#one glorious consciousness

[30ahchaleh]

Who or What are We?

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اگر پاراگراف پرده ی سوم نمایشنامه هملت اثر شکسپیر ، که با جمله معروف

To be, or not to be

بودن یا نبودن

را بخوانید

میبینید این اندیشمند چه سوال های بنیادی در این قطعه مطرح کرده است

که به نظر من شاید جوابش در دانستن این سوال باشد که

who or what am i ?

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بسیاری از نوشته ها حتی فیلم ها و سریال ها به این سوال بنیادی (من کی یا چی هستم ؟) پرداخته اند

برای نمونه از اندیشمندان ایرانی میتوان به مولانا اشاره کرد که بسیار به این موضوع پرداخته است

در دفتر دوم مثنوی چنین آمده است

ای برادر تو همان اندیشه‌ای

ما بقی تو استخوان و ریشه‌ای

گر گُلَست اندیشهٔ تو، گلشنی

وَر بُوَد خاری، تو هیمهٔ گُلخَنی

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یا در یک رباعی چنین گفته است

تا در طلب گوهر کانی ، کانی

تا در هوس لقمهٔ نانی ، نانی

این نکتهٔ رمز اگر بدانی ، دانی

هر چیز که در جستن آنی ، آنی

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همین متفکران به صورت های مختلف این فرضیه را مطرح کرده‌اند که (تن و جسم و بدن) خاکی صرفا یک نگه دارنده ی موقت است برای آن (اندیشه) که به نام های مختلفی میخوانیمش

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گر بشکند این جامم من غصه نیاشامم

جامی دگر آن ساقی در زیر بغل دارد

جامست تن خاکی جانست می پاکی

جامی دگرم بخشد کاین جام علل(ـی) دارد

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و چه خوب آن علل را ناصرخسرو چنین گفت

جانت را اندر تن خاکی به دانش زر کن

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اما اینکه واژه دانش و زر در این مدل سخن های رمزگونه چیست سرمنشاء اختلاف هاست

همینطور واژه های دیگری چون اندیشه یا جان و یا . . . ـ

توضیحش به زبان ساده این است

ما میدانیم صفر و یک سر منشاء نرم افزار ها برای کامپیوتر میباشد اما بدون یک سخت افزار جلوه گر نیستند

پس آنچه که به یک سخت افزاری مثل موبایل یا کامییوتر هویت میبخشد نرم افزار است که خودش بخش های مختلفی دارد

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حال میتوان اینگونه گفت که سخت افزار بشر "جسم" اوست و نرم افزارش "جان" او

میشود برای "جان" نام های مختلفی بنا به مکتبی که در آن سیر میکنیم در نظر گرفت

مثلا

به قول والتر بیشابِ سریال فرینج

one glorious consciousness

یا اندیشه یا هویت یا هرچه

یک (خود)آگاهی باشکوه(کامل)

نباید دعوا سر اسم گذاری باشد وقتی ماهیت منظور مشخص است

منظور "نرم افزار" بشریست

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با فهم این موضوع عده ای میخواهند جاودانگی را میسر کند

یا به آن شکلی دیگر بدهند

با این تئوری که بتواند "خودآگاهی کامل" یا همان اندیشه یا هویت شخصی را همچون کلیه و قلب و دست و پا و . . . به جسم دیگری پیوند بزنند

در این راه تا حدودی امتحان های موفق آمیزی انجام شده است به گونه ای که این تئوری را دست یافتنی کرده

به عنوان مثال

وقتی ما با اندیشه ای چه محسوس چه نامحسوس آشنا میشویم و آنرا چه خودآگاه چه ناخودآگاه در زندگی اجرا میکنیم در اصل اندیشه ما آن اندیشه بیگانه را پس نزده و پیوند موفقیت آمیز بوده

یا

وقتی در اصطلاح توسط طرفداران یک ایدئولوژی چه به زور چه به میل مغزشویی میشویم باز همین اتفاق افتاده است

حتی میتواند اندیشه ای در خواب طبیعی یا مصنوعی (هیپنوتیزم) به ما پیوند زده بشود

خلاصه همه ی اینها پیوند قسمتی از نرم افزار ثانوی میباشد به پیکر اصلی نرم افزار ما که خود آن پیکره هم خُرد خُرد شکل گرفته است

شده گاهی پیوندی چنان تابلو است که دیگران توانسته اند آنرا حس کند و به ما بگویند چقدر شبیه آن آدمی شدیم که از آن پیوند را دریافت کرده‌ایم

اینجاست که همنشینی ها مهم میشود و میفهمیم چرا بزرگان اندیشمند به آن به گونه های مختلفی اشاره کرده اند

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البته همه ی اینها پیوند "تکه ای" میباشند چراکه ما آن نرم افزار اصلی خودمان را که در اصل جان و هویت ماست همیشه حفظ میکنیم

مثل هر پیوندی در بقا

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حال اگر بشود

کل هویتی را روی کالبدی خام سوار کرد

یا با تکنیک مغزشویی

کل هویت شخصی را پاک کرد بعد روی آن یک هویت کامل را دوباره نوشت

آنگاه ما توانسته ایم هویت آن شخص مثلا مرده را زنده کنیم با تمام ویژگی های خُلقی و رفتاری

و چون شبیه سازی جسم یا همان "سخت افزار" توسط علوم دیگر همیشه بسیار ممکن تر و دستیافتنی تر بوده ما در آینده میتوانیم شخص مورد نظر خود را همچون فرانکنشتاین تخیلی به عرصه واقعیت بیاوریم

Frankenstein

به طوریکه اطرافیان او نخواهند توانست تمایز قابل بیانی برای گفتن پیدا بکنند

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برای حس آنچه گفته شد

در واقعیت اکنون هم ما در حال تغییر های محسوسی هستیم که اطرافیان را میتواند متعجب بکند یا نکند به ما گوشزد بکنند یا نکنند

که مثلا قبلا اینطور نبودی یا چرا عوض شدی و از اینجور چیزها که نشده کسی نشنیده باشد

و همینطور

گاهی از کسی خوشمان میآید چون ویژگی های یک عزیز دیگر را در او میبینیم و بلعکس حال اگر با کل "هویت" ی برخورد کنیم تمایزی هم اگر باشد یا قابل قبول است یا کم کم دیده نمیشود

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البته میدانیم پارادوکسی در بالا هنگام پیوند کل هویت روی یک جسم دیگر رخ میدهد که منجر به پس زدن یا موقت بودن پیوند میشود اما میتوان با شبیه سازی یا کلون سازی سلول های پایه ای جسم رفع گردد

یعنی تولید جسمی پایه ای با گذشته آن "جان" ، که البته خام است اما مناسب پیوند جدید در حال میباشد

وااااای🤯هزاران سال

تــــــجـربـه جـان

روی جسم جـوان

اما هر اشتباهی در آن منجر به

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خلاصه در آینده

دیگر مسئله ، "بودن یا نبودن" نیست

سوال و مسئله ی اصلی این ست که

آیا خوده حقیقی آن شخص است که به عرصه وجود ( بودن ) گام نهاده

آیا حس کردن تجربه هایی که جسم انجام نداده را متوجه میشود

یا که نه "ما چیزی جز اندیشه نیستیم" حال به هر عنوان و واژه ای که به نمایندگی از کلیت نرم افزار بشری خطابش میکنیم

مثلا

اندیشه ، جان ، خودآگاهی ، ذهن ، روح ، حافظه ، هویت ، کنش و واکنش ها ی شیمیایی مغز ، صفر و یک های روی هارد هر چه

این "خود" که میگ��ییم آیا همین است؟ که میتوان اینطور جاودانه اش کرد

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حالت های مختلفی از این فهم را که گفتم در سریال فرینج به خوبی با نمایش مامور زنی به نام "اُلویا دانم" تصویر و تصور سازی کرده است و الحق و الانصاف خانم "آنا تورو" به خوبی از پس بازی این "چندین حالت" برآمده و واقعا حقش برنده شدن سه دوره ی متوالی در همایش "جوایز ساترن" بوده است

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اکنون در یک نما این چندین حالت را برایتان نمایش میدهم

END

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ویکی‌پدیا: جوایز ساترن (به انگلیسی: Saturn Awards) جوایزی است که از سوی آکادمی فیلم‌های علمی-تخیلی، فانتزی و ترسناک اعطا می‌شود

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[starnightlover]

Remember who you are.

Remember that you are a omniversal being that can shift realities just by the mere change of your awareness. Remember that you are NOT held captive within one reality, no not even this one. Understand your infinite power, your infinite being that is existing across all realities, dimensions, multiverses, the ommiverse, and so on.

Break free, break free from the indoctrination of this society. Break free of the chokehold of limitations!!

Do NOT let the matrix you were born into hold you back from your DR. Don't let your OR or CR hold you back or define the limits of your DR. Do NOT let people dictate what you script! Do NOT let bloggers tell you if your DR is or isn't a good place for you to be in! Do NOT let shift to spread their falsity to you! Do NOT forget you are pure consciousness not attached to any mind, body, universe, dimension, or even multiverse!

Identify with the true you, pure glorious consciousness that is free. That can shift anywhere. That can shift to be anyone, do anything, have whatever they want.

Open yourself to the multiverse. Recognize your infinity. Your godliness. Your divine oneness with every reality. Existing everywhere, being everything, partaking in every event, all at once.

Trust in the knowing that failure is a mere lie. That your fears, do NOT and will NOT ever be able to stop you. Only YOU can. NOT the world. NOT people. NOT limiting beliefs. NOT methods. NOTHING! Only YOU.

Stay focused on your goal!! Wake up and realize your infinity. You have the power to shift to and live in the exact reality you truly desire to be in. Keep your gazes on your truth. Your desired reality.

You are limitless. Act like it.

[nouearth]

bound to him.

patrick bateman x male reader.

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓. drabble [ 1.1k ].

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. male reader 〳established relationship 〳 sexual content: top!patrick, sadist!patrick, bottom!reader, masochist!reader, rough!sex, slapping, bondage, light dom/sub dynamics, throat-fucking, breeding.

It hurts. Everything hurts whenever you were with Patrick Bateman.

Not only did you get a thrill out of being treated like you were a disgrace to society, you encouraged Patrick—to slap you harder until your cheeks welted with splotches of red, to spit on you with a veil of disgust in his expression, to tighten the hemp bounds around your wrists until the teeth of the rope broke flesh with its strength— you had no plans on surrendering to the pain, because you were a good boy.

It was undisputed that you were Patrick’s good boy.

You were a good boy that took Patrick’s large and throbbing dick however he pleased. It made you whimper, when the weight of his heavy cock renewed the sting in your battered cheek. Slapping the fresh wound with his swinging cock. Smearing his pre-cum over your bruises like it was calming ointment. You attempted to persuade Patrick to shift his priorities elsewhere with the enticing opening of your mouth, the lick your lips, but Patrick was always a step ahead of you. Laughed at you, he loved doing that, when he pulled his dick away from your mouth at the last second after agonizing minutes of smelling the scent of his leaking cockhead.

He loved tormenting you, unraveling you into a puddle of despair until your consciousness was only responsive to the simple presence of Patrick and his thick cock. “Please, please, please,” you begged, and through your desperation, Patrick was proud to reward you for your patience. Though, only after branding your cheek with a seething smack.

“Another peep out of you, and I’m throwing you out onto the streets. Don’t interrupt me ever again. Got that, bitch?”

He held your nape and slid himself down your throat in one smooth push. You choked on your own spit, on your own gags as Patrick forced those glorious sounds of regret and distress into the valley of your tight throat. He was negligent of your own well-being, priding himself on the fact that your body was in reserve for Patrick only.

Until his cock was shoved down to the root. Until your swollen mouth was pressed to the well-groomed pubic area of his body. Until he could feel your throat tighten in futile attempts to swallow his dick down. Until you were in tears because you were at the brink of blacking out. Patrick held your neck tighter, slapping your cheeks in both wonder and in rapture. Ten seconds became twenty. Twenty seconds became forty. A minute becomes two. Copious amounts of drool was leaking out of the corners of your mouth, dripping onto his satin sheets—you were absolutely going to pay for that mess.

And you happily will, because you were Patrick’s good boy.

Once he was done throat-fucking you, you should be surrendering, weakly waving a white flag in the air because Patrick had gone too far. You should be begging for mercy, to be let go, to be freed from the ropes that bound you to his headboard. It wasn’t like you could escape, all you could do was tug. Tug hard at the ropes, twist until the friction had seared marks onto your wrists, but it was all hopeless, the headboard wouldn’t budge. Not a single wobble. You could see wrath and lust in Patrick’s gaze when he pushed your legs back ‘till your knees touched your chest, and right there, this was your chance to escape. You should demand him to stop before it was too late—but you didn’t, because why would you?

