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ibijau · 3 years ago

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Beta Nie Huaisang goes to check on omega Lan Xichen, since his lover hasn't gotten in touch in a few weeks. When he finds Lan Xichen nesting, he can only conclude that the child isn't his.

It had been a while since Nie Huaisang had last seen Lan Xichen, and longer still since he had come to the Cloud Recesses. Usually, for everyone’s convenience, it was simpler for the two of them to meet in the Unclean Realm, where people knew to mind their own business, and where Nie Huaisang’s failings as a sect leader gave them a good excuse to spend time together.

It had been over two months since they’d last met. In all that time, Lan Xichen had only written once, and about sect business too, so it hardly counted at all. And so Nie Huaisang, who was in the area for some other dealings of his, had decided that it would probably be fine to drop by and check on the omega.

The men watching the gate did not bat an eye upon seeing him, since it wasn’t so unusual for him to come unannounced, but one evasively warned him that Lan Xichen might be busy. That wasn’t a problem of course. Nie Huaisang had a permanent invitation to make himself at home in the Hanshi for those times Lan Xichen wasn’t free to deal with him right away.

So like always he headed right for the Hanshi, already wondering what tea he’d make for himself while Lan Xichen dealt with his own business. Only when he entered the Hanshi, Nie Huaisang was struck by an unexpected sight.

The Hanshi, usually so neat and tidy that one could have eaten off the floor, was an absolute mess . There were fabrics everywhere in all shades of white and blue as well as the occasional dash of green, plus a great number of cushions of many sizes that Lan Xichen was organising in some manner that must have made sense to him.

Nie Huaisang gaped at the sight.

Lan Xichen was nesting.

There was no other explanation. Although Nie Huaisang was a beta, as a sect leader he’d had to deal with that sort of things before. People were always surprised to hear about it, but Qinghe Nie was very welcoming to omega disciples, and of course alphas had to deal with their spouses. A whole portion of the sect’s budget was dedicated to this sort of things, just because Nie Huaisang had found that it spelled trouble to have a frustrated omega failing to build their nest exactly as they envisioned it. In fact, although he complained about the waste of money, Nie Huaisang found the process somewhat fascinating, and he’d always been happy to give his opinion whenever asked for it.

This nest, though, was instantly hateful to him.

It wasn’t as though Lan Xichen and him had made any clear promises to each other. They liked to fool around when they could, but being a beta he couldn’t mark the omega, and would have been unlikely to ever impregnate him. That was the whole reason why Lan Xichen allowed himself such liberties with Nie Huaisang: it was a safe way to scratch that itch without ruining his prospects for a proper match when the time came.

Still, even without promises, Nie Huaisang had thought they had a certain understanding. He had never taken other lovers since falling in bed with Lan Xichen, and not just because he was too busy for it. Compared to the esteemed Zewu-Jun, everyone else felt boring, no matter if they were alphas, omegas, or betas. But Nie Huaisang himself, by comparison… well, if Lan Xichen had found himself a proper mate, an alpha, he couldn’t be blamed for it of course.

Busy with the delicate task of constructing his nest, Lan Xichen didn’t realise that he had company until Nie Huaisang closed the door behind himself, a little more forcefully than he should have.

He hated the way Lan Xichen’s face illuminated upon seeing him, so pretty like this, kneeling in the middle of his half built nest.

“A-Sang!” he exclaimed,. “I was just about to write to you, as soon as I finished with this.”

He gestured at the mess around him, and Nie Huaisang couldn’t help a disdainful scoff.

“I think I’d have waited a long while before seeing that letter then,” he remarked. “Congratulations are in order it seems. And I suppose I’d better leave you to it, you seem very busy.”

“Nonsense, you simply have to help me,” Lan Xichen protested, picking up an embroidered cushion and looking around for the best place to put it. “I’m not too good at this, but you’ve said you’ve helped with that sort of things before, right? I need your expertise, A-Sang.”

If Nie Huaisang had been a reasonable person, if he’d had a little more pride, he would have left immediately. Hearing himself still being called A-Sang after this hurt too much, as did Lan Xichen’s casual attitude, as if he truly didn’t realise that it might pain Nie Huaisang to discover in such a brutal manner that he had been replaced. Above all, no self-respecting person should have had to help their lover help prepare a nest for someone else’s child.

But apparently, Lan Xichen really saw no wrong with that. Nie Huaisang, kindly, decided to blame it on nesting frenzy rather than on the omega’s tendency to close his eyes to anything he didn’t like thinking about.

Lan Xichen was the only person that Nie Huaisang could have allowed to be so cruel to him without hating him. His one weakness, now and always. So instead of leaving, he quickly untied his shoes and came to join Lan Xichen in the middle of his nest.

“Hold this,” Lan Xichen ordered when Nie Huaisang knelt next to him, handing him some delicate furs, a present from Nie Huaisang himself some years before. “And this, and…”

“Quite the luxurious nest you’re building here,” Nie Huaisang remarked as he started laying the furs and fabrics around so they would be both elegant to look at and comfortable to lay on. “Is that even allowed by your sect’s rules?”

“It’s my nest, I get to decide how I want it,” Lan Xichen replied in a playful tone. “For once in my life, nobody has the right to tell me how to do this. I will take full advantage of it.”

“Hm. And what about whoever sired your child? Don’t they also get a say? Maybe they’ll think this is too ostentatious.”

For some reason, that remark made Lan Xichen laugh. Nie Huaisang found himself increasingly curious as to the identity of whatever alpha had gotten his friend with child. It couldn’t be another Lan, or else Lan Xichen would not actually allow himself to be so extravagant. A Jin then? He really didn’t like the idea that it might be a Jin, because there was only one of them close enough to Lan Xichen for this to happen, and if Jin Guangyao had dared to touch the omega…

“He won’t mind,” Lan Xichen claimed with laughter still in his voice, before grabbing Nie Huaisang to kiss him.

Again, Nie Huaisang thought of protesting on account of his pride.

But what was the value of that pride when Lan Xichen's lips were on his, tender and demanding, when the omega's arms were wrapped around his waist to pull him closer.

Nie Huaisang had sacrificed his pride for less pleasant purposes before. He didn't mind doing it again, for one last tryst with the man he shouldn't have loved.

One of Nie Huaisang's hands grabbed the back of Lan Xichen's neck. This made him gasp, and gave Nie Huaisang the chance to deepen the kiss, licking into that willing mouth. Then, with his free hand he started pulling on the ties of Lan Xichen's clothes, eager to undress his lover.

Under layers and layers of pale silk, delicate skin became revealed. Nie Huaisang's fingers lazily danced over his lover's collarbone, over a firm chest, taking a moment to play with a nipple, just for the joy of seeing Lan Xichen's lips part for a soft gasp. His chest was still all muscle, but it would probably soon start to soften and prepare for the child’s arrival. The thought sent heat coursing through Nie Huaisang’s groin, for which he cursed himself. By the time such changes started appearing, everything would be over between them, Lan Xichen would certainly have married whatever lucky idiot had managed to breed him.

Enraged by that idea, Nie Huaisang tore off the rest of the omega’s robes, letting precious silk pool around them and adding to the mess of the half built nest. When Lan Xichen was left in nothing but pants, Nie Huaisang roughly pushed him down against the nearest pile of pillows.

Lan Xichen went down willingly, though could have resisted if he wanted. He was the stronger between them, and by far, but when they were alone he liked to pretend Nie Huaisang could push him around, to play the part of a delicate and submissive omega. Another game between them, another thing they didn’t talk about, and Nie Huaisang to this day didn't know if Lan Xichen did it for his own pleasure, or out of pity for his weak lover.

It had to be at least partly for pleasure, with the way Lan Xichen gasped when Nie Huaisang, having pulled down his pants pushed a finger into him to find him slick with arousal already.

“Zewu-Jun, how shameful of you to get in such a state while nesting,” Nie Huaisang teased, pressing in a second finger already, while his other hand pressed on Lan Xichen' s shoulder, pinning him against the side of his nest.

Lan Xichen writhed weakly, as if trying to escape but unable to.

“A-Sang don’t, ah, don’t call me that,” he complained, gasping when his lover’s fingers found the right places to tease. “It’s not…”

“Then what should I call you?” Nie Huaisang asked, trying to keep his tone casual even as he added another finger. “Er-ge? Lan-gege? Xichen-ge? A-Huan, perhaps?”

Lan Xichen, whose eyes had closed upon that most welcome assault, opened them again and whined at that last suggestion. Even though they had been doing this for some years now, Nie Huaisang had never really dared to use his lover’s personal name, fearing it would have been too intimate for the sort of relationship they had. Now though, if he was to lose all this, there was little point in not taking everything he could before it was over.

“You’re so wet, A-Huan,” he accused, removing his fingers from his lover’s hole and carelessly wiping them against the side of his naked thigh. “Isn’t it against your sect’s rules to be unrestrained?”

Lan Xichen pouted at feeling himself empty again, and shivered at Nie Huaisang’s words. As if suddenly remembering something, he quickly sat up in spite of the hand pushing down on his chest, proving that Nie Huaisang was only in control because it was granted to him. Nie Huaisang found it a more potent aphrodisiac than actually having the strength to subdue his lover could have been. He then saw Lan Xichen quickly reach behind his head, saw the white embroidered ribbon he wore be loosened and slide down, saw his lover smile at him with that spark of mischief Lan Xichen only ever showed when they were alone together.

“There, now I’m allowed to be unrestrained,” Lan Xichen said after dropping the ribbon out of the way and carefully laying down on the side of his nest again. “Let’s make the best of this, A-Sang.”

He opened his legs a little wider, shamelessly inviting Nie Huaisang to come enjoy his body. Nie Huaisang, in turn, pretended to ignore him and started undressing himself, taking care to fold everything neatly so it wouldn’t get lost in the luxurious mess of that nest around them. Lan Xichen observed him with hunger at first, which quickly turned to frustration.

“You’re teasing me,” he accused with a slight whine to his voice that made Nie Huaisang want to devour him.

“I’m just trying to be respectful,” Nie Huaisang retorted while fighting with his pants, the last item of clothing on him. “I believe your sect has a rule against undue haste, and against being careless with one’s possessions.”

“Then stop being careless with me,” Lan Xichen ordered.

Nie Huaisang froze, unsure whether to cry or laugh. Once again, he was stunned by how innocently cruel his lover was that day. He really should have put an end to this joke and gone home, leaving Lan Xichen to go get fucked by whatever alpha he’d found himself.

He should have.

He couldn’t.

Instead, Nie Huaisang quickly finished undressing, dropping his pants to the side without even pretending to fold them this time, and came to kneel between Lan Xichen’s legs. The omega smiled up at him, so radiant it hurt.

Without thinking, Nie Huaisang’s hand trailed down his lover’s chest, coming to rest on his stomach. Nothing was showing yet, not even the first signs of softness, though when he probed using spiritual energy, he definitely felt there was something there, a presence too small to have reached consciousness yet.

The pregnancy wasn’t very far along, three months perhaps, which would place its start rather close to the last time Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen had been together. That would fit, of course. Last time, Lan Xichen had needed to leave the Unclean Realm in something of a hurry when his heat had surprised him, forcing him to rush home before it overcame him completely… or so Nie Huaisang had thought at the time.

Back then, he’d been disappointed that they’d barely managed to fool around at all. He’d been disappointed at himself, also, for still not finding the courage to ask Lan Xichen to stay, heat or not. With himself a beta there was so little risk of unwanted consequences, while surely it would have been more comfortable for Lan Xichen to go through this with a partner for once…

As it turned out, Lan Xichen hadn’t faced the discomfort of his heat alone. He just hadn’t wanted to spend it with Nie Huaisang either.

Suddenly, Nie Huaisang grabbed Lan Xichen's arm, forcing him to turn around. Lan Xichen willingly obeyed and got on his hands and knees, a spark of excitement in his eyes. He gasped when Nie Huaisang pressed into him faster than he normally did. But then, normally he wasn't so angry at the man he…

The man he didn't want to love, Nie Huaisang thought as he started moving without giving the omega time to adjust. The man he shouldn't have loved. The man who he should have known he'd never get to keep.

“A-Sang, be gentle,” Lan Xichen begged, before moaning when Nie Huaisang, instead, fucked him harder.

The beta soon fell into a punishing rhythm, skin slapping against skin. The only sounds leaving Nie Huaisang’s mouth were grunts, while Lan Xichen alternated between begging to be treated gently or more roughly, as if unable to make up his mind.

When Lan Xichen's pleasure cries became louder, his body tighter, Nie Huaisang found it in him to fuck even harder into that too willing body, until at last Lan Xichen tensed under him, coming undone with a silent gasp. Nie Huaisang kept going, enjoying that slick tightness for a few thrusts more until he felt he could hold on no longer.

Pressing inside as far as he could go, Nie Huaisang bent down and bit as hard as he could onto Lan Xichen while spilling his seed.

It was a vain effort, of course. Still, when Nie Huaisang’s senses returned to him and he saw the imprint of his teeth on the side of Lan Xichen's neck, almost deep enough to have broken the skin, he felt a twisted satisfaction. The mark would fade in a few days, a few hours even if Lan Xichen expended some energy to get rid of it. But now Nie Huaisang knew what the man he didn't want to love would have looked, had he been able to mark him and keep him.

A memory he would surely cherish in the future, when nothing else remained.

Nie Huaisang pulled out and sat up on his haunches, the better to look at Lan Xichen lying under him, beautiful in his contentment, pale skin decorated by the first signs of future bruises. If he hadn't just come, the sight of such perfection on display for him would have made him hard. Even like that he felt some new desire run through him.

Lan Xichen cracked open one eye. He smiled, turned around to rest his back against the now crumbling side of his nest, and opened his arms in a silent invitation. One that Nie Huaisang should have refused, the same as he should have refused all the rest. One he took, as he had taken all the rest.

It was comfortable to lay like this, his head on Lan Xichen's chest, cuddled against one side of that hateful nest. Nie Huaisang could have fallen asleep like this, sated and warm, with Lan Xichen's long fingers lazily tracing senseless patterns on his back.

Life didn't get better than this, and Nie Huaisang was selfish enough to take what wasn't his to enjoy.

"I was thinking what we should do, since both our sects need an heir," Lan Xichen said, just as Nie Huaisang was abput to fall asleep. "If it's a girl, let's raise it like a Nie. Your sect is more reasonable about letting women rule, so it'd be… you don't like that?"

Nie Huaisang shook his head, his body suddenly so tense he could barely breathe, let alone speak.

That child was his?

He would have assumed… betas weren't very fertile, and everyone said they had better chances of conceiving with a woman of any sort than a male omega. Nie Huaisang had made his peace with that, knowing he and Lan Xichen wouldn't… That there would only ever be a very low chance of...

But a low chance was still a chance.

"It's fine if you'd rather see a boy inherit Qinghe Nie as well," Lan Xichen said, his hand turned soothing on Nie Huaisang's back. "In that case if it's a girl, we'll get to spoil her."

"I don't mind seeing our daughter rule the Unclean Realm," Nie Huaisang weakly replied, still terrified he'd misunderstood somehow, that Lan Xichen had just been carelessly cruel again, that…

But Lan Xichen kissed the top of his head with affection, and took to running his fingers through Nie Huaisang’s hair.

"We'll see when the baby is there," Lan Xichen concluded. "I… you want this too, don't you?" he asked, suddenly sounding worried. "We never really spoke about… if you don't want to be involved, I'll… of course I won't force you. I can raise it alone if you're not interested."

Nie Huaisang rose on his elbows to look at the man he loved, who carried his child, and was shocked to find Lan Xichen looking truly worried. As if there were anyone in the world who wouldn't give everything to be in Nie Huaisang’s place. As if Nie Huaisang himself hadn't been ready to sacrifice any dignity he had left for what he thought were scraps of Lan Xichen’s attention.

"We're raising our child together," Nie Huaisang firmly stated. "I'll claim it if you let me, I'll marry you if you let me. Anything you want from me, just ask and it's yours."

Lan Xichen smiled brightly at him, happy beyond words. Nie Huaisang found it in him to smile back.

He would just have to get Mo Xuanyu to hurry up with that ritual, so that Jin Guangyao could be taken care of before the birth.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #for context I started writing this in october 2020 #I am not very good at sexy stuff ok

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softheartedscorpio · 4 years ago

Note

#1 for drarry

Holiday/Winter Prompt #1: Pretend to be my significant other and go ice skating with me.

Pairing: Drarry

Background: This is a war free scenario. Harry’s parents lived, there is no Voldy, no death eaters, etc. This would be their 7th year.

Thank you for the submission ❤️ I hope you enjoy!

—

“Excuse me?” Harry raised an eyebrow at the blonde standing in front of him. “You want me to what?”

Draco huffed and crossed his arms, “It’s not that hard Potter. I want you to pretend to be my significant other and go ice skating with me.”

“Why?” Harry said slowly as his eyes flickered around looking for Madame Pince. “Because,” Draco rolled his eyes. “Blaise is invited me out with him and the others, they all have dates, and I don’t want to be alone.” Harry conceded that it was a good argument, “But why me?”

Draco smirked, “Could you imagine their faces when I show up with Prince Potter on my arm?” Harry scowled at the nickname and leaned back, “Don’t call me that.” “Oh come on,” Draco sneered at him. “You’re the Gryffindor quidditch captain and the current head boy, merlin knows how you pulled that one off considering your track record.” Harry shot him a nasty look. “You’re Prince Potter and you know it,” Draco finished with a smug smirk.

“Yeah. Being an arsehole will make me want to go with you,” Harry muttered under his breath as he began packing his bags up. “Look,” Draco said quickly sensing Harry’s temper, “I’ll make it up to you. Anything you want.” Harry paused, “Anything I want?” His eyes flickered up to the blonde’s face who blanched at his words, “Uh-Yes?” He said reluctantly as he realized the position he put himself in. “Deal,” Harry smirked as he stood gracefully. “I’ll be your fake date to this ice skating thing.” Harry didn’t wait for a response as he left Draco in shock at the library table.

...

“You’re doing what?” Sirius’s jaw dropped as Harry explained what he was doing. Harry had called him on the two-way mirrors and was currently talking to Sirius, Remus, and his dad. “A Malfoy?” James wrinkled his nose, “Seriously?” Remus cuffed the back of his head, “Be nice James. Sirius don’t make that joke!” He snapped when Sirius opened his mouth. “That’s nice Harry,” He finished warmly as he looked at his honorary godson.

