#sub tiger

ohhhhhhhh myyyyyyyyyy how wonderful. What a lovely image this painted in my little peanut brain.

I really love this concept that like, Bill is a real bastard sometimes. But he does a lot for her, so much for her, that whenever he gets in moods where he just needs to take a little, tiger is more than happy to give him everything and then some. She lets him have free reign.

And Bill is mean.

As much as he likes to give her what she wants, what she needs--sometimes, he needs to have the upper hand. Sometimes he needs to feel needed, he needs to feel in control, and he ABSOLUTELY does that through orgasm control and denial. Knowing she's going to bed, aching for him? Knowing she wants to be a good girl for him bad enough that she's going to sleep so pent up and needy? Knowing that she's probably in a bit of pain from needing it so bad, but being a good girl and holding out anyway? Oof, it's exactly what he needs.

So listen, he takes what he needs. He doesn't stop until he is spent--and poor tiger is still pent up, covered in his come, a shaking mess and she can't even speak. He strokes her hair for a bit while he tries to get his own heart to slow down, and when he's fairly certain he can stand without his legs giving out, he gathers her in his arms and brings her to the bathroom.

He dims the lights as much as he can, but she still winces at the light. She's far too sensitive for a bath, her skin always feels like it's on fire when she's hyper stimulated like that. Instead he spread out a towel sets her up on top of the washing machine. He grabs a rag and wets it with warm water, started running it gently over her face and her neck. She's still crying, and she will be for awhile just because it's a lot for her. He runs the cloth gently over her arms, across her chest. He gently pushes her knees further apart and presses the washcloth to her centre. She whimpers and flinches, but he shushes her softly. She's so pent up it hurts.

Once she's sufficiently clean he wraps her up in the shirt he was wearing, carries her to the kitchen for a snack. She sniffles and pushes his hand away when he offers her small bites, but a quick tap of her nose reminds her that she doesn't get to decide anything tonight. He crowds her space, huddles in close to her and just feeds her small bites of food, some sips of water. When her eyes start to close all by themselves he leans in and nuzzles her ear.

"Colour, kid?" he whispers.

"Green," she sniffles.

"Good girl."

It sends another shudder through her and he picks her up gently, carries her to bed. God, he's already giddy about the morning, being able to wake her up and have her coming for him, that long pent up release just exploding over and over again until she can't take it anymore.

He tucks her in and wraps the blankets around them, presses his thumb to her mouth which she takes greedily, and he waits until her breathing evens out and he knows she's asleep before he lets himself drift off.

And surely enough, the next morning, he wakes up first. His good girl still tucked in his arms, his thumb in her mouth as she suckles softly. He smiles, grumbles deep in his chest, and presses a soft kiss to her neck. He slides his hand down and cups her gently, and she starts to stir awake. He strokes through her folds--god she's soaked again--and she wakes fully to the sound of his deep groan in her ear.

But she tenses.

"No," she whimpers, and he stops immediately, "No no no...."

"No?" he asks.

"I...I can be good," she mumbles even as she trembles beneath his touch, "I'm good."

She sniffles pitifully, and it clicks. She still think she's not allowed to come. Bill's heart explodes, and he groans even deeper as he nips at her neck.

"Oh sweet girl," he says, and he drags his face to hers to kiss the hell out of her. She whines into it.

"You're so good for me," he tells, "So, so good for me. But now it's your turn, sweet girl. You can come. I want you to. Can you do that for me? Can you be my good girl and come for me?"

She sighs shakily, clutches onto him as his hand starts to drift down again. She nods, pressing her face into his chest.

"Use your words sweet girl," he reminds her.

"Yes," she moans, "Yes, god."

"Good girl," he praises. He touches her gently, oh so gently, but she still flinches--she's so sensitive for him, so pent up. She clenches as she gets used to the feeling, and then lets out a loud, deflating moan as his fingers gently stroke over her.

"That's a good girl," he praises, kissing her again. But then she shifts away from his hand.

"Billy," she whines, "You."

He knows what she wants. She wants to feel him, all of him--she wants to be filled up, after being so empty the whole night. He smiles, and hitches one of her legs gently over his waist.

"Good girl," he says, and then he eases into her slowly. She moans louder than he's ever heard and god he barely has time to bottom out before she's tensing around him, clutching at him as she digs her nails into his chest.

"Give it to me kid," he sighs in pleasure.

Once the first one is out of the way she can handle a bit of a rougher touch--which is good, because Bill's not sure how much he can hold back. She was so good for him and god, now he just wants to make her scream for him. He flips her onto her stomach, pushes her knees apart and balances on his hands over her. He shoves the corner of a pillow near her mouth.

"Bite down on something kid," he warns her, "Because I'm gonna make you sing for me."

Tiger is completely overstimulated in a whole other way now, and Bill can't get enough. It's not until she's a crying mess under him again, it's not until her body has barely anything left to give, but Bill is after one thing. And he can feel it coming after the last one, the way her whole body is quivering. he can feel it in how tight she got when he told her to cross her ankles for him, the way her whole body is shaking now. He braces one hand on the headboard for leverage, and slams into her.

"All over me kid," he demand, "Come on."

Tiger squirms, cries out in almost agony, her fists balled in the sheets.