Why would you want the pain to stop, when you haven’t gotten a taste of what true pain felt like? When Patrick breached your unprepared hole in one strong thrust, it knocked the tears out of you and stunned you into silence. You felt meek, full of shame and guilt because you were losing yourself to this man’s violent need to completely rapture you like you were some kind of roadkill. Your cock throbbed in excitement as Patrick battered your insides, fucking like he could bruise your gut and see the color bloom at the most tender spots on your body.

He was big, he was so fucking big, and your hole was gripping him, pleading for him to slow down, but that only aroused Patrick, driving his cock forward and back harder, ripping your ass into two. Faster. Harder. Slamming the headboard into the wall with the impact of his thrusts. Smacking his strong, toned thighs against the back of your sweaty legs. It felt like a thousand pin-needles prickling your thighs, then at your face, when Patrick smacked you out of the blue—because he can.

Again, because he owned you.

Again, because you would take it like a good boy.

Again, because you came without his permission.

And again, because although he would never admit it, you looked so pretty crying, splattering cum all over your body while begging for him to hit you harder for the happy accident.

You were taking him, letting Patrick bury his juicy cock inside of you to the root. Churning your hole like he was on a mission to gut you until he was left with shattered bones to fuck. Your piercing cries echoed in the room. Patrick’s large shaft unrelenting and unforgiving, punching your prostate more than a multiple of times to milk your orgasm.

Patrick fucked you with deep strokes, fiery passion in his eyes, veins pulsing from biceps to forearms, sweat stuck to his fringe briefly before he pushed them back to free his vision—because he grunted with completion. He needed to see the marbling of your eyes, the pair rolling back into your eye sockets as he filled your violated hole with warm and thick seed. His hands on your hips were bruising, nails digging into your skin while he rocked your body into his cock, creaming your insides until his balls had tightened from the emptiness. You could feel your hole leaking with his cum, trickling out of you like a combusted can of whipped cream.

Then all was quiet as Patrick caught his breath, staring at your bounded wrecked body like it was slaughtered meat hung up to dry-age. His fingers ran over your ribs, smearing your splatters of cum from one side to the other, nails scraping over your collarbones, then scoffed.

“Don’t you think you should be punished for coming before me? I ought to rope that bitch cock of yours. Open your mouth.”

He was lethal, and you knew he wasn’t good for you, but you couldn’t get enough. You would do anything for him. You were afraid of the person he had turned you into, all by means of his abuse, of his large cock, but you were too far gone.

You were devoted to Patrick, loyal, and honorable.

And most importantly, you were his.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[helenanell]

A Breath Of Life || Part Two

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 Part One 

Pairing(s) :  Reader x Art – Reader x Tashi - Reader x Art x Tashi

CW: MDNI - Smut. Infidelity (kind of?). So much love and lust. ANGST. Manipulative behaviour. 

Notes: Fem!Reader, No use of y/n. This is really just me exploring my own bisexual panic some more.  Spoilers for the film.

Wordcount: 4.2K

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The moment you won the match that sealed your victory at Wimbledon,  the applause was rapturous.

And yet, Tashi’s triumphant shout was louder to you than hundreds of clapping hands. 

The sound of her celebration became yours, and when you let out a yell of your own, your racket falling from your hands, you became one with her. 

After that, her eyes did not leave you. You didn’t look but you knew it to be true, just as you knew the sun was shining onto your shimmering skin; Tashi was an incomprehensible being bearing down on you. 

When you lifted the Venus Rosewater Dish above your head–the silver trophy given to the women’s single’s winner–your smile was beatific. Not because of the rush of adrenalin, or the way your spirit had been buoyed by finally achieving what you knew you could, but feared you wouldn’t, but because you knew that in your victory Tashi had found her own. 

It had taken over a decade, but together you’d realised your dream. 

You knew deep down that you could have made it without her, but it would have been tasteless; a honeyed feast turning to ash in your mouth.

Achieving the title with Tashi by your side had turned everything technicolour. All of your senses were heightened and your sense of self revitalised. 

You lived for tennis and Tashi had helped that life become something glorious. 

When you stepped off the court it felt like a kind of conquest: your domain now stretched beyond the white lines that had so far confined you. You had taken more than a trophy, you had stolen space in people’s consciousness.

 You would not fade into the annals of time because your name had been recorded- it was to be engraved in metal which would be buffed into an unmissable shine. 

Even as you stepped into the plush locker room, you knew the winning moment was already being replayed and analysed. It made you smile to think that as commentators noted your form, they were publicly voicing the effects of Tashi’s coaching on you, to the entire world. 

You felt burned by her, but not as if she had branded you, rather that she had subjected you to such heat, that the very makeup of your body had been altered. 

Now, you're sitting on the wooden bench in the locker room with your head hanging low, sweat still dripping from your face when the door opens. 

You shoot to your feet, your beleaguered body screaming at you to slow down.

When you turn, you find Art standing in front of the now closed door. 

The sight of him takes away your breath. 

He is here too. 

In your greatest moment of euphoria, when you’ve never felt more tangible–more real–you get to be near him. Suddenly, all of the time that had passed between you didn’t matter.

He's with you now. 

Art leans back against the door, hands going into the pockets of his immaculate navy pants. A matching blazer that has been left unbuttoned stretches across his muscled torso, his sunglasses hanging from the neck of his white shirt. 

His cropped blonde hair is messy enough that you know he's been running his hands through it; with anxiety and elation he’d been dragging fingers through the blonde locks as he watched you play.  

Art has become something beyond handsome to you. Retiring has returned his vitality and it has been a stunning metamorphosis to witness. 

But it's change you’ve made yourself witness from a distance. The two of you have not been in a room alone together since he’d hidden in your bathroom as Tashi had convinced you to let her become your coach. 

For the first few months, things had felt far too fragile to acknowledge what had happened between the two of you. You and Art had come to a silent understanding that you needed the time to build back up a foundation with Tashi. 

If you were to remain in each other's lives, you needed solid ground.

But you had just won Wimbledon. You had just given Tashi a victory. Did either of you have the fortitude to go on denying yourselves? 

It has been a solid minute since Art entered the room and neither of you have shifted so much as an inch.

You’re fixed on the spot, watching him as he drinks you in. His gaze is laying possessive claim to your body, noting all the places the white vest and skort are clinging to your sweat-slicked curves. 

But it is when his eyes settle on your face, that a sort of peace soothes his expression.

“You were amazing.”

You can’t help but smirk, allowing yourself to feel cocky for once. “Of course I was, I won.” 

Art’s cheeks dimple with the strength of his grin.

“It’s not about the win. It’s how you moved when you played- like you could bend the whole world to your will. It was so beautiful. And you…” He pushes off the door and walks right up to you, chests almost brushing as he nudges your chin up with his finger. “You are so, so stunning.”

As he leans in, even though you don’t try to stop him, words of weak protest pour out of you.

“Art we shouldn’t. Not here-“

He cuts you off with a taunting kiss, his tongue trying to prize your lips open as his arm wraps around you.

His hand shifts up the sweaty material of your vest and lays his palm flat against the heated flesh of your lower back, all while his other hand trails up your outer thigh and beneath your skort to grab your ass.

You lean into him, hands wrapping around his neck and only when he draws back to kiss his way along your jaw, do you have a chance to speak again.

“Art, Tashi will be here soon. If she sees-“ 

“She won’t care.” 

Your brow furrows, but the confusion isn’t enough for you to stop his lips moving over your neck. “What?” 

As Art answers, his hand leaves your rear to dip beneath the waistband of your skort. You shiver as the pads of his fingers tickle all the way down, toying with the top of your underwear.

“You are all Tashi sees now.” Art clarifies, proceeding to nip at your exposed shoulder with his teeth. “You’re her everything. She could walk in on us right now and it wouldn’t change a thing.”

That gives you pause, indignation spiking at his easy dismal of Tashi.

You pull away from Art and he groans quietly but lets you go, his expression remaining completely content. 

“How can you say that?” You ask, growing irritable even as you let him take your hand in his.

“Because you’re everything that I couldn’t be for her.” He says. 

You sigh exasperatedly. “What does that mean, Art?” 

You don’t know why you’re asking, as you’re certain you already know the truth of it.

Art smiles, his other hand lifting to smooth a few sweat slicked strands off of your forehead. When he’s finished, his fingers settle with running over your cheekbone.

“It means…that you are all of her dreams realised. She resented me because every time I played, no matter how well, she knew it was nowhere near as important to me as it would have been to her had she never been injured. She hated me for not wanting it more….but, you have enough passion for tennis to play for the both of you. I never had that much to draw from. So, as long as you keep winning like you just did, she’ll love you. She’ll love you because you’re doing her justice.” 

After giving that insight that rang so true it almost hurts your ears with its incessant clamouring, Art leans in to kiss you again. You place a hand on his chest, gently pushing him back. 

“You felt like you were playing for her and it made you miserable.” You argue, hurt by the thought that his behaviour towards you is just rooted in gratitude that you have lifted the burden off of his shoulders. 

“It was different for me.” He answers simply. “I was miserable because I knew none of what I did was enough. I was still failing her. Tashi wants to watch great tennis and I didn’t give her that. You will. You are giving her that.” 

The way Art was speaking was producing within you a burgeoning unease; he was steady and assured, like he’d spent a long time thinking about this. And there was an undeniable undercurrent of pleasure to his speech.

A large part of Art was elated that the burden had been shifted onto you. 

But could you really hold that against him? You had seen how he was bending and breaking under the weight, it was why you’d told him to retire.

It was now your job to keep Tashi’s heart beating, you had known that the moment you’d agreed to let you coach her. That had been your choice and one freely made. 

So Art was right, you had to keep winning and you had to do so spectacularly. 

This was not a fresh revelation of course, but the possibility that Tashi wanting you close to her was entirely contingent on tennis, began to terrify you.

 You estimated you had a good five years left before you’d likely be forced to retire, but then what would become of you? Would Tashi even care to have you in her life after that? You were not bound to her like she was to Art by their daughter.

As if he can feel how your mind is whirring through the skin of your cheek, Art tips up your chin again and claims your mouth for another kiss. 

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, noses brushing. 

“When I think about all that you are, tennis doesn’t even register.” He says sincerely, placing a sweet peck to your lips.

You cherish his touch and ach for more, but it isn’t quelling the panic ripping into your insides like wind whipping up in preparation to become a storm.

“Art, I can’t- I need to tell Tashi what happened with us.” 

No anger or irritation appears on his face at your blurted words, but his other hand falls onto your back so he can pull you closer and you can tell he’s definitely upset about something. 

“What happened?” He rasps. “You’re placing what we have in the past tense. Is it not still happening” His fingers press into your skin proprietorially. 

“I can’t lose her, Art. But I also can’t lose you.” 

“Then tell her.” He says,  bringing your hand to his lips and kissing it. 

“You’re agreeing just like that? It’ll ruin your marriage.” 

His lip tugs up in the beginning of a bitter smile. “Tell her. It won’t change how she sees you.” he affirms “Then you should ask her about Patrick.”

You barely have time to process his implication when the door opens.

 The two of you pull apart as Tashi’s head pops in. She looks entirely unbothered as her eyes glance off her husband before settling squarely on you.

“Get in the shower, we’ve got to get moving.” 

And just like that she’s gone again.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

“Do you need him?” 

Tashi’s question catches you off guard.

You’ve both been sitting in silence- her nursing a glass of wine and you with herbal tea as you both look out across the London skyline. Lights of skyscrapers are strung out across the black like fairy lights. 

You know who she’s talking about, but you’re terrified to acknowledge it.

You stop yourself from giving into the instinct to peer back through the open sliding door and into the hotel room where Art is watching TV. 

“In what way?” You ask, fiddling with the handle of your mug, still looking forward. 

Tashi huffs, putting her glass down and then turning to you, kneeling beside you on the outdoor couch. She takes the mug out of your hand, setting it on the nearby table before curling her fingers around your chin and forcing you to meet her unflinching stare. 

“Will Art improve your game or will he wreck it?” She sees your eyes widen and shushes you, stymying the words that had been gathering on your tongue. “This isn’t about me. I’m your coach, so I need to know that you’re going to keep giving this your all.” 

“I will.” You nod furiously, still held in her grip.

Tashi’s eyes flicker down your lips before finding your eyes again. Her hair is loose and being blown into your face. 

“I need you to tell me that if he’s watching you in the stands, that you won’t choke.” She says. “What the two of you have needs to light a fire in you, or it fucking dies. Do you understand me?” 

“I won’t choke.” You insist, your tone hard.

Her full lips press into a pleased line. “So are you going to keep dominating?” 

Slightly breathless, your eyes fall to where your fingers have been absentmindedly brushing her knee. You let your digits outstretch and as your eyes return to Tashi’s, you tentatively run them over her scar. You feel her shiver. 

“I’m going to keep dominating.” 

