#wicked implement

[l3rking]

How did I completely forget about our seasonal highlight thing we get from Bungie???

I mean are we really all that surprised?

[satemha-the-warlock]

So this season I wasn’t that active because of work and life. Meaning I don’t really know what kind of secrets and additional quests are around.

So when I had some time tonight to play, I focused on seasonal stuff. Doing Salvage, Deep Dive etc. On my latest Deep Dive, when we were in the second level, I directly went to the exit but the other two guardians started shooting at me from the door on the right. Then using guns and emotes, they showed me the secret part and we dived in.

Our first run was unsuccessful but when the next activity automatically started, both were with me. So we gave another shot and killed the tormentor. I knew about the Wicked Implement exotic but I had no idea this is how we were supposed to get it until it dropped for me at the end. We gave each other commendations and celebrated with emotes than everyone left the fireteam.

I know social media makes you think like the Destiny 2 community is crazy but what we see online is the small, crazy part. You realize how great the real community is when you’re playing the game.

So thank you factor and AstroSlav for making the Destiny 2 a great game to play.

[pebblethedog]

Norton security I will have fucking words. You cannot fucking minimize my game while I am in a combat situation in the fucking wicked implement exotic run. Fuck you Norton.

[appo777yon]

new update

[thefirstknife]

The exotic mission is incredible. Please get your exotic fish and dunk them in the HELM and then do the exotic mission. It's best to go in not knowing anything, though the mission is quite difficult gameplay wise. I'd still recommend trying it out on your own and then checking a guide later. Spoilers under:

XIVU. Just. XIVU. We're quite literally tithing her and she's quite literally addressing us directly now. That's not good! And yeah, the Pyramid architecture we've seen last week? That's where we go. It opens up:

And Xivu welcomes us in with some absolutely metal lines:

It's a drowned Pyramid.

The mission is timed once you get in here, you have 10 minutes. It's more than enough when you come prepared but you might have a tough time the first time around:

And the main area is in a full on maze inside of a Pyramid!

And there's a guy in there :) :

Once you kill the guy, you get "the audience" which consists of going to the veiled statue, aka the Woman, and receiving the exotic, which is a scout rifle called Wicked Implement. It looks... certainly interesting. It seems to be made by Xivu, but is modelled with heavy influence of the Lucent Brood aesthetic.

The shiny bits look like shiny "windows" in Savathun's throne world, the little sharp capsules look like capsules for holding the Light in the throne world. The muzzle mimics the "eye" central piece of Savathun's ship. I'm losing my mind. What is going on. The lore is also... something else:

Absolutely not having a great time with Xivu telling us to "become a god of death" as those are the exact words she told Osiris in Immolant. Immolant still directly relevant 3 years later? More likely than you think.

Once you get the weapon, seven Darkness artifacts will appear in the area of the maze, the first one being above the statue:

Shoot them all (there's plenty of time to find them all, just be patient) and then come back to the statue where you will get a "commune" prompt which includes Xivu talking to us directly, again. All of Xivu's lines at the end when you get all artifacts:

Now that I'm reading it again, the fact that she says that her sister's "needle" inscribed something "on this temple" makes me think that Savathun was somehow involved in this weapon and this drowned Pyramid. A "temple built of whispers" but "tithed to war in secret" and "sunken in the deep." As if Savathun was in charge of it but left it for Xivu. First thoughts, maybe completely off the mark but mentioning Savathun's involvement here is so peculiar. We know that Savathun has previously been helpful to Xivu, namely with preparing Torobatl for her invasion.

We still have to find the catalyst which might be something weekly so we probably have to wait. It might give us some extra lines or stuff.

Incredibly good shit here. 10/10 mission and season. Made for me, personally and all Xivu enjoyers. Super interested in this Pyramid and how it relates to Xivu and Savathun. Xivu having a Pyramid would be weird, especially since this one is seemingly defunct and sunken, as well as the implication that it was originally designated to Savathun. Or she at least did something with it. Wild. I'm eating it.

[doomzday-zone]

the neutrals are also cool as fuck

[kelgorath]

🥹👍🏻

[dasketcherz]

omg they did the wicked thing ! !

just finished reading til the latest chapter of And They Were Roommates by @dreadpirateurania13

gosh i have so much to say about this fic, first off the world building was so much fun to learn about. i didnt grew up an ever after high gurly so i dunno which things are straight from the source material and which are a personal spin but regardless, it was pretty stellar mix of both things !

i am so happy the whole gang is here, it's always a treat to see all of them present in the story on a fic ! and the evolution of varigo's relationship here was hella fun to witness shift over the course of the story, they are so elphaba and glinda coded in the best of ways. I especially love how well set up their clashing beliefs and convictions were, being interwoven to the system they are forced to participate in and watch them develop an ounce of understanding for the other's opinions eventually. also love how natural it felt seeing hugo slowly get dragged involved in varian's circle of friends the way that he did !

and the way vat7k core elements (like varian decoding ulla's research) was slowly implemented into the lore as the plot thickens was so seamlessly done i loved it so much like oughh i ate that up !

overall i enjoyed this fun fic a lot and i am eagerly waiting for the True Hearts Day chapter ! [hyperventilating]

[brewed-pangolin]

Tumblr deleted the ask because it's stupid, but to the sweet anon who requested Gym Rat Soap on the first night, this is for you.

MDNI 18+ just some unedited possessive Gym Rat Soap mumbo jumbo

cw: mentions of alcohol

-

Poor overly possessive Gym Rat Soap Johnny, who stakes his claim to you the first time you let him let him come inside you.

It all started with an innocent night out with the boys. Hitting up the local pub to rid the worries of the week away with a few strong brews down the gullet.

And those countless pints proved to be your downfall in the end. Latching onto him, losing yourself in the melodic brogue of his voice as he whispered the most tumultuous poetry into your ear.

Elegantly sinful promises laden with whisky fueled intent, the gentle brushing of his stubble against your cheek making your legs quiver as you imagined his mouth entangled with your most intimate lips.

It didn't take long to pull him away into the back seat of an unsuspecting Uber. His hands greedily clawed at your hips as you apologized profusely to the driver for the improper scene playing out in the backseat.

Still, the indecent show in public was nothing compared to the ravishing he bestowed upon you behind closed doors. Barely making it through the front door as he began to frantically tear off your risqué yet fruitless choice of apparel.

"Where ya wanna start, hen? The kitchen, or the living room?"

You barely had time to breathe before he swung your naked form over his shoulder. A thunderous laugh echoing from his chest as he planted a firm smack on your ass. Stomping up the steps towards the bedroom as you mentally prepared yourself for the vigorous workout he was about to put you through.

He shamelessly tossed you onto the bed, a wicked smile curling into the corners of his lips as your breasrts bounced from the force of the impact.

"Tell me bonnie, ya been workin' on your yoga? Jus' like I told ya to?"

The mischievous glint in his eyes matched the dark tone of possessive desire in his voice. Forcing you to comply with his demand, nodding your head as the capacity for speech all but abandoned you.

"Aye. Good lass. Gonnae need ya ta center yerslef as I wreck this pretty little cunt a'yers."

You didn't protest as he proceeded to break you in the most beautiful way possible. Losing count at how many times he brought you to oblivion only to push your further as he neared his own blissful undoing.

-

You came home a few days later with a duffle bag and worn boots meeting you at the door. A half-naked mohawk crested man rummaging around the kitchen as he deftly put together a delectable feast upon the stove.

"Um, Johnny? What are you doing?" A perplexed expression formed into the contours of your face as he turned to meet your questioning gaze.

"Wha'? Cannae make my bonnie some dinner?"

Your eyes narrowed at him, trying to piece together the scheme he was shamelessly putting together.

"Dinner's fine, Soap. But what's with the bag?"