"Messy," she whimpers, "I'm going to make a mess."

Bill just groans, and fists her hair in his hand to give it a pull.

"All. Over. Me." He punctuates every word with a hard thrust, and there's nothing tiger can do anymore. She lets out a loud, guttural cry and then Bill feels it--the warm, wet gush against his thighs. It triggers his own impending release and he explodes, his vision blurring and his jaw clenching tight enough to hurt his teeth. His leg cramps out, and he can't even stop the yell of pleasure and pain that rips through his throat.

Mmmm, sweet nani this is delicious.

But like, WHY are they doing this instead of just getting freaky with each other? Maybe it's for something different. Maybe it's because Bill needed control--mmm yes, let's go with that.

We've talked a little before about how tiger definitely needs to give up control sometimes--she needs to have all decisions made for her, she needs to just not think, she needs to hand over the reigns and be taken care of. But for as much as she needs that, Bill also needs that in the opposite sense--sometimes, he needs control. Desperately. He needs to be the one in charge, he needs her total submission, her needs her to just melt and bend to his will and not ask questions. Not decide anything. He needs that from her.

And maybe this is one of those times where he just has so much pent up that he needs to let out, and this is one of his outlets. Just taking it out on her, reducing her to a sobbing mess for him, until she just can't take it anymore.

So this is the way he exerts control. He probably builds her up to the point where it's torturous but never actually lets his hands stray between her legs--he just talks filthy, spanks her, nips at her inner thighs but never touches her right where she needs it most. And at that point, hell maybe it's not even a mutual thing maybe he just shoves her back against the headboard, holds her ankles apart, and tells her he wants to watch. And tiger will do anything for him when she's small because all she wants it to be a good girl for him--but Bill isn't letting her get away with anything, either. He needs this.

"Look at me," he commands, and when she hesitates he gives a light smack to her inner thigh.

"Eyes," he says again. She takes a shaky breath in, and then drags her eyes to his.

"Good girl," he praises, then he takes one of her hands and sucks a few of her fingers into his mouth. Tiger whimpers.

"Touch yourself for me," he tells her lowly, bringing her hand down to press onto her mound.

"What?" she stammers.

"Be a good girl," he says sternly, "I want you to make yourself come."

"I--" she tries, but a quick flick on her nose and she shuts up. She brings her hand between her legs shakily

"Nice and slow kid," his teeth bite into his bottom lip as his gaze fixes on her glistening folds, "Put on a show for me."

And it's a lot for poor tiger. The eye contact that he makes her hold, the fact that she's so open and vulnerable in front of him, the way he's staring at her like he could just eat her alive. She's so small for him and feeling so exposed, but he's also not as close as she needs--she needs his hands on her, his breath on her neck, his chest pressed tightly to hers. It starts to be too much for her, too vulnerable, and she starts to slip.

Bill can always tell right away when she slips into a bit of a bad place, her whines take on a different pitch and she starts to have a wheeze in her breath, her eyes take on a different look--they're no longer big and unfocused and pleasure-drunk, they're narrowed and her jaw is clenched and he knows she's slipping.

"Easy sweet girl," he says immediately, gliding his hands up her legs. The easiest way to stop her from slipping further is always to ground her with his touch, just touch her all over, and talk to her.

"My good girl," he praises, "You're so good for me."

Tiger lets out a little cry and he pulls her legs gently so that she's fully under him. He runs his nose along hers, and kisses her deeply.

"I'm sorry," she stutters, but he hushes her softly.

"Don't be sorry," he says, "Do you need me sweet girl?"

"Yes," she whimpers, "Please."

"Want me to make you come?" he asks, "Make you feel good, just how you like?"

"Yes," she begs, "God, yes Bill, please."

"Mmm," he hums, and kisses her again. "Can you do a little something for me, first?"

She sniffles, and nods quickly.

"I love seeing you so exposed, so vulnerable for me sweet girl," he coos, and he gently grabs onto her ankles and bends her knees. He grabs her hands, placing them around her ankles.

"Can you stay like this for me?" he pushes her knees even further apart, leaning down to blow a soft stream of air across her folds and she gasps. "Nice and open for me, just like this?"

She nods again.

"Use your words sweet girl," he coaxes.

"Yes," she says immediately. She's rewarded with a soft kiss to her entrance and she moans long and deep.

"Good girl," he praises, "And I want you to look at me. As much as you can."

He says the last part as more of an order, and she whimpers.

"Okay," she mumbles. But when she doesn't bring her eyes to his, he flicks her clit gently with his fingers and her legs jerk. Her eyes finally meet his, and he glides his tongue quickly over her clit to soothe the sting.

"Good girl," he coos. He reaches up and pushes two fingers into her mouth, which she sucks in greedily.

"Watch me sweet girl," he reminds, "Watch me make you feel good."

It's a dynamic I'm warming up to! Before I was very much adamant that Bill be the whole ass Dom but it started slowly, with the gradual emergence of Scarlet and now with this little daring diddy with the panties.

