on Rafe is definitely going to start a mood if we don’t hurry up,” and with that she pulled his arm to the transport releasing him to clamber up and take a seat next to Rafe. For all the bickering and teasing they did the two siblings loved each other dearly. They had sought refuge in Montfort from the Piedmont principalities with their mother. The two remembered little about their original home as they had left so young, but the happiness Montfort gave them was all they needed. Forgetting all about her conversation with Tyton, Izzy poked Rafe to tell her all about Norta and what things they’d encountered. Izzy had never left Montfort. She was definitely not a soldier, barely remembering to tuck in her thumbs properly when punching Rafe and the Ardent abilities had only passed to him so a useful electricon on the battlefield she was not. The ride to Ascendant was bumpy, Davidson muttering about looking into the concrete and upkeep of the infrastructure when back home. The air rushed in as they sped across the landscapes moving closer to the capital with every second until the transport stopped in a quick halt. The stop was so fast Izzy almost span out of her seat if not for Rafe and Tyton’s arms coming to forth to stop her fall.

“What’s going-“

Davidson was cut off when a terrible crunch sounded off. Leaning forward, he could see one of the transports being crushed the metal casings crumbling against each other. Without a thought Davidson threw out a shield glowing blue in the setting sun surrounding the two vehicles.

“Raiders already?” Rafe hit his head against the seat in frustration before moving out of the car to help passengers in the afflicted vehicle. Tyton quickly went about feeling how many Raiders were out there without being told.

“10, all seems to be magnetron. 3 females, 7 males. Wait they’re leaving?”

“Leaving?”

“Yeah moving away.”

Davidson heaved a sigh, “Radio in for some teleporters for the wounded.”

“They’re already here.” Tyton looked out seeing that those badly injured were being jumped back. Being so close to Ascendant meant the teleporters could make the jump.

“Alright then, destroy that transport don’t leave anything of use behind for them.”

With that, Tyton moved to the transport now empty and absentmindedly called forth a storm preparing for a powerful bolt. The skies darkened as his storm came into existence. Davidson let the shield down for a moment to let the bolt come through. In a fraction of a second, a burning bolt of lighting came down from the sky smashing against the transport reducing it to dust and scorched earth. The air singed with crackle as the fire wreck obliterated. Tyton surveyed the scene inspecting the damage to see if it was at a high enough level to not be useful to a magnetron. Being happy with it he turned and started to walk back to Davidson and Izzy, Rafe already sitting in his seat. He was laughing at Izzy as she covered her ears wincing at the terrible sound of the lightning on metal. It was a sound not comfortable for most ears, but Tyton’s power was unheard of in an Ardent. He was different to the other electricons being able to handle electricity more naturally than even them. It didn’t take much for him to call a storm bolt of that magnitude. As he was within a few metres of the transport he suddenly felt a barrage of electrical energy moving towards them. Recognising it as the previous magnetrons he turned to quickly release brain lightning on them being able to drop 4 of them before one let off a spike. Moving out of the way he could do, but the spike still got him in the side forcing him to the ground. Davidson’s shields again went up and Tyton was pulled into the transport as it began to drive away with Davidson’s shields still up. Izzy clambered towards him pulling apart his suit to get a better look at the cut. Her hand pressed down hard as she told Rafe to get the medical kit under the seat. Tyton grasped onto her had holding it down as he grimaced from the pain. “You’re fine it’s only a scratch.” Izzy nervously laughed.

“Of course because scratches produce this much blood.”

“Shut up big baby. I’ve met toddlers tougher than you,” she grinned and Tyton smiled back focusing on her electricity and letting it calm him down in the transport racing back to Ascendant.

[witch-pacifica-au]

Witch Pacifica and Dipper’s Kids Headcanons

Zoe: The first in the family to develop her powers. Her staff has a totem of a snake on it, symbolizing her cleverness and her ability to act swiftly when need be. As the first Pines kid to make it level 3 magic training, she inherits her mom’s magic cauldron. She has a lot of energy and is a huge fan of high fantasy, science fiction and mysteries.

Tyrone: His powers develop only a few months after Zoe’s. His staff has a totem of a platypus, symbolizing his uniqueness and his ability to think outside the box. Since Zoe gets the family cauldron, his mom takes him out to by his own when he’s ready. He plays soccer for his junior team, but he has a special interest in taking care of animals.

Stanley: When he’s really young, he develops the rare ability to see the future. His mom buys him his very own crystal ball to help him focus his ability on top of buying him his own cauldron when he’s old enough. I’m not sure what his staff totem is yet, but when I decide on what, I’ll post about it. He’s a very shy little boy who’s favorite thing it the world is toys.

[chiseler]

Utopia and Apocalypse: Pynchon’s Populist/Fatalist Cinema

The rhythmic clapping resonates inside these walls, which are hard and glossy as coal: Come-on! Start-the-show! Come-on! Start-the-show! The screen is a dim page spread before us, white and silent. The film has broken, or a projector bulb has burned out. It was difficult even for us, old fans who’ve always been at the movies (haven’t we?) to tell which before the darkness swept in.

--from the last page of Gravity’s Rainbow

To begin with a personal anecdote: Writing my first book (to be published) in the late 1970s, an experimental autobiography titled Moving Places: A Life at the Movies (Harper & Row, 1980), published in French as Mouvements: Une vie au cinéma (P.O.L, 2003), I wanted to include four texts by other authors—two short stories (“In Dreams Begin Responsibilities” by Delmore Schwartz, “The Secret Integration” by Thomas Pynchon) and two essays (“The Carole Lombard in Macy’s Window” by Charles Eckert, “My Life With Kong” by Elliott Stein)—but was prevented from doing so by my editor, who argued that because the book was mine, texts by other authors didn’t belong there. My motives were both pluralistic and populist: a desire both to respect fiction and non-fiction as equal creative partners and to insist that the book was about more than just myself and my own life. Because my book was largely about the creative roles played by the fictions of cinema on the non-fictions of personal lives, the anti-elitist nature of cinema played a crucial part in these transactions.`

In the case of Pynchon’s 1964 story—which twenty years later, in his collection Slow Learner, he would admit was the only early story of his that he still liked—the cinematic relevance to Moving Places could be found in a single fleeting but resonant detail: the momentary bonding of a little white boy named Tim Santora with a black, homeless, alcoholic jazz musician named Carl McAfee in a hotel room when they discover that they’ve both seen Blood Alley (1955), an anticommunist action-adventure with John Wayne and Lauren Bacall, directed by William Wellman. Pynchon mentions only the film’s title, but the complex synergy of this passing moment of mutual recognition between two of its dissimilar viewers represented for me an epiphany, in part because of the irony of such casual camaraderie occurring in relation to a routine example of Manichean Cold War mythology. Moreover, as a right-wing cinematic touchstone, Blood Alley is dialectically complemented in the same story by Tim and his friends categorizing their rebellious schoolboy pranks as Operation Spartacus, inspired by the left-wing Spartacus (1960) of Kirk Douglas, Dalton Trumbo, and Stanley Kubrick.

