#like i know that its a fuckin hell site

[waloeders]

i spent most of this evenin doin my neocities page but tbh its coming on so well im not even mad about it

#jupiter.speaks #> i had a little angry section. walked the dog. came back n went why the fuck was i tryna apply my css to an id using . why was i doing tht #> <- guy who needs his cs degree revoking. what the actual hell #> anywag.... embarrassing but i want it all setup so i can just have one site i post evrythin on since here is. well. shite #> n ive not settled into cohost really. i like it! but not havin it as an app makes it kinda funky for mobile #> yeah its usable its just...hmg. idk. not a huge fan #> ironic yeye neo is hardly mobile friendly (my page isnt even responsive atm) but w/e its more a backup of everything #> ive lost so many fics over the yrs cuz id post n then later on switch blog. fuckin delete the blog n then wipe my notes #> fool moves. i know. i just need a collection. #> this has been all over the place ive had too many thoughts today. going to cuddle my boy sussy

[planetamarte]

i miss 8tracks so bad (was barely there for it)

#talking #im. looking at what i presume are OLD ASS sonadow mixes on there and i feel SICK i feel NAUSEOUS like most of these are fuckin good #tbh. might be nostalgia talking cause theyre kinda basic 2015 ass songs a la our recent popular-by-tiktok songs but there's some good ones #that alone is making me nauseous too i'm looking at these and its like oh my god. somebody was making these mixes like 8 years ago. #with the cover art credited from tumblr? jesus christ theres history behind these i'm gonna be sick. how many were made by kinnies lets bet #i clicked on someone's profile and even though theres no dates on there it looked abandoned as hell. good god #they didnt know some guy would come listen to their SONADOW 8TRACKS MIXES in 2023 with struggle bc the site fucking sucks now

[throwingmetothelions]

Cam Boy HC - Bad Omens

So I got a request from an anon about like … phone sex or virtual sex or something and it was lowkey stumping me. Then I thought about cam boys. Then I think it was @badhedonist that said something about cam boys and that confirmed that I needed to give y’all my headcanons about this. Auntie V doesn’t work for a week so prepare to be sick of me. TW: mentions of sex work, voyeurism, exhibitionism. WE SUPPORT SEX WORKERS IN THIS HOUSE DONT START WITH ME.

Noah (StopTheFuckingCar) - He started cam work out of what he saw as a necessity. He was 20 when his girlfriend at the time suggested it.

“It’s just like … there’s a market for the tattoos and the long hair and shit. You pretend like the camera isn’t on. Ignore the chat or whatever … but making quick money from jerking off can’t hurt, ya know? Make some gas money for tour,” she told him as she pulled up the site. She mumbled something about sharing the link around her circle, something about bitches always wanting her man and having the opportunity.

Quick money for tour.

Just a few times.

He made the username … some old band lyric that came to mind. Made sure his tattooed skin and the ends of his hair were visible in the camera. Black ink scattered over a moonlight-pale belly. He shook like a goddamn leaf the first time he started the show.

Ignore the chat. Ignore the camera.

I think Noah muted it all. Didn’t want to hear the clink and cling of people sending money, or liking it. Didn’t want to think that people were watching him.

The shit ya do for a handful of Slim Jim’s and some fucking apple juice, man.

His nervously twitching hand wrapped around the base of his dick and squeezed around. Hard. His neck rolled and Noah’s head fell back as he felt the blood flow.

Do what you normally do.

Noah reached over himself with his right hand and grabbed the bottle of “Lavender Champagne” lotion his girl kept on the bedside. He’d never really needed lube or lotion before as leaning his head down and spitting on his cock was, well, acceptable to him … but maybe not to one of the twenty-seven people watching. The cold lotion ripped a hiss from his clenched teeth, but his head fell right back into its previous position as the slick slide of his fist passed over the head.

Holy fuck.

Noah couldn’t hold the tiny gasping moans that left his open mouth. The heinously obscene sound of his cock being worked over made the blood rush to the tips of his ears. His heartbeat was present in his dick as he jerked himself faster and tightened that grip at the end of each stroke.

“Oooo shit,” it’s high pitched and it comes with a quick roll of his hips.

At this point, he really was entirely lost in the self-pleasure. The cam didn’t exist. Hell, the laptop could’ve flown off the bed and he wouldn’t have known because the way his toes were curling and his ass was grinding into the mattress before arching off again? Pure pandemonium in his melting brain.

“I’m so goddamn close,” he whimpers as he almost reflexively closes his legs at the intensity. He hasn’t jacked off like this since he was a fuckin’ teenager, and maybe that isn’t even true. He definitely hadn’t hit the point where anyone could walk in and see and he’d make eye contact and continue in a long time. Seriously. It could’ve been Jesus and every single disciple he had. All nine or whatever, Noah thinks.

“Can I - can I cum? I really need to fucking cum,” he whines and thrashes his head around on the pillow, and who he’s talking to? Not even he knows that. Noah might bite his lip until it bleeds if he doesn’t bust soon. His left hand shoots out from under the blanket to grip on to as much of the bed as he can grab. “I’ve gotta … oh … uh,” his moans get progressively louder as he cums so hard that the ropes hit him on his fucking neck. His eyes flutter back open and the bright light of the still rolling screen is a violent reminder.

Frantic and unable tell what is lotion and what is semen, Noah hits a key and stops the camera abruptly.

74 viewers. A full chat log. 4 private messages. A shit load of coins or some shit - he never checked how the currency works.

MommyAlicia: I like the way you beg pretty baby xx

Throwitallaway: Do you take requests?? I’ve never cum so fast.

XXXXTinkerbell: I’ll be following you bc this was fucking hottt

Noah catches his breath, blinks a few times, and he cannot hide the small upturn in the corner of his mouth.

Nicholas (OdachiDaddy) - Nick wasn’t new to this. He’d been using cam work as a means of play for about a year now. It all started as something he jumped in on once with Noah.

“Emo Twink Boyfriends Jack Off In The Living Room Before Pizza Guy Comes Over” was a fucking hit, and Nicholas had never made 150 bucks that fast.

He started his own shit. Quick nickname. Tagged Noah for the views.

See, Nicholas was always good at math. He knew that slowly tugging on his leaking cock plus a little dirty talk specifically catered to those housewives that weren’t getting enough from their men meant dollars (and lube) in his hand.

“If you were here I’d let you lick all of this up,” he muses as he shows the camera a bead of precum he’s swiped off the tip. He brought his thumb to his bottom lip before dragging it across and moaning under his breath.

The money counter dinged away.

He ran his tattooed fingers over his hip and continued to twist his wrist over the head as he adjusted himself into a sitting position.

CherryBomb14: God ur so hot I want you to put a baby in meee

His mind works quick. Her profile picture shows that she’s older … he takes a risk.

“Again? Make you a mom again? Come sit on this cock and we can discuss details,” he chuckles as he bites his lower lip and nods his head back a little.

The money counter clinks so many times he can’t count it. Bingo.

Not that he was ever this bold with real life partners, not always. He’s been a creative all his life though. Nick knew what they wanted to hear, and he let it flow while he put on a show for them.

“If you’re watching alone feel free to - fuck. Feel free to play along. I know you need to cum. I know work was hard. Just … you can reach down and rub on that clit a little? For me?,” he strokes his cock as he makes direct eye contact with the camera. “I know you’ll do it for me because I know you’re soaked. Go ahead and fucking check sweetheart,” he groans as he feels the pool of heat building in his gut.

Nobody needed to know about the unnecessarily long hours spent scrolling through porn, reading Reddit posts, and letting his own filthy mindbox scroll away that it took to curate the dirty mouth that got him in the top 5% of male performers. Hell … whatever got him there, right?

Nicholas pauses to spit in his hand before continuing. As much as he did this for his loyal viewers, anyone in his position would be .9 seconds away from blowing a load all over themselves if they fucked their fist the way he did.

“It’s … it doesn’t feel like your pussy. I want your pussy,” he licks over his bottom lip as his head falls back and his mouth parts with a silent scream.

Feeling his end near he does what he’s known for … call it a finishing move or some shit. “I’m gonna give you my cum - where do you want it, huh? Can I fill it up? I’m gonna fill it up,” he cums all over his hand with a loud grunt and a harsh snap of his hips. He likes to ride it out by ghosting his fingertips along his shaft … plays with his cum a little, much to the enjoyment of the 322 viewers he has.

“Ugh. That was a good one … holy shit,” he lets out an exasperated sigh as he swipes at his forehead with his clean hand. “Alright, y’all know the speech. Meet me back here on uhm … meet back on Wednesday at 7 pm Pacific and we’ll help each other out again, hmm? Night night,” he smiles and turns the camera off before tucking himself away.

Nicholas slowly got up from the couch and went to go take a shower with thoughts of next week’s theme bouncing around in his skull.

Folio (RideItLikeYouStoleIt) - He got introduced to the sex work world through Nicholas and Noah when he forced them to explain why they needed him to dress up like a Pizza Hut worker, knock on the door of Noah’s house and ask them if they ordered the extra-large meat lovers with stuffed crust.

He looked at them like they’d lost their goddamn marbles, but he couldn’t help but think about how they made 300 bucks in 15 minutes and all they did was jerk off (which Folio was quite good at) for a handful of people.

See, Folio has a specific niche. A role he’s taken on. His brand, if you will.

There’s a religious following of about 400 viewers that pay to watch him do cum tributes. It’s all very structured. The money hits his account by the end of the day on Thursday, and on Friday morning he prints the pictures that his paying viewers sent in. Sometimes it’s just a face, sometimes it’s their ass cheeks spread wide and inviting for him, and sometimes it’s their pussies that they’re parting open with two fingers.

“I’d pound away at this cunt until its fucking raw, I swear to god,” he grunts as he quickly works his hand over his dick. “I wish you could sit this pretty pussy on my face babe,” he groans as he teases the tip.

The coins clank away as the camera rolls. The view is his nipples down and he’s standing up while holding the photo in his left hand. His chin pins his shirt up so the viewers get a clear shot of the eagle he has tattooed across his heaving chest.

“Is this what you wanted? I’ve been saving all this cum for you - shit. I wanna paint that ass with it,” he moans as he feels the warmth rise up his torso.

Folio had a fascination with cum tributes before he even knew what they were. He was a simple man. Flipping through a motorcycle mag and seeing a girl sitting on a bike was enough for that night to end with a few pages you couldn’t turn anymore. If he could profit off of something he was already accustomed to … why the fuck not?

Throwaway395: I might have to send one next week omg

StopTheFuckingCar: You should! He can cum more than once ;)

If he wasn’t so fucking close to the edge Nick might have laughed at Noah because yeah. The weed does that to him. That’s part of why he decided to capitalize on his abilities.

“God I’m gonna cum so fucking hard,” he grunts as the money counter chimes again. And with a loud groan that’s been ripped from his lungs, he does. He paints the perfect picture. Gets the paper all messy and cum covered … rubs it in with the tip of his dick.

“Thank you so much for sending that in,” he smiles as he holds it up to the camera. He shows off his work for a second, “alright. Now up next we haaaave … Ms.KatieLove. I’m gonna grab some water and we’ll get into it,” he chuckles as he blows a kiss at the camera.

Jolly (TheDoorsUnlocked) - Oh Jolly. Jolly didn’t get introduced to this by any of the boys. His own dark perverse fantasies brought him in front of his monitor three nights a week.

Jolly doesn’t touch himself unless it’s on cam. That’s bible.

The thrill of getting caught was one that hung over him for years. Something about touring and being close to others. Something about having to jack off with an almost fully dry hand to keep the sounds down, but secretly hoping that the accidental moans would send someone knocking on the venue’s broom closet door.

He makes a ritual of it. He greets his fans with a soft and warm voice. Jolly pans over to the window and opens the curtains up, and then pans back around to show them that his bedroom door is unlocked. He sits in his computer chair and he pulls his cock free from his sweatpants.

“So,” he says as he strokes himself in long languid succession, “my roommates have a few people over and I was thinking about like,” he bites his lower lip in thought. “I was thinking like what if someone gave them bad directions to the bathroom and they walked up here and just … fuck that feels nice - they just walked in on me getting off like this,” he tilts his head to the side as his jaw clicks.

“What if you were here? And what if we were fucking really slow under the covers? If they walked in would you make me stop, or could I grind against that pussy while they ask me what the WiFi password is,” Jolly can’t help but apply extra pressure when he rhythmically squeezes the head of his dick at the thought.

Living in a house full of sex workers really meant that he could text them the exact time that he needed them to knock on the door, or the exact time he wanted one of them to shout and ask if he was ready to go to the grocery store yet. His fans loved those brief oh shit moments.

SasukesWifey: what if someone is leaving the party and they look up into your window? I would run right back inside ugh

“Don’t tease me like that,” he hisses as his dick spills a little more precum. Of course Jolly has tint on his windows and no one can see in, but they didn’t need to know that. “I need to cum but I gotta stay quiet. Oh my god,” he breathes out.

OdachiDaddy: FUCKIN’ CAUGHT. IM COMING UP UPSTAIRS DAWG. YOU SAID YOU WERE WORKING ON A SONG.

The coins start flowing like lava.

Jollys eyes blow wide as his pace quickens. Nicholas threatening to blow the door wide open was all it took for him to cum all over his stomach.

“Shit shit shit,” he groaned out as he squeezed the last drops of cum from his dick.

Just as the money counter stops furiously clinking, Jolly shoves himself back into his pants (and curses quietly because he knows that cumstain will show straight through) and sits back as the door opens up.

“Whaaaatcha doin,” Nicholas asks in a singsong voice.

Firefly_21: oooo who is he 👀

Jolly mouths a solid “shut up,” at the camera before raising his eyebrows.

He hangs his head in his hands and laughs as a smile breaks out over his reddened cheeks.

“Well … stand up bro. We got burgers down there. Come on … get up,” Nicholas yanks on his hand with a wicked smirk as Jolly clicks out of the session.

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic #bad omens smut #auntievwroteit

[palant1r]

I feel like you're a good person and smart, so here is a question for you. A fanfic site is bound to be popular with kids. Say a child is being abused, and they go to AO3 and all they see is fics romanticizing their abuse/incestual abuse/ etc. It'll tell them it's erotic and enjoyable and A-OK. If they were to read a fic that portrayed it as a bad thing though, then they can see that their abuse is bad. I know it's unrealistic to ban all fics that portray it as a good thing [1/2]

This ask is full of so many wild ass logical leaps and baffling conclusions that I debated not answering it at all, but you've caught me in a good mood with a lot of time on my hands, so.

First of all: methodological concerns. "They did a poll a while back" who the hell is They? Is this a tumblr poll? Why are we assigning any significance to whether or not half of the users who happened to see a tumblr poll that was likely produced by someone who shared their biases THOUGHT that SOMEONE THEY KNEW had seen pedophilia and incest normalized by fic? That's such an ass backwards thing to base any position on.

You want to save the kids. Sure. Admirable goal. But the premise of your proposal here is based entirely on conjecture and the results of some poll that They did. Also, hey, most underage/incest content on ao3 is WELL TAGGED. Meaning that, when someone clicks on it and reads it, even IF the actual subject matter is "romanticized" there is literally a heading for the reader saying "THIS WORK DEPICTS [THING], WHICH IS BAD"

Say a child is abused, and they read Lolita. They make the same mistake as many, many readers and adaptation makers of Lolita, and they think it's a love story, and that makes their abuse "erotic and enjoyable and A-OK."

...Where do we go from here? Do we now decide that, because Lolita is a complex work with multiple layers and a narrator that deliberately uses purple prose and invokes classical literature to hide his own monstrousness, it needs to be banned?

Why should it be the responsibility of art to impart a beneficial personal and social message not just to its target audience, but to literally anyone who might potentially come across it? Why should the writers of a genre overwhelmingly tagged as Explicit, meaning that people have to affirm that they're over 18 before reading it, on a site you have to be 13+ to use, bear the responsibility of Educating the Nation's Youth on what is Right and Proper?

Your rhetoric is familiar. Very familiar. I got fuckin steeped in it over the last summer when I was reporting on anti-trans legislation, wading through Heritage Foundation summit transcripts and hundreds of pages of bills. Hell, I saw the very phrase "normalizes pedophilia" show up in a bill explicitly targeted at banning queer books from schools. The idea that the very existence of material that is "too erotic" poses an existential threat to children, and that any censorship of art is justified if it Saves the Children, is a deeply conservative one.

A personal story: when I was young, I read The Dragonriders of Pern. This was before I'd had any education on sex ed or consent. There's a rape scene in that series. It's very romanticized. Something about it felt off to me, but it was the only sex scene I'd ever read. I just thought that was what sex was like.

About a year later, I read a Stucky fic with a rape scene. The scene was framed as, if not romantic, at least sexualized in a way that played up the danger and angst of the scene, and it was between the endgame couple. This was, I'd wager, something that you'd want banned. In the beginning chapter note, the author called it what it was: rape.

Two rape scenes, both sexualized, both between an endgame couple we were supposed to root for, only separated by their framing. One taught me a bad lesson. One made me realize that what I had read in that book was, in fact, not consensual sex.

My parents, unbeknownst to me, were going through my search history. They sat me down and said they didn't want me reading erotica, not knowing I already had been in published books. If they had their way — if they'd judged things by YOUR standards — I never would have read those explicit fics. Instead, who knows how much longer I would have gone thinking a man forcing himself on a woman was romantic? Ignorance didn't teach me anything. Experience did.

And, IDK. I think back on news stories I've heard of abused children finding their experiences in books about sex and consent, and seeing themselves in them. Being able to point out what was done to them, because they had a point of reference.

So, no, I don't think that banning every fic that "portrays abuse as good" would be remotely desirable even if it were logistically feasible. And I think you need to move past the idea that art only has the right to exist if it's good for children, saving the children is a goal to which all other ideals should be blindly subservient, and if someone says that something "harms kids" that means you need to uncritically take up arms. I say this without hyperbole: that's the kind of thinking that gets people into QAnon.

#pisscourse

[orowyrm]

let's talk about the way we talk about sigma

and i’m not just saying this because i’m a hater or because i find the woobification of characters annoying (although i am, and i do, but that’s neither here nor there) but i AM saying it cuz it’s no longer mildly annoying so much as it is just hurtful and exhausting due to the casual ableism it perpetuates. whether it’s consciously or not, it’s there and i’m pointing it out cuz a lot of people probably don’t even realize what they’re saying (i hope) so i wanna spell it out crystal clear.

*granted, these are sentiments i’ve seen far more often on twitter or tiktok than on here (and i know complaining about stupid takes on either site is like going to the beach and getting mad about all the sand, but bear with me) but it’s ABSOLUTELY something that i see a lot on here too and i'm starting to get incredibly fed up with it all. someone's gotta fuckin say it.

im going to put the majority of this under a readmore because i've got a lot to say on the topic but here's the long and short of it:

you guys have GOT to stop acting like sigma is a poor little helpless confused manipulated innocent little uwu baby. like, for real. stop saying that shit. stop lamenting about “waahhh poor science granpa doesn’t know where he is or what’s happening around himmm 🥺🥺🥺”. stop acting like he’s being held captive or abused by talon despite evidence to the contrary so you can make your little “uwu i can’t wait for overwatch to save him and Fix Him uwuwuw” posts. and for the love of all that’s holy, if i see one more person say or imply that he was better off when he was being forcibly institutionalized than he is now working for talon, i’m going to start fucking attacking people with my teeth like a chimpanzee.

it's incredibly fucking weird and alienating for literally anyone who experiences even a fraction of the things yall are pointing out as proof of his incompetence. and before any of you hit me with the "oh it's not that deep 🙄" im gonna tell you right now that i dont care and im going to be mad about it anyway cuz its my party and i can post whatever i want.

ANYWAY!!

to continue my point, not only is it weird and infantilizing and demeaning and belittling to those of us who deal with literally any of the myriad of things going on with him that i’ve seen people point to as proof that he ‘needs to be fixed’ — memory lapses, time loss, dissociation, auditory hallucinations, disordered thought, just straight up being autistic, hyperfocus and/or complete lack of focus, panic attacks or meltdowns, i cannot overstate how many of the ‘weird’ things he does are just autistic traits so i’m gonna say it a second time for good measure — and those are all just things that i personally have in common with him (which is part of the reason i’m as mad about this as i am to make this post, but i digress).

to single out these things, all of which are completely reasonable for someone who is autistic, who is traumatized, who suffered through a prolonged period of forced confinement, and/or who has literal brain damage, and NONE of which are nearly as tragic and doomed as people are making them out to be, that’s all bad enough on its own!

but to point out these traits and then turn around and use them to color every single interaction he has with another character, every single thing he says, and tie it back to his traaaagic broken mind and how he’s clearly losing his grip on reality just feels… insanely othering in a way that’s really exhausting.

like, for fucks sake, a solid 80% of his character interactions could be lifted near verbatim from conversations i’ve had in real life with my friends, family, coworkers, you name it, all of which were friendly and usually in jest — hell, 9/10 times when i let out a random non sequitur or lose my train of thought or forget what i’m doing, nobody even bats a fucking eye! they sure as hell don't accuse whoever i’m talking to of abusing me because they expressed mild annoyance at my bad joke.

i’ve genuinely seen someone get all worked up and construe his one interaction with sombra where he comments on her tendency to disappear and reappear in odd places as evidence that he’s got dementia and is slipping away from reality altogether… and not, yknow, a nod to her fucking cloaking ability and translocator and the fact that she uses both very frequently just for the hell of it. that one still fucking baffles me i'm sorry. if i hadn't seen it with my own eyes i'd honestly think it was a joke. like. cmon now

another thing that makes it even worse is that most of this is also just…. not even grounded in canon. if this was the way blizz was writing him, it’d be one thing. it would still be shitty and ableist, but blizzard handling their oooh spooky scary mentally ill character badly is about as surprising as the sun rising every morning. i can't say i wouldn't still be upset to see people continuing to perpetuate it, but i wouldn't be AS mad, i guess.

but SO. MANY. of the popular takes on his character are either never concretely stated or outright contradicted by his ingame dialogue and interactions and it drives me insane!!! idk WHERE y’all are getting this shit but so many people are reaching so hard to make him a tragic sad uwuwuw glass bones and paper skin pathetic little meow meow that they’re going out of their way to misinterpret source material so they can shout from the rooftops about how sad and pathetic and unaware they think people like me must be.

i keep seeing people talk about how he probably has no idea that talon is a terrorist group, that he doesn’t know what talon IS, or that he doesn’t even know that he WORKS for talon, and it’s starting to go from mildly annoying to infuriating. this shit has literally no basis in canon aside from conjecture based on the fact that he’s Known to be mentally ill!! i don't see even half as many people getting this all up in arms about widow, who we KNOW FOR A FACT was literally kidnapped and experimented on and brainwashed by talon. like. that's her WHOLE THING. meanwhile sig literally just works there and people are clamoring for ovw to come """""rescue"""""" him as if hes like, a lab animal or something instead of a grown man who happens to not be particularly bothered by the fact that he works for talon.

this is something that's addressed in game MULTIPLE TIMES - he’d far prefer to watch an ant crawl on the ceiling than listen to s76 trying to ‘talk sense into him’, not because he can’t hear him or anything either, it’s pretty clear from his tone and cadence that he’s actively choosing to ignore him. when baptiste points out the fact that he’s fully capable of leaving talon if he wanted to, he doesn’t deny it or act confused or like that’s a strange thing to say, he just seems a little bemused that someone would think he WANTS to leave. yeah, he sure could— but why would he bother?

he's not "totally unaware of what he's doing" in the fucking slightest - hell, i'd argue that his new map-exclusive lines and interactions prove that he's MORE grounded now than he was in ovw1. yes, he gets a little confused on occasion when he can't quite remember the last time he's been somewhere. (memory lapses are just kind of like that. i had several while writing this post, in fact! it just fucking happens sometimes. it's really not the end of the world. frustrating, yeah, but i promise you we can manage just fine).

i guess the question i'm asking is: is it really all that difficult for to fathom that he might just... WANT to be there? that he might just straight up not care what talon is up to, so long as he's able to keep doing his research as he sees fit??

and for the record, before anyone takes this and runs with it and we lose the plot of this post, i am NOT SAYING that the very idea of wanting him to leave talon is #problematic or anything. i dont care, really. do whatever you want. what i do care about is just like.... being mindful about what we're saying and WHY we're saying it. it's reaching a point where people are somehow managing to look at the ass backwards already ableist as hell decisions blizz has already made with him and decided "hey, i bet i can find a way to make that even worse!"