And like, the thing is--Bill gets so much out of being the dommy one. There’s a beautiful 2-part ask that has been sitting in my inbox for far too long that touches on this, and I haven’t gotten to it yet because I’m still just kind of admiring its eloquence and the incredible amount of thought behind it. There’s a lot in their dynamic that serves the both of them so, so much--Bill needs to be the caretaker, the provider, he needs tiger small as hell for him--just as much as tiger needs to hand over all of the control and not decide a single goddamn thing.

I like this idea of tiger being a little more ballsy, a little more femme fatale, a little more dom. But I also think that sometimes it can kind of send her for a loop and kind of have the opposite effect.

Follow me down this rabbit hole.

Tiger is Boss Bitch, you know? Make no mistake, despite her vulnerability with Bill, tiger is a force to be reckoned with. People, in general, tend to be a little scared of her. Tiger has a great job that she’s very good at, she makes a very comfortable living, and she pays for all of the shit she has on her own. She has her own place. She has her own car. When she feels like it, she can splurge on a nice bottle of wine every now and then, or a fancy dinner out. She can get her nails done. She can buy the pricey make up. She handles the stress at her job, hell she probably even manages a few people, she’s gotten a lot of promotions for her work and a lot of raises. Tiger is, for all intents and purposes, that bitch. She’s got her shit handled, and she doesn’t NEED Bill.

But what makes it all the more special--for both of them--is that she wants Bill. She wants him there. He knows she doesn’t need help with anything--but she wants his help. Sometimes, at the end of a really rough week where she’s had to take a little too much control and make a few too many hard decisions--she craves the exact opposite. She wants somebody stepping in to take care of her so that she doesn’t have to decide a single thing for the next little while; somebody who just takes that pressure of the choice and the pressure of the real world off of her shoulders for a little while. Someone that she can get lost in, go to a safe space with, where the real world just disappears. When tiger has had to take on too much, her immediate want and need is to just...give it all up. She doesn’t want to decide if or when she’s hungry. She doesn’t want to decide what she eats. She doesn’t want to decide if she should take a shower and wash her hair. She just....she wants to disappear in a world where those decisions are made for her. She wants to be held tightly into a warm chest, wth a big hand running gently through her hair. She wants to be murmured to gently that she should eat something, and then have a bowl of food put in front of her. She wants to be called good girl--his good girl.

So for her, this need to be subby runs pretty deep and this thought of doing the opposite--of being dominant and taking control--is, you know, mildly terrifying for her.

But every once in awhile she just can’t resist. When all the stars align and she’s not stressing out, when Bill is looking just too much like a snacc and isn’t quite picking up on her cues fast enough--or hell even if he is, sometimes tiger looks at him--that beautiful nose, that jawline, those big eyes--and her first thought is that she just wants to manhandle him, throw him down, and sit on his face.

So she does.

Sometimes she does it for the sheer look of shock on Bill’s face--his eyes get impossibly wider, he’s genuinely caught off guard, and tiger loves that power trip. Sometimes she does it just for that naughty, taunting little smirk he always gets--just the corner of his mouth tilted up ever so slightly, and the delicious unspoken understanding that she’s only winning because he’s letting her.

And sometimes she just does it because those beautiful, plump lips of his look like they need a job to do.

But either way, when she goes for it, it’s good. Bill loves the ballsiness of her initiative. Tiger loves just fucking taking what she wants.

But I do think, a day or two after--I think maybe it kind of makes her small. And Bill probably loves that even more, his girl being all ballsy and taking what she wants and then kind of reverting back to her more natural, needy, subby state of being. And I’ll bet it’s just so goddamn sweet, the way he takes care of her after when he starts to notice that she’s slipping. He puts some pillows on the floor in front of the bed, and snaps his fingers. Tiger rises immediately, nearly runs in from the living room, and all but slams to her knees in front of him--but he puts two firm hands on her arms and it stops her dead.

“Easy,” he warns, “Slow, so you don’t hurt yourself.”

And with his hands still firmly on her arms, tiger slowly sinks to her knees. She cranes her mouth for his thumb, but instead he closes a hand loosely around her throat and she moans.

“My good girl,” he coos, “This is better, isn’t it?”

She sighs shakily, her eyes closing. He leans forward and nips at her mouth, squeezing her throat a little harder.

“Answer me,” he reminds gently.

“Yes,” she whispers.

“I loved it kid,” he tells her, “You being so...so forward. So brazen.”

She whines, shifting a little--she’s getting fussy with an empty mouth, and he knows it. But god, this whole sight is just getting him going so much--her on her knees, whiny, fussy, her eyes glossing over, her mouth trying to find his thumb--like a selfish bastard, he wants to prolong it just a little bit more.

”But this is what you need, isn’t it?” he purrs to her, licking his thumb and then running it over her lips. She tries to close her mouth around it, but he squeezes her throat again.

“Yes,” she whimpers, “Please Bill, please..”

Man, it goes right to his groin. He smirks, easing his thumb in gently and she sucks greedily at it.

“I won’t make you beg sweet girl,” he says, “I won’t even make you ask. I’ll give you what you need. Just like I always do, isn’t that right?”

She moans softly, scooting in closer so there’s more pressure from his hand on her throat. She rests her head on the bulge in his pants, nuzzling her cheek in there.

“Isn’t that right?” he asks again, purposely easing up the pressure on her neck so she whines.

“Please,” is all she pleads again. Bill just shushes her softly.