"Hm. Aye. There is that."

Soap turned around, coursing his arms over his broad chest with a crooked smile. His cerulean eyes roaming you up and down like a predator stalking it prey, poised to leap at any moment.

"Already signed the lease, lass. Might as well start moving in."

"What do you mean, signed the lease?"

It took you no more than five minutes to piece together his housewarming innuendo. Aided only by a swift encore as he threw you down and bent you over the kitchen table, implementing his down-payment as he thrusted another load deep into the welcoming walls of your cunt.

Gym Rat Soap Masterlist

[katherinemckay]

do you ever sit and think about how excellent wicked is as a tragedy. like both elphaba and glinda spend all of act 2 until for good doubling down on the choices/mindsets that put them in their situations in the first place -- elphaba continues making impulsive, bold decisions that just turn the ozians against her; glinda continues staying within the corrupt system despite realizing she has no real agency to change it -- and when they finally see eye to eye and each try to implement the other's perspective, it's too late for them to work as a team for more than just a moment. and it just baffles me that like 95% of the general public just sees this show as a fun wizard of oz prequel

[oneforthemunny]

1, B, ?

for your roll: cowboy!eddie, diaper position, and crop ;)

minors dni, dom/sub themes, bdsm themes, restrains (rope), spanking with implement.

"How's that feel?" Eddie muttered, pulling on the knotted rope, wiggling his finger out of the roped loop he'd tied around your wrists. He liked the rope tight, but not too tight around you, especially when he started yanking on them.

"Feels good." You hummed, head tilting back into the mattress, wrists tied to your ankles, legs kept apart by the spreader bar.

Eddie saw it in a magazine, some filthy one he got at the sleazy sex toy store in town. He'd come home with the spreader, the rope, and the crop, grinning and beaming about wanting to try something.

"You sure?" Eddie looked at you, a hand rubbing sweetly across your shin. "Let me know now."

You wiggled a bit, pulling at the restraints, moving your fingers and wiggling your toes. "Nope, feels fine." You nodded, chin tucking to your chest to look at him. "Ready when you are, baby."

Eddie grinned, squeezing your knee, dropping a kiss right on your kneecap. "You look so fuckin' good, sweetheart." Eddie muttered, beaming when he turned around, slowly spinning the crop in his hand. "So pretty."

Your body bloomed with heat, grinning shyly at him. You'd bury your face in your hands if they weren't tied to your ankles, hooked to the holds of the spreader.

Eddie's hand slid down your thigh, fingertips teasing your slick folds, just enough to leave you wiggling and whining. He tossed you a wicked grin, hand sliding back between your thighs and holding the bar up, your legs and hands moving with him.

"Hm, wish I had a hook." Eddie muttered, muscles flexing with the hold. Your mouth watered, blinking dumbly at the sight of him- all toned and a little tanned from the days in the sun.

"Make this easier if I could just hook ya up." Eddie continued. If he saw your mesmerized state, he didn't acknowledge it.

"Maybe you could put it on the headboard." You said, arms wiggling with the stretch.

"Hm, maybe next time." Eddie looked down at you through thick lashes. "Wanna feel you this time, baby. Feel you squirm."

You shuddered at his words, the crop moving over the bared skin of your thighs, your ass. Eddie bent you back more, exposing more of you to him. He slid the crop over your slit, smirking at how you whined, nasally and pathetic so he knew you were already aching.

You thought he might tease you a little longer. Instead, Eddie brought the crop down, a sharp snap to your right cheek that had you squealing in surprise. He tightened his grip on the spreader bar, firmer to hold you into place, bringing the crop down in sharp, quick successions, rotating each cheek.

"Eddie," You whimpered, hands clenching around the bar, desperately trying to rub your thighs together, but the bar stopped it. You whined, tears beginning to prick the back of your eyes in frustration, mixing with the building burning pain on your ass and thighs.

"Shh, shh, shh," Eddie whispered, breath whistling between his teeth as he shushed you nearly mockingly. "Baby, we just started. C'mon, I know you've got more in ya than that."

The pout you gave him made him snort in laughter, cock throbbing behind his jeans at the sight. "Aw, c'mon, now," Eddie tapped the crop gently against your cheeks. "You can take more than this, can't ya?"

Your lip jutted, lashes batting, even giving a huffy, dramatic sniffle for emphasis. "It hurts, Ed." You whined, voice lilted high and sweet.

"What hurts? Your arms?" Eddie frowned, dropping the bar to look at your wrists, make sure they weren't cut or bleeding.

"No," You shook your head, wiggling your hips for emphasis. "I'm just... How much longer?"

Eddie's lips twitched, moving back to grab the crop off the bed, sliding it back over your thighs and ass. "Sweetheart," He hissed lightly, teasingly. "You gotta learn some patience."

Your hips raised, eyes rolling in shock, in pleasure when Eddie tapped the crop over your cunt, just hard enough to have you aching. Your clit throbbing even more at the friction the crop gave.

"Can you be a little patient f'me? Show me a little patience?" Eddie rasped, pressing the crop firmly onto your pussy, rocking it just enough that it massaged your clit, your slickness coating the small leather end.

"You show me a little patience, and I'll give you a big reward later." Eddie looked at you, your mouth falling open lightly, hips rising to further the friction. "How's that sound?"

You nodded, dumbly, eyes already starting to glaze with pleasure. "That's a good girl." Eddie hummed, pulling the crop back.

You whined at the loss of it, breath caught in your throat when Eddie rubbed the crop, still coated in your wetness over your ass teasingly, before bringing it down again.

[l3rking]

Wicked Implement AQUIRED

I’m going to wait till the catalyst comes out to say my piece but so far I am LOVING it. I’m already a big fan of Stasis; Revenant, especially. And this gun feels like it was made for Revenant. 

FYI for those who may not know: the shard it generates STACKS with Grim Harvest. Meaning killing an enemy with a headshot while Creeping Attrition is active spawns 2 stasis shards. One because of the perk and the other because you defeated a ‘slowed’ target. Do with that as you will. 

As always, I’m happy to assist anyone who needs help getting it. DMs/Asks always open. 

[dev1lm4n]

lesson two: tease

ko-fi | series masterlist (5 out of 7)

pairing: porn star!joel miller x f!reader

summary: tension is on the rise between you and mr. miller. wicked fantasies hadn't posted for an entire month! desperate, you decided to get even more bold with your requests and he had no difficulty in complying.

word count: 4.8k

warnings: explicit (18+), set in 2013, pre-outbreak, age gap (joel in mid 30's and reader in early 20's), inexperienced but not dumb reader, blowjob, f masturbation, check umbrella warning on series masterlist

notes: tension is literally on the rise! the vase is about to crack, but tonight he decides to indulge. fellas if you enjoyed this do COMMENT, REBLOG or buy me a KO-FI ;) love y'all

Broad shoulders.

During the time when you simply saw Mr. Miller as a figure in your lewd fantasies, you knew that it was the roughness of his build that attracted you. There’s a certain market for it; for women and men alike who enjoyed those who're built like burly vikings straight out of a movie. Those who enjoy men with a slight plumpness on their front, those who salivate over their strong and reliable arms, those who strive to caress their calloused fingers and press kisses onto their rigid knuckles. You’ve never confessed this to anyone - mostly terrified for their reserved judgment over the topic - but you fit perfectly in that box. Time after time, you wonder if it’d feel nice, if you could just press your nifty fingers into the coils of his muscles, if he’d let out a groan.. a moan perhaps from the sensation.

Rough fingers.

