You tug your lip between your teeth as you gluttonously gyrate yourself atop him to drink in every inch of him that you can as your folds salivate for him. Are you fucking imprinting on me because you wish to stake your claim on me?
Driven by your wolf that claws at you to brand him in an act of devoted declaration that will not go unnoticed by any, you do not resist its decree to bedeck your mate with your mark in a pervasive possessiveness that will not quiet unless you do its bidding. You are to be mine. Do you want everyone to know who you belong to? He draws onto you a temporary symbol that will proudly display his intent to claim you as his, for it is forbidden to bestow a mating mark before an alpha and their chosen omega have been approved by the elders to become an official pair.
You whine as he continually cacoethes you, your hips canting over him with fervor as he sinfully slews his tautened muscle beneath you while he laps at you with a tongue too long to possibly be anything but debauchedly diabolical in the way that it flicks animatedly against you while he succulently suctions you between his lips until he bids your blood to the surface of your skin.
Your alpha smirks knowingly against you as he pulls away to peer proudly at the reddened petal marring your skin before his irises rake over you as he watches you with interest in the way that you oscillate ostentatiously over him as you chase the bliss that he dangles too high over you for you to be able to reach without his aid. He had noticed your need for more long ago, but had so enjoyed the salacious show you were putting on for him.
It was only a matter of time before your need overwhelmed you and he would willingly gift it to you with your sweet songs of raptness for him. You draw your brows together in concentration, the wheels in your mind refusing to turn under befuddled, muddled grounds of your alpha that have materialized there.
Beg for your alpha and perhaps he will let you have that which you desire. Please use your fingers on me. I want it so much. I want you so much. Your cheeks redden under his bluntness, your fingers pulling at his hair as you take a stuttered breath when his middle finger dares to descend over your clit with more force as he sweeps his digit upward and then back with a devastating rigidity that solidifies his thigh under you in the conniving contractions of his muscles.
Involuntary impulsiveness has you clamp him between your legs while your mouth falls open even more to permit the escape of drool born of craving that trickles across your chin lewdly in the shrinking shreds of sunlight that reach you.
Let me hear how incomparable it was to the pleasure I bestow to you now. You inspire the artist in him with the way that you magnificently match the ideal painting of mesmerism whose colors beckon his eye under every iota of the portrait that you illustrated with. Only you can satisfy me. Only you can deliver me to my end that belongs solely to you. Your orgasm is mine, your body is mine and you are mine. Say it. Use me to get yourself off, pretty.
Drench us both in your sweet nectar so that everyone will know you got fucked by your alpha. The thin twine of tensity within you is blazingly burned under the torrentially scorching downpour that Jungkook eagerly extirpates on you and it only takes one more cataclysmic calamity to bring you to your climax after that. Your alpha insistently impels you with this thigh, a purposeful ply of the muscle beneath you causing a catastrophic convulsion of your walls around him as your cunt closes around nothing while his muscles tensely tighten as he flexes them with finality at the same time that he presses his middle finger in rapid rhythm to the heaved pants that leave your lips.
Your legs quiver around him in the intensity of your end as you come with a shriek of his name while you pour your juices all over him to leave no part of his limb untainted of your essence as he attentively helps you to ride your orgasm out on him through the thousands of tiny waves that crash through your core all the way up to your belly.
You were, well, you are so good to me. Think nothing of it, pretty. You gave me such a beautiful show, pretty. Your cheeks redden with the embarrassment that that colors them and before you can say anything else, the blaring of a blowing horn breaks the bubble of pheromones and sex that has billowed bawdily around you as the shrilly shrewd voice of an elder boisterously booms through the woodland. Your heart sinks through your chest as your shoulders sag in the realization that tugs them down.
I will not be far from you. This, I promise to you. After many years of dwelling with the lead elder who was also your grandmother, you had been explicated many times by her on the traditions and practices of the compound. In punishment, the alpha would be bound in confining chains and made to watch other candidates vie for their chosen consort while restrained through restricting tethers. As for the omega, they would suffer the ridicule and chastisement of the elders and be the last to be presented to potential suitors.
You had once thought the sacred laws set by the compound to be so faultless, but now all you can see is the err that such rules demand in stealing your alpha away from you once more. You could hide the evidence of your illicit indecency your alpha had wrought upon you in the greenwood under the furs he had bedecked you with, but you would not be able to conceal yourself if you were discovered with him here.
No one will be able to keep us apart the next time that we meet, pretty. Longing is quick to take your reins when he ushers you backward, your weakened knees threatening to give way and when you stumble in the numbness that robs you of your stride, his strong hands are there to hold you up. If you do as I say, I shall be merciful to you later when it is just the two of us where no one will be able to stop me from doing to you what I wish.
