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tightjeansjavi · 11 months

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𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐃𝐨 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐨 𝐌𝐫.𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫?

Part 2: “Chains and Whips Excite Me”

Joel Miller x f! reader NSFW 🔞

A/N: so originally I was not going to write a part 2 to this little slice of sub! Joel heaven but then the idea struck me today so I was like fuck it! Let’s roll with it. I gotta say, this is beyond filthy. The end has SO much fluff it’s got me giggling and kicking my feet like a little girl. Enjoy! 🫶🏻

~word count: 6.1k~

Summary: Joel really enjoyed the last time you took control so much, that he wants you to do it again. This time, with the proper tools.

Warnings: smut with no plot, established relationship, sub/switch! Joel!, dom/switch reader, consensual power play, use of a safe word, BDSM, bondage, whip play, collar play, edging, teasing, praise kink, handcuffs, Joel doesn’t like being a sub but he does it for you, till the cuffs snap of course, reader calls Joel a good boy, dominatrix vibe till the cuffs snap, pussy eating, unprotected p in v, (wrap it kids) rough consensual sex, light choking, overstimulation, lots of filth, sex toys, very short game of cat and mouse, consent, heavy after care, Joel feels bad for overstimulating you, all the feels, no angst, just a whole lot of debauchery, fluff at the end with you, Joel and Ellie the next morning (+18), NSFW MINORS DNI!

“Joel? Baby? Where the actual fuck are you taking me?” Your eyes were blindfolded with a thick piece of fabric but you were acutely aware of your lover's close proximity to you. His hands were at your waist, guiding you protectively to…well, wherever the hell he was taking you.

“Easy now, sugar. We’re almost there.” His lips were at the shell of your ear and his warm Texas drawl sent shivers down your spine.

“This isn’t where you murder me..right?” You nervously giggled.

“What? Ain’t no way—you’re bein’ silly baby. Why on earth would I do somethin’ like that?” He responded incredulously.

“Okay okay. I’m just checking because you brought me god no’s where. Y’know, I think it was just a logical thing for me to ask.”

Joel chuckled deeply, his warmth breath tickling the sensitive skin below your ear. “Yeah well trust me, baby. You’re gonna love where I brought you.” He reassured you.

“Yeah, okay. We’ll see about that Miller.”

Joel had grasped your hips firmly in his calloused hands, yanking you back against his chest before he took one hand and brought it around your face and untied the makeshift blindfold. “Surprise.” He whispered, a grin spreading across his lips.

You blinked a few times as your eyes readjusted to the lighting and after a few seconds you realized he had brought you to an abandoned mall. Your eyes drifted up to the faded moss covered sign that read Spencer's.

“Oh my god, you’re joking right?” You said in disbelief as you turned and looked over your shoulder at your grinning man. “Joel, you know what this place is right?”

“Do I know what this place is? Honey, I’m old but I ain’t that old. I had a girlfriend back in highschool that dragged me to this place before prom night. She wore one of those candy bras and matching thongs. She wanted to put me in a collar and I said absolutely fuckin’ not.” He chuckled as he watched your reaction.

“Are you purposely bringing up your ex-girlfriend from highschool to make me jealous? You remember what happened the last time I got jealous?” You responded with a light giggle.

“Oh baby, do I remember? Fuck yeah I do. Why the hell do ya think I brought ya out here in the first place?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively in your direction before he gave you a firm nudge forward.

“You sly fucking dog. You want me to tie you up again?” You gave him a playful glare as he nudged you forward into the store that took you right on back to the early 2000’s.

“Yeah baby, I do. Figured it would be way more fun if you had the proper tools y’know?” He followed closely behind, stepping over moth eaten shirts and moldy backpacks. You both seemingly knew that what you were looking for was in the far back of the store.

Your eyes zoned in on the bondage section immediately and Joel fought the urge to roll his eyes when you picked up a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs and twirled them playfully around your finger. “How do you feel about these, big boy?”

“Jesus Christ. Do they really gotta be pink? I swear to god if Tommy—or god forbid Ellie finds ‘em, I might actually have to kill ya after all sweet cheeks.”

“Baby, you can use them on me too y’know? I don’t think we have to worry about your brother or adopted daughter finding our stuff Joel. Relax, honey.” You shot him a playful wink.

Joel grumbled under his breath, saying something unintelligible as he crossed his arms over his chest with a huff.

You had picked up a black riding crop that had a red heart stitched on the faux leather. You couldn’t help but teasingly drag the crop across his chest with a giggle. “What about this baby? You into me whipping you a little?” You looked up at him, lashes fluttering as you lightly tapped the crop against his bulging bicep.

“How can I say no when you’re lookin’ at me with those goddamn eyes?” He uncrossed his arms from his chest, bringing his thumb and forefinger against your smooth chin before he stole a quick kiss.

“Mhm these eyes that make any man go weak in the knees, but especially my man.” You hummed against his lips, kissing him back sweetly before slipping the crop into his hands along with the pink fluffy handcuffs.

“Look, my only request is that you don’t get any nipple clamps…well, unless you wanna use them on you, and please god nothing that would hurt my balls.”

“Oh baby, you’re so cute. You’re not down for a little nipple play?” You were already reaching for a packaged pair of nipple clamps as you fluttered your lashes at him once more.

“Fuckin’ hell. Fine, you little minx.” He grumbled.

You blew your man a kiss before tossing the small packaged nipple clamps into his hands. “So, I know you said that you wouldn’t let your ex girlfriend put you in a collar..but what if it were me asking you? Would your answer be different?”

Joel’s mouth went dry as you innocently were holding a black spiked collar that had a metal heart connecting in the middle. He watched as you twirled the chain between your fingers, swinging it back and forth. “I’m really startin’ to regret tellin’ ya that story.” Even though the thought of you yanking him around like a leashed dog, was undeniably turning him on just a bit.

“Are you sure you’re regretting telling me that story baby?” You softly cooed as you stepped towards him. “Because just close your eyes, just for a moment. Now, I want you to picture me handcuffing you to a chair. I want you picturing me putting this collar on you while I slide up and down your thick cock. You can feel every inch of my pussy on you baby. Can you picture that?” You purred and Joel just about folded right then and there.

“Fuck me darlin.’” He rasped out, his voice sounding slightly strained as the images of you riding him deliciously settled into his brain. Your fingers wrapped around the chain, tugging on it so he’s looking up at you. Calling him a good boy—

“We’ll get to that part baby I promise. Now I think we have just about everything I need..is there anything you’d like to grab?”

Joel was already making a b-line for the lingerie section, of course. He loved seeing you naked but god, to see you wearing one of these little numbers just for him? It would surely be the end of him.

You watched in pure amusement as your man grabbed various different lingerie sets. He looked like a kid in a fucking candy shop with how excited he was.

“You’re not wasting any time. Huh cowboy?” You giggled.

“Absolutely fuckin’ not darlin.’ It ain’t everyday I get to see my girl dressed up in lingerie. Man’s fantasy fuckin’ come true.” He moved to the sex toy section, humming to himself as he grabbed a purple wand that was marked as waterproof along with a few packs of batteries that (hopefully) would still work. “Don’t think this comes into any comparison of what my tongue is capable of, but I think we can have a little fun with this honey. It’s waterproof too.” He shot you a wink.

You rolled your eyes playfully at his comment of a vibrator being no match for his tongue. “Yeah? Well, keep eating pussy like a man starved, and there definitely will be no comparison.”

“Ain’t got no reason to not eat your pussy that way, sweet cheeks.” He chuckled as he grabbed a couple bottles of lube and suction cup dildo.

“What the hell are we gonna need lube for Joel?”

“You never know darlin.’ We might find ourselves needin’ it one of these days. Better to be prepared, right?”

“You’re not sticking it in my ass Miller. There’s no fucking way.” You slid your backpack off your shoulder as you packed it filled with the things from the sex store.

“Who the hell said anythin’ about me stickin’ it in your ass?” He grinned at your immediate reaction.

“Oh bullshit. You’re totally fucking bluffing baby.”

Joel just gave you a little shrug as he zipped up his bag. Before leaving the store, and while he wasn’t paying attention, you grabbed a t-shirt that said “I Love My Lesbian Daughter” and stuffed it in your bag. Ellie was going to fucking love this.

The ride back to Jackson was filled to the brim with laughter and sexual tension. Dinner in the mess hall was quick and you and Joel were both relieved that Ellie was going over to Dina’s for the evening. Joel still hadn’t caught onto the fact that his kid was dating Dina but Ellie had told you one night but you swore to her that you wouldn’t tell Joel.

Your man was having a quick, head clearing shower while you placed the folded t-shirt on the end of Ellie’s bed with a little note.

You used the spare bathroom to put on one of the many lingerie sets that Joel had picked out for you. This set was pretty, lacy, and would in no doubt drive Joel up a fucking wall once he saw you in it. The top was a laced up bodice, and the cups barely contained your breasts that were nearly spilling over the top of the fabric. You paired it with the black stockings that had delicate lace that sat at the top of your thighs. You attached the two clips to the garter and surely they were not built to withstand much pressure at all. The matching black thong left little to the imagination as the tooth floss thin fabric sat perfectly between your cheeks.

Heels would have been ideal to finish off this look but you stuck with your usual boots knowing that Joel would enjoy seeing you in them.

As soon as you could hear the water shutting off through the pipes, you quickly grabbed your bag and headed downstairs. You flicked all the lights off, just like the last time and you waited patiently for your man as you made yourself comfortable on one of the kitchen chairs. You gingerly crossed one leg over the other as you lightly twirled the pink fuzzy handcuffs around your finger lazily.

You heard his heavy footsteps padding down the hall and the staircase as he called out your name. When your man finally came into view, you were pleased to see that he was wearing just a robe. You were pleased till you realized it was the fucking robe that one of the mess hall ladies gifted to Joel at last years town Christmas party. She had an enormous crush on your man and after a few too many glasses of spiked eggnog, she had no problem flirting up a storm with him.

“Hey baby.” He rasped as his eyes adjusted to the low lighting. He sucked in a harsh breath when he found you sitting, and wearing his personal favorite choice of lingerie that he had grabbed for you.

“You wore that robe on purpose, didn’t you?” You raised an eyebrow as you leaned forward slightly so he could get a good look at your cleavage nearly spilling out to his greedy eyes.

“What? This old thing? Yeah, Susan gifted it to me, remember?” He grinned as he strode around the table towards the empty chair that wasn’t occupied with you.

“As if I needed to remember the way she flirted your fucking ear off. Sit down, Mr. Miller. Don’t make me ask you twice.”

Joel swallowed the thick lump growing in his throat hard as he slowly sank down onto the chair opposite of yours. “My god, you look so fuckin’ gorgeous right now baby. Jesus Christ. I’m so happy you picked out that one it’s my—”

You cut him off sternly. “Did I fucking say you could talk baby? Don’t think so.” You slowly stood up from your chair, walking the short distance till you were standing between his open thighs. You leaned down, grasping his chin between your fingers. “Are you gonna be a good boy for me baby?”

Joel was itching to touch you already. To grab a handful of your ass and yank you forward so he could bury his face between your two luscious, pillowy breasts and lick every inch of skin that he could reach— “yes baby, of course I’ll be a good boy for you. Before we get into this, I think we should uh—come up with a safe word yeah? Cause if you’re gonna be whippin’ me and shit..” he trailed off as he lifted his warm, dark brown eyes up to gaze upon your pretty face.

You just about folded from his look alone as you ever so slightly tighten your fingers grip around his chin. “A safe word? Yeah, of course baby. We can always use a safe word.”

Joel tapped his fingers along the outside of his thighs, already feeling his cock twitch under the robe. It really took nothing for you to turn him on and he fucking loved it. “Alright darlin’ how about—hmm..Beetlejuice?”

You let out a soft giggle at his suggestion for a safe word and the sound alone was sending blood southwards as he took his lip between his teeth, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “Like..Michael Keaton’s Beetlejuice?”

“Yeah, there a problem with that sugar?”

“No no. That’s perfect actually. I had a huge crush on Beetlejuice at one point.” You giggled, dragging your thumb across Joel’s lower lip as he nibbled on your fingertip gently.

“Oh of course you did.” He fought the urge to roll his eyes at your response.

You were grabbing a fistful of his dark, salt and pepper speckled hair as you yanked his head back against the chair. “Just remember to not say his name three times baby or else we’ll be in trouble. I catch you rolling your eyes at me again and you’re going to regret it Joel.”

Joel felt a growl crawling up the deep cavern of his throat as he gritted his teeth tightly, feeling his fists clench at his sides. “Yes ma’am” he rasped out.

“Good boy.” You gave him a quick kiss before you were stepping away from him and walked behind his chair, leaning down so your lips were at the shell of his ear. “Arms behind your back baby. Wrists together for me.”

Joel reluctantly brought his arms around the back of the chair, holding his wrists together. “Guess I’m gonna have to get real creative with snappin’ these off, Huh baby?” He chuckled.

“If you manage to snap these off somehow, you can take me any way you want to baby.” You whispered against his ear as you snapped the pink fuzzy cuffs around his wrists and gave them a good tug to be sure they were secure.

“Oh, I am absolutely fuckin’ snappin’ these off at some point honey. Better have your fun while you still can.” He spoke with amusement laced in his tone..which was short lived when he felt your hands untying the knot that held the robe together and exposing his warm, damp skin to your wandering eyes. From the angle you were at, you could see the head of his cock resting against the base of his stomach, leaking in precum.

“Is this turning you already baby?” You cooed softly, letting your lips kiss down the expanse of his exposed neck, greedily sucking on his skin, licking a hot stripe up to his earlobe before you lightly nibbled on it with your teeth.

Joel let out a low rumbled groan as he tilted his head to the side, granting you easier access. He was so used to being the one to kiss on you but god, your lips felt delicious against his warm skin. “Mhm. My cock is aching for you darlin.’”

You reached behind you, grasping the leather hilt of the riding crop and slowly dragged it across his jaw, down his neck, across his chest as it lightly grazed his nipples. The sensation to him was new, and unfamiliar, but he liked it. So much so that he let a low hiss slip past his lips.

His cock instinctively twitched against his stomach and his muscles clenched as the cool leather descended past his navel. He could feel your grin creeping against his skin as you dragged the leather across his leaking tip. You couldn’t help but giggle as his hips bucked up from the feather light touch.

“You think this is fuckin’ funny darlin?’ Teasin’ me like this with that fuckin’ crop? You little minx I swear to god when I break out of these—” his low growl transfixed into a whimper when you brought the crop down swiftly against his inner thigh, stinging his skin from the sensation. You wasted no time to grab his jaw with your free hand and yank his head up so he was forced to look at you. “You shut the fuck up and be a good boy, baby. You got that?” Your eyes narrowed into his.

Joel let out a shuddered breath when he saw how dark your pupils had grown and he let out a low hiss when you brought the crop down on his inner thigh once more before he swiftly nodded. “Yes, baby. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll be a good boy for you.” He pleaded.

Joel being a sub for you was by far the hottest fucking thing he had ever done. You were obsessed with having him at your mercy. To do with him whatever, and however you pleased. You rewarded him with a chaste kiss, slotting your lips together as you took full dominance. As soon as you felt him trying to take control of the kiss, you slapped his thigh with the crop a little harder this time and the leather just barely grazed his balls. He retreated shortly after.

Your tongues tangled together, teeth clashing as you lightly dragged the whip up and down his thick veiny cock. The sensation wasn’t nearly enough for Joel. It was driving him up a wall already and you could sense his frustration brewing deep in his gut. “Baby..” he mumbled against your lips, letting out what sounded like a groan, mixed in with a whimper. “Please don’t tease me anymore honey. I can’t take it much longer. I’m hurtin’ real fuckin’ bad. I need your touch. Your mouth, your pussy. Fuckin’ anythin’, please darlin.’” Joel Miller was begging you to touch him.

You grinned against his lips, parting from the kiss slightly so you could watch his face, see his brows furrowed and his eyes darken. You just barely kissed him now, tilting your head back slightly when he tried to properly kiss you once more. “Yeah baby? You want my touch that fucking bad? Huh pretty boy?” You cooed, letting your free hand slowly dip down his chest, navel, dragging your fingers along his taut skin that clenched inwards from the contact.

Joel let out a deep growl as he tugged harshly on the handcuffs secured around his wrists. The desire to have some sense of control was driving him mad as he narrowed his eyes at you. “I’m fuckin’ begging you to touch me darlin.’ Please do somethin’ before I lose my goddamn mind over here.”