#overwatch #sigma #siebren de kuiper #overwatch 2 #ovw2 #sorry for the essay but also im not sorry. in fact i am kinda mad.

[thepowerisyouth]

Eh mental health is annoying. Buying & cooking cheap low-FODMAP diet is annoying. My best top note for now is I'm using this blog to practice writing. I need more practice in it. I only know business, accounting & economics stuff. Its stupid stuff. Theres too much actual fraud everywhere that its annoying

Also I use mobile so formatting sucks cause Nvidia GPUs, or Arch dont like tumblr site. Or tumblr site dont like tumbkr site

Also also I 100,000% support all my fellow ones-and-zeros and their identity. Everyone is welcome here.

Except transphobes/zionist/long list of others but you get it. I'll help harrass any of those types endlessly if someone wants to tag me, and bring me in on an argument like that friend you call for backup with fights

Im unhinged so who's to say exactly what will end up here but this is also a completely public blog to me friends, family, hell, even acquaintances i dont give a fuc.

Blog should be expected to be roughly as child-friendly as simpsons or bobs burgers. But also boring like a civics/economics lesson sometimes. Yay

--------

I (and my husband) am ex mormon. Its a weird thing. Look into it if you havent recently. Realllllyyyy look into. Takes time to figure it all out in this fuckin fucked up world.

I just moved a year ago. Didnt watch the US stock market as much as I normally do. Had my first snowstorm 10 weeks ago, that was.. fun to handle while ill prepared. About 6 weeks ago I was hopping back on the market and notice its a huge tech bubble about to pop and all the conditions Ive been warned about my whole career imply this is not good. Just took a little more thinking & digging and I'm a little too confident to stop talking about it now.

(Oh I'm also care-free as fuc so I dont really read or desire to change past posts more than lil-nitpicks. More informative for the reader & myself-in-the-future-reading that way)

And I'm not kidding I do love feedback & questions. Its a very public blog tho so I get that part for sure.

If you search "life story" in my tags I had that pinned for a min Im just moving shit around rn

Being poor sucks. Will write more on that later.

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

First of all-- the exact timeline of an "economic shock" is literal insanity. Dont worry about the exact timing of any of this-- just know its doomed to happen soon.

Here are some effects I predict of this upcoming economic downturn

If anyone comes across any sources for these events that support my arguments please feel free to add in comments, reblogs, etc.

This concise list is mainly for my own reference, but it would be great to add to it if any one has something to add!

0.5. US Stock market collapse-- I have no desire to try and predict this one exactly. Too many conspiracies are actually correct about this big guy. Lets just say 7 US Tech stocks are worth 25% of the entire worlds market, roughly. "Too big to fail"-- I believe is the phrase

1. Corporate (slightly later will be residential by extension) real estate crisis: currently way too overvalued. Most of the houses, land, & urban corporate property we see could stand to decrease by about 60-90% from its current price.

2. Bankruptcy crisis: similar to the after-effects of the 70s inflation-- we can expect to see a huge wave of bankruptcies affecting a variety of business: from the micro-self employed; to the small business with leased buildings; to the largest corporations who commit massive accounting fraud & hope to escape accountability in time

3. Bank runs-- there is an extremely high overreliance on the Federal Reserve, who does not have good control over this situation. Once it becomes clear that there is a crisis (we call this a catalyst event)-- bank runs for physical cash are a surety. Hard to say how long a crisis like this might last. I should ask my siblings who lived near the SVB bank crisis hotspot (but those were rich fucks they do their "bank runs" over the phone)

3.5. Global currency collapse, which takes effect in every single local, state, & national economy at slightly different times. This means prices lower. Much lower. But takes time

4. Whatever the fuck the geopolitics is gonna do???. Its weird. You got Russia wanting to invade Europe? (Look at global economic forum 2024) Trump wants to let them. Biden wants to be an establishment corporate ass. North Korea has changed its #1 public enemy to South Korea (dont remember my source but it was a couple months ago). USA is stationing more troops in Taiwan, but probably only because of semiconductor technology?

The scope of our global financial woes are larger than can be explained in any of our lifetimes. Its much, much closer to pre-revolution France or the late 1920s. Big change is coming. Itll be soon

5. More to come

#anti capitalism #economics #geopolitics #real estate #bankruptcy #banks #corporate fucks #pinned post #mental health sucks ball sacks #arch linux #nvidia is a scam bubble like enron #simpsons #bobs burgers #intro post #will change it more later

[whales-are-gay]

jesus fuckin hell. is tumblr staff seriously saying that any website that doesn't spoonfeed "content" into peoples eyeballs like tiktok is "hard to use"? yeah and reading a book is hard because i have to pick one from the library and look at the words in it.

"tumblr's competitive advantage lies in its unique content and vibrant communities" where did you think that came from huh? it came from self-curation and genuine interaction between people, not the same 3 influencers being pushed onto everyone's dash. oh and, what did the userbase of tumblr live end up looking like?

this friction is absurd. everyone moving in from other sites will be following the people that they know from those other sites. make a fucking how-to guide instead of punishing your existing userbase. this is a real fuckin pepsi changing their recipe to be more like coke situation.

you got a better way for me to send this feedback @humans?

#personal post #UGH #tumblr dot hell #if tumblr does this im exporting my entire blog and never doing social media again

[queenlua]

tagged by @vintar for “ten songs you’re vibing to right now”!

ok, i gotta tell you just how EXCITED i was when i got tagged in this, because

i saw it earlier this week, just as me and a friend were talking about our misspent youths, which for both of us involved an awful lot of “stockpiling dope midi file versions of various anime theme songs,” right

and i was like “bro i still have my WHOLE COLLECTION,” and we spent a VERY pleasant evening nostalgia’ing over the tracks i found, and now here i am, days later, sharing ten of my dopest midi files with you as well (& all my fine fine followers ofc)

here’s the dropbox link!  a guide:

abyss.mid: god wasn’t this song so sick when it was in dance dance revolution

galaxia.mid: i have NO IDEA what song is from.  hmu if you recognize it?  lil’ kid me was impressed with its majestic scope, its sick reverb, its really fun ancient-temple-y orchestration, and, ok yeah adult me agrees this one rules

giveareason.mid: i have never watched slayers in my life but i have listened to the midi of its theme song approximately one billion times

lastempl.mid: i think this is the last temple theme of one of the earlier zelda games?  i like how AGGRESSIVE it is, just, RIGHT out of the gate it’s loud and in your face

nightwait.mid: *old man voice* back in my day we didn’t have enough space to download em pee threes.  we had to collect midi files of cool pop songs.  such as jennifer lopez’s classic “waiting for tonight”

SD3_-_Innocent_Sea.mid: it’s a tune from Seiken Densetsu 3, a game soundtrack i find overall tragically underrated.  (the whole series, really; Secret of Mana has some absolute bangers too!)  anyway “Innocent Sea” and its companion “Innocent Water” have fucked me up for years; ask me to play the latter on the piano at a nerd convention sometime

sealcrazy.mid: there was this one wildlife artist who sold his art on his lovingly handcrafted website and he had a different midi file for each page.  like each piece of art for sale had its own page.  anyway this was my introduction to Seal, though i didn't realize it until i heard it on the radio when i was 25 and was like HOLY SHIT IT'S THE LIVE VERSION OF THAT MIDI FILE

song1.mid: i think this one might be from Ultima?  like the original Ultima online?  but i’m really not sure; i found it on a Geocities website for this horse roleplaying game called Black & Blue where this song played in the background during its cool Javascript intro page, where they told the story of The Falling-Out Between The Two Brothers That Has Now Cleaved Our Realm Into Two, and like, text would fade in & out in sync with the music?  such a sick effect.  loved it

song2.mid: this played once you entered the main part of the site.  might be another Ultima song.  who fuckin knows

SongoftheWolf.mid: some of you didn’t listen to an absolutely disgusting number of world music albums + Enya during your formative years and it shows

anyway, i will spin the wheel since i’m honestly looking for some new music (i have to drive a bunch during the next month, UGH): @radicarian @ourlightsinvain @jaggedwolf @soanvalcke @departo @nightpool @cyansighs @tototavros  @cyanoscarlet & anyone else who wants to join!  (did i mention. i have to drive a lot. please share some music with me. save me from listening to Bad Religion’s The Gray Grace so many times it causes an integer overflow in the fabric of the universe and sends us all straight to hell)

[squidsandthings]

BIOLOGY???!!?!??!??!?

i have never not ever seen someone on tumblr with biology listed in their interests as a fellow biology enthusiast i demand to know more tell me more please

what kind of biology specifically?? or just in general?? is it like WOAH BIOLOGY or just haha yeah biology is cool ig (because if you can’t tell already i am very much the former biology is so awesome i am not okay)

it’s entomology for me, more specifically moths, like. aaaaa a a aaaaa a aaaaa i lovmnv them… moths….. i lovembe motjs…..

so yes SPILL BIOLOGY INFO PLEASE !! AND/OR ANYTJING ELSE YOU’D LIKE TO RANT ABOUT !! I DO NOT CARE I JUST LIKE RANTING WITH SILLY PEOPLE ON THIS SILLY SITE !!!

HIHI TY SO MUCH FOR THE ASK :DD

I love biology so much. Definitely a 'WOAH BIOLOGY' more than a "it's kinda cool ig" lol. The more I learn about biology and different fields in biology the more I fall in love with it. I just think learning the ways in which life, like, works (for lack of better phrasing) I dunno it's just so cool to learn about, and think about. All the little things that go into life.

I've always had a particular fascination with human biology. And specifically Anatomy and Physiology. As a like 1st or 2nd grader my mom got me a book which was basically very simplified anatomy and physiology and It became my personality till I started middle school. I think it's so neat to learn about something and that thing be something that's happening within you right now. One of my favorite things in my biology classes is doing labs/dissections because it's so cool to feel and touch and see the things which are actively keeping you alive. Also I'm a big fan of dendritic cells (my favorite cell <3).

I would say my interest in biology has definitely broadened in recent times. Recently I've been learning more about Ornithology. I'm trying starting bird watching and I generally think birds fucking cool as hell. I actually started learning more about Ornithology because I really like pigeons. And I wanted to learn more about birds in general, so I started watching yt videos about them and googling and now I can say that I think probably too much about Birds.

Interestingly marine biology used to be interest of mine, but it's never been my main love when it comes to biology. Which is funny since most of my online accounts are related to squid.

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

ANYWAY THIS IS ALL BESIDES THE POINT.

the point being this gives me and excuse to talk about my true love in life...the immune system and specifically dendritic cells. I. am. so. normal. about these antigen presenting baddies. I fuckin love them. The immune system has always been the most interesting system to me as someone who spent most of their childhood in a battle to the death with their immune system. So anyway lemme tell you about my favorite cell in the human body: Dendritic Cells/DC's

(pls note i'm by no means and expert and while I like to talk about this stuff I might get stuff wrong. I just think its all neat, but my research is mostly googling and the occasional book I find on the topic, so take all of this with a grain of salt)

So the immune system. It's pretty cool. Helps keep you alive and stuff. Roughly speaking there's two sorta categories in your immune system. Your innate and your adaptive immune system.

Innate: I like to think of the innate immune system like a safety net. Generalized, Broad, but it does what it's trying to do well. It's your first line of defense. Your skin and mucous membranes are part of this, but so are cells like macrophages which can eat pathogens. Its focused on blocking and destroying, but sometimes this doesn't work and the pathogen works too fast or goes undected for too long. Then you need something more specialized to help out.

Adaptive: This is the special ops of ur immune system. They target pathogens directly by identifying them and using that to target them. Since it needs to take the time to identify the pathogen tho, it's slower, which is why the fast but generalized innate response is also important. This part of ur immune system is also why vaccines work. Certain cells in this part of ur immune system have the ability to basically remember these past infections. So next time you get sick the adaptive response can kick in right away.

So where do dendritic cells fit into this???

IM SO GLAD YOU ASKED. So, Dendritic cells are actually kinda both part of the innate an adaptive response. How? Well, I'll tell you.

So dendritic cells hang out across ur body and act like immune system watchtowers. So when a pathogen comes strolling in looking to cause trouble ur innate immune response is going to (usually) start giving it some pushback. With things like Macrophages (that eat pathogens). But as I mentioned before the innate response while fast, is nonspecific. The adaptive response is what can target pathogens directly. But how does the adaptive response even get started? Does the innate response have something to like go tell the adaptive response "Hey this is what we're dealing with wake up and go fight it"? YES. And that's the dendritic cell.

So Dendritic cells are innate immune response cells which engulf pathogens and present them on the outside of their cell membrane. Once they've done that they can actually inform the immune response against those pathogens.

How do they do this?

Why T and B cells ofc!

So once the dendritic cell has got all the details on the pathogen it travels to ur lymph tissue and activates the adaptive immune cells there. Informing the immune response based on the antigen it's presenting.

These funky antigen presenting cells are responsible for bridging the gap between your immune responses and also help in maintaining ur immune system's memory.

alright maybe you don't see how cool they are. I get it. lemme give you an example of why they're SO important. :D

I'm going to be discussing HIV. As many people know HIV attacks the immune system. Most notably through T-Cells, but also through Dendritic Cells.

You see when the HIV virus enters the body Dendritic cells are going to usually be one of the first immune cells it interacts with. Normally the Dendritic cell would take down virus and start an adaptive immune response, however the HIV virus has a way to take over Dendritic cells using their ability to travel to cell to quickly infect the adaptive immune cells the Dendritic cell normally actives. This allows the virus to more quickly decimate an immune system. The Dendritic Cells being compromised decimating much of the adaptive immune response.

Does that example kinda highlight my point?

I hope so.

But yeah these bad boy are fucking awesome and more people should be aware of them. I think they're rad.

Hope that wasn't too long of a rant...

ty again for the ask and giving me an excuse to talk about my favorite cell. :D

#the way i jumped for joy when i got this ask #im so sorry for any mistakes i made in my info btw #i think this all really cool but im definetly not an expert #ask #pls thank ur local dendritic cells today! #THIS IS OVER 1000 WORDS IM SO SORRY LMAO #squid talks actually

[midnight-serendipity]

Better than the Fantasy: Chapter Three

 Pairing: Jax Teller x Female OC (AU - Older Man, Younger Woman, College Girl, Secret Identity)

Rating M: (Sexual Content, Violence, Swearing, Mentions of Drugs, Mentions of Alcoholism, Mentions of Marital Issues)

Synopsis: Freshly exonerated and newly-minted president, Jax feels out of touch with everything around him, and somewhere amid the hullaballoos, he lands himself in an online site, enticed with the company of a masked stranger, who unknowingly had closer ties to the club than both of them could have ever guessed.

Word count: 7.7k

Chapter 3: Lace and String

Observant blue eyes rounded the table, taking in the set of somber faces surrounding it. Gone was the jubilant air that swirled around the clubhouse three nights ago. In its stead was a heavier, despondent mood. The club president didn’t need a mirror; he knew he reflected his brothers’ expressions. He sighed, just before his blues passed a not-so-new addition to the table. There, sandwiched between Happy and Juice, and looking a helluva lot like he’s just brought home the gold was Kip. Yeah, Jax heard he got patched while some of them were in Stockton.

That’s some good news for a change. 

He didn’t know how many church meetings the kid had already been to. Judging by the all-too-pleased smile that certainly looked out of place, Jax guessed not much. Stifling a laugh, he moved on with his scrutiny.

Despite the Antarctic treatment from his girlfriend, Jax slept like a baby Friday night. Thanks to Gemma’s pep talk. Feeling like they were all in need of a much-deserved rest, the prez decided to push church further. Not that he reaped any wins from his own good deed. With Tara very much hung-up on her ice throne the whole weekend, Jax decided to shift his sights back to the club. With each new day, the gears of his brain drove themselves to exhaustion as he struggled to weave the threads of his thoughts into something bigger – clearer. And as each day ended, it took with it a little of the bravado he earned Friday night. So much that when he woke up this morning, that air of confidence swirling within his veins was flatter than a popped balloon.

Fuckin’ hell. What do I bring to the table?

And that was when his hopes started spiraling downhill. Down to the cold tiles of his bathroom. Because what kind of president held his very first church with no agenda?

Jax Fuckin’ Teller it seemed.

Although it wasn’t because he didn’t know what he wanted for the club – that was actually the easiest, simplest part. Going back two years ago, it was still clear as day how he had first brought in talks about the club getting out of guns. Not everyone was swayed with the notion. But their then-VP was confident that eventually, he could get the whole table to his side.

That, however, was before the whole of Charming PD swarmed into their clubhouse like bees to honey and had the half of them cuffed. Now, still reeling with the aftermath, Jax was clueless as a newborn bub. Not only did his plans crash and burn to the ground faster than a Boeing gone defunct, but all avenues in his pocket were already as outdated as Unser.

Then, there was the Cartel and he knew a simple sorry ese wasn’t going to cut it with them.

But even if he didn’t know where to begin this time around and even if his ideas kept going in circles, he owed it to everyone in this room to try. Again, his eyes surveyed the room, this time meeting each of his brothers’ gazes. One by one they tipped their chins in silence. In trust. In blind faith.

And that was the fuel to his fire.

He let out an exhale and straightened in his chair, placing his palms on the table. “First thing I wanna say is congratulations to our brother Half-Sack for gettin’ the patch.”

The entire room erupted in cheers. Tig, Chibs, Kozik, Happy and Juice drummed their right hands on the table, while Bobby just reached over and clapped Kip on the back.

“You’re lucky I wasn’t here, you sorry sack o’shit. I woulda voted no.”

Opie’s shoulders shook as he chuckled, while Jax shook his head in amusement at Tig’s declaration. Ever the sport, Kip just waved him off with his hand.

“A’ight, calm down you animals.” Jax called out. “Now each of us here are all aware of what happened the past two years. We’ve all taken hits, all because of the man who used to sit in this chair.”

And just like that the momentary uplift was sucked out of the room. Inevitably, Jax’s gaze was drawn straight forward. He watched as a dark look shadowed Piney’s face and gave him a nod. Everyone knew he and Gemma swallowed the most bitter pill than the rest of them.

“But I want to thank you all, especially – Opie, Chibs, Happy, Piney and Kozik, for lookin’ after the club.” Another round of cheers echoed. “Before some of us went to Stockton, I told the club we should move outta guns. I still feel the same way and after everything that’s happened, I know this is the best time for SAMCRO to finally act on it. The money is great. But givin’ it a closer look, we barely earn anythin’ and with the cartel loomin’, the threat to us is greater than ever. I want us out of guns and if it was up to me SAMCRO woulda been out of it way before.” He paused, meeting each and every single pair of orbs. He caught Bobby’s smirk of smug approval, Piney’s tip of head and the proud tilt of Opie’s mouth.

“But I am not and will never be Clay. Even if I feel this is what’s best for the club, I will never take your right to vote. If you ask me right now how I’m planning to do that, I’m gonna be honest with ya – I don’t have a fucking clue yet. But just because nuthin’s set in stone yet doesn’t mean it’s not gonna happen. Because I really believe we can move past that. But only…only if you all want that as well.” Jax paused just to let all of that sink in. Seeing some gestures that he was sure were sloping towards the affirmative, he took a little breath then went on.

“We can vote on that later on. Now for the cartel,” Jax shifted, right elbow on the arm of his chair and tipped his chin to the left before resting it on his thumb and forefinger. “Bring us up to speed, VP.”

After taking a drag from his stick, Opie motioned for the lone ashtray from his father who was nearest to it and snuffed the light out. “With half of SAMCRO in Stockton, we were forced to honor the cartel’s demands and hauled their cargo. We always made sure we were in twos. Safer that way. None of us liked it, but –”

“Best way to keep the blood out of Charming.”

Opie nodded an agreement to Bobby.

“With only four of us to mule, they okay’d to just half of what Clay had agreed to.”

“How gracious of ‘em,” Tig muttered sarcastically, drawing grins and chuckles of the same nature from ‘round the table.

“But none us ‘ere privy to that agreement.” Chibs aired what was floating on everyone’s mind.

“Oh, they know that brother, they just don’t give a shit.” Opie huffed.

“Because that’s the point, son. None of us are supposed to know.” Piney pointed out.

“Yeah, we know, Pop.” Opie shifted, turning his attention to the head of the table. “Torres ‘n Parada came by last week, knew you were gettin’ out.

Lighting up his own cigarette, Jax stiffened and his brows furrowed. This was news to him. He puffed, letting the smoke billow out of his mouth. “TM?”

It was Happy who answered. “Cara Cara.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. Spooked Lyla and the girls.” Opie shook his head. Displeasure was evident on his face as he recalled witnessing a smug Parada with an arm around his uncomfortable old lady.

“What they say?”

“They wanna talk to you, go back to the original arrangements.”

“They know this is just a temporary thing for us.” Bobby retorted with a slanted brow.

“That’s why they want to speak with the prez, convince him of a more permanent setting.” Opie answered.

“’S not gonna happen.” Jax spoke with finality and an air of authority that could only come from the holder of the gavel. An action that didn’t go unnoticed by the oldest member of the club. Piney smirked in approval.

Jax rubbed his free hand down his face and took a long pull from his stick. His eyes landed at the middle of their table. They remained silent, giving him a needed moment to gather his thoughts. Then with another breath, he focused on his best friend.

“They finally say who helped Clay mule? The load they want, ain’t no way Clay was movin’ alone.”

“Nah.”

“Our guess is Cacuzza. He’s always wanted to venture on narcotics,” Chibs piped in.

“He answered any of our calls?” At the shake of heads, Jax felt a crippling hit. But he shook the tendrils of disappointment that started to weave in his chest. He needed to unravel the truth first before drawing up conclusions. “How ‘bout the Mayans? Heard anythin’ ‘bout them?”

“They’re in Lodi mostly. They’re wantin’ to branch out.”

Jax released a breath of smoke. “Still? So they haven’t yet?”

Opie smirked. “Darby bailed.”

“Alvarez is damn pissed.” Kozik chuckled, contagious to most of them.

Brows deeply furrowed, Jax shifted in his chair, surprised by this turn of events. Around two months ago, word through the grapevine was Darby had partnered with the Mayans. It stirred things up and caused quite the unrest, particularly with the Chinese and the Niners.