Oof nani, this is delicious and I have thought about it ALL DAY.

There are times when tiger is in full brat mode, no doubt, but those times are also delicately counterbalanced by times that she wants to be his good girl. That's all she wants, she just wants to be worthy of his praise and be worthy of being called his.

And Bill knows that, he knows that look in her eye, the small hunch of her shoulders, the way she peers up shyly at him and nibbles on her thumb absently. She's been pretty stressed and wound tight these days, but she's finally giving in and letting him take over, she's finally small and subby for him and in a place where he can step in and make it better. He can make it all go away for her, and she won't fight him. He loves it when that happens, when she finally gives in and just lets the feeling wash over her. She wants to be good for him, she wants to disappear in that world where she's safe and where nothing can get to her.

And she’s just so soft for him, you know? Maybe they had a great night together, or maybe it has nothing to do with that. Tiger just feels so fucking cared for and so safe and she’s mush for her Big Dude--and Bill knows it. So to make her feel even more good for him, he just tells her that all day. Tells her that she’s such a good girl for him, when she makes him breakfast. He slides up behind her at the coffee machine when she’s refilling her cup, kisses her neck, tells her how delicious the food was. He takes a shower and she steams his shirt for him, and again it earns her a kiss and a teasing my good girl that makes her knees weak.

And listen, maybe Bill does have time for a quickie. Bill always has time for that--but this anticipation, his edge, ohhhhh it’s so much more fun this way. Tiger is putty for him, and he wants it to last just a little bit longer because she gets so much out of it. By the time he’s ready to leave she has that wanting look on her face--like she just wants to eat him up right where he stands, she needs him so bad. But he’s going to make her ask for it.

“Bye sweet girl,” he says, and he pulls her in for a lingering kiss. She moans into it, her knees buckling, and then he pulls away.

“Wish me luck,” he smirks.

“Good luck,” she stammers, “Um, Billy? When you’re gone, can I--”

“I can’t hear you,” he teases, “Speak up, like a good girl.”

“When you’re gone, can I...?” she trails off, but he just looks at her.

“Can you what?”

“Can I--”

“Eyes.”

She fidgets with her shirt, her eyes snapping to his and he holds her gaze expectantly.

“Can I use Jason while you’re gone?” she asks. He smiles warmly at her, cups her cheek in his hand.

“No,” he says simply.

“No?” she repeats, her face falling. Bill shrugs, runs his thumb over her cheek.

“No,” he says simply. He lets his hand trail from her face down over her chest, and then he cups her gently through her panties. She gasps.

“This is mine,” he murmurs to her, “Only mine. Understand?”

“Yes,” she moans softly, “Yours.”

“I want you nice and ready for me when I get back sweet girl,” he purrs, “Can you wait that long? Can you be a good girl and wait for me?”

“Yes,” she nods, as his fingers continue to stroke her, “I can wait.”

“My sweet girl,” he murmurs, giving her a final tap between her legs and she flinches in sensitivity.

Ohhhh my, I am feeling so soff and subby tonight.

I think sometimes tiger gets small for some pretty valid reasons--she's having a tough time at work, she's having some drama with her friends, she's had to be a Boss Bitch for too long. She gets small when she's had to make too many decisions and she just wants to disappear into that space where she doesn't have to decide what she wants, for anything. She can just exist and float, and know that she'll be taken care of.

But sometimes it also happens just because she's been feeling really good, her Big Dude has taken such good care of her and she's feeling loved and safe and she's just....floaty.

But of course, the lead up to shark week is always kind of a gamble. More often than not she'll get small as hell--sometimes it's the good kind, sometimes it's the real bad kind and she spirals. Bill knows she's always a little more sensitive the week before--sensitive physically, definitely, but the poor bean is also just full of emotions that she doesn't know how to process.

And if it hits while they're visiting family, it's probably pretty difficult for Bill on all accounts--for one, he just wants to love up on her and cuddle her and make her feels safe but he can't, not with this many people around. Secondly, tiger always gets paranoid that people will see her like this, or that they'll know, and that's terrifying for her--so Bill has to reassure her, a lot and constantly, that it's okay, that she's safe and that no one knows she's like this with him. And thirdly, he worries for the interactions she might have with his family--usually she can take Valter's smarts comments and shoot them back just as ferociously, but when she's small like this, the tiniest thing can really set her off and send her spiralling.

Maybe Bill realizes when they wake up one morning, she's lying on his chest with his thumb in her mouth but she has a cute furrow to her brow, her face tense. Bill opens his eyes slowly, glides a warm hand up her back, and he extends for a stretch.

He knows that look anywhere. The furrowed brow, the fact that she's glued to him, the way she's self-soothing with his thumb. His heart swells already.

"Hi sweet girl," he purrs.

"Mrrrph."

He yawns, hugs her in closer and sniffs her hair.

"Want coffee?" he asks. She just grunts again--but when he goes to get up she whimpers, clings onto him a little tighter and bites at his thumb.

"Okay easy kid," he soothes, "I won't go anywhere."

But like, the problem is--sooner or later, they have to come out of the room. The whole family is there. And tiger is already spiralling, freaking out about it because she doesn't feel safe. She can hear Valter's yelling downstairs, she can hear some of the brothers swimming in the lake, and somehow she has already gotten it through her head that everybody knows. Bill has to talk her down from a few ledges before he's even had a sip of coffee.

