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madschiavelique · 1 year ago

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Hi dear, how are you?, could you write an imagine onde reader mentioning offhand how much she would love a whole family. Four, maybe six children? Girls and boys split right down the middle, but the second Miguel hears this (maybe the reader is on the phone, or talking to lyla. or someone at HQ) and Miguel loses his mind

1) Miguel can't help himself and he would grab you and put you on the mattress for a very long time...... or

2) torture himself for two weeks before telling her why he was avoiding her please.

HIHIHI BREEDING BARK BARK (sorry this took so long to write anon zehfrfgh i pulled an all nighter to make this one so also forgive me if there are some mistakes in this gksffgjgbf)

summary : miguel learns you want kids, a lot of kids, so he breeds you

content warnings : SMUT (18+) minors dni, pnv sex - unprotected (be safe kids), breeding kink, soft!dom miguel, obsessive!miguel, no use of Y/N, fem!reader word count : 3,2k

tag list : @fandom-ash @haradasaya

Miguel was on his way to see you. He'd heard that you were back from your mission and that everything had gone well, so he'd come to get you to take you out for lunch.

He was taking advantage of the little free time he had to visit you, even though he would obviously pass this visit off as work-related in everyone's eyes. He had to always, always remain professional and keep everything under control so that everybody could do their bit.

"Six?!" asked Jess, the word choking in her throat.

Well, you were indeed back with Jess.

"Mhm, six," you affirmed as you both busied yourselves filing a report.

What were they talking about? He leaned against a wall. He knew it wasn't very polite to eavesdrop, but the word got around here. Most of society's building had cameras, and everything that was often said or done was recorded here.

He just wanted to listen to you, wondering if there were any topics of conversation that you weren't having with him and with the other spiders. Yes, he was manic, and probably a little too obsessive.

In any case, he wondered what you could have said to Jessica to make her exclaim like that.

"The more the merrier," you laughed softly.

"I hate this sentence so much," sighed Jess.

"Why so?" your voice was sincerely interrogative.

"In this context, it's really not my preferred idiom one might say," she replied as Miguel heard her tapping on a pad to enter more information.

What on earth could they be talking about? he wondered. What subject could suggest that six was far too high a number for Jess's judgement? He knew that Jess was an oragnised woman like himself, with a lot of tact and a fair amount of authority.

Was it perhaps a consecutive number of days doing an activity? Six days of marathon running might have been a bit much, but six days' holiday was never too much. He breathed in very softly, it had been years since he'd had time for such a thing. Did you want to take him on a holiday? If so, the number of days was inordinate. He would never be able to get away from his work for more than three days.

Maybe it was something else then. What was too much in Jess's mind with six?

Six empanadas perhaps? Miguel would obviously disagree. You can never have enough empanada for his taste. But Jess would probably disapprove.

Six... Six pets? It's true that having six pets might be a bit of an exaggeration, at least in Miguel's eyes of course.

Perhaps six books? No, that didn't make sense. Although Jess wasn't a huge reader, she did have a book in her hands from time to time.

So what was it? He was intrigued, that's for sure.

"You know, in my opinion, one kid is already way too much to handle," she sighed, "but six ? Nah, that's some good way of ending your life while still being alive."

But Miguel had barely heard the rest of the sentence, his mind having been caught by a single word: kid. He immediately froze, his heart skipping a beat.

Kid, like... children ? Like, actual human beings ? Small human beings ?

His eyes were wide, his mouth parted. No, he must not have heard correctly, although he dreamed that it was indeed that word that had been uttered.

"Why not? Surrounding ourselves with life is good," you said softly. "I'd love to see six little heads running around. I want three of each, three girls and three boys."

He wasn't mistaken: the discussion was really about the number of children you wanted. Six, he thought, six, six, the word echoing in his mind. He put both his hands on his hips, as if to hold on to something.

He pictured you, your rounded belly, stroking the hair of a child, your child, his child... both your children.

He swallowed, however, as another, immensely more tantalising vision took hold of his mind.

The vision of your cunt, glistening with your desire as from between its lips dripped little by little his own cum, his own seed leaking from you, your belly full of him...

It made his dick twitch for a hot second, and he couldn't remove that image, he didn't want to get rid of that image. The idea that your belly could be full of him, that he could breed you until he had no strength left was magnificent.

"What an egalitarian spirit," Jess noted wryly, "Well, it's all in order."

His thoughts were riveted on the image. He could almost hear in his own mind the sweet melody your moans would make as he came inside you again.

No, it was now impossible for him to think about anything else, he told himself that maybe he shouldn't be thinking about this. Except it's a well-known fact that if you tell someone not to think about something, they'll think about it.

He knew what breeding was, obviously, but what about you? Did you even have a clue what it was?

He tried to pull himself together, he had to either leave here or come towards you and pretend to come naturally. Would he be able to hold it together and act as if nothing had happened? Did he really have a choice in the matter after all? He breathed in, tightening his jaw as he decided to come towards you.

He walked purposefully, his usual grumpy face set surprisingly naturally as he advanced towards you.

"Ah, you're back," he sighed as if pleasantly surprised to see you both here, "how was the mission?"

"Excellent," Jess affirmed, "we've just finished the report, the anomaly has been taken care of as it should have been since we arrived."

He nodded, his serious face opening a control pad to check what she was saying and opening the file in question, pretending to read its contents. He had the impression that everywhere he looked the image came right back to him, on every tile, on every screen, everywhere in his mind.

"That's good work," he breathed.

"Damn right," nodded Jess. " Well, I'm off to join my own little demon, take care you two."

"See ya," you replied as she headed for the exit.

He wondered by what superhuman strength he managed to remain unwavering and stoic.

You moved closer to him, hugging his back and comforting yourself in the embrace.

"How was your day?" you asked, squeezing him in your arms.

Unwavering and stoic, Miguel, you have to remain unwavering and stoic.

You put your hands on his body, and with one touch his concentration was simply wiped out.

He turned to you, smiling a strange, uncertain smile as he stroked your hair, a little tense.

"You know how it is, just a lot of work," but his eyes were watching yours strangely, a flash of a vision where they were filled with desire looking back at him.

You studied him for a moment, noticing how distracted he seemed, his eyes looking at you in a strange way. You could feel a kind of desire there, a kind of longing, but you couldn't work out what it was.

"Is... everything alright?"

He shuddered, obviously his little show wasn't going to last much longer. He broke away from your embrace, he couldn't keep looking at you like that.

"Hey," you said softly, "you know you can tell me everything, right?"

Could I tell you this ? he wondered. He looked at you for a moment, another flash of you all moaning and covered in hickeys and marks on your body as you breathed his name. He looked away, closing his eyes in the hopes the flashes would stop.

"I'm afraid I cannot speak about this..."

But how he wanted to speak about this, to tell you how much he wanted to fuck you until you were full of him, until the only thing present in your mouth was his name and how much he wanted to see the sight of your round belly.

But you wouldn't listen to his silence. So you walked over to him and took his hand.

"Miguel, look at me. you asked, and he looked at you, his visions mingling with the reality where you were looking at him, worried. "Tell me."

He sighed. He couldn't run away from his ideas forever, run away from these images that he wanted to see in reality and not just in his mind. He wanted to raise his idea from the theoretical to the practical, and it was with an almost guilty breath that he admitted:

"I want to breed you."

There was a slight silence, his eyes plunged into yours, desperate to know what you were thinking. But above all he was met with confusion.

"What's breeding?" You had an idea of the term, usually used animalistically for the subject of... reproduction and maintenance of species. But just to be on the safe side with Miguel, you preferred to ask him anyway.

His lungs swelled like sails, did he really have to go through this?

"Why don't you ask Lyla what it is?" he suggested.

"Because I want to hear it from you, with your words" you assured him, your tone a mixture of strictness and curiosity.

He sighed, biting the inside of his cheek, slightly afraid of your reaction. You were practically hanging on his every word, waiting for him to explain.

"Breeding is... the act of a male and a female animal having sex, also known as mating, to reproduce..." he explained, pausing, "and procreate."

Your eyes widened slightly, and the possibility that he had overheard your previous conversation with Jess came to mind. All the same, you looked at him almost inscrutably, and he couldn't work out what you were thinking.

But now that the words had been said, he could no longer hide, no, he no longer had to hide. His thoughts were finally out, burning on his skin and lips.

He moved forward a little more, his gaze suddenly darkened by the desires he was no longer hiding.

"I want to fill you up with my cum and make sure you get pregnant."

Your lips were parted, your surprised eyes looking into his, black with desire and longing. A silence filled the air, both your hearts beating loudly in both your bodies. Miguel waited for an answer, unaware of the warm cloud that had settled in your lower belly.

He chuckled a little, an understanding smile gracing his lips as he said:

"See, your silence tells me enoug-"

"Breed me," you cut him off.

He stopped moving immediately, the statement immobilising him just like when he had understood what you and Jess were talking about.

Had his mind and his fantasies come together to play tricks on him? Or had you actually agreed with what he'd just said?

"What?" he said, his pronunciation almost slurred as he turned his attention to your next words.

"Breed me, Miguel" you repeated, determined as you swallowed in anticipation. "I want to carry you... in me."

The gleam in his eyes was almost predatory, but after all, wasn't that the very essence of breeding? The raw nature of it, the bestiality, the quenching of the oldest instinct that ever was.

You only had time to see his eyes turn red as he lunged for your lips, kissing you with his mouth wide open as your teeth almost clashed and he attacked your tongue.

The power with which he kissed you made you take a step backwards, but you weren't going anywhere, because Miguel immediately placed his hand in the small of your back to make sure he had you close to him.

He let out grunts between kisses, his hunger for your skin lengthening his canines as they brushed almost dangerously against your tongue.

Then he lifted you in one swift movement, placing you on his shoulder as he headed for the door leading to his quarters, his impatience growing faster than ever. You bit your lip, already swollen from his kisses, his hand gripping your thigh firmly as he led you to the bed.

He laid you down, following every movement of your body as he kissed you again. He stood back for a moment, watching your body.