After spending two minutes staring intensely at his sturdy, slightly hunched build, you finally gathered enough courage to summon yourself into the kitchen. God, he looked so good just washing the dishes. His already calloused fingers didn’t have to worry about the damage those cheap dish soap does, because if anything, it’d just make it better. More ridges means more texture and more texture feels better. Two of his fingers entered the soapy lining of his mug, spreading the cleaning product into every crack and crevice. It looks a little erotic, you decided. Your filthy mind conjured up altered scenarios which implemented the same motion. You’d be on top of the cold countertop, various kitchen gadgets set aside as his fingers delved into your cunt. He’d spread your wetness the same way he did to the mug.

Thick mustache.

He took notice of your presence. He watched you and you allowed him, even if he did so wordlessly. Water continued to spill out of the faucet. It hit the empty bottom of the sink and sprouted upwards in a gauche manner, effectively wetting his gray shirt in blotches and dots. You breathed out what could pass as a dry chuckle and in return, he quirked his lips. A grin. A youthful one that almost made you forget of his crow’s feet and faint lines. His thin upper lip almost disappeared as it was tugged on both sides, but the dark hair on top remained pristine. It was thick, you concluded. Not as thick as Uncle Tommy’s, but thick enough that he’d get marinara sauce on it every pasta night. Thick enough that you wonder what it’d be like to have it graze your sensitive pelvis.

Fuck, he’s hot and you’re unreasonably horny.

“Hey.”

“Hey, kiddo,” he parroted back, only with the help of that damned nickname he’s stamped onto you.

Crunch

You bit into the red apple you found during your little scavenging trip into his refrigerator. The sound broke whatever trance he had placed you under. With those eyes of yours, pupils rounded and lashes batted, it was a dangerous game you’re playing. When had you gotten so shameless towards Mr. Miller? Perhaps it’s when he touched you in an irrevocably pleasurable way, or perhaps it’s when he hadn’t posted a video for an entire month. He missed his posting schedule, two whole weeks post-’Dirty Fridays’, and it’s severely messing with your head. You’ve always been a good viewer. Always being content with what he had put out and would never harass him for more, but it’s been a long month repeating the same 13 minute long video.

You’re bound to get restless.

“Didn’t see you come home yesterday.”

“I was busy.”

Crunch

With other girls? In that trailer studio of yours? The question sat on the tip of your tongue. A breath away from being exposed into the dense air. You turned to lean your lower back onto the edge of the countertop, eyes still trained on his as you hitched yourself atop the smooth surface. Your fingers grazed the squared edges, just to keep you occupied while you dug under the surface of his browns. You wondered what he was so busy with - wondered what’s going on behind the tightly knitted cloak of guise he wore, wondered what he thought of you after his little lesson. He wasn’t a shy one. Mr. Miller stared back into your pupils. His chest raised and lowered with every blink he took.

You swallowed nervously.

“Workin’ doubles,” he cracked. “I ain’t sharin’ the job with anyone other than Tommy.”

“Is that so?”

“You think I’m lyin’?”

Crunch

You couldn’t read him. You’ve never been able to. There’s just a huge boulder sitting behind those irises, one that’s blocking you from understanding him even further. It’s not like it’s your business anyway. You’re content with spending your downtime with Sarah; screaming your hearts out to Taylor Swift’s I Knew You Were Trouble on the radio, painting each others’ nails, and making the ultimate pancake with chicken. You’re content with just watching him through his videos, reimagining those situations with the new knowledge you’ve acquired from him. You’re content with standing at a distance from him. So, it wouldn’t be logical to get all protective over him. What are you? His crazy ex-girlfriend?

“How’s Sarah?”

“Great,” you mumbled, mouth still half full. “Taught her fractions yesterday. Swear she’s getting smarter than me.”

“How’s Simon?”

Crunch

Things with Simon, surprisingly, went on smoothly. After that mediocre dinner, where you proceed to let Mr. Miller finger you afterwards in order to introduce you to the new world of sex, you’ve exchanged a few messages and a few perfectly appropriate photos. It’s been awhile since you actually put any effort into trying to get into a relationship, due to work loads and a special dependance towards a pornstar, but it’s much better than you expected. He’s a nice boy. He would treat you right if you gave him the chance to, but you couldn’t help but think that you’re doing all this out of spite. Doing this to show off how capable you are to Mr. Miller, to busy yourself off those plaguing thoughts of him.

“Simon’s doing okay. Fine. He took me for ice cream after my classes yesterday.”

“Offered you a ride, right?”

“Yup.”

He taught you well.

“You’ve done it with him then?”

Your heart clenched.

“Done what?”

“What I taught you.”

Why is he so candid about the entire ordeal?

It was like being held at gunpoint. You watched his eyes, then found it to be too oppressive so you looked down to meet his wet hands. He had finished washing all the plates and cutleries from the breakfast you and Sarah made, though his thick fingers still gripped onto the edge of the metal sink, wet and dripping. You looked up once again, trying to find a part of him that doesn’t make you all jittery and awkward.

“Yes.”

Your lie must’ve been undetectable since you quickly caught on to how his brows tangled and unraveled, a habit of his you’ve picked up recently, signaling that he’s processing the information and giving it a good thought.

“Was it as good?”

Crunch

You nodded surely with a mouthful of tangy apple. There’s no way you could get away with lying so blatantly the second time so you decide the nod would affirm your position better instead of scramble it. He cocked his head to the side, arrogant as always, with some sort of interest in his eyes. You could just tell something foul was about to come out of those sharp tongue of his, when all of a sudden, a clatter sounded out from beyond the window. Both of you turned your heads in sync, following after where the presumable source was. There he was. Tommy in all of his youthful glory. One of his jean legs drenched and beside him was a metal bucket, laying pitifully with its contents poured out onto the sidewalk. He was cursing. A garbled mess of English, while he soothed his pained arse.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

He let out a sigh as he finally tore his gaze away from you to wipe his hands onto a kitchen rag.

“Gotta get goin’,” he whispered hurriedly, fingers running down his messy hair to smooth them down. “You need anything, sweetheart?”

You shook your head no and he took it as a cue to leave the premises. He rushed to pick up his phone from the dining room table, eyes fleeting to find his wallet right after.

“Hey, Mr. Miller.”

He turned his head to meet your eyes.

“You busy tonight?”

Dinner had always been a lonesome affair for you.

Back when you still live in your parents’ cluttered mishmash of a house, you’d always opt out of family dinner. Not because you weren’t particularly fond of your mother’s cooking, her one pot recipes will still remain nostalgic in your head despite time, but more because you’d rather not indulge in petty arguments. They’d always argue. Your mother would flash you that look of hers, silently demanding you to stay on her side when it comes to dealing with your father’s frequent misdemeanors. He’d complain about the tiniest bits of things. If the lettuce was too wilted or if you were wearing too much makeup. He’s an ass, sure, but it’s not like your mother’s planning to abandon him anytime soon. They’re conjoined at this point. Even when it’s massively unhealthy, especially for spectators like you.

In Mr. Miller’s home, oftentimes, you’d put together an edible meal for the entire family. Mr. Miller was a hard worker, according to the accounts that he made, so it’s not rare that you’d have to fry up sausages and whip mashed potatoes together for Sarah. It’s not as if he made it your responsibility. He’d encourage the two of you to order take outs or phone in the pizza place, but that couldn’t be good for Sarah’s growth or his own pocket. And as much as you’d like to deny it, you’re growing way too fond of the Millers.

But it’s been far too long since you crossed path with Mr. Miller. Far too long that you might’ve forgotten what his natural musk after a long day smelt like. Far too long that you might’ve forgotten how heavy his boots were as it dragged across the tiles. Far too long that you surely misses him.

You’re nervous.

Unreasonably so when the promise you’ve made with him was simply for dinner. Nothing less or more. Just dinner. Was the invitation you gave him.. too much? Was it too flirty? Was it silly to think that he might’ve entertained the little show you put out? The desperate stares and chewed lips, you’re undeniably begging for attention. Begging for him to pay attention to you, see what you’re made out of, doesn’t he want to unravel you more? The audacity you have was laughable.