“No siriously—” Everyone rolled their eyes at Sirius and Remus glared at him, “What are you doing?” Sirius questioned again. “Well Malfoy asked me to be his fake date to this ice skating thing and agreed to do me a favor in return. Anything I want.” That had all the Marauders pausing, “Anything you want?” James checked. Harry smirked, a slightly evil one, “Yep.” “Ah! I knew I raised you good Prongslet!” Sirius cheered as James glared at him, “I raised him you prat! Those are my genes!” Sirius waved his words off before they both descended into an argument.

Remus sighed and took the mirror, “While those two are being idiots, let me remind you that you should be careful.” He warned gently, “Don’t be cruel with your favor.” Harry nodded as he smiled at his uncle, “Well I plan on...” He explained his idea and Remus brightened with each word, “And that is how I raised you.” He praised with a smile. Harry chuckled as he heard two identical “Oi!”’s in the background before Remus was tackled and the mirror went black.

‘Now to get ready for this “date”,’ He thought before pulling out some clothes and changing.

...

“Potter, are you re...” Draco slowly trailed off as he caught sight of Harry and gulped slightly. ‘Is that eyeliner?’ He pondered as he noted how much those green eyes seemed to stand out. Harry had chosen to go without his glasses, putting contacts in, and lined his eyes with a little bit of black eyeliner. He was dressed casually and his hair was just as messy as ever.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming Malfoy,” Harry rolled his eyes, not noticing Draco’s reaction to his appearance, “Are we meeting up with the others or heading straight to the lake?” Draco cleared his throat, turning away to hide slightly pink cheeks, “The lake.” Harry raised an eyebrow at his behavior before shrugging and following along, ice skates clutched in his hand. “You know they won’t believe this is a date if you walk ahead of me and won’t talk to me,” Harry mentioned casually as he trailed behind the tense blonde.

Draco paused and sighed before slowing his pace to match Harry’s, “Right. Sorry.” Harry shot him a look, “Are you okay? You seem off.” Draco did his best not to stare at the attractive teen, “Fine. Just don’t want to be late.” Harry hummed as he nodded, “Understandable. I know you snakes are big on time.” Draco turned his nose up, “Well you lions are always late to things.” Harry chuckled as he shrugged, “We show up to the important things.”

Draco shot him a look, “How did you get head boy again?” “My high grades, charming personality, and good reputation,” Harry answered with no hesitation. “Right,” Draco dragged the word out sarcastically. Harry snickered as he held the door open for his partner of the night.

“Draco! There you are!” Pansy called as she waved them over, “Potter?” A look of shock crossed her face as caught sight of the raven-haired boy. “I wasn’t expecting you.” Harry shot her a charming smile, “Parkison. Well when Draco asked me on a date, how could I say no?” Draco turned pink as he spun around and stared at him. Harry ignored his reaction and greeted the others, “Hello Greengrass, Davis, Zabini.”

Blaise gave him an appraising look, “Potter.” He greeted as the girls giggled. “I like the look,” Daphne said quietly. “Thank you,” Harry smiled at her kindly making her blush before clearing her throat and turning away. Pansy raised an eyebrow in amusement as Harry effortlessly charmed the others and nudged Draco, “Potter? You’re on a date with Potter?” Draco flushed as he nodded. “Nice. How’s he for conversation? Was he late? He looks really good,” Pansy giggled quietly. Draco gave a silent prayer to the sky, he had expected this, “He’s funny and surprisingly intelligent. He wasn’t too late. And...yeah he does,” Draco admitted.

“Are we going ice skating or what?” Blaise called out, getting everyone moving. Harry appeared by Draco’s side and looped his arm through his, “You coming?” Draco pondered the warmth he felt for a moment before nodding, “Yes.” When he received another beautiful smile that sent butterflies through his stomach, he couldn’t help but think that maybe this was a bad idea.

...

Draco was right. This was a bad idea. Harry had him laughing and smiling over the next two hours. They had skated together and, surprisingly, Harry was not as graceful on the ground as he was in the sky. Draco was given the job of helping him learn to skate and found himself less annoyed at this than he thought he would be. Harry was amusing. He was quick with his tongue and matched Blaise word for word.

“My mom,” Harry said as an explanation after a shockingly sharp remark. “She matches my dad and uncles. I’m told I get it from her.” Blaise had nodded in approval as he slowly warmed up to the Gryffindor. “I like him. We all do,” Was all Blaise said in a quiet murmur to Draco before continuing with his business. Which was true, the others did seem to like him.

He could make the Ice Princess, also known as Daphne Greengrass, smile. He had Tracey laughing at his jokes. Even Pansy was seen conversing with him frequently and actually looked to be enjoying it. Draco couldn’t help but think this wasn’t what he planned. Draco had wanted to irritate his friends and annoy them with Potter. But Potter was turning out to be more charming than he thought.

Not to mention, Draco wasn’t feeling the best himself. He kept getting warm whenever Harry held onto him, butterflies in his stomach whenever Harry smiled at him, he couldn’t help but smile and laugh when he was around, he was being pleasantly surprised with their conversation topics, and he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off the other boy. ‘No. This was definitely not his plan,’ Draco didn’t know whether to scream or cry. He wasn’t meant to fall for Potter!

Harry was having a blast. He wasn’t prejudice against Slytherins like a lot of others were. After all, his grandmother had been one and so was his favorite aunt. Plus he himself had almost been sorted into the house of snakes. He fully enjoyed his banter with Blaise, he loved seeing a softer side to Daphne, Tracey was extremely funny, and Pansy was remarkably easy to talk to. Harry held onto a hope that they could be friends in the future.

‘Besides, seeing Draco so worked up in his presence was quite amusing,’ Harry smirked to himself as he saw the blonde blush when he grabbed onto his arm once more.

...

“This is the part when you walk me back to my dorm,” Harry said quietly in Draco’s ear as the two made their way back to the castle. Draco snorted, “You know the way don’t you?” “Of course I do,” Harry chuckled as he slid his hands in his pockets. “But this is a date after all. You’re meant to be a gentlemen.” Draco rolled his eyes, trying to ignore his urge to smile, “Whatever.”

“And this is where you kiss me goodnight,” Harry announced outside the portrait to the common room. Draco’s eyes widened as he stepped back, “W-What?” “On a date,” Harry smirked playfully. “You tend to kiss each other goodnight.” Draco flushed as he shifted nervously, this wasn’t part of the plan, “Well luckily it wasn’t a real date.” Harry hummed as he stepped forward, “What? Are you scared Malfoy?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed at the challenging tone, “No. I just wouldn’t want to catch anything.” Harry rolled his eyes, “Tell yourself that then. I’m off to take a hot bath.” Harry called as he turned away before letting out a surprised noise when Draco grabbed his arm and spun him around, “I’m not scared.” Draco muttered before pressing their lips together.

The kiss was fairly chaste and Harry quickly took control of it, pulling Draco closer. Draco was in shock at his own behavior before melting against the taller teen, Harry was a good kisser. Not surprising considering he seems to be good at most things. However, when Harry licked his bottom lip his brain seemed to shut down and all he could do was focus on him.

“Well,” Harry murmured when they finally pulled away. “That was a great way to end our first date.” “F-First date?” Draco panted lightly, cheeks flushed. “Oh yeah,” Harry said thoughtfully. “That favor I wanted? I’m cashing it in. You and me, Hogsmeade this weekend, a date. A real date.” Draco felt the urge to protest before squashing it as the warmth of Harry’s hand touched his cheek and stroked it gently, “Okay.” He found himself saying making Harry smile that beautiful smile of his. Butterflies erupted inside Draco. “It’s a date then. Tell the others I enjoyed getting to know them,” Harry pressed another, shorter kiss to Draco’s lips. “Goodnight.”

...

Draco walked into the Slytherin common room in a daze. “That’s the face of someone who just experienced the best kiss of their life,” Blaise chuckled as Pansy squealed and pulled Draco by the fire for details. “This,” Draco said after a few moments. “Did not go as planned.”

When his friends gave him a curious look, he explained what the goal was. It was silent for a few moments before Blaise started laughing followed by Pansy, Daphne, and Tracey. “What is so funny?” Draco asked irritated as he glared.

“You’ve just been out Slytherined by the biggest Gryffindor in this school,” Blaise snickered as Draco’s eyes widened. “Potter outsmarted you,” Tracey giggled. “Well technically,” Pansy said thoughtfully. “He outsmarted us all. He won all of our approvals tonight. He knows we like him. Then he made his move.” That had them all silent once more. Draco couldn’t help but blink in shock, ‘No. Things definitely didn’t go as planned.’ But as he touched his lips gently at the thought of the kiss they shared, he found he didn’t mind too much.

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deans-haunted-baby · 4 years ago

Text

The Last Rites

*So, many fans including myself were unhappy with Adam Milligan and Michael’s exits out of Supernatural. This is my fix-it or at least my interpretation of what happened after 15x19 and 15x20. Enjoy!*

Summery: Chuck now human is a bitter bin collector and part-time serial killer stalking his latest victim. Little does he know that the dynamic human vessel/archangel duo Michael and Adam have been stalking him.

"Damn that Sam and Dean and that little brat for making me human! But I'll get the last laugh," he says as he makes his rounds and choosing his latest victim. Plotting all the terrible things he plans on doing to the Winchesters. “I’ll get them all for this!”

As Chuck follows this person out to their car in the middle of the night, knife in hand. All off a sudden he hears wings flapping and turns around in horror. His eyes bug out when he sees a figure standing before him in the shadows.

"W-who's there?"

Michael/Adam step out of the darkness wearing a "surprise-bitch" look on their face: "Hello...father" by the darkness of his ton Chuck knows his son hadn't forgotten the last time they saw each other. By that lakeside where he'd killed him for helping the Winchesters.

"No i-its impossible... You're dead I killed you. You should be in the Empty."

Michael hesitantly shakes his head. "Not anymore."

"How?"

"Let's just say I made bail thanks to my nephew and Castiel as they needed my assistance in Heaven's rehabilitation. And I humbly obliged."

"Castiel? He's alive too?! And you're working for them?! Why? That little brat took my power!" Chuck screams in anguish. "NO you both should be suffering in the Empty for all eternity!"

Michael/Adam looks at his hands flexing them into fists. Recalling the last second he drew breath being smited by his father. Regretting his decision to ever forsake his duty for humanity for his father. And his anger burns like acid.

"After what you did to me the last time we spoke...all I've cherished was this moment," the archangel Prince darkly replies. Adam's soul quietly astral-projected is in the background roots on his buddy. "Jack and Castiel offered me a chance to atone myself for wrongly choosing you over that which I’ve swore an oath to protect. That I could leave the Empty and reclaim my throne in Heaven if I stayed on Earth and helped the Winchesters clean up your mess."

Chuck glares "So you're their bitchboy now? Ha, pathetic." He chortled in his throat. "I always knew you were weak, Michael. Being in that cage all those years with Sam and Dean's forgotten little bro has made you soft."

Michael's cheeks throb angrily. But he maintains his restraint. "Oh I'm not doing this for them," he reveals; stepping a little closer to his father. Shoulders squared. "Being stuck on Earth is also my punishment. But I've accepted it...I deserve my fate...just as you deserve yours right now."

Chuck then scrutinizes his son suspiciously. Looking from the archangel's fists to the face of his vessel Adam.

"What so you're like an archangel superhero now?" He can't contain a laugh. "Wow those Winchesters must be really desperate to resort to sending you here instead of facing me themselves."

Michael shook his head. "As I've already stated...I'm not here for them, he says. "The one called Dean, my original sword, has already fallen in battle and has inherited his place in my nephew's paradise. And his brother Sam sought out his other brother Adam, my chosen vessel. They've been working together ever since."

"And that's when Jack sent you."

“Yes."

"Dammit!,” Chuck swears this wasn't suppose to happen. If he killed a Winchester in his story the other brother left alive was suppose to take his own life in grief. No this couldn't be happening. They changed his ending AGAIN. "THIS WASN'T THE ENDING I PLANNED! I DIDN'T WRITE THIS!"

Michael cocks his head sideways; basking in his father's frustration. It was music to his ears. Then he's serious; raising his hand and forwarding his palm in a power-up.

"Your reign if tyranny is over father. You will not be scribing another's fate ever again. Not while I'm around."

At that Chuck's face is ghostly white. "Wait, what are you doing?" He puts up his hands submissively. "I'm human now, you can't just smite me. I'm part of the humanity that I created for you to protect!"

"Oh you don't have any rights here," growls the archangel sternly. "You gave up those privileges when you chose to use your newfound humanity to blindly murder others. Your arrogance and hatred for mankind was your own undoing. And now your death shall be your punishment, father."

Chuck trembling now resorts to begging for his son's mercy. "Michael, wait son we can talk about this." He showcases a nervous smile. "We can still make this right."

"No we can't." Michael scoffs. "The centuries of my allegiance to you have also perished. And I've wanted nothing more than to watch you beg forgiveness as you draw your last breath."

"Wait please show your father mercy, my son! Please!"

"Like the mercy you demonstrated to me that day by the lake shore?"

Chuck nodded still keeping his hands up. Okay so Michael was still pissed about that. "Fine you're right that was a mistake. I should've never hurt you like that. I was wrong and I see that now."

Michael's expression is smug, giving a mild throat chuckle. Then his cold expression shifts into anguish. "I hate myself for ever believing in you and turning my back on humanity. I will never be able to forgive myself for making that choice. For allowing you, Lucifer and my devotion to you to manipulate me from doing what was right."

"This doesn't have to get ugly Michael, we can still talk this out." Chuck begs. “Come on, what do ya say?”

"No we're done talking father." Michael's eyes glow like silvery blue light.

Chuck back peddles "Wait j-just give me another chance. I can prove to you I'll change I will."

Michael chuckles darkly, "Like the chance you were about to give that civilian you were following just now? Or the others you’ve murdered since?"

He eyes the knife in his father's hand. Suddenly Chuck realizes this and impulsively drops it onto the pavement.

"No, this isn’t what it looks like. I-I wasn't going to hurt anyone else. I swear!"

"You'll never learn will you father," Michael shrugs apathetically. "It's a shame. You were given a gift by your own flesh and blood and you've squandered it."

"WAIT MICHAEL, PLEASE LET'S JUST TALK ABOUT THIS!"

No, no the archangel Prince was done talking. He'd said all he needed to say and with that throws Chuck's own last words to him right back in the short man's face.

"SAVE IT!" smiting him instantly on the spot. Blasting his father in a blinding light, erasing him from existence. When the dust settles Michael eases his tense shoulders releasing a sharp intake of breath.

Adam's projected soul then takes it upon himself to console his friend. Who is clearly bitter about destroying his own father even if he was an evil bastard.

"You did the right thing you know," the pre-med student/hunter in training reassures him. "Your dad would've killed that person if you hadn't intervened."

But Michael doesn't want to hear it. "I didn't do this for that person. I did it out of my own volition. I wanted my father to pay for what he'd done to me and my broken vow."

"It still doesn't change the fact that you saved someone tonight, Michael,” Adam insists. “And you proved that you can be better than Chuck ever was."

Michael frowns lowering his gaze to the ground melancholically.

"Or maybe I've just demonstrated that I am no better than him. I betrayed my sworn oath," the archangel squeezes his fist tightly. Putting all his anger into that hand. "And for that transgression alone I shall never be redeemed."

Adam recognizing the sadness in Michael's expression, throws his celestial pal a genuine smile, kneading his shoulder. "There's always redemption for all of us," he says gently. "I believe my brothers were capable of that, even if they never cared about me. Knowing you and even getting to know Sam has taught me so much more about myself, my family and what I'm meant to do with my life."

"What like being a hero?"

"Yah and it's kinda cool I get to kick some ass with an archangel."

"So, you want to honor your family. Despite what fate they'd left you to."

Adam shook his head. "Sam and Dean were far from perfect. I don't think I'll ever fully forgive them for what happened," he reveals. "BUT I think it changed me for the better. I got to become friends with Heavens MVP and I care about their cause now. They wanted to protect the world from evil and that's what I want to do. It's not about honoring the Winchester's legacy I want to do some good in this world. And you know what...I think you do too."

The archangel smiled to himself. "Well I did get some amusement out of watching my father squirm," He says lightly then adds. "Alright kid, you win. We shall continue our eternal quest for justice."

"Good, but we can continue that quest another night," the pre-med checks his wristwatch. "I gotta get some rest I have classes in the morning."

Michael scrutinized Adam. "You do know that you no longer require rest now that I've possessed this vessel or has that notion escaped you?"

“Oh yah I forgot," Adam laughs. "I guess I won't be needing sleep anytime soon then. Let's go home anyway I want to check out the bunker some more. Find any hidden passages or something."

"As you wish. I imagine your canine companion is also getting famished without us around to feed it."

A light bulb went off in his head. Right Sam and Dean's dog Miracle was in his care now. He loved that scruffy mutt even if he did drool a lot. Time to get home.

"Miracle, okay we gotta get home stat!"

And with that Michael flew back to the bunker.

#adam milligan #supernatural #midam #michael the archangel #Archangel Michael #chuck shurley #SPN #adam x michael #michael x adam #spn one shot #spn fix-it #spn fanfic #chuck god #spn spoilers #supernatural season 15

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newstfionline · 4 years ago

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Wednesday, January 13, 2021

House Sets Impeachment Vote to Charge Trump With Incitement (NYT) House Democrats introduced an article of impeachment against President Trump on Monday for his role in inflaming a mob that attacked the Capitol, scheduling a Wednesday vote to charge the president with “inciting violence against the government of the United States” if Vice President Mike Pence refused to strip him of power first. As the impeachment drive proceeded, federal law enforcement authorities accelerated efforts to fortify the Capitol ahead of President-elect Joseph R. Biden Jr.’s inauguration on Jan. 20. The authorities announced plans to deploy up to 15,000 National Guard troops and set up a multilayered buffer zone with checkpoints around the building by Wednesday, just as lawmakers are to debate and vote on impeaching Mr. Trump. Federal authorities also said they were bracing for a wave of armed protests in all 50 state capitals and Washington in the days leading up to the inauguration.

National Guard inauguration deployment (Military Times) The Defense Department has authorized as many as 15,000 troops to be deployed to Washington, D.C., for the inauguration of President-elect Joe Biden. National Guard Bureau chief Gen. Daniel Hokanson said that there will initially be a deployment of 10,000 troops—an increase of about 4,000 from those in D.C. now. That figure is twice the number of U.S. troops in Afghanistan and Iraq combined. The general declined to specify whether the guardsmen will be armed, stating that “we will work very closely with the federal agency, the FBI and law enforcement to determine if there is a need for that.” A D.C. National Guard spokesman told Military Times on Sunday that while some troops came to town with their weapons, carrying them on the streets had not yet been authorized.