"Do you have sentimental value for your suit?"

"What?" you asked, confused by the sudden question.

"Just answer," he asked through clenched teeth.

"I mean it's old but I can live withou-"

You hadn't even finished your sentence when he ripped off your suit with an ease that sent shivers down your spine, ripping the fabric covering your cunt, tearing your panties and throwing all the rags into the rest of the room.

"No questions about the sentimental value of my underwear?" you laugh lightly.

"I'll get you some new ones," he breathed, a carnivorous sneer inhabiting his lips, "I'll take great care in chosing them."

You swallowed as he kissed your neck, nestling in and marking your skin with thirst. He straightened to kiss your lips, and whispered against them:

"Turn over, get down on your elbows and knees".

You complied, his instructions increasing the size of the cloud of heat in your belly. You placed your folded arms flat on the sheets, your knees slightly apart.

"Lift your hips for me, nena," he commanded in a tone as soft as cotton.

You listened, arching your back as you lifted your hips, your ass gloriously up just for him to fuck. He swallowed, his hand coming to grip one of your buttocks and pulling it apart, pressing it between his fingers and gripping your skin full hand.

"Already so good and wet for me," he mused, one of his fingers passing between your folds.

Of course you were already wet, the way he had introduced the concept to you making you all fuzzy and warm in your belly. You'd never been against the idea of Miguel being a bit more violent, and to be honest you were excited by the idea of him being so from now on.

Once he'd coated himself sufficiently, he pushed one finger into you, soft moans falling from your lips filling the room. He added another one, and your lust was growing by the second. You were getting impatient too, but you couldn't help noticing that Miguel simply couldn't wait any longer.

Miguel was always very keen about taking his time, preparing you well apart from the few moments when one of you needed a quicky, but here eagerness was getting the better of him, and above all his most instinctive desires buried deep inside him had taken the reigns of all his actions.

The thought of him being in you through your core made him feel so drunk on you. These ideas had already been marinating in his mind for a while, it had only taken this conversation between you and Jess to flip the switch. And he observed in adoration, seeing you like this, underneath him with your much smaller frame, sitting up and ready to take him.

"Hands behind your back."

His orders became more and more urgent, his tone wavering with envy. It was impossible for him to formulate a whole sentence.

So you laid your face on the sheets, cheek pressed to your side as you brought your hands behind your back, joining your wrists together like you were imagining yourself handcuffed. You shivered as his hand, whose fingers had previously been inside you, reached out from between your folds and took both your wrists at the same time, locking them in this embrace. His hand was obviously big enough to hold both your wrists together and prevent you from breaking free from his grip.

He had locked you completely.

He had blocked out any possibility of you making a move other than squirming around him. Miguel would never tire of this control, this hold he had over you right now. You were his, nobody else's, and he would let eveybody know this by fucking his seed into you and get as many babies as you wanted.

That's when you felt the head of his dick coating itself with your juices, preparing to burry himself into you. You couldn't see Miguel like this, but you could hear him. Dark growls vibrated in his throat, deeper than you'd ever heard them before, and it felt intimidating.

He thrust, pushing his tip into you, and you let out a groan of relief that sank into the fabric of the sheets. You breathed softly, letting Miguel's thick, long cock sink into you. No matter how many times you had done it, taken him like that, you still couldn't get used to it.

His lower belly finally touched the skin of your ass, his dick deep inside you. And you felt him pressing against your stomach. You knew that if you brought one of your hands to your stomach, you'd feel the shape of his cock against your skin.

He was so deep in you, an almost bestial growl escaped him as he slowly began to pull back before thrusting in hard.

You let out a little cry of surprise and pleasure that echoed around the room, and he repeated the same gesture. He kept bearing down on you until he touched your slick on his lower belly and pulling away, pushing back in the next second until it'd touch his balls.

Your body was burning, unable to do anything but arch your back more and groan. Your hands were gripping the void, and the impossibility of finding a foothold in all this was making you feel out of control. But you were enjoying the sensations he was giving you, and so was he.

He listened to the symphony of your voice as he picked up the pace, the feeling of your gummy walls wrapping all tight and warm around him was absolute perfection to him.

He knew it wouldn't be long before his first cum would hit, but he needn't have worried. Miguel could go on for a long, long time, and he just hoped that you could keep up, although he had no doubt that his best girl would live up to his expectations.

He could no longer string a sentence together properly, the words he was trying to whisper as he sank deep inside you coming out as if chewed up by his long fangs.

He grunted, his rhythm and the tilt of your two bodies giving you both exceptional sensations. The knot in your stomach tightened, threatening to burst as Miguel came closer.

And the world stopped spinning for a second.

You came together, your walls closing spasmodically around him as you felt him spill into you. Because that's what you wanted, right ? That's the one thing you desired, and he was going to give it to you entirely.

He pulled out, just for the pleasure of seeing the work he had so long dreamed of seeing. And the satisfaction was superb, his white creamy cum slowly pouring out of your wet cunt, still pulsing with desire.

A dark laugh rose from his throat as he sank back into you and you let out a startled moan. He lowered himself, his lips pressing against your ear.

"I hope you thought of six names."

It would be a long, long night.

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vixstarria · 1 year ago

Text

Intimacy

Hello friends, have some soft Act 2 Astarion.

Astarion’s struggle with sex and intimacy. Connected with my other fics but is a standalone, per usual.

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, soft Astarion

Hurt/comfort, some fluff if you squint, love, angst, mutual pining, Act 2 spoilers, some fairly softcore smut

Approximately 1,600 words.

AO3

“I have no idea what we’re doing,” he told you. You’d replayed that conversation over and over countless times in your mind, since.

You had no idea what you were doing either. Oh, navigating an ordinary relationship was simple enough, and you’d had your fair share of those – even if they’d all ended in disappointment at best, so far. Being with someone who’d just escaped 200 years of abuse, however... That was something new.

“I don't think I want you to think of me in terms of sex.”

Well that was a fuck-up. He was walking sex. ...Most likely due to sheer force of habit, so necessary for survival over all those years, but still.

“I love you.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck...

You were in over your head too. Completely. Hopelessly. In love with this catastrophe of a man.

What were you to do with him now?

Wait for him to take the lead in every physical interaction? It wasn’t in your nature to be so passive. He knew this. And you were sure he would love to be treated like spurned glass all of a sudden.

Continue as you were? Even though now all you could think about was whether a touch might bring up a repulsive memory? Assume that you could singlehandedly overwrite centuries of disgust and loathing, overnight? How presumptuous and overbearing that would have been.

Communicate? Ask? Listen? Sure. Absolutely. You did. Or tried, anyway. You were about as good at talking about these things as he was. And you didn’t really trust him to be completely honest at this point. Whether with you or his own self.

And so you explored. Slowly, cautiously and attentively.

The most innocent touches seemed to bring him an inordinate amount of joy. You weren’t surprised.

Passing him a vial of poison for his weapons and letting your fingers brush and caress one another’s, briefly. Wordlessly running a stray hand along his waist and planting a quick kiss under his ear while you walked past him as he stood talking with someone. Lingering with your foreheads or noses touching lightly after a kiss.

He leaped at any opportunity to massage your sore muscles or help you apply a salve, and you let him. It seemed he wanted to take care of you, and was working out all the ways how.

He still pleasured you in different ways, at times.

“You don’t have to...”

“I want to,” he said.

He just chose to keep his own pants on, now. You weren’t sure about his motivations. Could it be guilt? Or a misguided sense of self-worth? Did he still think this is all he was good for? Or, maybe you were completely overthinking it, and he was still just desperately horny, even if taking a step back. He was more present than before though, you could tell that much.

You considered his reactions to other forms of touch, careful not to make your observation obvious.

He hated being scratched. The entire area of his back covered in scars was off-limits for anything but embraces. He enjoyed playful bites, both giving and receiving. And more than anything, he loved holding you close, feeling as much of your body at once as possible, basking in its warmth.

In turn, you were more than happy to wrap yourself around him when you could.

“Why do you even like this?” he asked, apprehensive about it at first. “You don’t need to pretend for my sake. I can’t give you any warmth.”

“I can give you mine,” you said, simply. “Besides, you obviously don’t remember what it’s like to lie in a puddle of sweat with someone who runs hot. This is a nice change.” you added after a moment of contemplation.

You meant what you said, but you were dying to drag him into a hot bath, just to know what it would feel like for him to be warmed through. Maybe you’d get the chance once you got to Baldur’s Gate.

There happened to be a private room available at Last Light Inn that night. The group unanimously agreed that you and Astarion would take it, while the rest of your companions bunked in the common.

“For Shar’s sake, piss off, none of us want to see or hear you two,” were the exact words of their blessing, delivered by Shadowheart. Karlach sanctified it by throwing a (deftly dodged) half-eaten apple at Astarion’s head.

“Especially not hear!”

“I know this may come as a shock, but I’m actually not too fond of beds,” he said.

“New memories, Astarion,” you shook your head. “Beds are non-negotiable. I wasn’t too fond of rutting in the dirt either.”

“I’ll never grow tired of how poetic you are,” he smiled, unceremoniously throwing his gear on the floor. “New memories, you say?”

A while later, you were straddling Astarion’s hips as he sat shirtless on the edge of the bed.

“You know, you never did tell me what you like,” you sighed, your fingers in his hair as he kissed your neck.

“Oh, what does anyone like? It’s all the same in the end,” he said, running his hands along your thighs.

“That’s not true,” you murmured in his ear. “I can show you some things that are pretty unique to you right now,” you said and ran the tip of your tongue along the lower inner edge of his ear, making him shudder and let out a small moan.

“You little devil, when did you figure that out?” he breathed.

“When I happened to brush your ear a while back, like this,” you giggled, repeating the hand movement on his other ear, making him catch his breath slightly again, “and you just about started purring.”

He just chuckled in response.

“So what other secrets are you hiding?” you purred, kissing around his ear. “I might just need to kiss and caress every inch of your body to find out.”