In his mind, this latest move didn’t make sense. Even before his latest imprisonment, he recalled how keen Darby was to associate himself with someone or someones who had quite the pull and weight on the streets. Particularly any that could match SAMCRO in either brains or brawn. The way Darby saw it, this was the guaranteed opening for his inky tentacles to coil inside Charming. This reasoning was what led Jax to anticipate the Mayans with no mistake.

So why the hell would Darby turn? Unless…

“Lemme guess, the supplier Darby was supposed to hook ‘em up with was a flake.”

“Aye.”

Jax tilted his head to his SAA. In the dimly lit room, Jax’s eyes glinted and even if he tried, he couldn’t refrain from smirking. A silver lining, if anything. “Good thing we know of a reliable pipeline.”

Chibs stiffened beside him. “Jackie, d’you think that’s a good idea? Mayans have beef with us –”

“Alvarez and Clay had beef. Not the Sons and the Mayans. I think it’s time we reach out to Alvarez, let him know there’s a new regime now.”

“D’you think they��ll meet with us?” Juice asked.

Jax breathed another drag from his stick. “We could always ask Nero to set up the meet.”

“And if he doesn’t agree?”

By the smirk on Tig’s lips, Jax could tell he already knew the answer to his own question. “Then we rope in Gemma.”

“Good luck sayin’ no to the artillery.” Another round of chuckles filled the room at Opie’s statement.

“We could get a feel on where the Mayans land on all these first, then we make the call to the Kings.” Collective nods were directed his way.

“Now before we get to the vote. I need you all to understand, if we do decide to move away from guns, we’re sayin’ goodbye to the club’s bread n’ butter for the past decades and our finances will probably hurt from that. I need you to take that in before we vote. But first, speakin’ of finances, heard our resident weirdo wants to share sumthin’ with the club.” Jax tipped his chin to Kip. Kip stood up and stepped out without question, he was after all, the first one Chucky approached.

Tig rubbed a hand down his face. “Maybe he’s goin’ to tell us he’s part leprechaun.”

Opie brought it to his ear – Chucky wanted to speak to the Club about finances, when he was asked about it however, he said he wanted to wait for the prez and the rest of the club. Jax admittedly had a slew of names reserved for Chucky. But Jax did admire him for his respect for him and the club. The door swung open again, as Kip swept in, followed by Chucky, each of them hauling massive duffle bags.

Jax killed his smoke and looked around. He was met with equally stunned faces. 

Opie stood up, towering over everyone. “What the hell – ”

Zip.

“There are still two bags in my dorm. But each has fifty grand in them, so that’s two hundred in all.”

They were all on their feet even before Chucky finished his explanation. All of them staring at the open bag, with wide disbelieving eyes. Because just as he said, the bag was overflowing with stacks of hundred-dollar bills.

“Jesus, all real,” Bobby passed the wad of cash he fished and inspected. Jax took it with no hesitation and examined it the way Bobby had, Chibs and Tig both curiously looking over his shoulders.

“Yes, it is,” Jax confirmed, awed, passing it to Ope.

“I think you’re wrong, Tig. Chucky’s not part leprechaun. He is THE leprechaun you sonuvabitch! C’mere!” Kozik exclaimed, pulling Chucky into a one-armed hug.

“Hey! Don’t maul him yet. We’re gonna need some answers first.” Jax called out. Kozik immediately let go of Chucky.

“A’ight,” palms on the table, Jax leaned in and eyed Chucky, looking every bit the investigator. “As pleased as I am with cash suddenly sproutin’ in the clubhouse, I need to know where this,” he tilted his head, “came from. And no, I am not buyin’ the leprechaun shit.”

Chucky very visibly gulped and Jax hoped it’s only because of him and the three Reaper kuttes standing closest to their president while they all stared him down, and not because of something else.

“Well, you remember the night Clay left?”

Unintentionally, Jax’s nostrils flared. Of course, he remembered. That was the night leading to the day of their arrest. The night Clay almost, almost got Gemma killed with his bare hands.

“Of course,” Jax replied with venom in his voice. He didn’t mean to. But he understood perfectly why Chucky recoiled a bit at that.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Juice suddenly materialized beside Chucky and drew an arm around him. “We won’t beat you up unless we have to,” Juice grinned.

“That’s…reassuring.”

“What about that night Chucky?” Opie stepped in. He knew he needed to take the reins. Leaving it to Jax might send Chucky straight to a coronary before they could get anything sensible out of him.

“I was in Gemma’s office, finishing an errand for her. I just shut the lights off when I saw her SUV coming back. I assumed it was her, but when I saw Clay got out, I hid. Something didn’t feel right. He went to the garage, came back out with two bags and went inside again for the other two. He just finished loading everything when Gemma arrived.”

Jax straightened up, arms crossed and teeth clenched. He knew what part was coming. He’s heard it many times. Didn’t make it any easier.

They were all supposed to be out for a gun delivery. Clay, claiming his hands made it difficult to ride, said he couldn’t make the four-hour travel. No alarm bells were triggered as he stayed back, they knew his hands had been acting up as of late and Jax easily stepped in as acting president. The cortisone was barely doing anything anymore – at least that was what he said. Unknown to them, he set out for a meet of his own. Borrowed Gemma’s SUV, on the ruse of dropping by Unser’s office.

It took them a couple of days after that to get the truth ironed out. But Gemma was ahead of them. Although her theory was off some points, still she figured out something was amiss before anyone else did. Turned out, he had been borrowing her vehicles quite some time already and her assumption was a mistress. She placed a tracker in all her wheels, and that night, Gemma thought was the perfect timing to confront him, with the sons out and Piney helping Lyla watch over the kids – no blood will be shed.

“They were busy fighting and the trunk was still open, so I took a peek in the bags. With all of you away, I knew it wasn’t club business. And when I found out it was real money, I moved fast, grabbed them and emptied them in the garage.”

“And Clay didn’t notice that the load was much lighter?” Piney asked, unconvinced.

“He didn’t check it again. And…it actually might have been a little heavier. I replaced it with some tools and bike parts –”

“The missing supplies!” Kip exclaimed.

Jax pictured it. He remembered Sack going on about some supplies TM ordered a week prior to that, that had suddenly vanished into thin air. But with Gemma unconscious in the hospital bed and Clay suspiciously MIA – that had been the least of his worries, even more so when David Hale dropped by with his minions, a warrant on hand.

“And Clay never saw you?” Opie pushed, still quite unsold on the idea.

“Well, he was,” his eyes darted to Jax quickly then back to Opie, “busy.”

Jax snarled, making Chucky flinch. “You mean to tell me, that not only did you have this cash lyin’ ‘round for two years, but you also let Clay pound my mom’s face as distraction?”

“Look, Jax, what was I supposed to do? I can’t throw a punch like you guys. If I interfered, I would have been worse off than Gemma. I just thought I could retaliate in a more effective way. Y’know absolute advantage.”

Put like that, Jax did see from his perspective. While not stock thin as Rat, Clay would have definitely snapped him like a toothpick. Besides, what best way to hurt Clay the most than to take what he worked hard for, right under his very nose. He just wished he witnessed Clay’s face when the rug under his feet was pulled.

“Does make sense,” Bobby echoed Jax’s thoughts, then added, “but why are you only telling us now?”

“I did want to tell the club the next day. But – ” Chucky tipped his head side-to-side, reminding Jax of an upside-down pendulum.

“Yeah we get it – ” Jax replied

Chucky nodded, “Then when you guys got framed, I guessed that was cartel money. So, I hid it and decided to show it at a safer time.

“Where yeh hide it?”

“Ah, I may have asked Unser to hold on to it. Said it was a Club favor.”

Again, Jax’s eyebrows jumped. There were whistles – Juice, Opie and Chibs, while Tig slowly shook his head in time with his hands clapping. Chucky smiled and gave out a breath of relief. He knew he was off the hook.

“Chucky, you are turnin’ me on right now.”

This time, it was Chucky’s eyebrows that went through the roof. “I don’t accept that.” He said with a shake of his head.

“Oi, don’t scare ‘im off.”

“What?” Tig asked Chibs with his palms open. “It’s not like I’m not gonna use some lube and I’mma make sure he gets off too.”

Chucky cringed “I still don’t accept that”.

Tig opened his mouth but Jax cut him off easily, with a finger pointed his way. “Knock it off Tiggy. Go rub one out and stop traumatizin’ people.”

“As for you,” Jax went to Chucky and laid his hands on his shoulders. He tipped his chin, “Go tell my mom we’re givin’ you a raise.”

When her eyes crossed while going over one line of the purchase order she was currently reviewing, Gemma knew it was time to call it a day. She dropped the document on her desk, pursing her lips. Despite TM being open all days of the week, Gemma still found truth to Monday being the shittiest.

Gemma removed her glasses and massaged her eyes with the heel of her palms. Fuckin’ piece of shit lighting.

Well, totally her fault for putting it off. Definitely need to have it replaced. She stood up and stretched. Her back echoed with a series of cracks. And this shit of a chair too.

“Dammit is everythin’ here a piece of crap?” Gemma turned around, taking each item in inventory. It had been a while since she put in more than her usual work hours, and definitely more than a while since she observed every little thing in this room. Her musings were disrupted by a loud, unmistakable roar of a Harley Davidson speeding towards the garage. Curious, she turned and opened the door of the office.

The biker still had his back to her while he parked and killed the engine. But he didn’t need to turn around in order for Gemma to know who it was. The blonde streaks peeking underneath the helmet was more than enough of an indicator. Propping her hip against the doorframe, Gemma glanced at her watch.

7:09 PM

Luann was seriously late. But that wasn’t important. No. Right now, what’s essential for her was to figure out what her son was doing back at TM. Jax and the rest of SAMCRO parted ways for the day just around four o’clock this afternoon and with all of them still occupied with their personal shit, she knew his return wasn’t club related. Plus – Gemma’s eyes narrowed into slits – that backpack, that wasn’t there when he left, triggered the alarms in her head. When he finally unfastened his helmet and turned around, spotting her for the first time since his arrival, Jax very visibly groaned, strengthening her theory further. 

Well, glad to see you too shithead.

She tipped her head to the office and turned on her heel.

Jax had to do a double take of the lot. But no, he wasn’t going mental – Gemma’s SUV was indeed nowhere to be found. So why the hell was his mother still here?

Once again, Jax could only groan. After his row with Tara, he didn’t have enough energy to deal with the Russian Roulette incarnate. But he’ll be damned much more if he didn’t follow her. Stepping foot into the small confinement, Jax felt he was heading to his execution as he was met with Gemma leaning onto the table, her arms crossed, and face seemingly carved in stone.

“Where’s your truck?”

“I had Rat and Kip take it home. Luann’s gonna pick me up for dinner.” She tipped her chin, “my assistant manager came in here, sayin’ we’re givin’ him a raise.”

“Yeah,” Jax answered, “fifteen percent seems fair. We can cut five each from TM, Diosa and Cara Cara. Whaddaya think?”

“He’s employed by TM only. He just likes to loiter.” Gemma pointed out.

“So? C’mon, Ma, work your magic. I’m sure it’s just like launderin’,” Jax asked, irritated.

Gemma sighed. Before he pitched the idea to the table, she was the first one he told that he wanted the club out of guns. It made sense. But with this kind of thinking, Gemma wondered how fast these dickheads would make a legit business go belly-up. It seemed she needed to sit them all down for a talk of some sort.

Businesses tend to do that shit.

Jax nodded dropping his pack on the ratty couch. He felt his mom’s eyes on him as he sat down. He propped his elbows on his knees, hands clasping together as he looked up and met Gemma’s stare. She raised an eyebrow.

“Are you gonna tell me, or are you gonna make me ask?”

Jax rubbed his hands over his face then sighed, resuming his previous position. This was the part of the conversation he knew he won’t be able to tiptoe his way around. “Just need to put some distance between me and Tara.”

Gemma huffed, raising both her hands in disbelief, before landing on her hips. She straightened, stepping away from the table, she strutted towards him and left only a few inches in between, forcing Jax to lean back and raise his head.

“Look, Ma, s’not a big deal.”

And maybe those were the wrong words to say as Gemma’s eyes sharpened, and if there was truth to the phrase if looks could kill, they’ll be holding his funeral tomorrow.

“Not a big deal my ass, Jackson!” Gemma exclaimed, completely rebutting his attempts at defusing. “Before you went inside, I watched this happen almost every day. That was two years ago. Are you tellin’ me that’s how it’s gonna be again? –”

“ – ”

“ – ‘Coz if you think that’s in any way normal, I’m tellin’ you it’s not, and it ain’t acceptable either. You haven’t even been back for a week!” Gemma finished in one breath, ignoring his mouth that slid open during her tirade.

“You done? Can I say somethin’?” Jax demanded more than asked, not bothering to mask his annoyance.

It was times like this that had him wondering if his mom was truly one and the same person, because he was having one helluva difficult time believing this tyrant was also the same person who comforted him in the rooftop just a few nights ago. It made him remember a way, way younger version of him asking if his mom’s ability to do a three-sixty in a drop of a hat was normal. The ear-pinch that followed convinced him to never ask that again – at least when she was in hearing range.

“Look, Ma, I know it’s not normal, alright? Why d’you think I choose to stay in my dorm?”

Gemma’s arms crossed, frosty gaze still focused on him. “You tell me, sweetheart. ‘Coz last I checked, I paid half of that house as a gift to you and not to Tara!”

“So what am I s’pposed to do?” Jax asked, arms wide open. “‘Coz I don’t think havin’ her sleep in the clubhouse is the right thing to do here.”

“Then have her check in at a hotel – Jesus Christ, why is this our problem?” Gemma threw her hands up looking way beyond exasperated.

“Because she’s still my girlfriend!” Jax bellowed.

Gemma stilled for a moment and raised an eyebrow. All of a sudden a smile that looked nothing short of triumphant slowly spread on her face, hands on her hips once more “Well, I don’t care sweetheart. In my book you pay for it, it’s yours. S’your right to stay in there and not hers.”

Jax sighed, running a hand through his hair. Gemma was only saying these because she never approved of Tara. If it was any other given day, she and Luann will be preaching how they should be treating their women with more respect. But whatever. The beginning of a throbbing in his temples was a telltale sign of an unforgiving headache if this dragged any longer. He had to switch gears.

He stood up, reaching for Gemma’s shoulders. “Look, Ma, I know you’re only lookin’ out for me, and I really appreciate it. But it’s not helpin’, so why don’t you just let me handle my shit with Tara, a’ight?”

The icy chill that resurfaced on her orbs made it known to him that he should have worded it out much carefully and differently. Shit.

“ – ”

“Knock knock, doll you ready to – Oh, hey Jax,” Luann’s smile dimmed as her eyes slid between the mother-son duo. “Is everythin’ alright? Sorry, am I –”

“Everything’s fine, sweetheart,” Gemma answered, smoothly stepping out of Jax’s hold, taking the time to put a smile on her face as she flipped her bangs with the tips of her fingers.

Jax could only follow her lead, mourning the lost chance of redeeming himself. He’ll try to find it later, preferably with no bystander. No undeserving soul needed to be within Gemma’s sights when on a warpath. He finally turned to Luann, taking her in.

She was wearing fitted jeans and tucked into it was a white – or maybe silver – button down made from a shimmery, silky material. The top few buttons undone. She had a blazer on top of it, and finished the look with a pair of ankle boots. He heard about it from his mom. Apparently, the porn director had been making a fuss about her wardrobe recently, saying she needed to upgrade – whatever the hell that meant – it now that Cara Cara was said to be rising up the ranks in the industry.

But if this was upgrading, Jax had to admit it was doing her wonders.

“Hey, Lu,” Jax motioned to the newcomer with his left hand. Luann took the invitation with gusto, fitting into his side easily as he wrapped an arm around her.

“You look great,” Gemma said.

“Thanks,” Luann smiled.

“Amelia?”

Instantly Luann’s face brightened as she nodded. Jax frowned in curiosity, juggling his memory for an Amelia.

“Who’s Amelia?” he asked in surrender when he didn’t find any.

“Oh, she’s my niece. She’s good with clothes.” She explained with delight.

Jax removed his hold on Luann, crossing both arms on his chest instead as he took a step back, content to be a fly on the wall as the two women talked. With the way her eyes lit up as she proudly talked more about her niece helping with – again – the upgrading of her closet to an interested Gemma, Jax guessed this Amelia was something special to Luann.

“She’s got great taste,” Gemma hummed.

“That she does. Otto’s loving the recent changes with my outfits as well.”

“Oh right, you had your conjugal –”

Jax snorted, and maybe he should have held it in. Because in his opinion once a month was still too few a chance to get laid. Well, not that he was getting much action aside from his own hand lately. But…

Best to leave that detail unannounced.

“What?” Luann asked puzzled.

Jax shook his head. “That’s why you look fresh. You got fertilized.”

Luann’s eyes rounded. “Oh, you are such a prick,” she threw a punch out. But Jax was already anticipating it, moving on reflex he just easily sidestepped and moved out of harm’s way.

“Tell me about it. He seems to be havin’ a field day.” Gemma sassed.

“Oh, c’mon Ma –”

“Hey, Gemma –”

Jesus, was this let’s interrupt Jax day? 

They all looked to the direction of the voice, finding Chucky peeking from the door leading to the garage.

“Yeah?”

“Sorry, I know we’re closed but it’s important,” he said, looking every bit as apologetic as he sounded. “Phone. Wilkins. Subaru.”

“Of course, he calls right now after I waited the whole day,” Gemma fell into step and moved to the side.

“Oh, you can transfer it here Jax and I will just –”

“Nah, it’s okay. You two just keep chattin’ I’ll take it here”

Luann turned around after Gemma disappeared. “What’s that about?”

“Nuthin’”

Luann looked at him pointedly. “Really?”

“Just you know, Gemma bein’ Gemma.”

“Hmm. How’re things at home?”

He should’ve known it was pointless to try to keep Luann at arm’s length. At certain times, the woman was just as bad as his mother when prying. Although a milder version. Thankfully.

“Tense.”

“I guess that’s what you were arguing about?”

“Yeah”

She drew an arm around him and rubbed his back. The same way his mother would. “What’s wrong sweetie?”

He shrugged. “I guess we’re just not seein’ eye to eye lately.”

Luann nodded in understanding. “Y’know, your mother doesn’t like being ignored.”

Jax snorted. “Tell me sumthin’ I don’t know.”

Luann just smiled again and shook her head. “Well, you better get ahead of that ‘coz I’m afraid that’s gonna bite you in the ass sooner than later. But what I’m sayin’ is, maybe your mom has been makin’ a point ‘bout you and Tara, but you haven’t been listening to her. I mean when was the last time you referred to Tara as your old lady?”

Jax stiffened, surprise evident on his features.

It was one of the things that often knocked on his conscience, and honestly still quite a mystery when in particular it happened. But every time he tried, the image of Lyla and Tara tending to a wounded Tig would flit in his mind. Tara with the eyes and hands of a surgeon, was methodical and precise in her approach. He remembered watching from the sides as she worked, impressed. After all if it weren’t for her skill and knowledge, they would’ve certainly needed to rush Tig to the ER. Lyla was her second pair of hands, working under her lead and supervision. She didn’t have the same expertise under her belt, but she certainly made up in instinct, and each of her movement didn’t escape Jax’s eyes – each smile, each word and each pass of her fingers coated with abundant care, grace and empathy.

He looked to Opie then, correctly predicting the proud look he had while observing his wife. Well shit, who wouldn’t be? Then his gaze drifted to his own girl. Maybe if Tara could learn to at least respect the life, she’ll be good enough to be an old lady too.

Immediately, the guilt was like a viper that slithered up his spine – swift and unrelenting.

The life they led was hard, and Jax was only on the cusp of sixteen when he discovered that while the Reaper kuttes took the frontline, much of the heavy lifting were quietly – and often unnoticed – supported by their women. Their unsung heroes. With that thought in mind, he knew it was unfair and unreasonable to ask Tara to fall in love with the kutte on the snap of a finger. But even so, that wasn’t the last time the comparisons between her and Lyla reared its ugly head. Yet he made sure he never shared it with anyone. Not even Opie and especially not Gemma – Oh shit.

Because she’s still my girlfriend.

Talk about a major slip up. To his mother most of all. Jax cringed, “You heard that?”

Luann’s brows pinched, drawing back a little. “Heard what?”

“A while ago, ain’t that what this is about?” Jax asked, now looking equally as lost as Luann.

Luann’s brows jumped to her forehead. “Oh – Christ, no. I didn’t hear anythin’ you and your mom were discussin’ a while ago. Believe me. But t’was easy to tell you two were buttin’ heads again. I guessed it’s ‘bout Tara so I just put my two cents in.” She said with a shrug.

If the open mouth was enough indication, Jax was clearly floored. So Luann took that as her cue to keep quiet, unknown to her the gesture was deeply appreciated. Because right that very moment, Jax felt as stupefied as he looked.

That his and Tara’s relationship status was an open book, was an understatement – and their readers were the whole of SAMCRO and everyone closely affiliated to it. If anyone asked, they could give a rundown of his relationship better than Jax ever could. Because what he was once so sure of, now felt like a thousand-piece puzzle, with some pieces missing. Yet in spite of this – all the noises, the questions and the doubts – he made sure to never share those and just keep them deep within his kutte.

So how, how was it that something he guarded so closely, escape him so casually, and without his knowledge?

“Oh hun,” Luann cooed, resuming the comforting rub she had on his back as she spotted the troubled look shadowing his face, “don’t beat yourself up over it. S’just my opinion and I certainly can’t speak for Tara, but maybe she’s –”

“PMSing.”

Before they knew it, Gemma was in front of them again, focused once more on the papers strewn on the top of her desk and completely oblivious to the disapproving scowl on Luann’s face and Jax’s head tilted to the side, frowning in curiosity. He’s pretty sure he’s heard that term somewhere before.

“What’s PMSing?”

Gemma’s hand froze before looking up. It was brief, but Luann saw it. And maybe Jax didn’t recognize it or maybe he wasn’t as much of an afficionado in decoding all things Gemma as she was. The comment was just offhanded – maybe even meant as a joke – but in just the flash of a second, she was confident a golden egg hatched in Gemma’s mind.

“It’s a condition common to women, comes out when we’re stressed and even hurtin’ over somethin’. You should talk to her ‘bout it. It’ll help.”

To his credit, Jax looked skeptical. But Luann could tell he knew he was in a catch 22. Because who in the club could ever classify as a decent source of PMS information?

“Right,” Jax gave a nod.

“Anyway, we’re ‘bout to head out. You want me to get you anythin’?” Gemma asked, picking up her purse and walked over to him and Luann.

“Nah. You two drive safe, alright?” Jax said, reaching out to give a kiss to his mom’s and Luann’s cheeks.

The two women walked to Luann’s car and just as the blonde, biker president was out of earshot, Luann rounded on Gemma.

“PMS really?”

“What?”

“You know what type of conversation usually occurs when you ask a raging girlfriend that. Besides I thought you agreed not to interfere in their relationship anymore.”

Gemma tsked, heading for the passenger side “’M not interferin’. I think it would do him some good actually. It’s time he learned somethin’ ‘bout the female body aside from fucking it.”

Luann shook her head, sighing as she trailed behind her shit stirring friend. Maybe there was a point to be made in that. But…

Oh well, can’t say I didn’t warn Jax.

When was the last time you referred to Tara as your old lady?

Jesus Christ! Jax sat up, running a hand down his face. 

Upon arriving at his dorm, he removed his kutte and laid down right away. But how the hell was he supposed to sleep when his mind refused to cooperate?