A shiver that is not unpleasant races down your spine as you will yourself to move and your alpha watches with intrigue at the subtle shake of your ligaments that try to bear your weight under you, his muscles tautening in preparation to catch you should you fall.
Like the moon above, your brilliance emanates gently outward in its caress of all in your vicinity as you dazzle the earth in your luminous lustrousness that softens all that it touches. Role reversal time! You drag that hunter all the way to the temple, patch them up, then take them home. You may be planning on adding a few relaxers into their food later to keep them tamed.
Maybe you paid Bailey extra to keep them there. Gotta make a first impression, though. The two of you end up fucking like rabbits for a while, and at one point when you get tired and slump over them, they keep slamming their hips into yours and making you whimper. Eventually, you two are tired enough to simmer down. So begins the life of Eden the pet. Eden fucking hating that he's locked up.
That he's expected to behave and do as he's told. But he'd be lying if he said the constant sex isn't amazing. That he doesn't love how he gets to fill you up over and over. You might actually have to gag him at first. He'll constantly demand to be free. Binding his arms is smart, too, because he'll choke you if he can. Remember to feed him. He'll get extremely upset if your don't. The best way to induce Stockholm Syndrome in Eden is to dote on him all day, giving him some alone time to relax every few hours.
Maybe get some audiobooks for him so he doesn't go crazy. Eventually he'll cave. But the moment you let him free he'll put you over his shoulder and take you home to his cabin. You can dote on him there. Eden the Lonely spill your guts anonymous tw dubcon captive eden au. That is a lie. I have many thoughts about it. I will always until the end of time be a little bit in love with the moment in which Rebecca Welton, in an elf hat, encourages Ted Lasso to do a little bit of improv about the thing that happened to the Christmas presents.
This season is going to a dark place many individual caves, one could say and that is the correct thing for this big old story these people are telling and it is blowing my mind that there are mean people on the internet criticizing this episode for having no conflict or connection to the larger narrative.
Maybe they just had their eyes closed while Ted Lasso slumps drunkenly on his couch watching George Bailey consider suicide? At the same time, this was very much a filler episode I don't mean that as an insult, it's just true , freed from the constraints of time much as Christmas itself can feel. They leaned into the filler holiday episode vibes and IMO it paid off. And for Dean. But he has a project to try and get her in the Christmas, no wait, the Deanmas spirit.
Warnings: A little bit angsty but only in the set up, we are heading for fluff people. Lots and lots of Christmas fluff. Fluff maybe some smut? Let me know what you think! Dividers by firefly-graphics. Both salty and sweet. We got candy and sweets. And, of course we have liquorice. He followed this by fake retching as he looked at Dean, disgusted. You looked at him. He settled himself down on his recliner and you reached over to rub his calf over his jeans in a gesture that you hoped let him know that you really were sorry and he reached over and ran his hand softly over your hair to let you know he knew.
Best Christmas movie of all time? It was making you happy and as the end credits of the movie played you did feel kind of festive.
They both typified the boys in many ways. Or at least that is what you had thought, but one look at his face told you, you were wrong. You kind of made me. You said it was one of your favourites and…. Dean ignored him. You smiled at him as you settled back into the bean bag. He missed you. Do you want the moon? That line always got you. You remembered watching it when you were younger and wishing…wishing that someone loved you that much that they wanted to do whatever it took to make you happy.
Even better perhaps, you thought, as without taking his eyes off the screen he reached behind him and took a beer from the mini fridge and opened it, passing it to you without saying a word. The gesture itself said it all….
I got you. Which you did, turning your head back towards George Bailey, a warm smile resting easy on your lips. Tacky knitwear? It was red with a giant Santa face on it. You reached out and stroked the fluffy beard of it which was made from soft white mohair that stood out from the rest of it. Though, I mean…I kinda like it now. He laughed a little. He looked at you with his eyebrows raised waiting for you to finish your sentence.
He looked weirdly protective of past you. It sounds kind of…annoying. He sat down on your bed. He took a moment to choose his words, pouting slightly before turning to you to speak. That Christmas had just seemed like a bunch of stupid traditions before. You took a sip from your steaming mug as you took in his words. Past you was a little annoying with all the jolly, holly-ness…but also, she had a point. The bunker, the boys…it was a lot to be grateful for.
You just went all out. It was nearly our anniversary and you were just really happy and you told me and Sam that Christmas was coming to the bunker and we better get on board and….
He smiled wider, his eyes resting on the floor for a minute as he thought back, lost in happy memories. They would have been annoying, maybe.
But you…you put thought into it all and you just wanted us all to be happy. You were just…full of love. It was…. But also….. And also just…you always seemed to find a way to get us both totally carried away with it before we even knew what was happening.
