#only one rhonda

[missescalientee]

Did jd ever talk about his brothers to lief?

Yes he did, he told him lots of bed time stories

[squirrelfromspace]

Maybe its just me hoping we also get to know more about Wallys time at school (or the people he knew) like the show is doing with Rhonda, but with him mentioning the smart kid he used to copy from and Charlie saying the class of '84 is having a meet up at the school I think they're setting up something? Maybe

[girls-gays-theys]

[tragictempest]

My Favorite School Spirits Scenes&Dialogue

[Feel free to use any of these as writing prompts]

CW: School Spirits Spoilers, Innapropriate Language, Mentions of Murder

---

(Maddie and Simon walk into the auto shop looking for evidence)

Simon: Talk about a perfect place to dump a body... He ever bring you here?

Maddie: .....

Simon: Oh jeez. This is where you guys hooked up?

Maddie: I'm not answering that.

Simon: Classy guy.. What, was the dumpster behind the Jack In The Box already taken?

Maddie: Oh, grow up. You tried to make a move on Celeste Molina at the bowling shoe return counter.

Simon: That was eighth grade!

Maddie: It was ninth! You just looked like an eighth grader.

---

Xavier: And you know what they say...

Maddie: What do they say?

Xavier: Bros before... strong, independent women with bright futures, it's a very popular phrase.

Maddie: You're stupid... you're lucky you're cute.

Xavier: What the Lord deny in brain, he deliver in beauty.

Maddie: And boy did he deny.

---

Maddie: Look, I can't really chat right now because I've got some holes in my memory to fill.

Wally: Hey, that's why I'm here, I can totally help you fill your holes.

---

Maddie: ...Excuse me?

Wally: Oh, uh, obviously I did not mean for it to come off that way.. it was more of a hypothetical "I can help you figure things out if you need it."

Maddie: Okay... I can handle it myself. And I don't need to take advice from someone who looks like they're headed to aerobics class.

Maddie: You were murdered by your guidance counselor?

Rhonda: Yep. Guided me straight to the light.

---

Rhonda: There's still people in this school that count on you. Dead people.

Maddie: Since when did you stop majoring in who-gives-a-fuck?

Rhonda: We all have to pitch in, pussytoes.

Maddie: I'm sorry, what did she just call me?

Charley: I.. I think it's probably a flower...?

Maddie: 'kay...

---

Simon: You hate scary movies, just own it.

Nicole: That's not true. I liked Scream.

Simon: That's scary satire, doesn't count.

Maddie: And you closed your eyes the second the movie started.

Nicole: No I didn't.

Maddie: You spent half the movie looking for that twizzler you dropped on the ground.

Simon: And you don't even like black licorice, that's Maddie's thing.

Nicole: Yeah, well, Maddie didn't invent black licorice.

---

Charley: The bigger disappointment was me thinking I would get to haunt all the assholes who tortured me while I was here. But uh, instead, I was haunted by all the jokes they made once I was gone.

Maddie: What do you mean?

Charley: I was a gay kid in the 90s who died because he was allergic to nuts.

Maddie: ...

Charley: Okay, that's where you're supposed to laugh.

---

Simon: Nicole, you were supposed to give me a ride this morning. To school? Remember?

Nicole: I had stuff to do. Sorry.

Simon: I figured, you were AWOL all weekend, didn't answer a single text.

Nicole: I had an application deadline, okay? So the video statement was due, my portfolio looks like it was slapped together by a third grader, so..

(A minute later, Simon opens up her binder and looks at her portfolio)

Simon: Hmm. FYI, you're a very impressive third grader. I mean, I'm impressed.

(He turns to a page that's full of half a dozen photographs of Maddie)

Simon: Uhh.. and a little concerned. Damn, she knew you took all these?

Nicole: I took a bunch of you too, you're just.. not photogenic..

Simon: Yeah.. but.. this is intense. I mean, it's cool, it's just a lot of maddiemaddiemaddiemaddiemaddiemaddie —

Nicole: — What are you trying to say?

Simon: ..Nothing. Hey. Breathe, stop doubting yourself, okay? If admission asks why you're obsessed, say you worshipped her. Tell 'em she taught you how to parallel park.

---

Maddie: Seriously? All we do is haunt the halls of the stupid school, and none of you have seen anything suspicious from Anderson?

Wally: Well, one time I saw Mr. Anderson misspell the word "Fundraiser" on a Boosters Club poster, and I – he forgot the D. I feel like that's pretty suspicious coming from an English teacher.

Charley: Wally.. I'm pretty sure that was a pun..? So I'm assuming he probably did that on purpose....

Rhonda: Sorry, sweets, we don't just stand around staring at the living all day.

Maddie: No.. you plan weekend fun. Like movie nights.

Mr. Martin: Well, we do what we can to break up the monotony, Maddie, that's all.

Charley: Well, if I may.. to be fair, watching the same five sports movies over and over again is kind of monotonous, Mr. Martin.

Wally: I thought you loved "Rudy".

Charley: No.

Wally: Wow. Just w– I can't even.

---

Rhonda: How are you not pissed right now!?

Wally: I am pissed, Rhonda, I'm just trying to make sense of this all, this is very new to me, I don't know how I feel —

Rhonda: Try not to lose it in front of your crush.

Wally: OK, YOU DONT HAVE TO BE MAD AT ME RHONDA -- I DIDNT DO ANYTHING, BE MAD AT HIM —

Rhonda: I am mad at him.

Wally: Okay, you said you wouldn't bring that up again —

---

Maddie: Have you seen my teacher Mr. Anderson?

Dawn: You mean like him with a murder weapon? Or your dead body?

Maddie: Yes!

Dawn: Nope! Though I am pretty easily distracted...

Maddie: Is it the.. bad acid?

Dawn: ....?

Maddie: Charley mentioned something about that..

Dawn: Well no, I've never taken drugs! I just meant from all the new ways you kids have had to connect... (starts talking about the internet)

Maddie: Okay.. well I've got to go talk to the bus crash kids.

Dawn: Oh, good luck. Those banjos are all bongo, if you know what I mean... You should let me come with! I speak bongo.

---

Nicole: I'm sorry, when did you become all Scooby Doo?

Claire: ...

Nicole: I mean, two months ago, you were wiping your feet on Maddie's face, now you're... what? Trading in your pom pom for a trench coat?

---

(Charley laying on the indoor pool bleachers with sunglasses over his glasses, smelling sunscreen)

Charley: Ah, I love this smell. Coconut, verbena.. you close your eyes, you could be anywhere. Miami.. Aruba...

Rhonda: Yeah, and then you open them, and there's a band-aid floating in the surf.

Charley: I miss a good sunburn.

Wally: I miss Debbie Gibson.

Rhonda: ...??

Wally: What? I thought we were talking about stuff that we miss.

---

(Emilio walks past Charley and makes him gay panic)

Rhonda: Dial it downnn.. just because you smell like an Almond Joy, doesn't mean he knows you're here.

Wally (to Maddie): That's Mr. Figueroa. Emilio. He was Charley's crush when they were still students here. He sponsors the.. L-G..T —

Rhonda: — B.

Wally: B-T-Q club.. and Charley never misses a meeting.

Charley: I only go for the refreshments.. and uh, you're one to talk. You hit the gym every day to impress some boneheads who only know you as a name on a scoreboard.

---

Charley: Okay, let's try hypnosis.

(Dawn randomly spawns in the back, sitting at the table eating the burrito)

Dawn: Oh, God no... Not that.

Wally: Hello, Dawn.. uhhh, how long — how long you been sitting there, girl?

Dawn: Since I smelled the burrito 😊

---

(The ghosts are gathered in a circle so they can begin the anti-seance as Dawn waves an old, burnt Brussels sprout around as a substitute for sage)

Dawn: Settle, settle, settle, settle. We're under Capricornus.

Rhonda: ...who?

Dawn: The stars. Close your eyes, look inward, right to the back of your skull. What are you seeing, Mads?

Maddie: Uh, not much, it's dark..

Dawn: Dark!

Rhonda: Maybe it's the back of her skull.

---

Xavier: I just -- I feel like I'm walking into a trap.

Maddie: Funny. I don't recall you being scared when you were hooking up in your backseat.

---

Rhonda: If I thought it would help me cross over, I would go out there and tackle someone.

Mr. Martin: Okay, that's the spirit.. I think.

---

Xavier: I wasn't tampering with anything, dad.

Sheriff Baxter: Man, how stupid do you think I am? What are we, runnin' neck and neck in the dumbass derby?

---

Wally: I wanna make sure she's okay!

Rhonda: Let's check the faculty lounge..

Charley: She didn't say she needed a nap.

Rhonda: Maybe she went to speak with Simon. Sorry.

Wally: Why are you sorry?

Rhonda: You wince every time you hear his name.

Wally: This is not me wincing, this is my happy face.

Rhonda: Ah, could have fooled me.

Wally: Look -- I know she's still trying to figure her stuff out, but I can wait. We're not even at halftime.

Rhonda: I don't know what that means.. but if that is your happy face, remind me to hide when you're really happy.

---

(Maddie and her mom arguing before Maddie's death)

Maddie: You wanna take everything that dad gave me? Here. Take this.

(Maddie rips her necklace off and hands it to her mom)

Maddie: You could pawn it, get 40 bucks from it. Buy yourself a fucking welcome mat.

---

Xavier: If I ask her about the phone, she's just gonna bail!

Simon: Stop being a fucking coward!

Xavier: A coward -- FUCK YOU SIMON.

---

Simon: SAYONARA, SHIT RIVER!! Northwestern won't know what hit 'em!!

(proceeds to bump into somebody walking through the hall as he says that)

Maddie: Slow your roll, we're not even in yet.

(Bell rings)

Mr. Anderson: You degenerates are late!

Nicole: I'm not even in your class..

Mr. Anderson: You're still late.. and degenerate.

---

Claire: What did you tell the police?

Mr. Anderson: I told them the truth. That I took that money to pay off my dad. Is that okay with you? Cool. Can I go?

Claire: Did you say anything about me!?

Mr. Anderson: Y'know what? I don't remember! 😛

---

Mr. Martin: It sounds like you're struggling. Write your obituary.

Maddie: Uh, no.

Mr. Martin: Everyone here has written one. It helps us to focus on the highlights of our lives, the sweet victories.

Maddie: I've gotten out of writing papers before because of cramps. I'm pretty sure death counts as a good excuse.

---

Simon: Happy?

Maddie: Yeah, I'm thrilled. My DNA is on a boiler room wall and my piece of shit boyfriend might have something to do with that. Does it get much happier!?

Simon: Oh, so now you come around? How many times did I tell you that dude was sketchy?

Maddie: This isn't about him keeping hand lotion in his glove compartment, Simon.

---

Simon: Bathrooms.. you're not gonna linger and wait there... right?

Maddie: ...

Simon: MADDIE

Maddie: Relax, I left before I saw anything.... But you should really wash your hands more.

Simon: Okay and now I'm hanging up. Byeeeee!

[wallyclarksnewmom]

I think the fallout shelter is a red herring, at least in regards to Maddie's story - she and Simon can speak in there but they can speak in the boiler room as well, which tells me the boiler room is where she died. I think somebody else died in the fallout shelter, but I'm not sure who.

I'm inclined to say Mr. Martin given Rhonda snooping (obviously for him), but that may have more to do with Mr. Martin's suspicion about Maddie than anything else. I wonder if it could be Dawn, though - everyone assumed she died on a bad trip, but she tells Maddie she's never done drugs, plus she did die during the Cold War, 1970s.

[sophieswundergarten]

My brain came up with this while I was half asleep, and then I proceeded to promptly forget about it for the seventy-two some-odd hours. But I remembered tonight! So here you go:

Sophie Assigns the "Good" MBS Humans to the Fellowship of the Ring

I just thought the other day, "Hey, four kids plus four adults and one Miss Perumal makes nine! Guess what other book I enjoy has an initial grouping of nine protagonists?" And then the rest of this followed

Of course, I made the Hobbits the kids. It just worked really well with the route I was going.

Frodo - Constance. They both have a lot on their shoulders, and whether they like it or not they are instrumental in the success of their friends

Sam - Kate. I waffled a bit on Sam, but I think Kate fits best here. She has her bucket and is very prepared, and she also goes on solo missions with/carries Constance a lot.

This means the boys are Merry and Pippin!

Merry - Reynie. If I'm remembering right, Merry is a little older than Pippin, and tends to look out for him. I know they're cousins in the books, but I really like the idea of them as a brother-like duo that works together a lot.

Pippin - Sticky. Slightly less life experience than the others his age, but still doing his best! Also very close with his friends and gets put in a position of power under a Not Great Guy (Denethor/Curtain) and learns to break away from him and look out for the people he loves.

Okay. So. I know that initially it seems like Mr. B should be Gandalf. But hear me out.

Gandalf - Milligan. He's there sometimes, sometimes he's off doing other stuff that is still vital to the mission but not immediately visible! He jumps off things (Granted, Gandalf has the Eagles to help him), and has that kind of general colour scheme. He advises the kids both individually and as a group.

Gimli - Number Two. I don't even know. I just felt this one immediately. She's really intense and strong and a good fighter, but sometimes she needs someone to tell her to calm down and loosen up a bit.

Legolas - Rhonda. Also felt this one as soon as I thought about it. Something about Rhonda having slightly better people skills and the general charisma of an elf, but she's still super close with Number Two and they make fun little competitions out of working together.

Boromir - Nicholas. Now. This gave me a lot of trouble, but I think it works because this is the character he would give himself. The one with a brother, who gets "favoured", but ultimately falls prey to his weakness. He genuinely wants to help the kids, but in the end he puts them in danger. This does not mean Curtain is Faramir. We're not even getting into that can of worms here.

And we all know what this means!!

