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is the “Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down” 2008 photoshoot for GQ magazine literally not just doll!reader x joey quinn?

ohmygooooooddddddddd yessss! you’re speaking to my soul rn!!

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happy resurrection day! will you be watching it as the new episodes come out? -🤍

so sorry for the last reply honey! n i’ll probably watch it once all of them are out like original sin! i’d just hate be left on a cliff hanger or something and have to wait! uggghhh i hate when that happens!

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i had to clean out my inbox from months of old request because i left so inbox is open and empty! if i didn’t get to your ask before you can resend!

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𓏲୭ joey n doll! reader have fucked on every surface of ⠀ their apartment + car sex 𓂃 w. harsh fucking (?)

don’t get him wrong, joey likes taking you on the bed. the comfortable sheets cushioning your bodies, the headboard banging against the wall, your head buried in the pillows as he fucks you slow and deep—it’s intimate, consuming, and everything he craves at the end of a long day. but there’s something about having you pressed up against a hard surface that just does it for him.

especially when he’s taking you from behind on your kitchen table. your skirt shoved up around your waist, your face is smushed against the wood, cheek puffy and cute while you tell him how bad you need his come. the view alone has him seeing stars. it’s his favorite part of the day.

he even has a favorite spot in the apartment: the wall right by the entrance. he claims, it’s just the perfect height. you say, it’s because he’s impatient and can never wait to get you to the couch. most nights, you don’t even get your shoes off. he’s crowding you the second the lock clicks—teasing kisses behind your ear, under your jaw, hands wandering like they haven’t been on you a thousand times before since you entered the complex.

then the door creaks open and it’s all over. you’re spun around and pressed flush to the wall, his hand already gripping your ass, hard and greedy. “legs around me, baby,” he murmurs, and lifts you, both hands full of you, like he owns it. because he does.

joey’s the undisputed king of quickies in every room of the apartment. he’ll fuck you against the wall as an appetizer, on the kitchen table as the main course, and in the bed as dessert, slow, messy, sweet. and sometimes, if he’s really feeling it, he’ll go back for seconds. you’ll still be catching your breath, hair a mess, legs trembling, and he’s already kissing down your stomach, mumbling, “one more, baby. just one more.”

car sex is even filthier than anything you’ve done at your apartment. it always starts the same—a late date night, joey spending the whole dinner leaning in close, whispering dirty things in between bites, hand on your thigh like he knows how wet you are. by the time you’re headed home, you’re fully making out, body leaning over the middle console, hands deep in his pants. his cop-trained multitasking kicks in, one hand on the wheel, the other pressing perfect circles over your panties, jaw tight, eyes straining to keep on the road while you kiss him just to be mean.

you’re not even fully in a semi-empty parking lot before you’re moving into his lap and he’s fumbling with the gear shift and his jeans all at once. and by the time he gets the car in park, you’re already pulling your panties to the to the side, sinking down onto him like you need it. “shit—how do you still feel this good?” he groans, head hitting the headrest as you sink down onto him, slow and deep.

you’re breathless already, hands on his chest, hips rolling. “you say that every time,” you whisper. he laughs, low and wrecked, gripping your ass tighter. “yeah, and i mean it every time.” you moan into his neck, pace quickening, his hands guiding you like he needs to memorize every second. the car’s rocking, windows fogged, your moans get caught in kisses too messy to finish. joey’s mouth is at your neck, breathing, “you’re gonna make me crash next time.” you smile, lazy and drunk on him. “then park faster.”

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joey n doll! reader live together in the cutest little apartment that is a perfect mix of the two of them 𑁥୧ pictures just to give a little visual but trust and believe this is not color accurate.

the apartment is a cozy little haven, always smelling like vanilla or some sugary, cupcake-scented candle that joey pretends to hate but secretly loves. the place always smells like sweetness and skin and the faint scent of his cologne lingering on throw blankets.

the walls are covered in framed photos. big, framed pictures hang above the bed and couch—soft shots from birthdays, blurry photos from friends’ weddings, or random sunny days when you both actually looked good at the same time. but the smaller ones sitting in frames on the coffee table or the polaroids hanging on the fridge are the ones that make it real. you in a sheet mask blowing a kiss. him half-asleep with lipstick smeared on his cheek. one of you both, squished together in a diner booth at 2am, his fingers in your fries.

his dresser is a shrine of nonsense—receipts, coins, handcuffs, and a dumb picture of you with a facial peel and a towel on your head that he swears is his favorite. meanwhile, your vanity mirror is lined with little photos of him, that aren’t embarrassing, half-smiling in the morning or fresh out of the shower, towel low, eyes squinty.

the bathroom is a war zone of love. lip glosses, mini perfumes, hair clips, half-used lotion bottles. joey grumbles that he can’t find his razor, but he never moves your stuff. he’d rather work around it than complain too loud.

the wi-fi password is "princess&quinn4ever." joey tried to argue, but one look at your big, pleading eyes, and he was typing it in without another word.

he leaves his stuff everywhere. his jacket slung over the back of the couch, his badge and gun on the kitchen counter—even though there’s a little ceramic bowl by the door specifically for his badge. and every time she moves them to where they’re supposed to be, he just shrugs and says, “you love picking up after me.” his shoes are always somewhere between the doormat and the coffee table like breadcrumbs back to him.

couch rule: if you both are on it, you’re touching. even if you’re on opposite ends, he’ll stretch out a leg to nudge your thigh or hold your ankle while you watch tv.

you leave sticky notes for him all over the apartment. you know his job pulls him in a thousand directions, and he gets distracted and forgets the simple things, so you make sure he doesn’t. on the fridge: “don’t forget to eat, baby.” on the inside of his badge case: “come home safe to me.”

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fyi the most nastiest smut is coming your way soon . . .

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૮꒰っ ⸝⸝ ◟꒱ა hmmph! thinking of biting his big, yummy biceps  ೀ daydreamer, blom is in her twenties, black, goes by she her prns.

❤︎︎ blood lace-lined, brian’s forever sweetheart, owner of one too many animal squishmallows, admiration for anything horror, pandora jewelry

⠀ INBOX IS OPEN 𓎢𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎡

+18 content including visual reblogs, viewer discretion is advised! ⁺ ﹒ cxxx{}:::::::::::::> ⊹ guide list anons recent

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mirror palais

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