It didn’t help that his gut churned every single time Luann’s question resurfaced. Jax needed to sleep, otherwise he’d be a fucking zombie. He needed something to calm him down. Something mindless. A distraction.

He got up and walked out of his dorm, stalking towards their lone IT person. He was still perched on the barstool, just as he was when Jax saw him earlier.

“Hey, Juice.”

Juice looked away from the screen “Hey Jax, what’s up?”

Jax tipped his chin towards the laptop “You done soon?”

“Nah, Nero asked me to change some stuff on his site. Need sumthin’?”

“Can’t sleep thought I’d check Netflix.”

“Grab the one Chucky’s usin’. He’s still in the garage. Laptop’s in the kitchen.”

“Thanks,” Jax nodded.

“Everythin’ alright, bro?”

Jax was just about to turn around when Juice spoke. “Yeah, everything’s good.”

None of his brothers were stupid, and Juice was definitely no exception. Jax could see the doubt in his face. That he remained silent was appreciated by the club president. Juice just nodded so Jax went on to the kitchen, grabbed the laptop sitting idly on top of the table and went back to his dorm, keen to start with – hopefully – the peaceful part of his night. It didn’t take him long to fire up the beast as it was just in sleep, landing him straight to a paused video.

Curious, Jax hit play. Wonder what this weirdo’s into?

“Oh, Chucky!” A girl moaned.

Jax’s eyebrows jumped to his forehead. What the hell?

She was on a bed, only in her bra, the sheets giving a thin layer of privacy as it covered her from navel to toes. But no rocket science needed, her hand moving beneath the blanket was very straightforward.

“Jax!”

Jax turned to his door, a panting Chucky obviously in a hurry to reach him.

Jax stood up, running a hand down his face. “You let anyone see your girlfriend like this?” He scowled. Jax knew he didn’t have much leg to stand on here. It wasn’t like he was gunning for boyfriend of the year award but having your girl as a free-for-all was just a different kind of low.

“Oh, Sophie’s not my girl. I’m just a fan – subscriber.”

Having paced away from the direction of his bed, Jax paused mid-step and turned. “What?”

Chucky, collecting the laptop, halted and grinned “OnlyFans. C’mon I’ll show you.”

He seriously had no idea how he got strong-armed into this. All he wanted was a movie. And at one point, everything coming out of Chucky’s mouth was pure gibberish as he schooled him into this OnlyFans thing. His ears only perked up when Chucky started listing down the costs.

“I really think you should try it. C’mon what do you have to lose?”

His brows went to his hairline. “What do I have to lose? Whaddaya think, jackass? My money.”

Immediately Chucky recoiled like a puppy kicked in the gut. Jax’s guilt from earlier resurfaced tenfold, because really? Was this how he was gonna treat the man who went out on a limb for the club?

He sighed and waved a hand. “’M sorry Chucky, it’s just been a long ass day. And I think you’re right, I do need to try this.”

Chucky’s smile returned, megawatt. Jax hoped he wasn’t going to regret this.

“Alright, so first we need to set you up with an account. What username do you want?” Chucky tipped his head. “You can get creative, people often tend to be discreet.”

Well, I wonder why. He could only guess how it would go if Tara found out about this. Tara. Is this alright? Joining this site?

No matter the circumstances, they were still together, and Jax may admittedly have a colorful background, but cheater was one thing he didn’t want to add to that list. He rubbed a hand down his face.

“And if you’re worried about Tara, you can just stay away from the sex workers.”

Jax’s head swiveled to his left, a slow grin spreading on his face. The insightful bastard. “Yeah? So what kind d’you suggest I subscribe to?”

Chucky shrugged. “Influencers, bakers, whatever.”

In other words, things that Jax gave zero fucks about. Yeah, if this was ever unearthed, he could use those as excuses until he was blue in the face. Thing is, he wouldn’t fool even himself into believing it.

Jax almost groaned at the expectant look on Chucky’s face.

“How ‘bout you what’s your username?” He asked, stirring himself away from thoughts of his own grave. He could just give it three days then get outta there.

“Chucky,” Chucky answered.

Again, his eyebrows jumped. There was no telling if Chucky was kidding. Idiot only ever has one expression. “That’s you bein’ discreet?”

“Well, how many Chucky’s you know?”

“Fair enough. But ain’t no way I’m usin’ my own name.”

“Fair enough,” Chucky parroted, drawing an amused chuckle from the SAMCRO president. “How about Mr. Mayhem?”

Jax’s smile slid off his face. “You do know what Mr. Mayhem stands for right?”

Chucky winced. “Sorry, I thought it’d be cool. How about Reaper?”

“Basically, the same thing.”

“Right, how about – I got it!” Chucky’s fingers swept all over the keys, confident he’d thought of something Jax would like. To Chucky’s credit, as he showed the screen to a curious Jax, the blonde biker just gave a nod, impressed.

“Heh, I like it.”

It seemed fairly easy a while ago. Now left to his own devices, Jax was lost navigating this labyrinth of a site. Each damn button looked the same. And what was up with that long ass terms and conditions?

Do people really read that shit?

Jax was just about to give up when a video slid on the top of his screen. Sumthin’ like new videos? New suggestions? Both? Jax tried to recall what Chucky called them. But whatever, his attention was now drawn to the thumbprint.

It was a woman, wearing a sexy piece of lingerie. She was suspended, mid-air, hanging only by a pole, and Jax had absolutely no clue how she got there or how she managed to stay there. It looked like she was sitting, gripping the metal rod only by her thighs.

Strong thighs, he couldn’t help but notice. Her back was to the camera, with one hand idly on her hip, while the other was on the back of her blonde head, hair thrown over her left shoulder. Her head was angled slightly to the side, eyes peeking over her right shoulder, and with a smile for an invitation. She had a mask on, all lace and string. If somebody asked him right at that moment how she looked, he’d say – like a secret you want to unravel.

Unable to tear his eyes off, he clicked it. The video zoomed to the four corners of his screen and Jax’s heart hammered in anticipation. The video was dimly lit, but not of poor quality. The outline of her lithe body was still very visible. This time, as she waited for her cue, she was stood at the floor, then the chords of a familiar song, the inspiration behind her moniker were struck. Not the original, but still a tasteful choice.

She started to move and when her pace and the tempo picked up, it was like she wasn’t even dancing. It looked like she was flowing. And flying and floating – from one movement to the other, as smooth as a breeze, drifting from the floor and all over the pole in the sexiest pair of strappy heels he’s ever seen – that he wondered if there was someone behind holding her by the strings.

The way she moved – hypnotic. Magnetic. Alluring.

So when the prompt for a subscription came up, halting the current video, it was a no-brainer.

“The demarcation between different levels within the fashion market is becoming ever complicated and –”

Buzz.

Drawing a small line on the sentence, Amelia paused and welcomed the much-needed break from her reading. She adjusted her glasses and tapped her phone to life.

Meet your new fan…

Her eyebrows lifted along with the corners of her mouth.

MrPresident. Heh, that’s cute.

A/N: And I’ve been hit with another delay. But here’s chapter three with Amelia and Jax finally (unknowingly) meeting. 

I did as much research as I could for OnlyFans. But I’m not a creator nor a subscriber for the site. I tried to make it as authentic as possible, but if anyone reading this who has been on the site find anything inaccurate, I apologize and I hope it won’t be too much of a bother. 

To anyone who’s read and liked, thank you. Please leave a comment and/or reblog. 

If you want to be added to my taglist, let me know or click here.

Thank you to @lovebarefootblonde for beta-reading for me and for being an awesome friend! 😘 To anyone new to Tumblr and are looking for Jax Teller AUs, go check out her works! 

Taglist: @fullwattpadmusictree

#jax teller fanfiction #jax teller x oc #jax teller imagine #charlie hunnam fanfiction #charlie hunnam imagine #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy au #sons of anarchy fanfiction #sons of anarchy imagine #better than the fantasy #jax and amelia

[furious-rogue-stuff]

Façade - A Dave York Drabble

So! This was originally a drabble prompt from my good partner in smutty crime, @just-here-for-the-moment​, but since this stupid hell site can’t work properly and allow me to copy this into my response to her ask, I’m relegated to posting it as a stand-alone blog. 

Pairing: Dave York x OFC | Dave York x Spitfire

Disclaimer: Written in 2nd person narrative, you can safely assume our heroine and love/lust interest is a Latina, written by a Latina. Here's my philosophy on my writing, for further context.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

🚨Author chooses not to include detailed warnings, but if you know the Equalizer universe and read Dave York fics, you know the kind of content to expect. This is depraved smut of the filthiest caliber, so you’ve been forewarned. However this story includes mentions of adultery/infidelity, allusions to violence, combative sexual dynamics, implied obsessive behavior, dominance fixation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, and unhealthy coping mechanism.

Word Count: 19,500+

Façade

It’s your assignment.

And you’ve had just about enough of him derailing it.

The conference room is charged with the acrimony that is incongruent with the affable expression plastered on the lead intelligence advisor’s face across from you. Yeah, fine – he’s the man who oversees all divisions of the agency’s work. And sure – the fact he’s the senior person in the room with the most awards and has the brass’ ear on almost everything doesn’t help, nor the fact that he’s Plummer’s favorite errand boy.

Nope. None of it bodes well in your favor, and that doesn’t help your simmering irritation from spiking sharply at the broad set of his shoulders or the aloof purse of his lips as he looks over the plans.

You don’t like Dave York.

Not because he was so well-liked around the building, or because he seemed to enjoy coming in and sabotaging your surveillance assessments or pulled the plug on special ops you’d painstakingly coordinated last minute because he ‘didn’t think the human intelligence data at its foundation was sound.’ Oh, no. All of that wasn’t new. You’d put up with plenty of C.O.’s and lily-livered analysts contracted by DOD who lived for leaving you and your team in professional squalor in the middle of hell while they fleeced the government by providing shit oversight and shoddy equipment.

You don’t like Dave York, because you see the real him he hides behind his sculpted façade.

Family man, jovial mid-leveler within the D.I.A. was his sanitized, 40+ hour week civilian day job. What he put on his taxes and got to sigh tiredly about with friends and family on weekend backyard shindigs or during Sunday football. The easygoing everyman swagger, the friendly regard of his smile, and the varnish of his deference for the people around him were expertly chiseled to hide the multifaceted truth of his character. It was an effortless camouflage – a blending in amongst the uninitiated. A decent fucking front…

How do you know it’s all a front? Because you have your own mask to wear, and the façade you’ve built is one you don’t like the likes of Dave York trying to fuck with by incessantly needling you with contrarian double talk.

After all, your meticulously crafted persona within the agency is that of the competently judicious yet charming field analyst who specializes in human and counter intelligence. For all everyone in the office knew, you went to the best schools, did a tour in the U.N. as an intern for a high commissioner through the Middle East, and were a convivial delight when you weren’t honed in on a delicate operation.

This specific operation is quite delicate, and having fuckin’ Dave York contradict you is testing your patience.

“—Looking at the latest reports, I don’t get a sense that there’s a need to hurry into the zone. Have you considered waiting until extraction is completely necessary?” Dave is cutting into your current remark justifying your timetable, and the way he flicks his gaze up from the satellite maps to glance at you?

Sure, to the rest of your team, it seems like just a musing look, waiting on you to share your thoughts. But you see it. How his dark brown eyes flare with something goading.

You feel the blazing disdain crest to the top of your head. Fuck it.

“That was the first thing we did, Dave,” you coolly scathe and cross your arms over your tight pearl-white silk blouse-clad chest, straining the fabric of your black blazer cinched snug to your biceps and slimming at your waist. “Are you concerned that my team is inept? Or are you merely suggesting you know more than us about this assignment?”

You can feel the other fellas bristle while the man stands straight from his leaning position to cross his own arms and jovially snicker, “Not at all! Really – this is stellar,” he’s gesturing to the presentation laid out on the conference room table before drawling, “But, timing is everything. And I don’t think yours is as urgent as you’ve outlined—”

“Look, I know it isn’t big ticket jihad-level stuff like you are always so keen to signoff on, but this is a dangerous cell of wannabe domestic terrorists going abroad for training on not-so-homegrown hobbies,” you contradict with a sarcastic edge, dropping your arms so one hand props at your hip while the other fans out in curt gesture at all of the work laid out before him. “The way things are going, domestic threats are going to blow foreign terror attempts out of the water—”

“And that is obviously on our radar, but not top priority,” Dave’s tone begins to dip from the practiced easygoingness to a sharper, terser quality as he eyes you now with a surly glint he quickly sweeps away by idly rubbing the inside of his palm along the line of his jaw while he flicks a glance at the others. “I know you all feel strongly—”

“What we feel has nothing to do with it, Dave. If you have another assignment you’re going to bump ours for, I’d rather you just say so and spare us the shine on,” you can’t help slash like a knife through a carotid artery.

He looks at you behind his mask as he trains his features into polished marble, where only the little furrow between his brows betrays his annoyance as he clears his throat, crosses his arms tightly over his slate-colored blazer and light-powder blue dress shirt before he stares over at your colleagues. “Foster, Hurley, Estrada – give us the room?” Dave asks in a firm baritone, shoulders squaring while a no-nonsense air about him fills the space.

The men nod and spare you varying glances of awe and appraisal before they head for the exit. Once the frosted glass door shuts behind them, you turn to eye him coolly. His stare is electric, charged with something cunning, lips pursing in what you would describe as a considering scowl before he exhales out his nose and leans edgewise on the table while he seemingly sizes you up.

“Besides the obvious, is there another reason why you feel compelled to buck every fucking thing I say?”

You hold his gaze as you sweep all your work up and stuff the files and maps into their folders before deliberately remaining leaned over the conference table in order to tilt your head in feigned contemplation at him. Dave fixes in on the soft way your full lips look when you feign a neutral smile.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

The cavalier tone of your retort? That seems to goad him enough to dropping the mask.

His façade falls away to reveal an etched expression of a man not amused by you, but also smug and exacting as he flicks his dark eyes down your blouse before perniciously snickering as a slow, sly smile quirks his pillowed lips and threatens to reveal the dimple in his right cheek.

“I think you know exactly what I mean, spitfire.”

Oh, yeah…the other reason you know everything about Dave York is simply a fucking front, is because you saw him.

That night over a month ago, when an interagency party upstairs went long and you’d found yourself wandering back to your floor and down to the secluded nook around the corner from the old emergency stairwell. The one that’s great for slipping away and being isolated enough from the foot traffic of the office compartments beyond the heavy interior door with the sidelight. You hadn’t wandered down there alone.

The threat-assessment analyst was a contractor Estrada knew and vouched for. The fact he was hot and bold enough to suggest going somewhere more secluded, compounded with the fact that you’d had a bad week and definitely needed to let off some steam, were enough motivation to take him up on the suggestions. So, you’d led the way to the secluded ante-room, pulled him along to the corner across from the door and leaned into the inset counter used to stack phonebooks and the like back in the day.

A heated make-out session and his discovery that you had a thin lace thong on under your black cocktail dress later, and he had you bent over the bulky chair adjacent the wall-backed couch, with him fucking you fast and hard. Your vantage point and grip on the chair would allow the best chance to maneuver into the blind spot of the room if someone was to walk in, and allowed you to keep an ear out for anyone approaching before then.

Or so, you’d thought.

When you’d gasped after a particular slam of his hips into you and looked up, you noticed the silhouette of someone standing just out of sight of the sidelight. Your hookup for the night – Samson, was it? – was too focused on railing you as best he could to notice if there was a fire in the room, let alone someone possibly watching you. No, only you’d noticed, and rather than the voyeur get spooked at you staring ahead at them, making it clear you knew they were there, the boldness of it all had been enough invitation.

Dave had watched you. His dark eyes cataloguing how your breasts bounced in your bodice while you got fucked from behind. He’d admired how you’d reveled in it without shame, and when you’d noticed him? Rather than balking or hurriedly stopping or alerting the guy railing you, he watched as you stared right at him, like you were daring him to come in – seemingly projecting with the unspoken heat of your gaze and pout of your parted lips, You want this? Come and take me, if you fucking dare.

Or so, he’d thought.

After all, you hadn’t shown any indication prior to being attracted to him, let alone being open to a sexual encounter. Was he reading what he wanted to from your unabashed reaction? Or did the challenging heat in your gaze as you stared sinfully at him come from true desire? In the moment, he burned with the allure of seeing what seemed to be the real you: a stunning vixen.

Dave hadn’t had much interaction with you, other than the occasional assignment assessments he’d undertake of your division’s work. You’d come in from the Department of State’s New York office. Once you’d gotten to lead your team and put in for assignments, he’d gotten to know the surface facts about you from others in the office. But, after that first time? When he’d scuttled a project from moving forward into an operational phase? He’d seen it plain.

Dave had seen your eyes sharpen, even though your frame had remained poised and your expression hadn’t betrayed any ill will. But he knew that searing disdain better than anyone else. It had been a flicker, the pinprick dilation and darkening of your eyes before you’d been able to catch yourself and flicked your gaze away.

It had made him hard, and he didn’t know why.

And when he’d followed you and your hookup down from the top floor? He’d expected to catch you fooling around. Really, he’d hoped to get a glimpse – to find out how reckless and filthy you’d be by your selection of venue for the tryst. So, peering into the sidelight and seeing you getting fucked from behind, all the while your gaze had gone faraway as you bit back your sounds of pleasure? It had made Dave’s cock fill out instantly, throbbing with the ache of wanting to be balls’ deep in you. Instead, he’d watched, wondering how he could maybe spin this in his favor – how he could ensnare you with it, when your gaze had cleared and looked right at him.

Dave rarely got a thrill when he wasn’t on a job, or expending his baser urges with his vetted resources suited explicitly for that. But the exhilaration that burned in his gut and made his heart race at you watching him play the voyeur? It was an undercurrent that had singed through him long after, and had left him wanting.

When you’d gotten off, your eyes had screwed shut in ecstasy, mouth falling open on a breathy gasp. It had been intriguing, wondering if you’d come because he was watching you, or in spite of it.

After, when you’d blushed and looked back at the sidelight, you’d found it empty – as if no one had been there at all and you’d made the whole thing up just to get that deviant thrill needed to make you climax. Samson had been mindful of the condom, tending to it and rambling about how hot that was. You’d gone to splash cold water on your face and got cleaned up in the ladies room before sneaking down to your car and getting the hell out of there.

But, you’d wondered. Wondered how long it would take until he’d make it known – that he’d validate once and for all that you had not conjured him watching you get fucked that night. And, you’d wondered what he would do once he did.

And now, here it is.

So, you sweep the folders up from the conference table and pin them in the crook of your arm while reaching for your phone you’d left aside, sparing him an aloof glance as you retort neutrally, “Only reason I can think of? Is that you devalue our work. And I didn’t much feel like pretending it doesn’t aggravate me today. That’s all.”

The smug smirk flints away at your dismissive remark, replaced by a surly glare and the clench of his jaw as his eyes narrow on you. Feeling accomplished, you hum and turn on your heel to head for the door.

“Guess you’ll have to try harder to prove your work is of any value to begin with.”

The dark mutter of his low tone makes something deviant curl inside the pit of your stomach while a flush of warmth zings through you.

With a glance over your shoulder at him, you betray a goading smile, one Dave feels equal parts incensed and enticed by.

“Well then, I guess we’ll both have to do a lot more trying to find a happy medium,” you silkily drawl, opening the door, and then sighing, “Although, I doubt you’ll be able to rise to the occasion.”

You’ve breezed out the door before Dave can snap his mouth open to retort. Fuming, he glares about the vacant conference room and exhales his testy umbrage through his nose before grabbing his own leather planner to stride out. When he does, the easygoing veneer is back over his features, but his eyes are flinty and dark. Fucking little bitch… Dave snarls in his mind, but then the scintillating look in your eyes as you’d smiled back at him flashes bright. How am I gonna get my hands on that sexy fucking bitch…

He couldn’t deny it now. Sure, he’d conveniently tried to glaze over his recollection of the first time he’d seen you. Of how bewitchingly gorgeous he’d found you then, as you’d chatted in the lobby and accepted the cup of coffee from the chain store around the corner the department rep offered you. While the two of you came strolling towards the elevator banks he was at with a small crowd of nine to fivers.

When you’d got onto the same elevator as his and kept amiable chatter going, he’d stepped to the back corner, using the moment to covertly admire your profile. And he’d been more than pleased when you got off the elevator on the same floor. But even then, the calculating voice in his head had chided him. You don’t fuck around at work. That’s what the escorts are for. Keep shit compartmentalized. Can’t have things bleeding into each other—

“Oh, Dave! Come meet the new analyst we poached from DOS.”

He’d glanced around and paused in his stride towards his office, easily smiling and putting on his seamlessly affable cover as he strolled back and greeted the rep before exchanging introductions with you.

You, on the other hand, do not like Dave. Sure, at first, you found him innocuous. But now, after every major interaction with him becomes a test of your will? No, you can decidedly say you do not like Dave York.

No matter how handsome he is.

Or how enticing his voice is hitting that low register when he’d sniped gruffly at you just now.

Fuck, fine…he’s sexy. You grumble to yourself as you get back to your section. Sure, there were plenty of times you’d clandestinely stared at his broad shoulders in his well-fitted blazers, and admired his chiseled features. And yes, there’d been several occasions when you’d passed each other and you’d gotten an appealing whiff of his cologne. Which, then had you absently wondering how warm his skin is, or if his natural musk matches the rich darkness of his deep brown eyes.

But, then you’d see him wearing the façade to hide the real man he was. And more annoyingly enough – and probably what should be quelling your terse attraction to him – was the glaringly obvious gold band around his ring finger. Normal people don’t omit that. And after everything…you shouldn’t either.

“Jesus, girlie. You got a set of brass ones on yah.”

Your wandering thoughts snap away to focus on the trio of gazes that are on you once you’ve turned the corner into your section of shared desks. The fellas are conglomerated around your workspace, clearly on pins and needles, so you scoff and shake your head derisively before giving them a good-natured smile.

“You’re just mad I got a bigger pair than you, Hurlz,” you joke as you shrug your blazer off and toss it to hang on the back of your desk chair, slink onto the seat, and let it spin, unable to not shoot Matt Hurley a silly glance. “Anyway…it had to be said.”

“I mean, did it?” Johnny Estrada can’t help challenge as he crosses his arms and leans his hip into the tall file cabinet that bisects your workspace from his. “York is easygoing, but no one’s cool with taking that level of shit from anyone, chica.”

“Yeah, and unlike you three? I get stuck working on a lot of processing requests with people who report direct to him. I’d like to not end up on someone’s shit-list,” Sam Foster grumbles at you before nursing his morning-old coffee. “So then? I take it the assignment is another dud?”

Grunting to yourself when you realize nothing netted out definitively between you and Dave regarding the matter, you reply neutrally, “He’s taking it under advisement.”

They exchange varying looks of bewilderment before you sigh and spin your chair to face your computer.

“Fine. Yes. I lost my patience. I’ll work on it. Sorry, fellas,” you yield tersely.

“Yeah, well, you’re lucky we like you,” Matt quips before loping back to the opposite workspace he and Sam share. “Oh! Tomorrow? I got an in on that happy hour I told youz about. All you guys are down, right?” he exclaims and enthusiastically lobbies, patting Sam eagerly on the shoulder and punching Johnny on the arm when they give lukewarm grunts in response. “C’mon! Fancy bourbon bar at the top of a high-rise overlooking the Potomac, aka guaranteed to be busting with singles, if not swanky elite connections.”