Aragorn - Miss Perumal. I love this one, even though it kind of happened by process of elimination. Her "bit of a puzzler" traits as a ranger who can track people all over the place is so good. Also, this means that she'd get a girls team up with Rhonda and Number Two as the Three Hunters! And, come on. I really want to give her a cool sword.

[arabaka]

the only good thing about this work retreat is for the first time ever, i spoke about being queer and autistic (well to my work people) and i was welcomed by the group i worked with. they asked thoughtful questions, were really engaged with what i had to say, and told me they were so happy i shared that info with them.

other than that shit's sucked

[angelsdean]

the final bracket of the spn eps showdown is gonna be laz rising and tmwwbk at this point i just know. unless they end up in the same bracket before the final round

[wonderjanga]

Marvel and the Supernatural

Basically some Marvel interactions with supernatural creatures. I think he would be really friendly with some and, you know, not as friendly to others.

Marvel: “Sorry, guys. I gotta head out early.”

Flash: “Dude, why? I wanna see a drunk Marvel!”

Aquaman: “Cap, what would it take for you to accept even one invitation for drink?”

Marvel: “Uh…”

Superman: “Cap, you know you can just tell us if you don’t want to go.”

Marvel: “Oh- uh- it’s not that. I already have plans, that’s why I can’t go. I have to see a friend of mine who’s visiting.”

Wonder Woman: “A friend?”

GL: “I thought we were your only friends.”

Marvel: “I have other friends.” *sounds slightly offended before brushing off the offense* “You guys might know her actually.”

Superman: “Is she a hero?”

Marvel: “Oh no. She’s Bigfoot.”

*loud silence*

GL: “What…?”

Marvel: “She’s Bigfoot, but she prefers when I call her Rhonda. She’s a very classy lady.” *nods head* “We get tea every time she’s in town.”

*another loud silence*

Aquaman: “Buddy…” *puts hand on Marvel’s shoulder* “If you really don’t want to hang out with us that badly, you can just tell us. You don’t have a make up an excuse like that.”

Marvel: *visibly tenses at being called a liar* “I’m not a liar guys.” *shrugs off hand and shoves own hand into pocket dimension and starts rummages, looking for something*

JL: *horrified for a solid three seconds when they see half of Marvel’s arm disappear*

Marvel: *pulls photo from pocket dimension* “Look!” *shows photo of him at a table that looks comically small compared to him, also holding a tea cup too small for an 8ft tall man. Also shows Bigfoot in a very elegant sundress also sitting at the table, also making it look comically small while also holding a teacup that also looks too small for it*

*loudest silence*

GL: “Why are you casually just friends with Bigfoot? How do you just fail to mention things like this??”

or

Batman: “Marvel, why did you put in a notice for leave?”

Marvel: “I thought I put sick leave?”

Batman: “No… You just sent in an email that said, “I’ll be gone for a week” and that’s it.”

Marvel: “Oh. My bad. Well, I’m gonna be gone for a week cause I’m going Wendigo hunting with a couple buddies of mine.”

Batman: “Wendigo. Like the evil, man eating spirit.” *raises brow as if it’s noticeable from under his cowl*

Marvel: “Yeah! It’s kinda like big game hunting, but for people with magic. Plus, they’re kinda starting to become a problem up North. Wanna come?”

Batman: “I don’t have magic.”

Marvel: *shrugs* “You’re Batman. You could probably figure out a way. But even then, we’d be happy to have you.”

Batman: “Hn.” (Translation: I’ll think about it.)

or

Flash: “Dude, you’re sulking. You never sulk! Something’s wrong.”

Marvel: “It’s not that big of a deal. I’m mad at Satan.”

Flash: “Me too, bro me too.” *pats shoulder* “What’d the devil do to you?”

Marvel: “He cheated at poker!”

Flash: “You gamble— I see. So you’re down on your luck at casinos.”

Marvel: “No, like literally! He hid a card up his furry sleeve!”

Flash: *blinks rapidly trying to process that whole statement* “Oh. Uh- you could always disinvite him.”

Marvel: “I guess. But he’s my friend.”

Flash: “Why can you confidently say you’re friends with the devil?”

Marvel: *ignores his question* “What if that hurts our friendship?”

Flash: “Maybe try talking to him about it…?”

Marvel: “That’s actually… a pretty good idea! Thanks, Flash!” *hops up and speeds off to where Flash can assume is literal hell*

[erodasfishtacos]

But I Got Wise (You're the Devil in Disguise) || DWD

Prompt: Harry & YN are the picture perfect couple of their suburban little neighborhood where everything is pristine and manicured. It's the 1960’s and they're just like any other husband and wife in this era, right?

AKA The Don't Worry Darling AU I never wrote

Word Count: 12.5k

Warnings: PLEASE REFER TO BOTTOM OF THE FIC AS IT WILL SPOIL EVERYTHING IF I PUT WARNINGS HERE 🖤

author's note:

I upload a piece of writing every 1-3 days.

I recently started a second tier called The OG Tier where 2-3 one shots (1-4kish) are posted a week.

There are currently 350 + pieces available to read

Tier I - $3 USD where you get access to main stories, everything except the mini one shots.

Tier II - $5 USD where you get access to every piece of writing!

you can check it out here!

Inspired fully by this song

It’s a give and take.

An ebb and flow.

The most skillfully crafted routine of all time.

YN should win an Oscar for her perfectly crafted wide-eyed expressions or shocked gasp that could fool every single person in a room.

Every woman wanted to be YN.

Every husband wishes their wife was YN or something of a clone to her.

YN was the ideal housewife.

The sprawling mansion pristine, the meals delicious, and her appearance was always without a hair out of place or a smeared liner.

The jealousy came from YN’s upbringing, a family with old money, the kind that sent their children away.

YN was raised in a Swiss boarding school, where she had etiquette classes and learned how to be a lady.

At least that was the story that had so neatly constructed.

She always knew which cutlery went on which side, what fork was used for salad versus entree, and never had an elbow on the table.

YN was always polite to their guests.

No matter how standoffish the women were, she only smiled and acted as if she didn’t sense the tension.

When their husband’s make passes at her, she swiftly but always kindly, gently turns them down with a sympathetic look.

Like if she could she would but she can’t, she only cannot because she’s married.

Her acting made these men believe that if it wasn’t for Harry, they would have this chance with her.

And that was part of her magic, in the process of denying these men, it made them become even more interested with her.

YN was private, comparatively to the group of women, and didn’t share any information that the others would willing give away.

No one knew anything about her marriage.

Not like how everyone knew that Barbara’s husband was drunk nearly every night which resulted in whiskey dick.

Or how Rhonda’s expects it every night, even on days where he’s worked twelve plus hours and they’re both tired.

YN listened attentively, pouted empathically when necessary but never add anything to relate to it.

When pushed once by Catherine, YN was graceful in her rebuke when asked how her sex life was with Harry.

Was he a dud or star between the sheets?

They were dying to know.

He was a gorgeous man, the most successful out of the lot, and the only one who didn’t need hard liquor to loosen up.

Harry seemed too perfect, just like YN, to the point whs dimples smile seemed more wolfish and intimidating than welcoming.

When one of these men would hit on YN, Harry would make sure to give their hand a near bone-breaking shake on the way out as a warning.

All with that dazzling smile.

YN had not taken the bait.

She sipped her tea, acting as if she was flustered, and coquettishly replied, “Harry is a good, respectable man. A man with strong morals of how to treat a woman.”

All the women took that as a confirmation that he was a dud, the vanilla type who only knew missionary before rolling over to snore.

In an alarming discovery, the group of women all came to the conclusion that none of their husbands had ever gotten them anywhere close to climax.

YN had stayed mum, when curious eyes landed on her, she only gave a closed-lipped smile, and shrugged delicately, “I don’t speak about such things. It’s not very ladylike.”

As much as the gossipers want to roll their eyes at her holier-than-thou approach, it created wonder in what her life was like.

YN nor Harry ever cracked, never once.

Of course, every couple tried to put on their best faces for dinners and cocktails but they’ve all slipped a few times.

Like when Caroline had huffed at her husband to, “make his own damn cocktail.”

Or when Bart had let it slip that Gretchen threw a glass at his head during one heated argument a few days back.

Not Harry and YN.

Dinner tonight was hosted at the Chamber’s home, though no one would say it, they preferred when the couple hosted.

YN’s food was impeccable, the kind that only really was served at high-end restaurants, and cooked to absolute perfection.

Their house was incredible, expansive and an open-floor plan that was not the norm for house concepts - it was new, innovative.

They got together every other weekend, the neighborhood parents while a few of the teenage girls watched the young ones.

It was a mystery too.

Harry and YN were the only ones who were childless in their neighborhood.

At twenty-seven and twenty-nine years old, it was a bit scandalous that the two hadn't brought any additions to their family.

When bluntly asked once over tea about the issue, asking too crudely about infertility - YN had replied that no, she wasn’t and they just hadn’t wanted to start trying yet.

That her and Harry were happy right now.

Which was a concept that the others didn’t understand, majority hated their husbands, minority could tolerate them.

Children were something that brought joy to an otherwise dull life, to put something between husband and wife as a barrier to interact because every word seemed tense.

The largest house in the neighborhood, with five bedrooms, and none of them occupied by little ones.

It was a yearning to be like them.

YN was perfect down to the delicately painted polish on her fingertips.

The most mild-tempered personality, who seemed perpetually bubbly and not one negative, pessimistic molecule in her body.

Harry matched the same energy to an extent.

He had a temper unlike his wife, he wasn’t boisterous or belligerent like the other men but he was much worse.

It was subtle, passive, and it made the person who was the target of his anger feel like they were walking on eggshells until Harry decided not to hold the grudge anymore.

Harry was not one to mess with.

Once their neighbor Tom thought it’d be a funny prank to do a burn-out in their front yard.

It tore up a section of their healthy, thriving green grass that Harry watered before work every morning.

Mud, dirt, their meticulous landscape was tainted by the ruddy tire marks of the Chevy Impala that resides next door.

It was passive aggressive, Tom definitely had some not-too-secretive envy for his next door neighbor.

Harry had all the things the men wanted.

Top of that was a nice, obedient little wife who smiled and kept their mouth shut when the men were talking.

Tom anxiously peeled out his window that morning, blinds drawn only barely as he watched Harry come out of his front door.

Always at fifty-thirty on the dot, he grabs the hose, and it’s a bit comical because he’s already in his pressed, tailored suit, and shining loafers that YN must polish daily.

Harry…doesn’t give a reaction.

Which makes Tom’s stomach sink for a reason he cannot quite put his finger on.

Harry does not lose his shit like Tom was hoping, goading him into breaking his picture perfect image that they know.

No, Harry simply waters the grass, as always, and only glides over the disturbed soil to not make it any muddier.

His facial expression does not even twitch.

“He’s going to take that out on his wife,” Janet, his wife, frets as she looks over his shoulder, “You know he’s going to go in there and knock her around because he’s angry.”

“That’s not my fault,” Tom retorts defensively, letting the curtain fall back so they can no longer see him, pissed and unsettled.

“Tom-“

“Go make me breakfast before I knock you around, alright? You’re pissing me off,” Tom dismisses her as he grabs his cup of coffee, watching her scurry into the kitchen.

It honestly disappears from Tom’s mind after not getting the reaction that he wanted so fiercely.

But Tom was also relieved that Harry hadn’t come over, banging on his front door, or leaving a nasty message in the mailbox.

Nope.

It’s not until Tom walks out to the driveway, where his brand new burnt orange Chevy Impala is waiting for him, his pride and joy.

Tom sees it right away, his tires, the expensive brand new tires he had just paid an arm and a leg for were deflated.

Not just one, all of them.

And it’s easy to see that they’re sunken and useless because the underside of the car is closer to the ground, and not to mention the massive slash marks.

Tom thinks he’s about to have an aneurysm as his face starts to fluster into a shade of beet red, his hands trembling.

Just at that moment, Harry’s exiting his front door with YN walking behind in, tied up in a beautifully floral robe that ghosts on the stone.

Tom is boiling, if he was a cartoon character, steam would be coming from his ears.

Harry leans in to kiss his wife, this soft peck as she cups his face like she doesn’t want him to go, whispering against his lips.

He indulges her in a few more before she’s letting him go, not before pressing her thumb into the indent of his dimple.

“What the fuck, Chambers?” Tom roars as he storms to the edge of the driveway, staying in his own land but throwing his arms up.

Harry does the same fucking shit as before except the twerk of his lips.

Harry fucking smirks at him but his eyes were as slicing as recently sharpened daggers through flesh, he gets under Tom’s skin.

“Tom, watch your language in front of my wife,” Harry replies back calmly, “That’s no way to speak in front of a lady.”

YN’s lips are tight, eyes not dancing anywhere near Tom’s as she holds her husband’s bicep in concern, the typical over emotional woman.

Harry leans over, must tell her to go inside because she does go back into the house with a slam of the door, a deafening click of the lock in the still sleepy neighborhood.

“This crime is getting out of control for how much my mortgage is,” Harry lets out a breezy laugh, waving towards his front lawn, “First my yard is torn up, now your tires! I thought this was the safest place in the state!”

Tom is flabbergasted, he doesn’t know how to respond because Harry is acting like they both don’t know what is actually going on right now.

“I might have to get a watchdog, a rottweiler or something like that,” Harry’s smirk does not fade an inch but his tone gets deeper, more threatening, “Rip the jugular out of the next person who comes on my property uninvited.”

They both were aware that Harry was talking directly about Tom, threatening him in a subtle but almost more malicious manipulative way.

Tom freezes up, unsure of how to even answer him but he stutters slightly when he says, “Yea-yeah. A Rottweiler, not a, uh, bad idea there.”

“I better get going,” Harry thumbs back to his jaguar convertible, “My employees will have my ass if I’m late. You know how it is.”

Another jab.

They both know Tom doesn’t know how it is because he’s a low-level at his desk job where he makes barely enough and still has to rely on his parents sometimes.