Companies cutting off Trump and GOP (Yahoo Finance) Marriott and Blue Cross Blue Shield are just a few of the companies that are halting donations to GOP lawmakers who objected to certifying Joe Biden as president, while other businesses move to cut ties with President Trump directly. The actions come on the heels of Friday’s permanent suspension of Donald Trump’s Twitter account and Amazon’s move to cut off social media platform Parler’s servers. (NYT) The backlash is part of a broader shunning of Mr. Trump and his allies unfolding in the wake of the assault on the Capitol. Schools stripped the president of honorary degrees, some prominent Republicans threatened to leave the party and the New York State Bar Association announced it had begun investigating Mr. Trump’s personal lawyer, Rudolph W. Giuliani, which could lead to his removal from the group. And the P.G.A. of America announced it would strip Mr. Trump’s New Jersey golf club of a major tournament.

Virus deaths surging in California, now top 30,000 (AP) The coronavirus death toll in California reached 30,000 on Monday, another staggering milestone as the nation’s most populous state endures the worst surge of the nearly yearlong pandemic. Newly confirmed infections are rising at a dizzying rate of more than a quarter-million a week and during the weekend a record 1,163 deaths were reported. Los Angeles County is one of the epicenters and health officials there are telling residents to wear a mask even when at home if they go outside regularly and live with someone elderly or otherwise at high risk. California has deployed 88 refrigerated trailers to use as makeshift morgues mostly in hard-hit Southern California, where traditional storage space is dwindling.

A never-ending scandal (Bloomberg) Lockheed Martin Corp.’s F-35, the fighter jet already being flown by the U.S. and eight allies, remains marred by 871 software and hardware deficiencies that could undercut readiness, missions or maintenance, according to the Pentagon’s testing office. The Defense Department’s costliest weapons system “continues to carry a large number of deficiencies, many of which were identified prior to” the development and demonstration phase, which ended in April 2018 with 941 flaws, Robert Behler, the director of operational testing, said in a new assessment obtained by Bloomberg News in advance of its publication.

Pompeo Returns Cuba to Terrorism Sponsor List (NYT) The State Department designated Cuba a state sponsor of terrorism on Monday in a last-minute foreign policy stroke that will complicate the incoming Biden administration’s plans to restore friendlier relations with Havana. In a statement, Secretary of State Mike Pompeo cited Cuba’s hosting of 10 Colombian rebel leaders, along with a handful of American fugitives wanted for crimes committed in the 1970s, and Cuba’s support for the authoritarian leader of Venezuela, Nicolás Maduro. Mr. Pompeo said the action sent the message that “the Castro regime must end its support for international terrorism and subversion of U.S. justice.” The action, announced with just days remaining in the Trump administration, reverses a step taken in 2015 after President Barack Obama restored diplomatic relations with Cuba, calling its decades of political and economic isolation a relic of the Cold War.

Brexit sandwich problems (BBC) A Dutch TV network has filmed border officials confiscating ham sandwiches and other foods from drivers arriving in the Netherlands from the UK, under post-Brexit rules. Under EU rules, travellers from outside the bloc are banned from bringing in meat and dairy products. The rules appeared to bemuse one driver. “Since Brexit, you are no longer allowed to bring certain foods to Europe, like meat, fruit, vegetables, fish, that kind of stuff,” a Dutch border official told the driver in footage broadcast by TV network NPO 1. In one scene, a border official asked the driver whether several of his tin-foil wrapped sandwiches had meat in them. When the driver said they did, the border official said: “Okay, so we take them all.” Surprised, the driver then asked the officials if he could keep the bread, to which one replied: “No, everything will be confiscated—welcome to the Brexit, sir. I’m sorry.”

Merkel sees coronavirus lockdown until early April: Bild (Reuters) Chancellor Angela Merkel has told lawmakers in her conservative party that she expects a lockdown in Germany to curb the spread of the coronavirus to last until the start of April, top-selling Bild daily cited participants as the meeting as saying. “If we don’t manage to stop this British virus, then we will have 10 times the number of cases by Easter. We need eight to 10 more weeks of tough measures,” Bild quoted Merkel as saying.

‘A Stalin with double meat’ (Foreign Policy) A Moscow kebab shop named after Soviet leader Joseph Stalin has closed after just 24 hours of opening after a string of complaints from angry residents. In its brief existence Stalin Doner served items like “Stalin with double meat” and “Beria with tkemali sauce”—a reference to Stalin’s notorious secret police chief. The shop’s owner, Stanislav Voltman, was interviewed by police for three hours following complaints. “They asked me if my head was screwed on straight,” Voltman told Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty. “It’s not like I had Hitler as the face of my brand,” Voltman said. Despite public outcry about the kebabs, support for Stalin is on the rise in Russia. A Levada Center poll in 2019 found that 70 percent of Russians think Stalin played a completely or relatively positive role in the life of the country.

In Kashmir, Hopes Wither (NYT) Kashmir, the craggily beautiful region in the shadow of the Himalayas long caught between India and Pakistan, has fallen into a state of suspended animation. Schools are closed. Lockdowns have been imposed, lifted and then reimposed. Once a hub for both Western and Indian tourists, Kashmir has been reeling for more than a year. First, India brought in security forces to clamp down on the region. Then the coronavirus struck. The streets are full of soldiers. Military bunkers, removed years ago, are back, and at many places cleave the road. On highways, soldiers stop passenger vehicles and drag commuters out to check their identity cards. Conflict in Kashmir, India’s only Muslim-majority region, has festered for decades. And an armed uprising has long sought self-rule. Tens of thousands of rebels, civilians and security forces have died since 1990. India and Pakistan have gone to war twice over the territory, which is split between them but claimed by both in its entirety. Now, as India flexes its power over the region, to even call Kashmir a disputed region is a crime—sedition, according to Indian officials. Many say that the political paralysis is the worst it has ever been in Kashmir’s 30 years of conflict, and that people have been choked into submission.

India’s top court suspends implementation of new farm laws (AP) India’s top court on Tuesday temporarily put on hold the implementation of new agricultural laws and ordered the formation of an independent committee of experts to negotiate with farmers who have been protesting against the legislation. The Supreme Court’s ruling came a day after it heard petitions filed by the farmers challenging the controversial legislation. The court said that the laws were passed without enough consultation, and that it was disappointed with the way talks were proceeding between representatives of the government and farmer leaders. Tens of thousands of farmers protesting against the legislation have been blocking half a dozen major highways on the outskirts of New Delhi for more than 45 days. Farmers say they won’t leave until the government repeals the laws. They say the legislation passed by Parliament in September will lead to the cartelization and commercialization of agriculture, make farmers vulnerable to corporate greed and devastate their earnings. The government insists the laws will benefit farmers and says they will enable farmers to market their produce and boost production through private investment.

First came political crimes. Now, a digital crackdown descends on Hong Kong. (Washington Post) HONG KONG—The police officers who came to take away Owen Chow on national security grounds last week left little to chance. Determined to find his phones, they had prepared a list of mobile numbers registered to his name, even one he used exclusively for banking, said the 23-year-old Hong Kong activist. Officers called each number in succession, the vibrations revealing the locations of three iPhones around his apartment. By the end of their operation, police had amassed more than 200 devices from Chow and 52 others held for alleged political crimes that day, according to those arrested, as well as laptops from spouses who are not politically active and were not detained. The digital sweep showed how Hong Kong authorities are wielding new powers under the national security law, introduced last summer, far more widely than the city’s leader promised. Since the Jan. 6 raids, authorities have blocked at least one website, according to the site’s owner and local media reports, raising concerns that Hong Kong is headed for broader digital surveillance and censorship akin to that in mainland China. Hong Kong police have begun sending devices seized from arrested people to mainland China, where authorities have sophisticated data-extraction technology, and are using the information gleaned from those devices to assist in investigations, according to two people familiar with the arrangement who spoke on the condition of anonymity to protect their safety.

26 missing, at least 13 dead in Indonesia landslides (AP) Rescuers are searching for 26 people still missing after two landslides hit a village in Indonesia’s West Java province over the weekend, officials said Tuesday. At least 13 people were killed and 29 others injured in the landslides that were triggered by heavy rain on Sunday in Cihanjuang, a village in West Java’s Sumedang district. Some of the victims were rescuers from the first landslide.

Leading human rights group calls Israel an ‘apartheid’ state (AP) A leading Israeli human rights group has begun describing both Israel and its control of the Palestinian territories as a single “apartheid” regime, using an explosive term that the country’s leaders and their supporters vehemently reject. In a report released Tuesday, B’Tselem says that while Palestinians live under different forms of Israeli control in the occupied West Bank, blockaded Gaza, annexed east Jerusalem and within Israel itself, they have fewer rights than Jews in the entire area between the Mediterranean Sea and the Jordan River. “One of the key points in our analysis is that this is a single geopolitical area ruled by one government,” said B’Tselem director Hagai El-Ad. “This is not democracy plus occupation. This is apartheid between the river and the sea.” That a respected Israeli organization is adopting a term long seen as taboo even by many critics of Israel points to a broader shift in the debate as its half-century occupation of war-won lands drags on and hopes for a two-state solution fade.

Uganda bans social media ahead of presidential election (Reuters) Uganda banned social media on Tuesday, two days ahead of a presidential election pitting Yoweri Museveni, one of Africa’s longest-serving leaders, against opposition frontrunner Bobi Wine, a popular singer. Internet monitor NetBlocks said its data showed that Facebook, Twitter, WhatsApp, Instagram, Skype, Snapchat, Viber and Google Play Store were among a lengthy list of sites unavailable via Uganda’s main cell network operators. Campaigning ahead of the vote has been marred by brutal crackdowns on opposition rallies, which the authorities say break COVID-19 curbs on large gatherings. Rights groups say the restrictions are a pretext for muzzling the opposition. At 38, Wine is half the age of President Yoweri Museveni and has attracted a large following among young people in a nation where 80% of the population are under 30, rattling the ruling National Resistance Movement party.

Coronavirus-spurred changes to global workforce to be permanent (Reuters) Sweeping changes to the global labour market caused by the coronavirus pandemic will likely be permanent, policy makers said on Tuesday, as some industries collapse, others flourish and workers stay home. The pandemic, which has so far infected at least 90.5 million people and killed around 1.9 worldwide, has up-ended industries and workers in almost every country in the world as tough lockdowns were imposed. The International Labour Organization (ILO) has estimated that the impact of huge job losses worldwide is creating a fiscal gap that threatens to increase inequality between richer and poorer countries. The ILO estimated that global labour income declined by 10.7 per cent, or $3.5 trillion, in the first three quarters of 2020, compared with the same period in 2019, excluding government income support. India’s Foreign Minister Subrahmanyam Jaishankar said the pandemic had created an “accidental challenge” under which the government delivered food on a regular basis to 800 million people and provided sustained business funds. Philippines central bank Governor Benjamin Diokno said it was clear some industries will not survive, others will not be as dynamic as before, and yet others will be boosted by the massive changes. The need for a more nimble and innovative approach to education will remain long after the pandemic ends, said Helen Fulson, Chief Product Officer at educational publisher Twinkl. “How many children today will be doing jobs that currently don’t exist?’ she said at Reuters Next on Monday. “We don’t know how to train for these jobs.”

#headlines #news

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skold · 5 years ago

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aight so here’s tim’s partial chart which you don’t have to know how to read i’m just putting it here for the people who do

putting a read more for length

sun in sagittarius - yr sun sign is the one most people know cuz it’s by birth date and you can just google it. the dates don’t change year to year the way others do. it’s yr sense of self, yr individuality, yr outward personality. sag suns tend to be rly social, active, honest to the point of hurting peoples’ feelings lmao. known to talk Too Much. impulsive. bad at foreseeing the consequences of their actions. bridge burners. HAAAAAATE being restricted in any way.

moon in capricorn - moon sign is more your internal self and people can often feel more closely aligned w/ their moon sign than their sun sign. moon sign can tell abt someone’s sensitivities and their instincts and where they find security. moon in cap generally indicates somebody who finds fulfillment in being useful to others and has an insane work ethic. has trouble cutting loose. cap moon folks tend to have a lot of insecurities wrt feeling ignored or useless. they want outside approval but can’t depend on it.

mercury in sagittarius - mercury rules over communication and intellect. indicates how someone interacts with other people. ppl with merc in sag fucking love traveling which y’know, considering tim travels for his job AND as a tourist. checks out. mercury in a fire sign can make them seem like they constantly have a fire under their ass pushing them forward. merc in sag have a talent for languages (tim speaks two fluently and at least two more enough to function).

venus in capricorn - venus is yr love language planet. it indicates how ppl feel and experience love/sex and also their feelings on what they find generally pleasurable in life. people with venus in cap can be rly withdrawn and often aren’t up front with their feelings in general but especially wrt relationships. this is PROBABLY why tim doesn’t talk abt his marriage much at all. they want loyalty and stability over all else. often attracted to partners with venus in a fire sign bc they tend to be more forward and initiate things and venus in cap doesn’t want to risk getting hurt. really slow to earn their trust.

mars in libra - mars is abt action and energy and assertiveness. it’s about drive - sex drive, ambition, what gets ppl fired up. ppl with mars in libra cannot make a fucking decision to save their lives but y’know, this is libra we’re talking about. libra placements suck at making decisions. i can say this as a libra moon who cannot commit to anything but i digress. mars in libra folks aren’t usually very social. they want permission from other people to make big moves. tend to be submissive in relationships both in general and in The Sex Way. ppl with mars in libra tend to attract more aggressive/forward/energetic partners.

jupiter in leo - jupiter symbolizes growth and expansion and how someone’s faith and ethics are. also sometimes associated with luck and fortune. ppl with jupiter in leo tend to have healthy self-confidence. they can be kinda arrogant but depending on other placements that arrogance is often not backed up. this can look like delusions of grandeur and often leads to people disliking their attitudes. as a fire alignment, there’s a lot of energy there, but it ends up being misplaced sometimes.

saturn in pisces - saturn is a bitch ass motherfucker. rules over restriction/order and maturity over time. saturn is basically that planet who will hurt you to teach u a gd lesson. the leather daddy of the planets if u will. people with saturn in pisces wanna make other peoples problems their own problems because they want to offer their emotional support, but it happens at the expense of wearing themselves thin. often really secluded private people. they have to find that balance between prioritizing themselves and prioritizing others, and if they can’t find it saturn will hurt their gd feelings.

uranus in virgo - so uranus is such a slow planet to orbit it doesn’t move sign alignments very often and can remain in the same sign for years and influence an entire generation. uranus rules over originality and freedom and revolution. ppl with uranus in virgo can be perfectionists. can be interested in things like ecology, the wellbeing of animals, and alternative medicine. gestures at tim’s 800 rescue animals and the fact that he goes to an acupuncturist. often left leaning to the point of seeming radical (this depends strongly on other placements though). big on social justice.

neptune in scorpio - neptune is also one of those slow planets. neptune rules spirituality and fantasy/imagination. ppl with this alignment can be into the occult. a huge amount of creative potential is there. this is why we saw a lot of rly influential art and music coming out of gen x folks!!

pluto in virgo - the slowest of planets. pluto is abt power and transformation. ppl with pluto in virgo can be critical and analytical. super methodical abt how they do things.

so those are the planets. there’s also a lot of other celestial bodies and points in the chart we look at also!! here they are

north node in taurus south node in scorpio - the nodes are mathematical points opposite each other in the chart. south node indicates your comfort zone and north node indicates what somebody wants out of life and has to go out of said comfort zone for. this alignment indicates somebody who struggles between holding onto things and letting shit go. TRUST ISSUES. also rly strong sexual energy that fucking asshole.

lilith in pisces - lilith is a fictional point opposite the actual moon. in mythology, lilith refused to submit to adam, rejected the world of adam & eve and decided to go chill with satan instead. which, lilith did nothing wrong but whatever. so yr lilith alignment can show what you have fascination with and what you reject about yourself. lilith in pisces people often have a fascination with self-sacrifice and often feel connected with EVERYTHING, which then leads to a lot of suffering. vulnerable to alcoholism/drug issues. people tend to find ppl with this alignment captivating but also can be intimidated/unsettled by them.

chiron in pisces - chiron is an asteroid btwn saturn and uranus. in mythology, chiron was an immortal centaur who was a healer and a teacher. he was injured by a poisonous arrow by heracles and it should have killed him but due to his immortality, he was suffering in excruciating pain but couldn’t die. he gave his immortality for prometheus and upon being sent to the underworld, zeus showed mercy on him and raised him up into the heavens as a celestial body. chiron symbolizes unhealable trauma but can also indicate how one can accept their suffering and move forward. people with chiron in pisces tend to feel the weight of the world on their shoulders and feel they’re all too aware of the suffering of other people and things like violence and injustice. these people often respond to this by helping others in some way.

SO NOW I’M GONNA GO INTO ASPECTS. which is basically how certain planets align in the chart and interact with each other. i don’t have time to describe what these terms mean cuz i’ve already been writing for an hour so just use google lmao

sun conjunct venus - highlights feminine characteristics of all genders and sexes. artistic, creative, optimistic. often fashionable.

sun square saturn - folks with this alignment either give up at the first sign of a challenge or power thru that shit and learn from it. if this person has lower self esteem it’s generally improved by the fact they’re gratified by their own hard work.

sun square uranus - individualistic, eccentric. independent. can be inconsiderate of others. NEED to be different and NEED people to see they’re different. issues with authority.

sun square pluto - stubborn assholes. tend to be bossy and subconsciously manipulative.

moon sextile saturn - emotionally stable, reliable, helpful.

moon trine uranus - needs considerable emotional independence and freedom in a relationship and within ones family. often lead unconventional lifestyles (read: don’t work a 9-5, have polyam/open relationships, etc). MOOOOOD SWIIIIIINGS

moon sextile neptune - these folks want explanations for the world and will turn to things like religion or the occult to get answers. self-sacrificing and people tend to take advantage of them. messy home. perceptive and sensitive, especially wrt the arts

moon trine pluto - experiences emotions very fucking deeply. will express their opinions even if it’ll hurt the other person’s feelings. often closer with their mother than their father.

mercury sextile mars - quick thinkers. analytical, fast, practical.

mercury trine jupiter - open, sensitive, optimistic, kind. often into philosophy. big on traveling.

venus square mars - impulsive and enthusiastic. can be prone to losing their temper. often want impossible things.

venus square uranus - this aspect tends to complicate relationships because they literally see relationships as a loss of personal independence and autonomy. unconventional, eccentric, very original in their artistic/creative pursuits.

mars sextile jupiter - GOTTA GO FAST. always wants to be learning new things.

saturn opposition uranus - oof. these folks are often big chaotic and unpredictable. their logic sometimes only makes sense to them and it can seem they look down on other people unfairly, but it’s only because others don’t understand their thought process behind why they dislike someone.

saturn trine neptune - these people try to turn their dreams into their careers. spiritual but not necessarily religious.

saturn opposition pluto - DO NOT KNOW WHAT THEY FUCKIN WANT. they have big ideas but don’t know how to get them going. can be a difficult personality type to deal with.

uranus sextile neptune - reinforces one’s sense of fantasy. can influence inspiration and originality and innovation in one’s creations.

uranus conjuction pluto - a generational alignment due to both planets being slow moving. strong, original personalities. big ideas.

neptune sextile pluto - also a generational alignment. depending on other alignments, it influences big transformations on a global scale. see: gen x

there are parallels and contra-parallels i could go into but like i have already been at this for forever and i think We Get It. and this is only half his chart without going into the houses cuz i don’t have his birth time!! that’d give us 12 more alignments to look at and tons more aspects!! so like!!! astrology is more than just yr sun sign folks. this has been me reading the fuck outta tim skold for 1600 words see ya

#i'm not putting this in his tag lest he see me being a fucking CREEP so #do not lose

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bountyofbeads · 5 years ago

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I Worked for Alex Jones. I Regret It. https://nyti.ms/2PiTeFr

This piece by former InfoWars "video reporter" (?) Josh Owens reveals all the insanity you'd expect but also the pathetic sadness of those who continue to enable, peddle, and profit from his malicious lies.