"Sounds like a terrible chore,” he said, falling back onto the bed and pulling you with him. “You don’t want to do that.”

“Shut up and let me cherish you.”

You kissed down along one side his neck, slowly, taking your time, pausing to lightly lick or nibble on any spot that made him hitch his breath. He was putty in your hands by the time you reached his collarbone.

“Just don’t go any lower,” he said breathlessly.

You hummed your agreement. You couldn’t handle going any lower yourself – you were completely intoxicated with the scent of his skin and the sound of his sighs of pleasure, if you went any lower, you would keep going, and you didn’t think it was a day for that yet.

You continued up the other side of his neck instead.

You hesitated for a moment before your lips reached the bite marks left by Cazador, but Astarion made no indication that he didn’t want you to keep going, and so you continued. He let out a soft whimper as your lips brushed the scars.

“No?” you pulled back slightly, your hot breath still on his skin. He was lying with his eyes shut, head thrown back, neck completely exposed to you.

“Yes...” he whispered, hoarsely. “Very yes... Softly...”

You continued, lingering with your lips on the scars, as his fingers dug into the flesh of your hips, snapping them against his own and grinding you against an unmistakable erection.

“I want you to make those marks your own... Yours and no one else’s...” he rasped.

This is probably a mistake, you thought, but you could barely help yourself as you moaned into his neck and ran your tongue over the scars, making him growl and grind you into himself harder. The friction, the knowledge that he wanted it too was driving you mad.

“I’m going to come if you don’t stop that,” you begged.

“Go ahead,” he groaned.

“Not without you.”

Something in the energy changed then, and you lifted yourself off him, sitting up. Astarion stayed on his back a moment longer, before exhaling and also raising himself into a sitting position. You were still on his lap, facing him.

“Listen,” he took your face in both hands, looking into your eyes intensely. “I want you so fucking bad, it hurts. I want to tear your clothes off and ravage you until you’re speaking in tongues. I do.” His voice was hoarse. He paused, before continuing. “But even more than that, I want to remember this, remember you, and not have any of the dirt from my past mixed into it. It’s difficult enough to keep it at bay as it is.” His eyes teared up at that. “And right now, for now, this is the only way I know how to do that.”

“I’m sorry.” Tears sprang from your eyes.

“No, you sweet idiot, you haven’t done anything wrong. I love you.” He gathered you in his arms, kissing away your tears as his own started to roll down. He sighed. “Great, now no one is coming, and everyone is crying.”

You both burst out laughing as soon as those words were out of his mouth.

You held each other a while longer, him stroking your back, before you broke the silence.

“So the bite scars are pretty erogenous then?”

“Extremely. Use that knowledge at your own risk and peril, darling.”

He lifted your chin for a kiss.

“Shall we go piss everyone off for a while, maybe steal Lae’zel’s boots, then come back here for more ‘memories’?” he asked.

“Sounds childish and dangerous. I’m in.”

You needed to clear your head too.