For better and for worse, all of Pynchon’s fiction partakes of this populism by customarily defining cinema as the cultural air that everyone breathes, or at least the river in which everyone swims and bathes. This is equally apparent in the only Pynchon novel that qualifies as hackwork, Inherent Vice (2009), and the fact that Paul Thomas Anderson’s adaptation of it is also his worst film to date—a hippie remake of Chinatown in the same way that the novel is a hippie remake of Raymond Chandler and Ross Macdonald—seems logical insofar as it seems to have been written with an eye towards selling the screen rights. As Geoffrey O’Brien observed (while defending this indefensible book and film) in the New York Review of Books (January 3, 2015), “Perhaps the novel really was crying out for such a cinematic transformation, for in its pages people watch movies, remember them, compare events in the ‘real world’ to their plots, re-experience their soundtracks as auditory hallucinations, even work their technical components (the lighting style of cinematographer James Wong Howe, for instance) into aspects of complex conspiratorial schemes.” (Despite a few glancing virtues, such as  Josh Brolin’s Nixonesque performance as "Bigfoot" Bjornsen, Anderson’s film seems just as cynical as its source and infused with the same sort of misplaced would-be nostalgia for the counterculture of the late 60s and early 70s, pitched to a generation that didn’t experience it, as Bertolucci’s Innocents: The Dreamers.)

From The Crying of Lot 49’s evocation of an orgasm in cinematic terms (“She awoke at last to find herself getting laid; she’d come in on a sexual crescendo in progress, like a cut to a scene where the camera’s already moving”) to the magical-surreal guest star appearance of Mickey Rooney in wartime Europe in Gravity’s Rainbow, cinema is invariably a form of lingua franca in Pynchon’s fiction, an expedient form of shorthand, calling up common experiences that seem light years away from the sectarianism of the politique des auteurs. This explains why his novels set in mid-20th century, such as the two just cited, when cinema was still a common currency cutting across classes, age groups, and diverse levels of education, tend to have the greatest number of movie references. In Gravity’s Rainbow—set mostly in war-torn Europe, with a few flashbacks to the east coast U.S. and flash-forwards to the contemporary west coast—this even includes such anachronistic pop ephemera as the 1949 serial King of the Rocket Men and the 1955 Western The Return of Jack Slade (which a character named Waxwing Blodgett is said to have seen at U.S. Army bases during World War 2 no less than twenty-seven times), along with various comic books.

Significantly, “The Secret Integration”, a title evoking both conspiracy and countercultural utopia, is set in the same cozy suburban neighborhood in the Berkshires from which Tyrone Slothrop, the wartime hero or antihero of Gravity’s Rainbow (1973), aka “Rocketman,” springs, with his kid brother and father among the story’s characters. It’s also the same region where Pynchon himself grew up. And Gravity’s Rainbow, Pynchon’s magnum opus and richest work, is by all measures the most film-drenched of his novels in its design as well as its details—so much so that even its blocks of text are separated typographically by what resemble sprocket holes. Unlike, say, Vineland (1990), where cinema figures mostly in terms of imaginary TV reruns (e.g., Woody Allen in Young Kissinger) and diverse cultural appropriations (e.g., a Noir Center shopping mall), or the post-cinematic adventures in cyberspace found in the noirish (and far superior) east-coast companion volume to Inherent Vice, Bleeding Edge (2013), cinema in Gravity’s Rainbow is basically a theatrical event with a social impact, where Fritz Lang’s invention of the rocket countdown as a suspense device (in the 1929 Frau im mond) and the separate “frames” of a rocket’s trajectory are equally relevant and operative factors. There are also passing references to Lang’s Der müde Tod, Die Nibelungen, Dr. Mabuse, der Spieler, and Metropolis—not to mention De Mille’s Cleopatra, Dumbo, Freaks, Son of Frankenstein, White Zombie, at least two Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers musicals, Pabst, and Lubitsch—and the epigraphs introducing the novel’s second and third sections (“You will have the tallest, darkest leading man in Hollywood — Merian C. Cooper to Fay Wray” and “Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas any more…. –Dorothy, arriving in Oz”) are equally steeped in familiar movie mythology.

These are all populist allusions, yet the bane of populism as a rightwing curse is another near-constant in Pynchon’s work. The same ambivalence can be felt in the novel’s last two words, “Now everybody—“, at once frightening and comforting in its immediacy and universality. With the possible exception of Mason & Dixon (1997), every Pynchon novel over the past three decades—Vineland, Against the Day (2006), Inherent Vice, and Bleeding Edge—has an attractive, prominent, and sympathetic female character betraying or at least acting against her leftist roots and/or principles by being first drawn erotically towards and then being seduced by a fascistic male. In Bleeding Edge, this even happens to the novel’s earthy protagonist, the middle-aged detective Maxine Tarnow. Given the teasing amount of autobiographical concealment and revelation Pynchon carries on with his public while rigorously avoiding the press, it is tempting to see this recurring theme as a personal obsession grounded in some private psychic wound, and one that points to sadder-but-wiser challenges brought by Pynchon to his own populism, eventually reflecting a certain cynicism about human behavior. It also calls to mind some of the reflections of Luc Moullet (in “Sainte Janet,” Cahiers du cinéma no. 86, août 1958) aroused by Howard Hughes’ and Josef von Sternberg’s Jet Pilot and (more incidentally) by Ayn Rand’s and King Vidor’s The Fountainhead whereby “erotic verve” is tied to a contempt for collectivity—implicitly suggesting that rightwing art may be sexier than leftwing art, especially if the sexual delirium in question has some of the adolescent energy found in, for example, Hughes, Sternberg, Rand, Vidor, Kubrick, Tashlin, Jerry Lewis, and, yes, Pynchon.