How pathetic, you thought. 

Just like clockwork, Mr. Miller showed up right after your self-deprecating cycle. Right after all that flirty and playful energy got brutally murdered by common sense. Right after they were buried in a graveyard of mistakes and what was left was simply the putrid scent of shame. Your head perked up expectantly. As if the mere sight of him in his work uniform,  a combo of worn-out flannel shirts and dark-washed jeans, would cure you of exhaustion. Mr. Miller came barging into the hallway. His thumb and index finger diligently massaged the tall bridge of his nose, eyes closed and nose flared from breathing too hard. Your eyes finally made its rounds to where his free arm was propped up on his waist. Sleeves rolled to where it was physically impossible to roll them higher.

He didn’t look like he was in the best of moods.

And somehow.. somehow it excites you.

“Hi, how are you?” you spoke stiffly as if you’re one of those supermarket cashiers, posture straightening upon his arrival.

“Not good,” he replied gruffly.

Mr. Miller made his way to you. He appeared to be the same height and stature as he’s always been, but for whatever reason, he looked a lot larger. As if he could bite and tear you into chunks of flesh if he truly desired to. His movements were staggered. Each step seemed to be more and more of a hassle to him. He had this.. frown on his face. You could even call it a scowl. Forehead waved with folds of worries, lips tightened into an irritated pull as he finally settled down across from you. This new side to him made your limbs limp and your heart spasm. A squeeze each time his narrowed eyes met yours.

“Everything.. okay?” you mused out.

“Just a bunch of shit piling up,” he reasoned, looking down to meet the plate you carefully crafted for him. “Nothin’ to worry your pretty little head.”

The plate’s cold, boiled asparagus hardened and packaged chicken dried, but he didn’t even consider complaining. His brown eyes took in the effort you gave, a brief sheen of guilt glazing those pretty eyes of his before he picked up his fork and spoon. You watched him with care. His every move calculated and drilled deep into your head.

“Sarah asleep?”

“Mhm. I bored her to death with trigonometry,” you chuckled lightly. “She’s okay. Just.. she’s been asking for you. Asking me why you’re always home late.”

Joel’s eyes perked up from the plate. He met your eyes, but it almost felt like he’s looking right through you, over your head to where he could contemplate his decisions. You knew this just from looking, but Joel Miller had a fear of not being a good parental figure. Sarah only had one and he’s barely ever home. That sort of thought festered over him and took over any sort of inhibition. Any sort of clear thinking, that he’s doing all these side jobs to help support her further in life, that it was all for her. Mr. Miller beats himself up too much, but it’s not like you had any right to intervene. You watched as he indulged in the asparagus, seeing how it’s grown cold enough to feel like metal rods when bitten into. He chewed on it with a solemn expression, a curl between his brows.

“Sorry for putting you through this, sweetheart,” he hummed. “I could.. should actually hire help.”

You waited a beat.

“You’ve been doing me too much favor. It’s not.. right.”

“Don’t need to.”

“Why?”

“Always happy to help.”

“But-”

“It’ll cost you too much for help. You’d be sleeping at your job if that happens.”

He could easily earn up to thousands if he gave into the temptations and started working for a mainstream adult film company. One that’s easily recognized from its corny storylines and cringy high-pitched over-the-top moans. Mr. Miller would be a hit, you’re sure of that. Mainstream porn only requires two things when it comes to male actors: a pretty reasonably-sized cock and charisma. Both in which he had under his belt. If he weren’t so particular with the actresses he chose, the angles in which he filmed, and the routine in which he performed in, perhaps he wouldn’t have to beat himself up to skin and bones. You leaned your cheeks onto the palm of your hands as you watched him devour his dinner.

“I need a favor.”

His fork paused.

“But you- well, you’ll laugh.”

He looked up. The crinkles beside his eyes seemed a lot more prominent, as if he’s thoroughly entertained by your youthful silliness.

“What is it? Somethin’ for Simon is it?”

He’s spot on and it’s making you shrink.

“What?” he chuckled gruffly. “You gonna ask me to teach ya how to blow a guy? Oh.. or how to hang him up in ribbons?”

You looked away, awkwardly scratching your elbow.

“Fuck. I’m spot on, am I? Didn’t take you for a kinky gal.”

“No! God, no,” you looked at him, horrified. “Not the latter.”

“The former then?”

“The former.”

The former. You couldn’t bear to wait for his delayed answer. It’s shameless for you to be asking a second time, but you couldn’t help yourself. You’re pent-up, desperate, and he’s your porn star crush forfuckssake. You stood up from where you’re seated. Your gaze was averted completely, to the point where it’s tilted at an uncomfortable angle to shuffle away from his attention. It’s better to sleep it off. Then maybe you’d act like all this didn’t happen the next day. Sarah’s going to be around for breakfast, so he’d surely keep his mouth in check and draw his way out of this. Wouldn’t he.. would he-

“Hey, hey slow down.”

You felt a hand stop you. His grip was tight, possibly bruising if you were to retaliate any other way. It was still hard to meet his eyes, especially when you had to make the special effort to tilt your head up in order to meet his searing gaze. You waited instead, letting him hinder you of any movements as you stared intensely into his flannel-cladded chest. What was he going to say? Is he going to call you up for your perverseness? Was he-

“I’ll do it.”

“What?”

“I said I’ll do it.”

His voice clambered in the chambers of your heart. Masculine, thick with an inch of Southern bass, he took hold of your other hand with those thick fingers of his. This was different from your first lesson. He looked much more.. impatient. A bit of a rough edge when it comes to handling you, a pretty little thing that’s too brave and forward for your own good. His scent, fragments of wood and a taste of clean laundry, permeated the thick air around you. You inhaled him. All of him for the first time in a very very long week. He released the steel grip he had around your wrists and traced it over the rough outline of your body. Up, up, up, until he reached the span of your shoulder. Your breath hitched. All you could feel in your heart was a repeating desire for himhimhim.

He pushed you down slowly, guiding you to lower yourself before him. Right until your knees hit the freezing linoleum tiles beneath his feet. What were you doing? Is it the right decision to fall back into the same old mistake?

“Have you ever practiced on anything before?” he chuckled, almost demeaning in a sense. “A banana or a hairbrush perhaps?”

You shook your head no. All you could see was his dirty jeans, stained of dry concrete and paint.

He brought his rough fingers down to graze against your chin, tilting it upwards so that you’d face him. His eyes were dark, hooded, and trying its best to conceal its obvious amusement. Your chest heaved up and down. Nervous of what he’s about to do next.

“Let’s practice first, ‘kay, sweetheart?” he muttered.

Mr. Miller brought his other pair of fingers next to your face, cradling it with such reverence. He swiped your lips. Bottom then top, only to delve inside your mouth to wet it with enough lubricant. He’s initiating it. His little routine. The older man brought two of his fingers, his index and middle, before he inserted it slowly into your wet cavity. Slowly. Achingly slow. He made sure that you’re comfortable with just a knuckle deep before he proceeded to push in further until the tips sat at the very beginning of your tongue. It wasn’t a familiar feeling like rubbing your clit. You struggle not to gag, or to whimper at the sheer lewdness of the scene unfolding.

“Ah, what a smart girl,” he mused. “Lay your tongue flat for me.”

Your clammy palms fell helplessly atop your smooth pajama pants, gripping on the cotton everytime it felt like too much. His thick fingers separated to make the girth much larger, preparing you for what’s to come. It’s almost as if you could taste him. Taste the natural scent Mr. Miller has around him at all times, taste the carnal desire he held for this. You knew he wouldn’t openly admit it, but this time, it truly looked like he’s looking forward to ripping your innocence away. All his feigned affection stretched thin as you obeyed him perfectly. Tongue flat on the base of your mouth, you breathed in through your nose as best as you can.