Maybe tomorrow would be the day one of you would get closer to knowing what it was you were doing, and tell the other. Until then, at least you were in it together.

~~~~~

The “I love you” is not canon for Act 2, but it is my headcanon, damnit.

Like what you just read? Huzzah, there’s more! - Series master list

Next in series - Communication

AO3

#astarion #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 fanfic #astarion fanfic #softcore smut #bg3 smut #astarion smut

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markerofthemidnight · 5 months ago

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Thinking about liminal horror and how cool it would be to see some of that in the Headspace. Here’s a fun idea I came up with below the cut.

The house never, exactly, abided to reality’s rules. Its layout was similar to that of their house in the real world, but each room was bigger than it was supposed to be. They know because Mind personally measured the height and length of each room in order to confirm this, and it bothered him ever since.

Some rooms, like the jail used to hold Heart post-Ruler of Everything, would exist one day and then cease to be the other, as if it disappeared simply because the house doesn’t need it anymore.

But six rooms would always stay there consistently. Their respective rooms, the living room, the kitchen… and the Basement.

The Basement was a door tucked away in the darkest corner of the house, with an inordinate amount of wooden planks nailed to it. None of them had ever went down there before, and for good reason.

Mind reasoned that, if he and the others all represented parts of a person’s consciousness, then the Basement was probably the subconscious brain.

They say only 5% of our brains are dedicated to our consciousness.

And if the three sentient beings with insane anatomy, made of formless nothingness, and the endless labyrinth of trees with a nonsensical warping house in its centre, is just 5% of the actual Headspace…

…then they probably really don’t want to see what’s in the Basement.

But people get curious. And even moreso than that, Soul gets desperate.

So one day, he decides to do the unthinkable. He decides, to punish Heart and Mind for never listening to him, and never doing anything but arguing all the time, he’s going to lock them in the Basement.

To say they didn’t quite like that idea would be an understatement. Heart couldn’t get further away from that thing, and whilst Mind would usually scoff at him being so emotional, he never did so whenever the topic of the Basement came up.

Dragging them down there was relatively easy. Not because they didn’t try and fight back, but because they couldn’t, not with Soul’s near-infinite power so long as he has the Trident. The boards separating them from the Basement also didn’t put up a very good fight when he got to them.

He throws them inside, and they abruptly land at the top of a set of stairs, in such a way that prevents them from tumbling down the rest of the flight… however long that flight may be, as a fair chunk of those steps were covered in fog.

Soul’s about to close the door… but it doesn’t work. The door doesn’t have a latch. Well- that can’t be right. Were those boards the only things keeping the door shut this whole time? They couldn’t be, right?

He groans, and decides to do something… well, in hindsight, incredibly stupid. Instead of just finding a chair or something, he steps inside himself, and tells Heart and Mind to keep going.

And there’s a click, as the door locks.

…He could not have just heard that, right? Soul turns back to the door, and- it has a latch again. And a lock. A lock that won’t open. He’s trapped inside, just like the other two.

After a few seconds of manually trying to wrench the door open with his trident, he sees something else has changed about it. There’s a sentence on it, written in three different colours of blood- their blood.

It’s fairly small, but still easy to see even in the darkness of the Basement. There, perfectly legible with proper punctuation, written in a font reminiscent of an old typewriter, is a message to the three of them, or- no, just to Soul.

Look what you’ve done.

#chonny jash #cccc #cccc au #cj #chonny’s charming chaos compendium #chonny jash soul #liminal horror #I really went hard on this didn’t I #CJ basement AU #(tagging this just in case you guys want to see more)

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discount-shades · 2 years ago

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Sleepy Baby Part 2

a/n: I was shocked and flattered about how many people liked the first one. I figured I’d do Part 2.

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin / Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1400 ish

Summary: Despite all evidence to the contrary Jake is still very confident in himself.

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Jake glances up from the dart board to see who was walking through the door of the Hard Deck. His shoulders slump when it isn’t you. It had been a month since you had played the Village Peoples’ In the Navy and walked out the door after calling him Baby. His friends had laughed at him when you made your dramatic exit. Penny had been delighted that you used the song in the way it was intended when she left it on the jukebox. To knock a pilot down a few pegs. She was known to play the song to tease Maverick.

From the moment he met you, Jake was hooked. Your smile, your laugh, your wit, it was everything about you. If he was being honest with himself it was probably the salute you sent him as you walked out the door that sealed the deal for him. You did not care that he was a pilot. In fact you spent most of your short amount of time with him mocking what most people fawned over him for.

While the pilot schtick got him laid, he always got the impression that the uniform was the key factor. Not himself. Spending most of his time at bars near the base probably didn’t help. They tend to attract a certain clientele.

When you had called him Baby he had been sure you would be back and had taken to spending an inordinate amount of time at the Hard Deck, waiting. He had even promised Penny to buy the bar a round if she would call him if you arrived and he was not there. No luck so far.

“Get over her, man.” Javy sighs at his friend's antics. “You were clearly more into her than she was you.”

“No, she was into me,” Jake insists, throwing a bullseye. “She said she would give me her number next time, well implied she would, but still.” Despite Javy’s laughter at the comment, Jake was sure. He just needed to see you again. “She is probably at a different bar.”

“That is because she is avoiding you, Hangman.”

“She is, but not like you think,” Jake took his time lining up his final shot. “I need to find her to get her number.” As the days of not seeing you back at the Hard Deck passed Jake was becoming more convinced that he needed to go find you.

“You don't even know her name!” Jake could tell Javy was getting exasperated. “And there must be thousands of bars and pubs in San Diego. How are you going to find her?”

Jake threw his final dart and hit the bullseye again. Turning he grinned at his friend, “But, she said she worked with kids at the library,” a plan was forming in his mind. “I’ll just visit her at work!”

“This is starting to slip closer into ‘stalker territory’ than I am comfortable with.” Javy said, rubbing his head. “How many libraries are in San Diego anyway?”

“There are 34 libraries within San Diego City limits, and another 33 in the surrounding county.” Bob said from behind them, reading from his phone.

Jake and Javy startled and spun around. “How long have you been sitting there?” Jake asked.

“Again, I've been here the whole time.”

Jake pointed his finger at Bob. “Phoenix doesn't hear about this!”

“No promises.”

…

Jake pulled his truck into the library parking lot and gently laid his head on the steering wheel. This will be the 42nd library he has checked, and the last one within city limits. It has been six weeks since he has started looking for you and he has his spiel down.

He’d introduce himself and apologize for forgetting the name of the woman who he had previously spoken to. She had mentioned some great kids programs for his niece who he will be watching for his sister who is on a business trip. Polite description of your features, hide his disappointment when he is told that no one matching your description works there. Graciously accept the brochure of the Children's Activity Program and on to the next library.

The good news is that if Evie ever did come to stay with him for a few weeks he would be set on activities for a seven year old to do. He sighed and got out of his truck and made his way toward the door.

…

You are in your office ordering caterpillars for the yearly butterfly program your library puts on. After putting the caterpillar kit in your online cart you click the sale tab on the website to see if there is anything else the library needs. The first item is a 3D tic-tac-toe game and you are reminded of him.

It has been over 2 months and, if you are honest, everything still reminds you of him. You regret not giving him your number more than you care to admit. Your therapist was right. You are ready to get back out there. But your heart is still too tender to go back to the Hard Deck and not see him. Or worse, risk him not being interested. He is the one that you let get away.

So every week you still go to a different bar. You make small talk to those around you. But you have not felt the instant chemistry you felt with the pilot. No banter, no jokes. And every time you meet someone who is charming you can't help but compare them to the pilot. And you still don't even know his real name.

“Hi my name is Jake Seresin, I’m looking for some children's programs for my niece.” Your ears perk up as you listen to the front desk through the open doorway. When the man describes speaking with a woman who matches your description you search your memories for men you have spoken to recently.

There was the man with a wedding ring who had hit on you. A single dad who had just signed his son up for everything, no questions asked, and someone who looked like a teenager who was looking for activities for his younger siblings. No uncles that you remembered.

“Our Activity Coordinator is in that office,” you hear your coworker say, “she is the one you need to talk to.”

You sit straight in your chair and look up, ready to greet the person walking through your door and your breath catches in your throat. It's him, looking just as good in jeans and a t-shirt. The pilot. Your pilot. He is smiling so widely when he sees you his whole face is lit up.

“Hugs and Kisses, you are a hard woman to track down.”

You press your lips together trying not to smile as widely as you want to. “I figured you were up for the challenge, Sleepy Baby," you reply.

“This is the 42nd library I have checked to see if you worked at.” He sits down in the chair across from your desk. “The thought of your smile was the only thing that kept me going.”

“Well 42 is the meaning of everything.”

“Oh Darling, you are the meaning of my everything.”

You give in and laugh, grinning so much your cheeks hurt. “I liked the imaginary niece in your story,” you lean back in your chair matching his posture. “Who did you steal her from?”

“Oh Evie is mine and very real.” He assures you. “My sister's daughter, she’s seven and happens to be delighted when she hangs me every time we play hangman.”

“A girl after my own heart,” you smile at the way his face lights up when he talks about Evie. “You let her win, don't you?”

“I do.” He admits looking slightly distressed. “She is the type who would steal imaginary kittens too and I can't help but love her for it.” You both laugh at his confession.

You sit for a moment, smiling at each other across the desk. “I’m Jake, and I never did get your name or number.”

You smile at him before leaning over and picking up a blank piece of paper off your desk. You carefully draw the number of lines for letters in your name and ten lines for the digits in your phone number. You hold up the paper with a cheeky grin. “Well Jake, my name and number, I’ll play you Sleepy Baby for it?”

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #topgun maverick #top gun hangman #hangman/reader #hangman #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #hangman top gun #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin/reader #top gun x reader

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dotthings · 6 months ago

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Some tea from Richard Speight, Jr. about filming Cas’s testament scene has surfaced from DLC6. [x]

nothing cut from script to screen but they added things, such as Cas having to paint the sigil on the door and leaving the bloody hand print on Dean’s shoulder [my note: wbk about the additions during filming. There's still the matter of the spanish dub because the latam dubbing team felt a verbal I love you from Dean, made sense. And a few other lingering questions that have not actually been resolved and we may never know, but I'll go along. If Rich is happy with what was filmed and got to screen in the US, I'm glad. I love 15.18 either way. Rich's comments also goes to show how collaborative making tv is and how fluid the process can be.]

Rich said the scene wasn’t intended to be about Dean’s reciprocation, it was to give Cas his moment to speak his truth, to speak his love for Dean, and Cas didn’t expect an answer back, he just wanted to be heard, wanting Dean to know. [my note: makes sense to me, and it’s what I’ve thought about Cas pov. Cas pov not being the same as audience pov and what the story might need next and what Dean’s needs are. But for that scene, Cas feels complete. It also very much means the emotional story from Dean's side is not resolved. Dean wasn't given his chance yet, by creative design, perhaps because the only way they could get this greenlit at all is if it was only Cas who got to speak. We'll see what happens next.]