“Yeah,” Tom bleats dumbly, now having to figure out this mess that was his car, “Have a good one.”

“You as well,” Harry returns, his dimples teasing at this point with his wide smile, “By the way, Tom, if you ever curse in front of my wife again. We’re going to have an issue. She’s a fucking lady and you’re going to treat her like one.”

Tom can’t reply because Harry has already ducked into his Jaguar, revving the engine, and peels out of their driveway with a loud squeal of tires.

++

Tom and Janet continue to come to dinner parties like nothing ever happened.

Harry will still mix his normal Moscow mule with a question about how his work is going, no one but Tom knows it’s a jab when Harry asks how his new tires are doing for him.

YN is cordial as ever.

When Tom takes her aside to apologize, he doesn’t miss how Harry’s eyes lock on him like a bullseye of a target - watching, clocking every subtle movement.

Harry watches the interaction in its entirety as Tom keeps his voice low, “I apologize for my language the other morning. I shouldn’t have cursed in front of you.”

YN let’s out a short, girlish giggle as she pats him arm, “No apology needed. Harry acts as if I’ve never heard the word before. Though I do not hear it often, I will admit. Harry keeps me sheltered.”

“A good husband,” Tom huffs out, she was adorable, and there was something so innocent about her that made not just him but many drawn like a moth to a flame.

“The best,” YN smiles sweetly, squeezing his bicep as she starts to move away, “Now I must check on my pork chops. I’d be mortified if they’re dry. Enjoy.”

And with that, she glided away, eyes couldn’t help but follow.

YN was cutting up the garnishes, the last touch on the dinner that was about to be served, sprigs of cilantro under her fingers.

A few women flocked around her, sipping martinis and gossiping like grade schoolers.

Harry had sauntered into the kitchen a few minutes after, hands finding her hips, and a chaste kiss to her cheek, “I’m starving.”

“Dinner will be ready in five,” YN looks over her shoulder to tell him, knife pausing for a moment.

“Oh, dinner sounds good too,” Harry’s hand slips from her hips to a bit more suggestive position on her lower back.

“Harry!” YN scolds him, a scandalized expression on her face as the other women flush and giggle.

They all wish the had their own Harry, a husband who was affectionate, a bit inappropriate but he made it obvious that he desired his wife.

His eyes never wandered, not even when Catherine bent over at a barbecue and the wind blew her dress over her head - cotton panties for everyone to see.

All the men had nearly drooled at the sight of skin but not Harry, he glanced with a bored expression at his watch and leaned in to kiss his wife’s nose.

“Out, out,” YN shoos him like a dog begging for a bone, giving him a light shove as he snickers, hands up in surrender.

YN’s eyes are glued to the cutting board, embarrassment latent on her face, “I apologize about that. He sometimes forgets he needs to filter his thoughts before speaking.”

The group around her titters, trying to hide how their cheeks feel warm because how does YN even handle her husband saying to her?

They’d swoon instantly if Harry told them that he was starving for them.

The dinner is served on beautiful, imported dishes from Italy - a wedding gift that was treasured from Harry’s parents allegedly.

The spread was as picture perfect as always.

It was because they were picture perfect.

Most of the men, aside from Harry, were drunk or quite close to it after the salad was served.

By the time the pork chops was on the table, they were bordering on something more uninhibited and unfiltered.

“And Marshall’s new secretary,” Henry’s voice is booming, monopolizing as every one gives him their attention, “Biggest tits I’ve ever seen. Natural too.”

The men all let out these crowing, obnoxious laughs out.

Except Harry.

“I bet her ass is just as -“

“Gentlemen,” Harry cuts in smoothly, raising his lowball glass, “This is no type of conversation in front of the ladies.”

“Catherine’s heard this talk before,” Henry tries to brush him off easily, glancing over at his wife who looks uncomfortable put on the spot.

Harry acquiesces with a sip of his drink, raised eyebrow, and nothing more.

It’s silent for a moment before the conversation continues.

It typically doesn’t wander into such raunchy, debauched territory at a neighborhood dinner but something was in the air.

“Janet wouldn’t let me touch for a month after I broke the radio, even after I bought a new one!” Tom complains between loud chews, “No hand or mouth stuff even!”

Everyone is laughing, the women more of an uncomfortable chuckle than anything, and again - Harry’s face was unreadable.

“How long do you hold out the goods when Harry fucks up? Or are you a good girl who never leaves him wanting?” Henry shoots the question towards YN, innocent YN, who looked like a spotlight had just been shown at her on stage.

“Henry,” Catherine hisses with an elbow in the ribs.

“That’s improper to discuss,” YN wipes at the corner of her lip with her napkin, “I do not do anything other than my duties as a wife.”

The tension is starting to creep in like a thick fog, though he doesn’t speak, everyone’s eyes shift towards the head of the table - Harry.

“I am hoping I heard you wrong, Henry,” Harry sits his glass down knocking loudly against the oak surface, “I know you surely didn’t ask my wife about our intimacy, She wasn’t raised in a barn, to talk crudely, or act it. I do not want you tainting her innocence with such filth.”

The way Harry regarded his wife made it seem like she didn't even know what sex was.

Which again, added to the mystery of what they even got up to (if anything) in the bedroom.

Henry flushes, his face pink from the liquor, and he shakes his head, “I apologize, I’ve had too much to drink.”

Harry gives the sarcastic, crooked smirk, “It seems most of you had. Now I wouldn't want to stress my wife out any further with this nonsense. I think it’s best we end the night here. She most likely needs a lie down from these inappropriate discussions.”

This delicate flower, YN, who just wishes everyone a good night without any fuss about Harry kicking out their guests mid-meal.

Obedient.

Submissive.

Innocent.

The perfect wife.

++

As soon as the last couple is gone, Harry locks the front door, and kicks his loafers off by the front door.

He truly hated his fucking neighbors.

The best part of these dinners was when they left.

YN had sat back down at the head of the table, opposite Harry, and took a long sip of red wine as she watched him walk back in.

“Those men were pigs tonight,” Harry breaks the silence, taking his spot at the opposing end, finishing off his dry whiskey, “I can’t believe the lack of respect around women.”

“Mm,” YN kicks off her black stilettos before she’s kicking her feet up onto the dining room table without a care.

The basket of rolls tumbles to the floor, a gravy pitcher toppling over and starting to drip on their expensive linen tablecloth.

The skirt of her dress rides up, revealing an expanse of her bare thigh, and enough of a peek at her hips to see no elastic in sight - no underwear.

“How do you think dinner went, my dear?” Harry asks conversationally as he pours himself a glass of Merlot from an open bottle.

YN shrugs as she finishes off her own glass, a red drop of liquid chasing down her jawline, throat, and chest - soaking into the white material of her dress.

“I wasn’t paying much attention to any of them,” YN replies honestly, the honey-sweet airheaded tone was gone and a more demure lift was in her words, “I couldn’t get the idea of you fucking me on this table out of my mind.”

Harry grins like a cat who just found a canary, setting his wine glass down, and leaning back in his chair - spreading his legs more.

“My love, watch your tongue,” Harry teases as he starts to loosen the tie around his neck, never taking his eyes off of her, “It’s improper for you to speak like that.”

YN grins sharply, uncrossing her ankles, and bending her one leg, resting her foot on the plush cushion of the chair, the other one the table - giving him an obscene, gorgeous view when she hikes up her dress even further.

“They would be mind-blown, you know that,” Harry’s voice has gone deeper, rougher as his arousal starts to sink into his bones

“Mind-blown about what?” YN switches back on that innocent, friendly tone but it doesn’t match her actions as her fingertips dance near her inner thighs.

“That you’re a fuckin’ filthy little slut for your husband,” Harry rasps as he starts to go for his belt, yanking the leather from the loops.

“That’s not how you speak in front of a lady, Mr. Chambers,” YN scolds with that faux scandalized melody, her fingers were running over her outer folds, gentle and unrushed.

“M’not in front of a lady right now though,” Harry disagrees as he shoves off his suit jacket..

“You’re not?” YN asks in surprise, doe eyes but the foot on the table purposefully knocks over a half-full bottle of wine - splashing on their rug below.

Harry just smiles, teeth gleaming white and wolfish in the low lighting, “You’re the sweetest, most proper little thing in front of company, aren’t you?”

YN blinks at him, her expression unyielding and still playing into this role they’ve constructed over the years -the perfect couple.

“You are,” Harry answers for her, “I make sure no one speaks crudely in front of you. I remind them that you’re pure, unassuming, and delicate.”

“But you’re not delicate nor anywhere near pure,” Harry continues, his hand gripping at himself through his briefs - squeezing for a bit of relief as the sight in front of him was enough to have him come.

“I am,” YN argues weakly, her index and middle finger finally parting her folds, and pressing against her already swollen clit.

Harry lets a loud laugh echo through their now quiet house, only a low static hum from a song playing in their formal living room on the record player.

“You are? It could have fooled me. You acted scandalized when Henry asked if you withhold intimacy to punish me.”

“I was scandalized,” YN lies but it isn’t with conviction, her focus isn’t great as she presses tight circles over her bud.

“I think Henry would have been scandalized if I told him that you’d never withhold it because you love cock so much. Remember when you lasted what, a half-a-day when I came home late to dinner?”

“By bedtime, you were teary-eyed, and begging me even if I’d just give you the tip, huh?” Harry pushes his hand inside his briefs to really grip him up, a hard squeeze at the base to calm himself down.

“Or he’d be scandalized to know what you’re really like when it’s just me and you. How fuckin’ dirty you are. The words that come out of that cute mouth, how cock-hungry you get, how fucking much of a brat you are when you don’t get your way.”

YN bites her lip, trying to scowl but her toes curl and her thigh muscle twitches as she rubs at herself just right.

“I’ll tell him how you sit pretty for me on your knees when I arrive home from work or how you like to sneak my fingers up your dresses under the table at work events. Should I? The list goes on.”

“They wouldn’t believe you,” YN murmurs as she lets her head fall back, showing off the length of her throat as her legs threaten to close.

“Fuckin’ right they wouldn’t because I’m a good husband, aren’t I?” Harry runs his thumb over his sensitive slit, spreading the precome down the length of his shaft.

“I make sure everyone thinks you’re a delicate little thing when you’re nothing of the sort. If only they knew, dear,” Harry tells her, there’s a heavy amount of fondness intertwined with his words.

“Show me your cock,” YN’s head tilts back up, eyes expectant and focused as she slows the friction on her bud, she could have come by now if she wanted to but she’s teasing herself.

Harry makes a show of giving himself a few rough strokes, letting an echoing groan out as all YN sees is movement under fabric.

“Get the fuck over here,” Harry orders with a new gruffness, “If you come on your fingers then you’re done for the night. And I know how greedy you are for your orgasms.”

YN likes to push limits, always, and she doesn’t move from her chair.

Instead she keeps the same sluggish pace before tracing lower to tuck to fingers in, spreading the wetness back to her clit.

“Maybe I’ll go see if Tom can help me out,” YN sighs airily as the tablecloth bunches under her heel, careless when a serving bowl of green beans flips.

Harry barks out a laugh, hand going to the root of his length because YN looked too fucking good, she looked like the definition of a sin, and he gave into temptation every time.

“I think he’d have a heart attack first,” Harry isn’t even exaggerating, “I am certain that our neighbors are convinced that you do not even know what sex is.”

“I barely have a clue,” YN laughs but it’s a stuttering quip because she's actually close to coming, her calf muscles contracting as she braces herself.

Harry’s out of his chair before YN can register it (or notice how he grabs his leather belt from the crumbled mess of his clothes), striding to the other side of the table, and without any warning, yanks her chair by the back hard.

It drags against the carpet but does what Harry had wanted it to do, makes her leg fall off the table, leaving her to grip the bottom of the chair to not fall, and effectively taking her hand away from her core.

“Harry! You fucking prick-“ YN begins to curse because she was close and she full intended on coming in the new few moments.

“Quiet,” Harry leans down to hiss in her ear, his hand coming around her front to cup her throat, not hard enough to it air flow but enough that it makes it more difficult.

“I was about to come,” YN tells him but her words are choppy, like there’s cotton balls in her mouth, and her tongue refuses to move.

“Were you about to come?” Harry mimicked her words in a parroting tone, fingers pressing in only slightly more, “And I didn’t say you could. But you’re not the obedient, submissive wife everyone thinks you are.”

YN bites his bottom lip hard when he tries to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth from behind, that was enough of an answer.

“No, they didn’t realize how hard my job is,” Harry’s voice goes sympathetic, for himself, “How impossible it is to have this needy, bratty slut of a wife who is never satisfied.”

Harry’s lip was oozing, only a drop or two of blood but his hand moves to the back of her skull, knotting in her hair, and brushing their mouths together - smearing it as if it was a blood pact.

YN doesn’t shy away from it, in fact she tries to sink her teeth back into the wound that was already there but he knew her tricks - as unpredictable as she could be sometimes.

It was almost comical, the song that comes on next.

A new one and it hummed lowly in the background, as Harry gathered her hands together behind the chair to wrap together - he couldn’t help but sing the lyrics.

“You look like an Angel.”

“Walk like an Angel.”

“Talk like an Angel.”

“But I got wise, you’re the devil in disguise.”

YN has this cocky grin on her beautiful face, perfectly applied lipstick was smeared to her chin, spotted with his swipe of blood.

Already a mess.

And all his.

With her hands secured behind her back, over the slats of the chair, it is no doubt going to make her limbs ache from holding the unnatural position.

Her chest pushed outwards, shoulders jutting broad as they try to compensate for her wrists being bound together - helpless.

“S’a pretty dress,” Harry compliments with deceiving kindness, the back of his hand running up the bare expanse of her strained arm, “Did it cost me a lot of money, my love?”

He traces the strap of her dress, hooking his finger underneath the fabric before letting it snap back against her skin.

She hadn't seen him pick up the bread knife but she feels the cold of the stainless steel against her skin when he slips the blade underneath the strap.