You both go still, and just as the corner of her mouth tugs up, she’s leaning in. You inhale a sharp breath as her lips just skim yours. She holds there, not pressing any further. 

When Tashi speaks, you feel her lips form the words against your own. “Then you do whatever it takes.” 

You truly couldn’t say which of you closes the distance, it feels more like an external, undeniable force driving the two of you to converge.

 When Tashi begins to move her lips against yours, her hand cradles the back of your head, twisting into your hair and pulling. You can’t help but let out a soft moan into her mouth, a hand landing on her waist and digging into the thin fabric of her silk shift.

Tashi draws back first, her hot breaths on your face as she presses two fingers to your throbbing lips. 

The question that comes out of your mouth has no malice or jealousy behind it, just an aching curiosity: you want to know her completely, in the way that you used to, and Art’s words from the locker room told you there was something you don’t know. 

“Tashi, what happened between you and Patrick?” 

She doesn’t rear back, she doesn’t slap you like she might have, she just lets out a slow almost contented breath.  

“I slept with him.” She admits calmly. “A few years ago in Atlanta, and the night before the Challenger match against Art.” 

All at once the visceral passion of that match makes so much more sense and even though you’re aware how twisted it is, you laugh. 

“You forced them to have the best match of their lives.” You say, your tone warring between disbelief and awe. 

Tashi answers with another brief, but ardent kiss to your lips, before she’s rising to her feet, her demeanour steady. Her expression is already returning to the stern set of your coach. 

“You need to get to bed. It’s a busy day tomorrow. Your physiotherapist is here at eight am. Nutritionist at eight-thirty.” 

You nod in agreement, lips still tingling as you rise to your feet. 

The night breeze stirs your hair and the thin fabric of your robe. Only when you turn do you see Art leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed against his chest, the fabric of his grey shirt strained against his muscles. 

When you meet his gaze he smiles so fondly that, combined with the residual heat of Tashi’s contact, you’re set ablaze. 

Right now you have both of them.

“Stay here with us.” Tashi asserts, running a hand over Art’s arm as she passes him to head inside the room.

“No need for you to go wandering down the hall in your nightgown again.” Art continues, the corner of his lips lifting as he holds a hand out to you.

You take it, letting him draw you inside. 

When the two of you reach the massive Queen bed, Art pulls back the sheets and you crawl happily into the middle of the mattress. 

All at once your exhaustion hits you, the softness cradling your aching form both lulling you into drowsiness and making your limbs remember each strained movement of the day.  

Your eyes fall shut, so you’re not sure who it is who causes the bed to dip, but you lean into the warmth irregardless. 

Art’s toned arm wraps around your torso as he draws the back of your body to be flush with his front.  He’s already pulling hair away from your neck and laying lingering kisses there, when movement in front of you causes your eyes to flutter open. 

Tashi’s standing in the bathroom doorway opposite you, her form backlit by the warm light as she finishes rubbing lotion to her arms.

 She watches Art holding you and she notes how he’s kissing you, a frenetic vibrancy takes over her expression. 

You hold her gaze as she switches the bathroom light and walks over. When she crawls under the covers, one of Art’s hands is moving past the neckline of your robe, his thumb running over your nipple. 

You sigh, your head falling back against Art’s chest, but your hand is moving forward across the mattress, searching for Tashi. 

It’s such a terrible idea-  an act that will join you all in another irrevocable way, but you have to have it. You have to have them. 

If you’re going to play tennis with Tashi as your coach and Art still in her life…you can’t choose. You can’t separate yourself from either of them. 

Your hand makes contact with Tashi’s as she lays herself right in front of you. She intertwines your fingers and leans down to kiss your chest, her lips skimming your collarbones. 

Art draws his hand away from your breast and his touch travels down your body, between your legs. 

You moan as Tashi’s mouth explores your chest, her tongue brushing over the swell of your breasts all while Art is pressing his knees between yours from behind. Now more open to him, he bunches your robe in his hand and rucks it up until it’s gathered at your waist. He pulls down your underwear.

When Art’s fingers begin to tease your centre, your gasp is lost as Tashi covers her mouth with yours, her free hand threading into your hair. 

Between the two of them, you find security in the ecstasy they draw out of you. Your entire body is flushed and sweating, cheeks red and chest heaving.

You’re beyond overwhelmed, but you try to savour every small touch and shift of their bodies.

Mostly you’re trying to remember the sensation of Tashi, because you have a feeling this may never happen again with her: even in your addled mind as Art begins to roll his hips, a finger pressing inside you, you’re aware that for Tashi this could simply be a form of motivation. You know that if she thought you needed this now, in order to keep playing the way you had today, then she’d do it without question. She’s motivating you.

 But is that all this is for her? It certainly means a lot more to you.

Tashi was the first woman you had been attracted to, the first person to make you question the limited nature of your desires as a young woman. And then she’d been your best friend, you’d loved and wanted her…and then you’d lost her. 

You both knew this wasn’t a sustainable dynamic, it would likely never be repeated, but for now you would savour being desired by the woman who had awoken yours so long ago. 

Right as Art presses another finger into you, plunging them the two in almost lazily, as if he has all the time in the world, he whispers in your ear: 

“Are you okay?” 

Tashi is still kissing you, but draws back when she hears the question, her lips plump and glistening. She’s giving you the chance to answer, you realise. 

The glorious tightness inside you worsens, friction growing as they stop touching you. 

“Yes.” You whine impatiently.

Art chuckles into your neck as you grab his wrist and guide him back into you, his fingers curling inside your warmth. 

But Tashi’s lips don’t return to yours, instead she leans down and presses them to your forehead before she’s crawling out of the bed.

You’re not worried by her retreat because you’ve always been able to read her face. As she backs away, your orgasm drawing closer as Art fucks into you with his fingers, you see that she isn’t regretting anything. In fact, she’s pleased. Not necessarily with what’s happening in front of her, but because Art–someone she has loved and still loves in her own way–can give you the intimacy she can’t quite bring herself to. 

You play tennis for Tashi and Art loves you for both of them. You think you can live with that.

 Even though you know you could, you don’t begrudge Tashi for any of it. She’s given you this. She’s given you Art and in as much as she can, she’s given you herself. 

As she slips out of the room, no doubt to go to her Mother’s suite and to her daughter, you are entirely content. 

Once you’re alone, you buck up into Art’s hand, your ass grinding against his hardness. He groans deeply against your neck and you almost cry out in protest as he pulls his fingers from right when you’re so close to release. 

But you are not left bereft of him for long. His arm moves beneath you, bracketing your chest with his hand and settling with a soft grip against your throat. He pushes down his pyjama pants.

It’s all too much when he begins to tease his hardness against your core. 

“Art. Now.” You reach down and dig your nails into his now bare thigh with force. 

As his grip on your throat tightens ever so slightly, Art complies and pushes himself into you from behind. He sounds drunk as he whispers into your hair:

“This will never be enough.” He thrusts into you with sweet slowness, letting you feel every tiny thing. “I’ll never have enough of you.” 

So lost in the pressure of him moving inside you that you’re alienated from your capacity for speech, you can’t find the language to tell him how this feels for you; you can’t tell him how much it means. 

Then he speaks again, his movements becoming more forceful: “I’ll never have all of you will I?”

You whimper as his hand that’s not on your neck dives between your legs, adding pressure with his fingers even as he fucks you.

“You do have all of me.” You answer raggedly, relinquishing free movement entirely as he cradles your body so restrictively.

He’s like a snake, tingling around your form before consuming your entire being.

“Tell me it wouldn’t change anything if it was just us.” Art begs, his breath catching in his throat and body shaking. “Tell me I’d be enough for you.” 

He thrusts again and you almost break with your shuddering release. You don’t try to remain quiet, crying out into the night. Art continues to move in you, desperate in more ways than one. 

“I can’t Art.” You admit, tears of pleasure and a sweet sort of pain gathering in your eyes. “I can’t tell you that. We need- we need them. B-both of them.” You stutter out, relinquishing yourself to your euphoria. 

Them. Them being Tashi and Patrick.

 You don’t understand Art without either of them. You don’t understand yourself without them. 

Everything was in relation to them, even the sex you and Art are having right now isn’t just about the two of you. And you both know it.

An indecipherable noise comes from Art as he pulls out of you, and in a blink, he’s rolled you onto your back and is pressing himself into you again.

His pace becomes rapid as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, hips snapping against yours.

You wrap your legs around him, driving him deeper as his body begins to tremble.

When Art comes apart, draping himself over you as he gathers himself, a tear of utter confusion rolls down your cheek and falls into his hair. 

Whatever comes next, at least you know you’ll never be alone. Art is a part of you. Tashi and Patrick are part of you. 

Without each other, there is no survival.

[stubz]

Injuries and a ship invasion, no one dies

"Why do they let humans take care of our younglings? If it hadn't been for the coalition then it would've been another century till they realize our existence. Their senses have dulled to the point where its laughable that they are the dominating species of their planet. And lets not forget the fact that they're at constant war with each other over the most stupidest things, color of skin, where one lives, who they love, what they believe, etc."

"Calis stop it! Your being a xenophobe. And while some of that is true you should know by now that the humans care deeply for our children."

"I am simply being concerned parent who worries for their young's safety and well-being...we are in a dangerous area right now, the middle of a war zone, and it would make me feel safer if we had some others at the care centre till reinforcements arrive."

"Trust me my brightest, the humans will do everything they can to ensure the safety of our Dali...and knowing them they'll likely surprise you and live up to their reputation."

"...fine, fine, I apologize, you are right. The humans have surprised me so far, what's one more?"

.

..

...

....

"WHERE IS DALI?! WHERE IS MY YOUNGLING CAPTAIN!"

"Calis calm down! Your arm!"

"NO! YOU DON'T GET TO TELL ME TO CALM DOWN WHEN ENEMY FORCES HAVE INVADED OUR SHIP AND NONE OF US CAN FIND OUR YOUNG!!"

"Calis, your hurt and so is your partner. Think of Gala, they need you right now."

"...Gala is hurt because they were looking for Dali. They got shot because they were heading to the centre...I have to find Dali. For Gala, Captain."

"I'm sure that Kim and Max are doing everything they can to keep them safe."

"With all do respect Captain, how could 2 unarmed humans survive what our force couldn't."

"...I don't know but its probably going to be one hell of a story we'll be telling for the ages. Now go get your arm treated. That's an order."

.

..

...

....

"WE FOUND THEM!"

"CAPTAIN WE FOUND THE YOUNGLINGS!"

"WE NEED A CRANK AND SEND EVERY AVAILABLE MEDIC!"

"oh great stars please no...nonononono DALI!" the Delzah rushed forward, breaking through the search party, only to be stopped by their captain.

"Calis...you have to let them do their job. We, we just have to hope." he could not help the hitch in his breath. Hoping, praying, that his own child was okay underneath the wreckage that was once the youngling care centre.

They fight and thrash until eventually grief overtakes them. They collapse into the captain's arms wailing.

"...what hope do I have that my child is alive under all that rubble. Captain...the only hope I have is that they died quick and that they are with the stars now..."

"Oh Calis..." he sobs. He knows it. There was hardly a chance that anyone was still alive underneath there. Only the strongest younglings who were from a strong species may survive and his child was not one of those few. They were strong but his child was like him...a runt, the joke of the family. Too small, too weak, too soft. She was surely dead...why couldn't it have been him?

"MAPA!"

"PAPA!"

One by one, children emerge from an opening made in the rubble, and at the front of them was Dali and a small feline like child.

"my glorious star" flinging themself from the Captain Calis dragged themself to meet Dali who leaped into their Mapa's arms.

The captain was not too far behind, running to his daughter and cradling her close. Words were not exchanged but Calis could feel the vibrations coming from their purrs.

"See...I told you they would be waiting..."

last to emerge from the rubble was the humans, carried out on stretchers. Only one was conscious. Glass glittered from their skin, dirt and dust blended with vibrant red blood, staining their white bandages, and a rebar was poking out of the unconscious one's side.

"You...got everyone right?"

"Yes, human Max."

"Good...that's good..." and finally did they lose consciousness.

.

..

...

....

"Apparently they covered the windows and hid the kids in the storage room, putting them to the farthest corner while they formed a human wall in front of the door.

When those quiznaking bastards couldn't break down the door they rigged the centre with explosives. Lucky for us the humans personally requested that the storage room be made durable for the equivalent of their disasters on earth so it held up decently well."

"But how did they get so injured?"

"Decently well, meaning the room wasn't completely stable. Eventually the walls started to give and the humans had to improvise by becoming the new pillars. They took shifts until they both had to hold up the weight for what the kids guess to be 3 hours...imagine holding up all of that weight until you were on your hands and knees with rebars, broken glass, and debris piercing into your body."

"...Gala said that Human Max nearly flatlined and Human Kim needed 2 liters of blood."