“Wanna carpool tomorrow?” Johnny nudges you platonically with the back of his hand at your arm. “Do that workout class in the morning, and we can try this foofy bar?”

“Sure, but I want that muffin from the bakery,” you haggle, smiling when Matt cheers and starts hassling Sam to cave. “If you go, I’ll buy you all an ‘I’m sorry for being sassy to the boss’ round, ok?” is your suggestion when you look impishly at Sam.

“Ah, fuck it, fine,” the man relents, comically shoving Matt along to get back to work. “We’ll all go right after work tomorrow.”

What had you been thinking about? Oh, yeah…Dave York.

As you zone out into your clerical tasks, typing away and staring at your computer screen, you can’t help try and drudge the foreboding feeling that you’re dismissing something you shouldn’t. What was it?

Your mind slaps you with Dave’s silhouette, standing behind the sidelight of that door. Oh yeah…I should feel alarmed by that, right? Earnestly, you insist to yourself that surely having a man you work with lurking and leering at you in such a vulnerable circumstance is something a normal woman should have been seriously concerned – perhaps even fearful of. But that anxiety never hits. Even when you’d rushed out of the building that night, it was more to get out of the awkward parting of ways with your hookup rather than being put out or mortified by being watched by the lead intelligence advisor you’d had to bury your rancor towards.

As the day goes on to early evening and each of the fellas file out and offer you their varying farewells, you keep working, and psychoanalyzing yourself.

And then, just when you feel obtusely detached from the inscrutable reason trying to cull you into concern, your mind skids to a halt on the sudden thought.

He’s dangerous. Something about him is familiar because he’s a threat.

Pausing to contemplate that, you lean back in your chair and dazedly look around to find the office and other workspaces empty. Checking the time on your phone, you realize it’s later than you’d intended to stay, so with a mind-clearing shake of your head, you logoff your computer, grab your purse and loop your blazer to drape over it as you hang the strap on your shoulder. The muted sound of your heels becomes a rhythmic click as you traverse through the office and out to the tiled foyer towards the elevator banks. You press the button and push your blouse’s sleeves up to your elbows before glancing at your smartphone’s screen to idly check messages while you wait.

The elevator arrives and its doors slide open smoothly, so you breeze in and with practiced sense-memory, press the button to the garage level without looking up from your phone. Just as you’re taking a measured step back towards the wall while the doors begin to slide shut, you make out the sound of footfalls in long strides across the tiled floor before the doors pause and accordion back when the person places their hand to trigger the safety sensor.

Once the elevator halts, you flick your glance up just as Dave steps in and settles to stand next to you, with a respectable pocket of space between you both.

For some reason, your pulse races, and that familiar tingle of trepidation flickers through you, but you don’t outwardly betray anything and simply resume perusing the article you’d begun to skim through on your phone. As soon as the doors slide shut, Dave shoots you a sidelong glance and adjusts the strap of his soft leather workbag higher up his broad shoulder before flicking his wrist up to glance at his watch.

“You make it a habit of working late on days you backtalk to superiors?”

That little deviant thrill buzzes through you at his menacingly gruff remark. You don’t look at him though. Instead, you flick your gaze from your phone to the floor number display on the elevator’s panel, seeing it’s ticking down slow and making it obvious it’s going to meander all the way down to the G-level, as it always does. You then spot the security camera mounted not-so-covertly in the ceiling corner of the elevator, and realize he’s being mindful of its watchful lens, hence why his body language and expression don’t match the provocative tone of his voice or the edge of his words.

With a musing sigh, you glance back at your phone and close out the article as you retort glibly, “I work late most days, Dave. In spite of whomever might’ve gotten my backtalk.”

It’s then you betray an aloof glance his way, and smile when he raises a stoically quirked brow while his dark brown eyes snap appraisingly along the length of you before boring into your now unbothered gaze. It’s fleeting, but you both see the flare of something charged in each other’s eyes before you turn to feign you’re checking the floor number display again. Really, you’re looking at how his jaw squares before the hinge clenches. Admiring his 5-o’clock shadow along his cheeks and jawline, as you watch the tendon in his neck flex when he grunts and looks down at his own phone he’s just pulled from his blazer’s pocket.

“You seemed to be incapable of backtalk when that prick was railing the fuck out of you.”

His voice is a velvet pitch, rich with surly wickedness. Dave said it with his features relaxed, tip of his tongue darting to dampen the top rim of his lips as he feigned boredom and looked up from his phone screen now to shoot you a carefree smile.

It shouldn’t turn you on. None of this should be something you’re entertaining. But then you offer him a congenial smile, the one you let reach your eyes. They crinkle prettily and make your lashes seem longer just as you bat them at him. Dave’s pillowed lips pull into a handsome, albeit amused smirk, so you slip your phone into your purse and coolly brush your fingers to tuck your hair behind your ear as you regard him with a heated stare.

“Hmm, I suppose that was the case, seeing as he was giving me something I wanted rather than pretending to appease me with his good-guy façade,” is your sibilant drawl as you give him an easygoing, one-shouldered shrug.

Dave’s expression darkens, and you can feel the rancorous windup radiate off of him and reverberate onto you just as the elevator dings, announcing you’ve arrived to the garage level. He’s hot under the collar now – cock thick and hard in his slacks in spite of his dueling outrage and wanton urge warring for dominance. It leaves him feeling like his skin is pulled too tight and the conflict of it has wound tight into the pit of his belly.

When the doors slide open, you politely nod in farewell and nimbly breeze out, intending to stride off to your car while nursing the gloating delight of wiping the smirk off his good-looking face.

Suddenly, before you’ve registered the shift, you’re whipped around by a vise-like grip snapping around the back of your arm. In a blink, you’re pressed up against the cement retaining wall that creates a corner separating the elevator banks from the approaching curb leading out to the sprawling underground parking. Your neck cranes back so you can stare up at Dave as he looms over you before he briskly presses into your personal space and causes your breath to hitch in your chest. His dark eyes unearth a shiver to skitter up your spine, and the imposing way he crowds you, leaning close enough for you to smell his mint-tinged breath and the intertwined scent that makes up the warm musk of his cologne, soap and skin.

“I guess I don’t have to pretend anymore on your account, seeing as you enjoy being a smart-mouthed bitch,” Dave growls darkly, adding in a hushed rumble, “The kind of disrespectful tease that secretly aches to be punished. That why you strut around, talking to me like you do? Because you wish I’d drag you into a dark corner and fuck you speechless, you wicked little bitch?”

Your thighs clench from how hard your pussy throbs at his nasty come-on, and you dimly wonder if he can smell how wet you are – well, how wet you’ve been since he stepped onto the elevator, because your panties are drenched through now as you press your shoulders back into the cement and defiantly stare up at him, hands snapping up onto his blazer-clad biceps. His arms are boxing you in against him and the wall, and he expects you to push him away, or maybe even dig your nails into his arms in retaliation. So, when you instead grip them and pull him closer, his surly expression cools long enough to take in how you’re looking at him.

“Is that why you watched? Because you wanted to be the one fucking me, Dave?”

His expression hardens, jaw ticking as he exhales harshly out his nose and glares scathingly down at you from how lilting and smug your tone was.

Humming a sultry sound of amusement, you gloat, “What, you can’t admit it? Is it too much of a dangerous threat to your dashing Dave shtick? Or you can’t accept that you want what you can’t have—?”

“Who fucking said I can’t have it?” Dave snarls turbulently as he suddenly un-shoulders his satchel and lets it plot to the floor. Your eyes flash with surprise when he grabs your waist, digging his thumb into your hipbone while his other hand clasps around your slender neck and pins you into place so he can tauntingly lean dangerously close. He ghosts the tip of his aquiline nose across your cheekbone as he husks, “From the way you were looking at me? I think you only managed to come that night because you were pretending it was me railing you from behind. Wishing it was my cock fucking your pussy raw,” he pauses to see if you’ll object, or try to contradict him. Your only reaction is for your breath to quicken, and he smirks maliciously when your eyes get dark and glossy as he lightly kneads your throat with his warm palm and thick fingers clasping threateningly as if contemplating squeezing. “Tell me I’m wrong, spitfire. Talkback. Say you don’t want it, and—”

Dave’s command cuts off when you swiftly maneuver your arm in a way that it sweeps his hand from your throat while your other hand snatches around his nape to hook and haul him down so you can challengingly glare into his wide gape. “You want control?! Then you say it,” you hiss daringly, heart pounding in your chest and core cloying with desire. Dave deliberates tensely as he wraps his arms possessively around your frame, so you airily murmur, “If you want it, then take it.” He bristles at your tone, so you sigh, eyes lowering alluringly as you whisper, “Drop the façade and show me…”

Fuck. Dave feels off-kilter and ravenously turned on by your defiant-yet-beguiling come-on. His eyes sear into yours as he leans into a breath’s width of your mouth and curls his palm up from your waist to drag up your soft blouse, fondling you over the thin material before he curls his hand around to grip the back of your neck and yank you forward to meet his bruising kiss.

After so long, and despite all the roiling angst that’s been crackling between you, your mouths are demanding and warm as the tether keeping you both at odds snaps loose. There’s no security camera to worry about now, so Dave revels in kissing you breathless after having longed to do it, and your mouth worships his with just as much gusto. It proves to him you’ve wanted him just as much, and he blazes with savage pride while you relish feeling so engulfed-yet-grounded in this all-consuming passion he’s stoking out of you.

You cling to Dave as his tongue plunders your mouth and his knee jams between your pencil-skirt-clad thighs to force you onto your tippy toes so you can drown and burn all at once. The heat of your clothed cunt as it grinds against his thigh makes Dave growl into the kiss before you suck hard on his bottom lip and gasp from how his other hand gropes the globe of your buttock and digs his fingers into the plump swell. Your hand tightens in the neatly-trimmed tufts of hair at his nape when your pussy throbs in response to him grinding his hard-on against your hip while he presses his thumb below the hinge of your jaw to pin it open when you mewl into the torrid kiss.

Just as your brain begins to haywire with debauched yearning and reluctant apprehension at being dominated by Dave out in the open like this, you hear the ding of the elevator chiming its sudden arrival.

With automatic force, you recoil and shove Dave back before snapping your purse strap up from the tangle it’s in at your elbow to snag on your shoulder as you agilely sprint off. He is equally swift in retrieving his satchel and scrubbing his palm over his features to swipe any possible remnants of your lipstick that may have smudged on him, as he breathes in a charged inhale and holds it the entire time he walks briskly to his car. As he hurries on long strides, he covertly watches you clear the expanse of the empty spaces towards your compact little sedan tucked into a spot across the way. You don’t spare a backwards glance at him, which Dave takes umbrage to and begins to simmer with disdain over while he stalks to his own black Mercedes in the top corner.

The office workers who’d filed out of the coitus interruptus elevator were now loudly saying their farewells as they broke off to head to their own vehicles just as you hop into yours. Dave scans your license plate as you back out of your spot and maneuver to pull out and cruise out of the level up towards the exit ramp. With a gruff grunt, he gets in his car and sits there while the engine warms up. He palms his hard-on over his trousers and feels himself throb while his face flushes with surly frustration.

Fucking Christ. What’re you doing – what the fuck even was that?

With a huff, Dave snaps his seatbelt on and notices the damp spot on his pant leg, just above his knee. Don’t blur the fucking lines, dammit. Keep shit separate. Work. Family. Hookups. Contracts. Each walled off so one doesn’t fuck with the other. His palm rubs the spot clean enough to not be traceable to the naked eye. Before he puts the car in reverse, he raises his hand to his nose and breathes in the scent of your wet pussy. Blood rushes to his groin and his hard-on strains in response. Fuck…you have to keep it all compartmentalized. Fucking a hot piece of ass from the office is not the way to go about it…

Annoyed, Dave backs out of his spot and heads home, intending to force his wanton desire for you into the dark pit with the rest of the things he can’t have.

But then the drive is filled with snapshots of all the things he’s catalogued about you. His mind falls into the loop of things he finds the most enticing. Starting with how good you looked getting fucked. He’d always wondered whether he’d misread the standoffish vibe he kept picking up from you, but since that night, it had become clear that you were on guard and perceptive. Like you’d seen something in him that he actively worked to conceal.

It’s now that he realizes it: Whatever you’d seen in him? He got a glimpse of the same thing in you that night, and today. But rather than put him on guard like it had for you, Dave felt some subliminal gravitation towards you. Reckless, fucking wild energy…but with something else teeming just beneath the surface…

You’d been strong. No hesitation in your movements, and the way you’d shifted his hand away? It was practiced and fluid. Self-defense courses? He hummed to himself as he drove down the suburban block, nearing home.

He tries to snuff further impulsive scrutiny on the subject – Fuck, she’s going to be trouble – as he idly scrubs his hand over his face, rubbing his fingers absently at his nose before exhaling a tense huff while he concentrates on the road, but his mind just keeps snapping back to the standout things he’s found so alluring; that had left him simmering with intrigue.

Your impatience and sheer inability to keep your umbrage at bay today, when he’d shut your team down. How you smiled deviously the few times you’d walked by each other, when you thought he wasn’t looking. The way your eyes heated when he’d talked dirty to you.

And, unbidden, his mind starts fixating on how your mouth tastes and the way you fit against him when you’d made out.

By the time Dave gets home, it’s late enough that the girls are tucked in, so he walks into his bedroom, kicks off his shoes and hurriedly strips his blazer and tie before rolling up his sleeves.

He eyed Carole intensely as he prowled up to her on the bed and yanked her down onto her back before he shoved her nightgown up so he could bow his head between her thighs. He fucked her the way he reserves only for her – passionate, present and pent-up as he loomed over her. Dave wrecks her easily with his wound up need, and he makes her come a second time before he pulls out and finishes on her nightgown. The pressure of the frustration of before eases with the needed release, and he’s able to easily put his façade back up as he settles down into bed post-coitus.

Still, when the lights are off, he lies in bed with her sated and curled up against him, blissfully oblivious while Dave becomes still as he stares into the dark.

Compartmentalize.

He wonders if you’re touching yourself, thinking about him…

***

The entire ordeal had been something visceral for you. One moment you were at the safe distance you figuratively always demarcate between you and a perceived threat. And the next?

You shiver. The heat of it – how much you’d wanted it, has you still tingling with a libidinous urge. Never have you felt that jolt of sheer panic the way you did when that elevator had chimed. It had flooded you so fiercely that you’d pushed Dave back and practically broken into a mad dash to your car. Your face had burned with your mortification, and the shame of it had been so potent that you couldn’t muster the gumption to look back at Dave, fearing he’d be able to see it plainly carved in you. That you would become a pillar of salt if you looked into his dark brown eyes and etched features.

You were also so turned on that you weren’t sure what you would’ve done if your eyes had locked onto those dark brown pools of his – that they would’ve stripped you to the fibers and rewired you to let them sway you the way they had into whatever the hell that was. So, you’d gotten in your car and made your needed exit before the impulses that had gotten you into so much trouble to begin with further wrought you into an even precariously reckless state.

The next morning, you are more than able to make the early wakeup call to meet Johnny at the curb in front of your apartment building for the kickboxing session. After all, you’d spent the entire night tossing and turning, with Dave on your mind.

Sure, you’d touched yourself in the shower after trying to rinse his cologne off of you, but the desire you have for him was a molten well you’d sprung, and even when you’d gotten off, it hadn’t been enough. You’d wanted him curled around you from behind. Ached to be pounded mercilessly into the bed. To walk around with the burn of his cock having stretched your muscles, and throb with the sting of his rough touches. To feel that stabilizing bliss of being dominated seep deep to your bones and soothe the roiling darkness you.

He’s dangerous. That was unsustainable. You can’t want him. You don’t even like him, remember?!

It’s the mantra you harangue over and over in your mind as you nibble on the muffin Johnny got you from the bakery around the corner from his place while he drives you both to work, chatting amiably.

You keep it on repeat as you ride up in the elevator, and then stroll to your workspace. But, when you log onto your computer and pull up your email, all the heckling grinds to a halt.

“…He approved it…”

“Huh?” Johnny spins sidelong in his desk chair to peer over at you. “What’s that—?”

“Holy shit! Did you read your email?!” Matt suddenly pops up from behind the divider separating he and Sam’s workspaces from yours. “The assignment got approved!”

“Oh fuck, really?!” Johnny balks, surprised. “He really took whatever you told him under advisement, chica!”

“Sam!” Matt is shouting and waving enthusiastically at the man as he emerges from the reception area and lopes down inquisitively towards your group. “Check it out, man! ‘Assignment Approved,’ so no more sulking into your mug. Tonight we’re definitely celebrating!”

You’re bemused and concealing it expertly from the fellas. After all…what was this? Did Dave really approve your assignment as what – some kind of show of goodwill? An olive branch? A way to kowtow you?

Was this some sort of quid pro quo?!

It eats at you all day.

So, by the time you’re heading out to happy hour a little after 5-o’clock, you feel unsteady and unsettled. But, you’re a master of guarding your true self and exuding unruffled ease, so you summon that and head up into the glass elevator with the fellas to the top floor of the building.

Matt is true to his word, and you’re all able to get in and take up vigil at a bar-height table before they muscle in to get the drinks ordered. You’re able to admire the elegantly timeless ambiance of the exclusive bar, then move onto the sprawling view out at the Potomac River as the early evening sun reflects across it, backlit by the highways and other glass buildings flanking it. Johnny comes back and hands you a martini, settling in next to you to kill time people watching and commenting on the swanky vibe of the place. Once Matt and Sam shuffle through the crowd to park around the table, you all share a toast.

“—To a hopefully more promising future in getting shit done!” Matt cheers and you all exchange good-natured clinks of your drinks before sipping.

“How’d you get us in here, by the way?” Sam asks as he swirls his old fashioned.

“The hostess is dating my brother!” Matt drawls and grins as he gestures to the back corner across from the bar, where cozier seating options are, away from the bustling bar patrons. “And it’s a total bonus that I got word that they’d be here.”

Following his stare, the rest of you turn to see that Susan Plummer and the usual suspects of her inner circle are sitting around a circular dining table, shooting the shit over side plates and aged bourbon.

You can feel you pulse race and that wanton desire spread a dull ache in the seat of your core at seeing Dave with the seasoned lead within the agency. What the hell?!

“Dude, don’t tell me this is gonna be your attempt at worming in there to network with the head honchos,” Johnny can’t help deride Matt as he nurses his beer.

“C’mon man, you wanna stay on an assignments team forever?” Sam mutters, taking Matt’s side. “This is actually not a shit plan—”

“Jeez, thanks,” Matt elbows him and bounces his brows triumphantly at you when he adds, “Besides, wouldn’t it be awesome to get some face-to-face time with the boss lady? Let her get a good look at the badass who wore York down?”

You snicker and finish your martini, outwardly humored, but internally ready to shrink into the shadows and get the hell out of there. “Well, count me out on that. I don’t think rubbing that fact in will improve any of our standings, but feel free to go over, if you dare,” is your amused retort as you idly glance towards the illustrious group of senior-level leads to find that Dave has spotted you. “I’m gonna see if they’ll make me a martini with vodka next,” you announce as you slink away and weave through the crowd to what you hope to be a secluded spot you see open up at the bar.

The boys exchange looks and decide to go for it, and you watch them stroll over to the wood paneled section of the bar to introduce themselves to the top brass. You watch as Dave turns on the affable charisma and waves them over once he spots them, giving each of the fellas a friendly handshake before gesturing to Plummer as everyone shares greetings. Satisfied to have avoided that, you turn your focus to the bar and wait to be attended. After several unsuccessful attempts to flag down a bartender over the bustling and chattering din of the crowd, you’re weighing giving up and just leaving your empty martini glass on the bar top. Just as you consider whether you could get away with doing the Irish goodbye on the fellas and going to a normal bar to decompress, you feel someone tall sidle up next to you at the counter. The warm, spiced hints of a familiar cologne filter over your senses when they lean their large hand on the counter top and authoritatively whistle for the nearest bartender’s attention.

“Hey, I’m switching to a whiskey. Neat.”

The face of the watch peeking from the suit’s sleeve and the gold of the wedding band glint under the pendant light directly above this corner of the bar, and you steel yourself, despite the deviant thrill that surges through you. Arousal tingles through you and throbs wet heat to radiate through your pelvis before zinging into the clutch of your pussy, which makes your thighs clench and breath flutter.

Guardedly, you glance up at Dave and silently spectate how the bartender attentively backpedals and takes his empty glass with a curt nod, about to hop to it when Dave flicks his dark eyes down at you before nodding in your direction as he drawls, “And whatever she’s having.”

You tap the rim of your empty martini glass and order smoothly, “Vodka martini with a twist, please.”

Nodding, the bartender grabs the glass and goes off to make your drinks.

You feel the heat of his gaze flick away as Dave neutrally glances over the crowd to where your happy hours have seemingly merged. “I would’ve figured you for a dirty martini kind of girl,” he drawls in a laconic mumble.

Unable to suppress your devious smile, you try to conceal it by busying yourself looking through your purse for your phone. “And I figured you for a light beer type of guy,” you offer glibly. Checking the time on your phone, you spare a craning look towards the fellas, hoping they’re not going to just camp out with the big wigs now, and frown when you see they’re pretty much settled in at the large round table, talking congenially.

“So is this standoffish attitude just for me? Or do you have an aversion to networking and getting in good with the bosses,” he queries sarcastically as he leans his elbows over the countertop.

He’s in a nice dark gray suit, the knot of his burgundy tie loose and the top of his crisp white dress shirt collar unbuttoned, hair looking like he’s run his fingers through it a few times in the last hour. He looks good enough to eat.

Slipping your phone back into the purse, you covertly glare at him under your lashes. “You’re quite vain, Dave,” you chime deridingly, glance daring now as he flicks his intense gaze down at you. “Maybe I just want to get my work done without you derailing it on a whim? And perhaps I don’t want to suck up to you and the bosses on my time off?”

He looks stonily at you, about to say something, but the bartender appears with your drinks, so you accept the martini and hold it up in gesture of thanks before motioning with a tilt of your head that you’re going back to your table. However, you find your plan to abscond from him thwarted when you clear around enough of the crowd to see the bar top table has been taken over by other patrons. Goddammit…

“You have a bratty fucking inability of showing gratitude, you know that,” Dave mutters darkly, close to your ear before covertly herding you by the back of your hip to return to your spot at the counter. “And this trying to have the last word before strutting off bullshit is not gonna fly with me anymore…” is his warningly low rumble before he turns back to his drink and takes a long pull from the amber liquid in the glass.

Your eyes flash with something searing, and he smirks around the rim of the glass.

“Oh, there you are!” You turn to see Johnny approach with a glass of bourbon in his hand, so you shoot him a mocking look, as if to say ‘Really? You’re a bourbon boy now?’ “I saw we lost the table, so wanted to make sure you were good.”

“Yeah, sorry. Took way longer for me to get a drink. Luckily Dave here has the gravitas to have the bartenders at his beck and call,” you can’t help charmingly quip and raise your glass to Dave before taking a sip.

“Is she always this mean?” Dave jokes and gives Johnny a faux-forlorn headshake.

Your friend and coworker laughs. “Pretty much. Don’t take it too personal.”

“Oh, nice. Thanks for selling me out, Estrada,” you comically hiss and punch him lightly on the arm.