Confession is good for the soul, but I'm trying to get my head around the fact that the author continued to work for Alex Jones for several YEARS after the latter made his vile claims about Sandy Hook.

Josh Owens was drawn to #InfoWars while "vulnerable, angry & searching for direction"; after 4 years w/Alex Jones, he saw "virulent nature of his world." Read if you can stomach Jones' deeply disturbing behavior. This model has infected right-wing media.

Josh Owens is a seriously good writer. Too bad he didn't make the subject of this piece himself. Why was he angry, why did he stay with Jones so long, how did he feel as he did his work? These unexamined questions are the heart of the story, not how disturbed a plainly disturbed man Jones is.

"Owens admits that his personal mental and emotional issues led him to Jones. We should be glad for him, that he found the strength to recognize it, address it, and walk away from a bad situation. Owens shouldn't be vilified for his past mistakes, but celebrated for his return. Prodigal son, no? But forgiveness does not imply absolution."

"This can't be the end of the road. As he is responsible for a lot of anguish and grief. Is he even an accessory to murder? The pain that he enabled will live on in families for decades and become part of our national fabric. How does he intend to make amends? This written catharsis is a good first step, but it's only a first step. Is he the little girl in the airplane, seeing the world for the first time? What does he intend to do with this revelation, and fix the damage he has done?"

"At 23, Josh Owens quit film school to work as a video editor for Alex Jones. This is his account of the years he spent within the Infowars empire." /1

"At first, he found it easy to brush off Alex Jones’s fever dreams as eccentricities and excesses. But he eventually found that he had his limits." /2

"Once, at a private ranch, Owens said, Alex Jones picked up an AR-15 and accidentally fired it in the writer’s direction. The bullet hit the ground about 10 feet away from him, he recalled. Jones claimed he had intentionally fired the gun as a joke, he said."/3

“Over time, I came to learn that keeping Jones from getting angry was a big part of the job, though it was impossible to predict his outbursts,” he writes."/4

“There was a time when I shared his anger. In fact, I was still angry. But this is where we differed: I wasn’t angry with others; I was angry with myself. And once I realized that, it was easier to walk away”/5

I WORKED FOR ALEX JONES. I REGRET IT.

I dropped out of film school to edit video for the conspiracy theorist because I believed in his worldview. Then I saw what it did to people.

By Josh Owens | Published Dec. 5, 2019 | New York Times Magazine | Posted December 6, 2019 |

On Election Day 2016, I sat in the passenger seat of Alex Jones’s Dodge Hellcat as we swerved through traffic, making our way to a nearby polling place. As Jones punched the gas pedal to the floor, the smell of vodka, like paint thinner, wafted up from the white Dixie cup anchored in the console. My stomach churned as the phone I held streamed live video to Facebook: Jones rambling about voter fraud and rigged elections while I stared at the screen, holding the camera at an angle to hide his double chin. It rarely worked, but I didn’t want to be blamed when he watched the video later.

Four years earlier, Jones — wanting to expand his website, Infowars, into a full-blown guerrilla news operation and hoping to scout new hires from his growing fan base — held an online contest. At 23, I was vulnerable, angry and searching for direction, so I decided to give it a shot. Out of what Infowars said were hundreds of submissions, my video — a half-witted, conspiratorial glance at the creation and function of the Federal Reserve — made it to the final round.

Unconvinced I could cut it as a reporter, Jones offered me a full-time position as a video editor. I quit film school and moved nearly a thousand miles to Austin, Tex., fully invested in propagating his worldview. By the time I found myself seated next to Jones speeding down the highway, I had seen enough of the inner workings of Infowars to know better.

Before we left the office, Jones instructed me to title the video “Alex Jones Denied Right to Vote” when uploading to YouTube. He knew before we left that they wouldn’t let us walk into a polling location with our cameras rolling. I don’t think Jones even intended to vote. Rather, he hoped to turn this into a spectacle, an insult to him personally, another opportunity to play the self-aggrandizing victim.

“Look at this great city shot,” he said pointing out the window at Austin’s skyline. As soon as I pulled the camera off him, he reached for the white Dixie cup. Is this really how I’m going to die? I thought to myself, imagining the scene: Jones veering too close to the guardrail, ranting about George Soros and Hillary Clinton. Sirens echoing in the distance, flashing lights reflecting off oil-soaked pavement as he grabs the camera and utters his final words, “Hillary ... rigged ... the car.” His listeners would have believed it. Years earlier, I would have believed it.

Fortunately, there were no sirens or flashing lights, and I was relieved when “Vote Here” signs began to appear. A line stretched out the door of the polling place, in a local strip mall, by the time we arrived. As I expected, Jones was told multiple times that he couldn’t film at a polling place, and he decided to leave. Walking back to the car, still taking sips from his white cup, he began noticeably slurring his words. A friend of Jones’s who tagged along — for “security purposes” — offered to give me a ride back to the office. Jones revved his engine, tires squealing as he sped out of the parking lot.

I began listening to Jones’s radio show — the flagship program of what is now a conspiracist media empire with an audience that until recently surpassed a million people — in the last days of George W. Bush’s presidency. The American public had been sold a war through outright fabrications; the economy was in free fall thanks to Wall Street greed and the failure of Washington regulators. Most of the mainstream media was caught flat-footed by these developments, but Jones seemed to have an explanation for everything. He railed against government corruption and secrecy, the militarization of police. He confronted those in power, traipsed through the California redwoods to expose the secretive all-male meeting of elites at Bohemian Grove and even appeared in two Richard Linklater films as himself, screaming into a megaphone.

But it wasn’t the politics that initially drew me in. Jones had a way of imbuing the world with mystery, adding a layer of cinematic verisimilitude that caught my attention. Suddenly, I was no longer a bored kid attending an overpriced art school. I was Fox Mulder combing through the X-Files, Rod Serling opening a door to the Twilight Zone, even Rosemary Woodhouse convinced that the neighbors were members of a ritualistic cult. I believed that the world was strategically run by a shadowy, organized cabal, and that Jones was a hero for exposing it.

I had my limits. I can’t say I ever believed his avowed theory that Sandy Hook was a staged event to push for gun control; to Jones, everything was a “false flag.” I didn’t believe that Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama smelled like sulfur because of their proximity to hell or that Planned Parenthood was run by “Nazi baby killers.” But it was easy to brush off these fever dreams as eccentricities and excesses — not the heart of the Alex Jones operation but mere diversions.

Once I started working there, however, it became obvious that one was impossible to separate one from the other. Soon after I was hired, Jones’s Infowars-branded store — which sells emergency-survival foods, water filters, body armor and much more — introduced an iodine supplement, initially marketed as a “shield” against nuclear fallout. Still learning the ropes, I was tasked with creating video advertisements for the supplement, which he ran on his online TV show. One of these ads started with a shot of the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear power plant as it exploded. I doubled the sound of the explosion, adding a glitch filter and sirens in the background for dramatic effect. Jones stood over my shoulder as I edited. “This is great,” he said. “See if you can find flyover footage of Chernobyl as well.”

Shortly after Jones began selling the supplements, someone posted a video on YouTube holding a Geiger counter displaying high radiation readings on a beach in Half Moon Bay, Calif. The video went viral, stoking fears that radiation from Fukushima was drifting across the Pacific Ocean. Jones saw an opportunity and sent me, along with a reporter, a writer and another cameraman, to California. We had multiple Geiger counters shipped overnight, unaware of how to read or work them, and drove up the West Coast, frequently stopping to check radiation levels. Other than a small spike in Half Moon Bay — which the California Department of Public Health said was from naturally occurring radioactive materials, not Fukushima — we found nothing.

Jones was furious. We started getting calls from the radio-show producers in the office, warning us to stop posting videos to YouTube stating we weren’t finding elevated levels of radiation. We couldn’t just stop, though; Jones demanded constant real-time content. On some of these calls, I could hear Jones screaming in the background. One of the producers told me they had never seen him so angry.

We scrambled to find something, anything we could report on. We tested freshly caught crab from a dock in Crescent City, Calif., and traveled to the Diablo Canyon nuclear plant in Avila Beach, asking fishermen if we could test the small croakers they caught off a nearby pier. We even tried to locate a small nuclear-waste facility just so we could capture the Geiger counter displaying a high number. But we couldn’t find what Jones wanted, and after two weeks of traveling from San Diego to Portland, we flew back to Texas as failures, bracing for Jones’s rage. (Jones did not respond to detailed queries sent before publication by The Times Magazine.)

Over time, I came to learn that keeping Jones from getting angry was a big part of the job, though it was impossible to predict his outbursts. Stories abounded among my co-workers: The blinds stuck, so he ripped them off the wall. A water cooler had mold in it, so he grabbed a large knife, stabbed the plastic base wildly and smashed it on the ground. Headlines weren’t strong enough; the news wasn’t being covered the way he wanted; reporters didn’t know how to dress properly. Once a co-worker stopped by the office with a pet fish he was taking home to his niece. It swam in circles in a small, transparent bag. When Jones saw the bag balanced upright on a desk in the conference room, he emptied it into a garbage can. On one occasion, he threatened to send out a memo banning laughter in the office. “We’re in a war,” he said, and he wanted people to act accordingly.

I also saw Jones give an employee the Rolex off his own wrist, simply because he thought the employee was mad at him. “Now, would a bad guy do that?” Jones asked as he handed over the watch. Once, when I went to interview a frequent guest of Jones’s, I was sent with a check to cover a potentially lifesaving cancer treatment. A few times I came close to quitting, and like clockwork, just before I pulled the plug, I received a bonus or significant raise. I hadn’t discussed my discontent with Jones, but he seemed to sense it.

Jones often told his employees that working for him would leave a black mark on our records. To him, it was the price that must be paid for boldly confronting those in power — what he called the New World Order or, later, the deep state. Once my beliefs began to shift, I saw the virulent nature of his world, the emptiness and loathing in many of those impassioned claims. But I was certain that after four years working for Jones, I would never be able to get another job — banished into poverty as penance for my transgressions, and rightly so.

When Jones wanted to blow off steam, we would travel to a private ranch outside Austin to shoot guns. Among other firearms, we would bring the two Barrett .50-caliber rifles he kept stashed in the office. Because we never missed an opportunity to create more content, we also brought along cameras to turn whatever happened into a segment for his show.

I remember one trip in particular. It was the summer of 2014, and I rode to the ranch in the back of a co-worker’s truck, surrounded by semiautomatic rifles, boxes of ammunition and Tannerite, an explosive rifle target. A few of us left early in the morning, arriving before Jones to film B-roll and load magazines; he had no patience for preparation. When he came hours later, after eating a few handfuls of jalapeño chips, he picked up an AR-15 and accidentally fired it in my direction.

The bullet hit the ground about 10 feet away from me. One employee, who was already uncomfortable around firearms, lost it, accusing Jones of being careless and flippant. This was one of the few times I saw someone call Jones out and the only time he didn’t get angry in response. He claimed he had intentionally fired the gun as a joke — as if this were any better.

I stood by silently, considering what might have happened if the gun had been pointed a little to the right. After a while the upset employee let it go, and no one brought it up again. We cracked open a few more beers, filled an old television with Tannerite and blew it up.

One weekend, a few people from the office went hunting at a game reserve. On the following Monday, I was handed a hard drive full of video files and told to edit them for Jones to air on his show later in the week. “There are clips in here that are pretty bad, things we don’t want to get out, so let me take a look at this before we upload it,” one of my managers said.

The first video I clicked on came from a cellphone. The camera pans across a blood-covered floor in what looked like a garage. Dead animals were scattered about: eyes lifeless, tongues hanging from their mouths, crimson streaks splashed on their fur.

In another video, a bison grazed quietly in the shade of a large tree; it reminded me of a tableau at the American Museum of Natural History. Then the camera panned over to Jones, maybe 20 yards away, holding what looked like a handgun. Jones began firing at the bison, tufts of hair flying with every hit. The animal remained standing as Jones shot round after round. Finally, the hunting guide yelled at Jones to stop and handed him a high-caliber rifle. Jones took a moment to make sure the cameras were still recording and fired a few more rounds as the animal finally collapsed.

I shared a large room with three other employees, and Jones often walked into our office after he wrapped for the day. His first question was always “How was the show?” If anyone said it was great — someone, if not everyone, always said it was great — his response was the same. “Really?” he would say, moving over to their side of the room. “Did you really think it was great? What did you like about it?”

Working for Jones was a balancing act. You had to determine where he was emotionally and match his tone quickly. If he was angry, then you had better get angry. If he was joking around, then you could relax, sort of, always looking out of the corner of your eye for his mood to turn at any moment.

Late one night, after an extended live broadcast, Jones walked into my office shirtless. This was normal; he removed his shirt frequently around us. He pulled out a bottle of Grey Goose from a storage cabinet and filled his cup. He stumbled into his private restroom, changed into a clean black polo shirt and stepped back into our office. “Hit me,” he said to an employee in the room. When the employee refused, Jones got louder, his face redder. “Hit me!” He kept saying it, getting closer each time. Finally, knowing Jones would never relent, the employee gave him a weak tap on the shoulder.

“Oh, come on,” he said, “hit me harder!”

The employee punched him hard in the shoulder. Jones grunted on impact, seeming to enjoy the pain. Then, it was his turn. Smirking, he planted his feet, reared back and lunged his body weight forward as his fist connected with the man’s arm. I could hear the dull thud of impact, then a wincing sigh. They traded a few more punches, each time seeming less playful. Jones became wild-eyed, spit flying from his clenched teeth as he exhaled. On his last hit, the sound was different. Wet. I thought I could hear the meat split open in the employee’s arm. Jones roared as he punched a cabinet, denting the door in. A few weeks later, I heard that Jones had broken a video editor’s ribs after playing the same game in a downtown bar.

Having aligned himself with Donald Trump during the 2016 presidential race, Jones might now be considered a version of a conservative, but his perspective is much more complicated than that. Infowars was like a lot of digital-media outlets, in that we reported on the things our top editor thought would go viral. But because our boss was Alex Jones, this was a peculiar process. Assignments were often handed down live on the air during his show. We were to have it playing throughout the office, always listening for directives. Ideas for stories mostly came from what other news outlets reported. Jones wanted us to “hijack” the mainstream media’s coverage and use it to our advantage. If it fit into the Infowars narrative, it played.

When I wasn’t at the office, I spent much of my time traveling for Jones. I inhaled the tear gas in Ferguson, Mo., during the Black Lives Matter protests, retching as I hid with protesters, corralled by cops in riot gear. I stood next to armed cowboys and ranch hands as they faced off against the Bureau of Land Management to retrieve Cliven Bundy’s cattle in Nevada. I had dinner with the leader of the Nation of Islam, Louis Farrakhan, at his home in Phoenix and spent a weekend at the compound of Jim Bakker, the televangelist who spent time in prison for fraud. Jones’s instinctual desire to distance himself from the mainstream led us to unusual and sometimes dark places.

In December 2015, the day before Jones interviewed Donald Trump, still a candidate at the time, on his radio show, I made my way to upstate New York on assignment, along with a reporter and second cameraman. We were sent to visit Muslim-majority communities throughout the United States to investigate what Jones instructed us to call “the American Caliphate.” After the California Geiger-counter debacle, we had meetings with Jones before trips in order to ascertain exactly what he wanted. If we “hit some home runs,” he said, we would get significant bonuses.

We landed in Newark at 12:30 p.m. on Dec. 1, 2015. The first stop was Islamberg, a Muslim community three hours north of Manhattan. It was founded in the 1980s by mostly African-American followers of a Pakistani cleric named Mubarik Ali Shah Gilani, who encouraged devotees of his conservative brand of Sufi Islam to establish small settlements across the rural United States. Gilani was suspected of association with the organization Jamaat ul-Fuqra, which was briefly designated as a terrorist group by the State Department in the 1990s; Gilani has denied any connection to the group. His followers in Islamberg had no record of violence, and some of them had denounced the Islamic State in an interview with Reuters earlier that year, saying they didn’t believe Islamic State members to be real Muslims. But unfounded rumors circulated around far-right corners of the internet that this community was a potential terrorist-training center. Jones, who thought the media consistently ingratiated themselves with Islamic extremists, believed them.

We pulled in, unannounced, to a dirt drive leading to the community, stopping at a flimsy cattle gate guarded by two men. The reporter, wearing a hidden camera, approached the entrance as we filmed the interaction from the vehicle. The men were calm and polite, if a little suspicious — reasonable given the circumstances. They denied our entry into Islamberg but took our number and told us we could return after they verified who we were.

It was only later, after listening to the audio from the reporter’s hidden camera, that I heard what he told the two men guarding the gate. “Basically, what we do is, we go around, and we do videos debunking claims of stuff,” the reporter said. “The word is, people say this is some kind of training camp, so we wanted to come in and get some footage and kind of put that whole rumor to rest.”

He gave them his real name — a name that, with a quick Google search, would lead back to Infowars, with its headlines like “Inside Sources: Bin Laden’s Corpse Has Been on Ice for Nearly a Decade,” “Special Report: Why Obama Brought Ebola to U.S. Exposed” and “VIDEO: ‘Demon’ Caught on Camera During Obama Visit?” Those headlines could be described by many words, but none of them would be “debunking.”