"You seem confused."

"...Humans are impressive but how did they do all of that? They were already injured and yet managed to hold up a collapsed ceiling for hours until help arrived, I thought they were completely average and even weaker than us."

"Apparently when their loved ones, especially children, are in danger they tap into their more primal instincts. Allowing them to withstand a shot to the side, a slab of concrete to the head, and hours of keeping a ceiling from collapsing until they know everyone is safe.

Heard a story of a human who died only after he saw his kids was safe from a fire."

"Looks like Gala was right. Humans have surprised me once again."

[bbydoll18xx]

A Glorious Sunrise

There’ll be happiness. Paige makes sure of it.

Paige Bueckers x Reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.2k

Themes: angst with a happy ending, paige is flirty and i love her for it

A/N: hiii i've been MIA but i'm back and omg guys i lowkey kinda love this. this song has been my hyperfixation for the past two months and i've been dying to write a fic to happiness but i didn't want it to be paige-angst so this is what i came up with instead.

also i'm lowkey exposing myself with this fic, and i clearly need therapy sooo PLZ BE NICE

please enjoy and lemme know what you think ;)

~

A single tear slides down your cheek as you close the last box of your belongings, landing on the brown cardboard with a wet plop of harsh finality. You gaze around the room, which is now nearly empty, and a sob that you had been suppressing all day manages to break through your normally tough exterior. 

Seven years of love and laughter gone just like that.

And now, here you were, dividing all of your shit into boxes and contemplating if this feeling was even worth the seven years in heaven. 

The empty space where the bed once stood leaves a lump in your throat. Images of being pulled into a warm, strong chest every night bombard your consciousness, and you turn away, unable to stomach it any longer.

It was a simple story, really. 

You and Jake were high school sweethearts, turned college sweethearts. He had taken you to prom and twirled you around in a sparkly, pink dress. He had taken your virginity, and you had imagined your entire life together with bright, starry eyes. 

College was spent between your dorm rooms, crammed into twin beds and talking about kids and houses with white picket fences. You had moved in together after college, and the two of you were blissfully in love.

But last week, Jake had come home late at night with empty eyes and shaky hands, and he had quietly told you that he was done. 

And in the blissfulness of being in love, the words did not even register for a moment. 

You were still dancing when the music stopped. And the world went cold, the sunshine in your life suddenly burnt out like a candle that was blown out by a bitter wind. The smoke was engulfing your cold frame, curling around you in dark, taunting tendrils.

You shiver now, looking back on it all. Your sweatshirts were all packed already, and instinctively, you go to the closet to grab one of Jake’s. 

The realization hits you like a truck, and you stop in your tracks. What is his is no longer yours.

He is no longer yours. 

Fuck. 

No one had taught you what to do when a good man hurts you, so you were going to pick yourself up piece by piece.

~

“Baby, please just listen t’me,” Jake slurs, his voice coming through the speaker of your phone in loud, drunken drawls, causing you to wince. It was the first night in your new apartment, and you were already struggling with the fact that it was just you and the four walls that surrounded you. 

Your voice wavers as you try to remain level headed. “No. I’m not doing this anymore,” you whisper. The other line is silent for a moment, and you think he has given up. But the delicate swoon of a woman’s voice cuts through the phone, and your stomach lurches with both dread and anger. 

It had been a week, and here he was, filling the divide with random women. 

Well, two could play that game. 

It didn’t take long to fall back into old habits. As they say, old habits die screaming, and it had become nearly impossible for you to hold back from the distraction the steady stream of men and women provided. 

It was deeply unhealthy, and you knew it. Once they would leave, you’d seek solace in the steaming shower where the water both hid your tears and washed away the filth of last night’s activities that had lingered on your soft skin. 

No matter how hard you scrubbed, you could not manage to rid yourself of the bruises and the overwhelming shame that seeped out of every pore.

Your body, which was once worshipped with soft kisses and gentle touches, was quickly becoming a way to numb the pain of having the rug pulled out from under you. Dark marks litter your skin in swirling, chaotic patterns that remind you of how little worth you have.

And in the darkness, the cruelest words taunt your inner psyche.

‘Maybe this is all I'm good for anymore.’

~

Those very words echo in your mind as you stumble into your apartment building on an unseasonably warm morning in April. The doorman gives you a sly look as he notices last night's mascara caked into the waterline of your eyes, smudged from the long night and the rough sex that followed.

You duck your head, wanting to disappear, and you hurry through the lobby, wanting to get out of the sparkly dress that was still adorning your body.

You reach the elevator, pressing the button to go up impatiently. The doors open, and you let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“Wait! Hold up, I’m coming,” a voice shouts, and you turn to look in the direction of the girl.

It was like a scene out of one of those ridiculous hallmark movies. Blonde hair gleams in the early morning sun, reflecting off of the large glass windows of the lobby. The girl’s blue eyes shine with amusement as you stare up at her, momentarily forgetting your desire to remain unnoticed. 

She steps into the enclosed space with you, and you let out a shaky breath. Her presence was intoxicating, and it was quickly becoming very apparent that you looked like a goddamn mess.

“Fun night?” She asks with a teasing lilt to her voice, and you blush.

“Not really,” you say blandly, surprised by your own candor. “But it was a good distraction.”

The girl studies you, her eyes raking over your collarbone where a large hickey now resided. 

“I’m Paige,” she says, and you tell her your name as the flush extends over your chest, settling into it.

“I’m in apartment 555. Let me know if you ever want to talk,” she winks, walking out of the elevator. “Or if you need a healthier distraction,” she adds over her shoulder right as the doors close. 

Your face blooms with color again, and your belly erupts in the feeling of excitement. 

Because in that moment, you had unconsciously decided to leave it all behind. 

For there was a glorious sunrise looming over the black hills that had risen in your heart, blanketing a warmth you hadn’t felt in months. And her name was apparently Paige. 

Paige was on the forefront of your mind all day, and you welcome the giddiness, inviting it into your heart like an old friend.

A new motivation pours into you as you walk into your apartment, the bare walls emulating the blandness you had been feeling since the breakup. Your eyes glance towards your storage closet, and without a second thought, you begin to decorate, the pieces of you that you once had to keep hidden were now proudly out on display. 

It was the first step to healing. And damn, did it feel good.

~

Healing is never a linear process. And as your thumb grazes over your phone screen, open to Tinder, your mind fights with your heart over falling back into bad habits. 

You huff, looking around to make sure no one watches you as you stand near the elevator waiting to go back home after the gym one afternoon. Your thumb swipes across a few profiles, almost instinctively, as you mindlessly scroll to find someone worthy of your time. 

You weren’t even going to fuck them this time, you tell yourself. You just needed a little attention to fill the void. 

If you repeat it enough times, surely it’ll start to ring true. 

“She’s cute. Why’d you swipe left?” A husky voice murmurs in your ear, and you jump, immediately closing out the app on your phone and whirl around to face the familiar sound.

“We gotta stop meeting like this,” Paige chuckles, looking you up and down, and you flush.

She just had that effect on you.

“If she’s so cute, why don’t you date her?” You ask, almost defensively, feeling the heat of her gaze. Damn her and those eyes.

“Prefer to meet pretty girls in person,” she smirks, clearly noticing the blush on your cheeks. 

“Did you think about my offer?”

You fight a smile. “Maybe,” you shrug, wanting to keep your cards close to your chest. Even if you had been internally fawning over her the past few weeks, she did not need to know that. 

Her smile widens, and you swear you can actually see a twinkle in her eye. 

“And…?” She goads, leaning in closer to you as the elevator opens, and she leads you in with a hand ghosting across the small of your back. 

“I just got out of a really long relationship,” you start to explain, faltering as she steps even closer into your space. 

“Who said anything about a relationship?” Her eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to yours, tracking your face expertly. 

“I–” you begin, her breath fanning over your face distracting you from being able to put words together. You lean in, your eyes nearly fluttering closed before the elevator pings and the door opens.

You suck in a breath, the realization slamming into you.

Paige squeezes your hip, as you look back up at her wide eyes. 

“8 tonight. Alright?” 

You nod dumbly, enthralled by the trance she had put you in. The elevator doors close, and you’re met with your own reflection staring back at you, and in the silver chrome, you watch your smile come back to life. 

~

You arrive at her door that night, your palms slick, and you wipe them on your pants just in case she holds your hand tonight.

You were lying if you said you hadn’t spent the entire day fantasizing about Paige. You had thought about the way her hair was tucked up in a bun this morning, practically begging you to take it out and run your hands through the soft, golden locks. And you had thought about how her pink, plush lips had formed into a smirk, making you want to tell your funniest jokes just to see the curve of her smile widen. 

You had thought about her hands and the way they had grazed across your skin, setting every nerve ending in your body ablaze with a feeling you hadn’t felt in months. 

All of the people you had hooked up with in your sickening conquest to forget about your ex-boyfriend could not hold a candle to Paige.

And that fucking terrified you. But here you were, at her door, ready to face whatever the universe was going to throw at you. 

There’ll be happiness. You just knew it. 

You shake your head, scolding yourself for the internal gay ramblings, and you knock, waiting for that gorgeous face to appear on the other side. 

The door opens, and your breath hitches as Paige smiles at you, reaching for your hand to pull you inside. 

Thank god you had wiped them off. 

“Welcome to my crib,” she jokes, leading you to sit on her couch.

You scan the room, surprised at how well it was decorated before landing back on her. 

Paige had sat next to you, drawing her legs up in a way that felt strangely intimate. She crosses her hands dramatically. “So, tell me why you’ve been using Tinder to cope.”

You splutter, not expecting her to be so blunt. 

“Damn, you don’t need to roast me,” you giggle, a faux pout on your lips, drawing Paige’s attention to them.

“Is it cuz of your ex?” She asks, and you nod.

“Yeah. I–I guess I just wanted to feel like I had some sort of worth still.”

Paige stares at you with a somber look on her face. She reaches up to cup your cheek, running her thumb across the smooth skin of your jaw. 

“You do. Promise,” she whispers genuinely, and the simplicity of her words rip every single bit of cautiousness from your body. 

And you lean in and kiss her. 

Your lips move in perfect synchronicity, like two dance partners who could see inside each other's minds. You lean into her touch, her hand coming up to rest on your waist, as you nearly squirm onto her lap.

She moans as your mouth opens, letting her fall into you, as two becomes one.

It was perfect and poetic, just as new beginnings tend to be. 

Time slows as you sit with each other, exploring and indulging before you finally pull away, your chest rising and falling in quick, staccato breaths.

Paige places a kiss onto your cheek, brushing her thumb across your lips to sweep away the extra spit that had accumulated amidst the sudden passion. 

“Well, I’d say that was a pretty successful first session, huh?” She teases.

“When’s the next one?” You ask, a giggle bubbling up in your chest, as you lean back into Paige, who just laughs, pulling you in for another kiss.

You were going to be just fine.

Paige would make sure of it.

~

welllll what'd you think?? thanks so much for reading

xoxo katy

~

Taglist:

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[delirious-donna]

Morning Epiphany [Higuruma Hiromi]

an: cockwarming with Hiromi was suggested to me when I opened my requests/ideas for this wonderful man and I immediately leapt on it because YES!

pairing: Higuruma Hiromi x female reader

warnings: cockwarming, reader being the teeniest bit mean to poor Hiro, whining and whimpering from the lawyer…

Masterlist

“Hiro… it’s so early, why are you in here?”

The sun had barely begun to crest, the earliest rays warming the bedspread that was surprisingly empty. A hand reaching out to your husband’s side confirmed the first stirring of your consciousness, he wasn’t here, and if he wasn’t here then there were only two places he could be.

Despite the lure of sleep trying to coax you back into the cozy haze of dreams, you couldn’t possibly sleep when your other half was missing, and so early too. The blinking lights of the alarm clock signalled the hour and helped to push your feet to the rug by the bed, stretching and pouting.

The bathroom was empty, there was no remnant of steam from the scalding hot showers he took every morning and you scowled at your dishevelled reflection in the mirror. Your hair stuck up at odd angles, eyes puffy from how quickly you got out of bed and your sleepshirt—an old well-worn sweatshirt of Hiromi’s—was creased beyond belief.

Your steps took you towards the office and the scent of freshly brewed coffee that wafted enticingly into your nose. The door creaked on antique hinges, your missing man turning with his brow furrowed from having his concentration broken. The expression shifted into a smile almost immediately, a sheepish smile at that.

“Did I wake you? I didn’t mean to,” he apologised sincerely, settling back in his chair to stretch his arms up and over his head. The wide sleeves of his black t-shirt, now faded to grey at best, pushed back and your eyes dipped to the hint of black happy trail that peeked from beneath the hem with a sigh of appreciation.

Hiromi couldn’t help but chuckle. Hastily he fixed his face with a look of admonishment, one sleek eyebrow rising near to his hairline. “Eyes up here, Mrs Higuruma.”