“That boy wouldn’t like it if you’re sharp with your teeth,” he muttered as he pulled his fingers away. A string of saliva connected the tip of his wet fingers to your slacked jaw. Oh, how vulgar. Your tight entrance twitched and throbbed inside your panties. Arousal started to wet the thin material, painting dark circles that contrast with the bright color. You were heaving, panting from the sudden increase of oxygen. “So no teeth, keep your tongue flat, and breathe through your nose.”

“You got that, sweetheart?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, who?”

“Yes, Mr. Miller.”

“Alright. Would you like me to take my pants off or do you wanna try it yourself?”

You looked up at the tempting prospect. He gave you a little nod, affirming that you indeed had the upper hand to the situation. And just like that your hands were quick to get on the perimeter of his belt. You loosened the leather from its metal confines, slowly pulling it away from the hook before leaving it. The leather hung from where his two front loops were located. Meekly, you looked up once more as your soft fingers felt his buttons up. He hissed through his pursed lips, a good reaction you assume, as you slowly unbuttoned the main button. You were confident enough now to tug away at his zippers. Step one was completed, you’ve successfully opened him up like a Christmas present.

But.. what’s next?

“What do I do next?”

“What do you think you do?”

You reached out for the waistband of his briefs, but you were quickly met with a little slap on the back of your hand. Not a hurtful one. Just a little reminder.

“It’s best if you get him worked up first so he’s fully hard when you’re ready,” he whispered. “Why don’t you press some gentle kisses on it?”

You hummed in agreement, before you did as you’re told. Even with the dim lighting of the dining room, you could see clearly where the outline of his cock is. It’s semi-erected, you deduced. You’ve seen him in all his glory to the point where you could calculate how much more he could grow. Gently, you closed the gap between you and those pair of briefs he’s wearing. Your mouth was hot and warm in contrast to the cold air, so when you finally pressed a kiss on top of his clothed shaft, his cock twitched immediately. You could feel it and see it too in certain lighting. Encouraged, you press even more kisses on each and every spot, slowly building up the desire until you reach the leaking tip. You nuzzled your nose close. It smelled like him, salty with a tinge of masculine musk.

This turned you on so much that you inevitably grinded your bottom towards the cold tile. Nothing was there to satiate your throbbing core, just a short term burst of pleasure.

“Shit, sweetie,” he hissed. “I think you’re ready.”

With haste, you quickly tugged on his waistband. You didn’t expect for his length to pop out that quickly, the startled reaction you had was proof of that. He looked.. pretty. Blushed beige with a ruddy tip that's covered. It’s a little silly that that’s the first thing that came to your mind, but it’s the truth. You’d never guess that you could get this up close. Eye level to the cock you’ve been fantasizing about, where you could practically see each and every one of his veins. You didn’t say one word. Instead, you settled on observing the new interest. Your one finger went up curiously to touch the white substance that’s pooling up top. Sticky, you thought. Out of curiosity, you stuck the lone finger down your throat. Salty was the next thought in line.

“Didn’t expect you to taste it,” he chuckled.

You simmered in the sudden embarrassment.

“What’s next? Should I just put it in my mouth?”

“You could.”

“There’s another way?” you peered up curiously.

“Well,” he hummed. You watched as his finger pried your lips open once more, urging you to stick out your wet tongue. “You could make a show out of it. Look me in the eye and lick me slowly.”

You quirked your eyebrows as if unsure if this will work. You’ve never taken yourself as a ‘sexy’ person. Will this even work? To get rid of those plaguing thoughts, you decided to take a leap of faith. You stuck your tongue out more and slowwwwly dragged it along his salty length. You made sure to keep your eyes on his, watching his every micro reaction to decide which one pleased him more. This is supposed to be about Simon! Why are you.. seeking for his validation? On instinct, you pulled the hooded skin back to reveal his furiously red tip. You laughed nervously before you experimentally sucked on it. The wet warmth instantly had him buck up into you, a strained groan following suit. 

“Oh shit,” he cursed. “You’re doing good.”

Getting confident, you decided to suckle on it a little more. It tasted a lot more intense than what you’ve tasted of him, but it wasn’t bad at all.

“You think you could take more, sweetheart?”

You nodded before letting his length infiltrate your mouth even more. The end touched the back of your throat ambitiously before you had to pull back and set yourself onto his sensitive tip once more. It wasn’t as easy as his co-stars are making it seem. There was a rhythm in which you have to master, a balance of push and pull so that you don’t gag at the intrusion. His soft groans were heavenly. You didn’t get to hear much of it the first time around, but now it’s all you could think of. You can’t take it anymore! You just had to touch yourself.

“Shit, you’re a dirty gal, are ya?” he chuckled. “Had to touch yourself to this?”

You cried out a muffled moan. It was all too familiar. The way in which you slipped your hand into your pants, shuffling between the layers of panties to rub at your clit. You were already drenched with need. Strings of arousal webbed between your fingers as you rubbed figure eights all across the sensitive patch of nerves. You’re losing track of the rhythm and Mr. Miller took notice of that. He was kind enough to lead you. His fingers slotted perfectly behind the crown of your head, guiding you in a pace you could tolerate.

“Perfect mouth for little Simon,” he degraded.

Mr. Miller’s large hands continued to move you at a certain pace. The time slot left for you to gather your breath tightened and it’s almost like you could pass out from the lack of oxygen. But it felt too good. He tasted too nice. You’ve got his cock in your mouth and it’s spurting out tangy liquid goodness onto your tongue, what else can you ask for? 

You continued to grind onto the palm of your hand, desperate enough to not think of how shameless you looked. So slick, your fingers let out a lewd pop everytime it dipped inside of you. Usually you weren’t fond of vaginal penetration by yourself, but the thought of having his cock inside of you left you rabid. This was supposed to be about Simon, is it not?

“You wanna know what a real man tastes like?” he mused out lazily.

You nodded desperately. Mr. Miller held your head tight against his pelvis. Your nose grazed against the coarse dark curls he had as he twitched inside of you. You continued to slick the pads of your fingers against yourself. An entire week of masturbation being combined into one as you felt that familiar pressure build in your stomach. A coil waiting to be snapped.

“Sh- shit.”

Mr. Miller broke first. He hunched slightly as he rode his orgasm out. You could see how his legs trembled and his hips bucked himself even further down your throat. 

There it was. The salty trace you tried earlier came in big spurts down your throat, only when you couldn’t fit more did it start seeping out your mouth. It dribbled down the gaps between his softened cock and your aching mouth, stripes of white just trickling down vulgarly. You moaned into his cock, wetting the flimsy material of your panties. A combination of the scent his cock gave to the familiar rubs to your clit had you seeing stars. You knew for a fact that the linoleum tiles would be soaked with your juices when you come up to your feets. 

This isn’t a problem anymore, it’s a catastrophe.

[biteofcherry]

Shiny Trinket

Heart of Ruby Masterlist

part of Ruby Garden series

Dom!Ari Levinson x submissive female reader

summary: Don't ever think that your Dom doesn't take your opinions into consideration. Ari's about to thoroughly review your small suggestion about the Ruby Garden club's interior.

warnings: Dom/sub dynamics; bdsm; Dom!Ari Levinson; power imbalance; safe, sane and consensual; established relationship; mild bondage; use of sex toys; explicit s**ual content; very light objectification;

word count: 3.6k

In response to the pleading I wrote something with Dom!Ari to start the weekend. So grab a drink, don't drink it while reading, but hydrate afterwards as aftercare is important even for readers 😂

Head resting on Ari's shoulder, you mindlessly play with the button of his partly-open shirt as your gaze trails across the space. Soft timbre of Ari's voice as your Dom talks to another member is soothing enough that you let your thoughts simply wander.