Sliced through like warm butter, the material falling limply away, and when he cuts through the opposite side's strap - it has his desired reaction.

Not only does the fabric fall away like scraps but it loses all structure and support, and effectively falls towards her belly.

Her tits spilling out, fully on display with the way her back was arched, and pretty nipples pebbled into perfect peaks.

YN has this snark of a grin on her face, trying not to show she's affected by what he just did, how her cunt ached into her whole body.

She loved the fucking games they played, and she flutters her eyelashes at him, “I thought you said I'm worth every penny.”

Harry stands in front of her, stepping on his suit jacket without a care that it took time for YN to starch and iron it that morning - his tie joining after he tugs it down and unknots it.

His fingers go towards the buttons of his dress shirt, the green of his eyes was barely visible but they couldn't pick, spoilt for choice.

From her face, to her tits, to her belly, to her core.

“You're the most expensive fuck I've ever paid for. I gave you my wallet, my accounts, my life,” Harry grunts as he makes her wait, only getting to the second button, his trousers split open by his hips, hanging loosely on his narrow waist.

“You act like-” YN’s words are cut off by a knock at the door, startling her into surprise because who the fuck would be knocking?

Harry peeks around the corner wall of the dining room, getting a clear view to the tall, narrow windows on either side of their front doors.

“It's Tom,” Harry informs her, moving to zip and button his pants back up, shifting them higher on his hips, “I better get that.”

“Harry,” YN stutters in a burst of adrenaline, she can't move from where she's sat - a sitting duck, vulnerable but aware of it, “You can't answer that.”

“I can't, why not, honey?” Harry’s words have this nuance of confusion, artificial and all for show, “It's the right thing to do.”

“What if…what if he sees me?” YN’s chest was heaving with a filthy mixture of arousal and nerves, “He could walk in.”

“I guess you better be quiet then,” Harry walks up to her, thumb dragging her bottom lip down before smearing her lipstick a bit more at the corner of her mouth, “Or he will come to investigate and how on earth would I explain this?”

Harry is walking out of the room before she can say anything else, leaving her alone in a almost-state of undressed with nowhere to look but their wall.

The music is quiet enough that YN can hear the conversation, Tom was naturally a boisterous man without volume control.

“Harry,” Tom greets when her husband opens the door, “I thought it best I come over and another apology for all of my behaviors. Will you grab YN so that I can extend my amends to her?”

YN’s heart seizes, skipping a beat because she wouldn't put it against Harry to push this, prod at her until he feels he's gotten under her skin.

However, YN needs to remember that Harry is already back into his 'perfect husband’ role, he's the Harry now that everyone knows him as in the neighborhood, not the one that was just in front of her.

“YN had to go lie down,” Harry tells him, making sure he sounds disappointed in his friend, “She really is delicate. Your wife may be okay with that kind of fall but she really cannot. It flusters her.”

“How the hell do you get anything from her? Did she pass out the first time she saw your prick then?” Tom chortles, a joke that isn't received well, Harry doesn't laugh.

Harry redirects though, “What was it exactly you wanted to apologize for? I really must get upstairs to check on her.”

Tom’s voice gets lower, still enough that YN can hear but it's their neighbors' attempt at a whisper, “Listen, I know you slashed my tires. It's fucking fair, alright? I got in a fight with my wife, went and got hammered at the bar, and drove home. I was drunk off my ass, I thought I was doing them in my yard. I wanted to piss my wife off.”

Harry’s voice is unsuspecting, casual, “Oh? I didn't know it was you who did those burnouts. I thought it was those teenagers who drive up and down the road at all hours of the night. Apology accepted for the burnouts but I didn't slice your tires. I hate to break it to you.”

“Oh god, I'm sorry for even thinking you did. I just assumed -” Tom begins to babble, anxious because he just accused Harry of a crime that he had no evidence to corroborate said hypothesis.

“As long as it doesn't happen again, you know?” Harry’s tone is still amicable, unbothered but there's an underlying threat that could not be mistaken for anything else, “It really upset my wife and you know how hard it is to control an emotional woman.”

YN rolls her eyes at that but she does admire how well Harry played his part as the stereotypical husband like every other man who lived in this community.

“Can I come in to apologize? I'll be quick, I am so utterly embarrassed,” Tom nearly begs, hoping to not have disrupted their ‘friendship’ with his nonsense.

There's footfall on the marble, YN’s adrenaline starts pumping through her veins because even as she starts around - there is nowhere for her to hide.

Unable to do anything.

Tied to this heavy chair, she couldn't possible move in this awkward position.

Shoulders and arms were already radiating an ache from being held in the same way for this amount of time.

The only modesty she can muster is to close her legs as tight as they can possibly go.

YN starts taking these greedy inhales to try to not freak the fuck out, on displayed with her tits bare and though her legs were closed - it really wasn't doing much to hide the fact she wasn't wearing underwear, skirt of her dress ruffled around her hips.

“She's already gone upstairs to lie down. I was supposed to bring her an adavan and martini to help her relax. I will pass on the message, Tom,” Harry redirects much to YN’s relief, chest starting to not feel as tight.

“Sorry, again. I really admire you, Harry. You just…Every man in this town wishes their wife was half the woman YN is. A true housewife,” Tom means it as a compliment, a disgustingly masochistic banter that insults not only his wife but all women.

“She is wonderful,” Harry agrees wistfully, everything happening in their dining room begs to differ but he acquiesces to Tom nonetheless.

The door closes, the deadbolt clicking, and Harry’s leather loafers were tapping against the floor as he makes his way back.

Harry was observant, in tune with every want and need of his wife, and now is no different as he steps into the room.

Her face must be a dead giveaway.

Harry strides right up to her, gripping her chin tightly enough that her muscle twitches, and he brings his face to hers - eye level.

There's annoyance in his words, the green cutting like sea glass, “You know I would never ever let anyone see you like this. Why the fuck were you worried for even a second?”

YN tries to sound tough, “You don't know! He could have stormed in. You…you didn't know.”

Harry’s fingers move from her chin, to her jaw but end up in her hair.

He knots his fingers in, tugging her forward until their noses bump. “You know as well as I do that I would have fuckin’ slit his throat before he got within view of you. He wouldn't have left this house.”

YN pushes forward, trying to button their lips together but instead of moving backwards, he moves her head back by the roots of hair.

“Apologize to me,” Harry hisses lowly, teeth set like he's resisting to bite her, claim her as an animal would their mate.

YN knows Harry just as well as he knows her.

YN knows that he's upset that she would for a second doubt it.

“I love you,” YN tells him, tilting her neck back so she's leaning into his grip, showing him all the power he truly has over her.

Harry doesn't kiss her lips but instead, the center of her throat, and then further down to her collarbone until he's at the top swell of her breast.

His hand comes to thumb the skin right below her bellybutton, dragging downwards until can fit the whole of her cunt in his palm.

“Wet f’me,” Harry murmurs against her skin, he licks her nipple, smoothing his tongue over one before he’s blowing cold air on it, “I think I'm going to make you work for it.”

“No,” YN whines pleadingly because when he made her work, fuck, he made her really fucking word for it - sweat, tears, spit, and slick.

“I've been such a great husband,” Harry chides as his index finger traces up her seam, ghosting over her bud, “Am I not? Who covered for you? Who always covers for you, my little fucking devil?”

“You do,” YN mashes her back molars together, jaw aching with strain as she keeps her hips planted to the cushioned seat.

“What did I cover for this time? Say it,” Harry middle finger joins his index to split her lips, exposing where she was swollen for him.

His thumb pressed firmly on her bud, rubbing in precise circles, the surest way to get her coming as quickly as possible.

YN can't help her greed, bucking forward into the touch, and riding down on his thumb to get the exact friction she wanted.

“If you come,” Harry’s voice is lulling, a false sense of security, “You won't be able to sit at our next neighborhood dinner because you're ass will ache that fuckin’ bad.”

“Then take your hand away, fucker,” YN bites out, wetting her body lip, it was too good to pull away, and she wasn't far off from an orgasm.

A hand comes to her cheek, not hard but stinging as he smacks it, “Who the fuck do you think you're talking to? You aren't supposed to speak back to your husband.”

YN grins at him, only fueled by the slap, rough was the name of the game, and she sits back in her chair - unbothered.

“Filthy fuckin’ girl,” Harry grunts as he takes a step back, admiring his wife as she keeps her legs spread lewdly - pink and puffy, perfect.

YN flutters her eyelashes, innocent and coy.

“Now answer me, sweetheart. What did I cover for? Why did I have to lie to Tom?” Harry tilts her head, eyes narrowed and tracking her every twitch, “Hm?”

Harry can't help himself, coming closer to the pet at the patch of downy hair on her mound, touching everywhere but her clit.

“Because I slashed his tire,” YN talks through her teeth, willing herself to keep her hips from moving off the chair below.

++

“That motherfucker,” Harry had growled when he came in from watering the grass, “Tore up our front yard with that cheap piece of shit Chevy. If I wasn't going to be late for work, I would go knock him the fuck out.”

YN had been sitting in their breakfast room, sipping on honey-lavender tea in a silk, lace robe that was a deep royal blue.

“I don't want to see you upset,” YN frowns as she puts her cup down, standing up, and trailing over to him, “I'll call the landscapers today, have them fit us in.”

Harry tugs her into a hug, a kiss on her hair, “Do not worry about me, my love. I'm okay. Just pissed off. I've got more important things than Tom to care about.”

“What time will you be home?” YN asks as she blinks her pretty, twinkling doe eyes up at him, arms around his narrow waist.

Harry brings up his arm to look at his watch but sees that his wrist is bare, “God damn. I left my watch upstairs. I'll be right back.”

Harry pulls away, the tension in his broad shoulders was a tell that he was much more enraged then he was letting on.

His expensive Italian leather loafers clicking against the marble as he storms back up the staircase towards their bedroom.

YN hated seeing her husband upset, she craved to see him happy, and she would do anything for him.

It's why she's not thinking twice before grabbing the sharpest knife from the butcher block in the kitchen, tucking inside her robe, and going out the back door.

YN is quick, eyes darting to make sure that no one has seen her as her bare feet hit the dewy grass between their yards.

YN pulls her arm back, using all of her force to push the sharp blade into rubber, and loves it when she hears the air start to moan out as it escapes.

Fuck Tom.

YN scurried back to the house and hoped that she would be efficient enough that her husband hadn't come back down stairs yet.

That was not the case.

He was standing at the back glass door, observing with pursed smile, hands in the pockets of his dress pants with his watch reflecting off the kitchen light.

YN bites her lip, caught out as he opens the door for her, and ushers her in.

His voice is dry, bleak, “Give me the knife.”

Oh shit.

She's in trouble.

At least she thinks that she is.

Until he kisses the side of her head, opens the back door once again, and strides across the lawns like she just had down.

He makes it appear effortless when he slashed the remaining three good tires, pulling the blade down so that there's no hope of patching the rubber.

Harry runs the blunt tip against his door, scraping off the paint like gum on the sidewalk before he's walking back towards the house.

“Darling, you have to slice when you do it. All four will be at least two of his paychecks, a small price for what I'll have to pay the landscaper,” Harry tells her nonchalantly like they were talking about the weather and not a crime they both committed.

Harry glances at his watch, “Shit. I have to go. I'll see you later, alright? Be good f’me even though you're always such a good girl.”

And it's sincere because that's how twisted their relationship is.

YN committing a crime to seek retribution for Harry’s anger was the most romantic sign of her love that he could ask for.

++

The first contact that meets her clit is his palm, when he smacks her flat over her bundle of nerves, and it was hard enough to make her jump.

Her legs start to close but he roughly shoved a knee into her thigh to force them to stay open, “What? You're so tough, right? Surely, surely you can take a few hits, my love.”

YN grits her teeth, molars clashing as the residual pain radiates down her thighs, and at the same time, it had her pulsing.

Her wetness was soaking the cushion, there was nothing that got her slick faster than when he wasn't worried about his heavy handedness.

“Can you take it?” Harry drops his hand to her center, thumb tucking up the hood of her clit, pressing tightly against her bud, and it's too much straight on.

Her legs twitch, dying to close because she was throbbing with sensitivity, pinpricks make her eyes feel tingly because it's too much every other second.

When Harry asks her that question, it is rhetorical, he doesn't wants an answer because he would fluidly switch into something softer, more coddling if she needed.

It wasn't.

YN presses her lips together, refusing to give him answer as she bites on her tongue to point she can taste metallic.

“S’funny, most men can't even find their wife’s clit or don't care about it at all. Aren't you lucky you have me?” Harry’s smile is wolfish, mean, and a different version of her husband, “I've found it? Haven't I?”

He accompanies his words with an unexpected smack before his thumb right up again, no reprieve or mercy for her.

It felt fucking amazing and like hell all at once.

She just needs a bit lighter pressure, slower circles, and that would be it.

Harry knows that and is choosing to torture her instead, not concerned about actually getting her off at the moment.

“Is that all I need to shut you up, pet? A thumb on your clit? I'll have my hand up your dress every second of the day then,” Harry chuckles cruelly, pressing and pressing before his fingers are crooked up inside her walls, squeezing at the unexpected, and robbing her of the stimulation on her clit.

YN wants to hurt him, dig her nails into his back muscles until he bleeds on her, sink her teeth into his thigh where no one but her will see the healing bloody marks.

“Fuck you,” YN can't help herself because he's ruthless, finds it funny, and she feels like if she doesn't come within the minute she’ll explode.

Harry withdrawals his fingers, wiping them crudely on her cheek, dragging to her lips before he's parting her lips and pressing down on her tongue.

When he puts pressure there, it causes her to gag and her eyes instantly start to water, and it shouldn't surprise him when her teeth meet his knuckles.

Harry grunts out in pain when she clamps down which causes him to pinch her tongue, she yelps, and it gives him enough time to remove his fingers.