"Let's start there sweet girl," he says softly, "They know you never get your own coffee, and they know that they never see you before you've had coffee. That's normal, okay? Can we start there? I'll go get you a cup, and then we'll figure out a plan for the day."

It takes a brief moment, but then eventually she nods.

"Eyes tiger," he reminds her gently, tilting her chin up with his forefinger, "Okay?"

"Yes, okay." she murmurs.

"Hold onto your tiger," he says, and he stuffs the plushie in her arms, "And I'll be back in 5 minutes, okay? Set your timer, sweet girl."

"I don't need--"

"Set it," he says sternly. She reacts right away, relaxing a bit as she reaches for her phone and sets the timer.

He returns not even two seconds later, with two steaming mugs of coffee and he hands one to her.

"How're you feeling?" he asks, as he takes a seat on the bed. Tiger just shrugs, her eyes downcast.

"Answer me," he insists gently. She fiddles with the handle of her mug.

"I don't know," she says quietly, "Loud."

And Bill gets it. By loud she means worried, over-stimulated, her mind going a million miles an hour and she just can't stop it. He takes a sip of his coffee as he thinks.

"You're safe here kid," he tells her, "You're always, always safe with me."

"But your family is--"

"They're here, and they're everywhere," he finishes her sentence, "That's why I need you to be brave today, okay? I'll take care of you the way you need, I promise I will. We'll just have to do it a bit differently this round."

"They're going to know," she chews at her thumb, "They're all going to know."

"Nobody is going to know," he murmurs, taking her thumb from her lips and replacing it with his own--which she takes willingly.

"We're going to stay like this for awhile," he tells her, "And then I'm going to bring breakfast up."

He hushes her softly when she protests.

"And then we're going to go on a hike in the woods--just me and you. We'll bring a picnic so we can be alone for awhile, just me and you, and I can take care of you."

He doesn't ask her if that's okay, or if that sounds good. Tiger doesn't want to decide anything right now. Instead he climbs in behind her, pulls her to his chest, and just holds her there until she's done her coffee.

"I'll be back with breakfast," Bill says as he gets up, "Set your timer for 10 minutes."

And she does. And within a few minutes Bill comes back with a tray full of food, telling her that everybody is out swimming in the lake anyway and nobody is looking for her. She nibbles on some things while Bill opens her suitcase, picks out a few clothes for her to wear. He packs a backpack with some bug spray, some sunscreen, an extra bag of gummy bears--which he waves at tiger with a wink, before putting them in an easily accessible pouch in front. He goes through her toiletry bag and pulls out a few tampons, some baby wipes, he tucks a roll of toilet paper in there. When she's done her breakfast he ushers her into the shower, starting it for her and laying out a toothbrush with some toothpaste on it.

"I'm going to make lunch," he says, "I'll be back here by the time you're out, okay?"

She nods, and he gives her a gentle push into the streaming water.

And true to his word, by the time she's done he has another bag picked with their lunch, and he's waiting for her in the room. he mapped out an easy trail--they'll be gone for a few hours but nothing uphill, nothing too physical, just lots of flat ground and lakes and shady areas they can stop and just be together.

"Go wait for me outside," he tells her with a kiss, "I'll just go say bye to everyone."

FIRST OF ALL, I have this like, weird interest in fashion over the past two years or so. I've never particularly been into it, but now my instagram is mainly fashion inspo and like, who is this person???? I've never considered myself fashionable, much less interested in fashion and now I swear to god I spend Sunday afternoons ~judging people~ and looking up latest fashion trends and how to wear things and I am just LOVING IT. And since nobody asked, I'm going to go ahead and list you my top fucking fashion ABSOLUTELY DO FUCKING NOT pet peeves:

1) Matching pantsuits. Hello, no. I know the designers that are trying to bring this back, and it's a hard no for me dawg. I am in my almost mid thirties and I ain't trying to look like a fucking old maid, thanks. These will never be fashionable. Just stop.

2) Derby shoes. These literally don't go with anything. I'm not sorry. If you're that committed to huge, clunky, ugly fucking shoes, get clogs. I ain't saying you have to wear heels, not at all. But find yourself some nice oxfords, a nice loafer, hell even some mules--and they will be infinitely nicer than fucking derby shoes.

3) Layering. No, kids. Baum und Pferdgarten, I love you. I do. I have a few of your dresses. But ya'll motherfuckers need to stop with this pajama-esque, mixed and clashing pattern, oversized bullshit looks that you call fashion. There is a way to wear slouchy, and babes, THAT AIN'T IT. YOU LITERALLY LOOK LIKE A FUCKING WARHOL PAINTING THREW UP ON YOU. Mixing patterns is cool, we like that, but Jesus Christ it has to have some consistency.

alright, now onto the actual ask.

All of this to say, I kept a keen eye on the Met Gala this year and I was...perplexed. At best. Horrified, at worst.

So like, tiger right? There's little else in the world that tiger hates as much as Bill's outwardly Hollywood side. The parties. The schmoozing. And I mean, she knows it's part of his life so that's fine, but in fairness--Bill also abhors this side. He loathes it. And he's been to the Met gala once, which notoriously never allows a +1 unless that +1 is famous, but low and behold--by some stroke of luck--Bill's invitation this year allows for it.