One of the most impressive things about Pynchon’s fiction is the way in which it often represents the narrative shapes of individual novels in explicit visual terms. V, his first novel, has two heroes and narrative lines that converge at the bottom point of a V; Gravity’s Rainbow, his second—a V2 in more ways than one—unfolds across an epic skyscape like a rocket’s (linear) ascent and its (scattered) descent; Vineland offers a narrative tangle of lives to rhyme with its crisscrossing vines, and the curving ampersand in the middle of Mason & Dixon suggests another form of digressive tangle between its two male leads; Against the Day, which opens with a balloon flight, seems to follow the curving shape and rotation of the planet.

This compulsive patterning suggests that the sprocket-hole design in Gravity’s Rainbow’s section breaks is more than just a decorative detail. The recurrence of sprockets and film frames carries metaphorical resonance in the novel’s action, so that Franz Pökler, a German rocket engineer allowed by his superiors to see his long-lost daughter (whom he calls his “movie child” because she was conceived the night he and her mother saw a porn film) only once a year, at a children’s village called Zwölfkinder, and can’t even be sure if it’s the same girl each time:

So it has gone for the six years since. A daughter a year, each one about a year older, each time taking up nearly from scratch. The only continuity has been her name, and Zwölfkinder, and Pökler’s love—love something like the persistence of vision, for They have used it to create for him the moving image of a daughter, flashing him only these summertime frames of her, leaving it to him to build the illusion of a single child—what would the time scale matter, a 24th of a second or a year (no more, the engineer thought, than in a wind tunnel, or an oscillograph whose turning drum you can speed or slow at will…)?

***

Cinema, in short, is both delightful and sinister—a utopian dream and an apocalyptic nightmare, a stark juxtaposition reflected in the abrupt shift in the earlier Pynchon passage quoted at the beginning of this essay from present tense to past tense, and from third person to first person. Much the same could be said about the various displacements experienced while moving from the positive to the negative consequences of  populism.

Pynchon’s allegiance to the irreverent vulgarity of kazoos sounding like farts and concomitant Spike Jones parodies seems wholly in keeping with his disdain for David Raksin and Johnny Mercer’s popular song “Laura” and what he perceives as the snobbish elitism  of the Preminger film it derives from, as expressed in his passionate liner notes to the CD compilation “Spiked!: The Music of Spike Jones” a half-century later:

The song had been featured in the 1945 movie of the same name, supposed to evoke the hotsy-totsy social life where all these sophisticated New York City folks had time for faces in the misty light and so forth, not to mention expensive outfits, fancy interiors,witty repartee—a world of pseudos as inviting to…class hostility as fish in a barrel, including a presumed audience fatally unhip enough to still believe in the old prewar fantasies, though surely it was already too late for that, Tin Pan Alley wisdom about life had not stood a chance under the realities of global war, too many people by then knew better.

Consequently, neither art cinema nor auteur cinema figures much in Pynchon’s otherwise hefty lexicon of film culture, aside from a jokey mention of a Bengt Ekerot/Maria Casares Film Festival (actors playing Death in The Seventh Seal and Orphée) held in Los Angeles—and significantly, even the “underground”, 16-millimeter radical political filmmaking in northern California charted in Vineland becomes emblematic of the perceived failure of the 60s counterculture as a whole. This also helps to account for why the paranoia and solipsism found in Jacques Rivette’s Paris nous appartient and Out 1, perhaps the closest equivalents to Pynchon’s own notions of mass conspiracy juxtaposed with solitary despair, are never mentioned in his writing, and the films that are referenced belong almost exclusively to the commercial mainstream, unlike the examples of painting, music, and literature, such as the surrealist painting of Remedios Varo described in detail at the beginning of The Crying of Lot 49,  the importance of Ornette Coleman in V and Anton Webern in Gravity’s Rainbow, or the visible impact of both Jorge Luis Borges and William S. Burroughs on the latter novel. (1) And much of the novel’s supply of movie folklore—e.g., the fatal ambushing of John Dillinger while leaving Chicago’s Biograph theater--is mainstream as well.

Nevertheless, one can find a fairly precise philosophical and metaphysical description of these aforementioned Rivette films in Gravity’s Rainbow: “If there is something comforting -- religious, if you want — about paranoia, there is still also anti-paranoia, where nothing is connected to anything, a condition not many of us can bear for long.” And the white, empty movie screen that appears apocalyptically on the novel’s final page—as white and as blank as the fusion of all the colors in a rainbow—also appears in Rivette’s first feature when a 16-millimeter print of Lang’s Metropolis breaks during the projection of the Tower of Babel sequence.

Is such a physically and metaphysically similar affective climax of a halted film projection foretelling an apocalypse a mere coincidence? It’s impossible to know whether Pynchon might have seen Paris nous appartient during its brief New York run in the early 60s. But even if he hadn’t (or still hasn’t), a bitter sense of betrayed utopian possibilities in that film, in Out 1, and in most of his fiction is hard to overlook. Old fans who’ve always been at the movies (haven’t we?) don’t like to be woken from their dreams.

by Jonathan Rosenbaum

Footnote

For this reason, among others, I’m skeptical about accepting the hypothesis of the otherwise reliable Pynchon critic Richard Poirier that Gravity’s Rainbow’s enigmatic references to “the Kenosha Kid” might allude to Orson Welles, who was born in Kenosha, Wisconsin. Steven C. Weisenburger, in A Gravity’s Rainbow Companion (Athens/London: The University of Georgia Press, 2006), reports more plausibly that “the Kenosha Kid” was a pulp magazine character created by Forbes Parkhill in Western stories published from the 1920s through the 1940s. Once again, Pynchon’s populism trumps—i.e. exceeds—his cinephilia.