“S’funny, all these men in the neighborhood want you, huh?” Harry asks condescendingly, his hand goes to the back of the chair, and he tips it.

Her reflexes cause her to twitch, trying to find stable ground but she can't because of the way she's tied up.

Harry keeps her on the edge of falling, her heart lodged in her throat.

“But they don't know what a disobedient little bitch you are?” Harry lets the chair come back down with a loud clatter, “Don't listen to a word when you're hungry for cock. They should be lucky their bored wives aren't so needy.”

“I'm not needy,” YN disagrees sharply, they both knew she was lying through her teeth but she couldn't let him just say those things without a rebuttal.

“You think Janet or Catherine bend over any surface for their husband, forgo panties while they clean so that their men get a glimpse of their cunt, or wake up in the morning dripping and soft?”

“You love it,” YN manages to keep her voice steady when Harry swipes his finger through the whipped cream on top of the pineapple upside cake that was untouched on the table.

“I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world,” Harry agrees, momentarily sincere, a break from his character.

He wipes the sweet, tacky fluff on her nipples before going back for more, destroying the dessert as he grabs a handful of the cake.

Harry smears it from her collarbones, all the way down her belly, and it was absolutely fucking messy as crumbs strayed everywhere, the syrupy sauce sticky on her skin,

“Harry,” YN gasps because she's surprised, she hadn't expected him to rub the cake on her, their dining room was a mess, everything was destroyed.

“Can't let this dessert go to waste. You made my favorite cake, I have to try it,” Harry kneels down, shoving between her legs and leaning forward.

He flattens his tongue above her belly button before trailing in up on a straight line, licking off the clumps of cake in turn.

“Mm,” Harry rumbles as he licks up her sternum, between the valley of her breasts, and his hand is digging to her ribs - keeping her still, “I can't decide which tastes better, your cunt or this cake.”

Harry carelessly grabs a smaller handful but he rubs it from below her navel to her mound, stopping right where her folds begin.

YN was dying, watching him, feeling him lick the traces off of her body with no rush, as if he had all the time in the world.

He bites at her belly after he's cleaned off the cake, making YN’s stomach suck in reflexively because it hurts and she is hazy from all the different sensations.

When he gets down to where she's aching, her heartbeat palpable in her center, he lazily cleans it off her mound.

“Sweet as pie,” Harry hums as he spreads her open, licking into her hole but ignoring where she actually needs him, “Or should I say pineapple upside down cake?”

It was starting to get overwhelming, the arousal was all that was plastered in her thoughts, and nobody else wants their husband to fuck then like she does.

None of them are married to Harry.

Her arms are aching, a dull shout from being held in the same position for so long.

“I love when you're all bound up. I can do whatever I please, right?” Harry takes these harsh laps at her clit before pulling back between each, thumb dancing around the seam of her core.

YN can't even bring herself to respond, it was warm in the house as it was, and sweat was beading from her temples.

“That's what Father Matthew said in marriage counseling before our wedding. Do you remember? He said that your body is mine, that you shall offer yourself whenever I wish, for my fulfillment and satisfaction.”

YN nods, she remembers Father Matthew saying that but it had been a part of their personas in the first place to go, they weren't religious, and neither practiced Catholicism.

It was all an act, like most other aspects of their lives, giving off the appearance that they were normal like every other young couple.

YN had sat prim and proper, agreeing to the priest’s misogynistic words as he droned on about how waiting until marriage to have sex was the utmost important.

To prove how wrong Father Matthew was, Harry had encouraged YN to tie him to their bedpost.

She then proceeded to edge him until he was pink, panting, and bruised on his chest, inner thighs from vicious love bites.

Just to prove the point that if her body was his, then Harry was to offer his body in the same way.

“And you're such a good little wife, aren't you?” Harry accentuates his words by pushing two fingers into her, curling towards her plush walls, and finding her spot like nothing.

YN can't help but moan, to finally have something to get her there after teetering on the edge of losing her orgasm because he knew how to keep her there.

“Always so generous with this pretty cunt,” Harry’s thumb comes to rub at her bud, over the hood to dull the sensitivity a bit - how she liked it, “I can't believe it's all mine. For the rest of our lives, baby, this is mine to fuck, eat, and worship. I love this pussy, just like every other bit of you.”

It was actually sweet, earnest words if you filtered through the crude accompaniments because he was loyal, madly in love with her, and always strived to make her happy through the thick of the chaos.

“Sweet thing prepares dinner, entertains our guests, and everyone would be scandalized to know what crosses my mind when you're bringing out dessert,” Harry's mouth finds her nipples, he gets sidebarred for a moment as he wraps his lips around the peak, pulling it hard as his other hand continues on.

Harry knows this is a monologue, her brain is too fuzzy, and all she can think about is an orgasm - all his words are barely registering, like he's speaking underwater.

“All I could think about was knocking it out of your hands,” Harry's breath is cold in her nipple, grazing with his plump lips on every word, “Flipping your dress up, eating your cunt from behind, and making them watch this proper housewife get treated how she likes, how you beg to be my slut.”

“But you can't be, baby. M’sorry to break it to you,” Harry coos as he presses his hand stops, it fucking stops, “Can't be a slut when you're a married woman who only opens her legs her husband.”

There's fat, pathetic tears dribbling down her cheeks because he had tricked her, she had truly thought that she was going to be able to come.

Her chest was heaving, she was panting like a water-deprived dog, and she knew what she had to look like.

Hair frizzed out from humidity and perspiration, her mascara running down her wet cheeks with her lipstick smeared off the corner of her mouth.

And Harry was looking at her like she hung the moon, that she was the most beautiful piece of art in the museum he was visiting.

“Darling,” Harry laughs but it's not mean, it's genuinely as if she's taken his breath away and he's in awe, “Darling.”

“Please, H, please,” YN chokes out unashamed in how vulnerable she was right now, crying because she's aching, and her body is stressed out to the point of near exhaustion.

Harry leans forward, kissing her forehead which was almost obscenely chaste for their current situation as he leans behind her to unbind her wrists.

Her face pressed into his chest as he reaches, her lips founds whatever is close, mouthing at the skin of his pectoral muscle - desperate to taste him, to have him without the game.

YN doesn't realize that she's been babbling, a noncoherent string of pleas, “Want you, please. I just want you. Need you.”

“Sweet girl,” Harry hums as he understands just how floaty she has become, her eyes moony and glazed as she struggles to focus, “You are doing so good for me.”

“Want t’come,” YN’s replies with staggered syllables, blinking at him with heavy eyelids, “M’aching.”

Harry chuckles at her, it's disgustingly fond because he's that in love when he brings her arms to her front, kissing her quiet when she whines at the ache.

Now that her hands are free, she's gripping and ripping at whatever she can sink her claws into because she can't wait any longer.

Harry tries to help, stepping out of his trousers, and tugging down his briefs until he’s exposed again, pretty and thick.

The angry red of the tip, along with the glistening drops of pre-come that were sliding down the shaft were a sign of how turned on he was.

“How do you want it?” Harry asks as he cradles her face, pressing kisses to her cheeks, lips, neck as his fingers tweak her nipple, “Lady’s choice.”

“Want t’ride you,” YN doesn't hesitate, hoping her words came out intelligible because her head was spinning.

YN had a few lousy lays before Harry, nothing to write home about in her teenage years.

She was positive that no other man on this earth could get her even close to the nirvana that her husband drove her to.

It was something she would never be able to regret or explain if she had to write it out - it would be mindless ramblings without true words.

Harry obliges as he helps her stand, wobbly legs as he takes her spot, and huffs out a mean jest, “My arse is wet from your slick. Darling, you're going to have to take my slacks to the dry cleaner. Hopefully they can get out the marks of a naughty girl’s cunt.”

YN doesn't respond, far too focused on straddling his waist, and gripping his around the girth of his base which filled her hand impressively - fingers struggling to meet.

“Hey,” Harry tries to grab her attention but she’s too focused on lining him up to her center, her hands were clumsy because of the livewire that was running through her body, his voice gets firmer when he barks out, “Hey.”

He grabs her wrist, tugging it off of his cock, and wrangles both of her hands into one of his.

Harry holds them against her chest, making her sit back on his thighs, and the tip of his length is brushing right up against the seam of her lips - if she could move forward a little bit, she may be able to get friction on her clit.

YN is far too enticed by trying to wriggle her hips forward, her eyes zoned in on him because he was the prettiest - in all aspects from his eyes to his nose to his arms to what lay in the cradle of his hips.

“How can you go so dumb for a cock you haven’t even gotten in you yet?” Harry scoffs as he uses the grip on her wrists to yank her forward until he is pressing through her folds.

YN has tears tracing down over her lips as she sniffles, her mouth twisted into a sad pout, “Stop being mean t’me. Just want you.”

Harry knows instantly, knows that's her way of voicing that she's hitting a limit, and she was ready for him to be nice.

“Okay, okay,” Harry simpers as he lets go of her wrists, allowing her to find balance gripping his shoulders as he takes hold of himself, “Be patient for me. Always such a good fuckin’ girl. Fuck, I love you.”

YN’s eyes squeeze shut with instant relief when he helps her sink down until her bum is flush against him once again.

“Baby,” YN lets out the mewl, her head tilting back as she begins to move her hips, more like a roll to get the friction on her clit, pulsing and swollen.

“You squeeze me like a dream,” Harry groans as he kneads her hip, allowing her to move how she needed to nudge her spot and give her bud that extra love.

Harry reaches behind, hand knitting in the hair by her nape to pull her back, to smear their lips together as she moves her hips in this crude, self-indulgent way.

“That's it, greedy girl,” Harry goads as his mouth finds her nipple again, sucking at it before pulling back with a audible pop, “S’all yours to use.”

“Only mine,” YN grits out, possessive even when she was floaty, that never dulled- the claim she felt over him.

Harry kisses the center of her center, “Of course, my love. M'your husband, I vowed that it's yours. I'm not like Bart who doesn't take that shit seriously.”

“I'd cut your dick off if you cheated,” YN manages to scrape out between heavy breaths, she was close, and trying to extend the sensations.

“I'd hand you the knife,” Harry agrees as he grips her waist with more firmness, starts moving her hips in these forceful, direct motions, “I don't have time. When m’asleep I dream of you, when I'm working I'm thinking about coming home to you, and when my cock gets hard - your the only reason it does because I'm thinking about this cunt, about the cute noises you make when you feel good. I’d fucking make a deal with the devil if that meant I got you.”

“You already made the deal,” YN let out this devious giggle, ringing through the quiet space of their sprawling home.

A home they had earned from other means than the others in their neighborhood, it was chaos wrapped in a suburbia bow.

A hideaway from their lives outside of this cul-de-sac of rich, over-privileged men with wives who didn't think for themselves.

It wasn't just Harry brings in the money, no, they brought it in together, and no one would be the wiser to it.

Not their neighbors, their family, the police - everyone was clueless to who the most wanted criminals in America were.

The crime duo who had shoot-outs with police, duffels filled with banded stacks of cash, gold bars, jewelry that was so expensive there wasn't an assigned value.

All in their vault hidden in their walk-in closet, where the secrets, the evidence, and the reward was hidden from unsuspecting guests in their home.

“I'd make the deal a million times over,” Harry replies as he leans forward to bite at the hinge of her jaw, “Just to have you squirming on my cock.”

YN digs her nails into the meat of his shoulder, eye fluttering like butterfly rings as they struggle to stay open, and her mouth drops in a moan.

“Harry,” YN throws her head back, her hips rolling into the cradle of his hips with force, keeping her clit smushed to his pubic bone, and there was slick coating the trimmed hair around the base of him.

“Fuck yeah, c’mon. Keep going,” Harry grits out because his balls were throbbing, begging for a release after she'd just squeezed him like a god damn vice.

YN always gets lazy after an orgasm, especially after being edged, and her hips are starting to stall into sluggish, barely there effort.

Harry takes it upon himself to move her how he wants, gripping her hips, and she whines when he digs his fingers into the meat of her love handles.

“If you didn't want it to hurt, you would move your hips yourself,” Harry reminds her as he graciously kneads bruises into the spot, guiding her into a swivel where he's persistently nudging her spot, “Fuckin’ move.”

YN doesn't ever take orders well so instead she slouches forward until she's hugging him, their chests pressed, and effectively putting all her weight on him.

Instead of getting frustrated, it melts Harry, and he wraps his arms around her and pulls her as close as possible.

“I fucking love you,” Harry murmurs against her hair, his feet planted flat on the floor as he fucks up into her with brutal but paced thrusts, “Did so good for me. I want you to give me another one.”

YN sinks her teeth into his shoulder, he doesn't acknowledge it as he angles his hips better to give her clit the stimulation she needs.

“O-oh,” YN mewls when it suddenly sparked a much less intense but still as good orgasm, “Harry.”

“I know, sweetheart. Fuck, you're going to make me come,” Harry assures her as he picks up the speed of his actions, teeth getting, “You take me so well. God, this cunt is mine, yeah? Fucking tell me.”

“Yours, S'yours,” YN whines because her body is tired, starting to ache in all the places he’d dug into with his fingers, had hit, and grabbed.

Harry wraps her hair around his knuckles but he's completely gentle when he goads her to move her head back.

He buttons their lips together, in a kiss sweet enough to make your teeth rot, a contradiction to what they'd just done.

Because despite all the show, they were a love story, and Harry loved YN so deeply that he wouldn't hesitate to take a bullet for her, push her out of the way to take the brunt.

Without thinking he would.

He has shielded her body countless times with his own, was grazed by a slugger to his thigh, and shoulder before.

“Good girl, good fucking girl,” Harry grits out through clenched teeth, moving her down harder until she purposefully clenched to get him to come.

“Shit, that's it's,” Harry tilts his head back, smiling when YN starts smudging kisses to his throat in a goading support, “That cunt is a fuckin’ dream.”