You slowly wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, giving him a firm tug before you dragged your thumb across his ruddy head, collecting the leaking precum from the tip. You gave his cock a few more firm tugs before you leaned down over his shoulder, and spit over his cock. Your saliva trailed past your soft lips and down his happy trail and cock. You used your saliva as lubricant as you continued to slowly pump your fist around him.

Joel’s eyes rolled to the back of his skull when he watched you filthily spit over his cock. You were something fucking else entirely and his brain was feeling like a goddamn scrambled egg. “Shit. Yeah baby, that’s it. Fuck. Can I get your sweet mouth too? You always suck my cock so well—”

“Who the fuck is running this show huh? You, or me, Miller?” You squeezed his cock slightly, scraping your nails across the veiny skin.

“Jesus fuck—you are baby. It’s your show. Not mine.” He hissed.

“That’s right. It’s my show. Don’t even fucking think about cumming either. You’re not allowed to till I fucking say.”

“Yes, baby.” He nearly whimpered when you dragged your thumb across his sensitive head as he jutted his hips into your hand desperately.

When he could no longer feel your touch around his aching cock, he tugged on the restraints once more as he watched you ever so casually release your grip around him and walk away from his chair.

“Where the fuck are you goin’ now? I swear to god darlin’ if you even think about leavin’ me down here like this I’m gonna make you regret it.” He tugged on the restraints again, trying to get a feel for if these things were cheaply made or not.

You didn’t respond as you bent down. Ass on full display as you reached into your backpack, pulling out the collar and attached chain. You swung the chain around in a tight circle, using your free hand to pull the thin fabric covering your pussy to the side, revealing your slick cunt to him as you faced him.

Joel’s jaw went slack at the sight of you. Your pussy in his direct view, looking soft and wet for him. His mouth watered at the sight and he swore he had drool dribbling down his chin. “Fuck me. You’re so fuckin’ pretty baby. Is your pretty little pussy wet for me? I bet she is. I bet she’s fuckin’ drippin’ right now. Can I have a taste? Please?”

You slowly dragged your panties down over your thighs and ankles, casually tossing the fabric at him with a giggle before you walked over to him. Your boots were heavy along the old hardwood and you slowly stopped between his thighs, unclasping the collar before you fastened it around his neck. You gave the chain attached to the collar a firm tug, yanking his head towards you. “You wanna have a taste of my pussy baby? That’s what you really want? Huh, pretty boy?”

Joel was not expecting his body to be so willingly responsive to the leather fastened around his neck. Nor did he expect the groan to be elicited past his lips when you tugged on the chain. “Please, pretty girl. Let me have a taste of your pussy. Let me bury my head between your thighs and drink you dry.”

You propped your one boot clad foot right between his thighs, feeling his body jolt slightly from how close your boot had gotten to his dick. You grabbed ahold of his shoulder with your free hand as you held yourself as close to his face as you physically could. You yanked on the chain once more, pulling his face to your soaked cunt.

Joel’s eyes flicked up to yours as he nuzzled his face between your thighs, nipping at the soft flesh before he buried his face deep into your cunt. He could already feel his back aching from the angle he was forced into but did he care? Not one fucking bit. His nose was firmly pressed into your pubic bone as he lapped frantically at you. His tongue swirled around your clit while the sharp stubble on his jaw was scraping at your inner thighs. You let out a low moan as you tightened your grip around the chain. “Fuck. That’s it baby. You’re being such a good boy for me right now. Mouth full of my fucking pussy. Eating me like a man starved.”

Your free hand that was gripped around his shoulder found purchase in his hair, tugging at the roots tightly. Your nails lightly scraped his scalp as he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking harshly on the little bud. The sounds he made were nothing short of obscene and filthy. Joel let out a hum against your pussy, driving his face deeper into your folds as you began to rock your hips into his face.

“You taste so fuckin’ sweet baby. Sweetest taste a man could ever dream of consumin.’ He mumbled, mouth full of your pussy. “She’s so needy for me baby. You gonna cum for me? I know you’re close. C’mon my pretty girl. Cum all over my fuckin’ face.” He growled. Joel desperately wished that his hands weren’t restrained right now just so he could grab your ass and drive your pussy deeper into his eager mouth. Alas, he was still biding his time.

You were falling apart above him. Stuttering over your words as filth spilt from your parted lips. If anyone were to walk in on your debauchery, you both surely would be getting a one way ticket straight to hell. Your hips desperately bucked into his face as you chased your impending orgasm. Your stomach grew taught and tight as you cried out his name. “Yes! Fuck. Don’t stop, Joel! Don’t you dare fucking stop!”

Joel could feel himself becoming a little light headed as he wasn’t taking breaths in between. He could feel stars pricking behind his closed eyes but he didn’t stop till you were spasming above him and cumming along his tongue. He drank up every last drop before your fingers released their tight grip on his hair and he was finally able to take in a lungful of air. His entire face, down to his beard and chin were coated in your slick. His breaths were heavy as your sex stained gaze fell upon his face between your thighs.

“Holy fucking shit Joel. I thought I was about to fucking pass out.” You let your free hand drop down to his jaw, gathering up a bit of slick along his chin before you brought your thumb up to his parted lips. You watched as he wrapped his lips around your thumb nail, nibbling on it with hooded eyes.

“You and me both, baby. I could barely fuckin’ breathe. Started seein’ stars behind my eyes and everythin.’ Your sweet little pussy is just that fuckin’ good.” He spoke breathlessly, revealing a boyish grin that would make a rare appearance every now and then.

“You were such a good boy for me baby. I’m going to reward you, okay?” You slipped your thumb from between his lips and yanked on the chain, bringing his lips up to your mouth where you could taste yourself on them as he deepened the kiss, tangling his tongue around yours before you were firmly pushing him back down into the chair.

Joel felt his throat go dry as you slowly lowered yourself into his lap, planting your feet on either side of his hips and he yanked at the restraints once more. He could tell that the cheap metal was slowly becoming pliable, bendable and it would only be a matter of time before he would be snapping those stupid pink fuzzy cuffs off. “I wish I could touch you so fuckin’ bad right now baby. Just wanna wrap my arms around ya and pound into that sweet little fuckin’ pussy.”

You both let out a low hiss when you had grabbed ahold of the base of his cock, dragging his tip across your slick folds as you rolled your hips against his. “Patience, pretty boy. I know how badly you want to fuck me. I’m aching for your cock Joel. Just want to feel you stretch me open..” you moaned wantonly, yanking on the chain so his face was close to yours. “C’mon and be a good boy. Tell me how bad you want my pussy, Joel. Tell me.”

A low growl was elicited from deep within his chest as you rocked your hips into his at a deliciously, agonizing slow pace. “I want your pussy so fuckin’ bad darlin.’ Only ever have wanted your pussy. She’s all fuckin’ mine.”

You slipped the head of his cock past your slick folds as you finally sank down onto him to the hilt. Your warm walls immediately clenched around him as he filled you up to the fucking brim. “All yours, Joel. All fucking yours Mr. Miller.” You moaned as you slowly rose up and down on his cock, rolling your hips as you rode him.

“That’s right baby. You’re all fuckin’ mine and I’m all fuckin’ yours.” He groaned deeply, eyes flirting down to watch the way you would hug his cock each time you rose and fell above him. He loved watching the way he would disappear inside of you and the way your thighs were already quivering. “Taking my cock so well darlin.’ You always grip me so fuckin’ tight. So pretty, so perfect for me.” He bucked his hips up into yours causing your lips to part as you let out an unexpecting gasp from the motion.

“Oh, fuck. Yes baby. You always fill me up so fuckin’ well Joel. I love you, I love your cock. Such a good boy for me.”

Joel thrusted his hips up into yours once more as he tugged on the restraints hard. From the force of his tugging, and harsh thrust of his hips, the cuffs suddenly snapped with a loud pop as they clattered to the ground.

You were already scrambling off of his cock when you heard the cuffs snap and you didn’t even get far from the chair before he was grabbing your wrist and yanking you firmly against his chest. The collar around his neck was unclasped and thrown onto the kitchen table as his hand found purchase around your throat. “Now, now. Where the hell do you think you’re goin’ sweetheart? Not so fuckin’ fast baby. Told you I was gonna break out of those stupid fuckin’ things.” He tsked under his breath as he used his free hand to wrap around your middle and pull you back down into his lap at his mercy.

“How the fuck did you even break out of those huh? They were on fucking tight!” You grumbled.

“Doesn’t fuckin’ matter how I did it. Don’t ask anymore fuckin’ questions. Got it? Be a good fuckin’ girl for me and get back on my cock. You think I was done with ya or somethin?’” He growled against the side of your head, taking in a deep inhale of your natural scent mixed in with vanilla shampoo.

You took your lip between your teeth as you grabbed ahold of his cock once more, sinking down onto him. Your thighs were spread across his lap, feet on either side of his thighs as he held you in place. He filled you up even more if that was even possible. This angle had you feeling like you were being stretched to your limits as he bucked his hips up into you, feeling his balls slapping against your skin.

His arm stayed firmly wrapped around your middle, holding you flush against his chest as he fucked into you at a harsh pace, exerting all his energy into making you scream ontop of him. His hand that was wrapped around your throat, dropped to the kitchen table as he grasped the leather whip and wasted no time to continuously slap it against your swollen, puffy clit.

“You gonna fuckin’ cum all over my cock like a good fuckin’ girl baby?” He grunted against your hair, tapping the whip faster against your clit as he forcefully pulled your hips down on him as he continued to harshly thrust into you.

Your moans were turning into choked sobs as the sensation was becoming too much, too overwhelming and the safe word was on the tip of your tongue but you struggled to get the words out. “Joel—J-J-Joel baby I—can’t”

Joel’s ears had zoned in attentively on your sobs as he tried to decipher if they were sobs of pleasure, or if it had become too much and when you let out a strangled cry, his heart snapped and he immediately stopped, gently slipping you off his cock and tossed the whip aside, cradling you protectively against his chest. “Shh..shh..baby. Hey, breathe baby. You’re okay. You’re okay. I got you honey. Deep breaths for me, okay? I got you. You’re safe.” He whispered.

Your entire body was trembling around him as you continued to sob, clutching yourself around him like a koala.

“My sweet girl..m’so sorry. Why didn’t you use the safe word?” He spoke softly as he kissed the top of your head before gently grasping your face in his warm palms, wiping away your hot tears.

“I—I tried to say it but it was..it was too much.” You whimpered.

“Shh. I know, baby. I got you. M’sorry I didn’t stop sooner. You’re okay now. Safe here in my arms. I got you.” He continued to hold you till your body had seemingly recovered and had gone slack in his grip. He wrapped your legs around his waist gently before he lifted you up and carried you upstairs.

The rest of the evening you spent in the tub with your back resting against Joel’s chest as he took care of you. His movements were gentle, attentive and soft. He hummed against your ear as he gently washed between your thighs. He wrapped you in a fluffy towel, applied lotion to your legs before he dressed you in one of his T-shirts and boxers to sleep in. He carried you to bed, letting you be the little spoon as he held you close to him.

Sometime in the night, Ellie had come home with Dina to grab her stash of weed. The two girls were mortified to say the least when they found the sex toys scattered along the floor in the entryway. Thank god for the booze in their system as they headed upstairs, hands interlocked and girlish giggles slipping past their lips.

Dina was the first to find the t-shirt and she held it up for Ellie to see as she grabbed her jar of joints. “Hey, El? Which one of your parents got you this shirt, you think?”

Ellie turned her focus on the white tee that her girlfriend was holding up and she couldn’t contain her giggles. “I Love My Lesbian Daughter. Yeah, my mom 100% is the one who got that for me. She’s so fuckin’ rad. My dad would totally never. He doesn’t even have a clue about us babe.”

“I literally want one of these shirts. We’ll have to ask her where she got it.” Dina said with a grin, tossing the shirt to her girlfriend who caught it with ease.

“I have a sneaking suspicion that they were at fucking sex shop or something.”

“Chains and whips must really get your parents going, huh?” Dina teased.

“Oh my god, gross! I do not need those images in my head Di!” Ellie giggled, stuffing the shirt in her bag.

The next morning at breakfast, Joel was complaining about his back as usual and your thighs were absolutely killing you. Joel hadn’t even noticed the shirt his kid was wearing when she came through the front door with Dina in tow.

“Hey kiddo, how was your night?” Joel asked his daughter as she kissed his cheek and gave him a side hug.

“Pretty good. Although, Dina and I stopped by at like midnight or so and we found yours and moms uh..”

“Oh god.” You and Joel both said out loud at the same time.

“It’s cool you guys! We just thought it was super fucking funny!” Ellie said with a grin as she stuffed her face with fresh pancakes.

Joel scrubbed a hand over his face with a deep sigh before taking a long sip of his coffee. His eyes narrowed in on his kid’s shirt and he nearly choked on his sip of coffee. “Where the hell did you get that?”

“Oh, this? Mom got it for me!” Ellie proudly stated.

Joel looked between his daughter, and you before he smiled over the rim of his mug. “Yeah? Well, I think your mom is gonna have to get your old man one as well.”

Tag List: @chaotic-mystery @peterhollandkait @userpedros @pedgeitopascal @last-girl @korynnekorynne @yazsos @777-wonders @lovers-liability @loquaciousferret @kirsteng42 @dinsdjrn @myrealmofchaos

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sixty-silver-wishes · 1 month

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Roasting you based on your favorite of these German Expressionist films

(this post is a joke; don't take it too seriously lol)

Metropolis: You've got spicy political opinions and daddy issues. You were doing great in life until you found out how corrupt capitalism is sometime in high school or college, and it's absolutely mind-boggling to you that nobody else is batting an eyelid at all the injustices of the world because they're too busy defending the concept of a 40-hour work week. You're constantly checking your privilege and everyone else's, too. Or you just want to bang a robot. That's probably it.

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari: Okay, I could make a joke about you being emo, or you liking the most basic film on the list, but that's not really the issue here. Your Hot Topic fashion sense and shitty drugstore eyeliner are nowhere near as concerning as the fact that you have no idea who the hell you are without them. You constantly overthink everything and are great at solving everyone's problems but your own, and you're averaging like 4 hours of sleep on a good night. You can't get your intrusive thoughts to leave you alone and if you relate to literally any character in this film, you need to get help. It's okay; I promise your therapist doesn't secretly hate you.

M: You're a surprisingly sweet and empathetic person for someone whose favorite film on this list is about a child murderer. You care deeply about others and are very much in tune with yourself, but unfortunately, everything you say is so off-putting that most people don't get that vibe about you. If they actually gave you a chance, they'd find that you have a great personality, but they don't, so instead you're stuck at home stalking your ex's vacation photos on social media.

Dr. Mabuse the Gambler: You like the finer things in life. You're high-maintenance, your tastes are classy and expensive, and you actually know how wine tasting works. However, you're way too into conspiracy theories and pyramid schemes for your own good, and your cultured proclivities are deeply undercut by the fact that you probably got into Bitcoin when that was a thing. Your two career paths are either "businessperson" or "cult leader," and it's concerningly difficult to discern which one you're on.

Nosferatu: Your sense of humor relies entirely on recycling memes that are at least a decade old, and the fact that you communicate nearly entirely in pop culture references is your attempt at disguising the fact that you're really bad at socializing. You think you have lots of great ideas that make perfect sense, but most people don't know what the hell you're going on about. However, you've got one or two ride or die friends who love you for who you are, cringe and all. Keep being you, Nosferatu fan. Never change.

The Student of Prague: I'm not sure this one is actually anyone's favorite film, but if this was yours, you were into shipping the Onceler with himself when that was a thing. You're super competitive, but you have a tendency to overwork yourself and burn out quickly, so now you're living off of Top Ramen and protein bars. People love to tell you that you "have potential" and "just need to apply yourself," but what they don't get is that you're stressed 24/7 and won't give yourself a break because you're trying so hard to satisfy your own impossible standards. Please take a nap.

Der Golem: You're great with children, small animals, and potted plants, but that's because literally anyone else you have to deal with fucking pisses you off. The absolute audacity of everyone around you means you're never not two seconds away from throwing hands, but honestly? You're always right and you should say it. You're actually a really nice person, but people keep pushing you to your limit and you're sick of it. On an unrelated note, you probably work in customer service.