Because of the conspiracy theories about the place, Islamberg was a constant target of right-wing extremists. That April, a Tennessee man was arrested and later convicted of plotting to raise a militia to burn Islamberg’s mosque to the ground. Only days before we arrived, the F.B.I. issued an alert to law enforcement to be on the lookout for a man named Jon Ritzheimer, the leader of an anti-Muslim movement in Arizona who posted a video threatening violence against Muslims less than two weeks earlier. In the video, he brandished a handgun, saying: “I’m urging all Americans across the U.S. everywhere in public, start carrying a slung rifle with you, everywhere. Don’t be a victim in your own country.”

So the phone call we received later that night from a law-enforcement agent shouldn’t have come as a surprise. The officer who contacted us said he simply wanted to verify who we were after receiving a concerned call from someone in Islamberg. We told Jones about it, and he chose to believe the call was a veiled threat, an attempt to intimidate us into silence. To him, this verified that we were onto something. He even went so far as to include Michael Bloomberg, the former mayor of New York City, in the purported conspiracy, claiming he wanted to abolish the Second Amendment — and that somehow intimidating us would achieve that.

Jones told us to file a story that accused the police of harassment, lending credence to the theory that this community contained dangerous, potential terrorists. I knew this wasn’t the case according to the information we had. We all did. Days before, we spoke to the sheriff and the mayor of Deposit, N.Y., a nearby municipality. They both told us the people in Islamberg were kind, generous neighbors who welcomed the surrounding community into their homes, even celebrating holidays together.

The information did not meet our expectations, so we made it up, preying on the vulnerable and feeding the prejudices and fears of Jones’s audience. We ignored certain facts, fabricated others and took situations out of context to fit our narrative, posting headlines like:

Drone Investigates Islamic Training Center

Shariah Law Zones Confirmed in America

Infowars Reporters Stalked by Terrorism Task Force

Report: Obama’s Terror Cells in the U.S.

The Rumors Are True: Shariah Law Is Here!

Our next stop was Hamtramck, a Muslim-majority city embedded within Detroit that alarmists in neighboring communities called Shariahville. As we headed west, my phone vibrated, and a news alert appeared on the screen. There were reports that a mass shooting that week in San Bernardino, Calif., had been perpetrated by Islamic extremists, making it at the time the deadliest Islamic attack in the United States since Sept. 11.

I knew that when the details emerged, they would substantiate the lies we pushed to Jones’s audience. It didn’t matter if the attack took place on the other side of the country or if the people in Islamberg had no connection to the perpetrators in San Bernardino. Jones’s listeners would draw imaginary lines between the two, and we were helping them do it.

I quit working for Jones on April 7, 2017. When offered another job, an introductory position with a 75 percent pay cut, I jumped at the opportunity. Instead of giving two weeks’ notice, I left in three hours. Jones had gone home for the day, so I didn’t speak with him in person. I said goodbye to co-workers and managers, handed over my company credit card and hoped that would be the end of it. Two nights later, I received a call from Jones: “Let me tell you a little secret,” he said in his gravelly voice. “I don’t like it anymore, either.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I don’t want to do it anymore,” he said, “and I got all these people working for me, and you know, then I feel guilty. I don’t want to do it. You think I want to keep doing this? I haven’t wanted to do this for five years, man.” I sensed that he was pandering, but I couldn’t help thinking that for the first time since I started this job, Jones and I finally had something in common. Sure, there was a time when I shared his anger. In fact, I was still angry. But this is where we differed: I wasn’t angry with others; I was angry with myself. And once I realized that, it was easier to walk away. When I left, I tried to put myself in his shoes, to figure out why he said and did the things he did. At times I saw a different side to Jones, one that was vulnerable, desiring validation and acceptance. Then he would say something so vile and callous it became impossible to look past it.

Even though I was no longer beholden to Jones for financial security, I couldn’t be honest about how I felt. I was to blame for my actions, unequivocally, and yet I resented Jones for creating an environment of rage, fear and confusion that diminished discernment, increased self-doubt and left me feeling as if my brain had short-circuited. I wanted to say these things to Jones, but I didn’t.

He offered to double my pay, suggested I work remotely and even proposed funding a feature-length film of my own. I said it wasn’t about money and turned him down. To this day, I still don’t know why he wanted to keep me around. He said it was because he cared about me, but if I had to guess, I would say his main concern was losing control.

The next morning, he called numerous times, and then again that evening. I let the calls go to voice mail.

There wasn’t a single moment that persuaded me to leave, but there was a turning point: a moment that stuck with me long after it happened. I thought of it as I sat next to Jones speeding recklessly down the highway on Election Day, when I walked out of the office for the last time and when I decided to sit down and write this article.

It was early morning, and we were headed back to Austin after the trip that began in Islamberg. As we boarded our flight, I took my window seat close to the rear of the plane. An older woman wearing a hijab sat next to me. With her was a young girl, giddy with excitement, who bounced in the middle seat, holding a bag of pretzels. The woman leaned over and asked if I would let the girl sit by the window. “This is her first time on a plane,” she said. I agreed and moved my bag from under the seat.

I thought of the children who lived in Islamberg: how afraid their families must have felt when their communities were threatened and strangers appeared asking questions; how we chose to look past these people as individuals and impose on them more of the same unfair suspicions they already had to endure. And for what? Clickbait headlines, YouTube views?

As I sat on the aisle, the plane now lifting up into the pale blue sky, I glanced over at the little girl staring out the window in wonder, her face glowing from the light reflecting off the clouds. She was amazed, joyful, innocent, carefree and completely unaware of the world beneath her.

Josh Owens is a writer living in Texas. This is his first article for the magazine.

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rovvboat · 5 years ago

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Painted Flaws - Colossus/Piotr Rasputin x villian!Reader

Part 11

A/N: send an ask if you wanna be added to the taglist! Lmk how you feel about this series!

Summary: You’re a villian with a moral grey area. You meet Piotr at an art exhibit, but both of you are there for completely different reasons. Though the attraction was inevitable, will it be enough? A growing passionate love wrought with secrecy, both of you try to move through this maze. But when the ball drops, what will you choose?

word count: 1.6k

The cold, light morning air fills the room – shifting the calm of the night into the warm ebbings of the day that snuck into Piotrs’ room.

He takes a deep breath and sighs as he awakens to the sound of the early birds, bringing a hand up to rub his eyes, and gently prods at his face.

And that’s when he remembers the dream he had.

There you were, in his arms, pulling his face into a kiss that struck like searing flames in his heart – as if, in that moment, the rest of the world faded away, like the ground beneath him crumbled and brought you to your own place; you, pulling away for a fraction of a second to catch your breath – looking warmly into his eyes, slowing down time for him – before catching him back in another fond kiss.

Piotrs’ cheeks fill up with a slight tingle – as he tries to use his hand to cover an embarrassed smile at the thought of the kiss. His lips broaden as he scoffs against his palm, before brushing it down his face

What are you doing to me, Y/N?

He lazily scratches the light stubble on his jawline – before standing up to stretch out his arms and legs, and gets started for the day.

As he got though the errands of the day – checking on Beasts’ progress in the lab, any disturbances in the city, and all the other things that came with being an X-Man – he felt like a schoolboy again, thinking about his crush whilst going through his errands – when he could just as easily recreate the kiss again.

He strides back to his room, carefully unplugging his phone from his charger, when he sees a text notification from you.

You thumb nervously on your phone screen, writing and rewriting the words to further your plans to end things where they were. You surely weren’t going to do it through text.

I would be the biggest asshole in the world, and then some, if I did that.

You finally decide to send the least risky message you could think of.

[Good morning, Piotr.]

It doesnt take even a minute to get a buzzing response from Piotr.

[I was just thinking about you, my sweet lady... I hope you are well today?]

You let out a huff, shyly biting back a smile that would otherwise fluster you further. You start typing out your response.

[I would be better if you were here w-]

You cut yourself off from the thoughts of flirty banter, immediately backspacing the sentence as you stop yourself from showing any sense of affection towards him – when the typing bubble danced on your screen, before another one of his texts slides up onto the conversation.

[I would love for us to have some breakfast. Perhaps, spend the day together?]

There’s an ache that sidles into the place where normally joy would be.

I can’t lead him on like this. But I don’t know how to finish things off… without him getting suspicious.

You bite your bottom lip, flinching at the thought of having to plan out the perfect escape, from something – someone – so kind and wonderful and sweet and…

Your face drops to the side in a show of submission – to your chosen ideals, and the consequences that all came with it.

You take a deep breath, letting your calculative side take reign of the situation. Emotions weren’t going to help you now, nor were they needed to complete your personal goals.

You quickly type out a message for Piotr, then click your phone off.

[I would love to, Piotr. But I have work to do. Maybe next time.]

You ignore the next few buzzings of your phone as you walk into the medical research laboratories, down the halls filled with the several people in labcoats rushing up and down, from room to room.

You stop in front of a plain white door – a carbon copy of every other door in the lab – with a plaque that read:

Dr Christopher Wong.

You take a deep breath, before knocking the signature ‘’shave and a haircut, two bits’’ rhythm against the door. A deep voice rumbles a disgruntled ‘’come in’’, before you turn the knob and step inside.

The man looks up expectantly from his piles of immaculately arranged files and papers, his large framed glasses flashing back the fluorescent lights for a second when he tilts his head at you, grinning at you in greeting. You’ve known Chris for some time now – and he was one of the few reliable people you had in your long list of contacts.

‘’It’s me, Y/N.’’

‘’Prove it.’’

‘’I don’t have time for games, Chris.’’

He laughs unsettlingly – ‘’and I don’t have time to be giving the wrong serums to the wrong people. Especially when it comes to messing with your Boss’ plans.’’

You sigh, before pulling out your identification card – namely, the one you used for underground work – and hold it up to him.

‘’Hmmm, alright. You’re lucky that I owe you a favour – and a big one at that. Going against your own boss? That insane lunatic? You must be really brave, or really stupid.’’

‘’I learnt all I needed from you, so you tell me,’’ you smile at him smugly, and he only laughs at your retort.

‘’Well, I’m the one helping you out, so I’m in the midst of figuring that one out as well,’’ he quips, before reaching under the table to pull out a drawer. When his hands come back into view, you see that he’s holding a thick tube of clear liquid.

‘’The anti-mutant serum you gave me – I ran tests on mutant cell cultures. It’s extremely potent, and I commend the genius who came up with it. From what I gather from your intel, it has the ability to kill anyone with the mutant gene – very similar to the Legacy Virus. It is also interesting – because when I tested it on latent x-gene cells, the one you brought from the boy, it seemed to activate them instead of kill them. The problem is, however, it would also be toxic to non-mutants -- which is something the official file for the anti-mutant serum failed to inform.’’

‘’Yeah, they had to cut their experiments short when I messed with their plans,’’ you fold your arms in satisfaction.

‘‘This one, however –’‘ he waves the vial of clear liquid infront of you – ‘‘will reverse all the effects of that anti-mutant serum, but it must be administered within 24 hours. I have some extra batches in store if you need them. And a copy of how to synthesise them saved and ready to be sent to anyone who’ll need it.’‘

‘’Thanks so much for doing this for me, Chris.’’

‘’Just don’t die, okay kid? I still need shooter in the game,’’ he jokes as he hands you the antidote.

You smirk and give him a curt nod, as you secure the antidote into your slingpack, and step out of the room.

Colossus looks to his phone, worried at your lack of response.

Though he knew you were probably just busy, there was something that was gnawing at his heart.

‘’Trouble in paradise?’’

Colossus’ head jerks up in surprise as Cable walks into the briefing room, grabbing a chair as he sits across from Colossus.

‘’No, it’s…’’ Colossus snaps his phone back into his pockets, fumbling at an excuse for his uneasy demeanour.

‘’Don’t worry. I’m sure she’s just busy – life gets in the way,’’ Cable advises as he flips through the briefing notes and results from the DNA testing labs. ‘’Damn fucking shame we can’t pin a name to this fucking mystery lady, though. We’re probably going to have to infiltrate her last place of business,’’ he turns to Colossus, ‘’maybe a little distraction will help get the nerves off your mind. Besides, whatever these assholes are doing takes priority. I’m sure she’ll understand your duties as –‘’

‘’She does not know that I am an X-Man. I have not… told her,’’ Colossus looks away, ashamed to admit it to his teammate.

Cable observes Colossus for a moment, before piping up.

‘’Well, even if she doesn’t know – and though I personally think you should better get around to telling her – I’m sure she’ll stick around for you. She loves you, doen’t she?’’

Colossus looks up to respond, when NTW bounds into the room with a file in her hands.

‘’We have a lead.’’

***

Taglist!

@emma-frxst @chromecutie @fluffymadamina @master-sass-blast@marvelhead17 @onthequill @candle-light-writings

#colossus x reader #x men fanfiction #Piotr Rasputin #colossus #piotr rasputin x reader #deadpool 2 #marvel fanfiction #painted flaws part 11

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maknaesdancersrappers · 6 years ago

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on the first day of kinkmas, my lover did to me:

[ a n g r y s e x ]

>TAEYONG

>warning/s: face fucking, unprotected sex

a/n: when i was at the sleepover, my friend told me about how he and the girl he’s seeing gets off at hating on a person and we were laughing so hard because it’s technically hate/angry sex right?? Just not towards each other lol anD ALSO THIS TEACHER WAS BASED OFF A REAL PROF I HAD BACK IN COLLEGE THAT COST ME A “Failure due to absences” MARK ON MY RECORDS i was that chicken towards him and i feel like most of this was just me shitting on him huhuhu if soMEONE FROM MY SCHOOL RECOGNIZES WHO THIS IS IM GONNA-- pls dont spread it around if u kno who this prof is huhuhuhuhu im probably //already// on his hitlist

Everyone hated at least one teacher they had come across in school; you met yours during Junior year in college. Mr. Chon was your Writing for Film elective professor and you’ve heard all the stories about how strict and uptight he was. You had blockmates who had him as a prof last semester and they always talked about how every meeting with him was living hell. You weren’t happy at the news, especially since he wasn’t even the prof you signed up for in the beginning.

There was only one class for the elective and you were able to get into the list before the final enrollment date, but because more people signed up for it and the registrar is absolute shit; you, along with other people, have been transferred to a new class--with the strictest, terror prof known in school.

You tried to appeal to the registrar for you to move back, but they put the blame on the Department of Comm for the class list and in the end, you weren’t allowed to move.

The first meeting with Mr. Chon was terrifying. Everyone in the room felt like they couldn’t breathe; so quiet that you could hear a pin drop and the air conditioning system sounded deafening. This elective was comprised mostly of Comm students and there were only a few of you that weren’t; one of which was your seatmate, Lee Taeyong, a dance major.

Before Mr. Chon entered the room, the two of you promised to help each other since your free time matched one another’s and neither of you wanted to do this alone. His friends ditched him last minute when he enrolled, opting for another elective he didn’t have the prerequisite of.

The first couple of classes with Mr. Chon was bearable. He made you guys watch highly rated films from his favorite directors during class and series like ‘Lost’ and ‘Designated Survivor’ for weekend homework. When it came to the first assignment, which was to pitch film ideas, it was all easy going aside from the one slip up majority of the class, with you included, of not printing it out in the specific format he made clear on the first day.

Strike one.

But when the time came to start working on the final project, as it is a full script for a film, the stress of it all came piling up. Mr. Chon gave out assignments to create character sheets, a lesson he never gave on, and expected you to submit a properly written one from research alone.

But before you can even create character sheets, he had to choose and approve a logline from the ones you’ve submitted beforehand. You tried to be nice and formal in your emails to him, always ending the message with a “Thank you and God bless.”

His replies sounded harsh despite the lack of words that would support that description. He had reprimanded you for submitting an edited version of the logline you presented in class, saying that no matter how good it was, if it was not submitted properly the day he had expected to receive it on a printed paper, he had expected you to revise all off them.

Strike two.

So you apologized for your mistake and made new loglines; and luckily he had chosen one that suited his taste. When it came to creating a character sheet, you were reprimanded for the format and given an example on how to make a proper one. However, you didn’t quite understand the file he had sent and took your chance into making minor changes to your previous submission, taking into account the little information you’ve understood from the text.

Strike three.

He reprimanded you (AGAIN), through email, for the ‘pathetic’ edit you’ve made. Ordering you to personally consult him after class or through scheduled one-on-one meetings in the Comm office where two other assistants can be witnesses to the whole ordeal.

This was indeed disadvantageous to you because while your classmates had the freedom to consult him 24/7 through email, you had to wait for class--one you had once a week--before you can even officially start anything, and that’s IF he approves anything.

At this point, you gave up; on him, the class, and your grade. It might be too late to officially drop out of class, but you can use up all your allowed absences until he’s failed you for it.

You were upset at your decision but it was the best sounding option you had, even Taeyong agreed to it because he couldn’t even get his loglines approved. You agreed to accompany him when he had his one-on-one consultation for his third revision of loglines and nearly half an hour later, he practically stormed out of the office while violently whispering to you that he was joining your little ‘boycott’ of the subject after Mr. Chon told him to revise everything again in the most passive aggressive manner.

Both of you had three allowed absences before your final grades would be considered FA (Failure due to Absences) and the two of you spent the supposed class hours together instead to ease each other of the anxiety of it all.

“I hate him.” You snarled, throwing your head back to gulp the can of beer Taeyong had offered you. “It wasn’t even fair to begin with!”

It was the last allowed absence you had for class. The thought of it made you cry, thinking how it would tarnish your records and disappoint your parents if they find out.

Taeyong wipes your tear with his thumb. You had oddly gotten close with Taeyong because of the elective; working together to do your assignments, consulting one another for suggestions, and especially sharing mutual hate for the class. It was maybe a month and a half already, but it’s as if you and Taeyong had been friends since freshman year.

“We both enrolled and paid on time for the original class and prof, why were we the ones moved?” You sniffed, silently thanking Taeyong for inviting you to his dorm so you could vent out your feelings to someone who understands the situation.

“I know. But the system sucks, what can a couple of students do against them?” He sighs, rubbing his eyes in frustration; probably wanting to cry as well with how his voice shook. He was his organization’s vice president and he had plans to run as president the next year, but with an FA grade, he doubts he can even make the minimum CQPA to run as treasurer. “Ah, hyung would be so disappointed if I don’t take his spot as org president.”

You glance at the wall clock as you take another gulp of beer, “T-there’s like 30 minutes before class actually starts… should we just go?”

Taeyong snaps his attention towards you, “Are you crazy? And what will we say for ditching class for two meetings? We don’t have anything to present to him. He might as well give us an ‘F’ as fat as him if we show up empty handed.”

You hated how he was right; Mr. Chon would probably eat you alive in front of class for doing so. “Yeah, w-we shouldn’t. We need to commit to this stupid idea of ours.”