YN giggles as he comes down, brushing his hair off his face, going into her normal caring mode as she starts to fuss over him.

He doesn't allow it for more than a moment, despite her pout because it was his job to take care of her, his duty as her husband.

“You're absolutely filthy,” Harry chuckles as he helps her stand up in front of him, sticky, wet, bruised, and his softening cock gives a weak twitch of interest, “Let's get up to the bathroom, quick shower before bed, yeah?”

“The food,” YN motions to the mess around them, everything was a disaster, “I have to clean this up first, H.”

“I'll do it. You did so much today,” Harry assures her because it was true, she was phenomenal, and the least her could do is clean up all the remnants, “I want to get you clean and curled up in our bed. We have a busy day tomorrow.”

“It's Coastal Trust Bank, in Santa Monica, yeah?” YN asks as he guides her towards the staircase, her movements languid and strained.

“I have it mapped out already, we're going to hit it at closing this time. They only close up with three employees at the end of the night. A manager and two tellers, not too many people to wrangle up,” Harry informs her, casually as if they're planning a weekend getaway.

“I want the keys to the safety deposit boxes. I want a Diamond tennis bracelet,” YN grumbles because she has yet to find one that she likes, there were at least seven sitting in her vault that weren't exactly what she wanted.

Harry shakes his head with a laugh, dimples popping as they walk up the stairs, “Or we could just buy you one, darling.”

“S’not as fun,” YN frowns in disagreement, it gave her a sick satisfaction to have someone else's hard earned money on her wrist as they yearned for their belonging back.

“I'll get you the keys to deposit boxes, anything you want,” Harry placates because it will also keep her occupied while he's shoving stacks of cash into the duffle bags he had splayed open.

“God, you're so romantic,” YN hums without any jest, this was their love, their secret, and the life they had created together.

++

YN didn't get nervous anymore, not when she walked into the bank at six-fifty, ten minutes before closing in a pretty bit plain tailored dress, a purse on her shoulder, and a coat over her forearm.

YN gives a fake name, the name of someone who actually patronizes the business, and asks questions about how to get a loan for a car.

The teller pulls out a binder, rifling through stacks of paper with small print, finger tracing over the page to find what he's looking for.

YN has to play the part when a litany of loud noises comes from the front entrance, all three employees and her look instantly.

Harry was dressed completely in black, covering every inch of his skin, gloves to disguise his hands, and a balaclava to only show the piercing twinkle of his eyes in the fluorescent lighting.

He had straps of artillery across his chest, two guns sling over his back to make an X, and a shotgun in hand as he pointed it towards them all.

“Get on the fucking ground!” Harry roars loudly, booming and frightening as all of them instinctively put their hands up in surrender.

Harry keeps an eye on them while he barricades the front door, he had already done so from the outside for the other exits - no escape.

YN matches the energy of the rest of them, tears streaming down her cheeks as she kneels on the ground until it's her turn.

Harry makes a point of binding her last, with zip ties around her wrists but they both know it's a trick pair - all she needs to do is use a bit of force and they'll break for her.

“Don't hurt the lady,” The manager begs as Harry roughly shoved YN towards the particular door, barking at her to sit back down and don't fucking move.

Harry turns to glance at the manager, “I'm going to kill her unless you open that fucking vault and hand me the money without any trouble.”

YN subtly nudges his foot.

“And the master key to the safety deposit boxes,” Harry facts on because even in the middle of a heist, he's still a doting husband.

+

warnings: Bonnie & Clyde AU mixed with DWD, mean H, d/s undertones, light bdsm (hands tied behind back), name calling, hitting, blood, guns, crime, knives, edging, overstimulation

I absolutely love this. I put a lot of work into it and it is definitely one of my favorite pieces. I would love to know your thoughts!

[deancasbigbang]

Title: Paging Doctor Novak

Author: Salamitsunami1

Artist: WitchyWorm

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Dean/Cas, past Dean/Lisa, past Dean/Rhonda

Length: 40000

Warnings: Graphic and accurate depictions of medicine, medical emergencies, and medical procedures. Past unfaithful Dean. Minor character death

Tags: Rom-com, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Happy Ending, Hospital AU, Sexual Tension, Doctor Sexy M.D., Getting Together

Posting Date: October 31, 2024

Summary: Dean Winchester is many things — a nurse, an in-charge on the medical-surgical floor, and a big fan of the ladies. What he’s not is a commitment kind of guy, and he’s definitely not a night duty kind of guy. Things change when a hook-up-gone-wrong gets him lumped on night duty for an entire month, and to make matters worse, he’s been lumped on night duty with a brand new intern. As with all interns, Doctor Castiel Novak is cocky at best and dangerous at worst, but for some reason, and maybe it’s just the way his ass looks in those teal scrubs, Dean’s got a soft spot for the guy. Or a really hard one. Either way, it’s not long before Dean’s new roster is the least of his concerns; he wants that dorky doctor guy, and fuck, he wants him for real.

Excerpt: Being in charge, Dean’s job is simple — keep on top of any patients coming up from the ER or down from the OR, page the doctor when there’s a problem, and call the doctor when there’s an emergency. That’s how he ended up in Frank Devereaux’s room with the phone to his ear, and because the on-call doctor is almost always an intern this late at night, he’s willing to bet that whoever picks up isn’t gonna know Frank’s ass from his esophagus. “Hello?” “Hello?” Dean questions. “Is this the on-call doc or a Wendy’s?”  “This is Doctor Novak.” “Right. Well, this is Dean from med-surg. I’m calling about Frank Devereaux in bed two. He had a lap-chole yesterday, got back to the ward about six hours ago. His pain’s currently a nine out of ten, he’s just vomited up a whole lot of bile, and I’ve got a real bad feeling.” “Okay,” the intern says, like a question. “Would you like a consult?” Dean sighs wearily. “That’s why I called.” “Of course,” the intern says. “I’m on my way.” The phone call hasn’t exactly filled Dean with confidence, and it only gets worse when the intern stumbles onto the ward — his hair is all over the place, his stethoscope is hanging unevenly around his neck, he’s wearing these teal scrubs that are about a whole size too small and therefore clinging to every inch of him, and he’s wearing them with a pair of fucking Converse high-tops, of all things. All interns are cocky, that’s a given, but the cockiest of all is the surgical intern. Each and every year, guaranteed.  “Hello,” he says. “I’m looking for Dean.” Dean glances down at his own name tag. Unfortunately, it’s still right where he pinned it to his scrub top, so it seems the new intern might not even be able to read. In the interest of being nice, he forces a smile. “You found him.” “Oh. Hello, Dean,” the intern says. “I believe we spoke on the phone.” Dean only nods, waiting for the intern to introduce himself, but he does no such thing. No, this guy just stands there, he runs his fingers through his bedraggled hair, and so now there’s a smear of ink on his forehead where it’s rubbed against whatever’s written on his hand. Pointedly, Dean says, “And what did you say your name was again?” “I’m Doctor Novak.” Dean looks Doctor Novak up, down, then back up again. Taking him apart. He’s got bags under his eyes and cracks in his lips. Doctor or not, this guy’s a fucking mess.  “Well, doc,” Dean says, probably against his better judgment. “Frank’s this way.”

DCBB 2024 Posting Schedule

[imagine-you]

If I Open the Door To Heaven Or Hell 2/? [Wally Clark/Reader]

Summary: Something Wally mentions in the meeting with Maddie's friends catches your attention. Word Count: 1.8k Author's Note: The new episode gave me ideas. I have no one to blame but myself. Spoiler alert...it's body shots.

Read on AO3 // Part One

What you had with Wally was new and exhilarating and sometimes terrifying. You were learning new boundaries and territory, seeking places to step where you couldn't before. You hadn't told the others about your relationship, because you didn't want them to scrutinize it, but you knew it was only a matter of time before someone found out.  

Secrets had a bad habit of coming to light when you were dead. 

Now that the dam had broken, it was like you couldn't get enough of each other. You were both focused on helping Maddie, but whenever you got a spare moment, you found each other. Wally had taken to surprising you by pulling you into classrooms and making out on desks. You made use of janitor closets and locker rooms and on one memorable occasion, the rooftop of the school.  

You felt breathless as you stared up at the night sky with Wally's fingers intertwined with yours. You hadn't bothered to put your shirt back on, sure no one would manage to find you up here.  

You turned your head to see Wally already watching you. Besotted was the first word that came to mind and you felt like you were floating.  

"We've got to go soon," Wally reminded you.  

"I know," you sighed, turning towards him so you could hook a leg around his and wrap an arm around his waist. You let your head rest on his shoulder, your fingers tugging briefly on the drawstring of his sweatpants. "What do you think it'll be like? Trying to talk to Maddie's friends?" 

"Weird," Wally responded with a laugh. "Worst game of telephone ever." 

You had to concede he had a point. Telling Maddie to tell Simon to tell whoever what you said did sound a bit tedious. But it was the only connection to the living you had and figuring out how to get Janet back to the school so Maddie could get her old life back. You would do anything to help Maddie get the opportunity you would never have, even if it meant rolling away from Wally's warmth and touch to grab your shirt where he had thrown it earlier in his haste to get it off you.  

You held Wally’s hand up until you were right outside the auditorium. You let his hand slip from yours, sending him an apologetic smile, before you opened the door. You walked into the auditorium to see chairs set up on the stage. There were four arranged off to the right that had pictures of Charley, Wally, Rhonda, and you taped to them. There were another three chairs set up and then two others off to the left that you assumed were for Simon and Maddie.  

"Aw, come on," Wally groaned when he saw the layout of the chairs. "We're not even sitting next to each other." 

"We'll survive a few minutes apart," you promised him before sneaking a quick kiss. "Let's just do this." 

Wally nodded his head, already trying to get his head in the game, before he bounded up to the stage.  

You sat beside Rhonda and enjoyed her sarcastic remarks at the expense of Maddie’s friends, even adding in some of your own just to get her to laugh. You knew she was having a hard time after visiting her scar and getting her to simply smile felt like a personal triumph.  

You noticed Wally glancing over at you from time to time, but you were worried if you looked at him that you wouldn't be able to stop.  

The group was trying to decide how to get Janet back to the school. You thought about it for a moment before leaning forward in your chair.  

"What if we tell her Mr. Martin is gone? I mean, we're pretty sure that's what happened, right? If she knows he's out of the picture, at least for now, maybe she'll come back here." 

"Oh, uh, Y/N is talking now," Maddie informed Simon, pointing helpfully at your chair.  

Simon squinted, as if he was trying to see you, and nodded his head. You knew he couldn't see you, but his eyes were fixed right where your chest was, and it made you just the slightest bit self-conscious.  

"Hey, dude," Wally interrupted, snapping his fingers at Simon. "Show some respect! Stop staring at her y'know," he said, gesturing towards his own chest.  

Charley glanced over at Wally in surprise, but Rhonda turned and arched a brow at you.  

"Interesting," she commented.  

Maddie relayed your message to Simon before she changed the subject, leading to other ideas being presented. Xavier brought up salt as a way of creating a barrier to keep Janet contained.  

"He's clearly the brains of the operation," Rhonda observed with an unimpressed roll of her eyes.  

"Salt's not going to do anything," Charley added, looking like he wanted to laugh. "Unless you plan on doing body shots with Janet and hoping she cowers in fear." 

"Damn, I miss body shots," you heard Wally chime in and you finally ended up glancing over at him in surprise.  

Your surprise turned into contemplation and from there a plan hatched.  

The next evening, you waited until Wally was distracted by the others before you left in search of what you needed. Typically, you would have grabbed a bottle of tequila, some salt, and limes. But you were stuck inside a high school, so you would just have to settle for the best you could find.  

You started in the principal's office where all the best contraband was stashed. You didn't find tequila, but you did find an emptied water bottle that had been refilled with vodka. Next, you tried the cafeteria and found lemons and a knife. Salt evaded you, but when you tried the teacher's lounge, you did find sugar packets. It wasn't the best combination, but it would have to do.  

Either way, you were sure Wally would love it.  

You reconvened with the others and sidled up to Wally.  

"Meet me in the auditorium in fifteen minutes," you whispered to him before making your exit again.  

There was a booth at the back of the auditorium where the light and sound control boards were kept. It was half past six and the drama club had already vacated the premises, so you were guaranteed to be left alone. The whole reason you picked it was for its promise of seclusion, but also the couch that was tucked into the corner of the booth. You had stolen a blanket from a teacher's classroom and draped it over the floor. The vodka, sugar, and lemons were spread out on the blanket like an offering.  

You waited on the couch until Wally found you twelve minutes later.  

"Hey," he started, looking from you to the blanket and contraband on the floor. "What's all this?" 

"Well," you said, standing up and approaching him. "You said you missed body shots, right? So, I thought..." you trailed off, letting him put the pieces together himself.  

Even in the dim lighting of the booth, you could see Wally's eyes darken with want. Before you knew it, he was crowding into your space, cradling your jaw in his palm, and pulling you into a kiss. The kiss grew heated and Wally had your shirt rucked up under your arms, his hands holding you at the small of your back and between your shoulder blades, keeping you close to him. 

"Wait," you gasped, breaking the kiss.  

Wally groaned, letting his head fall to your shoulder. He pressed a light kiss to the crook of your neck.  

"C'mon," you coaxed, trying to usher him over towards the couch.  

"Right," Wally agreed, letting you push him down onto the cushions. "Just got distracted," he admitted with a grin up at you.  

You felt yourself flush before you turned and grabbed the supplies. You handed him the lemons and knife. "Cut those for me," you instructed him while you grabbed the sugar packets and vodka.  

You joined Wally on the couch, reaching out to grab the blanket and drape it over your laps in case you made a mess. Wally dropped the knife on the floor and then handed you a lemon wedge. You gave him a sugar packet in exchange. Before you could put the lemon wedge in your mouth, Wally was in your space again. He nosed along your jaw before finding your neck and licking up from your collarbone to just below your ear.  