Different from the Others: If this is your favorite film and you're a member of the LGBT community, that's perfectly understandable. It was a monumental achievement in LGBT cinema in the early 20th century and, despite being somewhat dated by today's standards due to the time period it was created in, largely holds up as an educational, yet tragic, piece of cinema. That being said, if you're a straight/cis/allo person and this is your favorite film, what is going on with you. I want to study you in a lab. How did you find this film. Come to think of it, how did you even get into German Expressionist cinema to begin with. I just want to know

Der Januskopf: [REDACTED]

Genuine: You're a "Caligari" fan who doesn't want to seem basic like the rest of the "Caligari" fans, so somehow you ended up here. You don't actually like this film aside from the visuals. Nobody actually likes this film. You want so, so badly to like this film, so you lie to yourself, just like you do about everything else.

#german expressionism #silent films #silent movies #metropolis #the cabinet of dr. caligari #m 1931 #dr. mabuse the gambler #der golem #nosferatu #the student of prague #different from the others #der januskopf #genuine 1920

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wangxianficfinder · 5 months

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Fic finder

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1. There is a fic that I don’t remember the name of but it was wangxian arranged marriage with heavy angst and unhappy WWX. I remember it had a line going “Being married to me is killing him” so if anyone knows it I will be forever grateful 🥰 @kanrax-blog

FOUND! Concord by Deastar (T, 41k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Gūsū Lán Sect Rules, Depression, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending)

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2. hello im looking for a fic where lotus pier is home to a bunch of eldritch horrors so our jiang trio have darker vibes. thank you so much for your help

FOUND? Monster in Human Skin Series by Nika_Raven_Celeste (T/M, 20k, WCZ/CSSR/JFM, NiecestXu, QHJ/WWX, WRH/WWX, Dark Jiāngs, dark au, grey morality, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Happy Murder Family, Dehumanization, Dark NHS, Dark NMJ, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-human characters, Morally Gray WWX, Gūsū Lán Elders Bashing, Dark Gūsū Lán Sect, Solitary Confinement, Touch-Starved, Gaslighting, Victim Blaming, Mental Health Issues, Emotional Manipulation, Mind Break, Mental Coercion, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Age Difference, no WangXian, Literal monster in human skin, Rape/Non-con Elements, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Imprisonment, Mind Manipulation, Verbal Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Incest, Stockholm Syndrome, Power Imbalance, Captivity, spoil of war, Post-Sunshot Campaign, Conditioning, Master/Pet, Fairytale elements, Eldritch) It's about JFM/WCZ/CSSR though

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3. i was hoping you could also help with finding a fic and since i don’t want to flood the inbox, i wanted to put my request here.

i’m looking for a fic/series where wei wuxian and lan wangji are both actors that work on a project together that involves them being intimate. the catch is that wwx thought lwj hated him and so there’s tension there. there’s also a continuation of when they’re happily together where wwx finds a shrine/treasure room dedicated to himself when visiting lwj’s house. it’s one of the first fics i ever read and it’s so deeply buried that I can’t seem to find the bookmark for it and was hoping for help. thank you in advance and i wish you all well.

FOUND! Feel My Love by Leffy (E, 5k, wangxian, modern, Actors, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Rimming, Anal Sex, inappropriate use of light sticks), of Blooming into the Color of Love series. shout out to asker and their brain cooperating with the details of the fic cause it made it easy to find !

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4. I'd love some help finding a fic! it's a short-ish smut modern au, with gnc lwj who wears skirts and does makeup for football/soccer player wwx, but it's very much canon dynamics! i think wwx has some but not a lot of comphet in it, wwx is very amenable to getting railed by lwj after he learns that this is a thing that could happen. i really enjoyed the characterization

I know I've read 4 but I can't find it/remember what it's called argh. The Twin Jades were child stars and LQR taught them that they had to have other avenues so LXC is a philanthropist (??) And LWJ moonlights in fashion design. He overheard footballer!WWX admitting he would have sex with LWJ and with Mianmian (???)'s help he made it happen. I think the end is a fast forward years later still together/happy.

FOUND! wear me out by plonk (Not Rated, 7k, WangXian, Modern AU, Fashion & Couture, Football | Soccer, Not!Fic)

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5. hi! trying my luck hunting down this fic which i sadly don't remember much of except for one scene. what i rmb is wwx seeing a comb that he wants to get for lwj in caiyi town, and not buying it the first time due to budget issues. when he eventually returns to the stall again, it turns out the seller kept it for him: wwx learns about this from the seller's husband, who is the one at the stall this time, and wwx is surprised to learn about the acceptance of cutsleeve relationships in gusu. thank you very much!!!

FOUND! 🔒 Unstoppable by Netrixie (T, 149k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Eventual Happy Ending, Unreliable Narrator, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Wolf-shifter WWX, Resolved Sexual Tension, Resolved Romantic Tension, Fix-It, Werewolf, Shapeshifters)

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6. Hello, I would like some help?? I’m looking for a fic but I completely forgot the name 🥲

it was a MDZS/TGCF crossover: Xie Lian joined the juniors on their nighthunt and Jingyi spends most of the time suspicious of him. At one point they all thought Xie Lian died but Lan Zichen appeared and performed cpr on him and he was fine. At the end WWX recognized him and called him grand uncle and tells the kids Xie Lian’s a god (and when they ask ‘why didn’t you say anything?’, Xie Lian’s only response was ‘you didn’t ask’)

That’s all I remember, I’m loosing my mind trying to look for it please help me 🥺🥺 I’m sorry if it’s a pain @cullen-blue23

FOUND! Lan Jingyi and the Adventure of the Immortal Cultivator by litbynosun (T, 5k, the junior quartet, TGCF/MDZS, Crossover, Just a Fun Little Romp, Minor Injuries, Canon-Typical Violence, Ghosts, postcanon, (for both books), Friendship, A Pack Of Teens Roaming The Countryside With Swords)

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7. Hello! Excuse me but could you please help me with the title of the Wangxian fic that's a Gawain and the Green Knight AU? Where Lan Wangji plays the role of Gawain and enters into a weird sex game with the Yiling Laozu and Wei Wuxian not knowing they're the same person until the duel? Please? @kaitou-cure-prism12

FOUND! rare the man who'll hold to faith by Fahye (M, 13k, wangxian, canon au, Identity Porn, With Apologies To The Chivalric Romantic Tradition)

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8. Fic finder request please! 🙂

Wangxian was in an arranged marriage au and WWX, in trying to get to know LWJ, hangs onto his arm or something and gets pushed into a pond (by accident fromLwJ), but WWX thinks it was on purpose and he decides to be just as rude back. I can’t remember anything else about it, but I think it had a happy ending and that LWJ had to grovel a bit. I swear I’ve read it a few months ago and can’t find it anywhere! 😭😭

FOUND! i won’t say i’m in love by kazzywx (E, 12k, wangxian, rape/non-con, A/B/O, Arranged Marriage, Miscommunication, Angst with a Happy Ending, Omega WWX, Alpha LWJ, skippable NSFW scenes, wwx’s is basically meg from hercules with his “i wont say im in love” shtick, Hurt WWX, Boypussy, WWX Has a Vulva, Intersex WWX, Dubious Consent, Feminization, Mating Bites, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, WWX Has a Fear of Dogs, Mpreg, WWX & WQ Friendship, WWX & WN Friendship, Possessive LWJ, WIP)

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9. Hi, nice ppl! I'm looking for a fic (Modern AU). LWJ is a rich lonely businessman who finds erotic model WWX online (he doesn't do it for pleasure but to pay JC's medical treatment) & falls for him. No explicit sex, WWX just shows his body (only HALF of his face to keep anonymity) & sends private set of pix to clients after paying a lot of money. LWJ becomes the best client instantly, getting more pix & phone calls, which seems to be enough 4 him (he's in love). WWX doesn't trust him, he thinks he could be a psycho, so they didn't meet YET (the fic wasn't finished & now I cannot find it). One day, WWX is in a photo session w/erotic lingery in a building room near LWJ's office, who 'feels' smth but, as he gets to the place, it's already empty & the staff + WWX gone. He founds a piece of his costume & keeps it. Sorry I have no more to add, only that WWX really needs the money for JC's health & asks LWJ to make the payments to his own bank acc, not to the agency (perhaps that lil' info helps). LXC notices a positive change in his brother's mood but LWJ doesn't tell anything to him. TYSM!xo @einherjermineord

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10. Hello this is a long shot but my history and bookmarks crashed on AO3 and there was a fanfic I was reading it was about LZ meeting WY as children one of the two save the other from dogs, LZ gave WY his drum rattle, in a Yilin alley, it was cold and the thin clothed WY got a coat from LZ the author described the coat or cape as embroidery and elegant, then when the uncle and brother came to him, he turn and WY left with the drum rattle but not the coat/cape, years later they are married have children WY pulls out drum rattles and then the old one (which he used as design for the other ones) and is there where they realized are them in the childhood encounter ... I know it's a long shot but do you know what fic I am talking about? Oh and I think it has the tones of mpreg hence the children, but I can't remember much, if you could help me please and thank you

PS there is an author that used a similar encounter in "A Matter of Time" but that is not it I am so sorry to bother you about this, this author told me about you so here I am 😁

Sincerely @mysticalyunique

FOUND! As if you were on fire from within by jalpari (E, 30k, WangXian, Dragon LWJ/Fox WWX, Canon Universe, Getting Together, Bottom LWJ/Top WWX, Pregnant LWJ)

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11. Hello!! I'm looking for either one or 2 fics here. I might have read them at the same time and they blurred together, or it is the same fic. Anyway, one of them has mo xuanyu and nie huaisang working together and mxy is a fashion designer that insists on dressing wwx. And then the other has a scene where wwx is at some fancy party and escapes lwj through like a sky light. It's a cat-and-mouse fic where lwj is trying to capture wwx.

Thanks for your help and all the hard work yall do 🖤🖤🖤

FOUND! To lurk, to lie in wait by trippednfell (M, 124k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Huli Jing, strangers to co-parents to lovers, Strangers to Lovers, Dragons, Kid Fic, teenage juniors, background NieLan, Angst with a Happy Ending, Case Fic, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Not Really Character Death, Fox Spirit WWX, Dragon LWJ, Blood and Injury, Additional Warnings In Author's Note)

FOUND!🔒🧡 Rule Number One: Never get attached. by KizuKatana (E, 130k, WangXian, Modern AU, A/B/O, Criminal underworld AU, Fluff and angst, Crime boss LWJ, Rouge criminal genius WWX, Explicit Sex) #11b with the cat and mouse game sounds like kitzukanas "rule #1 don't get attached"

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12. Hello again. First off I'd like to thank you for all your hard work and help. This blog means alot to me.

I need help finding a fic. It's a modern au. WWX is a hacker. I forgot what LWJ does. It's not something he likes. He doesn't like his life/work. Doing it just for family. There was a part in the fic where LQR said/asked? If LWJ was happy and LWJ said no.

If you do find this fic, would you also recommend something in this similar theme? LWJ doing things for family and not being happy and LQR finds out and regrets his actions? @lailan-rosie

FOUND? Tempo Rubato by Spodumene (E, 107k, WangXian, Modern AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Romance, Persuasion au, Separations, Mutual Pining, Depression, Miscommunication, Emotional Roller Coaster, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Reconciliation, Eventual Smut, Jane Austen Fusion, Underage Kissing)

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13. Hi, Help me find this fic🙏

Lwj is in a hostage/courtesan/concubine situation and the ones who owns him are either wens or jins. Lxc is free and about, knows lwj's situation yet does nothing/can't do nothing because of sect politics.

WWX meets lwj, a stranger at lwj's institution/lodgings and is appalled at lxc for his inaction. Wwx fights/duels lxc saying hes a bad brother. @imstillthinkingaboutithmm

NOT FOUND! The Last Concubine by deliciousblizzardshark (T, 13k, WangXian, Royalty, Emperor WWX, Concubine LWJ, LWJ Whump, Forced Marriage, Starvation, Non-physical spousal abuse, Fluff and Angst, Doing the Wrong Thing for the Right Reasons, Happy Ending, WWX Takes Care of LWJ)

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14. Hi! I’m looking for a fic where rogue!wwx(?) meets LWJ who came down from the mountain just to collect books and bring knowledge back to the cloud recesses. It’s like a right of passage thing? They travel together a long time and then LWJ gets called home. I think he gives WWX a way to contact him even though he shouldn’t? And WWX ends up bringing the Wen remnants to CR.

FOUND? my rivers tilt towards you by perfectlyrose (T, 26k, WangXian, Canon, Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Fairy Tale Elements, dragonji, mentions of, Madam Yu's A+ Parenting, First Meetings, Romance, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort)

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15. hi ! this is for fic finder, i think i asked before but i don’t believe it was found: wangxian modern au, they reunite after a gap bc lan zhan gets into an accident (he’s fine, but it was going to be on the news because he’s a bit famous (i think it was as a tv baker) so lan xichen comes over to tell him). they get closer again and i think near the end it’s revealed that lan sizhui is lan yuan, a patient wei ying grew attached to that lan zhan adopted a few yrs after wei ying disappeared @willesnelson

FOUND? Lifelong Confidant by saved (E, 42k, WangXian, Modern AU, Fluff and Angst, Past Character Death, Families of Choice, Explicit Sexual Content, Idiots in Love, Misunderstandings, Oblivious WWX, playing fast and loose with basic real life things, references to past alcoholism/substance abuse, Alcohol)

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16. Hello! Hoping to find a fic where Meng Yao I think is the main character. Modern AU, the ensemble are nurses/doctors. Meng Yao is a nurse, but like the head or charge nurse - he points out you can tell bc he's wearing a particular color of scrubs (yellow?). The plot had to do with people actually protecting him for once and his father trying to pin his own mal practice (or possibly Jin Zixun's) on Meng Yao. But Nie Huisang manages to save the day by "stumbling across" records that proved it was Jin Guangshan/Zixun at fault.

Thanks so much for all your hard work mods! @somevariationofgay

FOUND! No Drug Like Me by Justkeeptrekkin (E, 32k, XiYao, Modern AU, Hospital, They're all doctors and nurses, Mutual Pining, Eventual Smut, Fluff)

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17. hii, I hope you're doing well, I'm looking for fic whose description was smth like "yuan watches some man try take away his xian-gege" it isn't accurate, and I think it's a humorous fic from a-yuan's pov where lwj is around wwx and yuan is annoyed. Thank u for ur work!!! @mercurygirlwt28

FOUND! as i stumble homewards by the_pretzel (T, 27k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death - WWX, Found Family, Food Issues, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, sizhui pov, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff) lmao I found it myself. thank you sm for ur time!!!!!

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18. Hi I’m looking for a fic where Wei Ying wears Gusu Lan robes and no one recognizes him?

I think (and don’t quote me lol) that it is after the temple scenes and he lives in Gusu land now. @kyuubikuroba

FOUND? Wei Wuxian is Definitely Not Possessed by CursedBlessing (T, 20k, wangxian, JC & WWX, Misunderstandings, Is it exorcism if there's nothing to exorcise?, General Dumbassery, Humor) maybe chapter 3 of this one? Some people recognize wwx but some don't

FOUND? How Odd by bedheadrat (M, 35k, WIP, Case Fic, Fluff and Smut, BAMF WWX, Protective LWJ, Possessive LWJ, Rich LWJ, Genius WWX, Separation, Anxiety, Evil Plans, Touch-Starved, LWJ 's white robes kink, Attempted Kidnapping, Attempted Seduction, Misunderstandings, Not Cheating, Threats, Vandalism, Stealing, Canon Compliant, Post-Canon)

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19. hello! i am looking for a fic, if you don’t mind helping me ☺️

i believe in the fic wwx and lwj used to know each other well (or were together? i cant remember), and wwx came back to lwj’s life with baby sizhui. the baby is also lwj’s i think? but lwj didnt know prior to wwx’s return. the fic is set in modern times, so lwj is a rich boss running a company and wants to provide wwx and baby sizhui everything they need. theres this one scene where lwj gets overwhelmed about the whole situation, so he starts making lists: schools for sizhui, putting wwx on lwj’s uber plan, etc etc.

i’ve been looking for this fic for a very long time but my hands still come up empty. thank you very much!

FOUND? Family Pictures (Or: “Mark Rothko is very, very dead, Wei Ying.”) by belleweather (M, 37k, WangXian, Kid Fic, Post Mpreg, Modern AU, Cindarella Story, Mistaken Identity, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, art conservator lwj, idiot WWX, (he gets better slowly), shockingly little actual sex omg what happened to me, fake/mistaken cheating, no actual infidelity)

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20. Hey, I'm losing my mind looking for this fic where wy fall in love with 3 different people he meets(like gamer id, chat id, irl id) but they're all lwj.