Rich saying because they did many takes of the scene with Dean’s emotional reactions, there are shots where Dean is crying more, or crying less. Editing put together different angles from different takes. [my note: the irony that naysayers are already trying to weaponize this to shut down the idea that anything got cut when per Rich himself, the facts on the ground are that the full range of Jensen’s acting for Dean’s response got reduced. No shade on Rich. But let's not erase or deny what was going on with Jensen's acting and how Jensen gave 110% and what wound up on screen was about 80% of whatever work Jensen did. Dean wept more than we saw, even before Dean was on the dungeon floor sobbing. Jensen’s performance as it stands is beautiful and powerful and full of emotion. It has taken an inordinate amount of hate and erasure, which is 100% cynical concern trolling to deny Dean’s feelings for Cas. More shots of Dean crying openly wouldn’t stop it, there’s no excuse for those responses. What’s there is loud enough. Only the most willfully cynical gaze could deny the love and anguish Dean showed.]

Rich said the parallel for John and Mary’s confession in TW 1x07 to 15x18 is a “coincidence” yet went on to talk about the trope of confessing love in a life or death situation and cited Leia and Han Solo among others [my note: it was also used again by an ep Rich recently directed in another piece of media I won’t say so I don’t spoil it. Also I’m laughing about how it seems he answered this. Total coincidence!! And spn 15.18 is like TW 1x07 is like Han and Leia and love confessions in dire situations is a common (romantic) trope. Pls, if anybody is taking away from this some kind of shutdown on creative recognition of the Destiel implications of it all, I don’t even want to know, I’ve had my fill of poor comprehension skills, poor critical thinking, and poor media literacy, oh my god]

Rich saying he was glad Cas’s words meant a lot to queer fans and that he feels it was important and a “bold” move that Bobo and Misha fought for. <3

So that's confirmation from director now, to add to writer intention, both actors, and an EP who greenlight Bobo's pitch for Cas’s testament as romantic. That is canon. That is a lock.

Cas's testament started out carefully padded into an “open to interpretation” zone. We have watched it be eased out of it and into the open.

I’m pleased it's openly acknowledged for what it is...and what I knew it was when the ep aired. I did expect it would be eventually, and would take some time. I’m glad it's here now.

As always, my appreciation for the work Rich, Bobo, Jensen, Misha did on 15.18 <333

#richard speight jr #destiel #jensen ackles #gay Cas is canon #Castiel #Dean Winchester

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artemistorm · 2 months ago

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Sicktember day 17: Brain fog/spaced out (Wind)

********

“Let’s take a break,” Time called.

“Finally,” Four groaned and flopped onto the ground. Sky sat down heavily beside him. Legend and Time quietly stepped off the road on opposite sides to use the latrine—or la-tree-n as Warriors liked to call it.

Wind sat on the ground. He was tired. Tired-er than usual. Exhausted even. He just wanted the day’s trek to be over with. Wind took a drink from his waterskin; the water felt unexpectedly icy in his throat and he flinched in surprise.

“How much farther are we going?” Twilight asked.

“I dunno,” Warriors answered. “Until the Old Man is happy with the distance we’ve traveled. I can’t imagine we’ll go too much farther, we had an early start. We’ll ask him once he gets back.”

“I’m okay to keep going!” Hyrule said cheerfully.

“Do you ever run out of energy?” Sky laughed.

“Him and Wild, our little rangers,” Warriors said.

Wind crawled so that he was in the sun—the shade was too cold for him. He lay down and stretched long.

“You’re like a cat,” Twilight said with a grin.

“Meow!” Wind replied. He crossed his legs and draped an arm over him eyes, blocking out the sun. The conversation around him faded into an indiscriminate droning, he began to doze. It felt like only a few seconds had passed when Time’s voice jolted him awake.

“Alright, is everyone ready? Let’s go.”

Wind groaned to himself. He was just getting comfortable! He sat up and then stood up. Time passed and he realized belatedly that he was just standing there staring at the ground. He rubbed his eyes. He must not be fully awake yet. Why was he so tired? Why was he so foggy?

And then suddenly, the ground became the sky. Brown faded into blue, so bright it hurt his eyes, and he squinted, eyes watering.

Suddenly, Sky was there. Wind? He mouthed.

“Wh… why is…” Wind started. Why is Sky laying on the sky? Why is the world upside down? Why is Sky flying? He knew none of those questions made sense. The world didn’t make sense.

“—onfused, give him—” As the buzzing in Wind’s ears faded, he heard Sky’s voice.

Why did his head hurt? Why did he feel like he was made of bees? Buzzing and vibrating under his skin.

Something grabbed his ankles, startling him. His heart leapt with fear as his brain screamed something about monsters trying to drag him off. Wind looked down but instead of monsters, it was Wild. He held Wind’s feet up and then sat cross-legged under them, resting Wind’s feet in his lap. Why would he do that?

A hand on his face, on his forehead. If felt cool. It was nice. But all too quickly, the hand left.

“Hey Wind, you with us yet?” Warriors asked, kneeling next to him. When did Sky leave? When had Warriors arrived?

“Hi,” Wind answered.

“How are you feeling, buddy?”

Buddy. Being called buddy annoyed Wind an inordinate amount. He wasn’t a little kid! But Wind swallowed the biting replies that bubbled up within him.

“Gross,” he said. He was nauseous, his heart raced, and he felt weak.

“You fainted. You’re sick. You’re running a fever.”

“Oh… that explains things,” Wind admitted.

“Just take it easy and rest here. We’re going to stop traveling for the day,” Sky said. “Some of us are going to work together to try and cook up some medicine for you.”

“Whatever,” Wind murmured. It wasn’t his problem. He had no interest in being vertical or doing anything at all. He didn’t care what any of the other heroes did.

Four draped a blanket over him and he closed his eyes again. Finally, Wind was allowed to nap.

#linked universe #sicktember 2024 #day 17 #lu wind

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sissylittlefeather · 11 months ago

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Role Play Part 1: Good Cop, Bad Cop

A/N: This might be a one-shot or maybe I'll write more parts. I haven't decided yet. It'll depend on whether anyone likes it. But this is based on photos from Sonny West's wedding. It's Elvis x fem!reader and it is dirrttyyyy.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (m & f receiving), p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, gun play, Elvis being bossy and dom, infidelity, cop roleplay, handcuffs, I think that's everything?

Word count: ~3.5k

When your cousin asked you to help with one of her catering events, you weren't exactly excited. However, you changed your mind when you found out who the event was for.

"You know who Sonny West is, right?!" You frantically ask your cousin.

"Kind of? All I know is Elvis Presley is picking up the tab for the whole wedding."

"I will absolutely help you with this event." You smile and grab her arm, squeezing it gently. This is the opportunity of a lifetime and you've never been happier to be related to her.

******

On the day of the big event, you spend an inordinate amount of time in the bathroom doing your hair and makeup. Everything has to be perfect on the off chance you happen to get to meet Elvis. You know it's a long shot, but still, this is a better chance than you've ever had before. Once you feel like the look is complete with your tight black skirt and white button down, you head out the door. You're assigned to work the after party at Graceland, so you get in your car and drive that way.

The wedding party isn't there yet when you arrive, but they will be soon, so you get to work helping prepare food and set out trays.

You're in the kitchen when you hear the party arrive and everyone heads out to their assigned spot. You're putting the finishing touches on your tray, though, so you stay behind in the kitchen. That's when you see him for the first time.

He saunters into the kitchen to get a bottle of his favorite water from the fridge. You don't notice him walk in, so you're startled when the refrigerator door opens. You gasp and put your hand on your heart, glad you didn't drop the tray you're holding.

"Oh, I'm sorry darlin', I didn't mean to scare ya." He drawls. Your mouth drops open a little at the sight of him there in his velvet suit and white tie. You've suddenly forgotten how to speak English. "What's your name, honey?"

A smirk plays across his mouth. He's enjoying the fact that he's got you speechless as you search your brain for the answer to his question. After way too much time, you finally get it out.

"My name is y/n. You're..."

"I am. It's nice to meet you, y/n. Welcome to my home."

"It's nice." You cringe a little with your response and he smiles.

"Thank you. I better get back out there. Hopefully we run into each other again." He winks shamelessly and you blush as he leaves the kitchen. You take a deep breath and head out to your assigned post near the drink table.

You stand there for about twenty minutes before you feel eyes on you from across the room. When you make eye contact he winks again and smiles. He obviously isn't paying much attention to the conversation he's supposed to be in. Your cheeks flush and it suddenly feels very warm in the room. You decide it's time for a bathroom break and grab another waiter to let them know where you're going. You get there and wash your hands with cold water, pressing them to your cheeks when you finish. You look in the mirror and shake your head a little and then head out the door. What you don't expect is to almost run smack into Elvis when you leave the bathroom.

"Oh my gosh!" You put your hands on his chest to keep from running into him and look up at him as he chuckles.

"I guess I did say I hoped to run into you." You nod, speechless again. "Are you afraid of me?" His eyebrows knit together in the center of his forehead, showing his concern. Finally, you find your voice.

"No! I'm sorry; I'm just a little starstruck. I can't believe you're talking to me."

"Why wouldn't I be talking to you? Look at you." He gently brushes some of your hair out of your face and tucks it behind your ear. You look at each other for a while and his eyes flick down to your mouth. Then, he cups your chin in his hand and starts to lean in towards you. As he presses his lips to yours softly, fireworks go off somewhere behind your navel. He pulls back slowly and you hear a voice.

"Boss, they're asking for you again." He sighs deeply and turns to the man sent to summon him.

"I thought I told you not to disturb me tonight."

"It's Priscilla. She-"

"Enough. I'm coming." He turns back to you and smiles. "I'll find you again. Don't worry."

When he leaves you there in the hallway, your breath comes in deep waves and you feel like you might pass out. Elvis Presley kissed you. And it seems like he'd like to do it again. You decide then and there that you'll let him- and more if that's what he wants. After gathering yourself a bit, you go back to your post next to the drink table.

When you get there, Elvis is doing some kind of demonstration with a few of his guns and badges. He's taken his jacket off and you can't get over how good he looks with his shoulder holster and belts showing. He holds up a long rifle and someone takes a picture as he talks. The way his rings clack against the wood and metal and he holds his cigarillo against the butt of the gun makes your warm center even warmer. The masculinity of the scene hits you in the soft and feminine parts of you and you don't just want him, you need him.

When he notices you watching with your mouth opened slightly, he gives you a knowing smile and licks his lips. A shiver runs down your spine and you pray that he will come talk to you again. You serve drinks and pass out smiles and wait patiently for him to be free.

Finally, he catches your eye and nods towards the kitchen. You don't hesitate to head that direction. When you get there, it's bustling with activity. He comes in behind you and you hear his voice boom.

"OUT!" All the waitstaff look at each other and then back at him. "You heard me!"

They gather their things quickly and leave, so that it's just you and him. As soon as you're alone, he wraps his arms around your waist from behind and kisses the back of your neck under where you have your hair pulled up. He whispers into your ear.

"I saw you watching me with my guns. Would you like to see more of them?" You close your eyes with the sensation of his breath on your ear, but you manage to respond softly.

"Yes, please."

"Come with me." He unwraps himself from around you and takes your hand. He leads you up the staircase and through his office to his bedroom. You know someone must have seen you, but it doesn't seem like anyone cares. Or maybe they've just learned not to say anything. Either way, you find yourself standing in Elvis Presley's bedroom as he shows you his small arsenal.

He describes each gun in detail, but you're so distracted by how attractive he is that you would fail a test if he gave you one. Finally, he pulls out a small pistol and makes sure it's completely unloaded. Then, he hands it to you.