“Sorry—wait. Why am I apologising? It’s the arse crack of dawn, what are you doing up let alone working?”

His eyes drooped, nervously fidgeting with the pen on his desk.

Before he could respond, you grabbed the back of his chair and scooted it out further from the desk to his confusion. The lines wrinkling his forehead smoothed out when your knee bracketed his hip, followed by the other until you sat straddling his lap. Your fingers ran through the limp strands of the hair hanging near into his eyes, humming at the glorious warmth of his body melding into yours.

“Epiphany moment?” Hiromi offered uncertainly. He was too preoccupied by the soft squish of your hips and backside, hands full of the meat of you, and desperately trying to will his cock not to harden any further. To his disappointment and your triumph, he was failing miserably.

You planted teasing kisses to his jawline, barely-there touches of your lips until you were decorating his throat and prominent Adam’s apple with wet little marks. “Don’t let me stop you, Hiro… you can pretend I’m not here. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.”

He dropped his chin, staring at you with suspicious disbelief. Swallowing thickly when you offered your best most innocent looking smile, laying your cheek on his shoulders and drawing one of his hands away from where he was pawing at your rump. “Work, if that’s what you want to do.”

Hiromi groaned and looked skyward as if some answer would arrive if he begged for it hard enough. He knew this game well enough, and not once had he won. He didn’t fancy his odds on this particular day either.

It started out fairly uneventful. Hiromi managed to refocus his attention towards the computer screen and the ruling he had been in the middle of reading when you appeared, but soon enough the words no longer made sense. Your fingertips grazed his chest, delicate scrapes of your nails across the cotton hiding his nipples and it was maddeningly distracting.

Instead of calling it out, knowing it would only result in you doubling down your efforts, he exhaled through his nose and shifted in his seat to give some respite to the erection chafing the waistband of his pyjama trousers. Immediately, he knew it was the wrong move. Your pelvis sunk closer to him, rubbing more friction into his aching length and he swore he could smell your arousal hanging heavy in the air.

He did his best to ignore your naughty fingers moving between you, to pretend you weren’t pulling him free and playing in the mess of precum leaking from his tip. His fingers tightened around the mouse in his hand, the sound of plastic groaning from the onslaught of pressure enough to make him blink and loosen his hold.

“You will be the death of me, love.”

The loose fist around his shaft paused. “Keep working or I’ll go back to bed… alone.” You were slick with arousal, the lack of panties leaving a dark stain on the crotch of Hiromi’s pyjamas that didn’t go unnoticed by either of you. The temptation to lift to your knees and sink down onto his cock was building, but you couldn’t reward him so readily for his leaving you in bed this morning. Not until he was a little more desperate, and by the hue of the rash at his neck and dappling of his cheeks, there was still a little ways to go.

Hiromi was failing fast, and he knew you were waiting to pounce and worsen his predicament. Worsen was hardly the right term given how eager he was to be swallowed by your plush velvet-lined walls, but since you were insistent that he continue to work, he wasn’t going to be rewarded until he did. The pen scratched across the surface of his notepad, the ink drying in shaky lines whilst you cupped his balls and rolled them between your fingers and thumb. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure what he was writing made sense but if it gave the illusion of cooperation, he’d write utter gibberish all day long.

You held out as long as you could manage, the burning desire palpable on the dewy apples of your cheek and the heat of your breasts hidden beneath your husband’s sweatshirt. At long last you teased his pulsing cock between your folds, tapping the sticky cockhead against your pert little clit and finally lining him up at your entrance. The muscles contracted around him, that first inch a delicious stretch that pushed you to your limits not to slam right down to his fat balls and cry out from the bliss.

The descent was drawn out, testing your patience and resolve to the limits, as well as forcing stuttering breaths out of Hiromi’s heaving chest. You didn’t chastise the return of his hands, the adoration sweeping through his palms as they raised the hem of your sweatshirt so he could see himself disappearing into your pussy. He fisted the fabric, grasping at your hips with eyes heavy with lust and you simply had to taste him, even only for a moment.

Your lips crashed atop his, tongue licking over the seam of his bottom lip and pressing into his mouth to swallow the whine that crawled from his throat. It echoed inside your head, the urge to roll your hips over and over until he filled your belly with his seed burned like a white-hot flame. Your skin itched, fingers curled into claws that dove into Hiromi’s thick head of hair and you nearly didn’t break your kiss, nearly were consumed by the passion you felt in your heart.

“Hmmmpff.” Hiromi wailed when you finally came to some semblance of your senses, your pelvis flush against his but no longer moving. He stared at you in longing, watching whilst you swiped a finger over your kiss-swollen lips and sucked the remnants of his spit from the pad. The smile you offered was purely saccharine, and his throat itched with the need to bounce you on his cock until you gushed all over him and the chair.

“Please?” He asked on a whisper, aquiline nose nudging into your cheek.

“You have your epiphany moment to deal with mister lawyer, c’mon… you can last a little longer. Let me warm you and once I’m satisfied, I’ll ride you until your legs want to give out,” you purred, mouth at the shell of his ear and leaving a kiss at the bone just behind.

Silently, he begged and pleaded for mercy on his tainted soul, as if some divine intervention was likely to intercept, he knew that wouldn’t be the case. You were the only divine deity in his world and your determination to give him a taste of his own medicine for abandoning the sacred ritual of morning cuddles was written across your features.

A sweat broke out across his brow as he studied the lines of text on the screen without recognising a single word. A drip of arousal dribbled from the spot you united, dribbling over the seam of his balls to stain the leather seat beneath. You clenched, and he crushed the pen in his hand, palm filled with tiny plastic shards that speared his skin.

“Darling… light of my life—I will do anything, anything, if you’ll just ride me,” he whimpered, discarding the busted pen and grabbing up your hands to kiss earnestly across your fingertips then knuckles. Hiromi was barely restraining the buck of his hips, the warmth almost too much wrapped around his dick but without the friction and rhythm of movement… it wasn’t enough.

Your resolve was being tested once more. The subtle wobble of his lower lip and the sincere longing in his whisky-smoked eyes cracked the shell of your conviction. Easing forward in one languid roll of your hips earned you the most delightful and pitiful whimper you had heard in a long time. His head fell back against the headrest of his chair, eyes screwed shut whilst you felt him twitch within your walls. He might just cum like this if you didn’t do something, and actually, you wouldn’t mind that in the slightest.

Never more had you enjoyed cockwarming Hiromi than at this moment, and you vowed to draw it out as long as he could endure.

“Fuck, Hiro… you feel so good. So warm and snug,” you cooed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and nuzzling into him more. “Five more minutes…”

[niechys]

I'm sorry. I'm so not sorry but also so so so sorry. But I can't stop thinking about it.

from @keferon tf mecha universe

(Also if you don't want me tagging you please do tell. I didn't want to bother, just want to credit cuz it's glorious)

it's because of this post.

Happened after This event

I'm sorry in advance for all the grammatical errors.

I also don't know wo else would be the science guy to take this position of explaining the thing. I feel like there has to be someone else that's not Shockwave too. Sorry to all of Brainstorm's fans out there. I think he's not a bad guy. Just too excited for the possibilities.

---------------------------------

Something lingers inside that mech. Although there is no hard evidence of a human soul or spirit or ghost haunting it, most people who had anything to do with Vortex agreed that it was best to believe its first pilot never leave the cockpit of his mech. After all, nothing else would explain the freak accidents constantly killing all but the latest pilot.

Human are prone to be superstitious. It's normal to believe in something like ghost in the machine, really.

But one would not think a man of sciences such as Shockwave would take the rumors seriously. No one knows if the scientist really believe it or not. He

Regardless of the rumors' validity, it sure did inspired him.

"You're kidding me" Swindle stood, blinked, looked at the incomplete repair of Blurr's mech then back to the technician in front of him. Brainstorm was prattling on at speed faster than Blurr's F1 record.

"Not kidding. Why would I kid? This is a great breakthrough. Lives can be saved and there are much we could do with the tech, I don't know why it never occurs to me or Shockwave that the neural link tech could have been used in this way---"

Swindle turned his brain off during all the scientific mumbo jumbo all and only really heard him again at "It's nothing all that weird really. Some people disagree, but you can't go against Shockwave when he put his mind to it. If you think about it, it's just like Vortex"

"What?" Swindle blinked again.

"Vortex. That mech, I mean the mech's first pilot, crazy psycho, crazy good at slicing up kaijus"

"I know who Vortex was. I worked here when he started piloting. What did that asshole has to do with this?"

"Oh, everything. If, a big if. If that guy's consciousness was still in the mech like people been saying"

"Haunted" Crossing his arms, he narrowed his eyes at Brainstorm. The technician corrected him.

"Lingering consciousness. Either way, Blurr is in much better shape than Vortex. Brain still intact . So is most part of his body. We wired him to the neural link to allow him control of the mech. So when we are ready, he can still go about his task from within that mech"

"What . The . Fuck"

Swindle's eyebrow twitched. No, it's NOTHING like Vortex's case. The asshole died and probably refused to leave this world. Blurr, on the other hand, was still alive. Sure he wouldn't be the same. Maybe he would be scarred for life, paralyzed from the waist down or something. But hardwiring a person to a mech?

"So, you were working with Blurr before now, correct? That's why we would like to bring you in as his handler. Not like you have to do maintenances and stuff, just take care of him and, the publicity and all that. Like being his manager" With that, Brainstorm handed him a folder before excusing himself.

The guy wasn't bad most of the time, Swindle thought. But sometimes, just sometimes, his passion for science overshadowed the moral compass.

Like how he wished that his own greed would take precedented in his state of mind. They must have thought he would jump at the chance to milk more profit from Blurr. Hell, he wouldn't be feeling this bad if that was the case.

He wanted to refuse. Profit be damn, even he didn't feel right. Blurr saved them. He should be allowed to preserved his humanity, his dignity. Not preserving his brain in a jar inside a mech. If the pilot died and the mech is reparable, you find a new pilot. If the pilot lived but can no longer pilot, you also find a new pilot. Not..this.

But refusing means they will bring someone else on board to manage Blurr. He's pretty sure he wouldn't like that.

Fuck

------------------

**note. Blurr is not reduced to brain in a jar. Most of his body is intact, just hard wired to the mech.

I tink they can add robot parts to him later all stuff. But since they probably value Blurr as a money cow pilot first. If they can't use his face, they can still use his mech.

Sorry again ehehehehehehehehehe

[faesdreaming]

Yandere Deity - Altar

tw: yandere behaviour, possessive/obsessive behaviour, kidnapping, diety uses he/him pronouns, gaslighting, yandere using his abilities to mess with reader’s perception of reality

“Haven’t you come to worship at my altar?”

•A lone Deity part of a forgotten pantheon, lost to the sands of time. What once was a bountiful temple; filled with offerings and gifts of fruits, meats, candles, with sounds of prayers and hymns of worship ringing through the halls, people streaming in to sing his praise, is now nothing but an empty ruin.

•He’s so very lonely. Nary a person has come to visit him in centuries. Years pass by and he has nothing, no one. Until you. A fateful eve when you happen upon the temple. Hidden away in the heart of a lush jungle, you, an archaeologist, find your El Dorado, your city of gold. You’d long since heard tales of a lost civilization, an Atlantis on land. Yet, here the remnants lay in front of your eyes.

•At the heart of the ruins lays a temple, grand and golden. Although time has chipped away at its’ grandeur, it’s still glorious, in your opinion. It’s a testament to humanity’s evolution. You don’t notice him though, no one does. But he’s noticed you. Nosy little thing, aren’t you? Impudent, little mortal wretch. He ought to kill you for your audacity. Daring to defile his sacred temple, you deserve nothing but the most painful end,

•But, you’re not actually defiling it, are you? You’re so respectful, treating every artifact as though it were the Holy Grail. You revere his temple, it’s a wonder, a marvel to you. It, you treatment, you reverence— you make him feel something new, something foreign. The attention you give him is intoxicating. He’s been forgotten, left behind. Yet, you’re here now. And he isn’t going to let you go.

•So, when a series of natural disasters occurs and suddenly your team is halved, some leaving after the first incident, others meeting fates you don’t want to recall. The others are slowly losing hope, they’ve lost friends, money, time to your passion project. This is your life’s work, you can’t just give up, can you? You don’t want to. You really don’t. But you’re smart enough to know when to cut your losses.

•Then, another freak accident hits. This time is more devastating. Nobody escaped unscathed, nobody escapes at all. Nobody is except for you. You slip in and out of consciousness. One moment, you’re in the rubble amongst your dead coworkers and friends, and suddenly you’re in a bed, soft and warm. You’re delirious, unable to actually make out anything. But you’re certain there’s someone taking care of you. A man. A beautiful man, something, someone, divine. His touch is soft and gentle. Caring even. He placates you with sweet platitudes you can’t quite comprehend in this state, but the smooth baritone of his voice makes your heart soar.