Any idea which fic this is? @imstillthinkingaboutithmm

#20 it's not duo with you.

Actually I'm currently reading duo with you and that's is when i remembered about the 3 identity fic i can't find.

Duo with you is very nice to read, thanks

NOT FOUND! The Best Gift by Lan_Wangjoe (E, 45k, wangxian, Modern, Mistaken Identity, Miscommunication, Fluff, Family Dynamics, Falling In Love, Idiots in Love, Dorks in Love, Nice LQR, Meet the Family, Nerdiness, Science Boyfriends, Science Experiments, Fake Science, Science Husbands, Geeks, Work Contains Fan(s) or Fandom(s), Fandom Allusions & Cliches & References, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Adopted Children, Marriage of Convenience, Secret Marriage, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Stupidity, Himbo LXC, Lan Himbos, Lán Family Feels, Making fun of the Lan's again, Everyone Is Alive, Everyone Thinks They're Together, Good Parents JFM & YZY, Genius WWX) Wwx is a "true genius" that was obsessed with books written by lqr. He's fav character is hgj, online frenemy is lwj, and irl genius rival is lz

NOT FOUND! Duo With You by Nyatci (T, 48k, wangxian, JFM/YZY, JYL/JZX, modern, College/University, , Gamers WàngXiànCasual Gaming, enemies to lovers (sorta), Secret Identity vibes, they play league of legends, Kinda Crack but treated very seriously, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Comedy, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Abusive Jiāng Family, Eventual Happy Ending, Ga(y)mers WangXian, now with fanart, WIP)

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#wangxian #wangxianficfinder #wangxian fic search #wangxian fic finder #the untamed #long post #mdzs

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mifhortunach · 7 months

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Horror Short Films You Can Watch For Free - Right Now!

Just a 'small' post collecting some less well known horror short films that you can find mostly on youtube & vimeo! All worth a look!

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SUNGAZER 9min, 2020 (You'll have to log in to vimeo to watch this one!) "A short, wordless horror film about the terrors lurking just beyond the veil of reality." - Or, a man waits, and performs a ritual. Wicked atmospheric, manages to really paint a world despite the run-time. Looks great as well. [TW: flashing lights, body horror, harsh noise]

The Color Out of Space 5min, 2017 "A meteorite, strange vegetation, a colour: an experimental take on H.P. Lovecraft's spiral into madness, shot with a vintage camera on truly unique LomoChrome 16mm film." <- All accurate! Eerie little film.

My House Walk-through: 12min, 2016

Short, sweet, and unnerving!! The person who made this has done a tonne of other (more classical) 'internet horror' shorts, but this is a really wonderful & understated piece. Visually it feels very PT inspired, but its even more about atmosphere and repetition. Worth checking out the making of as well, pretty much the whole thing was done practically!! [TW: unsanitary conditions, blood]

Possibly in Michigan 12min, 1983

Cecilia Condit mostly does weird, dreamy short films. They have a kind of cake with a worm inside feeling, if you get me; things are rotting inside. This one is a cannibal musical! [TW: cannibalism, unreality, insects, murder, animal death]

The Black Tower 23min, 1987

More unsettling than scary. A man finds himself followed by a mysterious building. I really love how this one gets built up visually. The most like a tma episode out of all of these, or something out of Blue Jam. You can read more stuff about it here! [TW: unreality, talk of mental institutions, disordered eating]

Heck 29min, 2020 If you've seen any of these, I think it'll probably be this one. Its the short that originally inspired Skinamarink. I personally kind of prefer this. Digitally gritty and mean. [TW: Same warnings as skinamarink for the most part, there's a kid in danger, a little body horror].

Juliet in Paris 18min, 1967

Juliet moves to Paris for college, is lonely, and keeps losing blood. Kind of a vampire thing? But also not a vampire thing. Vibes and vignette heavy.

[TW: blood, animal death, self harm]

Dawn of an Evil Millennium 20min, 1988 (in 3 parts!)

A palette cleanser! Getting a honourary nomination through me hearing about it on a found footage podcast (lol). A trailer for an 18hr movie that doesn't exist; staring demons, 'olds mobiles', space-travel and cops. Deeply 80s, kind of ooey-gooey, pretty fun! [TW: some vomiting, a lot of fake blood gets splashed about]

Thanks for reading!

#blood /#movies #ppp #horror #idk if anyone else will get anything out of these! but its a little nice to do up a list ngl fgkdshf #thought about doing a zine or smth but i think this is a better format lol #H23 #2023movies #long post /

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moibakadesu · 22 days

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Okay, here we go, my interpretations and rambles about the 4th anniversary art. I know everybody is doing that right now and a lot of my thoughts might be the same as a lot of other people's, but the brainworms are active.

Let's start that it is brilliant that they went with a funeral theme for the 4th anni and to top it off they released it on the 4th of April. As a lot of you might know, 4 stands for death in Japanese (and various other asian countries), as it is pronounced the same.

My initial prediction for the art was, that it would be the funeral of the prisoners themselves and that we would see them lying on the frame of flowers (chrysanthemum, white lilies and white roses, all traditional funeral flowers). But as it turns out, we have the prisoners attending the funeral of their victims, so to speak.

So of course we have everybody in classic funeral attire, and sadly that doesn’t make for a lot of variety for the guys, sans the shoes, some buttons and different seams and pockets, but they all look splendid in it (and it stops Fuuta from combining it with some ridiculous fashion choices), so I can vibe with it.

For the girls we have of course a bit more to look at in terms of different clothes, the ones who are still visiting school in their respective uniforms, although in dark tones to fit in the whole composition, and Mappi with a simple dress as well as Kotoko with a chic blazer and trousers combo.

The wardens take the role of the priest who would attend a traditional Japanese funeral, how very fitting. Everybody is very pretty. I do still prefer akka’s art, but kee did a very good job capturing everybody as well.

Now the really interesting part is of course how everybody is holding their bouquets. I think the general consensus is that they stands for the victims, or in a wider sense the emotional stance that each prisoner has in regards to their murder. Let’s go in order from left to right.

Mikoto: Very prim and proper. I am in the camp that thinks that Mikoto committed the murder, not John, but also that he genuinely doesn’t remember anymore (due to stress-induced amnesia etc.). So it makes a lot of sense that he holds it in the most neutral and normal way possible. He doesn’t know the victim, he doesn’t have any particular feelings regarding it that he can remember.

Kazui: Holding it very lightly, but not as careless as if you would have to fear it falling to the ground. Maybe symbolic for the lack of emotional commitment in his marriage, due to being homosexual? Somewhat fitting to the lyrics of Cat, “let’s keep it simple”, keep it casual, these feelings are not real and very fleeting.

Shidou: Oh, he is interesting. He is holding the flowers exactly like you would a young baby, proper head and body support with both his hands and arm, while being very gentle with it. Further evidence that his murder ended up being one of his sons. As I assume ending up braindead after an accident and Shidou having to give the okay to use him as an organ donor.

Fuuta: My angry little ginger. And his anger shines through, what are you gripping your flowers so tightly for, little man? He is holding it almost like a weapon, very much the hero of justice with his sword ready to strike. I find it interesting that he is the only prisoner not smiling. I thought maybe because he is the one who is the most terrified about what his actions have led to? He was deeply riddled by remorse from the beginning after all, as much as he didn't want to admit that.

Haruka: Oh Haruka, what are you doing? His is … interesting. My theory is still that the murder he is actually is in Milgram for is a suicide, and the way he is holding the flowers does a good job in supporting that thought. He is holding the bouquet upside down, with not much apparent care for its state, some petals falling on the floor, and more importantly, on himself. I think this might represent how he has little to none self-worth and care for himself. Another thing I did see a japanese fan on Twt talk about was the meaning of an upside down bouquet. Apparently there is a superstition about holding flowers upside down, so that they … absorb water faster. This is both a good way to show Haruka’s innocence about the world as he would possibly believe such a thing as well as … very grim, as I think he drowned himself.

Yuno: Similar to Shidou she is holding her flowers a lot like you would an infant, and … well, that speaks for itself I would say. There is no ill feeling or disrespect towards the unborn life, is what just not meant to be with her.

Muu: Holding her bouquet behind her back, just like she does not want the fact that it might in fact have been her fault behind her victim act. Could also go very well with how she most likely did hide the box cutter out of sight until she struck.

Mahiru: She is holding her flowers very gently, delicately, with a lot of love, of course, it’s Mappi after all. Maybe almost a bit too close to her, if she is not careful she could crush or squish them easily. As it is in line with how destructive her relationship ended up being.

Amane: Oh Amane, the disrespect, haha. Carelessly discarded behind her. Sinners are worthless and need to be punished, right? Nothing wrong with quite literally stepping over dead bodies. The little girl is quite savage, I have to give her that much.

Kotoko: She is a bit hard for me to read. Her grip on the bouquet is concealed, does she maybe not want to admit how tightly she is holding on to it as a parallel how she does not want to admit to her sadistic tendencies, because it is after all always for justice, nothing else. Hmmm.

#milgram #haruka sakurai #yuno kashiki #fuuta kajiyama #muu kusunoki #shidou kirisaki #mahiru shiina #kazui mukuhara #amane momose #mikoto kayano #kotoko yuzuriha #es milgram #milgram theory #moi rambles

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vaguely-concerned · 5 months

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Thoughts upon finishing Master and Apprentice! A good double read with Padawan; the ending of that leaving Obi-Wan slightly hopeful about his relationship to Qui-Gon makes for a very sad yet hilarious ‘Local Padawan loses last little bit of hope he didn’t even know he still had’ sort of vibe to the beginning of this one, which is set one (1) year later and Obi-Wan is So Done with Qui-Gon’s whole deal by this point (correctly btw). Also if you can’t tell already I will not be objective or free from bias in this because I love Obi-Wan so much and some of the stuff Qui-Gon pulled made me incandescent with rage on his behalf <3 let’s go

- 'oh obi-wan, you're so mature for your age, I keep forgetting you're only seventeen years old,' qui-gon says, word for word, repeatedly, in master and apprentice, apparently willfully deaf to the industrial-sized warning bells about their relationship dynamic that should probably be setting off in his head. qui-gon believes in vibing with the living force and being in the moment right up until the moment requires him to pay attention to the kid he's raising for more than oh, one and a half minutes of self-effacing inner monologue and then he's like 'well unfortunately there is simply no time for that right now there are prophecies to be pondered'. (the fact that the admission that obi-wan has essentially been left to raise himself emotionally and the resigned reframing of that as 'and maybe that is a good thing!' is part of the olive branch they extend to each other towards the end... will my sadness never end)

- most of all it's so heartbreaking to me that qui-gon seemingly never understands just how much obi-wan as a person is rooted deeply in shame. I don't think that's a feeling that's particularly prevalent in qui-gon's own inner world so he doesn't recognize how central it is in obi-wan's psychology and completely misunderstands and misaligns with him again and again and again and then gets annoyed with obi-wan for that, thus making the shame even deeper. doubly painful because he does see the way rael lives so much of his life out of shame now and feels sad about it, but can't see the way he's contributing to obi-wan doing so. this is what fucks me up so bad about the generational trauma in star wars -- no one here meant to be cruel. for all his faults I do think qui-gon does love obi-wan and doesn't mean to hurt him. but the original sin of the prequels as far as I'm concerned is qui-gon tenderly drying away obi-wan's tears as he's dying even while completely failing to see him, his eyes too fixed on anakin's future to actually be with obi-wan, who's there right now and needs him.

these are simply very different people trying and failing to understand each other, and the harm that can still happen in that… 'if you love me, you don't love me in a way I understand', all the way through the disaster line, even when the love is there, it is there, that’s what hurts the most, it just doesn’t reach where it’s needed, there’s a connection that doesn’t happen. (ironically I think ahsoka doesn't doubt that anakin loves her, it's just uh everything else that went down. so y'know family curse broken! new even more fucked up curse achieved now with more child murder. I mean there already was some child murder in this family but anakin upped the game exponentially)

- a lil guy who's basically tarzan except the gorillas are replaced with protocol droids and then he becomes a jewel thief is one of the funniest star wars concepts I've ever heard and I hope pax and rahara get to pop up in more star wars media, they’re great fun. (also an idea I think would be super fun to make a character/campaign around in Edge of the Empire or something, everyone playing different droids and then one person being robo-parented lol)

- was not prepared to have rael posit a theory of what essentially seems to be the jedi version of predestination in his despair, but I do love to see it haha. especially interesting since he, qui-gon and dooku must be among the people alive who've studied the prophecies in most depth, and they've all reached different conclusions -- dooku decides to join the war of light and dark on the side of dark for some reason, qui-gon (possibly the stubbornest fucker the jedi order ever produced) 'turns towards the light not to win some great cosmic game, but because it is the light', and rael in the middle falls into the depressed apathy of 'it doesn't matter what we do here, the outcome is already decided; for there to be true balance there has to be as much dark as light in the world so we're fucked'. but in the end he does take qui-gon's words to heart and turns towards the light rather than accepting dooku's offer, even if he might not believe it makes a difference in the long run. man I love rael. hobo-looking sonofabitch living in a castle for eight years will just suddenly fling out some deep jedi theology huh

- master rael 'I'm gonna make up for the big terrible mistake I made on accident by making an even bigger more premeditated mistake on purpose' averross (affectionate)

- the added layer to dooku’s fascination with prophecy after reading dooku: jedi lost — that his best friend in the world was a seer who couldn’t turn it off and it destroyed him……….. dooku you’re not getting him back if you just understand what he saw you know that right

- the more I read of master and apprentice the more I realize that the reason yoda and qui-gon don't get along is that they're two of the judgiest bitches the jedi order ever produced. They’re like two cats scowling judgmentally at each other from opposite sides of the room pretending to live and let live while going ‘you’re wrong tho’ internally.

- I dunk on him constantly (not entirely without affection, however grudging), but Qui-Gon is genuinely a really interesting character. He’s so… he’s so. He’s infuriating but he’s infuriating in an equidistant sort of way. You feel me. He’s pissing everyone off equally and he just doesn’t care because again, he’s the stubbornest judgiest bitch around and thinks he’s right all the time. I would be free to just enjoy his ornery ‘no actually I’m right about this’ ass and the chaos he wreaks so much more if Obi-Wan didn’t have to live with the emotional consequences of it lol.

- poor rael closing in on fifty with his puriteen middle-aged little brother clutching pearls about his getting laid once in a blue moon fhdskjahfas. again a really interesting insight into different ways of interpreting the jedi code, though, I love seeing the jedi not be an ideological monolith. to be fair to rael, having sex sometimes does seem to be the indulgence he has that causes the least conflict with his principles or loyalties so you know what honestly force speed you my friend why not. (and then there's qui-gon 'noooo sex is only okay if you're In Love (implied: like I was)!!!' jinn lmao. I wonder what he'd think of anakin and padme's relationship, would that pass the 'being sufficiently purely in love' test for him) I do like how consistently it’s shown that rael doesn’t mean to be cruel or unkind in anything he says, he always notices something landing too close to home and then pulls carefully back from it instead of pushing on. He seems to be the emotional intelligence powerhouse in this lineage (as long as he doesn’t have his feelings too tangled up in something, at least).

Dooku: jedi lost also shows us that dooku absolutely knows rael is out there in the galaxy laying pipe and is, at worst, softly amused by it. So in this little family unit it’s only qui-gon losing his mind over it fjsdkafa I’m so used to having qui-gon be the wild card maverick compared to obi-wan ‘*in tears* but what are the RULES master’ kenobi, it’s so fucking funny that within the context that raised him he’s the stick in the mud

I guess. the book also had a plot and it was not bad! some interesting insights about how the republic interacted with the big corporations and just how fucked everything already was by this point. I'm a pretty character-driven reader so that's what sticks with me for the most part

- obi-wan’s big teenage rebellion here being that sometimes. Occasionally. When he really loses his temper and gets hot under the collar. He’ll say something slightly passive aggressive out loud instead of keeping it contained inside his head. And qui-gon still can’t handle that gracefully AT ALL he snaps right back fdjskfhas. (I guess he also snitches on qui-gon to the council but well, you know, qui-gon was breaking republic law pretty brazenly at that point I think that moves beyond teenage angst and into ‘...master that’s a wholeass felony’ territory). Obi-Wan does go for a couple of low blows, but like. Nothing that’s not actually true, is the thing. And mostly he blames himself for not being good enough, because surely if he were qui gon wouldn’t treat him like this. Augh. hngh. Pain. suffering.