[heyauntieeee]

What we gon do about Tyrone y’all?

First Impressions (1)

T’Challa X Black!Reader

Warning: Language: I said nigga way too much yo

Summary: After meeting Reader in a restaurant in the strangest way, T’Challa can’t help but be fascinated by her.

Words: 2,701

“First impressions last the longest.”

“So, what are you gonna do?” Kadijah’s question rang through your ears as you sat and ate your food. You were at dinner with your cousin and a couple of your friends in a desperate need top get out of the house. The restaurant wasn’t as crowed as it usually would be on a Thursday night. The atmosphere was pleasant, filled with the murmur of conversation and utensils clinking against the plates. No different than what was going on at your table. You shake your head and sigh. This wasn’t necessarily the desired topic of discussion for you tonight. You wanted to forget about your troubles at home, even if it were for just one night.

Keep reading

[kaitoreader93]

Tyrone is finally finished and all chapters are now available to read on Fan Fiction. Net. It has been fun writing this drama. And happy to have finally finished it. Book 3 will be out around Mid January. 😃 #fanfiction #romance #drama #amor #gravityfalls https://www.instagram.com/p/B6lesMVly7D/?igshid=13jaze4364zwl

[kaitoreader93gallery]

Fan Fiction. Net is where I am too.

If you want, Treasures of Oregon the Novel is currently available to read on Fan fiction Net. It is the adaptation of the Mystery Bros series on YouTube. It is loosely based on Gravity Falls, and borrows a lot of elements from different sources. It's kinda like Kingdom Hearts in a way. Checknit out if your interested. Also coming soon Tyrone, MB: The Cyber Wars, The Iron Bros, Ethan's Summer and Diamonds of Oregon will also have novelizations and it's own season. Wow, got a lot to do. In addition, well I was saving the best for last. During the madness that is the Fan Fiction of Gravity Falls, I will also work on a fan fic based on Kingdom Hearts featuring obscure and lost characters in the Disney universe such as Lloyd from Lloyd in Space, Rolie Polie Olie, PB and J otter, and the Muppets and many more! Gosh I'm crazy. Well, on to the crazy train!

[powelltothepeople]

Pass the happy! 💜 When you get this, reply with 5 things that make you happy and send this to the last 10 people in your notifications!

1. you! you brighten my day every time you leave me a little message or drabble

2. klaroline! that episode was phenomenal it felt like fan fiction come to life

3. my cats they make me laugh on a daily basis i love them so much

4. the rain its my favorite sound and smell in the world

5. cloak and dagger and tyrone and tandy...i am obsessed with them right now!

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Thursday, October 8

TARA: Someone has to speak for her. BUFFY: Let her speak for herself. (We see the dark-haired creature walking up behind her.) That's what's done in polite circles.

~~Restless~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Unforgettable (Cordelia/Xander, G) by Francis_Eugene

coming clean (Oz, not rated) by solaleonis

Against the Odds (Spike/Buffy, the Master, Luke, Darla, Jesse, G) by Puppet_Cancer

Against the Odds (Spike/Buffy, PG-13) by Puppet

[Chaptered Fiction]

Tristan Tormented, Volume 1 (Drusilla, Angel, Buffy, Faith, not rated) by buffyversefanfiction

Moments that Make You: The Hero and The Princess, Chapter 51 (Doyle/Cordelia, K+) by myheadsgonenumb

Hope, Chapter 8 (Spike/Buffy, PG-13) by Wonder and Ashes

Summer's Lease, Chapter 20 (Spike/Buffy, NC-17) by Iamblichus

Dodger, Chapter 2 (Spike/Buffy, NC-17) by DarkVoid116

The World is Small, The Universe is Huge, Chapter 10 (crossover with the MCU, Giles, Dawn, FR18) by Hermionetobe

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork: 3 Rupert Giles lockscreens (worksafe) by darlingtaramaclay

Artwork: Inktober Day 8: Darla (worksafe) by whatshisfaceblogs

Artwork: sketch of Giles (worksafe) by flummoxedangel

Artwork: Phone wallpapers (Spuffy, Spike, worksafe) by chocokian

Vid: Spike's Redemption - Legends Never Die by RogueVader1996

Vid: BtVS vid set to Days by Lucia (Buffy/Angel, Buffy/Spike, Tara/Willow scene from Seeing Red) by Tyrone Tacles Music

Vid: Shadow Preachers (Spike/Buffy) by WeCanTry

Tutorial: Dark Willow Halloween Makeup Tutorial by JPs world

I changed up my Animal Crossing island theme to Buffy! (worksafe) by kipipe

[Reviews & Recaps]

Lessons by yetanotherbuffyblog

Man anybody who says the first season of Buffy was bad must have missed Prophecy Girl by paintedworldartist

Reptile Boy by JustDaggers

Buffy the Vampire Slayer 02 - Der erste Biss | (Comic Review) 017 (in German) by Neunte Kunst – Comic Reviews

Superman gibt Clark Kent auf, Dragon Ball Z und Buffy the Vampire Slayer | Comic Review (in German) by Team Comicsfan86

S7 Rewatch: Never Leave Me, Part 4 and Part 5 by PuckRobin and others

A first time watcher's thoughts on Buffy season 3 by lalalegion

PODCAST: Still Pretty 131. Life Serial (S6.05)

[Recs]

More Links Than A Bag Of Sausages by petzipellepingo

Reacting to Reactions BtVS S2 Becoming part 2 by Stoney

[Community Announcements]

BtVS/AtS Non-Crossover Section Clean Up at Twisting the Hellmouth

[Fandom Discussions]

A Trip Down Memory Lane (2013) at seasonal_spuffy

A Trip Down Memory Lane (2013) at seasonal_spuffy

[Angel questioning Wesley whether he should buy Cordelia flowers] by cantigasdetanjaouia

…anyone else get the feeling that the BTVS fandom is about to evolve in some way? by buffy--the--vampire--slayer, highonbandcandy

Show Criticisms You Don’t Agree With (cont'd) by bespangeled

Did Buffy Wear That Twice? (cont'd) by flow and others

Is Earth really the Home Office [of Wolfram & Hart]? by Shadow_Boxer1987

Say something you don’t like about your favourite character and something you do like about a disliked character hosted by purplemackem

Would Buffy (the show) have been taken more seriously if it was more explicit / gore ? by NorsacceBerlusconi

You know what would make a great Buffyverse spin-off? Supernatural legal drama. by AntonBrakhage

What Angel episodes should every Buffy fan watch? asked by Smitho15

The Messenger and the Message [The exchange between Doyle and Angel in “City Of” as a symbolic statement for the series] by DRKSTknight

Monsters of the week hosted by Amcnallyjnr

New Mutants [significance of Buffy references in the movie] hosted by IRTStoby

Submit a link to be included in the newsletter!