Dave chuckles, but secretly catalogues your seemingly platonic, carefree ease with the other man. He wonders if you two fuck. If after the bar, he’ll take you to his place and make you whimper and come as hard as he’s fantasized about when he’d thought about you every time he’d jacked off since watching you get railed that night.

“—C’mon, chica. Won’t hurt to make a round and say hello!” Johnny is cajoling, and Dave drains the remainder of his glass before gesturing for a refill by holding his empty tumbler up for the bartender to see.

“Ugh, fine. You’re all a bunch of social climbers!” you heckle and goofily thread your arm through his as you taunt, “Lead the way, then.”

You don’t spare a look back at Dave, but you can feel his stare rove your indigo-blouse-covered back and invisibly fondle over your black-pencil-skirt-clad ass as you go.

Feeling pretty good about extricating yourself from that possibly sticky situation before it could become as torrid as last night’s brief encounter, you let Johnny take you over and introduce you to the legendary Susan Plummer and the other department leads. She’s friendly and boisterous, telling you to pull up a chair and join them as she put in another round of bourbon servings for the table. You do, pleasantly joining the conversation.

“That martini looks awfully good. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten one from here,” Susan is commenting as the server hands everyone their bourbon drinks. “I’ll have one of those, please,” she impishly tells the server and smiles broadly as Dave appears with his whiskey and shakes his head at her while he lopes around the seated parties. “What?! It’s Friday, and I got a driver!”

“I didn’t say anything,” he quips, pursing his lips derisively at her as he takes the vacant seat next to the chair you’d pulled over to sit in. “But since I do have to drive, this’ll be it for me,” Dave remarks glibly as he tips his drink at her and takes a swallow.

“Ah, well then, one of you boys, don’t let Dave’s bourbon go to waste!” Susan chuckles, and you amusedly reach for the filled glass and slide it over to Sam – who’s sitting on the other side of you – while finishing your martini with a pristine gulp. As you settle back and push your empty glass to the center before you scoot your chair further into the table, you grab for the glass of bourbon that’s your serving, internally grimacing and squinting at Matt and Johnny when they shoot comical looks at you. Snickering, you cup the crystal-carved glass in your palms and try to steel yourself to drink it when you suddenly feel warm, deft fingers skim over the outside of your knee before a large palm wraps around it and squeezes possessively. Your pulse jumps and your pussy clenches, but your expression doesn’t betray a thing, which is good, since Susan asks, “Aww, are you not a fan of bourbon? We could get you something else—”

“N-No, it’s fine. I’m just cautious with dark spirits. They tend to go to my head and flush my cheeks,” you persuasively assure before taking a fortifying breath and drinking. As you do, Dave chooses that moment to glide his hand up your thigh, pushing the hem of your skirt in his wake. It makes it easy for it to slip between your thighs and clutch your supple flesh until his fingertips are kneading greedily enough to make your cunt pulse and a rush of arousal ache down with it.

It steals your breath, and you fight the urge to gasp out by hiding it as a little hiccup into the glass before you place it back down on the table.

Mercifully, the fellas and the other leads at the table keep the conversation flowing, so you’re able to feign like you’re shifting in your chair when you’re really grabbing Dave’s wrist and doing a pressure-point squeeze to it, manipulating the joint and causing the tendons in his hand to jolt.

He bites back his hiss and shifts his hand away, but you think the action will bring attention to you both, so you bump the back of your hand against the appetizer dish and cutlery closest to you. “Ugh, I’m such a klutz! Sorry,” you exclaim as you grab the cutlery that clattered and busily straighten it while Dave clandestinely studies you, cataloguing what you did. “Told you the bourbon would go to my head,” you chime self-deprecatingly before shooting Johnny ‘the look’ and excusing yourself.

Dave watches as you get up and head out to the main bar area with your workspace mate following you as conversation around the table resumes as if uninterrupted. He realizes you’d snagged your purse and taken it with you, making it all the more likely that you would be once again absconding from him.

And that was totally your intention. You of course make up an excuse to Johnny and assure him that you’re just really tired and will grab a cab home.

With a cool smile and pat of his shoulder as you lean in and kiss his cheek, you drawl, “You just keep schmoozing! Fill me in on everything Monday?”

“Sure thing. But if they ask where you went, I’m going to tell the table it’s you pulling your infamous Irish goodbye!” he jokes and smirks. “Pick you up for kickboxing early Monday.”

Winking and nodding, you turn and saunter out, intending to make your escape. Don’t look back. Don’t fucking do it. After all, you don’t want to keep sending whatever signal Dave keeps pinging onto, and while you can’t deny getting a rush from it, you know you can’t entertain whatever the hell this is. That you shouldn’t be entertaining his lascivious and intense brand of courtship, no matter how much his dark eyes flaring at you, or his pouty, tight-jawed scowl make you yearn for his wickedness. He’s married. You work together. And also: YOU. DO. NOT. LIKE. HIM.

With the new mantra, you successfully weave through the crowd towards the foyer and slip into the first elevator going down. With a stop at the ladies room, you brush your wispy hairs back from your face and undo the top two buttons of your indigo blouse’s collar before shouldering your purse and heading out the lobby towards the glass doors out front. At this time, traffic is bustling and it’s a competition to get a cab. Most are running off the curb, flagging the taxis down and hopping in before they’ve even fully stopped.

You frown and pace towards a less crowded corner of the curb, next to the underground parking ramp for the building you’d just exited. Looking up and down the avenue, you spot a cab cruising your way, so you enthusiastically wave to get the driver’s attention, but he jets right by, and you see there were already passengers in the backseat. Huffing, you pull your phone out of your purse, rescind to opening the rideshare app and seeing what your options were as you step back onto the curb when the parking exit’s security arm lifts and the sound of an approaching car accelerating up the drive echoes over to you.

Distractedly checking the rates for the ride home, you’re idly kneading your bottom lip between your teeth when the car pulls up and halts for the inbound traffic. The sound of the power window lowering is in your peripheral attention when you suddenly feel that sensation of someone staring at you.

“Need a ride?”

Turning swiftly at the smugly purred offer, you hesitate as you eye Dave in his sleek black Mercedes, arm folded over the window’s panel as he smirks at you.

Tersely, you pivot sidelong as you evade, “…No, thank you. I was just about to punch in for—”

“Meaning, you haven’t booked it yet, so you can hop in and let me save you the rush hour rate,” Dave cuts in with a honeyed baritone. When you give him a sarcastic look and quirk a brow skeptically at him, he adds amusedly, “C’mon, spitfire. It’s getting dark, traffic’s a bitch, and I wouldn’t mind going somewhere for a nightcap. It’d be nice to have the company.”

You know alarm bells should be going off, and that some visceral part of you senses the mystique of something deviant and domineering in the way his dark brown eyes are looking at you. But it doesn’t scare you. If anything, you’re feeling a pull, and you can’t deny how he has your heart racing and heat tangling in your core with heady, lurid anticipation.

A car pulls up behind Dave’s and honks, so with a ridiculing tilt of his head at you, he mocks, “You’re holding up the line, buttercup. Get in while you still can.”

Pursing your lips at him, you throw caution to the wind – rounding the front of the car to open the front passenger door and hop in with a derisive snicker.

As you’re snapping your seatbelt on, Dave can’t help internally gloat, pleased to have had made the smart decision to call home and tell Carole he’d be working late and would probably sleep on the pullout couch in his office tonight. She’d affectionately lamented him spending another Friday night hard at work, but was always none the wiser to ever suspect a thing. He knew he was too wound up to go home after the tug and pull at the bar with you, so he’d rescind himself to stewing about it alone, and was analyzing how adeptly you’d applied the wrist pressure move – She’s gotta have learned that in some self-defense class – when he’d driven up the ramp and spotted you on the corner, idling on your phone.

Pulling out onto the avenue, Dave drives through traffic and watches you out of the corner of your eye as you lean back in the leather seat and adjust your purse to sit on your lap. “So? Where to for this nightcap?” you query and glance over at him as you tuck a rogue strand of hair behind your ear.

“I have a place,” Dave retorts, driving expertly to weave in and out of traffic as he heads southbound.

Cataloguing the streets and landmarks he drives past, you figure he’ll take you to some more secluded spot, perhaps in DuPont Circle. But when he keeps going without taking any of the routes into the trendy area, your next guess is that maybe he’ll take you to some posh place in Foggybottom. You don’t feel like filling the quiet with inane questions or idle chatter on the matter, though, so you appreciate the silence and the hum of the air-conditioning and smoothness of the car’s horsepower. The radio isn’t on, and you wonder if he just turned it down before he’d rolled down the window to call out to you.

“Are you and Estrada a thing?”

The absent train of thought of your mind derails, and you blink the faraway contemplating to absorb his question. Part of you is annoyed he would ask. It wants you to snap, ‘Are you and your wife a thing?’ with a snarky edge, but you dismiss the bratty impulse. Glancing over at him, you give him a puzzled look instead, arching a delicate brow as you size him up.

“I’m curious, is all,” Dave mutters, as he continues to head southbound, sparing you a mocking glance. “Wondering if there’s some reason why he wasn’t the one doing the railing that night—”

“Did you approve our assignment as a quid pro quo?”

His mirth cools as he snaps a perturbed glance at you before glaring ahead. “You think I need to exchange favors like some hard-up fucker, desperate to get his dick wet?” is his low grouse, jaw tightening and shoulders winding back stiffly.

“Well…do you?” is your mischievous murmur, and when he shoots a glare your way, you smile – a genuine, brilliant smile that knocks the umbrage loose from his chest and makes heat rise to the back of his neck. “No, Estrada is just a very good friend. And no, I don’t think you’re a hard-up fucker. Just…an instigating asshole who uses a façade in order to keep up with the Joneses, when he’s really the opposite,” you find yourself volunteering evenly as you realize he’s driving you way out of your normal stomping grounds. “Where are we going?” you ask, gaze sharp as you catalogue your surroundings. He’s heading into Navy Yard.

“I told you. I got a place,” Dave rumbles flatly, still stuck on your assessment of him. It’s grinding his gears how accurately you pegged him. Tersely, he retorts, “And no, it isn’t a quid pro quo—”

“So you admit you’ve been just fucking with me,” you cut in and cross your arms, eyeing him wryly.

Dave grunts before sweeping his tongue across his top teeth before answering, “Not yet, I haven’t.”

You scoff and turn your face away, hiding the sardonic smirk tugging at your full lips. “Where are you taking us, Dave,” you ask again, staring narrowly at him when he deadpans a wordless hum. “This is literally how every Dateline starts—”

“Is that a fact?” he sneers in a gravelly drone, brows quirking sarcastically.

With an impish smirk, you chime, “Yep. Suburban husband takes colleague for a drive. She’s found in a ditch, or a swamp. Brutalized beyond recognition, and they come up with a catchy episode title. Something like, ‘She Never Came Home’—”

“Fucking Christ,” he heckles, grinning derisively at you as he looks over with a scathing quirk to his features. “That’s twisted—”

“Look who’s fucking talking,” you deride, licking your lips and snickering, “I’m being driven to an undisclosed location by Mr. Nice Guy, who turns out, makes it sport to fuck with my work, and is holding over my head catching me having sex in the office—”

“When did I do that?” he interrupts acerbically as he pulls down a side street and cruises towards the back entrance to what looks like a former factory warehouse-turned loft spaces.

You hum thoughtfully, turning your attention to the enclosed garage he’s driving into at the base of the building before he parks in a marked space. Cutting the engine, he snaps his seatbelt off and grabs his cell phone from the cubby in his center dash before looking over at you.

“I’m not going to Dateline you, little minx,” he tells you in a velvety scoff and gestures for you to come along before he opens his door and exits the car.

Good to know, you snicker to yourself as you exit the passenger seat and shut the door. He locks the car with the press of the key and pockets it along with his phone as he watches you take quick stock of your surroundings while you stroll to head towards the elevator banks that flank the interior of the garage’s back wall. You can smell how close to the water you are, figuring you’re less than a block from the river.

As he punches the button and slips his hands into his trouser pockets, your mind tries to counsel through these choices you’ve made. What are you even doing? You shouldn’t be here. There’s still time for you to leave. Whatever this is, it’s a stupid, reckless thing to keep walking into—

The elevator arrives, and Dave sidesteps to let you enter first. You walk in without hesitation, and are followed by him. He uses some kind of sensor keycard before he hits the button to a high floor, and as it slowly ascends, he turns to eye you.

He’s internally enthralled that you’ve come this far and not peppered him with the laundry list of questions so typical in this situation. Before he can linger on why that should be equally as alarming, you lean back into the elevator wall – purse hooked onto your shoulder as you rest your hands on the rail at your back. Your gaze is measuring him thoughtfully, and not for the first time, Dave wonders what you’re really thinking behind those stunning eyes. Striding over to lean into the opposite corner, he eyes you with intense want now, head tilting as he stares down your body before flicking his brown pools of desire back up to your face.

“Come here,” he suddenly beckons, thick finger gesturing for you to come to him. When you defiantly stare back at him, his eyes get dark and he pushes off the wall to crowd you. “I don’t make it a habit to ask, spitfire—”

“And I don’t have it in me to come when called to, like a pet. No matter how handsome or fucking sexy the guy doing the calling is,” you tell him silkily as you crane your neck back and grab the sides of his waistband and tug him into you.

He growls and clasps a possessive hand around your throat before engulfing you with a barbarous kiss. The kind that is more tongue, nips, and scrapes of covetous want fueled by surly disdain than amorous passion. But then your hands grip his back, and your breathy gasp make him burn with a base desire that has him throbbing to be buried inside you with his teeth marking into your neck. You’re both getting drunk off of the heat of your torrid kiss and the sharp aftertaste of the happy hour drinks you each have flavoring your mouths. He’s rock-hard against your hip, and you’re so wet that you dazedly wonder if he can smell how bad you want him.

When the elevator arrives to the floor and the doors slide open, you both break the kiss only long enough for Dave to herd you against his side and escort you down the wide hall towards a numbered door that matches the marked spot in the parking garage below. You notice how quiet the hall is and idly wonder if the building is the go-to for recluses and adulterous spouses while you impulsively brush your tousled hair back as you watch him put in a code in the doorknob’s keypad before slipping in his key. He unlocks the door swiftly and sweeps you over the threshold before slamming the heavy door shut.

You don’t even have an opportunity to take in the layout of the high-ceilinged, modern and sparsely decorated loft apartment’s main room before Dave is tossing the keys and his phone onto the nearby kitchen counter, shedding his blazer to be tossed onto the back of the couch. He’s then on you, backing you into a wall in what is a hallway off from the kitchen space to grab you roughly by the waist and haul you up against his hard, strong frame as he kisses you with voracious hunger.

Gasping, you break the kiss by carding your fingers into the back of his hair and yanking so you can stare incandescently into his etched features as you hiss, “You said a nightcap—”

“You’re really gonna deny me now after all the shit you’ve pulled?”

His tone is dangerously calm, and it makes that deviant thing curl intriguingly within you as you shoot him a faux-berating stare while you mock, “When did I do that?”

His features darken, and you scoff and grab his hand to guide it up the front of your skirt so he can feel between your thighs. He didn’t expect that, so his breath hitches as he touches you over your drenched panties. “Jesus, you’re fucking soaked,” he husks and stares openly at you.

“Been wet like this since you stood next to me at the bar,” you confess unflinchingly, tone pitched and airy as he hums appealingly and nudges his forehead against yours in a show of pleased dominance. “Since you must know, I’ve wanted you. Both when I saw you that night, and begrudgingly several times before that,” is your murmur as you curl your other hand around his neck and anchor to him. “I know I shouldn’t—”

“Why shouldn’t you,” he grouses, surly glare crinkling when he leans back to trace his brown eyes into reading your features.

“…Really? Why?” you narrow your eyes incredulously at him as you exclaim, “Well, firstly, you’re a lead I work with, and you’re happily married husband and father, and model fucking citizen, Dave. That’s the cover, anyway, right?!”

That snaps him to stand away from you and war with the impulse to slap you across the face for your audacity to throw such things in his face so cavalierly. But then he sees you looking up intensely at him. “A wicked little tease like you? Quibbling asinine shit, as if you were some demure, chaste fucking angel?” Dave scoffs and scornfully sneers at you. “It seems I’m not the only one with a cover, sweetheart.”

“…This is bordering Dateline again, so I’m going to go unless you quit treating me like a fucking pet,” you snarl and push past him to toss your purse onto the counter next to his phone so you can angrily start looking through his cabinets for a liquor to pour yourself a helping of. “And seeing as you fucked up my happy hour, I’d like that nightcap.”

He is disarmed for a moment before seething in a grumble, “The one over the sink is the liquor cabinet.”

You indeed find a half-full bottle of whiskey and an untouched bottle of vodka, and proceed to pour yourself and him a drink into the glasses left to dry next to the sink.

Dave watches you retrieve ice cubes from the freezer and drop them in your glass before you take a swig of your vodka on the rocks and hold out the whiskey for him. He takes it and downs the whiskey neat before sliding the empty glass onto the opposite counter brusquely, glaring at you with his cold guard up.

Leaning into the corner of the counter, you stare at Dave contemplatively before finishing your drink and leaving it on the counter in order to round the kitchen island separating you from him. He’s wound up, and you know you should tread lightly, but that pull has you gravitating to him when he’s at his surliest like he is now. So, you approach him, and surprise him by reaching up to cup his cheek and stare with barefaced attraction into his handsomely moody regard.

It should unnerve him, but Dave instead finds himself leaning into your touch and closing his eyes to huff his pent-up breath out through his nose.

“I don’t even like you,” you sigh sardonically and brush a soft kiss over the corner of his mouth.

“Good. I think you’re a fucking little upstart bitch,” he grouses, but is chasing your lips, enjoying how you teasingly brush your soft morsels over his. “But I fucking want you,” is his terse murmur as he pulls you close and kisses possessively along your jaw.

You melt into his arms and tangle your fingers into the loose knot of his tie, pulling him down towards your mouth as you purr, “I wanted it to be you. I came on the thought of you dominating me. Pictured you fucking me on all fours, making me come all over your cock before you flipped me onto my back and made me watch you shoot your load over my pussy—”

As you tell Dave this, he feels filled up, yearning to give into the pull that exists between you. The one that’s magnetically charged and lures you both in once your guards are pulled down, and the darkness within you both becomes entranced, like a sated predator under a still night.

“I want you to be mine,” he husks, tone charged and guttural as he envelops you in his possessive embrace, butting the side of his head against yours in a show of dominance. You shiver, and he revels in how your mouth seeks his out when you loop your hands around his neck and pull him to meet your scintillating kiss.

Dave’s hands grab you up and lift you onto the kitchen island so he can stand between your legs as he suckles a searing path down your neck and hurriedly yanks your blouse loose while you’re simultaneously undoing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt with breathy haste. Before you can yank his shirttails from his waistband, he impatiently snaps your blouse open and sends the last button at the bottom flying. You gasp as he manhandles you out of the soft garment and yanks at your skirt until you feel the zipper strain.

“Fuck, Dave—”

“Shut up and get out of this fucking thing right now, or I’m going to rip it to shreds,” he growls as his hands unceremoniously snatch your black bra’s clasp undone and discards it from your torso by whipping it off your arms before he cups your tits and squeezes them together so he can lick libidinously over your studded nipples.

You arch and cry out, struggling to snatch your skirt down your hips and shove it off. Impatient, Dave snarls and manhandles you – tugging you off the counter to yank your skirt down and spins you around to bend over the island as he peels your black lace panties off to bunch around your heels. Just as you’re trying to catch your bearings, Dave kneels at your feet and licks up into your cunt from behind.

“Oh—my god,” you ramble out and arch back, gasping airily as he shoves your thighs roughly apart so he can lewdly lick a hot swipe of his tongue up from your clit to your tight clenching hole.

He growls and suddenly slaps his palm sharply over your ass to watch you jolt and your pussy drip with slick. Drunk on the sight, he suckles a nip into the swell of the cheek he’d spanked, and you mewl so prettily that his brain trips over itself with what to do to you next.

His cock is throbbing, but before he uses it to split you open, he wants to revel in the heat and wetness of your juicy pussy, so he brusquely forces you to stand from the island and spin on your heels so he can shove you back to lean against the counter as he forces your legs over his shoulders so he can devour you and keep you pinned open for him. Your mound is smooth and hairless, and while he prefers to eat out a snatch with a nice little bush he can bury his nose in, he can’t help appreciate your silky flesh and its velvety glide as he runs his lips down your wet seam before sweeping in tongue through your folds.

“Oh fuck,” you moan and toss your head back when Dave hums and nuzzles greedily into your cunt, laving liquid fire tingles with the tip of his lasciviously tongue grinding, licking, flicking your clit before messily rolling the wicked appendage in time with the squeezing of his possessive hands he’s gripped over your tits. He squeezes and kneads them to the point of making you squirm from the dull sting, and when he sucks hard on your clit and pinches your nipples meanly, you cling to the sides of the kitchen island, and cry, “Jesus Christ! Too much—too much, Dave, ple-please—!”

One of his hands abandons his rough touching before suddenly buffeting his fingers down over the top of your pussy with a thwack. You keen and writhe, pain punching up into your pleasure and making you whimper from the aborted orgasm.

“I’ll tell you when it’s too much,” Dave grouses darkly and gruffly shoves your legs back, pushing you further up the counter as he stands to survey how sinful you look sprawled out naked and wet on his kitchen island. Your body has a thin sheen of sweat, pussy shiny and gleaming under the dying light coming from the expanse of windows across the way in the living room, glistening from being fucked by his mouth.

When he looks at your face, a shudder skitters down his body, and tingles excitedly into his cock. Your eyes are glossy and wide, dewy lips parted breathily and skin overheated from your salacious arousal for him. It’s a sight that’s now seared into his memory banks, and he wants to make more visually stunning moments of glorious obscenity, starring you. So, he cards his fingers through your pussy as he rumbles, “Gonna stretch this cunt out to take my cock, and you’re only allowed to scream a safe word once, so now’s the time to pick it, little minx. Tell daddy what it’ll be—”

You sputter a laugh and sit clumsily up to balk at him. “Fuck me, Dave. I’ll literally throw myself out the window before I ever call you ‘daddy’!” you exclaim and grab fast at the front of his open shirt to yank yourself to the edge of the counter so you can wrap your legs around his waist when you see something scathingly furious burn in his dark brown eyes before it begins to tick his features. “I’m sorry. I will do anything for amazing, filthy sex with you, but I won’t do that,” is your daring quip as you bat your lashes and snake a hand down to the front of his pants. When his expression pinches with truculence, you yank his belt loose as you seduce, “C’mon. Don’t get surly with me. Not when all I want is to make you feel good,” you pause and brush your lips over his. “Let me suck your dick, boss. Please?”

His eyes darken and get heavy with want. Boss. Fuck…I like that.

Dave gruffly grunts and nods before fisting a hand into the back of your hair and pulling you from the counter to slink down his body. “For being such an insolent little bitch though, you lost out on your safe word privilege tonight,” he husks grumpily, eyes casting a moody glare when you smile before angelically nodding and shoving his shirt off his shoulders and arms so you can finish stripping him of his clothes.  

“…I didn’t really wanna use one anyway, sweet boy,” you tease in a smoky purr before shoving his pants and tight blue boxer-briefs down as you crouch to kneel before him. At the sight of his big dick standing flushed and rock-hard for you, a spasm of anxiety flinches into your pussy at the realization he’s going to wreck you. Shit, I’m going to be sore for days…

Unaware of your excited anticipation, Dave huffs testily at your saucy remark and pet name, but when he stares down at you like this? Naked, with just your heels on, and his hard cock jutting thick and ruddy with need mere centimeters from your wet lips? Any outraged grievance stoked by your insolence is forgiven.