- I am not one of the people who think everything would have automatically been just hunky-dory if only qui-gon lived and could have been anakin's master (in fact I would have given it a 50/50 chance of going exponentially worse way faster; being more similar as people is not always a guarantee that a relationship will go smoother and qui-gon is an incredibly difficult man to be close to for any length of time), but the way this book basically presents how the dynamic between dooku, rael and qui-gon could have gone on in the next generation too... it would have been incredibly unfair to obi-wan (as always I think that's just an universal constant lmao) but I think the odds of it turning out okay would have been better if you had him in the mix to run crisis control for both qui-gon and anakin, as he does for each of them individually as best he can anyway. at least he could have been free to be anakin's brother and friend purely in that scenario, without all the added mess of grief and having to take on a parental role there so young. he does basically fill that role in ahsoka's apprenticeship, after all.

- qui-gon finally hugging rael before he leaves the planet (and especially since when they were younger he wanted to, but held himself back from it)... that's still his big brother even with all the shit that's happened since ;_____; when someone teaches you how to swim (literally and symbolically) that shit stays with you I suppose

Relatedly: DOOKU getting hugged, and gladly. What the fuck. Are you all seeing this shit. I’m gonna cry or laugh I’m not sure which one why am I emotionally invested in the galaxy's most problematic grandpa now this sucks

#and that's the power of star wars baybey #star wars #master and apprentice #obi wan kenobi #qui gon jin #rael averross #count dooku #star wars meta

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magerightsmagefights · 4 months

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Obsessed with the vibes of Durgetash being Old And Dear Companions. The meta has been walked again and again of their heisting days, of breaking into museums and the Hells and being amicable, if not downright friendly since the beginning. How they have always been each other's equals, perhaps the only ones who even can; they each seek power because it is who they are, they can do nothing else. But what two flowers bloom better together than blood and oppression? Which two beings twine closer together than the tyrant and the assassin? Their pursuits of power do not threaten one another, at least while they are so far away from the two incompatible goals of “Rule Everything,” and “Kill Everything.” Before the Everything, there is only “Rule” and “Kill.”

I’m obsessed with them meeting decades prior to BG3. When Gortash is fresh from the Hells, barely more than a clever teenager with enough ambition to crush Baldur’s Gate under his heel. A Bhaalspawn just realizing how to lead their Father’s cult, and how to balance a continuous supply of murder with keeping the cult anonymous. Obsessed with a hungry disciple of Bane courting attention from the very favorite of Bhaal, a move so brazen it borders on disrespectful. Obsessed with the Bhaalspawn admiring it.

A heist. A mysterious murder here and there. A fledgeling arms dealer using his newfound influence to cover it all up. One becomes a dagger, the other a shield, and together their goals are multiplied.

Obsessed with the previous Chosen of Bane taking issue with Gortash attempting to challenge them. Obsessed with a red, curved dagger appearing in their back not long after.

The idea of them reaching their full strength together, because of one another. The mutual gain is so obvious, the mutual trust wasn’t even a question. After the trust, the mutual warmth was only natural. I enjoy your company, because how could they not? Similar enough to understand one another more deeply than anyone in the world possibly could. Different enough that they do not threaten one another, so their differences are more like compliments.

Obsessed with the theme of true love overcomes all evil, because that warmth was like the sun, and they were two Icaruses thinking they were cruel enough to keep their friendship safe. The idea of true friendship being their corruptor. The idea of love dooming them from the first moment it fluttered.

The idea that when the Dark Urge fell from grace, Gortash didn’t merely lose a friend, but an Old Friend. Perhaps an old lover, an old partner, but always someone he had known long and well. Someone he could never replace, whose kind he would never meet again.

#bg3 spoilers #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #enver gortash #bg3 gortash #dark urge x gortash #gortash x durge #durgetash #the dark urge

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issylra · 1 year

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RE: this fucking gifset (beth you're trying to murder us all)

“You’re bleeding.”

Dream turns his head away from Hob. Away from his concerned eyes, the deep and unsettling concern reflected in them. He flinches as Hob’s fingers lightly touch his jaw, hesitation screaming through every movement, but Dream allows his face to be turned forward again. Lets Hob’s thumb dig into his chin to maneuver his face to the left, exposing the large gash on his forehead.

“Christ, Dream. Do I want to know?”

“I don’t need commentary,” Dream murmurs. The blood loss is affecting him more than he’d care to admit; he can hear how his words slur together. “Just discretion.”

Hob sighs and drops his hand. Dream exhales a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding as Hob steps aside.

Dream stalks forward. He hears the door shut behind them and finally collapses in Hob’s chair at his desk, sighing deeply and relaxing enough to let his eyelids fall.

“I don’t exactly have a first aid kit in here,” Hob says, stepping up to the desk. “You really thought coming to me, here, was the best option for this?”

Dream opens his eyes slowly, finding Hob standing above him, wringing his hands out in front of him. It’s almost funny, seeing Hob fret over Dream, despite the frustration in his tone. The worry exuded out of every pore in his body, down to the way he pulls a hand through his hair, longer now than Dream remembers.

“I had nowhere else to go.”

AHHHHHHH. You wrote something so fast. I love you, and this. The Vibes™️. And since the gif I left out weirdly goes with the fic:

#answered #valeriianz #dreamling #dream x hob #those patented valeriianz vibes #fic

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lavenderdreams205 · 4 days

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spn thoughts as requested

tw & spoiler warning

they should have kept the grungy filter and aesthetics from the early seasons

bring back the southern / midwest gothic vibes

dean would've listened to and loved 90's & 2000s grunge - I know that the whole "there's no good music past '79" is a key part of his personality but pre series/early seasons dean is soo nirvana / Weezer / smashing pumpkins coded

there is too much flannel in the later seasons - I miss the carhartt and leather jackets so bad

BRING BACK DEANS JEWELRY

there's so much about cas that we don't know. there's all the episodes where he just isn't there and they never tell the viewers what he's doing or where he went

on the same note, cas's personality isn't nearly as flushed out as sam's or dean's are. who is his favorite musician? what's his favorite place to travel to? why does he like the pimpmobile so much? does he actually like the trench coat or does he wear it just because it's there?

so many people characterize cas as a little guy, and while he is cute, it's important to remember that he's also an incredibly powerful eldritch horror who leads angelic armies and brands Michaels vessel just because

dean is bisexual and in love with cas - I won't take the time to list all of the reasons here, but you can definitely find those reasons somewhere

i would've loved for them to use the handprint as a physical manifestation of their bond instead of having it be just a scar that fades with time

i'm actually really ok with the way cas dies, I think it makes sense for his character and provides closure (for him, at least, not for dean)

the parallels of cas and dean meeting in a barn and then dean dying in a barn

cassie is deans first love, cas is his last

the imagery of the empty as cas's wings in 15x18

why do the subtitles spell cas as cass, its awful

there's a few lines in the early seasons that seemingly reference dean getting roofied / sa'd and are subsequently played for laughs, Jensen Ackles confirmed that dean would've done underage sw when John didn't leave them with enough money. I believe that this trauma is a major reason that dean never accepted his sexuality

the way deans alcoholism is overlooked and joked about is actually insane

having dean be completely ok after 15x18 is also insane, especially after the widower arc where the show specifically shows it's viewers how deeply dean grieves cas when he dies

deans death is literally so stupid. I get that the show is trying to make a really meta point about the characters not having plot armor anymore because chuck is gone, but dean deserved to find peace. if the events of the show had never happened and pre series dean had never gotten pre series Sam back into hunting it would've ended the exact same way - dean dead on a hunt and Sam dying from old age

dean spends as much time on earth as he did in hell, and while he would never be the same, I like to believe that if he had been allowed by the narrative to live longer he would've gotten back a little of the twinkle in his eyes that he had before hell

in 15x20 Bobby says that cas helped rebuild heaven but if he was there he would've gone to see dean. additionally, there's no way cas should have been able to escape the empty. this is such a glaringly obvious plot hole and it drives me nuts

I would've liked to see cas's wings in the show - not just the shadow of them

the only time I tolerate serious discussion of wincest is in the context of ethel cain

i am a Sam disliker - while he does have many positive qualities, I have a really hard time getting past him not looking for dean when he was in purgatory and him joking about deans alcoholism and other traumas

i like Sam the best when he's with Eileen, I think they're adorable together and I'm mad they killed her off

I am a chronic jack defender, that boy has done nothing wrong

it would be interesting to explore cas and jacks relationships with their respective genders

there's no way being forced to murder the dean clones didn't affect cas, we only saw him kill the last one but the first few he had to kill had to have been devastating

i'm really disappointed by 14x13 Lebanon, we get the scene with John and Sam but I would argue that dean has significantly more reasons to be upset with John and it's unfortunate that the episode just glossed over this - I believe a screaming match between the two would have cleared the air a bit and been at the very least cathartic for dean

i'm fairly sure that it's canonical that John sent dean away on his 17th birthday to kill lesbian ghosts. my personal hc is that John suspected that dean was bi and sent him to teach him a lesson

i saw a post on here comparing hunting culture to biker and cowboy culture and viewing those things through a queer lens and I thought it was fascinating - there's so much spn could've done if it cared about the show more than money and losing viewers

every time cas and dean beat the shit out of each other, it serves as further proof of their relationship rather than discrediting their relationship - ie demon dean and cas fighting in the library is used to parallel Cain and Collette. it could even be assumed that their love is stronger because Cain killed Collette but dean left cas alive

The purgatory love triangle was so silly

once dean worked through all of his trauma and toxic masculinity he would've been a swiftie

all of the main characters have old / vintage cars but in like season 13/14 dean sam and cas just collectively own and use this really ugly silver truck from the 2010s. its such a small detail but it absolutely ruins my viewing experience every time I see it

dean is actually really smart but most of the fandom overlooks it because Sam is characterized as the smart one. if you know anything about cars you know it takes an insane amount of brains to build a car from scratch (he did this with baby multiple times throughout the show) also he just makes an emf meter using basically nothing. if dean had been given the same opportunities he gave Sam, he would've been an engineer or something

i will always be a John hater, if this man has 0 haters, I am dead

#spn #supernatural #dean winchester #castiel #sam winchester #destiel #ethel cain #grunge aesthetic

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 4 months

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Reminder [Tim Rockford x f!reader]

Read on Ao3

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Merge Mansion ad (can't fucking believe this...)

Pairing: Detective Tim Rockford x you/cishet f!reader

Tags/Warnings: reader wears sexy lingerie but no description of body type, blowjob, deepthroating, workplace sex.

Summary: Tim Rockford works too hard, and too late. You have to remind him of what's waiting for him at home.

Words: 2,165

A/N: Y'all I am adding a new character to my menagerie of Pascal men! Dunno if I get Tim Rockford but I've been thinking about sucking his dick since I first saw him. He just has that vibe about him. Enjoy.

He is sitting astride a chair in front of a huge notice board filled with photos, notes, clippings, clues pinned to it, connected by red twine. The white shirt is straining to reach across his broad upper body. You remember a time when it had the shape of a V, now it's more of a U before connecting with the still narrow hips and flat ass.

You nod a thanks to the officer who let you in, and when he closes the door behind him, you lock it.

"Detective," you quip teasingly, but there's no response except a neck roll. He sighs deeply as he rubs his neck.

He's been working around the clock on this case. You avoid looking at the notice board, the pictures of bloody crime scenes, as you walk up to the chair.

"Tim," you speak softly, your hand landing on his shoulder. Tim twitches and looks up at you. It takes him a moment to recalibrate his brain to reality.

"What are you doing here? It must be like ten o'clock."

"It's past midnight, actually," you correct him with a wry little smile. He sighs again and takes your hand away from his shoulder, bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

"I'm sorry, my love, I'm gonna pull an all-nighter again."

You grunt. He knows what it means. You've been over this before.

He rises from the chair, moves it away before turning to you. He smells of stress and determination: smells that you know well. He's always like this when he's working a case. You don't like it, but you've grown to accept it.

He pulls you in for a hug, so fast that you almost stumble into him. His broad chest, the soft stomach with the buttons ready to pop. He refuses to go up a size for some reason. The shoulder holster, the gun at his side. Your hand slides away from it, not wanting anything to do with it, only wanting your soft man.

"I'll come home in the morning for a shower," he promises in a low whisper against your hair. "Have breakfast with you."

"No, you won't," you calmly point out. "You'll get terrible coffee and a bagel from the diner around the corner, and your stomach will be a mess by the time this case is solved."

Tim chuckles a little at that before seeking out your lips. He tastes of stale coffee, and sweet and sour pork; the flavors of a murder case unsolved.

"Go home, get some sleep," he tells you gently. "I'll call when I leave."

"Aren't you wondering what I'm doing here, at this hour?"

He blinks, like he's only now realizing what time it is, and that you're actually here.

"Is everything okay?" His hands come to your cheeks, and he searches your face. You cover his hands with yours, lowering them as you smile reassuringly.

"I'm good, Tim, nothing's wrong. But I knew you'd be working all night, and I wanted to bring you something."

His brows draw together when he waits for you to elaborate. You untie the belt around your waist, and button open your trench coat. His nostrils flare and his eyes widen when you reveal yourself to him.

You're only wearing a bra, lace panties, and stockings underneath. It's cheesy, but he likes it.

"I came to make sure you were okay," you purr, smiling at how he swallows hard, his glassy stare.

"Baby..."

"Just let me give this to you."

You undo his belt, knuckles brushing against the soft fat of his tummy. Tim exhales in a low sigh when the belt releases its hold of him. With heavy-lidded eyes, he gazes adoringly at you as you unzip his pants. Softly, he trails his hands along your sides, goosebumps rising in the wake of his touch. Your nipples knit, and his gaze drop to the stiff pebbles showing through the lace fabric of the bra.

"You're too good to me, baby," he sighs, and then his eyes fall shut as you slide your hand inside his pants. "Oh."

You cup his still soft cock through the underwear, stroke in carefully as you lean in to kiss him. His lips betray a hurry that's he's loath to rein in, but when his tongue tries to pry in between your lips, you pull away with a smile. Tim doesn't smile back, but stares at you with a drunkenness in his eyes, mouth open and begging to be kissed again. You lean back in and nibble at his full lower lip, cup his cheek with your free hand, and stroke your thumb over his mustache. His cock hardens against your other palm, and you encourage it with a firmer touch.

"Tease," he groans, hands landing on your hips, fingers playing with the waistband of your panties. A shiver runs through you.

"Takes one to know one."

You press your lips to his anew, and now your hand slips in under the worn elastic of the waistband. His cock jumps at the direct contact and your feel a patch of wet rub off on your hand. Your fingers close loosely around his cock, thumb smearing out the precum as your tongue plunges into his mouth for a hungry kiss. Tim's strong arms wrap around you, the smell of his sweaty pits hitting your nose but not in a repulsive way, instead you feel the crotch of your panties get wet, and your kiss turns more insistent. You suck his lower lip between your teeth, pull it out, and release it with a pop. Still holding his cock, you step back, pulling him gently but firmly to make him follow you. And Tim follows, hands reaching all over you, eyes burning with desire, lips swollen with kisses. You direct him to his desk and pull down his pants and underwear before giving him a little push to make him sit down. His cock is now as stiff as it can be, and you separate his legs, keeping eye contact as you kneel between his thighs.

"Oh, baby..." he sighs, surrendering to you with a pleading look on his face. "Baby, you're so good to me..."

"You deserve it," you purr as you nuzzle his cock, kissing its length, flicking your tongue at it. "You work so hard, you deserve to relax a little."

He moans again when you hand closes around the thick root of his cock. You trail your tongue up his length, ending with a soft swirl around the head, the glistening precum bringing a sharp taste to your mouth.

A few night shift officers pass by the door, but apart from that you can only hear the drone of the air conditioning, and Tim's heavy breathing which turns into an audible gasp bordering on a moan when you open your mouth and take his cock into your mouth. He breathes your name, looks down on you as you smile up at him, his cock in your mouth, one of your hands wrapped around the root, the other cupping his balls. He draws his fingers through his hair before dropping both hands to your head, petting it softly as you pop his cock out of your mouth and proceed to licking and stroking it. The low lights are casting shadows over Tim's face, but you can see his eyes, half closed and staring down at you in complete surrender. You squeeze the root of his balls firmly and are rewarded with a sharp hiss as Tim draws in breath.

"Sweet baby..."