[megamindsecretlair]

A Seduction at Midnight

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. FILTH! PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (fem and male receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, blood play, cum play, possession kink, voyeurism, public sex kink, all consensual. Referring to female anatomy as "she". AU Tyrone.

Summary: You are invited to one of Tyrone's exclusive parties. You aren't entirely sure what to expect but you are thrilled at the thought of what he has planned.

Word Count: 4,705k

This has been turned into a series. Catch up here and make sure to read the prequel! Midnight Sin Masterlist

A/N: Ya'll sicka me yet? LOL. Happy Halloweek indeed! This is a fun challenge. This made me so fucking hot. I hope it does for you as well. This was SO fun. Can you tell Vamps are my fave? Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios!

Taglist: @planetblaque @dayjlovesromance @sevikasblackgf @melaninpov @amyhennessyhouse @henneseyhoe @honeyoriginalz @justheretostan @black-fairy3 @superhoeva @jarfulloftears @hereformiles @montysstuffs @westside-rot @blackerthings @blowmymbackout @euphoric05 @miyuhpapayuh @nicolexnight @8ttached @judymfmoody @wakandas-vibranium @soft-persephone @justabovewater20 @notapradagurl7 @mcotton0928 @soapjay @heyauntieeee @theyscreamsannii @mybonafidefeelings @eggnox @honeytoffee @thadelightfulone @tranquilfandomer @kindofaintrovert @l-auteuse

The glossy black envelope was clutched in your hands. You read and reread the invitation plenty of times. The words echoed in your mind as you walked up the stone steps. Your heels clicked softly.

At the heavy, massive doors before you, there stood a bodyguard dressed in an all black suit. He held out his hand for the invitation and you handed it over. You stuffed your nerves into your back pocket. You’d never done anything like this before, but you weren’t going to let your nerves ruin it.

He scanned the invitation and then murmured something in the mic at his shirt cuff. The mask you wore was tied neatly to your face, but unaccustomed to such a thing, you fought the urge to fidget. 

The doors swung open on loud hinges, wide enough for you to slip through. The foyer area was dark, lit only by ambient lighting and strategically placed candelabras. The flames danced against the cold marble walls. 

A sea of masks greeted you as other members walked around the first floor, floating in and out of rooms. Clinking glassware drew your attention to the right side. You walked through the sweeping archway.

You couldn’t help looking at the other party goers. Wondering how many of them were like him. Was everyone here human? Were they all vampires? The thrill of not knowing made you shiver. 

You moved through the silent waiters all wearing black masks with elongated noses, reminiscent of the plague doctor masks. The men had slicked back hair or puffy afros, white shirts and black ties, holding delicate trays aloft. The women wore sensible skirts, button down shirts, and matching black ties. 

You snagged a flute of wine from a passing waiter, needing something to calm your racing heart. Everyone spoke in low murmurs. You glanced around at the elaborate masks. Some were decorated finely, like works of art. Others were more industrial with little to none adornment. 

An itchy feeling crawled between your shoulder blades. Everyone’s eyes seemed to snap towards you, to the way you moved around them. Maybe it was your imagination but it made you self-conscious regardless. 

Your skirt swooshed about your ankles as you flitted from room to room, pointedly ignoring the way conversation slowed when you neared. The way eyes tracked you. The way the light played with shadows and you weren’t sure what you were looking at.

You bit your painted lip. You deposited your empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter. The pressure of being stared at was too much. You shouldn’t have come. You nearly laughed. This was all such bullshit. 

“A vision,” a deep, soothing voice carried from the right side of you. You turned to the source and found him staring at you through a Phantom mask half obscuring his face. It called attention to his sensual lips and you took an extra breath. 

He was delicious, standing there in a close fitting suit, tailored to every inch of him. He wore no jacket, opting instead to stand there in his long sleeved black shirt and black vest, brushed silver buttons catching the light. A silver chain hung from a pocket on his vest. 

He smiled, flashing a bit of his fang. The sharp teeth sent a sliver of desire through you and you squeezed your thighs together as you drank him in. The same way you ogled him, he studied you. 

His eyes gazed lazily over you. He circled you. His fingers trailed behind him as he passed around you, crossing over the skirt of your dress and up to your arms. When his warm touch touched bare skin, you gasped. Everything you had thought about vampires was void. He surpassed every stereotype.

He stopped behind you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up and caught some faint breeze running through the mansion. A primal part of you recognized that you let a predator behind you. He sidled up closer, pressing a kiss there behind your ear. 

He purposefully ran his sharp fangs along your neck, spreading kisses along your exposed shoulders. You sighed softly, rolling your neck, until you remembered that you were in full view of others.

Your eyes snapped open, taking you out of the moment. Those in the immediate area openly gawked at you. Tyrone kept up his kisses, his tongue darting out every so often to lick your skin. 

Could he smell the blood running in your veins? Was he salivating at the thought of it rushing just below the surface? 

“Tyrone?” You asked. 

“Do you not want them to see? How gorgeous you are?” He said against your skin, his lips tickling your neck. You curled into him. His hands slid up your waist, pulling you back against him. A breath escaped you, feeling his hardening length against your backside. 

Spurred on by some carnal instinct, you rubbed him over his pant legs. He chuckled darkly. “Already need it?” He asked.

You didn’t come here for the free drinks. You turned around to face him. From his neat cornrows to his suit, to his polished shoes, he looked good enough to eat. His deep ebony skin invited a taste. You licked your lips just imagining it. 

“I need you,” you said. 