•When you fully regain consciousness, you’re able to see your surroundings. You’re in a room filled with luxury. Ornate decor, golden furniture, the whole nine yards. It’s impressive, if not a little, a lot, off-putting. How did you get here? Who was the man taking care of you? Thousands of questions and thoughts flood your mind. It’s interrupted by him, the man.

“You’re finally awake. How are you feeling?”

•You blink in confusion. It’s—he’s— everything is too much. Too overwhelming. He chuckles, it’s a rich sound that sends shivers down your spine. He reassures you, slowly and gently placing a strong hand of on your shoulder. There’s something commanding in his soft tone, something compelling you to swallow the lump in your throat and obey. He laughs again and you blush.

•He introduces himself as the one who’s been taking care of you. Doesn’t offer you any explanation as to why, but you ought to be grateful. After all, you could have been left out to die. He offers you food and water. You eat like a man starved and drink the water as though it were the sweetest ambrosia. He offers to let you stay here— where is here?— with him.

“You may leave whenever you decide to leave.”

•He promises, even escorts you out of the room, down halls that moves and shift, and spin around. You’re dizzy, delirious, unable to care for yourself. He carries you back to the room. How embarrassing. Your apologies when you regain your composure are shrugged off. It’s fine, he insists. You’re sick, vulnerable. He reiterates his offer, stay until you get better— you could’ve sworn he said stay forever— and are able to fend for yourself. You nod your head in agreement. It’s the logical choice, really. You’d probably die on your own.

•He smiles a brilliant smile at you, swears he’ll care for you diligently. And he has been, hasn’t he? You’re beginning to trust him, have faith— why?— in him. He stays true to his word. Working tirelessly to care for not only your body but your mind as well. Sleepless nights are spent with him by your side, telling you folktales and myths, singing soft lullabies to lull you to sleep, or even merely conversing with you. Days are spent improving your health. He feeds you by hand sometimes when you are too weak to do it yourself. When your health shows signs of improvement, you both go on walks, exploring the extensive gardens and many palace— temple, building, you’re not sure where you are— halls.

•He gifts you with many things too. Soft silk robes, shining jewels, ancient tomes and books, everything you desire you’re given. It’s not your fault, really, that you start to love him— do you?— especially not when’s he’s so kind. So handsome, beautiful really. He looks inhuman, like something divine. He’s attentive and nurturing. Your own prince charming. Your feelings grow as time progresses— how long has it been, you need to leave— until you can’t contain it.

•One day, as he presses a warm cloth to your forehead, you notice just how close he is. How he’s just out of touch. You greedily drink it in, unconsciously inching closer until your lips are pressed against his. The kiss is soft, chaste and you immediately pull away. Your stammering and feeble apologies are interrupted by his hand cupping your cheek. He leans in, your heart thumping in your chest, and kisses you again. This time, you don’t pull away.

•He, your lover, your heart loves you too. It’s surreal— too surreal— and your days spent together become all the more special. You’re utterly content with him, he’s become the air you breathe, the light of your life, you’re everything. It’s only natural for you to become consumed by him. By your life with your beloved— to forget you ever had a life before— spending eternity forever in his arms.

“We only have until forever, love.”

[ko-existing]

All that you experience is appearances (i.e., phenomena)

by Being_is_IT / twitter

Q：SELF nature is bright...

A: SELF does not necessarily have to appear as "light" or "bright" or "glorious". "Darkness" or "ordinary" or "mundane" is SELF-same, and it is equally sacred. In other words, "consciousness" is an energetic pattern of SELF, and "unconsciousness" is also an energetic pattern of SELF.

Although the appearances may look differently, there is no actual difference at all. The key is not to be confused by various forms of appearance, thinking that one appearance is better or worse than another.

SELF can seemingly present infinite forms of appearances while remaining SELF intact without conditions.

"time" is appearance.

"moment" is appearance.

"space" is appearance.

"birth" is appearence.

"living" is appearance.

"dying" is appearance.

"sleeping" is appearance.

"waking" is appearance.

"dreaming" is appearance.

"light" is appearance.

"dark" is appearance.

"beautiful" is appearance.

"ugly" is appearance.

"I" is appearance.

"other" is appearance.

"location" is appearance.

"continuity" is appearance.

"progress" is appearance.

"consciousness" is appearance.

"thinking" is appearance.

Appearances may look very differently, they are SELF-same! They are all the same holiness. Whatever you can think or or imagine or express is all appearances.

All appearances (i.e., phenomena) are simply incessantly morphing energetic patterns or textures of SELF.

SELF is beyond experiencing and SELF is not an subject or object to be experienced.

SELF can know SELF directly!

Know that you are SELF! SELF is SELF!

Don't be confused by infinite variations of seeming appearance! Although all appearences are SELF's energetic patterns nonetheless, know that you cannot be defined or pinned down as any appearances.

[st-just]

Less Boring 40k Demon Prince Ideas than 'Bigger Angrier Chaos Space Marine'

Unspeakably ancient eldar who was one of the decadent hubristic imperial magnates so good at murderogries they caused the birth of Sleanesh, happily sold out the rest of the species

Sisters of Battle canoness/living saint who was actually genociding people for Khorne instead of the Emperor (took multiple campaigns for anyone to notice, very embarrassing)

Demon Prince of Nurgle that literally is a zombie apocalypse plague, their consciousness distributed throughout the Resident Evil/Left4Dead-style horde and monstrous mutatioons

A Sauron-among-the-Numenoreans disciple of Tzeetch, appears as a normal looking charismatic savant genius who shows up and givens a world's leaders everything they need to start a glorious new golden age (eventual rebellion and/or disastrous collapse can be assumed)

Corrupted machine spirit of a titan (with bonus entire crew of the titan still eternally bound within it)

Just like, any aliens tbh.

[asunsetgrace16]

✧ 𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗛𝗘𝗥⎥𝗔𝗙19

The birds were just beginning to sing their morning melody when Adam stirred awake. Peering into the barely-lightened room, he half-turned onto his back and flung his arm in the general direction of the night table hoping to grab his phone. His searching hand found it and grabbed it, the charger coming along too.

“Damnit.” He cursed under his breath, detaching the cord from his phone and dropping it to the floor. 

Adam’s eyes squint as they momentarily adjust to the brightness of the phone screen, showing 5:44 am. Wonderful, he thinks. A few glorious hours before they have to get up and face the day. There truly isn’t much better than waking up early and knowing that there are still hours before the alarm officially goes off. Adam always takes advantage of those occasions. He sighs, relaxing back into the pillows and letting his phone drop to his chest. Y/N stirs beside him, sighing softly when she finds Adam’s other hand. Her hair is spread across the pillows and her eyelashes rest on rosy cheeks, one lightly creased from the pillow. A marker of a good night’s sleep. He looks over at her, the barest hint of a smile forming on his face. His brain is still foggy, thoughts moving syrupy-slow through the haze of sleep, but all he can think about is her. Her smile, the way her eyes light up, how she always makes everyone feel like they’ve been injected with a dose of sunshine after mere minutes in her presence. He never imagined he would find a partner as amazing as she is. Adam hasn’t voiced his thoughts yet, but there isn’t anyone he would rather spend the rest of his life with. 

He slides down a little further, sinking back into sleep. He is surprised by Y/N rolling over to face him. Adam does the same, sliding his arm underneath her head and wiggling closer to her. His hand moves up to cradle the back of her head, his fingers slowly stroking through her hair before kissing her forehead tenderly. His other arm loops around Y/N's waist, holding her close to his body. She snuggles closer, tucking her head into his neck. Adam’s like a furnace when he sleeps, perfect for cuddling in cold Ohio winters. Their legs tangle together, keeping them close. His fingertips gently stroke her waist, her back, her shoulders. Soft soothing touches, a comfort for him as much as her.

Adam kisses her forehead again, inhaling deeply. He wants to savor the moment, one that is few and far between during the season. But it's times like this when he feels most at peace, like it doesn’t matter that he plays hockey or is in the NHL or that Y/N is busy at school. It’s just him and Y/N in the quiet of the morning before life truly wakes up, wrapped in soft sheets and fluffy blankets and each other's arms. Their little cocoon, and they can pretend, at least for a few short hours, that they are the only people in the world with no responsibilities, just each other. Where time slows and everything is a little fuzzy around the edges, a tug-of-war between consciousness and drifting back to the land of dreams. 

The warmth of the bed and Y/N lull Adam back to sleep. 

[one-idea]

Is there anything out there yet about a Nika worshiping cult trying to capture Luffy. Because there should be.

Maybe the crew comes a cross an island and the people are way to friendly. It’s giving Zoro flashbacks of Wiskey Peaks and he’s already starting to warn the crew not to trust these people.

But they’re so nice. Offering the crew food (Luffy’s sold)

and taking about a treasure hidden on the island (Nami’s all in as soon as money is brought up)

There are beautiful women who are more then excited to watch Sanji cook (Sanji’s suspicion is gone instantly)

Usopp’s with Zoro, always be cautious. But then they start complimenting the Sunny and Franky is proud to tell them about his baby and Usopp gets roped into talking about his inventions and then people are complimenting him(“come on Zoro-bro lighten up.”)

Brook is entertaining while Sanji cooks, both wrapped up in the tasks and the women around them.

Chopper’s been distracted by all the people complimenting him

The only people still on guard are Robin, Jinbei, and Zoro (no matter how much sake they put in front of him he’s not going to drop his guard. Not when the people seem really focused on his captain.

Robin is indulging the crowd but her eyes are sharp waiting for the Betrayal to come. It’s how she survived for so long and she’s not losing her crew.

Jinbei’s been around for a while and while he starts to drop his guard. (His captain and crew seem content to enjoy themselves, relaxing might not hurt) he hears some whispering of Nika in the crowd. He can’t pin down who is talking or what is being said but he’s not letting his guard drop until he knows their intensions.

Zoro is staying pretty close to Luffy as he watches over the rest of the crew. One of the villagers hands Luffy a drink and he downs it without thinking. And then he starts choking.

His hand goes up to his throat and he can’t breath. There’s no air making its way in. Zoro’s attention is immediately on his captain. Holding him up and trying to figure out what is wrong. The crowd starts to push in towards them and Zoro is quick to draw Wado Ichimonji holding Luffy close with his other hand and calling for the crew.

He can’t draw Sandai Kitetsu yet, she’s screaming for blood and he is to but he can’t give in to that impulse until Luffy is safe with another crew mate and they know what’s going on. It’s the same reason he doesn’t draw Enma who calling for the death of anyone threatening their king. Wado Ichimonji is protective of Luffy, loyal as Zoro and while she also wants to kill anyone who harms their captain she’ll wait until Luffy is out of harms way before demanding blood

The crew quickly gets between the crowd and their captain. Chopper quickly realizing the Luffy’s been poisoned.

Robin demands the antidote, already holding several of the leaders with her devil fruit ability. But the leaders laugh and tell them that there isn’t one. Why would they give him something with an antidote when they were trying to free Nika.

The crew starts to spiral at the first part, there has to be a cure! But then the second phrase registers. What do they mean free Nika?

Jinbei asks, more demands an answer. He can hear Luffy’s struggling gasps getting weaker and weaker and the whole crew is ready to burn the island down if they stop.

The leader smiles and goes on a tangent about how they have waited for Nika and they know he resides with in their captain. And that their prophecy says that to free Nika they need to kill his host.

Right now Nika is suppressed by his hosts consciousness but if the host life is put in danger, if he is about to die Nika will come forward and keep the body alive. They want to bring Nika forward. If they wounded Luffy then Nika would only stay in command until the wound healed. But an incurable poison. Nika will be in control for the rest of time. The sun god will return. And all it will cost is the life of their captain. They should be honored that they get to witness this glorious moment.

The strawhats are losing their minds. They can’t be serious. That’s not how devil fruits work. If they don’t give them the antidote right now they will all die!

Jinbei cuts through all the yelling and tells them they are wrong. He’s seen Luffy at deaths door before and Nika didn’t awaken.

But just as he finishes his sentence. Luffy’s body spasms and he goes rigid before his body goes lax and he fall deathly still. Zoro still has a hold of him and has to witness/feel the whole event as he called out “Luffy!” Alerting the rest of the crew.

For a moment everything is still. Then Luffy’s eyes snap back open but they are a different color. His hair turns stark white, his clothing changes as well. But it’s not like Wano. There is no laughter, no Joy. And isn’t it haunting to look at joyless Joyboy.

He rise up out of Zoro’s hold. He barly looks at his crew and when he does there is no warmth in his eyes.

This is a god that is furious at his host just being taken from him.

This is my base idea. From here I think I would have the crew go on a quest to find a cure for Luffy.