A phone begins to ring and Taeyong stands up to answer the call outside.

You let your gaze wander around the room, noting how clean and organized it was. You vaguely remember him telling you how he always cleaned up after his roommate, but he took no offence to it, rather enjoying the act of tidying up as a stress reliever or time killer.

As you finish off your beer, you receive a notification for a new email from no other than Mr. Chon, reminding you of the consequences if you don’t show up to class and the way he had worded it so condescendingly made your blood boil, and on top of that had it CC’d to both assistants AND the chairperson of the department, you just felt utter rage from embarrassment.

You put your phone down before you could even reply with the most improper and vulgar message you can think of. At the same time, you hear the front door slam and Taeyong is stalking into the room; face red and nostrils flared.

Before you could even ask, he’s screaming in frustration: “Our president found out that I’m purposefully failing a class and is demanding me to attend it! He even went as far as threatening to take me off my position as vice president!”

“Then make him go through the class and let’s see how he deals with Mr. Chon, who, by the way, just emailed us. He’s reminding us of the consequences and you know what’s worse? He had copies of the email sent to both assistants and the chairperson of the department! Like, was that even necessary?”

“What the hell?” He checks his phone immediately, scowling when he finds the email. “What is his problem?! Does he get off of our misery or something? I’ve never dealt with this kind of prof before! He doesn’t even fucking teach!”

You don’t really know Taeyong long enough to think formulate this opinion, but you’ve never seen him so angry and honestly, he looked hot.

Maybe he caught how you looked at him, but one second he’s ready to spit out more hate, instead he slams his lips over yours, grabbing the sides of your face with his hands after dropping his phone to the floor.

It caught you off guard; making you stumble back a few steps at how he met your lips, your hands flying to grasp the cloth of his shirt around his waist. He steadies you against him, slipping his fingers over your nape as his tongue licks your bottom lip.

When you part your lips to make way for him, he wastes no time slipping the wet muscle into your mouth and exploring the warm cavern. You both moan at the contact of your tongues, tasting each other of the beers and mints you previously had.

“Fuck,” He gasps in between kisses, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay. You look so hot when you’re angry.” You guide his hand over your chest.

“Yeah?” Taeyong squeezes your breast, moving his lips onto your jaw. He slides his thigh between your legs and rubs it over your crotch, hurriedly.

Stifling a moan, you stretch your neck out to give him more access and thread your fingers through his hair as you grind yourself on him.

He brings his mouth over yours again after slipping his hands under your shirt to get a better feel of your boobs, pressing his thumbs over your nipples until they were pert to his touch. He helps you out of your blouse, using the moment your lips are separated to unhook your bra. While he shrugs out of his own shirt, you fall to your knees and begin to to unzip his pants.

Once you were able to push his pants down and free his cock out of his briefs, you engulf most of his length as best as you can, tightening a grip on the few centimeters with one hand.

Taeyong cusses above you, moaning low as he combs your head back.

A ringtone erupts from below you and you fish out his phone out of his pants, handing it to him before resuming your previous act. “Answer it.”

He swallows hard as he obeys your request, not even giving the caller ID a glance before picking it up. “Hello?”

You watch him through your lashes, continuing to lick the underside of his cock.

“Wha-Calm down! I’ve made up mind! I’m not going to class and it’s way too late now.” He shouts into his phone, catching you by surprise.

You meant to pull away but his hand pushes you back down his cock, forcing the tip all the way to the back of your throat. You thank your ability to control your gag reflex and let yourself get used to the feeling; hollowing out your cheeks as he thrusts into your mouth.

“Shit, li-listen, I’m n-not going to beg Mr. Chon to let me back in class! I--what? So what if I’m with a girl-- I didn’t-- Prez, you’re being ridiculous!” He growls, pushing you away and kicking his pants completely off in anger. “You can’t just kick me off the team! I’m--”

You rise up from the floor, wiping the spit that dribbled down your chin. Warily, you watched Taeyong huff at his phone, ready to throw it to the ground but glances at you.

In a beat, he’s turning you around and pinning you against the back of an armchair; making quick work of your jeans and pushing them down your ankles with his foot once he got it past your knees.

“Did he threaten to kick you off the team?” You quietly ask, breathing rapidly as Taeyong cards his fingers through your pussy.

“He already has. He’s so abusive with his power! He was only elected president because he has connections to sponsors.” He grumbles behind you, “He also keeps reusing past choreo for new pieces! No one has the guts to call him out for it. I even made the fucking mistake of trying to befriend him because now I just get pushed around by him!”

You reach behind you to guide his cock into your pussy, “Let it out, Taeyong. If you’re really off the team, you’re not his lacke--”

You’re cut-off with a gasp as Taeyong surges forward, penetrating into you.

“I’m not his lackey!” He hisses, clawing your hips for support as he thrusts his hips repeatedly. “I’m the fucking vice president of the dance team!”

“What kind of president pushes around the VP like that then? Are you sure you were elected as vice president and not his lackey?”

“Stop calling me that!” He yells, snapping his hips harder into yours and eliciting a high shriek from you.

You bend over the armchair, grabbing at the pillows to anchor yourself against the force Taeyong was going at. You can feel your walls already accommodating his girth as they pushed in and out of you. Your lower abdomen tightens as your legs start to quiver in excitement; your orgasm is coming faster than you anticipated.

“T-Tae, I’m going to-- I’m really, really close--”

He grunts, moving you to the couch while still pounding into you. He only pulls you off of his dick to spin you around so you would be facing him and sits down, wasting no time as he hooks his fingers around your thighs to have you sit on his lap.

“You know,” He starts, guiding his cock back into your awaiting entrance, “That goddamn class is the reason why our president is so harsh on me. I was either going to practices late or leaving early to work on our stupid assignments.”

“Ugh, the root of all our problems is because of that goddamn class! It’s still unfair how we were transferred to Mr. Chon’s class.” You adjusted your legs so you could carry your weight as you begin to ride him.

“Don’t even mention that asshole! He keeps bragging about how he wrote scripts for indie films and how he was mentored by great, award-winning scriptwriters, but he never bothered actually teaching us shit.” He punctuates his complaint with a hard thrust upwards.

You moan out loud, dragging the sound until your head is situated on the crook of his neck. “Do that again.”

He obeys--multiple times; each with an insult towards your professor.

“Aah, I’m comi--!” Taeyong pulls you in for a kiss, drowning out your cries of pleasure as he holds your hips down for him to drive his cock into with a more calculated force.

You come with your toes curled and head thrown back in a silent cry while Taeyong thumbs furious circles over your clit and chases after his own high.

“In me, in me.” You chant, still shaking from your release.

Taeyong moans, “Shit, really?”

After confirming with a nod, he shoots his load into you; sensing immense warmth overcome your belly as you help him ride it out. When you take his cock out and proceed to sit back down on his lap, you can already feel it drip out of you.

“I can’t believe I got off for being so pissed.” Taeyong breathes, covering his eyes with his palm. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

“Not at all.” You clamber off of him, dropping your weight to the space beside him. “I liked it and I guess… sort of needed it, too.”

He turns his head towards you and snorts, “We deserved it after that hell of an elective. We’ll be weakshits to those who stayed, but whatever, yeah?”

“I value my sanity, thank you.” You laugh and he joins you. “The only thing good that came out of this was you.”

Taeyong’s lips twitched into a smile, “Yeah. We wouldn’t have met if not for that damned class. If we didn’t help each other out with Chon’s assignments…”

“We would have died way earlier.”

He chuckles, “Yeah, but, uhm, no, not just that… what I mean is that I wouldn’t have gotten to know you and,”

You blink at him, “And?”

“I can’t do this with my dick out, [Y/N]. Hold on.”

“Your dick is fine--it’s amazing, in fact.” You grab his shoulders when he tried to get up, “Taeyong, I like you.”

Taeyong bursts out laughing, “We’re really confessing in the nude?”

“Think of it this way: if you feel the same way, it’s so much easier to get down to business.” You cock a brow at him and he shrugs with puckered lips.

“Then, I like you, too.” He says, twisting his torso to face you and dragging his thumb across your lower lip, “So, round two?”

Snorting, you cup his face and pull him in for a kiss, “How about we exclude shitty profs and abusive friends?”

Taeyong hoists you up in his arms, carrying you so that either of your legs were secured over his hips. He starts to walk away from the couch, grinning at you as you squealed in surprise at his action, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

a/n: this feels so rushed because of my internet situation ;A;

#nct smut #taeyong smut #kinkmas2018

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le-petitmort · 6 years ago

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My ye olde time machine of smut writing

***I used to write smut with a friend of The Peep and mine, and this little piece was the very first one we put together. We went on after this trial effort to write a book series worth of material as two other characters, which was never published. Nor ever will it ever be, because it devolved into a dirty words vocabulary contest which required the reader to have a dictionary available as they read and diddled to the various scenes. That would only work if humans had three hands. Also, the whole editing books thing is too time consuming and neither of us wanted to fuck around with that or getting a literary agent or just about anything to do with anything other than writing smut.

It’s sure nice to see the growth in my writing though over five years.***

****Pardon the typos. This was some quickly done rough draft shit written on the internet for other people who were only trying to get off.***

Chapter I: The madam comes calling (Dez with Finley Strong)

March 8, 2014 at 7:53 AM

Dez Dickerson

A dominant without a submissive is like a car without its engine. It hadn’t taken long, and I was back on the prowl, if you will. The desires needed to be quenched and there was only one way to quell the thirst. It’s how I wound back up at the sex club under that fantastic Mexican restaurant I’d visited so many times before. I took a stroll through, checked out the rooms and tried my hardest to enjoy the goings on. Maybe I’m getting old? Is twenty-six too old or too young for this sex club shit? The place reeked of desperation with the vibe of a holiday vacation. Touristy dominance, Disney submissions. I walked the steps upward into the restaurant stopping to speak with Lorena, the Amazonian proprietor of the establishment who came bedecked in her six-inch spikes, too tight corset and barely there mini. No, I was not interested in Lorena. For fucks sake, she was a domme, there was nothing in it for me. The conversation did prove worthwhile though. Yes, I’m not looking for a commitment. Yes, I’m open newbies and experienced. Would I be opposed to her referring trusted individuals to me? No. Lorena sent me on my way with a promise that I would hear from her soon. The call came the very next day and here I was now, in the loft awaiting the appearance of one Finley Strong. Quite the name for a submissive. Would she prove her surname correct or would she succumb like a flower, wilting under the heat of my presence? Only time would tell. As I heard the clank of the steel outer door slamming shut I tried not to smile as if I were a lion being served fresh meat. Lorena had instructed her well. Walk into the big main room, stand at its direct center, wait. I heard her stilettos click across the grey concrete and halt accordingly. As I strode out of the kitchen I wasn’t disappointed. She stood tall and straight, eyes forward and chin raised with that touch of an overtly defiant attitude. Good show girl, we’ll break that soon enough. The question is how. How does she want it broken? Does she even want what I come to expect as natural? The agreement with Lorena called for giving them what they needed, not necessarily what Dez felt they needed. At least that’s how the bitchy Mexicano had stated it to me. Once in my clutches those tides could change, rolling back out to sea and redefining our meeting like the openness of the sea. Feel her out, do right by her. That was the last words of wisdom from Lorena, who certainly didn’t want to hazard to guess what was held in the mind of Ms. Finley Strong. Feel her out I did. One circle around and I was reaching out, two finger lightly touching at her hip, tracing over the small of her back as I walked, stopping in front with my fingers pressed at her mid-section. If I could say one thing about her, besides recognizing her striking beauty and fiery eyes, is that she was immaculately put together. I let my hand drift upward through the skin bared valley between her two succulent globes, the covered tips aroused to a point. Tasty. At least I imagined them to be quite tasty, once I was afforded the opportunity to partake of her sans clothing. I drew a single finger up her neck feeling her slight gulp as I went straight for her chin tipping it higher. Finley’s eyes remained forward to the same spot on the wall she had been fixated on. Resolve. That in itself shot a lightning bolt to my cock. “I’m Dez, but I’m sure you knew that already. When you’re allowed to speak there are a few rules. The name…Dez…is how you refer to be. I don’t play the sir or master game. Simply Dez. Get it memorized now.” A drop of my hand to her shoulder, letting it slide down her arm then falling over her curvaceous body until I was leaning forward cupping her ass in my palm. Her breath poured against my neck, heated and heavy. “Lorena made it apparent that you had a wish, some hunger you needed to feed that you’ve either been denied or have been denying yourself. A release as it were. Which in itself should be the ultimate goal when you’re with me. Release. My release.” I let go of her magnificent backside and stepped away, firmly in Dez mode one hand lifted brushing over my beard. Yes, she was definitely going to do I thought to myself, if for nothing other than the fact she had as yet shown not one emotion. Finley Strong appeared the type who demanded it be brought out of by a fierce hand. That…I could accommodate. “So, here’s where this goes Ms. Finley Strong. You tell me what your limits are and why you’re here. I will decide if I like what I hear.” I smiled at my fine use of homonyms. “None of that do whatever you want Dez shit, I don't go in for that. Open your mind to Dez. If you intrigue me in a way that separates you from the herd, I will nod towards the door. That doesn’t mean leave. That means get your ass to the entryway, remove every stitch of clothing and reenter. You will walk across this great room and follow that hallway to the first door on the right. Enter, walk to the X on the floor and kneel, open and presented. Make very certain your thighs are wide and inviting, hands clasped tightly behind your head. Back arched, those fucking tits jutting in anticipation. Got it? Go on now…with the talking. It’s the last time you’ll be saying much of anything.”

Finley Strong Well shit, she hadn't expected that. Fin had already forgotten about the seemingly insignificant conversation with Lorena two weeks ago; Lorena hadn't. They rambled on about their sex lives over margaritas--as they often did. One too many and Fin was spouting off something to the effect of 'I just want someone to tie me up and fuck me proper.' Apparently, that had stuck with Lorena, because Fin was the first person on Lorena's list when just such an opportunity presented itself. Hello opportunity, insert Dez Dickerson. Fin hung up the phone, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips, a slow ache sitting steadfast in the pit of her stomach. Nerves? What the fuck should she be nervous about? Finley thought as she plucked a pair of black skinny jeans and an off-the-shoulder sweater out of her closet. Because it was so completely out of character for Finley Strong. She ran a brothel for fucks sake. Which, in itself didn't necessarily dictate a personality with a propensity for maintaining control, but it did enhance every domineering quality Fin already possessed. In all honesty, she had been hard wired to run the roost. It had been that way all her life. And now what? She was going to relinquish most, if not all, of that to a perfect stranger? Fin shook her head and shimmied into her jeans, stepped into a pair of ass-jacking Louboutins and headed to the address Lorena provided. She already had fucking instructions, Fin thought with a smirk, and it hadn't even really begun. You got this, Fin. Piece of cake. Piece of pie. Perhaps the thing that worried her the most was her ability to let go. . .or lack there of. When it came down to it, was she going to be able to submit? Oh sure, the concept seemed simple enough, but when you got down to the nitty gritty, Fin feared she would have to fight herself every single step of the way. Turning a control freak into a sub wasn't going to happen overnight. Don't talk back, be obedient, leave your attitude at the door--all of which seemed like impossible tasks at the moment. Exhaling deeply, she brushed her mahogany locks out of her face, yanked the steel door open confidently, and sauntered into the main room, standing as instructed with her eyes locked on a single point in the wall. The nerves had gone, Fin had constructed her wall, the stage was as good as set. She stood straight shouldered, chin tipped up, eyes never moving from the original point. Yea, she fucking wanted this--she knew it the instant she felt that tingling sensation in her fingertips. The second Fin saw him walking towards her out of her peripherals, her pulse quickened. If she had a 'type,' Dez Dickerson fit that mold perfectly. Tattoos, check. An air of 'I don't give a fuck' masculinely unkempt demeanor that screamed 'I am who I am, if you don't like it, kindly fuck off,' check. But the nail in the coffin was his fucking voice. Low, smoky, direct, unwavering. Like warm honey dripping over every inch of her skin. The small of her back arched just slightly as his fingertips etched their way along her skin, her body instantly responding to him. Finley slowed her breathing and firmly instructed her body to get its shit together. At least as of now, Fin was in control of the way her body reacted--not him, not yet. Eyes straight forward, she listened intently, expressionless, his hands exploring as he pleased, finally resting on the curve of her ass. He knew exactly what he was doing. Every touch calculated, perfect by design, expertly placed to optimize pleasure. Fin knew one thing for sure, if this endeavor continues, he was going to play her body like a fucking flute. . .and, at the end of the day, there was nothing she could about it. And then came his questions. They had caught her completely off guard for whatever reason. What are your limits and why are you here? The first inquiry was simple: there are no limits. But the second, well, that one required a little more inward exploration. Jesus, every primitive instinct inside her was chomping at the bit to shove him against the wall and fuck him senseless. That's what she wanted. Yet, she remained silent for a moment, still contemplating her answer. That's not why you're here, Fin, she reminded herself. I want you to tie me up and fuck me proper, was the next answer that popped into her mind. Well, fucking duh, Fin. She wouldn't be standing here right now if that wasn't eventually going to happen. I want you to own my body in ways I've never imagined. Okay, she thought, that's going somewhere. Why are you here, Fin? It was something more than an orgasm. The myriad of response all led to one thing: control. In every thing she did, Fin had to have control. It was an exhausting endeavor, yes, but relinquishing control to her meant something more than a rest from decision making. She had never just /let go/. She had never experienced the imperforate feeling of subjugation. The freeing of awareness that comes only when you've surrendered everything--mind and body--to another. For the first time her eyes met his. She studied his facial expressions and mannerisms. Those fucking eyes, Finley mused. They look right into your soul, straight to your very core. Her emerald orbs held his stare for a moment before she spoke. "No limits." She paused to emphasize her seriousness with the first answer. "And what I want is to let go. Completely. To the point that it terrifies me." Make what you will of that, Dez Dickerson, but it's just about the most honest answer you will ever get out of Finley Strong.