Your cunt is heavy and warm, and your arousal starts to drip into your panties. The mossy, heavy scent rises to tickle your nose through the musk of your man, and you moan low as you suck the head of his cock before flicking your tongue at the frenulum.

"Fuck, oh God..."

Second that. You enjoy sucking his dick, always have. The different textures, the scent, the way it makes him twitch and curse and finally beg you. The sloppiness of it when you drool, the rush of adrenaline when you manage to take all of him, the tip bumping down your throat, Tim losing it when you massage his balls while letting him fuck your throat.

You draw a deep breath and swallow all of him, balls deep. Your lips shielding your teeth from grazing him, you immediately start to salivate, the pressure against your throat almost too much. You will yourself to calm down, to breathe through your nose as you know you can, and start to fuck him with your mouth. Your eyes fill with tears, and when you look up Tim, he brings a trembling hand to wipe away the first one that falls. You pull back, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his cock, and lean into his palm cupping your cheek.

"Don't hurt yourself, sweetness," he mumbles hoarsely. "You're doing so good."

"I can do it," you promise him.

"I know you can."

You devour him again, tongue pressing flat against the veiny underside of his cock, your eyes falling shut as you focus on the act, on breathing, on controlling your gag reflex. Tim's breaths come in choked groans above you, his fingers tangle into your hair, petting and gently pulling while he showers you with gratitude and praise. The cold linoleum floor is hard on your knees, but you don't let that hold you back as you do your best to blow Tim’s mind. The taste of cum grows stronger, and you press your fingers against his taint while still fondling his balls. That's his undoing: his balls twitch and you feel the length of his cock pulsate as he shoots his cum down your throat. You almost choke, so you pull back, coughing as the last of his cum splatters your chin and chest. He crouches in front of you, wobbles like his legs don't carry him, panting like he just ran a marathon, but still searches your face as you fight to find your breath through the coughing.

"I'm good, I'm good," you wheeze, but Tim doesn't stop his scrutiny of you until you've found your breath.

"Okay?"

"Okay," you nod, smiling breathlessly. He smiles back then, and heaves a big sigh.

"Goddammit, woman..."

"What?" You bat your eyelashes innocently.

"Look at the state of you. A pornographic mess."

He wipes his thumb over your slick chin and closes his eye with a deep exhale when you grab his hand and bring the thumb to your mouth, sucking hard.

"You'll be the death of me."

"What a way to go, huh?"

His chestnut eyes are warm when he opens them anew.

"I'd prefer to live for as long as I can, as long as you're in my life."

"I'm here," you reassure him, your hand coming up to his cheek, which has not seen a razor in days. He leans in for a kiss, licks at your lips and into your mouth where you share his taste with him.

He finally helps you up and tuck himself in before grabbing a couple of tissues for you from his desk. You wipe yourself clean, but when you're about to wrap the coat around you again, Tim stops you.

"What about you?" His eyes are like molten chocolate when he slides his hand inside your coat and brings you snug against him.

"What about me?"

"You're so wet I can see it through your trench coat, honey."

You chuckle. You should have known.

"Sweetheart," you tell him, languidly wrapping your arms around his neck. "If you wish to pleasure me, you have to come home."

"Oh, so only you can do dirty things to me in my place of work?" he grins, hands sliding down to your ass cheeks, barely covered by the lace.

"That's right, detective." You kiss the tip of his nose. "Gotta have something to bring you home."

"I do have that," he replies softly, touching his lips to your forehead. "I'll come home in the morning, I promise."

Before you can answer, there is a hard bang on the door, followed by a call:

"Rockford, we brought in your suspect!"

His countenance changes: his eyes turn sharp, his lips austere, his shoulders squared. He is no longer your Tim; now he's Detective Rockford.

"I'm sorry, I gotta go - "

" - and you won't be home for breakfast," you finish his sentence with a practical shrug as you straighten out his tie for him. "I know. Go do your thing."

He dips his face down to kiss you.

"I'll be home," he renews his promise. "And I'll bring bread rolls from that place you like."

You smile against his lips, his warmth spreading through your body, your cunt bottoming out at the thought of a slow morning with him.

"I'll hold you to that, Tim."

He brushes his lips over your cheek, his breath warm when he whispers:

"Keep that underwear on."

#tim rockford x you #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford fanfic #merge mansion fanfic #my fic

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heckling-hydrena · 2 months

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when it comes to trans dragons I literally don't know where to start because I just assign genders to these things based on vibes alone and like half of them end up nonbinary, but I present you with these 6 Beasts because their strong transgender power stood out to me as I scoured through my lair.

names + little lore snippets under the cut! content warning for internalized ableism (in regards to a fantasy illness) in the second to last one.

first we have Magdalene! she was a dream dragon for a long time and I was so happy when I finally got her. she was my avatar dragon for a good while. again I decided she was trans based on vibes alone but also the name of her skin is a SOPHIE reference (rest in peace legend ❤️) so like I couldn't not make her trans. she's a minor goddess of life in the most traditional sense. spring and flowers, that type of deal.

then there's Luci(fer) (yes she named herself that. people who hear her full name get confused when they find out that she's not associated with the deviltown demons.) she's a member of the blastpowder bandits and Monty's right hand. she's perceived as the Normalest of the group but that's mostly her inexpressive fae nature working in her favor for once. she loves bombs and explosions just as much as the rest of them, she just prefers making the bombs and then watching other people use them from the sidelines. she enjoys planning and organizing and just generally writing shit down. the type to always walk around with a notebook and pen in her hands like a little nerd.

Odessa... doesn't have much going for her lore-wise right now but she's in a shitty band with Bremen and Sandwaste called "Vengeful Desert Spirits Calling Your Name in the Night" (the like. 3 people who actually enjoy their music simply refer to them as Desert Spirits.) Odessa here plays the drums! in her enthusiasim she has accidentally launched multiple drumsticks at people (mostly Sandwaste.)

Omen is the world's Wettest Most-Depressedest private investigator. jazz noir music inexplicably starts playing when he's around. he has the ability to spontaneously manifest a glass of whiskey in his hand even though he doesn't drink. utterly incapable of solving any case that isn't some convoluted unsolvable 30 year old triple murder cold-case. weird charged energy with every suspect he talks to. permanent face of disinterest and a fucked right knee. a romantic at heart.

Cessair... is a very unhappy dragon. his mother is a very powerful combat mage who wanted a mini-me and someone to pass her knowledge down to. but Cessair couldn't be her daughter, and they couldn't be her successor. around when they were 15 they started showing the first sings of an illness that would end up rendering any attempts to externalize their magic very, very dangerous. he refuses to give up on magic, though. he thinks doing so would cement him as a failure and a disappointment to his family. they see their limitations as a personal failing and a weakness to be overcome, no matter the means or the cost, and leave their home at 19 in search of said means. he deeply craves community and companionship but his self-loathing and general dissatisfaction with his life make him snappy and standoffish. they will, eventually, find their happy ending, and learn not to push themself so far over their limits. but the road to get there will not be easy.

moving on from that downer, our final dragon(??) is:

One. well the guy this thing killed and stole the body of was trans and the shade doesn't really have gender so. diversity win!

#I had a period of time when I first got Cessair where I was thinking about him A Lot and I tried to reign it in so hard lol #flight rising #dragon share #fr trans

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definitelyunhingedagentphoenix · 5 months

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hey hye hey im back

(making this my second home)

grabs you by your neck

HAND OVER YOUR HANDLER HEAD CANONS OLEASE

Okay! Okay! I'll give you what you want!

Handler headcanons here we go.

So he is so soft. Like he only likes feel good movies. Romance, Disney movies, and ones with not a lot of conflict. He sees a lot of death on the job and just... Doesn't want to deal with that outside of work hours.

He does have a bit of a skewed sense of justice though. After years of working in the agency, the phrase "an eye for an eye" means something a little different. A little darker. He doesn't flinch at a gun shot, or his agents blowing things up. Enemies are more like a number on a spreadsheet rather than actual human beings.

But by God does this man care for his friends so deeply. When he found out about Roxana working for Zor, he wasn't just betrayed because it's his colleague working for his enemy. It was his family turning their back on him personally.

But he forgives just as easily.

He likes to pull pranks in the office on the good/slow days. He has been asked to stop. That's partly why REALLY cares for Agent Phoenix's antics. HE can't get away with things now that he's one of the big shots in the EOD but Phoenix can. And Phoenix DOES.

He has an immense love of animals and they love him back. They can sense his good vibes and flock to him like he's a Disney princess singing in the woods. He could literally go into the woods and see like 100 animals. He has pet a deer before. He has photo evidence. He loves to bird watch from his office.

Reginald has insanely good luck. There have been times that he disarmed a bomb completely by accident. Sometimes he swears that his good luck transfers to his agents when they're on missions. How else did Agent Phoenix manage to live all those times?

But that doesn't mean that every mission is a success. He's seen a lot over the years and goes to therapy regularly. At least as regularly as the job allows. He's in and out of the country just as often as his agents are so if he can, he'll do online therapy sessions.

He has to keep busy. He's not one to sit around and do nothing. He NEEDS to be doing something. So he has taken up just about every hobby that he can while in the office. Knitting, crochet, writing. He loves to write murder mysteries but everyone tells him it's so obvious who the killer is. He doesn't care. He writes them and leaves them in people's offices for them to read.

Anything he knits is also distributed through the EOD. He's surprisingly good at it, actually. People love getting a pair of mitts from him and scarves are fought over. They're really cute and have really cute designs on them. All of them have the EOD logo on them.

One time he knitted so many things that he decided to donate them and the shelter actually had no room for all of them.

Agent Phoenix does not admit to it ever but every time he makes them something, they keep it forever. If anything gets damaged while on a mission they lose their mind over it.

He wears Crocs unironically.

Can't cook to save his life. Has literally never turned the stove on in his house. It's there for show.

He always wanted kids but was told very young that he was unable to have kids. He thought about adopting but he was always so busy and his work was so dangerous that he never let that thought be anything more than that. A thought. Once he learns that Agent Phoenix has no family, he takes the role of father figure so seriously that he almost starts believing that he is Phoenix's biological father.

That's why it hurts him when he believes Agent Phoenix to actually be dead. He has never hurt more than the brief time after the Juniper incident when he thought Phoenix was actually gone. Nothing in his life had ever hurt that much.

#reginald crane #the handler #agent phoenix #i expect you to die #ieytd #ieytd 3 #dr. prism #zoraxis #dr. zor #ieytd2 #ask #personal

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kiwisbell · 8 months

Text

The Hitman's Guide to Getting the Girl: Chapter 8 (Conclusion) [dave york x f!reader]

It's just another job, until Dave York decides to kidnap an enemy’s wiseass daughter. It’s just another job, until he falls in love.

series masterlist

status: complete

chapter 8 summary: Being alive with you.

pairing: dave york x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings for entire fic: kidnapping, murder, violence, the world being horrible to women, reader having a very terrible sense of self-preservation, unprotected piv, oral sex (m and f receiving), dave york finding his second calling as a pussy-eating god, pining, possessive sex, jealousy, daddy issues, (stockholm syndrome?), dirty talk, actually filthy talk, hitmen and politicians, revenge, scary man with a soft spot for his woman, philosophical foreplay, tramp stamp worship (you'll see), a little sprinkle of breeding kink if you look hard enough, obsessive behaviour, anal fingering, anal sex, implied age gap, light dom/sub vibes, light bondage

tags and warnings for this chapter: breaking and entering, violence, murder, guns, light angst, minor burn injury, reader feels neglected, dave makes amends, pussy-eating god dave york, anal fingering, anal sex, lube, light bondage, light sensory deprivation, very protective dave, soft dave, unprotected piv (you know the drill besties), dirty talk, biting, the last of my pretentious literary references (for now), happy ending (it's me what do you expect)

word count: ~ 7.8k

i am deeply sorry for the delay on the very last chapter smh... i wanted it to be as good as possible for y'all and got caught up in my own head. nevertheless, here is the conclusion to THGTGTG, and i cannot thank those who have been reading this series enough for your love and support on every part. i could cry forever about you. and maybe i will!

chapter 8: one deep breath out from the sky

SEPTEMBER

There’s a storm outside tonight.

The warm breeze strips the leaves from the trees and scatters them from its palm with one strong heave of its lungs. The rain raps its knuckles on the windows, demanding entry, the thunder rolling from one end of the city to the other. Streets are washed clean with rainwater and the slick polluting oil by the river glimmers in the colours of the rainbow.

Dave lies awake on his back, his knuckles making idle, gentle patterns up and down your spine, keeping you close to him while you sleep. You lie on your stomach, half of your face buried in the pillow, your lips blissfully parted and your muscles relaxed under his touch. You're the picture of serenity, and he keeps his head turned so he can look at you.

One night, months ago, you kept him up, getting him to talk about his job in the Army, and his disillusionment with the real world when he returned home. He told you about lying on rooftops for days until his back peeled, and he told you about moulting, coming into his new skin every time he assumed a new position, a new country—each mission a brand-new way to discover things he hated about himself, and some things he liked.

Today, his ears remain fine-tuned to the slightest of sounds. It’s why he can hear the faint beeping in his open office from upstairs. A slow, rhythmic, high-pitched chirping that doesn’t stir you whatsoever from sleep, but that has his head whipping toward the direction of the noise.

Someone is tripping the security system.

Dave expertly slips onto his feet without disturbing the comforter, though you shift closer to the warmer side of the bed with a sleepy sound of protest. He mourns being forced to leave when all he wants to do is wrap himself around you, but the hair at the back of his neck prickles, and he chances a glance out the bedroom window, pushing it briefly open.

No cars parked outside that aren’t always there. Nothing amiss. Except—

The sound. He assigned a different alarm to each camera, memorised them all, mapped them in his head. Someone is breaking in through the garage.

He grabs a spare .45 from its hiding place in the walk-in closet and screws an Obsidian suppressor onto the end. If he can do this without waking you, that will be best.

Dave dresses quickly, sweatpants and a T-shirt, not bothering with shoes but slipping on some socks for added silence. Downstairs, all seems quiet. The lights are off, the doors locked, the driveway empty. But inside his office, the alarm trills away.

His gaze sweeps over each camera for slight movements, indicators of misplaced objects, but there is nothing. Or, rather, everything is as it was.

So who is in his home?

Too late to stop it, he hears another alarm trip.

There is no more adrenaline. His heart stops.

The upstairs window. He forgot to close it.

His bedroom window.

I’ve got no use for a world that doesn’t have you.

It rings true. Nothing has ever been truer. He can reach out for it and close his fingers around it.

Terror. This is what it feels like to be afraid.

The man comes stumbling down the stairs—stumbling, clumsy, because you’re putting up one hell of a fight. Dave watches in horror. This is, undoubtedly, triggering some old instinct in you, biting and scratching and kicking at the man who holds you across the shoulders, the barrel of a gun to your temple. You scream and you hiss, demanding things like Let me go and Fucking let go of me, you fucking sick bastard and Don’t fucking touch me and Dave is so horrified that he cannot move.

One cannot truly witness the past. But now, here, he is witnessing exactly what it is like to see you relive every one of those nights someone has stolen you from your bed and taken you away.

Some sick bastard broke into Dave York’s home and stole what is most precious from him. This is a transgression that can seek no repentance, find no grave but a plot made ready in hell. He feels himself scowling, raising the gun—

You draw first blood. Your teeth tear a chunk of flesh from his arm, and he howls, pushing you down the final three steps.

You don’t quite catch yourself right, landing hard on your hip, your head smacking hard against the tile. One look into your dazed eyes and Dave sees fucking red.

The man has the balls to point his gun at you, lying at the bottom of the stairs and attempting to push yourself upright, blinking hard. Your mouth is bloody, and you spit out pinkish saliva. His tiles run red.

“Pretty girl, York,” seethes Vincent Gallo, shaking out the arm you sank your teeth into. “Pretty and soft. Cameras don’t do her justice.”

This is it. Dave’s final conquest.

He promised himself long ago that he would not stop until Vincent Gallo was dealt with. He has committed the cardinal sin, after all.

All you’re wearing is a little silk nightgown, and you must be so cold lying on that floor. There’s a small trickle of blood on your temple and he worries about a concussion with the way you squint up at the man who’s holding the gun to your head.

“Fuck you,” you hiss, spitting another glob of bloody saliva onto his polished shoes. You may not be that hurt, Dave realises. “You fucking cunt.”

Gallo looks down at you for only a second, but a second is all Dave needs. He takes the shot.