"You know how to hold one of these?"

"I don't." He steps behind you again and makes sure you have the gun pointed away from anything. He puts his hands on your waist.

"Feet shoulder-width apart." He runs his hands up to your arms. "Arms straight." He slides his hands down to yours and makes sure your stance is strong. In doing so, he also presses his rock hard cock into your ass. You damn near melt where you're standing. Then, he pulls back quickly.

"What?" You ask, nervously, afraid that he's changed his mind for some reason.

"Little lady, do you have a license for that firearm?" He has a playful smirk again, so you relax.

"No, sir, I don't." He pulls a badge from his pocket.

"Then, I'm afraid I'm going to have to arrest you." Sliding open a drawer, he lifts out a pair of handcuffs. He leans in close to your ear and whispers. "Let me know if this is too much."

"It's not."

"Well, alright then." He takes the gun from you and turns you around, pulling you close to him and kissing you deeply, his tongue sliding into your mouth to dance with yours. He pulls back and looks you in the eye. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but you can kiss me and tempt me all you want. I still have to arrest ya."

You walk together towards the bed with him still wrapped around you and your mouths pressed together, kicking off your shoes as you go. He tosses the handcuffs on the bed and then lifts your shirt up and over your head. Then, he removes his heavy belts, letting them drop to the floor, and his shoulder holster, tie, and necklace. He lets you undo the buttons on his shirt and push it down his arms and off. His hands run up and down your body and then move to your back to unhook your bra. He lays you on the bed and reaches for the handcuffs.

"I hate to do this, but illegal use of a firearm is a pretty serious offense." He speaks matter-of-factly as he handcuffs your wrists around the bedpost. "Some punishment is in order."

With every word, your dripping center becomes wetter and wetter and your absolute need for him grows. He unzips your skirt and slides it down your thighs and off, leaving you in just your panties. With his hands on the inside of each thigh, he spreads your legs. Then, he runs a hand up to your core and feels the wetness there with his thumb.

"Mm. Good girl knows what I like."

"What are you gonna do to me, Officer?" His eyes light up when you play along with his game. You can tell this is a fantasy for him and you're not about to ruin it now. Besides, it's turning you on more than you care to admit.

"I'm gonna make sure you don't do anything like this again."

He moves back up to your chest and runs his tongue around your nipple while you squirm beneath his touch. He sucks lightly on the other nipple and kisses down your stomach. He presses a kiss to the place where your panties are so wet. "Is this what you want, baby?"

You moan softly with the feeling of him so close to where you want him.

"Yes, sir. Please. I promise I'll never do it again." He slides your panties off and puts his finger to your entrance, collecting the wetness gathered there to rub circles on your clit.

"Bad girls deserve to be punished. Are you a bad girl or a good girl, y/n?" He asks.

"I was nice and wet for you, Officer."

"That's true, but you still had that illegal firearm. I think you're a bad girl." He slides two fingers inside you and presses them as far as they'll go, his rings cold against your entrance. Then, he pumps them in and out quickly and lowers his mouth to your clit. He licks over and around it vigorously as you get closer and closer to your climax. When he feels your walls flutter, he backs off of you and pulls both fingers out. You whimper frantically and whisper.

"Noooo, Officer, please!"

"Bad girls don't get to cum when they want to. If you want to be a good girl, you'll cum when you're told."

"Yes sir, please I promise, don't stop!" He goes back to pumping two fingers inside of you, stopping to tickle your sensitive spot every once in a while.

"Does my bad girl want my tongue again?"

"Yes, Officer, please."

"Ask for what you want."

"I want you to lick my pussy again, sir." He gives you a smirk and slides off the bed. When he walks over to the gun case, his pants form a tent around his erection. He fetches the small, unloaded pistol, checking it again for bullets, and walks back to the bed.

"I need to show you how bad this gun can be before I give you want you want."

You nod, hoping he'll let you cum this time. But he doesn't go back to licking you. Instead, he takes the cold metal of the gun and pushes it to your clit gently. You gasp at the sensation and squirm again. He begins to use the tip of the barrel to tease your clit, rubbing it over and around on you carefully. Surprisingly, the sensation is a good one and at one point you cry out in pleasure.

"Oh God, Elvis."

"Does my bad girl want to cum?" He asks as he moves the gun on you gently.

"Yes, please, fuck!"

"Are you gonna be a good girl from now on?"

"Yes, Officer, please!" You moan and he pulls the gun away from you and sets it on the bed. He gets close to your center and blows on your clit gently.

Your orgasm seems to be teetering right on the edge and it's driving you insane. He kisses your hip and down to your pussy again.

"Has my bad girl learned her lesson?" You nod frantically and beg again as he licks up your slit to your clit and back down again.

"Yes! Yes! Please let me cum!" He smiles and presses his lips to your clit. Then, he begins to lick you again, sliding two fingers inside you, and you're so close that it almost hurts.

"Cum for me, baby." He whispers and you whimper as you feel your orgasm closing in. "Remember, good girls do what they're told."

He tightens his tongue to a point and licks directly over your clit hard and your center explodes with waves of undeniable pleasure, crashing over and over as you shake and pulse around his fingers.

"Oh, God, Elvis!" You cry out, completely forgetting about the party going on downstairs. He laughs and slides his fingers out of you.

"Good girl. Now I think it's time you try to convince me not to take you downtown." He retrieves a small key and unlocks the handcuffs, giving you access to your hands again.

"Yes, Officer." You push him down to lay on his back and settle between his legs. Then, you pull his pants down just enough to let his cock spring free. He moans softly as you run your hand up and down his shaft, rolling back his foreskin. When you lean down and lick the tip of his dick gently, he inhales sharply. You pull as much of him into your mouth as possible, gagging a little to fit him. He groans with the sensation of hitting the back of your throat. You pick up a steady rhythm of bouncing on him as you massage his balls.

"Yes, yes, that's my good girl." He moans, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. When you can tell he's getting close, you pull him in deeply again and back off.

"So am I going to jail?" You ask with a pout.

"I'm almost convinced to let you go." He pushes his pants the rest of the way down his legs and flips you over onto your back, lining his cock up with your dripping entrance. "Just one... last... thing."

When he gets to the final word, he pushes into you deeply, filling you fully in one thrust.

"Fuck, Elvis!" You cry out again at the sensation of being stretched and filled so quickly.

"Goddamn, you feel good, baby." He whispers in your ear as he begins to pump in and out of you. After a few minutes, he pushes your knees up so that your feet are pressed against his chest. As he fucks into you, he has one hand on your foot and he leans down and kisses your toe. "Such pretty little feet. Did ya paint these nails just for me?"

"I did." You respond breathlessly as he pounds you over and over again. The feeling is almost overwhelming in the best way possible.

"Good girl. Such a good girl for me." Suddenly, he pulls out and rolls you over, spanking your ass lightly. "Get on your knees, babe."

"Yes sir." You get on your hands and knees as instructed. He holds your hip with one hand and uses his other to tease your slit with the tip of his cock. "Does my good girl want me to fuck her?"

"Yes, Officer, please." You whimper and beg.

He grunts as he pushes into you from behind, putting his other hand on your hip to brace you as he begins to slam into you over and over. His balls slap against you as he fucks you vigorously and you let out a soft cry with each thrust. It feels so good as his length hits your sensitive spot time and time again. He reaches around and begins to make circles on your clit as he fucks you.

"'M gonna cum soon, baby. Cum with me." He moans as he continues to push into you powerfully and rub your clit. Your breasts bounce with every impact and you wish he would never stop.

"Yes sir." You already feel your climax building and you cum hard, your orgasm running through you like wildfire just as he slams into you and moans loudly. You feel his warmth inside you and it just adds to the pleasure of your own pulsing orgasm. He pats on your ass before pulling out.

"That's my good girl."

He slides out of you and you lay down next to each other on the bed looking up at the ceiling, sweating and breathing heavily.

"Thank you, Officer." You turn your head and meet his eyes. His playful smirk is back.

"Anything for a sweet thing like you." He takes your hand and kisses your fingers in a gesture more intimate than your situation.

Suddenly, there's a quiet knock on the door and a voice nervously calls out.

"Boss, I know you said not to bother you, but your wife keeps asking where you are. What should I tell her?"

He looks at you with a devilish glint in his eye and mouths, "oh shit."

You cover your mouth and try not to giggle as he calls back to whomever is at the door.

"Tell her I had some police business to attend to."

The guy at the door walks away and Elvis rolls over onto you and peppers your face with kisses.

"Thank you for indulging me tonight." He leans in and kisses your mouth deeply. "That's more fun than I've had in a long time."

Something that's almost like sadness seems to settle on him and you kiss the end of his nose lightly.

"Of course! It was really fun for me too." He smiles again and kisses your cheek. Then, he rolls off of you and you both start to get dressed. He puts the gun and the handcuffs back where they belong.

"I'll tell you what, I'll never look at this pistol the same way again." You laugh and try to smooth your hair in the mirror. He wraps his arms around you from behind and kisses the back of your neck once more.

"Can I see you again?" You look at him in the mirror with his chin on your shoulder.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea. You're married."

"Ehhhh, for now. I like you. Please?"

You turn around in his arms to face him.

"Now who's begging?" You joke playfully. He makes a pouty face.

"Please, baby. You can pick the role play next time." You raise an eyebrow. That idea is intriguing.

"Can I be in charge?"

"Honey, you can do whatever you want if you dress up for me."

"Deal." He leans in to kiss you and there's another knock at the door. He rolls his eyes and sighs.

"Boss, she really-"

"Will ya let me deal with 'er? I'll be down there in a minute." He turns his attention back to you. "I have to go. I'll find you. We'll do this again. On my honor as a cop." He winks and unwraps himself from around you, kissing you sweetly one last time. As you make your way down the stairs and back to your post, you suppose your cousin probably won't ask for your help again.

When you make eye contact with him across the room again, though, you really don't care. He's worth it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

So do we want more?

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @ashtag6887 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69

#elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis smut #elvis presley fic #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley smut #elvis fanfiction #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis presley x you #elvis presley fanfic

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exhuastedpigeon · 9 months ago

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Buddie Hiatus Fic Rec - month 9 Jan 16 - Feb 15

0-5k

might as well be drunk in love by fleetinghearts / @shitouttabuck Teen | 2.3k Getting little-spooned by his drunk best friend was not on buck's maid-of-honour checklist, but. it's happening

She Said She’d Do It Again by Pansys_goth_gf / @pansysgothgf General | 2.8k Ana Flores runs into the 118 four years after her break up with Eddie. It turns out, a lot can change in four years.

hot cocoa by evcndiaz / @evcndiaz Teen | 3.1k Buck is freaking out about proposing. He gets an assist from Athena, Bobby, and. Well. Eddie himself.

our secret moments in a crowded room by heartbeatdiaz / @loserdiaz Explicit | 3.7k In which a new probie at the station has a crush on Buck, Eddie is… a little bit done with the guy, if he’s being honest. And Buck is having the time of his life.

like a cat in the rain by oklahoma / @sunshinediaz Teen | 4.6k Sometimes, Buck forgets the lightning strike happened to Eddie, too.

things you shouldn’t say to me by coldbam / @coldbam Mature | 4.7k Eddie comes out, sleeps around, and Buck hears all about it.

5k-10k

finally found what i’ve been looking for by fleetinghearts / @shitouttabuck Explicit | 5k buck's good at basketball, eddie's trying really hard not to commit an act of public indecency about it, and maybe, just maybe, a slightly bloody beachside pick-up game can be the start of something new

i am just a fool, but i have loved you all along by oklahoma / @sunshinediaz Teen | 5.1k Buck asks Eddie on a date. Eddie spirals and makes a list about it. Everything works out in the end.