Dez Dickerson

The first two words out of her mouth set me off like a firecracker on the Fourth of July. Either she was looking for chastising or she had no clue about my opinionated manner on all thing dom/sub. Two fucking words, that's it. I sucked in air through my flared nostrils, filling my lungs until I thought they would burst like a balloon. No limits. I exhaled out a furious rush of breath, my hand lifting and grasping at back of Finley's neck, wrapping my fingers tight as I prodded her towards the corner. "Keep your mouth shut, unless asked to speak. One hand up high on each wall. Lean forward balanced on your toes. I want that ass pointing for me. Calling for my hand." I took a step back, drinking in her form. The way her back arched in a perfect curve, a striking contrast to her straight as a board legs. the cascade of her dark hair a barrier shielding her facial expressions from me. One step forward and I was pressing my jeans covered bulge against the crack of her ass. Just enough to make her wiggle with heady anticipation. I wrapped my arm in front of Finley and began unbuttoning her shirt in the most painfully slow manner, my cock pressing harder at her backside. "No limits, huh?" I barked it out, closing in on her ear as my fingers worked at the buttons. "That isn't something you should ever say to a dominant. A lot of crazy people in the world." With her shirt now hanging loose I moved to the side. One glancing blow of my hand to her ass. "No limits?" My palm cracked downward again, an shocked audible umph of air came blasting out of Finley. "So what you're saying is that I could do anything to you that I want. I could put a collar on you right now. Make you walk around this loft like a dog. Make you bark for me. Is that what you want Ms. Strong." I lowered my hand swift and merciless on those tight as a second skin jeans of hers. A yank back at her shoulder and in on motion Finley was off the wall and shirtless. "Scat Finley...piss. You just told me those things were fine by you. No limits." I pushed her flat palmed against the walls, both hands to her stomach. Rising them higher I cupped Finley's pert round tits, my dick back to grinding on her. Yes, this was all a change of plans from my status quo. No strip down in the entryway and get to the play room today. No limits meant Dez changing things up. Maybe that's what I needed, something different, something extraordinary. I took my thumb and forefinger over what I imagined to be the pinkest areolae, taking each budded nipples for a twist and pull, both now pointing like the tip of an arrow, as if I was commanding it to happen. Which I most definitely was. "Interesting Finley. You have given me the go ahead to lock you in a cage and bring you out when I want to. Hell, I never have to let you leave this place. No limits. I could decide to own you now. Would you prefer I call you pet or bitch or what?" I kept up the manual torment on her right breast as my other hand dropped to her jeans quickly unbuttoning and dropping the zipper. My hand slid inside and over her thong, a tap tap tap of finger like her snatch was a dewy drum head. "Kick off the hooker shoes and strip down." Finley hesitated, the kind of apprehension that said is this guy for real or what the fuck have I gotten myself into. Which ever it was I wasn't in the mood for a dawdling submissive. "Now! Or else I'm going to go grab a sharpie and write "Dez's pokey ass slut" on your forehead. I can do that. No limits. You said it yourself." I wasn't waiting on her to get moving, I tugged at the band of her pants, puling them down as I heard her shoes rattle off the wall. "Good girl. Daddy likes your newfound listening skills." There she was nude before me and I wished I could see the look on her face. I would soon enough, for now I lived with my imagination and the vision of her body heaving in a combination of heart racing, breath fighting for more air, nerves edged and unsure of what would happen next. "Hands back on the wall, get up on those toes. You're getting twenty to the ass. Instead of counting them out for me like a good little sub I want you reminding me...no limits...after each one. Boom, I dropped the first one, then the second like a thunder clap. Each one in succession with a response from Finley as her uplifted ass turned a pretty shade of crimson, the imprints of palm and fingers on full display. Finished, I fisted at her hair, a rough pull that spun Finley facing me. I leaned down eye to eye, my mouth close enough to almost capture her trembling lips. I let my voice drop deep, gravelly and domineering. "Lucky for you Ms. Strong I do not believe in the theory of no limits or else this could have gone terribly wrong. Do not ever...ever..say that to any man. That's your first lesson for today. Are we clear? And don't even think of calling me daddy." I let go of her long tresses and watched her head fall. "Eyes back up. You need a safe word also. It will be..." I had to think on that for a moment. That word I purposely wanted to be slightly off the wall. "...Toyota. I will be getting myself water, because this will be a long night. While I do that I want you marching to the play room...reciting your safe word loud enough that I can hear it. Get that sweet little ass in front of the St. Andrew's cross in there. Keep reciting your word..." I dropped my eyes over Finley. "...get one hand working over those perfect tits the other strumming that tense, ready clit I haven't had the pleasure of tormenting yet." I gave a crooked smile. "I'm assuming that pussy is wet and wanting right now. Probably throbbing in need of being filled. That'll happen soon enough." I turned towards the kitchen and made an abrupt spin back to Finley. "What are you waiting for. Get going. Now."

Finley Strong

She had set him off. Like a pile of fucking dynamite a mile high. As unintentional as it had been, something sick and sadistic inside Finley was mildly pleased that she had triggered him so quickly. Fin’s jaws clenched instantly when his hand wrapped around the back of her neck, one of her hands palmed the wall as instructed as she teetered on the tips of heels and arched the small of her back as deeply as she could. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She chanted, squeezing her eyes shut at the feeling of him pressed against her. His hand expertly unfastening each button of her blouse. Her mind was spiraling, reeling at the anticipation. Of not knowing what in the fuck he was going to do next with her poised like a damn show pony. . .and no limits. What in the actual fuck had she been thinking by saying that? In her naivety, she had meant it. And then the pit in her stomach resurfaced, nerves eating at her insides like a ravenous plague. The carefully devised wall she had constructed was being torn down, brick by agonizing brick, Dez Dickerson there with a sledgehammer beating the shit out of it like it owed him money. Finley sucked in a sharp breath between her teeth at the first smack; the second had pulled soft whimper from her lungs. Immediately, she pressed her lips together, swallowed hard, and fought every urge to shake her head disgustingly at herself. Damnit! Fucking damnit, Dez Dickerson, you’ve made your point! She was an absolute amateur for saying ‘no limits.’ Her eyes snapped open, his curt tug on her shoulder snapping her back to reality. The reality that this was his world—and she, quite obviously, had no fucking clue what she had gotten herself into. Then back to the wall, both hands this time. A chill ran up her spine the first time his skin met hers. Parting her lips, Finley slowly inhaled and held her breath. Yes, even the slightest of contact sparking a deep aching fire inside her. His fingers coaxing the peaks to perfect hardness. Her back bowed, pressing herself harder into his hand. Jesus, she thought, like a fucking flute. Before she even had time to digest one perfectly placed hand, the other was buried between her thighs. Shit, Finley cursed as her knees gave way slightly under the pressure of his finger. Get your shit together, Strong. Now! Her mental reorganization had caused a seconds delay. It was happening so fast. No sooner had one command been given, then he was barking the next order, all while his hands mind-fucked her body into submission. Now! He barked. With two indignant kicks, she heaved her eight hundred dollar pumps across the room to smack against the wall. So help me, Dez fucking Dickerson, I will shove that goddamned Sharpie. . .her thought trailed off with the rest of her clothing. Two rapid movements and there was nothing left to hide her flesh from his eyes. Hands back on the wall. Fin’s eyes searched the blank canvas as if it had some unspoken answer written in the cracks, her jaw still clenched tightly, lips pursed, mentally preparing herself for the impending twenty lashes. One. The sound of smacking flesh echoed off the walls like an audible aphrodisiac. “No limits.” She spat in a seething whisper. Each subsequent smack eliciting an even louder “No limits.” Each subsequent smack striking to her core. Part of her was wildly turned on by the way his hand felt on her ass, the lingering sting intoxicatingly erotic. Her fingernails dug into the wall, as the other part of Finley fought every urge to spin on her heels and introduce his cheek to her palm. With each swat Finley found herself letting go twenty times until finally, the last stinging slap was followed with an nearly inaudible “No limits.” Point made again, Dez, she mused, the tender skin on her backside now hot and undoubtedly a lovely shade of crimson. A gasp slipped past her lips as her body was twisted like a top around his fist in her hair. Her green eyes staring daggers into his the moment they were finally face to face. Her pulse raging at this point, but her expression stoic and unwavering, her upper lip curling slightly at the instruction to avoid calling him ‘daddy.’ When he barked for her to look up, Fin’s gaze remained steadfast on his face, studying him, half-heartedly listening to what he was telling her to do, rewinding what the fuck had just happened in her mind and playing it in slow motion. You’re trying to break me. To the extent that, to Dez Dickerson ‘no limits’ was an absolute abomination to the dom/sub world, she got it. Yesterday’s Fin would have promptly grabbed her shit and walked out that door butt-ass naked just to prove a point—you’re not going to break me like I’m some wild fucking horse. But today’s Fin knew better. Because, in the end, that’s exactly what he was going to do. That didn’t mean Finley Strong wasn’t going to put up a little bit of resistance. Okay, probably more resistance than he was interested in dealing with. Finley stood there, staring at him walking into the kitchen, wondering just how much Lorena had told him about her. She was quite confident that the next thing that came out of her mouth was going to get her another twenty licks or worse. Finley waited until he turned back around to face her. She strode through the main room and into the kitchen, standing close enough to him that their toes touch, her eyes capturing his. “I know you didn’t give me permission to speak. And perhaps this will be the last time I ever break that rule, but you can lay off the humiliation bit. I get it. You’re teaching me a lesson. I’ve never done. . .” She stopped herself from completing that sentence, confident that one, her ‘no limits’ response made it painfully obvious she hadn’t done this before, and two, he, in all likelihood, didn’t care. “Just. . .That’s my limit. I’m not here for you to humiliate me. I understand there are varying subjective definitions of humiliation, but I think you get the jest. Unless you get off on having me bark like a dog or scribbling rubbish on me like I’m some insignificant piece of trash. In which case, this is probably not going to work out.” With that, Finley spun on her heels and padded towards his play room. “And yes, my pussy is wet and wanting right now.” She called back over her shoulder to him. “Toyota!” Fin shouted as she rounded the corner, cupping one delicate breast in her hand, her index finger and thumb coaxing the peak to a hardness, a pulsating throb setting in warmly between her thighs as she envisioned his hand as the maestro. “Toyota!”

Dez Dickerson

My admiration for Finley Strong would be off the charts, if she could just keep her trap shut. This was one of those rare situations where I would, in fact, break from my beliefs and jam a ball gag into her pie hole. Well, not really, I hate that shit. I must be allowed to revel in her gasps, moans and groans. Every last one of them I deserved. Yes, I will admit, she was under my skin to even make a gag a passing thought. "Toyota." I could hear it clear as a church bell chiming in a belligerent tone from her voice as I filled my jug to the brim and headed towards Finley. For the second time tonight I had a change of heart on the direction of our encounter. This time it was the crux which had fallen like a brick out of a wall from my plans. No, I had something a little better in mind for Ms. Strong. I wanted full access to her skin. Every minute curve and line that defined that magnificent, majestic body. Of course, once again I would also make each inch pay for her obstinate ways. Fall out of line and get in my face? That would come at some cost. Pain to pleasure. Earn it Finley. Entering the room I listened as she kept up her mantra, which now seemed less a safe word and more a commercial for mid-sized Japanese cars now made in America. Yes Finley, I will pound you like a Tundra being driven through a mud bog. I will make your engine red line and your tires smoke. "Enough." One simple word as I headed for the closet, grabbing a twisted bundle of rope before strolling to Finley. "Arms out, palms pressed in prayer." One hand encircled her tiny wrists, the other began the arduous task of winding the cord to perfection down her slender forearms. Her skin was vibrant and milky and my head wandered to afterward when I released Finley from her binds. The flow of blood would return full force through her veins, each ply of the rope now defined as valleys and peaks in her skin. I was feeling in a peculiar, driven to chat mood today which may be attributed to my seething anger from Finley having the audacity to confront me. Compensation. "Point taken regarding humiliation, however that is far removed from the realm of anything that would ever happen in the confines of my home. Those were...for instances." The twine was set and I ran a loop inside being certain I wanted to keep Finley well restrained. "I have a tendency to provide my point of view in an over the top style. I have always felt the strongest statement, no matter how it is taken, best proves my point. Suffice it to say, should you run across a less than accommodating dominant..." I broke my eyes from my craft and captured hers "...a shady and selfish fucker. I don't want you allowing yourself to be used. That isn't what this is about. Ever." One last cinch and Finley Strong was under my control. I looked up at the ceiling and pulled her out and away from the cross. A new device had been installed and now was as good a time as any for some usage. I had replaced the old strappado which connected to a reel on the wall with an electric hoist. Yes, I was moving into the twenty first century, forsaking manual labor for ease of use. Besides, this way I could grab the controller and have my choice of how high I wanted this lil' ol' smartass. I grabbed the controls, lowering the hook and silently raising Finley's arms straight above her. Attaching the hook to her bind, I hit the button and watched Finley rise until her toes were en pointe, the tips barely able to keep her steady, but low enough that there wasn't undue stress on her limbs. Just enough to make Finley think. To think what next and to remember who was running the show. "This is the part where that safe word comes in handy. Don't try to be too willing. Too up for anything. If you at all get uncomfortable, I want to hear it. I'm not here to ruin you. At least not in that way. I'll save that for the fucking." I lurched off towards the closet, digging through the baskets and grabbing a flogger. The right flogger. I needed to remember that she wasn't experienced, only here to give this piece of the lifestyle a try. I gave the instrument a spin in my wrist as I approached Finley, a sudden swing forward and I brushed over her taut belly, which sucked in hard at the touch accenting her curvaceous hips and protruding tits. "I want three deep breaths and heavy exhales from you Finley." I kept the flogger spinning, the black tendrils a waterfall against her ivory skin, which was now flaired with rouge brush strokes and developing a noticeable sheen. I'd have her sweating it out good momentarily, of that I was sure. "Your mind must be clear of all other thoughts. Focus. Let your gasps of pleasure ignite you into a pyre." Eloquent motherfucker. As the third breath rushed from Finley I started in, doing the counting myself one to one hundred, watching her struggle, then relax. The thought of her pussy getting worked into a fervor, dying for a frenzied explosion of exquisite sensation. "One hundred." I tossed the flogger to the floor and stalked the couple steps to Finley. My hands wandering and massaging, tempting her to writhe with delight. I dropped low, my tongue tracing the bubble of her ass, which now was heated, thoroughly covered in my marks. My hand forced between her thighs, cupping her pussy in my palm like I was holding her aloft. My middle finger dipped, stroking between her folds before diving deep, buried to the hilt. I flicked down hard on the spot I knew would bring a flowing gush of wetness from Finley and I gave my instructions. "I know what this is going to do to you. I know you will melt like a cube of if ice to my touch. I want to hear it. Tell me every detail of what you feel. But most of all. Do. Not. Let. Yourself. Come. That crashing orgasm is the one thing I own in all this. Don't disappoint me Finley."

Finley Strong

Those few seconds she waited for him in the playroom seemed like an eternity. The chanting of her safe word didn't help either. It reverberated off the walls as if it were a mocking reminder of his impending arrival. Finley wasn't sure just how much trouble she had gotten herself into by insubordinately invading his personal space. Perhaps that was the most nerve wracking part--the unknown. Strike that, it was the combination of the unknown and lack of control to dictate the next step. The sound of his footsteps behind her made her skin prickle with goose flesh. And as insubordinate as she had been with him two minutes earlier, her body was similarly disobeying her with each passing second. Finley's back arced responsively to his presence, her safe word becoming nothing more than soft sigh. "Enough." He barked from behind. Immediately, Finley shut up and ran her tongue across her lips nervously before pressing them together as she steepled her fingers and pressed her palms together in front of her. Her eyes followed his hands meticulously working the rope around her wrists and forearms, the sensation of restricting the blood flow to her hands causing her fingertips to tingle. Finley listened intently as he spoke, her green orbs tracing the barely visible curves of his lips until finally he paused in his monologue and met her stare for a second. Those eyes. . .they in themselves could wrestle a strong woman into submission. Her stomach sank, and the whole fucking room was silent except for the hypnotic sound of his voice and the rhythmic twisting of rope to flesh. Her body lurched forward slightly as he tugged on the last cinch--her mind absolutely clear. And that was it. No more Finley, or at least no more yesterday's Finley. She tipped her head up, her dark locks spilling over her shoulders and down her back, tensing her body as her arms were pulled taut above her head, the tips of her toes barely grazing the floor. Goodbye to the attitude formerly known as Fin. With a sighing moan, Finley adjusted her wrists to a comfortable position and looked down to find that Dez was no longer in front of her. She squeezed her eyes closed, tying to pinpoint his location in the room only to be awakened by the wisp of leather to her torso. One deep breath in, slow exhale, as instructed. The leather against her skin eliciting a plethora of responses from her as her muscles tensed with anticipation for the licks to get progressively harder. Oh yes, Dez would have his pound of flesh. Another deep inhale, the exhale so painstakingly slow that the sound of her breath echoed in her ears. Clear your mind, Fin, he said clear your mind, she repeated in her head, nodding to him slightly as an acquiescence to his command. Final inhale, exhale. Smack! Fin's body tensed, every muscle tightening. Smack! Her hands balled into tiny fists. Smack! Fin's toes curled as she exhaled slowly, a soft moan riding on her breath. By the forty-second smack, Fin had stopped counting. She had closed her eyes, hands still in white knuckled fists, but her body gave way, relaxing, absorbing the sting of the tassels, her mind wandering to the memory of Dez's hands. Rough, calloused, aggressive, but most of all, fantastically possessive. Smack! Finley cried out his name. It had been totally inadvertent, but it was the first word that came to mind. Jesus, those hands, Fin introverted once again, picturing his fingertips slipping past the cusp and dipping deep inside her. Smack! A low whimpering sigh escaped her lips. "One hundred." Fin's eyes fluttered open. What? No. A hundred? The warm feeling of Dez's tongue along her ass caused her to gasp and tense again, the stinging burn deliciously countered by a soothing wetness. And then his hand, Fin's lips parted but not so much as a peep came out as she tried to decipher if it was real or just her imagination playing her again. As she felt a finger slip into the wetness of her desire, curving perfectly, Finley moaned and let her head hang, her dark tendrils cascading down her torso. The anticipation of which nearly being enough to send her over the edge right then and there. No, this was most definitely real. She pulled her head up when he spoke again, trying to wrap her mind around his instructions while she her fought her body tooth and nail not to climax. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Finley tried to find his eyes, as if to ask for permission to answer his request to tell him what she felt. Melting like an ice cube was a fucking understatement. "M-may I speak?" Her lips finding it hard to form the words; stopping your body from coming when it was so close to fruition was like stopping a freight train with one hand. "I feel overwhelmed?" What the fuck, she hadn't meant for that to come out as a question. "L-like my entire body is going to explode. I um," Her mind raced, all of her thoughts now just jumbled nonsense swimming around in a murky abyss. "I um, God, I want to come, but I don't want to disappoint you. . ." She stopped herself from saying anything else for it would have been nothing more than rambling gibberish. So much for great detail, Dez, her green eyes looking down at her feet that were now perfectly arched.