It strikes wide; he’s afraid of hitting you. But it does its job: knocking Gallo off-balance, red spiralling outward on his shoulder beneath the crisp white shirt he’s wearing. Somewhere beside the bannister, his gun clatters to the floor, clip ejecting. He staggers down the stairs, and you kick out at him, screaming your vocal chords raw, primal and fucking fed up.

Because he’s smart enough to know that being in proximity to you offers a certain degree of protection, Gallo goes for you first: dragging you upright by your hair, putting your body in front of him.

You let out a soft cry, trying to grab for him, but he pins your arms to your sides, and all you can do is look helplessly at Dave, who no longer has a clear shot.

“Dave, just shoot the goddamn gun,” you say through your teeth, your eyes bleeding with tears as your captor yanks your head back.

“Shut the fuck up,” he spits. “Your boyfriend doesn’t get to come after me and my family without consequences. And you’re both going to learn that.”

“You don’t get to come after me without consequences,” you reply. “You should have learned that by now.”

“She’s right,” offers Dave. “You picked the wrong girl.”

Gallo sneers, pushing you right into Dave’s path as he drops his shoulder and tackles Dave to the ground. It knocks the wind out of him, sending him down hard, but Dave manages to hook his leg around the other man’s and turn them around, pinning his knee to Gallo’s femoral artery. His own gun is too far away to reach without letting the asshole go free.

“Baby, run,” grunts Dave, seeing you scramble to your feet out of the corner of his eye.

“No, baby, don’t,” mocks Gallo, baring his teeth as he brings his fist to Dave’s face. The blow catches him on the jaw, knocking his teeth together. Dave growls, digging his knee into Gallo’s thigh and making him seethe in pain, before throwing a punch to his face. Then another. Then another.

Knuckles split and well with blood. The tension in his shoulders eases with every blow that strikes home, relinquishing all his restraint and finishing the fucking job. He cannot speak. He cannot think. He only sees: the face he's studied for so long, the man who's eluded him for months, has arrived at his doorstep. In a way, Dave feels grateful.

Vincent Gallo has volunteered his life. Dave won't miss the opportunity to take it.

But Dave makes a mistake through his misty-red rage, glancing to the side to see where you've gone. To see if you’re watching him. Gallo thrusts his palm upward and bloodies Dave’s nose, using his new leverage to roll them over.

Gallo’s face is a pulpy mass of purple flesh and crimson and the shine of new bruises. His nose is crooked and he spits his own blood onto Dave’s face, snarling like a rabid animal. The last desperate, dying breath of a condemned man.

The fast, quiet thwip of a suppressed shot. Blood blooming on Dave’s shirt like a flower’s first awakening. Blood that does not belong to him. It's warm. Sticky. Will forever stain.

Gallo slumps over, his face ashen, his grip on Dave’s collar slackening. You drop the gun like it’s on fire.

Your eyes burn and shed tears that turn black. Your trembling hand goes to your mouth, but you only smear the Italian’s blood across your face.

Dave gets to his feet and picks up the gun you dropped. He gently cups your face, urging you to look at him. “Sweetheart,” he says softly. “It's over.”

“I…” You point vaguely in Gallo’s direction. “Did I kill him?”

This will not do.

“No.” Dave turns his head, fires the gun, and shoots the man’s brains through the back of his neck. “I killed him.”

“Oh. Good.”

Your eyes are a doe’s, wide and mortified, pupils pinpricks despite the low light. “Dave, my head hurts. I didn't realise it until now, but it fucking hurts.”

“Baby, I know.” He gently guides your head to the side and examines your wound, wincing at the sight of your blood flowing from your temple. “We’re gonna take a drive, okay? Get you some help.”

“Hospital?” you wager.

Not a fucking chance. Hospitals prioritise humanity; he needs to go somewhere that will prioritise precisely whom he chooses. No questions.

Gravely, he shakes his head. You sigh through your nose and squeeze his hand. “I didn't think so.”

He lifts your joined hands. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Don't be an asshole. I need my beauty sleep, Dave York, and it's two in the morning.”

Outside, the storm quiets, the time between the lightning strikes and the thunderclaps stretching wide. “You're the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he says, “even bloody.”

You roll your eyes and apparently regret it, grasping Dave’s arm. “Okay,” you say weakly. “But I’m napping on the way.”

He’s not going to let you fall asleep, but he nods, wordless, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You did so well, sweetheart. Did exactly what you needed to.”

Your eyes flutter shut and you let yourself breathe in the scent of iron and cologne. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

NOVEMBER

It starts when you unleash your temper on Dave for the first time.

For the past couple months, you've been working with your publicist and agent to sort through the multitude of presses asking for interviews and your lawyer to discuss disputing your father’s will. Not much has moved; all you've managed to accomplish is effectively withdrawing public support. He still has toes in many different ponds that don't rely on goodwill or reputation. But it's something.

You've been tired, irritable, and on top of that, planning a wedding. It's no wonder that you're mad when a week passes and Dave hasn't fucked you.

Your body is humming at a low frequency of restlessness, unable to stay still for long between meetings. Dave has been working around the clock, shut away in his office or out spying on some assholes who may want him dead. When he is home, he misses meals, neglects sleep, and rarely emerges from behind his office door to give you a glimpse of him.

Last night, you poked your head inside his office with your whiteboard held up for Dave to read. DINNER? it read.

He just shook his head and looked down, returning to his books while on the phone with Kovac or Ari or both. You sat alone at the long dining table and poked the food around your plate until it was cold.

You tried to understand. You really tried. He's a busy man and he's working hard to keep you safe. He's trying to be good to you, and sometimes, he gets caught up in his own head trying to fix things.

But you're nothing if not needy when it comes to Dave, and his constant rejections are beginning to sting.

You sent Barry home for the night so you could try your hand at a new recipe. You stir a little bit aggressively under the guise of trying not to burn the garlic, your knuckles taut around the spoon. You're on the phone with Kelly, your planner.

“I don't think peonies are going to mesh well with lilies. The shapes will clash.”

Staring into your bubbling risotto, watching the colours bleed into one another, you hum a faint Uh-huh.

“And as far as colour, it's best to stick with white, but we’ll put some blush pink in to match the rest of the palette.”

“Mhm.” The risotto is beginning to thicken, puffing up like a pastry, close to the rim of the pot. You register it but keep stirring, pouring in the white wine and taking a swig for yourself.

“We have bridesmaids’ dresses on order from Fran’s, and the piano player is requesting a list of selections.”

“Good, good.”

You blink hard as a stinging pressure builds behind your nose. The gentle roiling of the substance in the pot smells sharp enough to prick at your tear ducts. Your eyes feel dry and your back aches.

It is decidedly not risotto. Risotto is thick and creamy and this is browned, burnt, boiling over. You can only watch with tears brimming as it spills onto the burner and whisper a broken, “Talk to you later, Kelly,” into your phone.

Some of the boiling liquid spills onto your leg and you stagger backward, staring through blurred eyes.

“Shit,” says a voice behind you.

Dave is here, quick to shut off the element and guide you away from the stove. “Jesus, baby, what the hell are you doing?”

He notices the burn on your leg first, dropping to one knee at your feet and frowning deep. “Fuck.”

You sniffle. “Reminds me of when you proposed.”

Dave squeezes your hip as he examines the flesh for any signs of blistering. “Yeah?”

“You told me I was beautiful,” you say weakly, your throat tightening, “and you said that… that life was a bad fable before we met. Because I was the first person who taught you anything worthwhile about living.”

Dave swallows thickly, dropping his forehead to your thigh. “Yeah,” he says gruffly.

“You made me take off the ring just so you could put it on yourself,” you croak. The tears are close now. “Now you do the same thing every morning.”

Dave seems to know where this is going, his hands gently rubbing up and down the back of your leg. “Yeah, baby. I do.”

Your bottom lip wobbles and you stare at the ceiling like it's going to close the floodgates. “You didn't do it this morning.”

Dave swears into your skin, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. “Why?” he demands. “Why didn't I do it?”

“Because you were gone when I woke up.”

“Why are you cooking dinner?” he asks.

“Because I needed a distraction.”

Dave shakes his head, holding onto your leg like it's grounding him in the earth. “Why?”

“Because you're my husband,” you say softly, your chest burning and your throat pushing on your vocal chords, “and you haven't been around.”

“And?”

“And I’m planning our wedding alone.”

Dave squeezes your thigh, like you're getting somewhere. “You gonna burn down the kitchen to get my attention?”

“It worked, didn't it?”

“Sweetheart.” He looks up at you, eyes honey-gold under the warm chandelier. It’s desperation. It's guilt. “You're mad,” he rasps. “Be mad.”

Your chest trembles and your breaths come out heavy, and you're sobbing, sinking to your knees, letting him pull you onto his lap and wrap your legs around his hips, your arms around his neck. Hands caress your back, up and down, shifting the fabric of your nightgown. You cry.

Wedding. Your father. Vincent Gallo. Cameras and flashing lights and shutters. The quiet hum of night. The too-loud press of daytime on your ears. The fear and the terror and the needles they inject you with. Sunlight. Wax wings. You've been flying too close. You fall, wrapped up in his arms, shedding the extra weight from your back and breathing in. Out. In. Out.

It isn't always about the next victory. It isn't about chasing the next deal, burying the next body, screwing over the next associate. It isn't about flying, and it never has been. Neither of you have seen it until now.

It's about this. The cold kitchen floor and the scrape of his buttons against your belly and the warm, rough hands on your back. It's about your twin heartbeats, lazily encircling one another. It's about the tears soaking his skin, hot and salty, his mouth on your temple. It's about the burning risotto on the counter.

It's about the life you've made with him. The life you're going to make. The matching bands you’ll wear. You and him.

“Fuck you, Dave York,” you whisper, “for missing this dinner, and for all the dinners you’re going to miss.”

He nods, his fingers tracing every one of your vertebrae on the way up. Encouraging. Begging. He wants you to be angry with him. So you will.

“Fuck you for leaving me alone all week to plan our wedding, for locking yourself up in your office all day and night, for forgetting to put my ring on my finger. Fuck you for neglecting me.” Your restless stomach begins to settle as you inhale the scent of him for the first time all day.

Dave’s mouth trails downward until he finds your jawline. You can feel his lashes tickle your cheek. “I’m your husband,” he says. “It's my job to be good to you. I haven't been good to you, baby.”

You huff, clutching him tighter to you. You’ve missed the feeling of his strong arms around you, his broad chest pressed against yours. “Masochist,” you mumble, the anger slipping into your pocket, muffled and subdued in the wake of your need for closeness.

“Yeah, I am,” he says, his hand cupping your cheek. “Tell me what else.”

“I burned my risotto,” you sniffle. “I can't cook for shit.”

Dave wipes a tear away just as it falls from your lashes. On your lower back, you feel his thumb circling the sun of your tattoo. “I know you've got one more in you,” he says softly. “Give it to me.”

You give his chest one feeble shove and push the rest of your anger into him. It fizzles into the air and evaporates. “I’ve had to touch myself all week, and I haven't been able to come.”

He nods, sucking your anger into his bone marrow, assuming control of it, savouring its citrusy taste. His hands cannot grab enough of you, cannot pull you close enough, cannot abscond with the guilt. He will swallow it down and let it bloom in his stomach. He will mend your wounds and grow flowers on the rot. He will take every blackened piece of you that resents him and replace it with sunlight.

He wants to see honey pouring from his fingers when he touches you. He wants to crawl into your velvet skin and warm it from the inside-out.

You should never know what it tastes like to know pain, and he has put the rotting fruit directly between your teeth.

“Have you missed me?” he whispers, pushing it into you, his nose crushed against your throat, his lips leaving scorch marks. Every touch electrifies; you never want to forget how it feels to be this near to him.

You nod your head, threading your fingers through his tousled hair and fixing him to you. He expels a puff of air from his lips, like the first gasp after breaching the water’s surface, and between your bodies, his cock begins to swell against your belly, trapped in his pants. It’s how you realise he’s missed you just as much.

“I’m supposed to treat you nice.” He kisses your neck, the hollow of your throat, urging your chin upward to give him better access. “I’m supposed to make you happy, keep you warm, kill for you.”

“You have killed for me.” Your voice has softened, mellow and still crackling with the aftermath of your meltdown.

“It’s not enough,” he says, gently pushing his palm into your back so your hips roll along his. “You should never lift a finger to keep yourself satisfied. That's my job. I haven't been doing my job, sweet girl. And you're not going to let me off the hook.”

You gasp at the feeling of his hardness on your clit, barely clothed in a scrap of pink lace. Grasping his shoulder, you begin to grind against him, seeking your own pleasure, assisted by his guiding hand.

Dave looks up at you, your lidded eyes and your parted lips, cursing himself for how long he's let this go on. He's been consumed by tracking the remaining Gallos, obsessed with their every move as they go about their business, chasing their destinations before they arrive there. He's being proactive. He's ensuring nobody tries to come after him for revenge.

Despite all he’s done, Dave York’s greatest crime is neglecting his own little green patch of paradise. He's twisted the apple from the tree and left you to assume the weight of the fallout. But he is no Adam.

Your face is buried in his neck as you grind on his erection, making yourself feel good, taking out all your frustrations on his body while he ensures your needy clit gets all the attention it deserves. He watches his crotch gradually darken as you rub your wetness onto him, his teeth grinding for a taste of you. All indication he gives you of his desire is a rhythmic pulse of his hands on your hips.

“Is this enough for you, baby?” he asks, nibbling your earlobe. “Can you come like this?”

You whimper, your shoulders tense under his touch as he slides his hand between the blades. “Need you. Need you inside me. Want you to stretch me out on your big cock.” Your teeth tease his throat and he grunts, bucking up instinctively against your clit. “Wanna be your good girl.”

He knows precisely what your body is telling him, the way you melt into him, wiggle your hips down on his erection. “Wanna forget?” he says. “Wanna let go, sweetheart?”

You pull away and look into his dark eyes, the tick of his jaw, the uncompromising way he holds you firm against him. “Am I a fable?” you ask, cupping the back of his neck, your voice sweet and soft.

He drops your forehead down to his. “You’re more than anyone has words for.”

Language does not suit you. Language diminishes and classifies. It cannot identify the radiance that he sees emitting from you, nor the precise colour of your eyes.

“Not even Icarus?” you whisper, your voice breaking into a half-sob, half-mirthless laugh. “Not Sisyphus? Not Anne or Persephone?”

“Those are stories,” says Dave. “We don't need stories.”

“Because this is real?” Your hands, warm and soft on his skin, sunspots.

He takes your hand and removes your engagement ring, only to slide it back onto your finger.

“Because this is real.”

Your lips ghost over his, resting his restraint. “Then take me to bed, and make it up to me.”

The lights are off in the bedroom. He flicks on the lamps on the nightstands because he wants to see the light shift over your body. Dave begins slowly, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows and yanking his tie loose, backing you toward the bed.

He hums when he crowds your space, dipping his head to inhale your sweet perfume and pressing soft kisses to the unwavering warmth of your skin. Your collar bones jut out as your breathing shudders, your heart kicking up at his gentle treatment.

“So soft,” he murmurs, mostly to himself, hands bunching the fabric of your little nightgown. His lips leave warm imprints on your throat, your shoulders, soothing the tension in your bones and letting your body deflate. Closing your eyes, you roll your head back to let him litter your neck with kisses. “So beautiful. Should never have let you go alone so long. Should be fucked properly, every goddamn day.”

You moan softly when he sucks at the spot under your ear, and Dave puts his hands on your lower back, steadying you while he walks you against the bed. Your knees hit the edge and nearly give out, but he's there to catch you. “Arms up,” he says. You obey, your nipples stiff through the silk, your body shivering as Dave lifts the shift over your head and exposes your body to the cool breeze blowing in through the open window.

“Do you want control tonight?” he asks you. He's gazing down at you, eyes black with desire, withheld action. You shake your head, and he smirks, his hand cupping the back of your neck. “I know, sweet girl. I know what you need. Hold out your hands.”

He lifts the tie from around his neck and slips the fabric around your wrists. Twice, three times it loops, until you can't pry your hands apart, and Dave gives them a gentle tug. “On the bed,” he says.

Obedience shapes your stride, your eyes liquid, pretty pink panties blooming with a dark wet spot. You shuffle backward on the mattress with your hands bound in front of you, kneeling with your knees tucked beneath you. Dave admires the picture for a moment, removing his watch, his shoes, setting the silver Cartier band on the nightstand. You glow in this light, flushed with arousal and want and the slight desperation that accompanies a week without sex. His perfect, beautiful, spoiled girl, tied up like a gift all for him. But this time, it’s not about him.