"No." tiger says immediately.

"You don't even know what I'm going to ask!" he exclaims.

"I know what that is," she points to the invitation in his hand, "And no."

It's a hard no. It takes Bill weeks--because like, tiger ain't Hollywood. She doesn't want to do the dress. She doesn't want the mingling with fucking celebrity guests. She doesn't want the paparazzi. She wants none of it. But like, eventually--after so much begging--eventually Bill gets her to agree. His stylist will get a dress for her. Hair and make up is taken care of. Bill promises her that she can just slip in the back, sit at the table, and have cocktails to her heart's galore while he walks the red carpet. She doesn't have to be photographed--and truth be told, tiger's a nobody so people aren't really interested in photographing her anyway. That's fine by her.

The dress worries her, because tiger isn't exactly celebrity material but the stylist is so kind in taking measurements. Bill handles everything--the flights, the make up reservations, the hair appointments. On the day of, he checks them into the Bowery Hotel and then tiger doesn't have to worry about a thing. He shoves a fluffy robe at her, and then there's just a flurry of activity--massages first. Breakfast after. A stint in the steam room--which they absolutely have sex in. Facials. Manicures--for both. A light lunch. And then the bell rings and in come a flurry of a team ready to glamorize them--Bill's favourite groomer, his stylist, tiger's make up artist, her hair stylist. The primping process is the longest tiger has ever been through--but there's wine, there's snacks, her Big Dude is right beside her looking handsome as all hell. And when tiger puts on a dress that is worth more than she makes in a year, when her hair is all done up and her make up is perfect--she begrudgingly admits to him that yes, Beeeeeel, she does feel pretty.

"You look stunning kid," he praises, pressing a gentle kiss on her cheek. To her slight embarrassment (but secret joy), he hands his phone off to his assistant and asks for a few pictures.

And like, here's the thing right? The Met Gala has a strict policy: no spouses or couples seated together. Seriously, it's a thing. Look it up. And while tiger is mildly freaking out about that, she calms down considerably when she does see a name tag at her table that she recognizes.

Alex. Skarsgård.

Tiger smiles, Bill grimaces.

And that's what starts it, right? Bill is at a table far away but not too far, and right where he can keep her in his line of sights. He knows she wasn't looking forward to this so he wants to keep an eye on her, but then like....why the fuck does she look like she's having so much fun? Alex is cracking the whole table up, being his usual charismatic self. Tiger is laughing, guffawing actually, beyond control--her hand on his, clutching his forearm. Bill barely even makes conversation with his own table, he's staring so intently at the two of them and tiger looking like she's having the best night of her life.

Bill's blood is boiling. It boils even more when he sees tiger make a face at her main plate--her nose wrinkling, her lip curled in disgust--and without missing a beat Alex's fork swoops over, plucks all the green onions from her food, and tiger smiles gratefully at him. Bill slams his napkin down on the table.

"Excuse me," he mutters in response to the curious glances. And then he stalks over, heads right to her table, and he's so silent that she jumps a mile when she hears his voice in her ear from behind her.

"A word, kid?" he says.

"But the food just--"

"Now." he says insistently. He holds a hand out to her, helps her push her chair back and stand. But then he's basically dragging her to a restroom, and poor tiger isn't quite used to heels this high.

"Hang on bud," she pleads, "I'm not that coordinated."

But he doesn't hang on. Instead he reaches back, loops a strong arm around her waist and basically carries her on his side to the bathroom. Tiger's feet don't hit the floor for a good 200 feet. And once inside the bathroom, he locks the door and glares at her.

"If that dress wasn't couture, I'd have you on your fucking knees kid," he threatens. Tiger's eyes get wide.

"What did I do?" she asks innocently. Bill just glares.

"Having a good time, are you? Having the best night ever?" he accuses.

Tiger is starting to get a feeling what this is about, and oh man--she's about to rile her Big Dude up. Dressed to the nines, in a public place, surrounded by riches, and Bill is about to get a bit possessive over her? Tiger is a sucker for it every time.

"Yes," she plays into it, "Alex is being amazing. He's so--"

She doesn't get to finish the sentence, because Bill growls and lunges for her, pinning her back against the cool tile.

"You are mine," he snarls. Tiger just tilts her chin up, bites onto his bottom lip.

"Prove it." she challenges.

The roar Bill lets out is fucking feral. Tiger doesn't even have time to react before her dress is pulled up, he yanks his belt undone, and he's slamming into her. She moans, and he grabs her face in his hand.

"Don't come," he snarls, "Don't you dare come."

And like the good girl she is for him--she doesn't. She grits her teeth, tries to stave it off even as he slams deep into her, growls as his release fills her up, bites her neck hard enough to leave a mark. She whimpers, her knees wobbly, and tries to reach for a tissue.

"No," he grabs her hand.

"But it's messy," she pleads. But another glare is enough to silence her, and he swiftly pulls her panties up, smoothes her dress back down.

"You're going to sit there, full of my come for the rest of the night," he tells her, "And I want you to think of that, I want you to feel it, every time you look at him."