Dez Dickerson

Overwhelmed? Darlin' we're just getting this dog and pony show started. I'm going to overwhelm you tenfold before this night is over. Get that hot little body quaking, those knees shaking to the point that you have nothing left in the gas tank. You'll be begging me to keep you stable, mind and body, and at the same time you'll be begging for more pleasure. Overwhelmed? I want you addicted to the process. To know the perfection of your own personal freedom. "Then don't disappoint me." I could feel her walls clench with involuntary rhythmic contractions, like she was about to let loose with a torrential pinnacle that would culminate in a whimpering climax. Her ass pressed back against my hand yearning for more. My thumb sliding over her wetness until it was rubbing over Finley's back door. A press against her opening and I was in, circling against the tight ring in her back side. My free hand went to grip her hair, ripping back to expose her neck. Head lowered, a lick of the the exposed skin, a nip, another lick back down. I caught the tight skin between my teeth and tented it, eliciting a yelp from Finley. All the while with hands raising the stakes, alternating motions, speed, pressures to both entrances. I caught a glimpse of her emerald eyes rolled back, mouth agape in a show lust filled enjoyment. Another look at those captivating eyes and I had my next move. My digits dropped from Finley and her body slumped as much as it could given the way she hung like a rag doll. I stalked to the closet and rummaged through my wares. I was back in a flash and Finley was none the wiser as to what came next. A dollop of lube to my finger and I was slipping back inside the warm sanctity of her ass. A second finger and I was getting her loosened, prepared. She wasn't fighting me now, rather ceding herself over to me. Groans being her only responses. It was as if Finley knew I would provide what she needed and it was no longer in her best interest to fight in an unneeded show of pride. My other hand grasped at her ass checks spreading her wider to my advances. Then I gave myself a smirk. "I really love the color of your eyes Finley. I think you need an accessory to match them." My long fingers slid fast from her ass and POP, I slipped an emerald jeweled ass plug seated deep and snug inside. Finley's body shot forward in an arc of semi-resistance to the intrusion, her voice piercing the room with a surprised moan. I latched onto her hips steadying her as she settled back in. "Green's one of my favorite colors." I did a bend down admiring the anal accoutrement. "You had a damn fine ass before. Now it's...it's simply fuckable Ms. Strong. Well, fillable...for now...would be the better word." I gave a little laugh as I raised my shirt up and over my head, flinging off to the side, pouncing on Finley, spinning her towards me. The granite slab of my chest pressed against her pillowy breasts. My fingers splayed through her locks palming the back of her head. A lean lower and I captured her mouth. A dart of the tongue past her puffed lips and I met hers. Hesitant at first, I felt Finley sigh against me. Her tongue giving a devilish swirl over mine as if she had succumbed to the last temptation. This is what I had strove for, Finley to make her own move. Show me how fucking bad you want it girl. Her mouth was doing just that. Mere words could not describe the fire that was burning, the ache that was throbbing inside Finley Strong. I dropped a palm cupping her ass, fingers pressed and twisting at the toy stuck full inside her. Enough teasing to work her up to the next level. The pain of my own molten member engorged and leaking was all I could take. I broke from Finley and moved across the room. Full view for her as I took my hand to my belt buckle. Snapping it open, unbuttoning my jeans and dropping them down the sinewy length of my legs. My dick sprang to attention catching Finley's eye. For my part I could only smile at her response. I took my sweet time walking back, my cock leading the way until I had the hoist control in my hand, lowering Finley flat footed. Unhooked, I grabbed her bound wrists and led her towards the tan bricks of the wall. At first I had her facing the bricks, her waist under my control. My feet kicked between her separating Finley wide. My palm went between her legs, five hard greedy slaps to her waiting entrance. I reached for her rope cover arm, spinning her facing me in a wicked pirouette. Smack, smack, smack. My hand bore down hard between her legs. Finley seemed lost to it all now, breathing jagged and body unsteady. A hot little fiery mess. In a swift motion my fingers were corseting her waist. A lift and her lithe form and tulip stem legs wrapped around me. I banged Finley off the wall and her tied arms dropped around my head, resting on my shoulders. I pressed her back against the bricks my mouth on hers, adjusting the bulbous head of my iron hard tumescence so that it was rubbing against the slick wetness of her excitement. Sliding up I hit her rigid, responsive clit, flicking my head back and forth across it, feeling her shimmy in response. "This is the part where I fuck you silly. Remember the rule Finley. No coming until I say so. It's going to be mind shattering when I allow it." That was it. One thrust and I was between the stretching walls of her body, bottoming out at the place where she most ached for engulfment. Her private satin flesh a receptive, desperate dark haven of all Finley Strong's urges.

Finley Strong

There were a million different things crashing together in the most elaborate way imaginable. For Finley, she had always been the “dom.” Perhaps not to this extent, but she was was used to running the show. If she wanted it, she took it. She fucked and was fucked when and how she said so. But now, Jesus fucking Christ. Her body was being pulled in so many directions that she hardly had time to comprehend what happened thirty minutes ago. Stop. Stop right now, Fin. Stop thinking and react. Let. Go. His goddamned hands worked her over, her hips bucked against his fingers, her breath hitching in her throat as he circled a pressure point from behind. Finley's hands gripped the rope and pulled herself up slightly, parting her thighs for him, one knee cocked to the side. The hard hand in her hair and teeth to her neck were it, she wanted to jump out of her fucking skin. Spurs to a rodeo bull, was more like it. Finley gasped a hissing breath, turning her face to Dez in an attempt to capture his mouth, but he and his magic fucking fingers were gone. With a heavy sigh, Fin’s body went limp for a second. In the second following, her body lurched forward; the penetration from behind catching her off guard. Her muscles went taut, and then relaxed, her mind trying to wrap itself around everything. With choppy breaths, Finley spiraled and writhed, concupiscent as she drank in every erotic sensation coursing through her with a raging fervor. He had done it, with seemingly effortlessness, Dez had unraveled Finley Strong from the inside out. When their lips melded together, Finley sighed heavily against his mouth, her tongue meeting his and twisted around it, tasting him fully for the first time. She leaned into the kiss, and pressed her mouth onto his hard, almost aggressively, trying to take as much of him in these brief seconds of contact that she could. His hands reached around to her ass and oh-my-god--the weight of her body proving to be a momentary hindrance as her knees gave way. Still fixated on his mouth and the way his tongue traced every contour of hers, Fin captured his bottom lip and raked it between her teeth as he pulled away. Licking the rest of him off her lips, Finley released an exaggerated exhale through her nose. Let me down, Dez, so I can rip you apart. She was ready. Dripping wet, ready, and insatiably hungry. He had teased her to the point of delirium; revving her up such that nothing existed outside the world of fucking Dez Dickerson's brains out. She had been docile for a round or two. Even asked for permission to speak. He quite literally spanked it out of her, Fin couldn't deny him that, but she could feel the finale nearing, the anticipation was unbearable, and she was going to eat him alive or die trying. He lowered her down and walked them over to the wall. With her palms flush to the bricks, Finley bent over, ass in the air, for him. Wasn't it all for him? Her skin trembling under his hands as she counted the seconds that mockingly lingered on. Each calculated move by him devised to elicit a very particular response for her. . .and it did. Every. Single. Time. Finley rested her forehead on her hands, moaning uncontrollably at the deliciously electric feeling of the smack of his hand between her thighs. A vibrating cadence rocked her shoulders forward, Fin tapping her head against her hands a few times, ardently contracting her velvety walls and biting her bottom lip, trying with unimaginable strength to keep quiet and not come. Fuck, she was so close. . .dangerously so. Don't come. Don't come. Don't you dare fucking come, Finley Strong. Spinning her like a top, Dez's hands lifted her up, Finley giving little to no resistance as her back slammed against the wall, her arms falling to drape around his neck like a noose while she vised his body with her legs around his waist. Jesus Christ, yes, Finley thought, a desperate sob exuding off a sharp breath, the feeling of his hardness slipping between her dewy lips, pressing farther up with exacting precision to message her throbbing clitoris caused her body to tremor uncontrollably with desire. Yes! At the sound of the word 'fuck' rolling off his lips, Finley's bound wrists tugged at the back of his neck as she looked up at him from behind her thick lashes with bedroom eyes. God damnit, I get it, just fuck me already! And before she could even finish the thought, with one artfully executed thrust he was buried deep inside her. "Oh my fucking God. . ." Finley whispered, her head hanging for a moment before she whipped it back up and, with a forceful yank, possessively took his lips with hers again. Raw, sweaty flesh to flesh. Rolling her hips into his, Finley held his mouth to hers with her wrists behind his neck. Her thighs tightened around him as his hands slid down the small of her back with hard fingers finally digging into the taut muscles of her ass. She arched and bowed her back, grinding her hips against his like a python slipping through turbulent waters. "Dez. . ." She moaned, his name like a fucking incantation. Curving her hips up as she leaned back, Finley pressed off his pulsing cock, almost sliding off him completely, then bucked against him, slowly lowering herself down until he was completely entombed in her milky wetness. Finley's breath hiccuped in her throat, each becoming more shallow than the last. She leaned the back of her head against the bricks and rode each of his deliberate thrusts with matching enthusiasm, small whimpering sighs transforming into cries of ecstasy. The shortness of his breath only spurring her on as she rode the prelude of her climax almost as hungrily as she rode him. I want to see it, damn you, Fin cursed him. I want to see it in your eyes, that wanting. . .that telling elation as the pupils of your eyes dilate. Give it to me, Dez. Give it to me.

Dez Dickerson

Much consideration must be given to Finley Strong, even now as she rides me like a rodeo bull. I’m blasting another fast and frantic frenzy as her hips hinge loosely in response, her quim devouring my tool like a salacious sheath. We’d avoided the chit chat upon her appearance at the loft, but I had learned enough about her from Lorena. Finley’s eyes became hypnotic as I caught a glimpse while rocking her with a measured, insistent rhythm showing the disregard one only holds for a those that can handle themselves in such a situation. She was more than capable, I knew that coming in. Lorena had intimated her profession, that Finley was a madam. For many that would be a judgmental moment. A madam? A whore? Not me, no interest in that. Actually, maybe a great deal of interest because it meant one thing. Whether or not she had prior experience with a dominant she knew how to handle herself accordingly. First on her agenda in any skin on skin scenario? Wild, uninhibited recklessness with the sole purpose of providing pleasure. As a madam how many women had been under her tutelage? Countless I’m sure learned this arch in groaning protest she provided. Others I’m sure had caught on to the way that protest abandoned to longing. With a grind Finley crushed down against me and those viridescent pupils brimmed with ecstasy, prodding me to give a slice of the power over to her. That’s her job, she knew no other way. With a rutting grunt I slammed upward lifting Finley in my final culmination. We moved in total harmony, her pressing down to meet each thrust as if it were the last. Undulating and rippling against me our mouths met fierce and relentless, her's as sweet as sugar. This is the sliver of time when you have to decide if holding out is better than relenting to pulsating waves of pleasure. With her breathing forced from her lungs deep shuddering and desperate I mounted my last stand resigned to defeat like Custer at Little Bighorn. Was it defeat? To admit that it wasn’t necessary to make her beg for that orgasm she was teetering on the brink of. Just the sound of my name gasped and falling from her tongue was serendipity. The most pleasant of surprises. Our open mouthed clash of tongues fell away impeded by the need to suck in every last lungful of air as spasms of delight began to rocket through us. It began. “Come with me.” Not my usual insistent demand for her orgasm. I felt Finley lose control, that first cry of deliverance as she convulsed in a chain of spasms, milking from me the pulsing life that flooded her like hot molten lava. My weight leaned driving her one last time against the wall, breathless and dizzy as we rocket through the universe. As fast as we started, we ended. Finley clung to me her heart pounding a beat against me that slowed to a murmur as consciousness was regained. My fingers still dug in at her ass raised her, my relieved cock firmly held in her care. I stepped away from the wall carrying Finley off to my bathroom. It always goes the same. The one thing that will never change. She had allowed me to bring her to a new plateau and now was the time to show some gratitude. I rested her thoroughly worn out ass on the cool of the granite counter. Dipping down and out her arms were now in front of me as I silently released her from the ties. One hand leading the other in a smoothing massage over each curve of rope indented skin I asked if she was ok. Satisfied, I took her hand, sliding her off the counter and spinning Finley facing the mirror. Once again my hands touched at her back assessing each mark, trying to provide a different relief than we had encounter minutes earlier. Fingers once again at her ass I jerked the plug from Finley stealing a startled gasp. I reached inside the shower running the multiple jets, letting the heat rise as I turned back to her. A lift of her chin, a brushing kiss, another question of her state. I wasn’t sending her home fucked up and unsure of what had just transpired. I could only imagine the call from Lorena. The crazy spanglish cursing me for not doing my due diligence, assailing my manhood and honor. Whisking Finley into the stall I set her in the midst of the rushing, pulsating and misting water, the soap in my hand built a lather that washed over her weary, but perfect body. “When we’re done in here it’s your choice on whether you leave or not. I’m not rushing you off.” I smiled for emphasis. “I usually build up a hell of a hunger so I’ll be making something to eat. Feel free to stick around. If you like.”

Finley Strong

When Lorena had described what was supposed to transpire with Dez Dickerson, Finley had to admit, she had sort of unintentionally brushed it off as a sport fuck. Oh, Lorena went into great detail about his um, proficiencies. The tragic part was Finley switching on her selective hearing as Lo fawned over the greatness that is Dez. Yea, yea, tie her up, spank her tight little ass, and a roll around in the hay for some mid-day cardio. Nervous, yes. Questionable ability to meet his submissive expectations, absolutely. However, her incorrigible cockiness had, quite honestly, diluted her. How sadly mistaken she had been. So utterly naïve that it was almost laughable—in more ways than one. Because as their bodies moved together synchronically, feeding off each other like ravenous, visceral animals, grinding into one another with this tenacious tempo, one thing was unquestionably obvious. . .he had owned her unlike any one else had before. Plain and simple. Owned. “Come with me.” Her eyes heavy and glassy with desire peered up at him as if she had misheard. Three simple syllables was all it took, and, as if Dez had flipped a switch, Finley came crashing violently to a climax, crying out his name once more while aftershocks surged through her body in explosive waves. She leaned into his chest, her elbows bent over his shoulders pulling him hard against her as her fingernails dug into the sinew of his back, and drove her hips into his until she felt the warm rush of his release. Panting like a thoroughbred crossing the finish line at the Preakness, Finley rested her forehead on his collarbone planting wet lipped kisses into his hot, salty skin, the haze of an earth-shattering orgasm steadily set into her tingling fingertips. Finley descended into him as he walked them to the bathroom, her head bobbing slightly with each one of his steps as she relished the warmth of his body against hers. The cold granite revived her somewhat, heavy eyelids pressed together while he unwrapped her with almost delicate hands. The lulling hum of rushing water in the background creating this sort of serenity that she hadn’t expected. Gently, she was placed on her feet and turned to face the mirror. Even now, the slightest contact of his fingertips to her back prodding at her, apparently, insatiable appetite. Finley watched him, studying him, scribbling little notes about his mannerisms into her subconscious. What a fucking anomaly he was. A walking, talking, breathing Rubix Cube. A slight tug, and Finley was fully cognizant by the time the hot water rippled down her body. Silently, Finley let his soap lathered hands attempt to wash away some of the reminiscence of the this indescribable day. Smiling at his offer, Finley just simple shook her head in the negative and let her fingertips wander over his slippery skin, following every curve and edge of his arm beneath a cascading waterfall, basking in the afterglow of amazing sex and in how pleasantly surprised she was with him. In between musing over his remarkably perfect physique and the soapy playground for his hands, something in Finley snapped. Her fingers dropped from his arm, she stood curtly on her tip-toes and placed a soft kiss on his lips before stepping out of the shower, suds still dripping down her legs. “I hope this isn’t the last time I see you, Mr. Dickerson.” She said as she ran a towel quickly over her body, making it appoint for her eyes to meet his before her next sentence. “I had an amazing time.” Mind-blowing, mountain-moving, earthquake colliding with a tornado kind of amazing time, she was begging herself to say, but couldn’t pull herself to form the words. “Amazing.” She repeated, hoping that would provide him some sort of reassurance when her body language was screaming otherwise. What the fuck are you doing, Finley? Stop. But she couldn’t. With a nimble step out of the bathroom, she blew him a kiss, and trotted to the living room to gather her clothes. A few more seconds, and half-dressed Finley was almost out the door. Stop! This time listening to herself, and dashed to the kitchen, scouring the area for a pen and paper, finding only a crumpled up receipt on the counter. Taking her lipstick out of her handbag, she scribbled her name and number on the back of the receipt. How fucking cliché, Finley. Jesus Christ, could you be any more Cracker Jack? Why don’t you just hang your panties on his doorknob on your way out? As asinine as she felt, Finley couldn’t bare skipping out without leaving her number. At least some indication that she wanted what happened today to happen again. Perhaps it was the fact that he had shown her something life-altering today that freaked her out. He had so expertly pulled from her every possible emotion a person could ever feel in one afternoon. Without even knowing she was doing it, she had revealed parts of herself that she had sworn she locked away in some dank swampy corner of her subconscious. She told him she wanted to let go, and he had given her that. . .and so much more, most likely without even knowing that he had done so. Her body was still reeling from it and probably would be for the rest of the week. Dez fucking Dickerson, with his mysterious playroom and awe-inspiring cock. A smile crept over her lips as her red soles clicked against the concrete. It would be interesting to see just how long it would be before Fin was itching for his fix again. Soon. . .very soon.

Dez Dickerson

I am a creature of habit. As with anything in my life I perform the role of dominant within a framework, rarely straying outside the box. She appears, I do my assessment of her, I provide what she came for, I take care of her after, I give the choice to leave on her terms. So mechanical in nature. Her and she is how it had always been, having placed that priority for as long as I could remember. A priority that was the definition of who I am, what I’d been taught and truthfully was all that I knew. Why deviate from a course that had thus far proven successful? Finley had opened my eyes. The way she picked up her things leaving silently into the night. The quiet retreat may have been her own version of creature of habit. I could only assume that being a madam she lived by the rule never get too close, this isn’t what we are about. Pleasure and pain was the name of the game, not some forced romantic illusion. Did it come as a shock upon entering my kitchen to find her name and number scribbled on the back of a receipt? Not at all. Finley Strong didn’t seem the type to go on a one time exploratory excursion to Dezville. Would I call Ms. Strong again? I had an impetus to place myself into a new frontier, no longer setting the expectation for when and how a submissive would return. A direct beeline towards a new style, which I hoped would begin to redefine me, broadening my horizons and leaving the potential to open my eyes to what could be. Isn’t that what a journey of personal growth entails? As for Finley? Yes, I would call her again. There wasn’t a need to question that.

©DB/MP 2015

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