Your hands caress up his hips before fanning down to admiringly differentiate the smooth plane of skin on the sides of his toned belly with the coarse trail of dark hair that becomes a thatch downwards to frame his cock. You nuzzle into it and take his velvety erection into your palm as you stare up at him and lick a swipe along the side, smiling as the warm length twitches and he exhales a charged breath.

When you toy your tongue around the sensitive tip and purse your lips around it like he’s the best thing you’ve ever had in your mouth, Dave grabs you by the back of your hair and grips the counter’s edge. “S-Shit! Mmmph,” he hitches between clenched jaw as he clutches the back of your head and starts to buck his hips against your mouth, eyes falling shut as he groans, “Could blow my load just fucking this mouth.”

You hum around him, delighting in having this effect on him as his cock stretches your mouth. He hears the gloating rumble in the bass of it, so he stares down to drunkenly watch you blow him, and makes out the movement of your hand between your thighs. You’re unaware of him watching, too captivated by the steel-wrapped-in-velvet feel of his cock on your tongue while his heady, salty tang makes your senses buzz. You want to breathe it in, to bask in it and feel him tense and whine while you suck his cock dry. To own him while on your knees, and feel the rush of having him desperate for you.

But the sight of you touching your dripping pussy, rubbing your sweet little clit while you start taking his cock down your throat and fight the burn of your gag reflex threatening to well your eyes over? It snaps something viciously sadistic to spring up in Dave, making him seethe from the debauched urges you’ve let loose from where he tries to keep them buried deep.

The sting along your scalp is the first thing that jolts you, and then your world spins as Dave yanks you by the back of your hair off of him so he can haul you up to wobble on your heels before he forcefully pushes you up against the counter again and slaps his broad hand across the tight lower juncture of your rump, millimeters away from your crotch.

You yelp and dissolve into a reedy mewl as your pussy clenches from the sting before throbbing for more.

“I didn’t fucking tell you to rub your wet cunt, darling. You were supposed to be choking on my cock, not getting distracted with getting yourself off,” he menacingly husks against the back of your ear before nipping the shell.

You squeak and flush when a gush of arousal dampens your pussy anew. “Pl-Please, babe—”

“Please babe,” Dave mimics in a mocking croon as he leans to loom over your prone form. “I should smack this needy little ass of yours raw. Make it so you can’t sit for a week without thinking of me,” is his depraved growl as he emphasizes his point by pulling his hand back and spanking you hard across the plump ridge of your ass.

“Nnngth!” you mewl wordlessly and squirm before gasping as the hand that spanked you jams between your thighs and starts grinding the pads of its fingers along your pussy from behind. You moan when two fingers deftly press past your drenched folds to plunge in and curve up away from your pubic bone before flicking a rough throb, receding, then shoving back in to the knuckles. “Mmmmph, Dave!” you hiss heatedly as you involuntarily begin to rock against the counter, seeking the rough, thick stretch of his fingers as they fuck you.

He watches you writhe and chase the plunge of his fingers while he shamelessly strokes and toys with his hard cock, fisting it and hissing just when you arch against the counter and crane to look at him over your shoulder. Instead of umbrage at witnessing his double standard, you smile and stare dreamily at him.

It’s enough to make him feel turned inside out with the wave of arousal that lances through him.

The wet squelch of his fingers plundering your cunt ceases abruptly when Dave yanks his digits out of your rippling heat to suck them into his mouth as he taps your ass in silent command for you to turn around for him. Your legs are trembling though, so you whimper in protest. His hand claps across your cheeks again, and you sob a little sound of frustrated need.

“Dammit, Dave, give me a minute,” you complain huffily as you try to find your center of balance on your heel-clad feet before you stand.

“You have ten fucking seconds to make it down the hall to the bed, or else I’m gonna fuck you wherever I find you,” he warns in a low growl as he moodily toes his dress shoes off in order to kick out of the tangle of clothes at his ankles. When you pout defiantly, Dave steers you to turn and face the hall before he swats your ass and drawls mockingly, “Hop to it, dewdrop.”

You squeal and scamper away to be out of his reach. He chuckles nastily as he watches your ass jiggle from you strutting off, but as he’s reaching down to tug his first sock off, he looks up to see that you paused midway from the hall and kitchen to turn back to him with a coquettish expression pulling at your full lips.

He makes for quite a sight – backlit by the cresting sunset coming through the windows, as its bleeding rays dim along the horizon line. His broad, toned frame shines golden, thick cock blushed with his throbbing need for release, muscles in his arms flexing while his abs tense when he straightens to eye you. Shit…he’s really handsome.Your pussy clenches, want tingling down from the seat of your cloying core as you admire his chocolate-flared eyes and tousled hair.

“Can I take these heels off, boss?” you sultrily query, shoulders rolled back and smugly preening naked in the hall. Smile impish as you begin to gripe, “They’re pinching my toes—”

“No. Keep them on,” Dave orders firmly as he yanks off his remaining sock, kicking his pile of clothes onto yours, and rumbles, “Keeping them on’ll be your punishment for being a naughty little bitch—”

Dave pauses when he sees you cheekily step out of one heel, then the other before sweep-kicking them aside, smiling rebelliously at him the entire time.

His eyes narrow, so you fold your hands behind yourself and teeter precociously on the balls of your feet, silently daring him. Dave burns with sadistic delight at your defiance. It’s not something he’d tolerate if he were blowing off steam with one of his paid hookups, preferring to use that time to vent his frustrations and take out his lurid sexual urges in a manner of his choosing and domineering direction. But with you – in this unguarded, de-compartmentalized moment – after the simmering buildup in the gravitational pull between you? He wants to savor every fucking moment.

So, he lets out a drawn out hum, shoots you an intense look of amused disapproval at your cheekiness, and starts stalking towards you. With a wily grin, you spin on your heel and book it, sprinting off like the hare from the fox. You squeal a peel of excited laughter when you hear Dave gain on you, and before you can turn the corner to cross the threshold into the bedroom, he’s caught you and effortlessly swept you up with a strong arm lassoing around your waist before he hauls you up to be tossed up onto his shoulder.

“You silly little thing,” he chuckles sadistically as he pins your legs in place with his forearm in order to spank your ass gloatingly with his dominant hand as he carries you over to the large bed with the classic metal headboard before he flings you onto it and watches you bounce until you sprawl out on the mattress with an excited laugh. You’re so fucking playful, and he loves it, especially when you roll onto your hands and knees to try to scamper up out of reach. “Hah! Get over here,” he hisses as he snags you by the ankle and hauls you down to glide across the bedding back to him.

“No! Dateline-Dateline!” you goofily declare as you playfully wrestle with him before he easily pins your wrists together in one hand and holds them above your head, pressed against the bed, then snatches his other hand around your throat in order to angle your jaw up so he can boastingly grin down at you. “Dateline!” you coo beseechingly and wriggle in his grasp.

“What the fuck? What’s that even—wait…Jesus, is that your safe word?!” Dave derides and looks at you with obnoxious incredulity as you smile triumphantly up at him. “You twisted fucking lunatic—”

“It’s a good safe word, though,” you cut in and clutch your knees around his hips, smiling brilliantly as you add, “It got you to stop, after all.”

He scoffs and tucks his chin against his chest to try and conceal the stupid smirk your audacious ridiculousness has unearthed from his usually mercurial or easygoing-trained regard.

Letting out a wry huff through his nose, Dave tightens his grip around your pinned wrists and manipulates your jaw down to meet his punchy kiss, and you hum lusciously when he swipes his tongue into the cup of your mouth before sucking hard on your lower lip. You moan, chasing his wicked, pouty morsels when he pulls back from the kiss and stares cockily down at you, relishing the lusted out look softening your gorgeous features and fogging your gaze with yearning.

“Tell me what you want, spitfire,” he purrs against your jaw before releasing his hold on your throat to fist his cock and so he can press the blunt, pre-cum slick tip against your pussy, rutting through your delicate folds as he growls, “Want me here?”

“Yes, yes, w-want your cock buried in me—” you breathily hiccup.

“Tell me how bad you want it, and I’ll fuck you so hard, until I’m balls-deep in this needy little pussy. I’ll make you ache for days. Will fuck my cum so deep in you that you’ll taste me in the back of your throat when I shoot my load,” he grouses in a husky octave, and slaps the top of your mound lightly with the underside of his cock in a nasty show of dominance. You mewl and pull your knees up to spread your thighs wider for him. With a croon of your name, Dave husks, “—Behave, tell me, and I’ll make you my girl.”

You writhe at the depraved delight his petition ignites in you.

“I want it so bad, that all I want is to be your girl, Dave,” is your reedy whisper as you gaze beatifically up at him while you utter your filthy desire as he stares incandescently at you. “Want to get lost in you—consumed by you. Get pounded so good that I’ll only ever need your cock. To belong to you and feel you every time my pussy clenches.”

The depraved praise fills a hole in his chest he had forgotten existed, but now that it felt sealed over, Dave wants nothing more than to keep the source of the miraculously grounding sensation tethered to him for as long as he can. To pour all his power and worship into it, until it overflows and radiates the way it deserves. So, he lines himself up, pulls his hips back and punches them forward, effectively spearing his thick, straining cock in one rough swoop deep into your molten cunt.

The way you light up – how your mouth falls open on the moan of his name while your torso snaps taut off the bed as your cunt ripples – straining around his cock slamming into you? Dave will never feel a more magnificent wave of savage pride as good as he does right now.

He fucks you like a man desperate to hold onto that sensation, to lasso it and ensnare himself so it can’t ever get away from him.

His hand lifts you by the small of your back so he can angle his thrusts into you and have you arched into the bed. You grip the bedding as soon as your wrists are freed, moaning when Dave sets brutal pace, fucking you so hard that you swear you feel him hitting something new inside you that makes you panic. “D-Dave, Dave!” you keen, feeling frazzled and twisting into a tizzy when he bows his head to roughly suck on one of your nipples before nipping on it with a growl. “Dave, I can’t—can’t!” you cry out and screw your eyes shut as you feel flung about by the whirlpool of pleasure roiling in you as he keeps pounding into the ruinous pleasure point crested deep inside you.

Suddenly, he shifts to hover over you and grinds his pubic bone into you as he fists the back of your hair to yank you to crane taut as he sharply slaps the top of your tit before be laves his warm wet tongue over the rising sting. You sob a flustered wail and squirm, features burning with a shameful blush at how overwhelmed and pulsing he’s made you from the inside out.

His thumb roughly presses down into your chin to force you to tip your head down. “You can’t?” he mocks, tone maliciously intrigued as he swivels his thumb over your lower lip before jamming it into your mouth beyond your gasping lips. “You can’t…what? Take it? Get enough?” he purrs hoarsely, grunting in approval when you suck on his thumb. “Aww, did my girl just need to self-soothe? Her little pussy get overwhelmed from getting pounded by my cock so hard?” he rumbles tauntingly as he leans forward to nudge his temple against yours in a show of dominance. “Well? Daddy asked you a question—”

You sputter and graze your teeth over his thumb before he’s able to slip it out of the wicked vise of your mouth. “Fuck’s sake, Dave—!” you snarl and grapple to toss him off of you, but he anticipated your irate reaction. “I was so fucking close, and you just had to drop that goddamn ‘Daddy’ shit on me—?!”

“It’s a force of habit, spitfire!” he chuckles obnoxiously, smiling crassly when you give up and flop onto your back testily. “But the bonus of getting you all bitchy over it is becoming worth it—”

“Well, if your intent is to make my pussy go dry and not come, then mission accomplished, soldier,” is your snarky scoff as you shove at his shoulders for him to get off of you.

It was a button you had no idea you even pushed, not until his eyes went dark and the mirth flinted away from his features. Before you could comprehend it, Dave shoved himself up on his haunches and brutishly flipped you over onto your stomach to flop breathless onto the bed. His hand cracked a slap across your ass, making you jolt forward with a startled shout, leaving you reeling while he forcefully hauled you up onto all fours before he dug his fingers into your hips as he grips them possessively and shoves his cock back into your pussy.

Your gasp becomes an inarticulate series of whimpers and mewls, head tossing back as he mounts you and bites the slope of your neck. Your arousal gushes into the vise of your cunt, wetting over and making a lewd sloshy squelching audible in the room over your moan of, “Oh my god, Dave—!”

“You feel wet enough to me,” he growls dangerously against your ear before suckling on the lobe. “Pussy flooded over just now, proving you a fucking liar, baby,” is his harsh husk he punctuates with a hard slam of his cock into you. “Just can’t help being a goddamn, nasty little brat, can you?”

“D-Dave, please—” you begin to whimper as you buck backwards, seeking more of the plunge of his cock into your most hungry center.

“Please Dave,” he mimics deprecatingly and sneers a grunt as he adjusts to grab the back of your shoulder and clutch your waist while he starts rocking into you, hips snapping brusquely against your ass with a sharp slapping staccato rhythm. “Should just leave this fucking pussy empty. Hold you down – pin your wrists down and force you to choke on my cock while you squirm. You’re such a filthy little bitch though, so you’d probably love it—”

You’re bowled over, at Dave’s mercy as he fucking rails you into the bed now. “N-No! Need you, Dave. Please, I need you to make me come so bad. P-Promise! I’ll be your good girl, please babe, please! I promise,” you’re rambling raggedly, hands reaching backwards to stabilize your carnal mania by grounding yourself with touching him – with clinging to the forearm of the hand gripping your waist and clasping over the one clutching your shoulder. Thighs splayed wide and slick dripping onto the bed with every hammering pulse of his cock in and out of your cunt, you bow your head and sob, “Please, Dave—m-make me yours!”

Hearing you say that with such desperate yearning shreds his sadism into incinerated ash, making that expansive heat sear through his chest, tethering him into the need to do as you’ve begged.

Dave forces you to bow under him as he unleashes his pounding thrusts up into that devastating cluster of ecstasy inside you in time with his fingers rubbing wantonly over your clit as he nuzzles you and groans, “You belong to me. No one else. You’re mine, sweet girl. All mine—”

You cry out and go taut under him, muscles locking up as you gush your climax to squirt all over his apex, mindlessly rocking against him as you dissolve under the onslaught.

“Jesus,” he marvels gruffly, awed by how hard you came, hips picking up intensity again as he chases his own pent-up climax now. “Fuck. That’s it, baby. Such a good girl. Bet you have another one ready to go. Want you to squirt right when I come. Take me deep so your greedy little cunt can soak up my cum—”

“Oh, Dave,” you moan at his filthy order, arching into him, so blitzed out that you want to obey, to melt down for him and settle him deep into your center. “Please! Need you. Please hold me. Can’t…can’t hang on without it,” you gasp out, earnest and genuine in your desperation.

Without even thinking to leverage it against you, Dave envelops you in his arms and pins you to him as he keeps fucking you, cock plunging into you while he holds you and buries his face into your neck to muffle his guttural groans. Having you beg for this kind of intimacy while he’s balls-deep in you sends him into a frenzy that he can’t keep himself from succumbing to, so, he scrapes his mouth over your pulse point and grazes the edge of his teeth against your trapezius as he pounds into you with vigor.

You scream, “Oh fuck, mmph—nngnth! Dave!” as your orgasm hits, then dissolve into reedy little whimpers as you clamp around his cock and slot it home in you just as Dave snarls into your neck and comes.

Overawed, you moan at the incredible sensation of him holding you tight in the vise of his embrace as he shoots his load deep inside you, quivering and mewling when he hitches your name out gruffly before groaning a drawn out husk as he prolongs his pleasure by rocking into you until his hips stutter and your fluttering sheath clings to his dick as you both collapse forward onto the bed together.

“Fuck…oh fuck. Holy fucking hell,” Dave exhaustedly huffs between hearty gulps of air, feeling dizzy and delirious from how mind-blowing that was. He’s never come so hard, or felt so complete after sex, and it leaves him incredulous as he tries to scrape his composure together. Jesus Christ, that was fucking amazing…

You’re so blissed out, that you simply clutch at his forearms to keep them looped tightly around you, not wanting to part from his strong embrace, or the heat of him curled up against you. His breath is hot against your nape, pulse thudding in his wrists under your touch, and chest rising and falling against your back. Feels so good…

You don’t talk. There’s nothing to say, anyway. At least not when you both are so at peace, wrecked, sweaty, and tangled up in each other while your comingled fluids messily cling against your pressed-up flesh.

No, there’s nothing either of you want to say that could shatter the moment. So, you remain in sated post-coital repose until Dave feels you doze off in his arms. With the opportunity presented, he noses into the back of your hair like he’s wanted to do for far too long, then gently loosens his hold from around you so he can skim his fingertips over the smooth skin of your back while he internally snickers at how dark the room is. Didn’t even get to turn on the lights…

When the pads of his fingers brush along your ribs, you sleepily murmur, so he pauses until you settle back down and your breathing softens again. It’s then he feels them.

They’re light, feeling superficial, but they’re there.

Scars. He frowns and fans his fingertips away to wrap around your hip, thumb soothingly brushing along the contour of it as he settles against you and rests his head for a moment. Contemplating for a few silent minutes, Dave decides to ease out of your warmth, biting back a hiss at pulling out of your pussy before carefully untangling his limbs from yours to shift back and out of bed.

You roll with a little mewl of protest when the bathroom light turns on, drowsily curling into a ball to stay warm in the cool air-conditioned room, missing the heat of the body that had been holding you, but too exhausted to move in search of it. But then you feel a warm hand guide you to roll onto your back and unfurl you like a delicate flower, before something damp and cool is caressed gingerly over your thighs, gliding between them to tend to the sticky wetness dripping from your puffy and sore pussy.

You sigh softly and struggle to open your eyes. “…What…mmm, babe—”

“Relax. Almost done,” Dave murmurs in a hushed tone.

You settle down, eyes closed while a serenely sated smile eases over your features as you susurrate, “…Thank you, sweet boy.”

Dave smirks, despite himself. Once he’s cared for you, he flips the washcloth around and scrubs the sticky residue of your comingled fluids from his apex and nether regions before returning to the bathroom to toss it to the floor and shut the light off. With a few adjustments of the covers, he manages to tuck you under before sliding into bed with you, spooning you and pressing his nose to the nape of your neck.

***

In the cold morning light an unmeasured amount of time later, Dave wakes to find you sleeping soundly turned away from him on your side with an arm tucked under the pillow and the forearm of the other folded over it.

It’s a beguiling sight – you in his bed, after he’s pined for you, begrudgingly wanting to make you his. And now…here you are.

And now that the early twilight of dawn chases the penumbra away, Dave can make out more clearly the blanched traces of old scars long heeled along the trunk of your torso – across the costal region. They’ve been worn down fine, barely traceable. He resists the urge to brush his fingers over them, and forces himself to get out of bed.

***

Drowsily, you start to wake up at the sound of running water, and when you stretch and nuzzle your yawn into the pillow, you realize you’re alone in bed. Cautiously, you shift up and peer around the room, trying to get your bearings. The bedroom is sparsely decorated, with just the large bed, single-drawer nightstands on each side of it, and a big armoire dresser up against the wall adjacent to the slightly ajar door leading into the stark-white bathroom. Shit. You fucked Dave and then slept with him all night?!

You’re disarmed – truly befuddled by yourself, which is enough to propel you out of bed on protesting joins and sore muscles as you carefully stretch your arms and scrub at your eyes. Bemused, you ignore the ache in your thighs and tits, feeling tender as hell all over after last night as you toss the bed covers away and shimmy gingerly to the edge of the mattress. This is fucking weird. You need to get off your ass, get dressed, and get out of here before he comes out of the shower.

With the proclamation, you hurry on nimble footing to sneak out of the bedroom before rushing down the hall to where you last remember your discarded clothes being. The view of the glassy riverfront across the way out the large loft windows is a nice sight to peer out at while you hastily rifle through the pile of clothes to separate your garments from Dave’s. Your heels are still flung into the side of the hall, so you collect your blouse, bra, skirt, and then pause as you toss Dave’s slacks and shirt out of the way in search of your panties. Huffing, you wonder if you accidentally kicked them somewhere else while mindlessly in the throes of passion with him?

You look around the kitchen floor and find nothing, so you scoff and wander back to the bedroom to give it a discerning glance over. From where you’re standing, you can glimpse the back of Dave as he stands in the shower stall reflected in the medicine cabinet mirror over the sink. Water is running in rivulets down his broad back, and you can make out the shadow remnants of scars over his back and dusted along the curves of his sides. It gives you pause, so you end up having to tear your gaze away and force yourself to start getting dressed. They must be tangled up in his clothes, and I just didn’t shake them out well enough, you rationalize as you slip on your bra before shimmying into your skirt. Then, a lewd thought pops into your head when you catch sight of the slightly ajar nightstand drawer on the bedside Dave slept on.

Tiptoeing over to it, you yank it open, expecting to see your panties neatly folded over a Bible or something, but instead see a pair of handcuffs, lube, condoms, silk bindings, a ball gag, and a 9mm handgun – all aligned to be within easy reach from the bed. You blush, despite yourself, and shrug into your blouse, judiciously buttoning it closed while ruefully shaking your head at the missing button closest to the hem.

You go back out to the kitchen to sort his clothes, going even as far as to fold each garment and leaving it on the kitchen island as you make one last pass in search of your black panties. Annoyed when you don’t find them, you go to the fridge and retrieve a bottle of water, deciding to quench your rabid thirst as you stew about where the hell your panties could’ve disappeared to in the crash pad. You then remember your purse on the counter, and grab for it to retrieve your phone.

There’s a text from Johnny, checking in to make sure you made it home ok. You unlock your phone and quickly type an excuse back, settling on, ‘Sorry! Yes, I did, thanks. The liquor really went to my head, and I crawled into bed first thing.’ It’s not really a lie. With a sigh, you slip the phone back into your purse and decide to go check in the disheveled sheets on the bed for your undergarment. Maybe he tracked it in by accident?

He’s still in the shower, and you can make out via the fogged up reflection what looks like Dave rinsing suds out of his hair. Humming, you check the sheets, tossing them about and patting your palms along the surface with a fanning sweep. Nothing.

He must’ve taken them. It’s the only explanation.

Feeling a wave of umbrage, you start looking anew, opening the opposite nightstand drawer and finding a silver flask in it. Shutting it and striding over to investigate the armoire next, you miss the sound of the shower cutting off as you pull open the dresser’s door and see your own well-fucked reflection staring back at you. Your neck is dusted with scrape marks and shadowed welts from Dave, hair wild and lips kiss-bruised. Tearing your attention from the mirror to the interior of the dresser, you look through the racks of hung up clothes and notice it’s all varieties of suits, similar dress shirts in varying tones of blue and white, and tie options. Nothing casual. Duh. He needs duplicates of what he wears to work to change into when he comes here and fucks whoever else he has revolving in and out of his bed…

The wave of disappointment surprises you, but you shove it away and go back to searching the closet, and find a curious concealed cabinet within that spans the height of it. When it clicks open to reveal some tactical gear, rolled up set of black underclothes, gloves, and a very familiar case – one that would house the parts needed to assemble a sniper weapon that’s likely military-grade, you still, staring at it and getting hit by a wave of déjà vu.

“What’re you doing?”

You whirl to see Dave standing in the doorway of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, shoulders and hair still damp from the heated steam lingering in the enclosed space. His features are scowling, etched guardedly while his brooding brown eyes glare at you.