Rubbing your thighs together, you watch him stalk his way around the bed, your body gently leaning toward him. Subconscious: the pull toward him. Your need is becoming fierce, hot and tight in your stomach, tensing your body. He stares, tilting his head to the side. A sculpture of marble, carefully moulded to impeccable likeness. He will smooth over the accumulated cracks, restore the vision, preserve you for centuries to come. People will write stories, paint murals, compose music. All will sing the song of you.

He’s at your side now, clicking his tongue and giving you more directions. Arms up, pretty girl. Hold onto the headboard. You follow, your body stretching out like a lounging cat, and he loops the remaining fabric of his tie through the slats. He checks in (Too tight?) and you can only lick your lips, push out your chest: Please touch me.

Dave hums in acknowledgement, kneeling on the bed between your bare legs and lifting your ankle to his mouth. The soft kisses to the bone make you shiver. There is no reprieve from his gaze; it captures you from all corners of the room. He gets off on holding all the power. You know he does, the bastard. But it feels so good to let your body melt into the mattress, no longer in charge of your own pleasure, giving him the space he needs to make amends.

Dave York apologises with his body. You can forgive with yours, too.

You sigh, your eyes drooping, as he leaves open-mouthed kisses all the way up your leg, hooking it up over his shoulder when he gets to the soft, sensitive flesh of your inner thigh. “Mmm,” you manage, the press of his lips somehow more vibrant without the reciprocity, without your hands greedily grabbing for him. He’s indulging, tasting you the way he hasn’t in a week, closing his eyes as his teeth graze your veins. You’re sweet and honeyed and he’s so fucking stupid for letting himself get consumed by anything else.

He buries his face so fully into the meat of your thigh that it crushes his nose, and you gasp at the feeling of him sucking the blood to the surface. “Dave.”

He grunts, nipping his way to your pussy, clothed by a wet little scrap of lace. “Close your eyes,” he murmurs, rubbing his nose against your thigh, imparting his scent once more.

Whimpering, you shake your head. You want to see him eat your pussy, his big brown eyes as he locks them to you. But Dave bites your thigh and you squeak. “Don’t make me blindfold you, sweet girl.”

Reluctantly, you squeeze your eyes shut, suppressing the pull to disobey, to watch. Dave’s mouth does not find your pussy right away. He starts over again, kissing all the way down your other leg. You make a halfhearted noise of bewilderment, and he shushes you, ignoring the insistent dig of your heel into his back and continuing to make you squirm.

Once his warm, wet mouth finishes lavishing attention on your other thigh, he departs once more, earning a frustrated whine of his name. “Mmm, needy,” he says, watching the way you push your tits toward the sound of his voice, your hips canting toward the press of his mouth. Dave sits back on his haunches between your thighs, caressing your hips as he admires the faint sheen of sweat on your body from all your fruitless exertion. “Being such a good girl, keeping your eyes closed like I told you, even though you’re mad at me.”

“Please, honey,” you beg, trying to pull him closer. “Baby, please. Let me feel you.”

Fuck, he's missed this. He’s missed your pleas, your soft body wrapped around him, the world outside dissipating to white noise. He's missed being called things like honey and baby when neither of them should apply. He's missed being your pleasure.

You tug against your restraints as Dave lowers himself in front of your pussy, a long, low whine escaping your mouth. “Just a taste,” he says, as if to himself. His hands squeeze your thighs, and his eyes flicker up toward you, your gaze still shuttered. “Just let me kiss it better.”

You writhe when he licks your clit through your panties, tasting the tang of the wet spot. “Nnnh,” is vaguely what he hears from your lips.

“Let me taste you, sweet girl. Just relax. Make you feel good.” He hooks his finger in your panties and pulls them aside, licking a slow stripe through your slit. You shudder, resisting the urge to open your eyes.

You're so fucking wet, so warm and supple under his tongue, that he grinds his hips into the mattress to relieve the ache in his pants. Jesus, he’s a real asshole for neglecting this all week. He thinks about you touching yourself until you cry out in frustration and fall asleep unsatisfied, alone, and he hates himself. He’s jealous of your fingers for touching what he hasn't. Fuck—this is his job. This is his calling.

Dave wraps his arms around your thighs, securing them over his wide shoulders, keeping you spread open for him. You can’t escape this way, though you make an effort to wriggle your hips under his mouth. He doesn't let you, splaying his palm over your lower belly. The pressure sparks white on your eyelids.

Dave licks you again, building the delicious tautness in your core, his tongue slow and assured. He takes his time, knowing you can't touch him, guide him, grab his hair. Seeing your body like this has him leaking into his pants: your tits pushing out as your chest heaves, your eyes closed and your head tossed back, wrists bound to the headboard. Your engagement ring shimmers whenever you flex your hands. There is no belonging for Dave if it isn’t here, between your legs.

His tongue eases your folds apart until your pussy is slathered in his saliva, your needy pearl awaiting his attention. He groans at the sound of your soft moan when he presses a kiss to your clit. Dave leaves your mouth, velvety and pitiful. Please…

His dick twitches in his pants and he delves instinctively, holding you tighter, sucking your clit into his mouth. You cry out sharply, the pleasure striking your bones. Your heart is skittering and your hips ache, and there is no reprieve from the way he fixes his mouth to you, willingly drowning in your body.

His hands feel like they're everywhere. Hands tied and eyes closed, your remaining senses are notched up high, his fingers on your skin prickling the hair at the back of your neck, his cologne poisoning your blood, the languid drags of his tongue resonating all the way up to your brain. Dave’s hand leaves your belly and slides up to your breast, kneading you like dough as he crushes his nose to your clit and licks into your hole.

“Oh! Fuck!” Dave pinches your nipple, tasting you deeply and leisurely. Your brows are drawn together in the middle, your lips parted around his name or total gibberish. Panting, sweating, begging—

His shoulders surge forward, your thighs bending back toward your chest, and you feel something prod your hole. You gasp, feeling him breach your entrance, collecting your wetness onto his fingers. He grunts against your clit when you clench around him, but he doesn't stay inside your cunt for long.

“Dave!” you cry out as you feel his finger circle your puckered asshole. “Oh, my…”

“Shhh, baby,” he murmurs, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your clit. “Gonna make you feel good.”

His deep, rumbling voice helps you relax, your body melting for him. You’re safe in his hands. He’s good to you. He always will be.

You choke at the first intrusion, your heels digging into Dave’s back as his finger stretches you out, lubricated by your own wetness. He rears back slightly to watch himself push inside you, only to spit a glob of saliva straight onto your asshole. You mewl like a goddamn cat and the sound goes straight to his dick.

He shuffles onto his knees and hastily unbuckles his belt with one hand, shucking it off and away so he can pull out his hard cock. Your hand bucks against the finger that’s opening up your asshole, the sound of the metal belt buckle hitting the floor striking your skull.

“Open your eyes,” he says, easing you onto your side and hauling your leg up against his chest. “Watch me take you like this.”

You blink your eyes open, blinded briefly by the spots of yellow lamplight, only to find him looming over you, two fingers now stuffing your asshole and his leaking dick resting on your puffy clit. “Please,” you sob, “fuck me. Fill me up, Dave, please. I need it so badly, I’ll die.”

“Oh, baby,” he coos, guiding the head of his cock through your wet slit, coming away glistening. “My poor spoiled girl. Hasn't been touched for a week. I’ll touch you enough for a fuckin' lifetime. Now, behave for me, and scream.”

Your fingers flex as he slips the head inside you, and you hide your face in your arm, biting your own flesh. Dave growls, displeased, guiding his hips forward until he’s balls-deep inside you. Your resulting moan pitches high, your stomach tensing as if you're trying to keep him inside, keep him flush to you the way he is now. Dave’s fingers slowly thrust inside your ass at the same pace, establishing rhythm. You can't breathe. You can't think.

“Look. At. Me,” he says through gritted teeth, his hips punching hard into your thigh with every thrust, kissing your womb with your leg lifted high on his chest. “You look at me when I fuck you.”

You choke on your moans, your body shifting up the bed as he takes you hard and deep, struggling to meet his gaze through your bleary eyes. But he seems satisfied, enjoying the cock-drunk look on your face, baring his teeth and grinding deep inside your cunt.

“Yeah, baby, you like that,” he says, keeping your ass nice and stuffed with two fingers, filling you the way you deserve to be filled. “You like having both your holes filled, hmm, pretty girl? You like me stretching out your tight little ass?”

“Ngggh, yes! Yes! Oh, God, it feels so good!” You curl your fingers around the headboard. “I’m so close, I’m… you're gonna make me…”

He knows—can feel the pulsing rhythm of your pussy trying to suck him deeper, the instinct to pull the cum out of his balls. “Get my dick nice and wet, baby. Gotta keep it warm inside your tight ass. Come for me.”

His filthy words have your eyes rolling back, your leg kicking out as you come, fucked sideways and held up only by his hands and the tie around your wrists. He groans at the feeling of how tightly you squeeze him, your thighs trembling around him, soft flesh giving way to pleasure, to his touch. He fucks you gently through it, letting you come down, your asshole suffocating his fingers while your pussy soaks his length

“Thaaaat’s it,” he says, littering kisses all over your calf, wherever he can reach. “My beautiful girl.”

“It feels so good,” you whimper, wiggling your hips against him. “‘m so full.”

“That's right,” he says softly, giving your inner thigh a playful smack. Your body jolts, butter under his touch. “That what you needed, honey?”

“More, please,” you croak. Dave’s heart knocks against his ribs at how fucking sweet you look; eyes pleading, sweat glistening on your brow, lips forming a cute little pout that has him following your orders without thinking.

He pulls out of you, hard cock still bobbing, coated in your juices, and gently removes his fingers from your asshole to open the nightstand for the lube. When he’s behind you again, Dave shucks off his shirt, now stained with the efforts of his exertion, and manhandles you onto your knees.

You squeak, your chest dipping until it's smushed into the mattress, unable to hold yourself up thanks to your bound hands. Dave admires the shape of your back as it bows, bending over you to nip at the tattoo between its dimples.

The cool sting of the lube on your tight hole has you squirming, but Dave runs his hand up and down your hip while the other spreads the gel around your rim, dipping three fingers inside once more to keep you spread wide.

Here's the problem: Dave is big. His girth is impressive and his length equally so, ridged with veins, curved slightly to the left when it gets hard. Now that it is hard, you get a little worried that he won’t fit—and then you get more than a little determined to make sure it fits.

“Relax,” he says into your skin, kissing your tattoo before he rises, removing his slick fingers from your ass. You try, closing your eyes and focusing on the gentle caress of your hip, but when the tip prods your hole and wrenches it open, forming a tight seal that’s as unrelenting as it is pleasurable, you gasp, gooey and clicking with drool. He’s much, much bigger than three fingers.

“Oh, God.”

“I know, sweet girl. I know it’s big. Breathe, nice and slow. You’re gonna feel so good. Gonna fuckin’ beg for it.”

His hand smooths over your back, your tattoo, now your ass, spreading your cheeks apart so he can watch himself disappear inside you. The sound that comes from your throat is strangled, and Dave isn’t much better, chest heaving, temple dripping with sweat, restraining himself to avoid hurting you. But—

“You’re so fucking tight,” he says through his teeth, slapping your ass just to get some of his own frustration out. “Fuck, baby. You were fuckin’ made for me.”

“Mmmmm,” you say, your body keening, ass pushing against him and back arching. “Fuck me like you mean it, Mr. York. Make it up to me.”

Dave York does not back down from a challenge, not when it comes from your mouth. “Mrs. York,” he murmurs, grinding his hips against your ass. “Tell me you love me.”

“Earn it,” is your reply.

He fucking will.

Dave pulls halfway out of you and fits himself back in, earning a gurgled moan from your mouth, half-hidden into the pillows. He’s not going to last long like this, but he has never once come before you during sex, and he will not earn your forgiveness by starting now. Not that you’re making it easy, the way your tight asshole squeezes him, sucks him in, begging to be filled.

My back is gonna fucking smart tomorrow, he thinks, snapping his hips hard against your ass and holding you fast to him, impaled on his dick. You’re dripping onto the mattress beneath you, and you only know this because you can feel it dribbling down your own thighs. Dave fucks you like an animal in heat, his legs bracketing your hips, one strong arm sliding around your front to keep you supported as the rest of you crumbles.

“Tell me how it feels.”

You have heard this many times before. It’s how he checks in, gauges your comfort, makes adjustments as necessary. Only, now, you can’t speak for long enough to tell him; your teeth are bearing down on the bed sheets, your nose crushed to the mattress, the delicious drag of his cock inside your tight hole so blissfully overwhelming that speech flees your tangible skills.

You don’t even care that you can’t touch him. All you seek now is ruin.

The tone of his voice, soft and dark as the roll of tires over the road at nighttime, spills down your spine. “Oh, baby. Want me to fuck you stupid? Is that what you want, sweet girl?” Wordlessly, you nod, managing not even a whimper. Dave licks his teeth, his fingers as your clit, and begins to pound you so hard that the bed rocks.

It’s so good that nothing matters except for your orgasm. You get selfish and greedy and your cunt closes around nothing, your asshole gaping and accommodating the thick fucking cock inside, your fingers flexing uselessly, wrists bound, for a taste of something to grab when it finally happens.

You gasp, choke, swallowing stones, dirt, linen, too much, harder, cologne, you’re coming, it’s too much, Dave, cool night breeze, heralding fall, open windows, I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m—

You cannot tell if your orgasm ends at all, or if he’s pulling more, more, from your body, but he begins to come, too, and it doesn’t matter because fuck, it feels so good. You feel every pulse of his cock as it pumps, pumps, pumps, filling you up, Dave growling like a fucking bear above you. Hips buck into your ass even though he cannot physically push any deeper, and his teeth sink into your throat as his body covers yours. It’s clear he needed this orgasm, too, and you take it happily, his hot cum shooting into your used asshole and none of it spilling over the tight seal that connects your bodies.

He collapses on top of you, rapidly frees your wrists from their confines, then heaves himself off to the side, his mouth on your shoulder all the way along, his big arm tucking around your waist. He keeps his cock tucked inside you, spilling its last few drops, pulling you both onto your sides, your back meeting his sweat-slick chest.

You toy with his fingers while his nose carves a path from your throat to your jawline, his mouth following. “I love your hands,” you whisper, your voice too raw still. “Love watching you write and type. They look so good inside me.”

“Fucked you stupid,” he declares, burying his face in your neck. You can feel the gradual ebb of his heartbeat against your back as he relaxes using your body. “You feel okay?”

“I feel really fucking good,” you tell him, letting your head rest against the pillow. “And I do love you.”

Dave gently nibbles your throat as if in reproach. “Don’t go forgiving me because I made you come,” he says grumpily. “Gotta earn it, remember?”

You reach back and scratch your nails against his scalp, which has him melting into you, sounds of idle pleasure leaving his pouty mouth. “Love isn’t a transaction,” you say. “It’s love because it’s a little bit unruly. I’m always going to love you, even when you fuck up. It’s about you loving me enough to make sure it never hurts for too long.”

“Hurting you,” says Dave, squeezing your fingers, “is not in the cards for me.”

His destiny is the opposite.

“You are never going to get complacent in this marriage. Do you understand me?” You thread your fingers through his and let him rub circles over your diamond ring. “If there is something you have to fix, you’ll tell me. This isn’t a guardianship. It’s a partnership.”

Dave nods, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “I promise, baby, to earn your love every single day. And I promise to bother the shit out of you constantly, even when you don’t want me around. I’ll follow you around like a puppy dog.”

You laugh, tugging on his hair. “We’ll work on it.”

DECEMBER

He’s searching through his desk for a file he needs to send Kovac, a bit frantic and frustrated because he’s got a date, and of course the file fucking disappears thirty seconds before the cars pulls up outside.

As he rifles through old documents, his peripheral catches something he tucked away long ago. Eyeing the list of crossed-out names, Dave trails his finger down each one, smirking. A job done. Another, and another—

He pauses. He most certainly did not make that pen mark; it’s a straight line of hot pink ink over the very last name of the list.

Dave York.

“Honey? Are you ready?” calls a sweet siren’s voice from the other side of the door.

Dave drags his finger across the name. The ink has been dry for a long time.

He shuts the desk drawer and leaves without the file he needs. It can wait.

He’s got better things to do.

THE END.

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