All the while Nika is standing there in Luffy’s place once they leave the island Nika is back to being Joyfull but it’s different from Luffy. They have to stop the god from running off (how do you contain freedom?) he’s laughing and bouncing around but he’s not Luffy. He knows all of them because Luffy thinks of them none stop but it’s that second degree of knowing someone, like meeting a friend of a friend. All of the warmth and love Luffy shows his crew is missing because Nika isn’t Luffy.

[undercovercameron]

stamina

summary: you have a tiny bit of an issue that can only be resolved through intercourse. no, really.

notes: hello everybody i have returned after a month and a half and this one just simply popped into my head today! i would say i have no idea why but ive been watching clips of the other zoey on tiktok and they’ve corrupted me… cabin in the woods with drew starkey? till the walls crumble. features: choking kink, explicit language, degradation, oral sex (f receiving), masturbation, and generally rough sex. enjoy my darlings

tags: rafe cameron x fem!reader

word count: 2859

You don’t know exactly when it started, but your little problem had become a real nuisance.

You just know the first time it happened, however long ago, made Rafe Cameron finally fall in love with you. Hey, it took months of him fighting with himself about you and struggling with a multitude of other family issues, but the day did finally come. It was glorious, you remember that. But this long repeated issue was kind of impeding your sex life. Well, it was affecting your sex life that actually had been affecting your sleep and caffeine and food patterns. It was a big ole circle. You even had been feeling faint due to the excessive cardio.

The issue wasn’t as much an issue as it was one of Rafe’s favorite things about you, turns out. And he wasn’t afraid to show it. Well, make you show it.

You two had dozed on the couch for a little more than an hour, your head pressed to his shoulder and your body curled around the side of his. He had an arm caging you to him, fingers splayed across the curve of your abdomen. Turns out, some documentary his younger sister recommended wasn’t as interesting as you two thought.

The TV makes a loud beeping noise, and Rafe jerks awake at the intrusion. His hand not pressed to your (now exposed) stomach rubs at his eyes, blinking rapidly. Christ. It’s late.

The fire beneath your TV crackles, and he can feel the slight warmth from it on his cheeks.

This was his Aunt Meredith’s house, and she was letting the two of you stay in it for a little while as a makeshift fall break. You’d slept three nights so far in this big wooden mansion, but you could hardly say you felt rested. You always were taking futile catch-up naps throughout the day in front of this lovely fireplace.

Rafe’s movement makes you phase into consciousness, eyes coming into focus as your ears adjust too.

“Hey, baby,” he murmurs, stretching both his hands up above his head. The hem of his shirt lifts, just a little taste. You blink at him. “What?” His face splits into a grin and his eyes close as his muscles flex and relax.

“You know what.” Your lips twitch and you look teasingly up at him.

“Mm, I don’t think I know what you mean.” His hand brushes the hair from the side of your face not facing him, and he pulls away slightly to thumb at your chin. “Could you explain?”

“No,” you sigh, pulling yourself up slightly with a hand pressed to the seat cushions. Your leg curls once again around one of his as you turn towards him. You relax against the back cushions, eyes on his face. “No.” Your eyebrows raise, challenging.

“I don’t think you want me to have to make you explain,” he mutters, sliding down to a little above your eye level. His eyes stay on yours.

“I don’t think you could if you wanted to.” Your eyes snap back to the TV, pulling your legs away from his. “I’m trying to watch this.” You grab the remote from the ottoman and turn it up. Rafe just watches you earnestly.

You're about sixty long seconds into “watching the documentary” with your feet up until you feel Rafe’s breath on you. His lips meet your forehead, ghosting a kiss to your skin, before sliding down to your temple. You try your best to remain focused. But his opposite hand from you (always his hand) slides up your waist to settle near your collarbone, fingers lightly pressing into your shoulder. His lips migrate to your jaw, and then your neck. You fight a shiver.

You feel yourself tilting your head around to satisfy this position, eyes falling closed briefly before snapping back open. You grip his wrist.

“Rafe,” you say, but what you thought was confident just sounds weak.

He hums, mouth pressing to your neck and getting into dangerous hickey territory, and your eyes just close. It feels so good, this man leaving you breathless and pliant. It makes you so weak.

“You know you want to,” Rafe murmurs, eyes moving up to your face, and he relishes in your intake of breath.

Your fingers find his jaw and cheek and you pull his mouth up to yours, finally kissing him like you need. He makes a noise into your mouth, triumphant, and his hands grip your hips tightly. He moves you, sliding you onto the long part of the L sofa, and follows you with his forehead pressed to yours and his lips so close but so far. You pant up into him.

He slides further between your legs, parting them with a hand behind your knee, and you let out a content sigh when you feel the weight of him. The weight of that.

His hand finds your throat and then he’s leaning over you, hips pressed to yours and kissing away your sounds softly. His hips rock forward into where the seam of your sweatpants is, and your moan is swallowed. You grip tight on the hand on your neck, squeezing your eyes tight. It shouldn’t feel this good, this quick.

You cant your hips up into his, sloppily matching his rhythm, and your cheeks flush when your heart beats heavily in your throat. His mouth parts from yours and slides wetly down to your upper chest, the neck of your slightly cropped sweatshirt pushed away. You just gasp above him, hips picking up. The slide of his pants is so perfect on your clit, and you feel your blood pumps at the place he squeezes you around your middle.

You recognize what he’s doing, now. His fingers press into your abdomen, pushing it up and down and up and down, and you push your hand on top of your mouth to muffle the embarrassing cries you’re letting out.

His head raises from your collarbone, lips wet and pink, and he tugs your wrist down.

“I need to hear you, baby.” And then he’s pulling back to shove your sweatpants off of you and to the floor between the couch and the ottoman. He dips back down, mouth and hand insistent upon you, and he digs a hand into the crotch of your underwear. Your hands flail for a moment, useless, and settle on gripping his shoulder and the arm that pins you to the cushions.

“Rafe,” you sputter, head pushing hard back against the cushions. Your hair is messy and probably tangled with this friction, but you don’t have even half a thought to care. “Please, Rafe, don’t stop.” Your back arches, trying to push your body tight against his. He tries not to grin above you, watching your face contort at his touch. His fingers slide in your slickness, an embarrassing amount, and your throat catches a breath. The tension in your abdomen twists.

“I thought you wanted to watch the show, sweetheart.” Two of his fingertips push past your slit easily and curl. He bites his lip above you, loving the look on your face. You squeeze your eyes even harder, fist clenching in his shirt. Your heart beats louder and louder until—

“And we’re going to practice your stamina, too.” His voice is raspy when he pulls away.

There it is. The issue. Your not-so-issue-but-sorta-an-issue issue. Yes. You had been having trouble—well, stopping. Your libido was extremely high, you had a very sexy man at your disposal who liked to please you, you were confident in your body, so why not?

Why not is because your body was sore constantly. Between your legs was the perfect amount of sore, but still sore. You had trouble sleeping and drank more coffee and energy drinks. Rafe, ever the giver, obliged you always. He liked to fuck. He really liked to fuck you. So it was a terrible, terrible cycle. You were really starting to wonder about your self control. So it makes sense that maybe you should consider working on it.

But Rafe deciding that right now? The second he finally fingers you? It makes your head spin.

Literally, as when you sit up your vision is flooded with spots.

“What the fuck?” You croak, sounding miserable, and your eyes look up at him, almost teary. (Hey— you really like what he does to you.)

“You’re fine, baby, you’re fine. I just want what’s best for you.” He pulls away from your neck, instead smoothing a hand from your sternum to your hips.

“What are you, a fucking counselor?” You grump, eyebrows furrowed, and he just rolls his eyes.

“Better start being grateful, Y/N. You know how I get.”

He settles onto his stomach, keeping your legs loose around him as he bends to kiss you. You kiss back, still annoyed but also still wildly turned on, and you can’t help but curl a hand around his neck and up into his hair. His lips part from yours and start their trek downwards.

His hands push your sweatshirt up when he gets to right above your belly button, and his touch is light on your sensitive skin. You close your eyes in the nice feeling.

His fingers curl around where your thigh meets your ass, pressing tight into the muscle, and you reflexively lift them up and settle them down onto his shoulders. Sneaky. His mouth finds your inner thighs then, biting into the flesh, and you successfully fight a shiver. His breath is hot on the crotch of your panties.

His fingers find the hem of the fabric, eyes settling briefly on yours before tugging your panties to the side and getting his mouth on you.

You immediately moan— figures. You push your head up slightly, wanting to see, and his head shakes between your legs, hair tickling your thighs as you whine. So hot it should be illegal.

One of Rafe’s hands crawls up your flesh to your chest, fingers finding the underside of your tit and cupping it. He squeezes right as his tongue curls into your seam and he shakes his head again. You nearly shriek but slap.a hand over your mouth, no punishment in your future with his hand on your tit and the other gripping your outer thigh.

Well, you were wrong for the second time tonight. First, thinking your loving boyfriend would give you an orgasm when you wanted one, and second when you assume the same very boyfriend wouldn’t do things simply to piss you off or edge you. Rafe reaches up with the hand previously on your thigh and grabs your wrist. He snags the other one and presses them tight against your lower abdomen, eyes fiery. Your blood surges hot in your veins and the tension in your abdomen resurfaces.

You just flex your legs and bring them further up, wanting your seemingly increasingly distant misery to end.

He hums in approval at that, the feeling making your pelvis vibrate; and you try desperately to suck in a breath. It feels so good, you don’t know how to last longer. Your head slowly tilts to the side, a little tired, and your glazed eyes meet the TV screen again.

Your third folly. Thinking Rafe Cameron would let you live any mistake down.

“Oh, you wanna watch it now?” He pulls away, spitting at your pussy, and an eyebrow quirks. You just still, not sure of the direction here. “Okay. Watch it.” He licks you once, twice, and pulls away slowly. You turn your head, wanting to gauge his reaction, but he pushes your head back towards the TV with his hand. You see in your peripheral him pushing down the waistband of his pants. Your eyes flinch ever so slightly towards him, and he smacks lightly at your outer thigh.

“Watch it, since you wanted to so bad.” He pulls his dick out from his underwear and spits into his hand. His gaze is locked on your pink face, waiting for you to react. He moves his hand tantalizingly slowly, knowing you can see the movement. You pant, catching your breath, and he just watches your chest heave.

His heart rate catches when he gets the full sight of you, open and wide in front of him with dirty panties and your sweatshirt rucked up to expose your bare chest. It makes him even harder.

“What are they talking about right now?” His eyes bore into the side of your face, hand moving steadily still.

“Uh-h, whales.” Your voice cracks and you swallow. He doesn’t laugh like you think he will, he just bends down and kisses the corner of your mouth.

“Doing so good.” It’s so quiet you think you miss it. He kisses you full on when you tilt up to him, neck straining at the angle.

He finally, finally pushes his weight onto you, dick pressed tight against your pelvis. You meet his mouth again and groan at the feeling, moving your body in a way you hope feels good. His jaw clenches, which is a good sign.

“You do it, you want it so bad,” he murmurs, lips hovering over your cheek bone. “Since you can’t ever have enough, baby.”

You exhale through your nose, concentrating, and push your hand down. You fumble for a second but eventually get your hips angled in a way to where he can sink into you. He does, pushing against your hips, and slides easily all the way to the hilt.

He groans openly, eyes closed for a moment, and you choke on a moan. So deep, so fast that it steals the breath from your throat.

On second thought, Rafe’s hand finds its place on your throat as the other braces against your hip.

“So wet,” he says through his apparent awe, bottom lip drooping slightly. You revel in the look on his face. He’s all pink and dewy, it makes you sweat. He pushes forward, a bruising strength in his hips, and you feel yourself be pushed up an inch on the couch.

He follows you and lowers himself slightly, keeping you in place as he jerks sloppily into you, overwhelmed by sensation. You curl your leg around his waist, fingers interwoven in his hair as he dips to kiss you. He pants into your mouth, hot and demanding. You just arch your back, feeling him squeeze hard at the flesh of your waist as you clench around him.

You do it again, loving the reaction, and bite your lip as he chokes slightly in surprise. His hips slow, the sounds of your hurried panting slowing as well, but he goes twice as hard. With the intent to bruise, you think. Probably. He would love that.

His eyebrow arches slightly before he’s burying his face in your neck and really giving you his all. You feel the muscles flex on his back where you press your hands, mouth open and wide and silent. Your eyes roll back into your head as he lets go of your neck and fixes his grasp on your hip.

“Rafe,” you gasp, barely getting a comprehensible sound out. “Yes, shit, baby.” Your man, finally treating you so well.

“Let me hear you,” he says, hot in your ear, and reaches down to rub that one spot he’s memorized the location of. He’s a little too familiar, as we know.