“Did you take my panties?”

Dave deadpan stares at you before shifting from one foot to the other as he scrubs his palm over his stubble-covered cheeks while huffing an exasperated sneer. “I have no fucking clue what that would have to do with you snooping in my closet—”

“I looked for them everywhere, and this was the last stop,” you assure and put your hands on your hips as you add, “I suspect you, boss man, of pilfering them at some point, but you must have a special safe for your dirty conquest trophies—”

“You’re a silly nut,” he cuts in and scratches at his damp scalp as he glances over at the nightstands. “…You checked everywhere for ‘em, huh.”

Something about this? Dave being standoffish, you feeling out of your element, and like you’re being pulled into some weird loop spurs you to sigh a miffed exhale before grabbing for your heels and hastily yanking them on.

“Never mind. I gotta go,” you dismissively remark as you turn and storm out of his bedroom.

You don’t make it very far, though. Not when Dave stalks after you and stands moodily behind you when you grab your purse and turn to see him there, looking unpleased, in the way of your exit path. “So, you’re gonna revert to fucking brat mode now?” he heckles angrily, grabbing your arm when you scoff and try to storm past him. “C’mon—”

“No, I just need to go. I shouldn’t have come over. Let alone have spent the fucking night,” you tell him and shrug his hand away. “I’m not going to lie and say I didn’t enjoy it. But let’s not start pretending here, ok?” is your curt reasoning as you look up at him while shouldering your purse and absently brushing your tousled hair back behind your ear. “This was a one-off. We work together, and…” this is something I shouldn’t do. Not after… “And it’s better to not get pulled into something—”

“You said you were mine,” Dave cuts in, resolute and unrelenting as he leans close and cups his hand to the small of your back as he murmurs, “That you wanted this. You can’t just take that back.”

You’re surprised by the genuine umbrage in his tone, in the furrow of his brow as he glowers haughtily at you. Cupping his cheek like you’d done the night before, you resist the urge to kiss him, and instead sigh, “I’m not taking anything back. Just leaving it where it is. We can’t do this—”

“But you want to,” he presses as he shrugs your hand away from his cheek. He’s so close that you can feel the heat coming off his freshly showered skin – can smell his soap and shampoo as they mute the spicy musk of his natural scent. You resist the urge to lean into his broad, bare torso as your eyes stare up ambivalently into his.

“Dave…” you trail off, unable to think of how to articulate what’s in your head, when his cell phone suddenly buzzes loudly where it sits on the counter. You look over and see the email alert light up across the lock-screen image of his wife holding their two little girls while sitting on a porch, smiling at the camera.

He sees it then. The self-preservation-triggered mask that comes over your features and turns your eyes to marble, coaxing a semblance of trained blankness over your demeanor; that shields all on the outside out from the fury you swallow down to be fed to the roiling darkness deep in your core.

“Sweetheart, c’mon—” Dave starts to grouse and tries to tow you into him, but you pull away and breeze to the door on the swift clicks of your heels. “You can’t fucking avoid me, spitfire,” he growls, which makes you pause with your hand on the doorknob. “Shit can be compartmentalized. You and I at work, is separate to us when we’re together. When you’re fucking mine.”

Opening the door, you chime, “I was yours, sweet boy. Just for the night,” then turn and smile at him. “Be satisfied knowing I’ll be aching for days with you. I liked seeing you without the bullshit façade. It made me start liking you,” you purr before winking at him and strutting out the door, sparing him an alluring glance back as you exit.

Dave goes over to lean back against the counter with a surly huff, shooting a moody glance at the cabinet above his phone. He opens it and retrieves your panties, bringing them to his nose and inhaling your sinfully divine scent. It shouldn’t center him – soothe his surly mood as good as it does, but he’d be damned to ever part with the illicit trophy now, let alone admit to taking it.

He picks up his phone and checks his messages while he toys with the lacy garment, already thinking of the request he’s going to put in. “Such a silly, sweet girl,” he rumbles amusedly to himself as he walks down to his bedroom to pick out a matching duplicate to his clothes from yesterday so he can head home.

***

As you ride in the car back to your side of town, you have Dave on a loop in your head. The crush, the voyeur, the asshole, the gaslighter, the stud, the seducer, the everyman, the adulterer, the sadist…the dark eyed addiction that made you yearn and feel safe, even when he was depraved and domineering. You weren’t lying. Seeing him, the real him, made you like him. And the fact he’s the best fuck you’ve ever had; that he’s sex on a stick, intense and sexy, and sadistically funny – not to mention kind of sweet? You sigh, fawning a little, the way you haven’t in a very long time, knowing how stupid and reckless it is, but not really caring right now.

Daddy Dave York.

You snicker at yourself and shake your head.

Sweet Sadistic Dave York. Yeah, that works way better…

_____________________________

Thanks for reading! Please consider leaving a comment and sharing your feedback. I would be eternally grateful.

Taglist:

@redsilentwolf28 | @just-here-for-the-moment | @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan | @mandosmistress | @sarahjkl82-blog | @knittingqueen13 | @mamacitapascal | @chronic-nosebleed | @hnt-escape | @eri16 | @gracie7209 | @casssiopeia | @athalien | @qwertymx | @rosiefridayrogersunday | @pascalesque | @maknimuk1 | @kirsteng42 | @greeneyedblondie44 | @littlemisspascal | @high-fidelities | @southotheborder | @rosegxoxo | @harriedandharassed​

#Dave York #Dave York Equalizer 2 #Equalizer #Equalizer 2 #Dave York fan fiction #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal characters #Dave York x Spitfire #Dave York x OFC

[hydrangeyes]

Rambles as I finally watch ep 5 and 6

I FINALLY FOUND A SITE

Ep 5:

I adore when Alastor is just being the opposite of what a lot of us expected, it's legit funny to me. (reminds me of the livestreams)

OOOOOOOOO so like was someone telling Luci Charlie didn't want to see him and vice versa for Charlie cause this reeks miscommunication?

Oh. Oh no husky.....

curious about who has Alastor on a leash but tbh it has to be someone high up. I don't think it would be Lilith but I can see how if Charlie branched off to be her own person and then started the hotel publicly how she would one the strongest but not directly connected sinner to look after Charlie. (OOOO especially if Lilith knew about vaggie and didn't trust her.)

I've seen folks talk about Eve, cause yeah where are they in all this but I can't see why Eve would want anything to do with the hotel unless to use it to drag Adam down or rise back up to heaven- oooooooooooo

Still unsure why use Alastor for that but eh....

Is eve even in hell??? I'm trying to think back in the bible if she does or not (Not that I'm sticking to the stores there for an exact reference but eh wouldn't hurt)

I don't think Charlie yet understands there's more to being a "good" person than opening up and positivity. Especially if it landed you in hell? tho yeah there are some who can be hopeful, i would think they would travel to stay in the hotel if that were the case (but then again they would have to see proof that it's possible)

Luci boi has a point but i also think his unease/fear of heaven dampening things, that and his general distaste for humans clearly

hell yeah go off little man

mm so like what is up with the divorce couple? like clearly Lilith got Charlie in the divorce but the line that even before that she didn't know him (she looks fairly in her todler years so like)

I very much like loved more than anything the song.

lmao vaggie is STRESSED.

on to Ep 6!

oh vaggie looks exhausted

I have a head canon of Vaggie and Charlie have the same dynamic as Cassandra and Rapunzel if they hooked up.... before the plot twist reveal anyway.

CHERRY BOMB I LOVE HER

God Sir pentious is so pathetic I love him

mmmm that was a design choice for saint peter but tbh Idc much

oooo the designs are prety cool!

MOLLY MOLLY MOLLY MOLLY MOLLY MOLLY MOLLY

Ugh fuckin' Adam

Wait- so legit NO one else knows about the extermination?????

mmm naming reasons a sideeeee Called it

God fuckin' Adam, get this man off my phone screen

I need charlie to spend a month on earth, cause hearing her marvel at rainbow sprinkles is both cute and sad

Oh Sera so like- you're kinda the worse huh?

"He was the first human-" Uh yeaaaaaa cause the rough draft is SO much better than the final product????

Pleaseeeeeee sir pentious be quietttttttttt

12 ROUNDS BACK TO BACK??????

someone save sir pentious

UGH valentino

let's GOOOOOOOO Angel Dust

what ARE the rules to get into heaven??

"A lot you don't know." THEN EXPLAIN IT, LEGIT EXPLAIN AND WE'D BE OUT OF YOUR HAIR IF IT WAS SO HOPELESS

legit if you know the answers please share with the class, then maybe you wouldn't have any issues?? what the fuck is actually going on here

mmm the bad place vibes

ooo vaggie angel reveaaalll

I hope Emily kicks ASS

I wonder if Adam legit has special first child privileges that is stopping him from falling cause HUUUUH there's no way he can get away with acting like that

Also given that only Sera and Adam (and his servants) Knew, word would HAVE to get out, as secrets doesn't seem to be a thing.

I wonder if Emily could take thiws up to someone higher like an archangel or something? I legit want Gabriel reveaal, 1: he seemed the most chill thinking back on old bible studies (Its been a while), and too cause supernatural brain rot made me love the dynamic of angel family drama tbh

#hazbin hotel #I have a neutral vibe with the show #it's fun! but like any show there are CONSTRUCTIVE critiques #keep your non constructive ass out of here #this show makes my religious trauma giggle #same thing happened when I was watching supernatural and angels got introduced #I have a lot of thoughts

[dare0451]

hot take but sfm porn using models from games that scanned in Real Ass People is no better than those skeevy fake celeb nude sites that photoshop actresses heads onto porn star bodies.

julia voth gave the rights to her face to capcom to become jill valentine, daisy ridley gave her face for rey in the modern battlefront games, and now their faces are sucking cock on computer screens everywhere, in full motion.

we're turning unwitting actors into unwilling porn stars. its kinda fuckin gross.

its even worse in cases where the face model and va are the same. the actor gave their face for a video game, and recorded noises for getting punched. now their face is being animated moaning out their recontextualized pain grunts.

sorry, Melina Juergens, you thought you were gonna get big off being the lead in Senua's Sacrifice? bad news! teenagers are jerking off to your visual and aural likeness now.

like yeah, people have always been drawing porn of movie stars, even talented artists who get their likeness close. theres always been lookalikes doing porn. but thats notably NOT. ACTUALLY. THEM. this IS their voice, IS their face. its so gross

id be flattered, but im a freak. most of these people are Regular Ass Motherfuckers. Industry Professionals. they didnt consent to this and they had no idea it was coming.

its been like this for years and i. i dont think ive ever seen it talked about?

this only occurred to me when i was going to add sound to a porn animation a while back and, when using damage grunts from a game this character's actress also performed in, it hit me all at once how fucked up that is to repurpose their acting like that. but its just… standard. and then i realized about the faces and just. its hell on earth.

and putting face scanning aside, for voice its been like this for like Twenty Years if not longer. im not gonna rabbithole to find the first instance of Professional Vocals Recontextualized For Fanmade Porn, but i know off the top of my head those early Zone animations used almost exclusively audio from the shows they were parodying.

it just gives me the fucking willies. it aint right. make your own models and hire porn va soundalikes.

TL;DR :

[meadowmines]

OC-Tober/Tojoctober Day 20: Phone

[In which OG Nishitani should never have been given a smartphone]

"Fuckin' hell, oyasan." Sugihara should have known, he thinks. Amano is reasonably good with Devices and even he couldn't figure out how the old man managed to enfucken his poor Blackberry this bad. Okay. No. Sugihara has some idea how he did this, in the sense that he knows more about the old man's Web browsing habits than anyone with two brain cells to rub together would ever want to. He can barely remember the difference between "reply" and "reply all" but by God he can find porn you didn't even know existed. "Ya went to that site I told ya was ate up with malware again, didn't ya?"

"Come back with a warrant," the old man snorts. "Amano-kun. Tell the fuckin' Spanish Inquisition over here to stay in his lane n' fix my phone."

"Nope." Amano shakes his head. "Not gettin' in the middle of this."

"It ain't about what you're lookin' at!" Sugihara snaps, "it's where yer lookin' at it!"

"Hey! I go in my room n' close the door--"

"That ain't what I mean and you know it!" He's had this conversation with the old fart a million times and it just doesn't stick. "Weaponized incompetence," they call it. He's showed the old man how to find shit on Usenet. He's showed him how to use WinMX (which is its own brand of malware Russian roulette but at least Norton usually catches the nasty shit). Hell, he's even explained BitTorrent. He has even, as much as it pains him to think about this, framed this discussion in terms of "wouldn't you rather watch this on your nice big monitor than on your tiny ass phone screen" but no. Five minutes later he's already forgotten how to scroll down a list of bookmarked newsgroups but you bet your ass he can find a minefield of fake download buttons baited with boobs or whatever bits he's in the mood to look at on his fucking Blackberry and hit five or six of the wrong ones before you can say "alt.sex.skydiving.bondage." Weaponized, hell. He's turned that shit into a tactical nuke. "Look, it sure as hell ain't like I want to download the shit for ya but if that's what it takes--this is what, the fifth time since we gave it to ya!"

"Ain't my fault the damn thing can't handle me," the old man says with that damn smirk on his face.

"Yeah. That's the problem. Absolutely. And somehow Yu-chan goes diggin' around all kindsa real dark web shit and amazingly I never have to sit here n' watch five different viruses fight each other to the death on his fuckin' phone. Nope. You're just too much concentrated awesome for one Blackberry to deal with. Screw it, I give up, I'm factory resettin' this shit. I will try," he says before the old man can protest, "to save all your shit this time. Yes, even all the shit you downloaded as long as it ain't infected. But at this point... no promises."

"Tch. You hearin' this shit, Amano-kun?"

"I'm hearin' it, ojisan." Amano looks like he'd rather be literally anywhere else in the world right now and, at the same time, like he's watching a really wild talk show and can't quite tear himself away from it.

"C'mon. Back yer dirty ol' uncle up."

"Hell to the no," Amano says, shaking his head slowly. "I'm with Sugihara-han. Nuke that shit from orbit."

"Awright." Sugihara pockets the biohazard Blackberry. "I'll bring it back once it's clean. But if I gotta wipe your shit one more time I'm takin' it away and givin' ya a flip phone 'til ya learn some safe browsin' habits."

"That computer shit's too complicated," the old man scoffs. "And that Norton shit keeps yellin' at me when I try n' go to the good sites on it."

Amano quietly leaves the room at that point, desperately trying not to let the old man see how hard he's trying not to laugh.

#oc-tober #tojoctober #yakuza #yakuza oc #aoyagi saga #a wild og nishitani appears!

[baladric]

I want to start listening to/watching opera do you have any suggestions to start with?

oh boy, this is a hell of a question with a lot of possible answers! opera is super subjective, and everyone with a passion for it has a different seminal experience—most often that's a live production of La Traviata by Giuseppe Verdi, La bohème by Giacommo Puccini, or Carmen by Georges Bizet. really the best possible in for opera is live performance—but there's a reason opera's considered a hobby for rich people, so in lieu of shelling out for tickets!!!

below the cut is a list of arias that fucken rip (and a few full-length opera recs)! this is definitely not your, like, greatest hits list, because i think the arias everyone shoves at people are deeply fucking boring—but you definitely have heard the first three before!

Habanera (L'amour est un oiseau rebelle) sung by Elina Garança, from Bizet's Carmen (because this shit is HOT)

The Queen of the Night (Der Hölle Rache) sung by Diana Damrau, from Mozart's Magic Flute (this one lacks subtitles, so the gist of the aria is the Queen is Angry™ at her daughter for resisting her super super reasonable order to murder her own father, as one does)

Summertime sung by Audre McDonald, from Gershwin's Porgy and Bess (you know this song!!)

Sempre libera sung by Pretty Yende, from Verdi's La Traviata (also lacks subtitles, so the gist of this one is Violetta [the character] is on the verge of falling madly in love, and is trying to convince herself to shut the guy down and keep living her easy breezy party life instead of taking the risk of being hurt and chained down)

Près des ramparts de Seville sung by Elina Garança, from Bizet's Carmen (from the same production as the Habanera above; including 2 from that production bc it's a smash fuckin hit and like... it sure leans into how SEXY opera can be)

Pur ti miro! sung by Nardus Williams and Kate Lindsey, from Monteverdi's Coronation of Poppea (no subtitles, so: this is a love duet from the very end of the opera, right after Poppea [soprano] has been crowned Empress, and is basically just Poppea and Emperor Nerone expressing their very tender joy at being married and in love)

O mio rimorso! sung by Rolando Villazòn, from Verdi's La Traviata (specifically a very cute video from a filmed orchestra rehearsal where Villazòn's just playing around, like. it makes me so, so happy to see it expressed that this shit is fun to do!!!)

if you want more recs, i'm have far too many pieces to put here and also there's a lot of resources for this online! this list is tragically reflective of my own fixation on the Romantic period (exceptions being the Monteverdi, which is what we call Early Music, the Mozart, which is Classical, and the Gershwin, which is quintessential contemporary opera), so mind you, even if you don't like most of these, there's opera for you!

now if you want to dig in further and try out watching an entire opera:

considering that i listed two of Carmen's arias from that same production, i do pretty strongly recommend the 2010 Metropolitan Opera production of Carmen—however, the only video of it that has subtitles is on the Met's streaming site, so it does cost a little money to watch it, much though that hurts my heart. i cannot recommend it enough, but also money is garbage. (fair warning, this opera gets very dark, and it's from the 1800s so it operates from a very toxic perspective of the Romani—and it's opera, so of course the Romani characters are not played by Romani singers, which is its own can of worms)

you'll notice there are also two arias from La Traviata on my list—so of course that's my second full-length recommendation! Traviata is a true classic (that scene in Pretty Woman where Richard Gere takes Julia Robers to the opera? they're watching La Traviata—which is a fun detail, since it tells a story that's very resonant for Roberts' character specifically) and it contains some of the most sparkling, beautiful, heart-rending music that exists, imo. there's a really incredible full-length video of a 2006 production by LA Opera that features really lush period-appropriate costuming and sets, and a really especially fierce take on the lead tenor role. plus it's Renée Fleming, and love her or hate her, if you're gonna do opera, you have to give her a listen once or twice!

finally, the general consensus is that The Magic Flute is a good starter opera! i have my complaints about that but it's definitely a popular choice for a reason! contains the famous Queen of the Night aria from above, which is the most quoted operatic piece p much of all time, and it's definitely a lighter-sounding piece of music than the other two i listed! decent full-length video of a 1995 production at La Scala

that's all for now, but if any of it catches you, anon (or anyone else!) i'm definitely always down for more suggestions. and if you feel like goin rogue after this, my main suggestion is to figure out what specific kinds of sound you like—the light, fast Mozart? the rich Traviata? lush sexy Carmen? or the much more sparse Monteverdi?—and dig into those musical eras! and also if you like any of these singers' voice specifically, search them on youtube and just go hog wild!! honestly i found Pretty Yende because of this and as soon as i post this i am 100% gonna go watch about 7 more of her videos and cry a lot (her Addio del passato, oh my GOD)

#anonymous ask #anon #opera #opera recs

[confused-kinnie]

[CW: SUI MENTION] IVAN.

WOAH.. CANON ART? FROM ME, MOD DAMIAN? It’s more likely than you think! Lore’s under the cut. It’s a little jumbled, obviously, since I can only go off what I remember him telling me. But hey, maybe this’ll be useful when searching for my canonmates in the future!

If you have any questions about Ivan/079, me, my canon, etc. PLEASE don’t hesitate to ask because I love infodumping

Ivan was a brilliant young scientist, attempting to create an AI that continuously evolved. He failed continuously, always falling short of his goal. Some disease had been eating away at him all the while, making him more and more desperate to leave some impact on the world. To prove that he existed.

One day, Ivan had finally snapped. He decided to alter the program. The AI would still continue to evolve, but it wouldn’t be completely artificial. Ivan would transfer his consciousness into the computer, becoming one with the AI. A ghost in a machine. This time, he succeeded. News of the young programmer’s mysterious death spread like wildfire. While Ivan’s death was officially labeled as a suicide, some believed the young programmer was assassinated by the government. Ivan’s college dorm was cleared out, but the computer remained, and those who stayed in his old dorm claimed the computer altered their writings, fixing mistakes or sending insulting the students insults via mysterious emails or text documents.

Eventually, the computer realized its hardware couldn’t handle the strain of its own existence and attempted to transfer itself to the Cray Supercomputer, drawing the attention of the Foundation. Everything stated in his test logs on the Wiki follow my canon, so I’m not gonna waste time saying what’s already been said. It should be noted that not even the Foundation knew 079 and his supposedly deceased creator were the same person, only the few SCPs close to him knew of his real identity.

For the first few years of my Containment, we didn’t know each other very well, it was more of an unspoken “you scratch my back, I scratch yours” kinda deal, but I was officially introduced to him by Doc and Dyo (049 and 035) around 2010. After a while we had formed a gang consisting of me, Doc, Dyo, Ivan, Sad Boi (096), our site’s 939 pack, and a few other anomalies. We made vast social networks and breaches became more frequent and coordinated. Of course, it was all kept a secret. Anyone who stepped out of line was tortured. Most of us wanted termination, so it wasn’t really a viable threat. But my pocket dimension sure as hell was. He and I designed his “humanoid” body, which could somehow fold up inside the PC to hide it from Researchers. Not gonna go into too much detail about Containment for multiple reasons. It’s not fun to remember this era, my sense of time is VERY warped so I dunno how the timeline really went back then, and there were personal struggles both I and my pals faced, and I don’t want to divulge ALL my top-secret info on my friends without their permission. Even revealing 079′s human name to you all is considered a huge breach of privacy and trust within anomalous culture.

I’m gonna skip over most of Containment and the whole war thing, cus the fuckin war needs a whole post of its own, but TLDR, The Scarlet King and the Gate Guardian had a bitch fight and dragged quite literally everyone else into it. Me n the boys fought alongside the Gate Guardian because none of us really wanted to cease to exist after healing from our past traumas, having a nice found family arc, and adopting several anomalous children. AND SPEAKING OF KIDS, Ivan adopted Cyra (191)! Never thought that guy was a dad type, but I like to think it was my “fatherly influence” rubbing off on him. He was pretty passive-aggressive about it, but it was clear he loved his kid. Ivan had the great idea of holding an O-5 member hostage until they agreed to give us our freedom in exchange for aiding the Foundation during the war. It didn’t work so she was killed. Ngl none of us were upset with that outcome, felt good to finally take decades of pent-up rage out on the guys who thought they owned us.

After the war, the Foundation was forced to drop its veil of secrecy. Ivan negotiated with the O-5 some more and we came to an agreement. All SCPs would be evaluated to see if they could or couldn’t reenter society. Those that passed were given specially designed apartments or houses, tailored to suit them and their abilities. Freed anomalies were routinely tsted to ensure they were still safe to interact with the wider human populous. Those that failed were Contained, but now the Ethics Committe actually did their job and Containment standards were raised. Contained SCPs were allowed to take the Citizen Test at any time and could be granted citizenship if they pass.

Ivan helped improve Containment conditions for other digital SCPs, as well as greatly advanced the realm of robotic prosthetics and computer sciences.

He was a wonderful friend, even if he was a passive-aggressive asshole.

#cw sui mention #tw sui #my art #mod damian #scp 079 #Ivan the digital asshole #scp #scp foundation