You shivered, feeling want surge through you, before he gently tipped your head to the side.  

"Got to make sure it sticks," he murmured, before he opened one of the sugar packets and let it pour over your neck. You felt some of the granules tumble down and land on the blanket, but most of it stayed where Wally intended.  

He was quick to fit his mouth to your neck again, eagerly lapping up the sugar and even taking a moment to suck a kiss into your skin.  

"Wally," you breathed, knowing that you were on a tipping point. Either Wally would take a shot or you would abandon the plan and let him have you now.  

"Sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all, before he twisted the top off the bottle and took a swig. He hissed before letting out a delighted laugh when he noticed you put the lemon wedge in your mouth, the rind smooth and bumpy against your tongue. He fit his mouth to yours, pulling the lemon into his mouth and sucking on it, before he spit it out onto the blanket.  

Before you knew it, your back was on the couch and Wally was over you. He kissed you, letting you taste the tang of lemon and sharp sweetness of the vodka and sugar as he licked into your mouth.  

"So good," he groaned into the kiss. "You're so good to me," he whispered before trailing his kisses back to your neck. You could feel him trying to get all the sugar free, chasing the sweetness stuck to your skin. "Can't believe how lucky I am." 

You grinned helplessly up at the ceiling of the tech booth and let your fingers run through Wally's hair. You tugged playfully at it and he nipped at your skin in retaliation, sending a shiver down your spine.  

You let Wally continue until you knew you were going to have one hell of a mark high up enough on your neck that you would have to find a scarf somewhere to cover it up.  

"Come on," you said, pushing lightly at his shoulders. You had let Wally have his fun and now it was time to have yours. "It's my turn," you told him when he refused to budge.  

That was enough to get Wally up and reaching for a sugar packet. You couldn't help but laugh watching him so eager to let you reciprocate.  

Wally might have felt like he was lucky, but you were the one who had truly lucked out with him. As you grabbed the lemon wedges where they had fallen to the floor, you hoped you would get to show him every day of your afterlife just how much you really loved him. 

Author's Note: If you would like to see more, have something you would like me to write for this 'verse, or want to be tagged in future updates, please let me know!

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: you'd known that Simon wasn't okay since it had been announced that they'd found blood in the boiler room. his pain, his hurt, his loss had spilled out from him and into you and you'd had no clue how to handle it. and then suddenly, you'd been soothed, and all you'd been able to think of had been getting to the source of that comfort and giving thanks.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.8

Wally couldn't stop thinking about earlier. How the slopes and arches of your body fit against him like a puzzle piece. How malleable you'd been under his touch. The intense liquid heat that had thrummed between you both as he'd leaned in to kiss you; heartbeats synchronized, eyes fluttering closed, utterly surrendered to the sensation.

He'd kissed a few girls when he'd been alive. Hell, he'd made out with Dawn a handful of times when adrenaline and hormones had needed an outlet. None of those experiences held a candle to what he'd felt when he'd just barely brushed his lips to yours.

There was something underneath it all. Not just his attraction to you, which he'd harbored for going on two years now. Something else. Something mystical and big and unleashed. Maybe you already knew what it was. After all, you could reach through the veil, hear and see and feel Wally...maybe you had an explanation.

If only the connection between you and Wally hadn't made it practically impossible to finish a conversation.

"Where'd you go, Moose?"

Wally nearly jumped in surprise, having forgotten he wasn't alone. He glanced around, saw Katelynn—the computer lab fatality—and Ajay studying him as intently as Rhonda. They were in the kitchen piling a late lunch of leftovers onto their plates while, around them, the staff muddled through their end-of-day breakdown.

"Uh," Wally supplied, intelligently. He was a miserable liar, something Rhonda had teased him for mirthlessly in the past. Told him he was as easy to read as 3rd grade English (ouch). But he didn't take his promises lightly and knew he had to come up with something or Rhonda would grill him until he broke. Deflection it was, "Do you think Maddie had a good time?"

Rhonda, perched primly on a counter, rolled her eyes and plucked a bread roll from the bin one of the staff was about to seal. "Jesus, you really are ditzy for her, huh?"

"I wouldn't say that," Wally said. He really wouldn't, "I just want her to—"

"Confess her undying love? Make you the center of her universe and forget all about her dreamy, badboy ex?" Rhonda scoffed, "Hate to break it to you, hot stuff, but you'd just be a rebound and we all know how those end."

"Badly?" Katelynn guessed. Having been fourteen when she'd kicked the bucket, she'd likely never had the chance to explore the intricacies of romance. Or of all its thorns.

Rhonda's hands clamped and then bloomed in front of her as she vocalized a bomb exploding.

"No, Rhonda, that's not it," Wally spoke in long strokes, as if to a child, willing away a flash of irritation. "What I was gonna say was that I want her to know there's more to being dead than trying to solve your own murder." Since, after all was said and done, there'd be nothing left to do besides passively haunt Split River High.

And that shit got dull after a semester or two.

Unexpectedly, "I spoke to her today." Rhonda admitted, somewhat reluctant, as the group paraded from the kitchen into the cafeteria. Wally encouraged her to continue with a smile, "About how I died. She thought it could help, so..." She slid into her regular seat next to Wally, eyes fixed on her plate, "I guess it did because she took off after."

It was obvious that relinquishing even that morsel of information made her uncomfortable, shoulders curled to her ears and lips pursed, those metaphorical walls re-erecting.

Wally clapped her on the back, "You did good, Deadly." A fond nickname he used sparingly as it often earned him an elbow to the ribs.

This time, Rhonda simply glared a warning at him before tearing a piece off her bread roll and smearing it through the gravy on Wally's plate. Progress, he supposed.

To move the conversation away from Rhonda, Wally engaged Katelynn, "I saw you with the extinguisher today."

Katelynn grinned through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

"You know what we should do next time? We get those chairs with the wheels, a couple of fire extinguishers..." He mimed the scene with fervor, grinning conspiratorially between the others, "We could do it in the gym. Take bets. See who goes farthest. It would be awesome!"

Rhonda patted his knee twice—thank you—under the table. How she displayed gratitude without being obvious. As discreetly as possible, Wally returned the gesture, tapping three times to indicate I've got you.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Somehow, you'd done it: graduated to the end of the school day without incident. Sure, Mathilda had given you a funny look when you'd made your excuses to stay behind, but she'd been too distracted by what pieces to include in her portfolio to cross-examine you about it.

"Text me later, sillybean!" She called over her shoulder as she, Hana, and Lucas exited the school.

The siblings waved in unison, Hana pirouetting and blowing you a kaleidoscope of exaggerated kisses before falling back into step with her brother.

You turned back to your locker, shoving in your backpack and your uncle's hoodie. You'd accepted that the connection between you and Wally quashed any attempt you made to hide from him; berated yourself for not realizing it sooner.

After you'd closed the door and slipped the lock back into place, you mustered your courage and turned toward the direction of the theater. You could do this. Without getting sidetracked.

Yeah, you believed that about as much as you believed the lunchroom bread rolls were 'made fresh' everyday.

A metallic clamor caught your attention before you'd even stepped a foot forward, causing you to hesitate. Down several lockers along the row, Simon shook his lock against the hasp furiously. He was unmistakably upset, jaw tight, vibrating with unfettered anger.

You approached him just as he kicked the locker below his.

"Here," You said, inserting yourself between Simon and his locker, "What's the combo?"

Without pause, "8-37-15," he recited through gritted teeth.

You dialed the combination, unhooked the lock and held it out for Simon to take.

"You okay?" You asked, already aware of the answer.

"Yes." Simon lied then abruptly changed his mind, "No. I don't know." He dumped his bag at his feet and rummaged through the contents of his locker only to give up and spin around. Propped against the closed bottom level, Simon ran his hands through his hair roughly, reminding you of someone with responsibility that outweighed their experience.

"What's going on, Si?"

He lifted his head, brow creased with despair, "Aren't friends supposed to trust each other?"

The question knocked you for six. Unsure if it was rhetorical, you chose to stay quiet and, sure enough, Simon expounded. "Aren't friends supposed to tell each other things, even if it's hard? Even if they think it might hurt? Because, at the end of the day, you chose that person to be there for you no matter what. And that person chose you right back."

No questions asked. Your voice overlapped with Xavier's, years worth of emotional petitions for comfort and unbiased support echoing in your head.

Thinking of your friend, you wondered, "Is this about Nicole leaving with Xavier after lunch?"

Simon seemed surprised by the news, yet, after a second, confirmed, "Yeah. Uh, yeah, it's about that."

He stared at his feet, arms folded tightly across his middle, chewed his lip as he pondered what he wanted to disclose. Finally, "I just want to be there for her, but it's like she won't let me. And it sucks." His voice was damp with pain. "And now she's pissed and she's shut me out and...I don't know what to do."

When he raised his head again, you almost choked on the sorrow in his eyes. You wanted to hug him, hold him, cry. Here was a boy whose best friend had, for all intents and purposes, left him behind, and now he was scared he'd lost someone else.

The mounting sadness radiating from Simon made your eyes sting. You had no clue how to comfort him, not like you did Xavier or Mathilda, the two people you'd chosen and who'd chosen you back.

The strength of secondhand emotion chipped away at you, threatened to shatter you into a thousand anguished pieces, but just as you thought you would break, a familiar warmth sunk into the cracks. The sensation blossomed upward and concentrated behind your ribs, loosening a deep breath of relief.

Absently, you shifted your hand the slightest bit away from where it rested against your thigh, the movement undetectable unless one was looking for it. The warmth grew, contented and safe, and then—a whisper of fingertips across the back of your hand, there and gone.

You didn't move, kept your gaze on Simon; simply waited for Wally to enter your periphery. His back was to you, his hand returning to his jacket pocket as he, Rhonda, and a couple of others walked toward the end of the hall. You vaguely saw him split from the rest of the group, Wally going left while the other three went right.

Simon swallowed, mournful, and he rasped, "What do I do?"

Invigorated by Wally's touch, you planted yourself in front of Simon, placed your hands on his shoulders, and urged him to, "Talk to her. People knock communication like it's some cringe cliché, but it's the best way to resolve things." He nodded, weak but resolute, and you dragged him into a hug. "Trust me," You said, "Just be honest and listen. You don't have to understand everything, you just have to accept it."

Simon chuckled wetly, squeezed you tighter for an instant before releasing you.

"Thanks."

"Any time." And you meant it in your bones. "Are you gonna be okay?"

"Yeah," Simon said, scrubbing the back of his wrist over his eyes, "I'll be fine." He cleared his throat, "Listen, um, I forgot something in the cafeteria, but if you want to wait I could give you a ride home."

Something in his tone suggested the offer was halfhearted, though you appreciated it all the same.

"Nah, it's cool. I have to study." You replied, already positioning yourself to leave. Simon didn't mention that the library was in the other direction, merely flashed you a small, grateful smile.

"See you tomorrow." He saluted.

Free to excuse yourself, you found you had to fight the desire to go go go, hurry, go, that warm sensation purring louder the closer you got to the theater. Fuck making sure the coast was clear, you were supposed to be in there right now; swung the door open with probably a lot more force than necessary.

Wally, who had been sitting on the edge of the stage awaiting your arrival, hopped down as soon as you entered the darkened space, his gaze instantly locking with yours.

One dubious step, two, three, and the warmth fizzled and licked inside you, encouraging your pace to quicken, faster, nearer. You broke into a run, closing the distance, Wally's stare never wavering. With less than a foot remaining, you sprung up, body colliding into his. He caught you easily, held you in his arms with one hand under your thigh and the other around your waist.

No thoughts, no words, no inhibitions; fever-hot and eager; Wally's jaw in your palms, you surged forward and pressed your lips to his.

💀___________________________

PART SEVEN - PART NINE

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[toon-tales]

Alright, something cool I just realized in the argument scene in Tbt (sorry for the bad quality)

When Rhonda stopped, John was probably the only one who didn't stumble like the others, maybe because he was used to it?

Also, him reaching out to Bruce and Clay as they were about to fall.

[sophieswundergarten]

I would like to commend Rhonda for joining Mr. Benedict in the first place. Now, this is not to judge any of the characters, but, imagine, that you are a young orphan who has just been through several levels of an extremely weird test, only to find out they were designed by Some Guy and his adopted daughter who is a bit older than you but extremely blunt and intense (And possibly a random guy who looks like he could maybe be trustworthy or maybe mug you in a dark alley but overwhelmingly looks incredibly sad that is just s t a n d i n g t h e r e, depending on the time frame), and then all the "adults" in this situation (Or, at least, older and hopefully more knowledgable than you) tell you that the world is going to be taken over by some ambiguous entity who is using the radio to brainwash people.

Think about this.

I know that the kids had to do it, too, but when Rhonda joined, the Benedicts weren't an actual team yet. They were still in the beginning stages, with less experience and less information than by the time Reynie and the others show up. Can you imagine if they had Number Two run the cheating trick during the first tests? And if this was before Milligan arrived, then either she or Mr. Benedict would be running everything on their own, so, a lot less smoothly, and I bet less of the children respected her when she was closer to their ages. Mr. Benedict likely wouldn't have been able to kick all the kids out of the test, once they started crying and things. Why do you think it was Number Two and Milligan's job?

Like, the Mr. Benedict and co. that Rhonda had to make the decision to trust were a lot less trustworthy-seeming than the one we meet. So, good job to her for seeing them for who they were, instead of being freaked out by their strangeness.

[supernotnatural2005]

Sexual Encounters with Dean Winchester - Wax Play

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: You and Dean explore a new kink together.

Word Count: 2.8k

Prompt: Wax Play

Warnings: Smut!!! (18+ ONLY!!!) - Like heavy smut! Fluff, swearing, kinks.