You inhale and exhale shakily, and then you’re silent and your head is pushing back into the cushions. Your body floods with feeling, from the tip of your toes to the top of your head. Your toes curl. You feel like you’re floating.

It’s on the come down that you moan shakily and it turns into a bashful laugh.

“Fuck,” you whine, and his thrust turns into his last as he buries himself up to the hilt and groans in a staccato. You feel him catch your shoulder slightly as he bites the cushion, muscles slowing.

“Fuck.” He desperately tries to catch his breath. He peels himself slightly from you, sitting up.

His vision comes back into focus, and it’s then that he notices the marks on your neck. He thumbs an especially red one, eyes scanning your face.

“Oops.”

“You’re an idiot.” But you smile.

“Hey, we traded,” he says, pulling away completely from you and standing up with a stumble. He winces as he pushes his shoulder blades to meet.

“How’s that?” You ask, thinking you’re humoring him. You sit up, bringing your now cold and damp panties back to where they should lie and pulling your shirt down. You’re just realizing how cold it is in here.

“My back hurts like a bitch, and you have hickeys. Plus I didn’t let you cum so we practiced that. Boom.” He gestures wildly and lets his hands smack back down to his sides. You just stare at him.

“You are the weirdest motivational coach I’ve ever met, young man.”

“Don’t call me a young man.” He turns towards the primary bedroom you’d been sleeping in and disappears into the darkness. “I fuck like I’m 35.”

[ninibeingdelulu]

"Ah, my beloved wife"

plot- you love your husband’s caresses CLICK ME

Your eyes drifted open and closed lazily in that deliciously hazy space between wakefulness and slumber.

The quiet crackling of the fireplace filled the cozy bedroom with a soothing ambiance of gentle warmth and hushed tranquility.

Kento's solid, reassuring presence radiated all around you as you burrowed deeper into the plush haven of his lap - his sturdy frame reclined against the ornate oak headboard.

The soothing scent of sandalwood and inky parchment from the ancient tome cradled in his large, calloused palms enveloped you like a tender embrace.

To the tranquil lullaby of the fire's languid popping and the occasional crinkle of paper when he turned a page, you felt your overworked body surrendering inch by glorious inch into total relaxation.

Particularly when Kento's free hand found its way into your tousled tresses, calloused fingertips kneading away the lingering tension behind your temples with firm, circular sweeps.

A low, wordless hum of pure bliss rumbled up unbidden from the back of your throat.

You practically melted into a boneless puddle against his inner thigh - any remaining traces of the week's tedious demands dissolving beneath the gentle, reverent worship of your husband's touch.

Kento's chest vibrated with a quiet chuckle at your unguarded response, momentarily distracting your blissed-out daze. You frowned faintly, brow furrowing as his clever digits reluctantly receded from carding through those silky strands so he could turn the page properly.

The brief reprieve in his ministrations had you shifting with a petulant little whine escaping before you could catch it.

Thankfully, Kento swiftly capped the moment of protest by smoothing that roughened palm along the curve of your cheek with a tender murmur.

"So demanding this evening, my darling..."

His rich timbre cascaded over your senses in warm, velvety waves as he leaned in to dust a fond kiss across your forehead.

"Almost makes me wonder if I married a puppy rather than my beloved wife."

You cracked open one eye in a belabored show of indignation, peering up at him through a smoky fan of lashes with the full force of your most pitiful pout.

But Kento simply laughed again in good-natured exasperation before settling back against the cushioned oak - effectively cradling you firmly against his chest as he resumed those heavenly strokes along your scalp.

"Easy now, easy..." he chided playfully, scratching blunt nails in soothing circles that instantly unwound the tension knotting your furrowed brow.

"I wouldn't dream of neglecting the pampering someone as precious as you deserves for even a second."

A dazed, contented hum slipped past your lips as you nuzzled further into that welcome cocoon of sturdy, masculine warmth.

Eyes fluttering shut once more as your consciousness grew cottony and distant beyond the encompassing refuge of his fervent embrace.

So close you could've sworn your erratic heartbeats gradually melded into a singular, languid pulse bound up in the sacred ritual of giving and receiving wholehearted devotion with the most extraordinary man you'd ever known.

Even after all these years, nothing would ever make you feel as fiercely loved, protected, and alive as the simple privilege of basking in Kento's reverent adoration.

Body, mind, heart and soul so thoroughly saturated in his boundless care that no lingering burdens or doubts could help but disperse into ash on the wings of your shared sanctuary.

Where not even the cruel outside world could encroach - only the rhythm of midnight promises shared between souls ascendant in blissful rapture under the merciful spell of reciprocal love.

[whiskeyskin]

Educating Gale: an intro to hatefucking

Thanks to @waterdeepwhiskey for this especially juicy piece of eye fucking 👀😫

Inspired by a lovely anon from @naughtybg3confessions.. behold dear ones!

Well fuck. This came out real fucking quickly - ha ha. Literally within an evening so apologies for any mistakes!

Premise: (See picture for prompt)

Gale x gn!tav • 18+ • MDNI • E rating

Tav POV, gn!tav, intro to hatefucking, mean, teasing, insults, cruelty to wizards, descriptions of rough sex/overstim/anal/etc, handjob, gn!description of genitals, no kissing, hot and heavy, mild choking, two fingers up to Mystra, consent, checking in

1.3k words

"Just stop fucking talking." Tav growled through their teeth, pushing Gale's robes down his arms as his back hit the wall.

"Excuse me, I think you'll find that one of a Wizard's greatest talents is their comprehensive lexicon," Gale objected, fumbling with Tav's belt, "but our mouths are good for more than just conversation." He added with sinful grin, leaning in for a kiss.

Tav flinched away, scruching their nose as his robes hit the floor, "Uh, no kissing. That's not what this is, Gale." They sneered at him, "We're just letting off some repressed emotion. Pure and simple." Tav stepped out of their camp trousers and swept them out of the way with a flick of their leg.

"I don't understand, then what exactly is this?" Gale asked, breath huffing out unevenly, as Tav attacked his belt buckle, "I thought this was to bury the animosity we've been harbouring for each other. We're clearly not the best of friends, Tav."

They sighed exasperated, apparently hatefucking was not a thing taught in his esteemed Blackstaff Academy.

"This," they began, sliding a hand down the front of his pants and gripping his thick, throbbing cock. Gale gasped and bunched their sleep shirt in his fist, "is just sex, Gale. Nasty, hateful sex."

They began pulsing his tip with two fingers, lightly squeezing against the sensitive part on the underside. Gale moaned and looked down to see them touching him.

"That's not what sex is supposed to be about," he objected, hissing at the sensation, "It's supposed to be about connection, admiration, care. It's supposed to be glorious, not hateful."

"Oh, poor, poor Wizard. You've been kept on a tight leash, huh?" Tav smirked, taking one of his hands and placing it roughly on their throat, "There's so much more to learn. There are many different types of sex. But there's only one I'd like to educate you on right now." Gale swallowed hard, his cock twitching at the sight of his hand wrapped around their neck.

"This is "I don't like you and you don't like me, but I still want to fuck you despite that - because of that" sex. Because because I don't like you, I'll do things to you that I wouldn't do to someone I liked."

Precum began leaking from his slit; it hit Tav low in their belly. Taking it as a non-verbal cue, their grip tightened on his member, and increased in fervour.

"The kind of things that I couldn't do to anyone else."

Gale shuddered and bucked against their palm, consciously bringing desperate hands to push his trousers further down his thighs, to afford Tav more room.

"Like?" He asked, breathless and trembling, his hold returning to their collarbone but not fully gripping.

Tav flicked their tonuge over their bottom lip and roughly gripped his jaw with a swiftness that made him gasp, bringing him an inch from their face.

"Like trapping that pretty, never-ceasing mouth between my thighs and riding it until I was satisfied it wouldn't start talking again." Tav purred with a dagger-sharp edge.

Gale moaned and pressed against their grip on his jaw, trying again to kiss them. He dug his fingertips into their hips deep enough to potentially draw blood, rocking them against him. They swallowed his gruff pants against their lips, as they worked him faster.

Fuck this was hot.

"I'll fuck your face to almost suffocation and I wouldn't care beause I despise you, Gale of Waterdeep."

Gale grunted and huffed, "I detest you.. you.. arsehole." He managed with great difficulty.

"Once more with feeling, dear." Tav jeered, "You can do better than that, surely? With your large.. vocabulary," Tav squeezed his thrumming length and Gale hummed, "I'm sure you can."

They slowed their rhythm against his cock to gently palm him, occasionally swirling the tip.

Gale scowled and twisted his face, gasping for words.

"You're vile and selfish.. and you do things for all the wrong reasons. You'd rather see a reward than do something philanthropic for your fellow man." He threw at them, curling his lip.

Tav scoffed, "Pathetic. I can already see that look into your eyes, Gale." They wound their fingers around his aching member and began pistoning once more. He let out a sharp yell he tried to silence and thud his head back against the wall.

Tav hummed in smug amusement, a wide smirk on their face.

"You're enjoying this. You know you've never felt anything quite like this before. That even though this is wrong and it feels dirty, it feels really. fucking. good." They punctuated their point by firmly pulsing his head in their grip.

Gale nodded desperately, leaning forward again, trying to press his lips to theirs. Tav gave him a withering look and he stopped, looking embarrassed.

"I can't wait to see the look on your face.." Tav snaked their hand to palm into his long hair, and pressed their wet mouth against the shell of his ear, "when you realise just how much you hate yourself because I made you come so hard your Goddess heard you scream my name."

"Fuck you." Gale spat, gripping a fistful of hair and yanking their head back. Tav moaned through their teeth and cackled.

Gale's body gave him away, even if he tried to deny it; the orb was glowing a radiant amethyst through his white, cotton undershirt. He was sweating and gasping, he was so tense and coiled to explode, he wouldn't take 30 more seconds to come in their hand.

Tav roughly grabbed onto the back of his neck, sweat slick from exertion.

"I'll make you cry from overstimulation.. from too much pleasure because you're nothing but an arrogant, self important arsehole that thinks he's a God's gift. When in reality, you're nothing but a picked over little slut who had everything and lost it all. Now you're just a sad, shit-eating, glorified Librarian who couldn't take care of a Kobald without help." Tav ridiculed and dropped his cock, sharply pushing off his stomach, stepping backwards to the table they knew was behind them.

Gale stood breathing heavily, utterly dumb-founded and painfully erect.

A sheen of sweat clung to his muscular frame, reminding them of how Gods damned tasty he'd looked in the Grymforge. What they wouldn't have given to licked, bitten and sucked every single inch of him.

Tav sat against the table and tilted their head to the side, leaning back to expose themselves fully to him.

Gale swallowed thickly, his erection twitched with desire, as his mouth hung open.

"Now you," They proffered with a gesture, "or do you need some more lessons on what it is we're doing here?" Tav smirked, narrowing their eyes at him.

It took a few seconds, before thoughts eventually flashed behind his eyes.

"So, by these new measures, I could.. push you against a window and fuck you against it from behind, so that everyone could see what a disgusting, lecherous whore you are?" He spat, a darkness across his face.

Tav grinned wide and filthy, "Now you're getting it." They winked at him with a salacious smile.

"That I could spread your arsehole wide and fuck you raw and unyielding until your sobbing underneath me?" He rumbled, his brown hair falling in curtains to shade his beautiful face, as he stalked towards them.

Now it was Tav's turn to swallow hard.

"Give it your worst, Wizard. Make it hurt." Tav snarled though a rough whisper, as they lay back flat against the table.

Gale's luminous chest heaved as he seized the collar of their shirt and ripped it apart, buttons scattering, pattering to the floor. He loomed over them, placed a hand on their throat and began to squeeze, "Oh trust me, I intend to." He threatened, as Tav's nerve-endings buzzed.

A deliciously, disgusting smile erupted between the two of them, the tension between them electric. Gale's grip increased and it sparked desire through their chest, their eyes rolling back in their head. Tav moaned through their teeth, their core pulsating with need.

Gale bit his bottom lip and groaned, as he bent down to gather the back of their knees in the crooks of his arms. He spread them aloft and viciously spat on their eagerly awaiting hole. He blindly rubbed his cock against the length of their saliva spattered sex and threw his head back, growling a whimper to himself.

He snapped his gaze back to theirs, uncertainty in his eyes, "Are you sure? You're sure you want this-want it like this?"

Tav softened - just a little bit, "You have my most enthusiastic consent. The safe word can be 'Elminster'." Tav grinned, reaching up to pat his head, "That should kill the mood enough, right?"

Gale rolled his eyes and laughed, "Undoubtedly so. I mean, even before his unbidden visit to camp begrudgingly delivering Mystra's missive to use the orb to end myself and the Absolute. I can assure you that-"

"-Gale.." Tav began reaching between themselves to align his cock to their pleading entrance, "Do shut the fuck up."

•°•°•

Y'all want some more? 😏