His hands ghosted down your arms, rubbing away the pebbles on your skin, and grasped your hand. He brought it to his lips, his eyes focused on you. Before his lips could connect to your hand, he flipped it over. He inhaled the perfume you rubbed on your wrists. He placed a chaste kiss to the pulse in your wrist. 

Fresh arousal escaped you. You’d never met anyone like him. He projected confidence and sensuality. Well, he’d had centuries to learn. When you first met him, you knew there was something special about him. It’d taken a lot of convincing to prove that he was what he said he was. Now you believed him. Here in his element, he moved like a king amongst peasants. 

He stepped backwards, raising your hand to the other guests. “Our guest of honor has arrived, right on time,” he said to the crowd. 

Low murmuring echoed throughout the room as people started to push and crowd into each other. Had he been serious about that? 

You supposed so. Tyrone tugged you by the hand back toward the foyer. Between the staircases on either side, there was a long hallway. Masks split apart allowing you two to walk through. 

Your pulse jumped in your throat. You were the center of attention and it was making you edgy. Dizzy with being on display. Your eyes scanned the paintings on the walls, all different impressionist depictions of Tyrone. All the different lives he lived. The time periods he moved through. The stories he could tell. 

The low light gave each painting a sinister look though the scenes themselves weren’t dark. You think. He led you towards a room, opening the door for you and letting you enter first. Inside, a round bed sat in the middle of the room on a platform. 

The room had windows on two sides and the other side of the glass was dark. An old grandfather clock was positioned in a corner of the room. The tick, tick, tick almost matched your heartbeat. 

The windows gave you the illusion of privacy. But you heard the heels, swishing skirts, and squeaking shoes. You knew that the fifty or so people were filing past you, heading towards whatever room that was to watch.

Tyrone warned you what his parties were like. Still you begged to attend. He didn’t want you in that world. But then he shouldn’t have told you about them. He admitted to a morbid curiosity at your response. If you would reject that side of him. 

Never. You wanted all of him. For as long as you could have him. This type of obsession you had with him was concerning. You weren’t an idiot. You asked him one day if he put a glamor or spell on you. He had chuckled, throwing his head back and exposing the length of his neck and baring his fangs. “No. I won’t ever do that to you. I’d rather have something else from you,” he had said.

“What?” You had asked.

“Surrender.”

That conversation flowed through your mind as you entered the room. The lights were still dim, multiple candelabras here as well. The sweet incense poured into the room, tickling your nose with its aroma. 

The door slammed and locked behind you and you flinched. You stood in the middle of the room at the foot of the bed. Tyrone stood near the door, facing you with his hands in his pockets.

In the next blink, he was in front of you, hands cupping your face. His lips crashed against yours. His fangs scraped your bottom lip. You gasped and he pushed his tongue in, licking every inch of your mouth. 

“I almost can’t bear to share you,” he said. “Should’ve ended this tradition.” 

 “They’d kill you,” you said and smiled. 

“They could try,” he said and chuckled. His lips moved over yours, tasting and sighing into your mouth. Your hands gripped his vest, pulling him closer to you. 

His body was as hard as marble. Solid. He was a steady presence. He turned you around roughly, one large hand grabbing around your middle and pulling you against him. He kissed up your neck and sucked in your earlobe. 

“It’s just you and me,” he said.

You giggled. “You must think I’m some dainty little innocent,” you said. “I know what I’m doing.” 

You stepped away from him and looked at him over your shoulder. His mask obscured half of his face, but the other half was set in a devious smirk. He unzipped your dress and let it drop. The silky material slipped down your sides and pooled at your feet.

Tyrone sucked in a breath. You didn’t wear anything underneath. You felt his gaze eat up the curve of your back, the globes of your ass, and the length of your legs. He held your hand and helped you step out of the circle of your dress. You leaned down to take care of your heels.

Tick, tick tick.

“Leave them on,” he said. He raised your hand to his lips and then moved you in front of the windows. He dropped your hand and moved away, telling you to give a show. 

A quick sigh escaped you as you threw your head back and squared your shoulders. You twirled, letting those strangers see your naked body. It only emboldened you to dip your hips, rub your breasts, and put your arms up to stretch your back. 

Tyrone chuckled. “You like to be watched,” he commented.

“I like to be watched by you.” 

“Then come here,” he said. He opened his arms, a grin split his face. His fangs were long and sharp, giving him an otherworldly appearance. He was a devil made flesh, ready to hasten your descent into hell. You went to his side willingly. 

He kissed you again, taking his time to explore your mouth. He walked you backwards, pushing you until the bed hit the back of your knees. He pushed you down and stood before you, looking down at your body.

You felt so sexy under his gaze. Your eyes dropped down to his pants. His dick strained against his zipper, slightly pulsing. You reached for him, but he moved at the last second. 

“Did I give you permission to touch me?” He asked. 

“N-no,” you stammered. You were caught off guard. He had a strong streak in him, but to use that tone…your pussy fluttered. Aching to be filled or played with. Touched by him. 

He gave you a series of directions to move where he wanted you. You moved to the pillows at the head of the bed. You molded your back to its plush softness and widened your legs, your heels digging into the mattress. 

Tick, tick, tick.

Tyrone cocked his head and walked around the bed. He grabbed one of your wrists and pulled, silk wrapping around your arm. He repeated it for the other side. “Tyrone?” 

“I don’t think I can trust you to obey me,” he said. 

“I can be good,” you said.

He chuckled. “Not for this part, you can’t,” he said and ran a finger down your cheek. “I don’t want to have to punish you this early,” he said.

You shivered at his deep voice, the soothing cadence relaxing you better than anything could. The promise of punishment wasn’t an unwelcome thought. Your mind wandered to what his punishment would look like. 

He returned to his original position at the foot of the bed. He stared, not at you, but at your exposed pussy. He could see the slick from where he stood. He ran his tongue across his fangs. He undid the cufflinks of his dress shirt and stored them in his pocket. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, baring his forearms. 

A vein ran the length of his forearm and your mouth turned dry. You wanted to touch him. He didn’t mention shit about not being able to. You pulled against the silk scarves and he smiled. “Knew yo ass couldn’t sit still,” he said. 