Dark tones on the walls, which at first sight may look like simple black paint, are in fact a velvety wallpaper encrusted with decorative swirls. BDSM equipment in red leather and old-wood styled designs is mixed with black, French-style furniture; like the curved dresser which drawers are filled with small fun implements, from nipple clamps to gags.

Ornamental iron hanging from the ceilings in various spots around the club serves as rafters to which poor bottoms can be cuffed. The chandeliers, most in red or reddish-gold, a decorative echo of old French districts.

No wonder Ari feels here so at ease. Not only because he owns the place, but because he made it a much kinkier, lush reflection of the New Orleans, which used to be his home. 

You like the quite luxurious feel of the Ruby Garden, with the enticing shades of black and titular red, wood and upholstery that sometimes make you fantasize about past century brothels or private clubs where kink started to bloom amongst bohemian passions.

But there's something missing. At least according to your eye.

"It could use some sparkles," you mutter under your breath, not fully aware you said it out loud.

Ari's legs beneath you jerk up slightly, nudging you as he tilts his head and glances at you.

"Hmm? What were you saying, mon Chérie?" He asks.

Ari never loses his focus on you, even if he's engaged in a conversation with someone else, his instincts are always zeroed in on you.

It's endearing, but sometimes also scary. Especially in moments when you'd rather not have your Dom sense you're about to get into trouble.

"Nothing important," you shrug. "Just that something shiny could be added to the club's interior."

"What?" Ari arches a single brow, now fully looking at you.

"Hey, I find the club very chic and stylish," you playfully tug on the collar of Ari's shirt, "but even with the addition of red it's still mostly masculine. A few shiny trinkets here or there could level it up."

Okay, so maybe you like sparkling things a bit.

Maybe a lot.

Maybe the vanity at your place is stacked with four jewelry boxes that beside your usually worn jewelry contain lots of broken strings of colorful beads, which you didn't have a heart to throw away because they were so pretty and shiny.

"Shiny decorations?" At first Ari looks at you as if you lost your mind, but his eyes slowly darken as he deliberates on something.

You tilt yourself back warily, as much as Ari's heavy arm securing your back allows. You don't trust that look on his face, when his features harden and evil kind of mischief ignites in his blue eyes.

When he gives you that look, it usually means you're about to suffer his wicked ways.

"I think I have to seriously consider such a proposition." Ari hums, tracing his fingertips down your arm.

He gently takes your fingers in his and lifts your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles like a gentleman. Reminding you of the movie vampires you once compared him to, saying he had that southern charm blinding his victim into compliance so that he could rip her apart and leave her body in the bayou.

Ari had laughed then; rich and genuine amusement that carried through his apartment and made your heart flutter in happiness.

Then he'd tied you to a reupholstered Bergere chair and wrecked you to a point that you prayed for being dumped dead in the bayou.

So now that he's dropping into his charming deception again, your heart jumps in reasonable fear. And your pussy clenches.

"Stand up for me, Chérie." He helps you up on your feet, moving along with you, until he's towering over you.

"Remove your clothing, please." Though he's polite, you know it wasn't a request, but an order.

One you don't have much trouble complying, despite there always being that first wave of embarrassment when you undressed fully in the club, since there were always curious eyes around you.

"Wrists, please."

It's an instinct, to place your hand in Ari's grip without hesitation. Even if you're wary of his creative type of evil, you trust him deeply.

Ari's leather cuffs are already in place, always put on before you enter the club floor. Now he links them together, binding your hands. Then he lifts your arms above your head.

Your eyes follow the line of Ari's arms as he stretches them - one hand holding your bound wrists, while the other reaches for a chain hanging from the rafters above.

Uh-oh.

He chains you in place, pulling you up 'till you're balancing on the balls of your feet.

Ari tenderly runs his fingertips along your arms and down your sides, reminding you of his presence and care, despite having just thrown you off balance.

"A second, if you please." He smiles at you, but it's not really reassuring. Not at the moment when you see the wicked hunger gleaming in his eyes.

Ari sways you gently, chuckling when you squeak as your feet slide across the floor.

He moves past you, walking a few steps away. You can hear amused huffs coming from the few people who are around, including the Master with whom Ari was speaking before.

You try focusing on the sounds of what your Dom may be preparing, but the mixture of the club's noises drowns out the quiet slide of a drawer being pulled open.

Ari doesn't take long, but enough for you to start stewing in images running wild.

There's always an element of surprise (to not say shock) when being with Ari. No matter how many details you talk over before starting some scenes, your Master always twists it up and makes your head spin.

He stands in front of you again, steadying your body with a hand on your hip. He lets his gaze roam over you; slowly, so that you feel the burning attention rousing each part of your body.

"I'm always open to suggestions," he says, squeezing your flesh, "so I'll happily consider the option of adding more sparkling elements to the interior."

"But I'd rather keep with the color scheme, okay?" He asks you, as if he was really talking about simple interior design.

You know he's not. You can practically see the cogs in his devious mind twirling rapidly, creating a plan of your demise to the tune of his evil laugh.

You swallow nervously, nodding your head hesitantly.

Then Ari takes something out of his pocket and your eyes widen.

The chain that dangles on his finger isn't long. It has three red, crystal hearts placed evenly across it. And a pair of biting as fuck nipple clamps - each on one end.

"Oh no, no, no, no!" You shake your head, scrambling away as far as your chain allows, which isn't far.

Ari sighs.

He takes one step to the side. Then lands a slap on your ass so solid, that the crack of it echoes through the club and the painful sting makes you jump forward with a shriek.

Rough fingers squeeze your chin harshly when Ari faces you again. his eyes hold a reprimand that's a hair away from punishment.

"Nipple clamps are not on your hard limits list." He reminds you. "Or has that changed?"

"N-no, Sir," you want to cast your eyes down, but with the way Ari's holding your chin you're forced to withstand the eye contact.

"Do you perhaps need to safeword?"

Though his voice is a low graze of displeasure, you know it's at your antics, because Ari is always - absolutely always - serious about consent and safewords.

"No, Sir," you don't hesitate in your answer, even though you know it's sealing your fate.

"Are you in the yellow range? Do we need to pause and talk?"

He would. Immediately. If you hinted at actual discomfort beyond what you could take for your Master.

But you were nowhere near that stage. You were simply fussy and maybe the tiniest bit bratty, which meant you were getting yourself in even more trouble.

"No, Sir," you grumble in defeat.

"Ah, so you're being whiny just for the sake of it?" Ari releases your chin, but his fingers curl instead around the back of your neck as he steps so close to you that his clothes graze your naked skin.

"I don't like nipple clamps!" You blurt out, unable to stop the petulance from spilling.

"Tough." Ari shrugs. "Because I like putting them on you."

"I like how you squeak when I attach them," he murmurs, running his fingertips under the swell of your breasts. "How you pant as you breathe through the pain for me."

"I love how wet you get from them," he pinches your nipples, at the same time capturing your lips in a kiss.

Your yip melts on Ari's tongue, dispersing into a moan the longer he holds your nipples between his fingers.

You'd tell him it's not the clamps themselves that do it to you, but the fact Ari makes you suffer them. Also because his voice, warm and raspy, is like prelude to sex itself and you would get wet and needy from his talk alone.

But any coherent thought leaves your brain when Ari's mouth descends down your neck and onto your breasts. He cups each in his big hands, squeezing. Then his mouth is on one of your nipples, sucking and tormenting it into a stiff point.

He lavishes the other tit with the same voracious attention, tugging on the stiffened peak with his teeth, before releasing it.