how to say what you mean by brownbananas (nickel710) Gen | 8.1k In which Eddie becomes a little obsessed with equipment maintenance and has a crisis of sexuality, and the two things are more related than he thought.

gonna make love to you for the rest of our lives by wikiangela / @wikiangela Explicit | 8.7k It's Buck and Eddie's wedding night, they're horny, in love, and obsessed with being husbands.

10k-20k

that green light, i want it by asteriasera / @asteriasera Mature | 11.1k Buck and Eddie hook up after Maddie and Chim’s wedding, then spend an inordinate amount of time not talking about what it means until the universe decides to intervene.

it's gravity after all by Iover_of_mine (I_almost_do) / @lover-of-mine Teen | 11.7k Buck and Eddie get trapped in an elevator. What else can they do besides talk to each other?

and we are homeward bound by glorious_spoon / @glorious-spoon Explicit | 18.1k Buck and Eddie get around to telling the people they love that they're together.

Winter Prayer by Daisies_and_Briars / @cal-daisies-and-briars General | 18.2k When a work conflict prevents Athena from accompanying Bobby to Minnesota for the ten year anniversary of his family dying, Buck and May offer to go instead. Over the course of the trip, they all learn more about each other, and Bobby faces his grief.

20k - 30k

let you set the pace by devirnis / @devirnis Explicit | 23.9k Eddie fucks Buck over a weekend.

30k +

A Minor Delay by rainbow_nerds / @rainbow-nerdss Mature | 43.6k Almost a year after the bridge collapse, a lot has changed. The team are scattered—Bobby and Athena on their Honeymoon, Hen on adoptive parent's leave, and Buck and Eddie... They may still work together, still have movie nights with Chris whenever they can, but things have changed. With Maddie and Chimney's wedding around the corner, Buck tries to make it perfect. And maybe, along the way, he might figure out why everything still feels... wrong.

The Cupid in Bel Air and His Thousand Kisses by Moonrose001 / @liptickyourway Explicit | 53.8k Eddie knew that when he and Christopher moved to LA, there would be a lot more deities than he was used to. What he did not expect was a Cupid that had it out for him, determined for Eddie to fall in love despite Eddie's repeated refusals, denials and threats. But Eddie needs a partner in the field and it seems like the winged weasel is the closest he is getting.

Month 1 (May 15 - June 15) Month 2 (June 16 - July 15) Month 3 (July 16 - August 15) Month 4 (August 16 - September 15) Month 5 (September 16 - October 15) Month 6 (October 16 - November 15) Month 7 (November 16 - December 15) Month 8 (December 16 - January 15)

#buddie #buddie hiatus fic rec #911 #buddie rec list #rec list #TWO MORE SLEEPS UNTIL 911!!!#and one more list to go!

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sgiandubh · 5 months ago

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Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!

This is the second nasty Anon reaching these serene shores, ever since Kissgate started, last Wednesday:

The form of life sending it is now blocked. Not that she hasn't a choice to make several other sock accounts - of which I have been blocking an inordinate amount, these last weeks, by the way. And since she probably will do so, here is my answer:

What else have I got? Evidence of your desperate fear, Pumpkin. I mean, how bad things must look now, for you folks to shamelessly write that C was a 'clearly intoxicated woman'? Is it me, or your stupidity showed itself ready to throw The Goddess Herself under the bus, just in order to save face?

You are so desperate and shaken, that you don't even bother to disguise the particular corner where WHY is the Operative Word of the Day, for lack of any other sort of arguments. This is ALL the Screeching Banshees have to offer you in terms of a debate and it was always both funny and arresting to read. This and endlessly discussing OLD, FUCKING OLD marathon pictures nobody gives a supersonic fuck about, anymore. I thought you berated shippers for doing the same and yet...? Oooh. Oooh. It's not embarrassing if it happens in your corner. Gotcha. #Silly me. Won't happen again.

The same corner where these surreal comments have been posted, by the way:

I have no idea who that woman is, but (based on what she writes above) she is a tragic piece of work. I mean, you eat and drink with people you consider your friends, then you suddenly decide, one fine day, to bullshit them all over the dashboard. Frankly, now: what did you expect? Sunshine, lollipops and roses? Are you for real, even? And now you victimize yourself, surely a mature woman & a community pillar on your own right (your choice of words is very informative), that you are 'unable to read their blogs'? Oh, FFS, such a cheap eyeroll, right there. Just where are we? In a Uni dorm, trading gossip? Sweet Lord on a motorbike, get a grip, lady!

The thought of educated women collectively sharing some beliefs didn't even give her pause. It should have. At this point in time, this is cognitive dissonance, at its finest. Plus hey, weren't we STUPID, STUPID, STUPID? Huh? I find it extraordinary we suddenly aren't, anymore.

Back to you, Anon. I can feel the anger and see those trembling fingers on the screen of your phone. What a nice Freudian slip, right here: '5 years IF legal marriage'. Besides a sheet of paper, root canal smiles and pulse grabbing, what else ya got?

#anon #fandom #shitshow #TS Edinburgh 2024

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lailoken · 1 year ago

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What are your favorite pieces of media that you think accurately represent magic and spirit work? Movies, books, even music..

This is an interesting question, but one that requires a lot of thought, as I have read and watched an inordinate amount of books and movies. Plus, even really good fiction with pagan themes that I've read/watched is generally inaccurate in most ways, with some realistic aspects of magic woven in here and there. Some of my very favorite media relating to the subject can't really be included, simply because of how inaccurate it is overall, but there are a few that have caught my notice.

I'm sure I'll end up missing ones, which bugs me, but I'll do my best to recount some examples that I can think of:

The Love Witch (2016) is a movie that I think presents a strikingly realistic portrayal of what magic can look like. It manages to show some of the ways one might use magic to great effect, without actually skewing into fantasy at all. Clearly, the magic shown isn't going to line up with every paradigm, and its not exactly a heady or spirit-based story, but I think it's a very real look at how ritual and magic is/can be approached by many folks in the modern day.

The Witch (2015) is, above all else, a great slow-burn horror film and an excellent period-piece. However, it also portrays quite an accurate conception of folkloric beliefs about Witchcraft in the 17th century, which inexorably inform the realities of modern Witchcraft traditions. It does just barely skew into fantasy horror, but the actual folkloric information being presented is quite sound.

A Dark Song (2016) is a film that portrays ceremonial magic realistically in many ways. Ultimately, it is still a supernatural horror film, but the bulk of the magic in the movie is based directly on the Abramelin Operation, which was interesting to see. A lot of the ways that the magic "takes shape" in the film feels real enough to me, too (though it certainly takes it to extremes at points, as horror movies are wont to do).

We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson is a horror novel I much enjoyed when I read it a coulple years ago, but I also remember that it happens to contain small, but meaningful, instances of sympathetic magic within the story that I appreciated as a practitioner looking in. This one has been made into a movie as well.

Cunning Folk by Adam Nevill is one of the more realistic looks at magic—including the uncanny side of it—that I've come across. It's still definitely a horror story, first and foremost, but there's an oomph to the ritual and magic described therein that a lot of other similar fiction lacks—even when the ritual act being described isn't necessarily accurate in terms of historicality or my personal experience of the Craft.

The White People by Arthur Machen is a Welsh short horror story from the turn of the century, which I think is worth including here. There are elements and aspects of the story that feel surprisingly real in terms of Gloaming initiation and the Gloaming Spirits—though, of course, it takes creative liberties informed by the paranormal beliefs and trends of the time (1890s).

The Craft (1996) is a movie that I'm sure a lot of pagans have of nostalgia for in one way or another, myself included. I struggled with whether this movie should be here or in the Honorable Mention section, but I included it here in the end because a lot of the ways magic and ritual are presented in the film are accurate enough. I also think it did a fairly good job of capturing how it can feel to discover, revel in, and then become overwhelmed by magic. However, since it is a supernatural horror film, a lot of magic shown is portrayed more fantastically than the real thing, and there are aspects of the magic (rituals, entities, etc.) made up entirely for the sake of the story.

As implied above, there are also some pieces that, while largely inaccurate or too far into the realm of fantasy, still manage to succesfully capture some essence of realistic feeling magic in them. I will list those here as Honorable Mentions:

Practical Magic (1998) is another movie that I'm sure a lot of Pagans have nostalgia for in some way or another. I won't claim that it's a genuinely "accurate" representation of magic—and it certainly strays into outright fantasy at times—but there are little things throughout the movie that managed to ring a bell for me, as someone who grew up with magic in my family. I know this was originally a book, but I actually haven't read that as of yet, so I can't speak to it.

Pan's Labyrinth (2006) is a movie is squarely in the fantasy-horror genre to me, but even still, I include it here as an honorable mention because a lot of the lore depicted is drawn from real lore, and the overall ambience it manged to evoke strongly reminds me of some of my own experiences with chthonic journeying.

The Good Witch franchise isn't one I have ever actually watched any part of before, but I include it here because, oddly enough, multiple practitioners have mentioned to me that they think the magic is surprisingly realistic for a Hallmark series. As I understand it, the main character is a sort of local Wise Woman who helps the folk in her little town using things like folk-knowledge, remarkable intuition, and an uncanny ability to seemingly sway people and circumstances. Since I haven't seen it myself, my take on it may be somewhat lacking, (which is why I listed it as an honorable mention), but based on the description, it actually sounds like it may be one of the more realistic interpretations of magic on this list.

I know this is a strange addition, as it's not exactly magic, per se, but much of how Stephen King writes about psychic abilities like clairvoyance and healing throughout his works manages to touch on something all too familiar for me. I think, sometimes, that he may have known someone with the Sight and/or the Touch in his real life, as it comes up a lot in one shape or another in his writing.

As I said, I'm sure there's stuff I'm missing, but this at least a serviceable overview. I encourage others to share any other media that they think deserves a mention, too!

#witchcraft #magic #media #the love witch #the Witch #a dark song #we have always lived in the castle #cunning folk #adam nevill #the white people #the craft #practical magic #pan's labyrinth #the good witch #vistorille #ask

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sendmyresignation · 1 year ago

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For one, I cannot possibly reflect on my lived experience of the word “emo” without acknowledging that the more comfortable I became in my own skin over time, the less discomfort I felt over being associated with a word that once connoted weakness and sentimentalism. I spent a great deal of time in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s basically terrified of being “found out” as gay, and while this fear was not unfounded — there were hardcore kids being arrested for murdering a gay man in New York City as recently as the summer of 1990 — it may have been somewhat misplaced. Being vulnerable or in touch with your full range of emotions isn’t “gay” as much as it’s human. The closet denied me of my total humanity in that way, and it has almost become my life’s work to reverse the damage I caused to others and myself by living that way. Those things that people now identify as “emo” from my work in the ‘90s, I see as my coming out. A slow, but meaningful coming out. Texas is the Reason and Anti-Matter were projects that did an inordinate amount of the heavy lifting in helping me accept myself for who I was, and over the years, I’ve heard time and again that they’ve also played a direct part in giving other hardcore kids the permission they felt they needed to become fuller versions of their own unique selves. If that’s called “emo” now, then I want to continue to be a part of that.

Norman Brannon Emo: A Personal History in Three Parts -- Part 3 2004-2019

I've seen the post about Norman Brannon's experience with the word "emo" as a closeted gay man pass around before but I think it's unfortunate that the quote is taken out of a larger piece, specifically the way it's been unintentionally removed from the introspective conclusion.