AN: So here is my first @jacklesversebingo submission of the year. It's a wild one y'all 😅. I've never written anything like this or have much knowledge on this kink/act at all, so I hope I've done it justice? Anywho, I'm thinking of making this part of an anthology type series, exploring other kinks with Dean? Let me know if that would be something you'd like to see? And as always, feedback is much appreciated. Hope you enjoy ❤️

Masterlist

JVB Masterlist

Dean liked to think he knew his way around a bedroom. He’d tangled in enough sheets with enough women—different shapes, sizes, ethnicities—to know he wasn’t just good at it; he was damn good.

He was open to trying new things, within reason, of course. For Dean, sex was fun, plain and simple. It was meant to be enjoyed by both parties, and he took pride in being a generous lover. Give as much as you take—that was his motto.

A big part of the thrill for him was seeing the effect he had: the way a woman would arch her back, cry out his name, or completely unravel under his touch. That was the payoff, the proof he was doing something right.

Men who didn’t care about that. Who saw sex as one-sided or selfish? Dean didn’t think they deserved the title of “man.” End of story.

But every now and then, someone came along who surprised him. Someone who didn’t just match his energy but pushed it further. Someone who flipped the script.

That’s where you came in.

“You’ve met your match” had never felt truer. You weren’t just bold; you were a deviant. An instigator of all things sinful and unholy. And God help him, it was the sexiest thing he’d ever experienced.

Forget Rhonda Hurley and those pink satin panties—hell, that was child’s play compared to you. You were on a whole other level.

And tonight? Tonight was a perfect example.

Dean lay sprawled out before you, gloriously naked, his body taut and on full display, tied to all four corners of the bed. His ankles were secured with two of the ties he usually reserved for playing FBI agent, while his wrists were bound with leather handcuffs you’d bought specifically for tonight.

The restraints were snug—tight enough to keep him from moving much but loose enough for him to break free if he really wanted to. Not that he seemed interested in trying.

And then there was you.

You stood at the foot of the bed, a vision of temptation wrapped in matching red lace lingerie that clung to your curves like a second skin. Stockings hugged your legs, held up by a delicate garter belt, while a pair of black high heels elevated the look—literally and figuratively. The shoes made your legs seem like they stretched on forever, and judging by the way Dean’s gaze tracked every inch of you, he clearly noticed.

Your hair was styled to perfection, soft curls framing your face, and your makeup was sultry, smoky, and intentional. Everything about you tonight was deliberate, designed to captivate him completely.

And judging by the way he tugged lightly against the restraints, his green eyes darkened with need, you knew you’d succeeded.

His cock twitched to full mast against his stomach at just the mere sight of you. 

You rounded the bed after securing his right foot to the post, your nails trailing a slow, deliberate path up his leg. His breath hitched at the sensation, his chest rising and falling in shallow movements as his lust-filled gaze followed you like a predator tracking prey.

Your crimson lips curled into a wicked smile, your eyes raking over him, spread out and utterly at your mercy. The way you looked at him—like he was your last, most indulgent meal—sent a shiver racing down his spine. It was intoxicating, knowing your hunger for him mirrored the desire burning hot and heavy in his own chest.

Without a word, you climbed onto the mattress, every movement deliberate. His gaze dropped to your chest, and a low, guttural moan escaped him as he caught the way your breasts strained against the lace cups, threatening to spill free with every shift. Crawling toward him on your hands and knees, you were a vision of sin, and he was utterly powerless to do anything but drink you in.

You stopped when you reached him, and swung your leg over so you were straddling his stomach, avoiding his aching cock completely. He couldn’t help but whine at the feel of your heat touching his skin, wishing you’d just slip a little lower so he could really feel you. 

“You’re sure you’re still up for this?” You asked softly, leaning down so your breasts brushed against his chest, surrounding him in the intoxicating scent of your perfume.

Your smile was teasing, playful, but your eyes held a quiet seriousness. Dean knew, without a doubt, that if he told you to stop, you would. No questions asked. That trust was sacred—whether it was out in the field with monsters or here in the heat of passion. You had his back, always.

“One hundred percent.” He replied without hesitation, his voice steady, even as his body betrayed the nervous excitement coursing through him.

You grinned, your gaze shimmering with an unspoken promise of everything you had planned. “And your safe word?” You hummed, letting your lips ghost over his, teasingly close.

Dean instinctively leaned in, chasing your mouth, but you pressed him back with a firm hand on his chest.

“Impala.” He said, the word rolling off his tongue without a second thought. It wasn’t the first time he’d needed a safe word with you, though he’d only used it once—a night so wild, even his memory of it felt electric. His thoughts flickered briefly to that moment, only to be ripped back to the present by the sharp pinch of his nipple.

“Shit!” Dean gasped, jerking against the restraints. His nipples were maddeningly sensitive, something you’d discovered and exploited countless times to your advantage. You smirked as his chest heaved beneath your touch, his skin flushed and warm, before finally taking pity and letting go.

“Good.” You murmured, sliding off him with a wicked smile before disappearing into the bathroom to gather what you needed.

When you returned, his heart kicked into overdrive, a delicious blend of nervousness and anticipation flooding his veins. Your arms were laden with items: candles, a lighter, and a bowl of ice cubes. Each item sent a shiver of anticipation racing through him as you placed them deliberately on the bedside table.

Then came the silk scarf.

“Head up, baby.” You commanded gently, your voice calm but firm.

Dean obeyed, tilting his head without hesitation. You folded the scarf, thickening the layers to reduce visibility, and carefully tied it around his head.

The moment the blindfold slipped over his eyes; he felt the first flicker of discomfort. Being restrained was one thing, but losing his sight too? It stirred instincts deep within him, instincts that told him to fight.

You must’ve noticed the tension in his body because your lips were on his before the panic could bloom.

The kiss was deep and consuming, pulling a raw, needy moan from him that bordered on a whimper. With his sight gone, every other sense sharpened, heightening the warmth of your lips, the slick caress of your tongue as it slid past his lips, tangling and teasing his own.

Your hand moved as if guided by instinct, trailing down his chest and over the hard ridges of his stomach. His muscles twitched beneath your fingertips, jumping at the light, feathery strokes that left a trail of fire in their wake until that same hand was wrapping around his shaft. 

“Fuck!” He broke the kiss, his head dropping back onto the pillows as he allowed himself to feel, rather than see your hand jerk his hard cock. You pumped him in slow languid strokes, twisting at the tip before sliding a slick hand back down from the cum seeping from his tip.

Dean was panting hard, every breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. Nothing had ever felt like this—nothing had ever felt this sensitive, this good. The knowledge that he had no control over your movements, the fact that he couldn’t see what you were doing to him, made everything feel more intense, more exhilarating. It was driving him wild in ways he couldn’t even begin to describe.

Maybe it was the sheer intensity of the moment, or the complete surrender he’d given over to you, but Dean already felt like he was on the edge. The softness of your practiced touch, the heightened sensitivity, it was all too much. He was teetering dangerously close to the edge of release.

And then, suddenly, you stopped.

His body jerked, his lungs emptying with a sharp exhale as the wave of pleasure he’d been chasing slipped away, leaving him reeling.

“Shit, baby,” he groaned, his body sinking back into the mattress, the fire of his orgasm fading as quickly as it had come.

He heard your soft chuckle beside him, followed by the distinct sound of flint striking a lighter, and his stomach clenched nervously. But beneath the anxiety, his heart fluttered with curiosity, anticipation swirling in his veins.

“Are you ready, baby?” you asked, your voice soft, teasing, as if savouring the moment. The pause that followed was intentional, giving him a moment to catch his breath—or perhaps, to let his nerves settle.

“Yes.” He answered almost immediately, the word a breathless promise.

You chuckled again, that sound low and sinful, and Dean could feel the bed shift as you moved over him, settling yourself onto him in one smooth, deliberate motion. This time however, he feels the warmth and wetness of your now bare pussy make contact his dick. His hips automatically rise, pressing against you with a deep groan. 

You place a hand at his lower abdomen, pushing him down with a breathless, “not yet.” He feels you shift above him; your movements deliberate yet teasing. A faint rustle catches his ear, followed by the softest puff of air that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. 

The scent of extinguished candle smoke drifts between you, rich and unmistakable, and then it happens—the first drop.

Dean jerks, a sharp hiss slipping past his lips as the molten wax kisses his skin. It bites at first, a sting that pulls a harsh groan from his throat. His muscles tense, straining against the restraints holding his wrists captive. But the pain doesn't linger—it softens, melting into a low, throbbing heat that spreads across his chest.

It’s maddening. The sensation dances on the edge of too much and not enough, leaving him caught in the perfect storm of wanting to pull away but craving every second of it.

And just when he thinks he can’t take another drop, the contrast comes.

You press something cool and solid to his chest, the ice cube tracing the path of the still-warm wax. His reaction is instant—a sharp inhale as the icy touch shocks his overheated skin. The contrast is electric, sending a shiver down his spine that pools low in his abdomen; has his cock pulsing between your legs.

“Holy hell.” He rasps, his voice rough, filled with a mixture of surprise and need. The ice soothes the burn, but the sensation sparks something deeper, something raw. The back-and-forth of fire and ice leaves his body in overdrive, every nerve ending alight.

You hum softly, dragging the ice cube in slow, deliberate patterns, letting the chill chase away the lingering heat. “Still with me?” You murmur, your tone almost too sweet for the wicked grin he can hear in your voice.

Dean swallows hard, his head falling back against the pillow as a strained chuckle escapes. “Yes. Fuck yes.”

And with that, you start again.

The wax comes next, a deliberate, measured drip that lands on a fresh patch of skin. He grits his teeth against the sharp sting, his muscles twitching involuntarily. The heat builds, blooming outward in waves that make his breath catch, until you follow with the ice once more. The coolness bites, chasing away the heat but leaving a lingering tingle in its wake.

The cycle repeats, and each time, it feels more intense. The wax teases his limits, pushing him to the brink of what he can stand, only for the ice to pull him back. The extremes blur together until he’s not sure where the pain ends, and the pleasure begins. It’s overwhelming, intoxicating, and he’s powerless against it.

His chest rises and falls heavily, his body humming with tension and want. Each drop of wax pulls a hiss or a grunt from him, while the soothing ice elicits shuddering breaths and groans that spill from deep within his throat.

“Baby, please,” he finally chokes out, his voice wrecked, but there’s no mistaking the raw desire in his tone. He needs more.

You chuckle softly, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Tell me what you want, Dean?” You purr, dragging the melting ice over the curve of his collarbone and down his sternum, the contrast making him gasp.

And he does. He’s never felt so alive, so attuned to every sensation, every movement, every touch. The boundaries between pleasure and pain have dissolved completely, leaving him utterly at your mercy.

“I need you.” Is all he can coherent, his voice almost emotional. He was like granite against your sex, red and pulsing; a small pool of cum collecting in the dip of his pelvic bone, and you relented. 

“Okay baby.” You agreed, impossibly turned on yourself. 

Dean felt you rise on your knees, and guide him into your sex. As soon as he felt your warm, wet walls fully envelop him, he came. Hard. With a shout, his body seized, his hips sputtering with each rope of cum spilling into you, and the leather binds bound to his wrist snapped with the force of his climax.

The intensity left him trembling, tears stinging behind his closed eyelids as he fought to catch his breath. His lungs burned, his chest heaving with desperate gasps for air. His hands clung to your hips, holding you still against him, every nerve in his body alight and far too sensitive to handle even the slightest movement.

You reached for him gently, sliding the blindfold up and off his head. His world was still hazy, the pulse of his heartbeat roaring in his ears, muffling the soft, soothing words you whispered. Your hands cradled his jaw, thumbs brushing tenderly over the coarse stubble of his cheeks, grounding him as his body quaked beneath you.

It felt like an eternity before the aftershocks began to fade, his body finally surrendering to stillness after what seemed like an endless peak of pleasure. His breaths came slower now, steadier, and he dared to blink open his bleary eyes.

You were there, leaning over him, your face framed by the warm glow of the room. Concern flickered in your eyes, but it was softened by the unmistakable warmth of love and pride curling in your smile.

“You, okay?” You asked softly, your voice cutting through the fog still clinging to his senses.

Dean swallowed hard, his voice rasping as he replied, “Yeah... more than okay.” His lips quirked into a faint, exhausted smile, his hands loosening their grip on your hips to run soothingly over your sides. “You’re gonna kill me one of these days, sweetheart.”

Your laugh was light and reassuring, your fingers threading through his hair as you pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Not a chance. Someone’s gotta keep you in line.”

The kiss you gave him was tender, a gentle contrast to the overwhelming intensity of what he’d just experienced. Your lips moved softly against his, anchoring him, steadying the storm still swirling inside. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was comfort, warmth, and love wrapped into one.

He pulled you closer, his arms curling around you as if holding on to the only thing tethering him to reality. The steady rhythm of your heartbeat against his chest calmed him, grounding him in the quiet aftermath. His admiration for you swelled a deep, unspoken gratitude filling the space between you.

Dean let out a soft, contented sigh, brushing his nose against yours before murmuring, “You’re everything, you know that?”

Your lips curved into a smile against his, your fingers tracing soothing patterns along his arm. “And don’t you forget it.”

Suddenly, you’re rolled beneath him, the swift movement pulling your attention to the fact that one of his ankles had been freed, the restraint no longer holding him back. You gasp at the shift, eyes wide as Dean hovers above you, his gaze dark with desire—hungry, feral.

“Never.” He growls, the word rough and filled with an almost primal urgency.

It’s a challenge, a promise. You can feel the heat of his body above you, the strength in his grip as he holds you down, and you know it’s your turn to surrender.

You give yourself over to him, body and soul, not with hesitation but with the thrilling certainty that this moment belongs to both of you, completely. The world outside disappears, and all that matters is the way he moves over you, the fire between you both that burns hotter with every second.

AN: Phew! 😮‍💨 That was a steamy one! 😅 It's probably the steamiest thing I've ever written 😂. Let me know what you thought? I appreciate all of your feedback ❤️

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