Straightening up, Ari holds your gaze as he rubs your poor, tortured nipples with his fingers, wiping away excess of his own saliva, so that the clamps would hold on better.

And then he's attaching the first one; impish glee lighting up his eyes at your hiss.

By the time he secures the other clamp, adjusting the tightness, you're trying to steady your ragged breath and not close your thighs, because your folds are getting puffy and wet.

"See? Shiny." Ari mocks you, flicking one of the crystal hearts hanging from the thin chain attaching both clamps.

The impact, however minimal, tugs on your nipples, sending another zap straight to your core.

"But I think, if we're going for a proper shiny ornament to decorate my club-" Ari's mouth curves in a smirk as he reaches into his pocket once again- "it needs to be opulent."

He lifts his hand up and the first thing that you see is a red crystal heart between his fingers.

Ari turns his palm up and a wave of heat washes over you. A butt plug. Very reasonable in size, but it doesn't change the fact you're still squirmy and shy when your Dom initiates anal play.

You almost caused him a laughing hiccup when you tried to talk your way out of it, by blurting out it's unhygienic.

In moments like that, when you knew Ari was going to push against your resistance, you considered moving everything into a hard limit list. Though Ari had the skill to use kissing alone as a damn torment.

You curse under your breath when Ari moves to stand behind you and kicks your feet wider apart. You catch a small audience glancing your way, quickly shifting your own gaze to the floor.

There's a snick of a bottle being open and then Ari's finger slides between your buttcheeks, smearing a dollop of lube around your rim.

The plug is coated in lube as well, easing its way inside.

Your breath quickens, a whimper spilling on your lips when Ari pushes the toy in.

"Push back, Chérie. That's it," he encourages you.

While his voice is soft and the hand steadying your hip is reassuring, the pressure against your tightest hole is merciless.

“There you go,” Ari forces the whole thing in, tracing the heart-shaped securing end with his finger. “So pretty and sparkly.” 

He pats your ass lightly, rounding you again. A glint of recognition in his eyes tells you that he's acutely aware that you’re settling into every sensation, every part of the scene that’s unfolding. 

Ari knows your body is throbbing with growing need, that you’re focusing on the feeling of your nipples being crushed and your ass being stretched; as well on the helplessness of being bound and naked in front of him. In front of other people, too. And he knows being at his mercy (while also deeply certain of remaining in his care) tops your arousal. 

Your gaze is a little dazed already as you look up at him, a blissed sigh leaving your lips when Ari’s touch marks your body.

He’s tracing lines along your sides, moving closer to caress your back and then up your arms. He draws patterns with his fingertips, then squeezes your ass with both hands. 

Breath hitches in your lungs as Ari crouches down, his hot breath tickling your belly while his large hands grip your thighs. 

For a long moment nothing happens, just Ari keeping his mouth an inch from your wet core as he slides his hands up and down your legs, each time moving them a little higher, a little further between your thighs. 

When his tongue flicks against your clit, your whole body jerks with sensation. The chain clinks, your feet scrambling against the floor, and the heart-shaped weights on the nipple clamps tug harsher. 

“Shh,” Ari coos, wrapping his arms around your thighs to help you steady. 

He works wicked eights on your swelling nub, his tongue putting spells that drive you surely to the edge, but keep away from finishing your torment. 

When he pulls back, you have half a mind to glare at him. The fact he doesn’t immediately retaliate with a swat to your clit only increases your worry. Turns you on even more, as well. 

Ari reaches into his pocket once again. It takes your glazed eyes a few seconds to make out the glint of the implement within his palm. Similar to a minimalistic, curved brooch, with a single red, crystal heart. 

“Oh God, Sir.” You nearly weep, tugging on the chain binding your hands. “Please no, Sir, please, please.”

Ari doesn’t show an ounce of irritation this time, he’s too smug about drawing reactions from your body. Though you are certain that the clit clamp he has prepared for you is for his own amusement, not your own pleasure.  

“Color?” He simply asks, referring to the traffic color system that’s the classic and most basic form of stating your state when in a bdsm scene.

You whine again, because you can’t lie to him and because you’re not even distressed. 

“Green,” you admit, pouting.

You try tilting your ass back, moving your sensitive parts away from the wicked Master with his stupid implements of evil. A smack on the back of your thigh has you yelping and scooting back forward. You earn another slap for glaring. 

“FuckjesusohgodSirfuck-” you babble, eyes screwing shut as Ari pinches your puffy folds together and clamps them.

Your engorged clit is fully exposed in the tear-shaped hole, its sides squeezing it only a tad lighter than the torture devices do your nipples. The heart shaped crystal falls right atop your exposed clit and you know it will bump it with every move. 

Sucking in a breath, you press your lips together and still your body. If you won’t move a single muscle then it will be alright. 

Moderately alright, since you’re suffering already, but better than the-

Your mouth falls open on a cry and your whole body jolts when Ari pats your clit with an open hand. 

Your core burns, walls fluttering rapidly. Your ass clenches too, which in turn leads to a dirty reminder that it's stretched around a plug. Movement causes the chain between nipple clamps to sway, tugging on your abused peaks. 

The heat inside you grows, blood rushing through you and buzzing in your head. 

Lips parted, as moan after moan trickles out, you fall deeper into sensations spreading through your body. Your mind gets a little cloudy, shutting out everything that isn’t connected to your body.

Ari’s touch becomes a beacon, drawing your attention to wherever he points. Light strokes of his hands, instead of soothing your body, escalate the madness. His mouth joins the torment, kisses and bites overloading your senses. 

You keen loudly when he brushes the back of his hand against your trapped, swollen folds. You don’t even register the hum of delight from your audience when Ari taps the crystal over your clit and it bounces, making you cry out.

“Who would’ve thought that a shiny trinket is so whiny?” Ari mocks.

You, amusing him further, whine again, your head lolling forward. 

Ari’s fingers push between your lips, coarse pads rubbing against your tongue. He drives two, then three, almost to the back of your throat. Then withdraws them, a string of saliva stretching between your mouth and his fingers. 

He brings his wet fingers to your clit again, circling it oh so slowly, then flicking the crystal over and over again. 

He gives you short reprieve, enough for the pulsing in your clit to marginally subside. Enough that when he finally takes the damn clamp off, you don’t come immediately from the sheer return of blood to your sensitive parts.

You’re nearly panting and doing your best to keep your legs spread, because if you closed your thighs an inch, it surely would be a stimulation enough you’d orgasm.

Which, actually, is tempting as hell…

You don’t get to try it, however. Ari is pushing between your thighs; pants undone and cock sheathed. 

He grips one of your legs below the knee and pulls it up, wrapping it around his hip. Bending his legs slightly, Ari guides the head of his cock into your pussy. Standing still for a moment, he moves his now free hand to grip your ass and then plunges in one, swift stroke.

The stretch is maddening enough to have you push up on your tiptoes, but Ari drives in to the hilt, sinking himself so deeply that your oversensitive clit crushes into his pelvis.

You come with a scream, body convulsing in pleasure so high it’s almost painful. 

Ari holds you through it, a vein in his neck pulsing as he forces himself to stay still and not fuck into the clenching heat of your cunt. 

When you slump forward, head resting in the crook of Ari’s neck, he teases loud enough for your hazy brain to register and for your audience to hear:

“So much trouble with shiny trinkets. You poke it and it immediately breaks apart.” 

Your incoherent mewl against his neck makes Ari huff a laugh. 

He kisses your shoulder softly then starts moving. He keeps the few first thrusts slow, finding the best angle for his own pleasure. Then steadily increases the pace and the force. 