"Bill--" she whimpers. He silences her with a rough kiss.

"Go on," he said, "Back to your seat."

she doesn’t want to put a damper on the night so she doesn’t go to him for comfort, but thankfully, he swoops in when it becomes evident that she needs him. he politely requests that everyone leave the room for a few minutes, and once they’re completely alone, he leads tiger over to the bed, where he sits on the edge and instructs her to kneel. he helps soothe her, letting her suck on his fingers and nuzzle against his thigh, assuring her that it’s going to be okay. it helps calm her, and gives her the boost she needs to get through the night. especially when he promises that he’ll reward her later on for being such a good girl for him 🥰

Baby ever since this came in, I have been just itching to drabble it and I haven't had time. But this thought? This thought has been on my mind all week, because it's beautiful. Tiger starting to feel a bit overwhelmed by Bill's world but knowing she's not in a safe enough space to let it show, to let him take care of it. But Bill looking at her and knowing anyway, and stepping in to take care of it.

Protector Bill, stepping up to the plate every time. God it just sends me and it's Thursday night but technically my Friday because it's Canadian Thanksgiving, I've had a martini, so buckle up--let's talk about this.

There is something so beautiful about being known. Something so terrifying but simultaneously comforting to be known by someone that you've had the courage to be vulnerable with, someone you've have the courage to let step in and help you. Someone who wants to be the person who always knows, the person who is your comfort, your soothing balm, and the one who will step in the minute they see that things are too much for you.

So like, here's the thing. Bill's world? It intimidates the shit out of tiger. It really does. She knows him so well at this point that she honestly just forgets that he's famous, she forgets he has this whole other side to him--and that's the only side the world sees. Tiger sees a side that is so completely different, that it's easy to forget the other exists. To tiger, Bill is....he's Bill. He's her biggest cheerleader, her closest confidant, her rock. He's the guy who takes care of her, always, and who puts her needs first. He's the guy who literally blinks one eye at a time when he's too tired, he's the guy with the 5 o'clock shadow who rumbles in her ear and wakes her up every morning, the guy who makes the best scrambled eggs on the planet and who cuts the crusts off of her sandwich for her.

But he's also a Skarsgard, from a famous family, movie star. Dude behind the terrifying Pennywise remake. He's the guy on the talk shows, the guy on the press junkets, on the red carpet.

But that guy--that guy doesn't exist to tiger. So when the two worlds collide, tiger sometimes has a hard time just....computing all of it.

And you know, for his part, Bill isn't the biggest fan of press junkets or opening night. There's just too much buzz for his humble Swedish heart. It's too many interviews, each only 5 minutes long but they last for days, and it's all the same questions. It's not the journalists' fault--they all want the same scoop. Bill regurgitates the same answers hundreds of times and still tries to sound enthusiastic. It's an endless loop of talk shows, with fake smiles and terrible jokes. He doesn't like it, which is always why he appreciates the moral support, the steadiness that she brings to him. She comes along for the big ones, the big releases where he knows he's going to need her--need her balance, her calming presence, where he needs someone or something he can focus on other than himself. Because everyone is focusing on him. But when she's there? He can focus on if she ate breakfast, if she's hungry, if she's warm enough. He can focus on what her plans are in the afternoon, making sure he's around when she gets back. He can focus on holding her close, scooping her up into his lap as they eat dinner in their bathrobes in a fancy hotel. He doesn't have to focus on the next 500 interviews tomorrow, the suit tailoring, walking the red carpet--he can focus on her, if she had a good day, making sure she eats dinner.

It balances him out.

And tiger knows that, she knows he needs the moral support. But that's also why she feels terrible when she starts to slip a bit, when her mind starts to get away on her--because she should be the one steadying him, but all of a sudden she's the one who needs him in a real bad way, when he already has enough to worry about.

And she tries, you know? She tries to keep it together--but it's just too hard. People have been in their space all day--journalists in and out of their room on a 5-minute rotation. Bill has his TV make up on, he's in a coordinated outfit from his stylist, and tiger just feels like everyone is getting a piece of what's her. Journalists are asking personal questions. Stylists are all up on him, adjusting shit. His groomer is getting so close, so often. And gradually, but pretty quickly--tiger can't see her Bill anymore. She can't see the kind eyes, the soft smile. All she sees is his fake smile, his rehearsed answers, clothes that he would probably never wear of his own accord.

She can't see him there, and suddenly, she starts to not feel so safe anymore. There's too many people, it's all just too fast and too fake, and she starts to slip.

She tries desperately to hide it--Bill hates days like these anyway, and knowing that she's now doing so well would just add a ton of stress on his plate, when that's the last thing he needs. She's here to support him, and if she's slipping then it means he needs to start taking care of her and she just...she feels so guilty at that. So she tries to hide it. His publicist already warns any journalist that Bill won't be taking questions about his plus one, the girl in the corner looking closer and closer to a panic attack--so at least there's that. Tiger moves around the room pretty freely, because it's a huge room and as long as she stays away from the cameras and any of the lightning, she can slip by undetected.

But Bill knows. Because Bill always knows.