#i just also implore ppl to read everything norman's ever written anyway #especially this final piece to understand emo a little better (the connection to washed up emo and the disperate unidentifiable nature #of the 'genre')#my posts

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idesofrevolution · 2 years ago

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Never Enough

I wanted so badly to be like him. I’d stare at him from afar every day I commuted home from work. He was tall, he was stacked, he was dark, he was fuckin perfect. Each time I saw those arms, twice the size of my head, I had to stifle til the little moan I knew would escape my lips. I didn’t know his name, I didn’t know anything about him except he must have lived nearby, since he was jogging nearly every day down the main strip. No shirt, beadlets of sweat glistening on that ebony skin, trailing down a set of washboard abs into a soaked pair of black shorts.

He was everything I knew I could never be. Surely a couple roid rages helped him along the way, but there’s something to be said about genetics. He had the genes I wouldn’t ever have. So I would sit there like creepy voyeurist every day and drool over this sweaty lug of a man I’d never met but so heavily admired.

I couldn’t tell you what the catalyst was for my google search that day. Maybe it was the fact I was bored out of my mind at work, or maybe that angst just kept compiling subconsciously until I finally did something about it. Either way, I found myself seeing what could be done about the way I looked, about who I was. A few pages down the line, well past 20 or so, I saw one result which piqued my curiosity.

“MelaSculpt” was the product. The little snippet of description on the search page described a fitness supplement for black men. I didn’t really think as I clicked the page that I would find anything of use to myself. After all, a black man I am not- but male is male right? And health supplements aren’t discriminative to my knowledge. The page for some company named VitaCorp opened quickly, and the page did take me back a bit. A studly mocha skinned man smirked back at me, flexing his vascular biceps while shoving a small orange pill into the foreground.

“MelaSculpt is the newest addition to VitaCorp’s growing list of nutritional supplements, which is aimed at improving the wellness and physique of men of color. Specially balanced for peak performance and quick results, this supplement will help YOU get the body of your dreams.” I scrolled past the ingredients list and disclaimers, much more interested in seeing the before and after photos of previous clients. The results were staggering. One man was easily 300 pounds overweight in his before picture, and after one treatment he was cut, lean, and healthy. Another was the opposite: gangly and paper thin before, ripped and bulked after. I kept swiping the pictures, before realizing the gallery was almost 200 photos. Before I could stop myself I had already purchased the bottle.

The rest of the day went by as normal, the draining, soul sucking grind of a day working had made me forget entirely that I had bought the supplements. So imagine my surprise upon arriving home when I saw a nondescript black package in my mailbox with a bright orange VitaCorp logo on it. It wasn’t possible! I looked, the company was out of Australia, I wasn’t even close. Unless they had a fulfillment center here in town, this couldn’t be it. Though, sure enough, as I ripped the plastic open, the matte black bottle rolled out into the palm of my hand.

I booked it inside, immediately rushing to my bathroom to examine the contents further. The futuristic font glistened the MelaSculpt name, teasing me as I ripped the plastic ring off the cap and twisted it open. The inside was full of cotton, and after pulling out what seemed like an inordinate amount of it, I saw two large orange pills in the bottom of the bottle. For a moment I was beyond pissed. What kind of rip off scheme did I buy into this time? I grabbed the package, shaking it upside down, hoping for a set of written instructions or a receipt. Luckily, a small card labeled “USER GUIDE” toppled onto the cold tile floor. I picked it up and began to read.

“Thank you for your purchase! We sincerely hope your experience with MelaSculpt enhances your life in every way you might hope. To begin your journey, take a test amount of a 1/4 pill to ascertain tolerance. Do not exceed 2 pills per person in totality.

WARNING: MelaSculpt is designed for use in men of color only. Side effects may include…”

I tossed the card aside, eager to get started. The orange pill glistened in my palm, presegmented into four doses. I broke off the first portion and swallowed it, washing it down with water from the tap. I stood a front the mirror, preparing myself to say goodbye to this corporeal prison and hello to a hunky Adonis like the jogger. It didn’t take long.

It had been merely second before I doubled over. I could hear the bubbling and groaning of my stomach, feeling it gurgle and pulsate. Immediately, I was convinced I was poisoned. Some random website I had found on Google supplied me Arsenic or Ricin… and I was dumb enough to take it. The first burp escaped my mouth, and I could feel instant relief. I stumbled into the bedroom, leaning on the dresser before actually looking down at my midriff. Beneath my shirt, which once was ill fitting and awkward, my stomach seemed to strain against the fabric. I ripped the shirt from my torso, buttons flying off it.

Beneath that cheap polyester were six little bumps vaguely protruding from my former gut. Another belch, and my swollen love handles seemed to collapse in on themselves. I was shocked, no, thrilled to see my waistline shift and bulk as two cumgutters started to balloon out. That was all fine and good, until my head began to spin. Yet another belch. I grasped onto the dresser, trying desperately to balance myself. But just as the world began to warp and blur, I thought I saw the slightest pinpricks of dark skin begin to cascade down my fingertips before it all went black.

I woke up on the ground. My head throbbed with a migraine straight from hell, rubbing my pulsating temples. Light streamed through the blinds, it was the next day for certain. As my throbbing eyes finally began to adjust, the world around me became clearer. Immediately, I saw them. Toes. My toes. BLACK toes. I wriggled my big toe, just to make sure they were in fact mine, before looking down at my hands. They were a dark ebony, tattoos sprinkled on my wrists and up my thick forearms. I scrambled to my feet and looked in the mirror.

What met my gaze were two meaty pecs, cobblestone abs, arms the size of a cantaloupe… a snaking bulge creeping further and further down my shorts. I hadn’t even looked at my face, I was too scared to look. No, scared wasn’t the right word, it was the mounting anticipation of just who I now was. I looked up, and my breath was taken away. My hair was a wild jumble of black curly locks radiating out into an afro. My chiseled jawline had a light stubble, the only two places on my entire body where I had hair. Every single inch of this sculpted, godlike body was smooth, chiseled, and powerful.

Taking a breath, the light scent of sweat emanated from my pits and feet. Just one whiff gave me a head rush as if I’d taken a hit of poppers. I panicked in the moment, refusing to believe this was who I now was. I pulled and prodded my face as if I were wearing a mask, but alas, this was my face. This was real. And a devilish smirk crept onto my face.

————

That was seven months ago. Truthfully, I’d adjusted pretty naturally into being Jabari. After a day or two of no showing at work, when the boss called the apartment I just explained I was the new tenant. I have no idea what happened to the guy before me. I was Jabari Jefferson, I’d just moved to town from Baltimore and was looking for a gig in personal training. The landlord just kinda accepted I was the new tenant, as long as the rent was paid she didn’t really care.

I started to get more comfortable going out in my new body, appreciating the winks and stares of those who passed. That kind of admiration changes a guy, you start to kind of believe it. I found my own new style, I found a gym to work at down the street from the house. I hit up the bars and happily took home any sexy adult I could find. They couldn’t get enough of that subtle, salty funk which seemed to linger around me; that testosterone laden musk which, admittedly got me and my 9 inch cock off after nearly every session on the basketball court. I made a name for myself around the neighborhood for being “that guy.” The one everyone wanted to be, the guy I always dreamed I’d become. That however, leads us to todays events.

The sun was beaming down on me, as I contently shot some hoops before I hit up my date at a bar down the street. The energy I felt every single day. It was so strong and powerful. That virility, that libido, that strength… it was addictive. I plopped down onto the bench, prying my size 13 LeBron 19’s from my damp, socked foot. Taking a not so guilty whiff of that sharp, satisfying scent of a damn good game, just as I did after every hoop sesh. I tossed the sneakers into the bag and pulled out my slides, only for something to roll right out of the bag as I did.

I looked down at my wet feet on the pavement to see the black bottle of MelaSculpt had fallen out of my bag. Truthfully, I’d forgotten where I put it months ago: out of sight, out of mind. But as I looked down at it, that little nagging voice in the back of my head began to pick at me. Those feelings I felt that day, that euphoric rush. The power of my flexing muscles, the taste of my sweat, the touch of my skin… it all came back to me at once.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. That sensation, that lust for power and strength more than ever before is as enticing as it sounds even now. I opened my eyes, and delicately grabbed the bottle. The pill and 3/4 rattled around the bottom of the black container, teasing me even further. I looked down at my glistening muscles, slick with sweat, and imagined just how much more I wanted. It wasn’t enough to be sexy and strong, I had to be the strongest. I had to be the one.

In that moment of irrevocable weakness, I twisted the cap off and swallowed the remainder of the pill I’d used the first time. I didn’t remember the instructions, I didn’t remember the warnings, I remembered that feeling. It was the only thing in my mind as a triple dose made its way down my throat. Just as the first time, I doubled over on the bench, my stomach rumbling audibly to even passersby. I groaned and let out a cacophonous belch, one that even surprised myself. My chest ballooned out almost comically as a cartoon. Veins bulged prominently out of my thinning skin as my necklace burst from the base of my throat, too fragile for the force of my widening neck.

I scampered and stumbled blindly into the locker room, fortunately empty at the time. I let out another cavernous burp, which echoed throughout the room. My thighs bubbled outward in grotesque disproportion to the rest of my musculature. I crawled on the floor toward a shower stall, making it in before just as the time before the world began to spin. I got one final glimpse of my biceps contort and spasm before it all went dark.

I awoke in that shower stall in agony. Every muscle felt stiff and stone like in the cramped stall. I couldn’t even fit my entire body in the stall, my feet stuck out from beneath the door. The smell, it was strong. I enjoyed that savory, delectable scent of masculine musk before, but this was different. The only word I could describe it with is pungent. Like high quality Gorgonzola, and it was pouring out of every crevice of my body. I pushed the stall door open, which nearly came off from the force of my strength.

Getting to my feet, I crept slowly toward the sink, feeling every contraction of every muscle, thinly veiled behind my hairless skin. I got to the mirror. I had tripled in size. Muscles bulged from every direction, built far past the natural threshold I even knew existed. My dreads had all but fallen off, leaving a buzzed hair which exposed veins protruding from even my own scalp. I could feel my heart pumping every single beat, and the blood flowing across my entire body. The power was incomprehensible, it was incredible. It was… far too much for me. I scrambled back to my bag, tossing my favorite sneakers across the room, never to fit my rank size 17 feet ever again.

The bottle seemed tiny in my massive hand, I strained to see the instructions printed on the card I’d left inside. The only thing I could make out was the final words at the bottom of the paper: “Effects permanent. Use with caution.” My heart skipped a beat, I looked at myself in the mirror, a roid-inflated version of the Jabari I had built, nurtured, valued, loved… this wasn’t me. It felt wrong. I looked down at my phone desperately trying to look up the VitaCorp webpage to no avail. I screamed and punched the wall, my fist going straight through the tile and plaster.

My breathing labored, heavy, and hard, I looked down at the bottle again, chucking it into the bin. I looked at myself in the mirror, accepting there in that moment that Jabari was gone. This walking muscle was who I now was. I now had to concoct an entirely new persona yet again. But the only thing I could think of, was how much I wanted what I had lost.

#male transformation #body transformation #original #transformation #jockification #musk #musky #bodybuilder #racial change #racial transformation #basketball #VitaCorp #muscle inflation

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