You start responding, as each push jolts your body and the embers of arousal ignite into flames again. The clamps on your nipples are still attached, pulling on your peaks with each roll of Ari’s hips. His hand on your ass angles, long digits resting atop the crystal of the anal plug and tapping it repeatedly. 

“Oh! Ohh!” Your head tilts back, cheek squishing into your outstretched arm. 

Ari tugs on the butt plug, cock driving into you harder. Among the fizz in your head, you can hear faint jingling - of the chains on the rafter, of the chain swaying between your tits, of the buckle in Ari’s belt. 

There’s also the pitiful babble coming from your own mouth: begging and prayers, all at once. 

Ari’s grunts elicit a special type of pleasure, a certain fulfillment at knowing your Dom is satisfied. That you give him this pleasure. For a submissive like you it’s a gratification greater than your own orgasm. 

Though you sure love the shattering climax that Ari rips from you when he rams into your pussy at a particular angle.

The squeeze of your walls topples him over soon after you. The feelings of his cock twitching inside you makes you sigh in contentment. It always does, whether he finishes in one of your holes, or in your hand. 

You don’t fully register the tenderly spoken “I’ve got you, mon amour,” when Ari slides out of you a few heartbeats later. 

It’s the rush of blood returning to your nipples after he takes off the clamps, that shakes you out of daze. The zap of pain surges to your core in a twisted ripple. 

Ari rubs your nipples gently, easing the ache. Kisses each tip. 

He eases out the plug from your hole, then gathers all the toys into a small zip-lock bag to take it cleaning later. One strong arm around your middle, Ari uses his other hand to unchain you. There’s no stumbling as you sink boneless into his arms, Ari's an expert in catching and holding you. 

With your head resting against Ari’s chest when he sits down on a small sofa, after wrapping you in a soft blanket, you focus on the pounding of his heart beneath your ear and don’t hear the passing comment of one of the Masters about it being a fun idea to have someone be made into a trinket once a week. 

Ari doesn’t mind this type of recurring decoration at the club. 

As for the kind of shiny trinkets you liked, Ari decides on buying you a few sun catchers to hang in the windows, so you could chase the shards of rainbow scattered on the floor and walls.   

[pipwasreal]

Day 5: magic + marking

Characters: Charles Rowland, Edwin Payne

Content warnings: marking, knifeplay

Now with an illustration by jube-art!

Charles has been trying to untangle the string of this yo-yo for ages. It's a handy back-up weapon, with the string magically extending as long as needed to hit a target, but it's a pain in the arse to manually reset afterward. He wonders if it'd be possible to add a retract function, like a vacuum cleaner.

"I believe I have found a way," Edwin says slowly, stepping out from behind the desk, "of ensuring we can find each other, should we ever be separated."

Glad of the distraction, Charles abandons the tangled mess on the floor and springs to his feet.

"That's brills, mate!"

Charles grins and Edwin smiles in return, but he still seems tentative, his fingertips pressed together in front of him and his thumbs circling each other.

"What's it involve, then?"

"It works a little like the enchantment on the tracking stones, only more... permanent."

Edwin gestures to a book laying open on the desk and Charles dutifully glances down at it.

A load of text he can't read, some fancy runes... and a helpful little diagram of two Medieval-looking people, hearts visible through their chests and a dotted line picked out in gold ink connecting them.

Charles looks back up at Edwin expectantly.

"Essentially, each person is marked with a rune, the runes are magically linked, and they can activate the connection between them as needed, with just touch and intent."

"What d'you mean, marked?"

By way of answer, Charles can only assume, Edwin begins to unbutton his shirt. They've been alone in the office all day, so Edwin is dressed down to his rolled-up shirtsleeves, collar undone. It delights Charles that only he gets to see Edwin this relaxed.

"I took the liberty of marking myself first," Edwin says, "to test if I could faithfully replicate the rune on spectral flesh."

He leaves the lower half of his shirt buttons still done up, moving instead to unbutton his undershirt.

The skin revealed is smooth and pale, with a few freckles and a sparse dusting of hair. The rune, inch high and intricate, is scar-white on his breastbone.

"You did that to yourself?" Charles gapes, impressed and... a little bit uncomfortable, if he's honest. It seems oddly reckless, for the usually careful Edwin.

"I did not wish to mention it until I was quite sure there would be no ill effects. Are you... amenable?"

Edwin looks almost shy, which makes Charles want to be bold.

"Yeah, course. Don't want to lose you, do I?"

Edwin smiles properly at that, teeth and dimples and all.

"Nor I you," he says softly.

Then he clears his throat, all business.

"Right, well," he says, "according to several sources, the placement of the mark is important. If you wouldn't mind removing your undershirt?"

Charles immediately pushes his braces down and tugs his singlet off over his head, baring his chest.

"And the implement."

Edwin picks up a small knife from the desk and holds it up for Charles to inspect.

It has runes etched into the curved blade and tooled into the dark green leather wrapping the handle. There's a dainty silver chain attached, for hanging from a wrist or belt, Charles guesses. It's a pretty little thing, but the blade is a wicked sharp claw.

Edwin rests the tip on Charles' breastbone.

"Now Charles, I'm afraid this may sting a little."

Coming from Edwin, with his disturbingly high pain tolerance, that probably means it's going to smart like blazes, but that's alright. Charles swallows, stuffs his fists into his trouser pockets and nods.

Edwin places his other hand carefully on Charles' shoulder, squeezes gently, and begins.

The pain is bad, but Charles has had worse. And it's kind of nice, having Edwin so close, focused so intently on him.

After what can't be more than a minute, but which feels much longer, Edwin lets go of his arm and steps back to survey his work.

Charles cranes his neck to look down at his own chest. The mark looks more like a pale scar than a fresh wound, and already the pain is fading.

"Kinda looks like an E, doesn't it?" Charles says.

Edwin tilts his head. "I suppose... a little. Back-to-front."

"Right way round from here. Looks good."

Edwin's critical expression softens into a hopeful smile when he meets Charles' eye.

"Shall we link them?"

Charles nods.

Edwin presses his right palm to the mark on his own chest, Charles mirrors him, then Edwin takes Charles' free hand in his. He says a few brief words in an unfamiliar language.

Charles doesn't have to ask if it worked because he can feel it, pulsing between them. He laughs, delighted and oddly relieved. When he closes his eyes he can see it, a gold thread guiding him home.

[thefirstknife]

How's the difficulty on this season's exotic mission vs last season's? Especially for solo runs?

I think it's a little bit easier if anything then for being shorter. Some people might have an issue with it being timed; you only get 10 minutes and if you don't do it, you go to orbit which means doing the Deep Dive again (though you don't have to do the hard version of the Deep Dive).

Avalon was a lot because it took so long and it could become exhausting especially on the final boss where there were no checkpoints. The whole thing was a lot of stuff to do so I think that was a bit harder. There were also points in that mission where the combat would become quite overwhelming, especially on legend difficulty.

This mission is also overwhelming and this week's modifiers are tough (chill touch which means that if you're touched by any melee ability, you get slowed by stasis + no radar). Next week it might be easier modifiers though! Also since it's only 10 minutes (+ around 10 minutes of Deep Dive), you won't ever lose more than 20 minutes on an attempt. The problem is that the boss has a lot of health and it can seem super demoralising when you run out of time and the boss isn't even half health. I highly recommend running Divinity and machine guns (if you're in a group).

I haven't tried this one solo yet. It might actually be harder in solo because of the health pool of the boss, since you're limited by time. It mostly means that it will take more dps phases which increases the chances of running out of time or getting killed. Both returns you to orbit. I'd recommend running it with at least two people, but if you really don't have anyone, you can give it a go solo and check online for what builds might be helpful for soloing. I think it needs far less overall endurance to solo a shorter mission, even if it takes more attempts, but that will depend on a personal preference. Give it a try for sure.