“It’s not fair,” you pouted.

“It’ll never be fair between us,” he said.

You sighed and conceded the point. He was right. He had all of the power, experience, and the gift of patience. You were a human and slow and needy as fuck. 

He crawled onto the bed, fully clothed, and smoothed his tie under his vest. He gripped your knees and widened your legs. He inspected your pussy, angling his head to view it from different sides.

“You are a treasure,” he said.

He watched as your pussy clenched. You were so empty. You needed to be full. Not whatever fucking game this was.

“Untie me, baby. Let me touch you,” you said. You gyrated on the bed, trying to entice him. 

He flashed his fangs. He didn’t answer you. Instead, he got on his elbows and settled his face close to your core.

“Hm, she lookin’ a little lonely,” Tyrone said.

“She is!” You said. 

Tyrone kissed your pussy and you jerked off of the bed. You were horny and he wasn’t helping. He lifted your legs and placed them over his shoulders. Your heels dug into his back and he hissed in pleasure.

He wrapped his lips around your clit, suckling it and flattening his tongue against it. “Oh fuck,” you moaned. It was quiet in the room so your words bounced off of the walls. Here too, there were paintings of him. All of it focused on the bed, focused on you. That made you remember the windows and how there was a room full of anonymous people, wearing masks, and seeing Tyrone pleasure you. 

Tick, tick, tick.

You moaned and twirled your hips, trying to get Tyrone to move. He wasn’t one to be rushed. He kept up a slow, sensual pursuit of your pleasure. He drew his tongue up and down your pussy, from your entrance to your clit. 

The sounds you made reverberated right back to you. You sounded needy to your own ears. Tyrone moaned around your pussy. “So fucking good. So fucking delicious,” he moaned. His moans caused your own. You pulled at the restraints but it was no use. You leaned forward so you could watch him. 

His eyes were closed, eyebrows furrowed as he licked and sucked and tasted you. The stirrings of your orgasm steadily built inside of you, cresting the surface. Your thighs tightened around his head. 

Tyrone slowed down and moved away from your clit, drawing circles around your entrance. 

“Oh, please baby. Please,” you begged. “Don’t tease me,” you said. 

He only chuckled and kept up what he was doing. Your orgasm went away and then he went back to work, slowly building it up again. Your body shivered. Sweat broke out over your skin, drenching you and the pillows beneath you. 

Your bottom lip quivered as you watched Tyrone give and take. Made your legs shake and then retreat until your body relaxed. “Oh fuck, please, please,” you moaned. 

“Hm, let them hear you. Let them hear this pussy talk to me,” he moaned around your clit. 

Tick, tick, tick.

A clanging bell made you jump from the bed. The grandfather clock’s bells filled the room to near deafening sounds. Your gasps and moans stuttered and stopped. Tyrone went back to eating you out in earnest. Your eyes rolled to the clock’s face.

Both hands of the clock faced the number 12. “OH shit,” you moaned. Your back bowed off of the bed. Your orgasm came with a vengeance. Bending you in half, jerking your body beyond your control.

Sharp fangs sank into your thigh as your orgasm ripped through you. “Oh, oh,” you moaned, too lost to the sensation of him sucking on you. The sensation was different from if he were merely sucking on your skin. The pull of your blood from your thigh heightened your pleasure. 

Sight left you as you closed your eyes and rode the orgasm. You mumbled and sniffled, your body wracked with aftershocks. Tyrone licked up any run away drops of blood. He was a neat eater. 

He lifted his gaze to you. He licked a dark drop from his lips and moaned, his eyes flashing with a dim red glow. He kissed your thigh and nuzzled it with his face. The faint hairs of his beard and mustache tickled you and you moved away, trying to get him away from your sensitive thighs. He nibbled on your thigh, his fangs scraping against you.

You moaned. Your wrists ached from pulling against them. 

Tyrone sighed and hummed in satisfaction as he got up from the bed. He smoothed down his clothes, his tongue running the sides of his mouth as if he was still trying to glean any last drop of you. 

Your skin buzzed. Like an electric current ran through you. As if you touched a live wire and absorbed all those volts. Maybe it was his vampiric power or maybe it was just that strong of an orgasm from all of his edging. Either way, you were stuck in a daze as he went around the bed and untied you.

He kissed and rubbed the circulation back into your wrists. “We’re going to have to find something better for you,” he said.

Your pussy clenched. You didn’t necessarily want to be tied up, however, being at his mercy was erotic. The image flashed in your mind at what you must have looked like. He kissed your wrists and then up your arm, then your neck, and finally your jaw. 

“Please, can I touch you?” You asked. 

He rubbed your jaw with his thumb and tilted your head up. He kissed you, a faint sense of copper on his tongue. He hummed, the slight vibration against your lips sending shivers down your spine. 

“Since you asked so nicely,” he said. He grinned and leaned back, unzipping his pants, pulling out his dick and running the tip across your lips. 

Your tongue darted out and caught the bead of pre-cum. The taste of him made you purr. “Open up,” he said.

You opened your mouth, sucking him down with eagerness. His velvet head slid along your cheeks. You licked and ran your tongue along his thick, veiny dick. He hissed and groaned, his hand cupping the back of your neck and pushing you down. 

“This mouth is heaven,” he said. “Suck that shit down.”

You did as you were told, sucking him and made pleasing little noises every time more pre-cum filled your mouth. Your slobbering and drooling seemed amplified in the room. You kept going, grabbing his thighs and pulling him closer.

“You’re making everyone jealous, love. They wish they could fuck this mouth. See them disappear down that wonderful mouth,” Tyrone cooed as you pleased him. You gagged a bit and pulled back to get some proper breaths. When you calmed down, you took him deeper. Sucking harder. Going faster.

His fingers tightened against your neck. “So good, so good. Unhf, suck it. Suck it,” he moaned. 

He cursed as he climaxed, his sticky hot cum shooting down your throat, forcing you to swallow him down. “Good fucking girl,” he whispered, just for you. 

“Face them,” he said. You turned around on the bed, facing the windows. The tips of your ears burned. You had an audience and yet it was so easy to forget they were there. Tyrone was just that distracting. 