You watched and felt sad for him. He looked kind of bereft without you. Without the older, better version of you. He nodded and then he looked at you suspiciously, clearly picking up on something under your turbo charged eagerness. You were loving that the pace of Deanmas so far had been relaxed and easy…however, from what you knew of Dean there was something missing. He was a fan of big gestures. What did you know anymore?
It makes for a very exciting, bizarre world, a completely obsessive life. And I do feel some of my creative impulse has been taken away. The songs are different now.
The lyrics are simpler. Less this imbroglio of verbiage. In Berlin, Cave befriended director Wim Wenders, who used From Her to Eternity to enhance the most significant emotional passages of his film Wings of Desire and later asked Cave to perform in and contribute songs to Until the End of the World. Cave continued his filmic exploits in The Road to God Knows Where , a documentary about the Bad Seeds' American tour, and in 's Johnny Suede , in which he played an aging albino rock star.
In Cave moved from Berlin to Sao Paulo, Brazil, to escape the goth and punk cults who claimed him as their idol. There he recorded The Good Son , which he has said is devoted to capturing the elusive mood suggested by the Portuguese word saudads , meaning "yearning" or "longing.
As Cave imagined the story, the good son is consumed by his own dark, long-suppressed passions. In describing the album, Rolling Stone 's David Fricke reported, "Cave tempers his tortured basso profundo and the Bad Seeds' feral sound with a striking orchestral sobriety that heightens the fear, longing and vengeful rage coursing through the songs.
When it didn't it was [soft rocker Barry] Manilow at his mushiest. Cave's release, Henry's Dream , was lyrically just as brutal a mix of mayhem and tenderness as could be found on his previous albums.
But according to Rolling Stone , "acoustic guitars reign where distorted feedback once pillaged, and violin and cello arrangements add dramatic effect. His performance at England's Reading Festival--of which Rolling Stone reported, "Cave enacted howling nightmare visions of blues and Brecht, flailing his arms and testifying like some demented preacher"--was reverently received.
A live album, Live Seeds , was released in Cave told Sprague that the album was "basically about me, and the things that've happened to me. Without sounding too corny about it, there's a lot of pain that exists in love. I find I write the best when I'm--I hate to say in pain--but angry and upset and uncomfortable and frustrated and bitter, and so on. Special characters , Capital letters and space not allowed.
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Employers can post one easily And, access to many more. Login Sign Up. In his recorded lectures on music and songwriting, he has claimed that any true love song is a song for God and has ascribed the mellowing of his music to a shift in focus from the Old to the New Testaments. He does not belong to a particular denomination and has distanced himself from "religion as being an American thing, in which the name of God has been hijacked".
He said in a Los Angeles Times article: "I'm not religious, and I'm not a Christian, but I do reserve the right to believe in the possibility of a god. It's kind of defending the indefensible, though; I'm critical of what religions are becoming, the more destructive they're becoming. But I think as an Artist, particularly, it's a necessary part of what I do, that there is some Divine element going on within my songs.
Later in , they reunited with Hillcoat to score his latest picture, Lawless. Cave also authored this screenplay based on the novel by Matt Bondurant.
The film opened in theaters on 29 August In September interview, Cave explained that he returned to using a typewriter for songwriting after his experience with the Nocturama album, as he "could walk in on a bad day and hit 'delete' and that was the end of it". Cave believes that he lost valuable work due to a "bad day".
Cave creates original film scores with fellow Bad Seeds band member Warren Ellis—they first teamed up in to work on The Proposition, for which Cave also wrote the screenplay.
Cave's son Arthur, 15, fell from a cliff at Ovingdean, near Brighton, England, and died from his injuries on 14 July Cave's family released a statement on the death, saying, "Our son Arthur died on Tuesday evening. He was our beautiful, happy loving boy. We ask that we be given the privacy our family needs to grieve at this difficult time.
At 13 he was expelled from Wangaratta High School. In , having moved with his family to the Melbourne suburb of Murrumbeena, he became a boarder and later day student at Caulfield Grammar School. He was 19 when his father was killed in a car accident; his mother told him of his father's death while she was Bai Ling him out of a St Kilda police station where he was being held on a charge of burglary. He would later recall that his father "died at a point in my life when I was most confused" and that "the loss of my father created in my life a vacuum, a space in which my words began to float and collect and find their purpose".
Birth Day: September 22 , Birth Place: Warracknabeal, Australian. Genres: Post-punk, gothic rock, alternative rock, experimental rock, garage rock.
Occupation s : Singer-songwriter, multi-instrumentalist, writer, actor, composer. Instruments: Vocals, piano, organ, harmonica, guitar, percussion, saxophone, drums. World Music Singer. Pop Singer. TV Actress. Instagram Star. TV Actor. Reality Star.
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