“On your back. Spread yourself for them. Let them see,” Tyrone said. 

You heard clothes rustling. You got on your back, spread your legs open. “Play with her for them,” he said. 

There was a sting in your thigh from where he bit you. It pulled a bit as you widened your legs and slipped your hand down to the center of you. You were a sopping wet mess. Your arousal and his spit mixed and and immediately coated your fingers. You moaned as you played with yourself for the audience. You leaned on your elbow and moved your other hand through your wet curls. 

“Faster. Let them hear you,” Tyrone said. 

You followed his command, letting your moans escape you and swell throughout the room. The grandfather clock continued to tick and tock. A slight breeze still floated through the room. It made you shiver. The cold air so delicious and welcome, to cool over the sweat on your skin. 

The bed dipped as Tyrone joined you. “Hmm, she ready to cum?” 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you moaned. Tyrone nuzzled his fangs across your face, pecking kisses on any inch of available skin around your mask. He licked the shell of your ear. “Let her cum then,” he whispered in your ear. 

You cried out as your orgasm came on demand. You felt like you were being ripped apart, stretched into tiny atoms and flung across the universe. Scattered. Undone and broken. You were not in your body. You were above it. Floating and touching every corner of the universe. 

“So fucking pretty cumming. Cumming for them. They wish they could fuck you like I can,” Tyrone whispered as you came. A distant anchor trying to pull you back to the real world. “I don’t want to share you though. I don’t want anyone touching what’s mine. Your body is mine. Your orgasms are mine. You are mine.” 

He punctuated every declaration with a kiss. Each kiss dragged you back to your body. Each one a new stitch to keep you together.  

Tyrone hauled you to him, lifting you to straddle his meaty thighs. He was deceptively built. He didn’t seem that solid until you took in his naked body. Thick muscle on top of more muscle. Your legs were still open and your arousal pooled on the bed. You were making a giant mess. You moaned, your body spent. 

Tyrone kissed your neck as his hands went down to your pussy. You flinched, lifting away from him. “Mhm, don’t run away now,” he said.

His fingers dipped inside your pussy and you cried out, your body trying to escape him. He held fast to you, his left arm across your chest. His fingers played and tugged with your nipples, eliciting more moans from you.

“Is she ready for this dick?” He asked.

“Unhuh,” you moaned. 

Fangs sank into your shoulder and you whined, that electric voltage returning. You desperately clenched his fingers, wishing it was his dick instead. He added a third finger and curled his fingers. Rubbing against the right spot.

“Oh, oh shit. Wait, unf, fuck,” you moaned. He kept curling them, flicking it back and forth inside of you. Your climax was swift and merciless. You were in the beyond space. Beyond sight, sound, or hearing. That beyond place that you rarely went to with a partner or solo.

Your body was bowed tight like a violin string. Sounds and sighs escaped you, an incoherent mix of pain and pleasure. That fine line you walked so carefully. 

“Aww, look how she weep for me,” Tyrone cooed. You flooded his fingers with fresh slick. He pulled his fingers out and waved them across your clit. Juices flung every which way. Another orgasm surged right behind the last one. “Uh-uh-uh,” your mouth had no breath to form any words. 

As you floated down, Tyrone pulled you around with inhuman speed. He entered you, in one fell swoop, and your head dropped down onto his shoulder. He wrapped your legs around his waist and he sat on the bed. You both sat up straight, his arms wrapped around your back.

Your hands were wrapped around his shoulders, hugging him close. Your heels crossed on the bed, sitting completely in his lap.

“Ride that shit, love. Don’t make me do all the work,” he said.

You don’t know how, but you found the strength to move. To grind down on his dick. His silky dick stretched you completely, the thick member moving in and out of your wet walls. You bounced on his dick. Both of your moans created a delicious song of sin. 

He crushed you to him as if he were trying to pass through your skin. Your breasts rubbed against his chest. Your nipples mashed against his smooth bronzed skin. “Oh fuck, right there. Please, right there,” you moaned.

“Take it, love. Take it,” he grunted. 

Your hips worked in tandem with his. You bit his shoulder. You weren’t strong enough to pierce his skin. But he groaned and told you to bite him harder. Leave the impression of your teeth there. Mark him. 

Your pussy squeezed his dick. You were a vice grip, connecting you both and not letting go. 

Tyrone kissed your neck, your mouth. Your tongues danced together and you licked his fangs, a scratch forming on your tongue. Blood seeped into his mouth and he groaned, snapping his hips harder, fucking into you rougher. 

“Feel so good, so good. Fuck me, fuck me,” you moaned. 

“Forever. Mine, all mine. Oh fuck, all mine,” he said. His dick twitched inside of you. You were so close, so close…

He leaned back and sank his fangs into your chest, right above your right breast. “Oh fuck, baby,” you whined slowly.

He snapped his hips, somehow sinking even deeper and hitting that sweet spot inside of you. You were as limp as a rag doll as your orgasm rose once more, dragged to the surface by his relentless pace. 

“Tyrone!” You cried as you came. You threw your head back, growled your orgasm to the ceiling. To the audience beyond. To the stars themselves. Your orgasm made your walls clench, guzzling him down, and he came with you. 

He unloaded inside of you, hot and pulsing. He kept going, filling you up more and more. The wet and squishy sound of him still fucking you made you moan. He sucked on the wound in your chest, sucking down more of your blood. 

As he finished pulsing and twitching inside of you, he pulled back. He licked the blood from the corner of his mouth and then crashed his lips to yours. 

“Can’t get enough. Never enough.” 

You kissed him back just as desperately. So at a loss for words. He rubbed your back as your foreheads pressed together. You caught your breath, yours so much louder than his. He didn’t truly need to breathe, but some human functions transcended death. His brain still forced him to draw in air and it fanned across your damp skin. 

He looked into your eyes and smoothed away some sweat. He smiled, his fangs flashing. He licked your lips and then kissed you one more time. His hands floated down to your ass and squeezed. 

“The things I’m going to do to you tonight will make the Devil himself jealous,” he said.

&&&

This has been turned into a series! Read the rest here: Midnight Sin Masterlist. Make sure to read the prequel!

If you need some more in your life, here ya go! The Secret Tyrone Files