Tiger has a lot of tells. She'll fidget. She'll run her hand through her hair. She'll pick at her lips. All of these things are indicators that Bill will pick up on immediately, but beyond that--he just sees it. It's completely imperceptible to everyone else, but Bill sees her slipping. Sees her getting small in a bad way. And to make things even worse--he sees her trying to hide it from him. He sees her doing everything she can to try and make it seem like she's okay, just to support him.

There's a moment here and there for respite--Bill gets 10 minutes between interviews every so often just so he can take a piss in peace, grab a quick bite to eat, take a brain break. They're few and far between, but they're there--and one the first one, he doesn't even wait for the journalist to leave before he makes a beeline for tiger. He juts his chin to the next room--an empty room, one with a door, and she quickly follows him there. He shuts the door behind them, and promptly grabs her face gently--and kisses the hell out of her. It's long and deep, and he doesn't stop until he has to. Tiger is putty in his arms, he's supporting her full weight, but he just kisses the hell out of her.

"Hi," he says softly when he breaks away.

"Hi," she squeaks out.

"You doing okay?" he asks, giving her another soft kiss.

"Yeah," she stammers.

"Convince me."

She pouts, closing her hands around his biceps and leaning her forehead into his chest.

"I'm fine," she lies, "Are you okay?"

He doesn't answer, just quirks a brow at her. Suddenly, her face is pinched with guilt--god, she's there to support him, and here she is falling apart. And now he has to deal with that. Before she even realizes her expression, Bill pokes the line between her eyebrows, rubs his thumb over it to smooth it out.

"Nuh uh," he says, "None of that."

"None of what?"

"That," he runs his thumb over her brows, smiling softly at her as he presses his nose to hers. "I'll make it better, sweet girl. Just hold on a bit longer for me."

"Bill," she whines, "You shouldn't have to--"

"I want to," he interrupts. She whines again, but he tuts her.

"I need it too, tiger," he says softly, "You needing me. It helps me."

Tiger jumps at the knock on the door, but Bill just hugs her in tighter and kisses her again.

"Soon," he promises, "Just hold on a bit more."

And she tries, you know? She does. It doesn't go well, but she tries. And knowing that Bill knows just somehow makes it a little better, a little more manageable--because he told her he'd take care of it, and she knows he will. She just has to wait. Now it's not a matter of IF she'll get what she needs, it's just a matter of when. And that's better.

At the end of the day, when the interviews are done but the glam squad shows up to get him ready for the red carpet, Bill holds his hands up and smiles kindly.

"Sorry everyone, but I need a few minutes," he announces, "Thank you all for being here and being on time, but I'll see you in a bit."

His publicist puts her hand on his arm, her brows pinched, and says a few words in Swedish. Bill doesn't falter. Not for a second. He keeps his smile, and says some words back.

This is not up for negotiation. This is final.

Truth be told, his humble Swedish side is probably killing him on this--everyone is here on time, and he pulls the prima donna card and shoos everyone out of his room and makes them wait. This delay will make him late to the red carpet, but he doesn't care. Nothing else matters in that moment, except tiger and making sure she's okay. That's the only thing that matters.

More hushed words from his publicist. Bill doesn't budge an inch, and suddenly his smile gets a little more tense. He raises his eyebrows, and his message is clear.

And then with a nod from his publicist to the awaiting entourage, suddenly everybody is leaving the room--finally. The lights are gone, there's no cameras, there's nobody in the room except the two of them. At long last. Tiger looks to hims nervously, but he just calmly shuts the door behind everybody and then turns to her. He walks over to the sofa slowly, every bit authoritative, and plucks two cushions and puts them on the floor.

"On your knees," he says to her. Tiger all but dives for it, rushing to him and then holding onto his hands as she lowers down.

"You're going to be late," she mumbles, settling on her knees. Bill runs his fingers through her hair.

"Is that up to you to worry about?" he asks softly.

"No," she mumbles. And she can't help it, once she's on her knees she just sighs in relief--a deep exhale, her shoulders hunching over as she rests her forehead on his thigh.

"Talk to me," he says, running his thumb over her lips. When she tries to take it in her mouth he pulls it back, and she whimpers.

"It's just a lot," she admits, "All of this."

"How so?"

"I know you, and this....isn't you," she tells him, "And I just missed you."

It's his turn to sigh, and he pushes his thumb into her mouth as he crouches down to be eye level with her.

"You're the only one who knows me tiger," he tells her, "The only one. None of this is real."

She grabs onto his wrist, pulling his thumb out and kissing the pad of it.

"I know," she mumbles, "God, I'm here to support you and here I am a fucking mess over nothing."

"It's not nothing," he soothes, "Tiger, this is a side of me that isn't...me."

She sighs, running her hand through her hair.

"You're going to be late," she huffs, going to stand. But Bill pushes her shoulders back down.

"First of all, you don't make the rules around here kid," he says sternly, "Second of all, if I'm 10 minutes late--may as well be 30."

"Bill--"

But he clamps a hand over her mouth, and his face gets just a little mean.

"Tiger," he leans in real close, "I will throw you over my knee right here. Try me."

She retracts at that, sink a little more into herself. He reaches for his belt, undoing it and then popping the button on his jeans.

"Are you going to be my good girl?" he warns, "Or are you going to make me spank you so hard, you won't be able to sit tonight?"

She bites her lip, reaching to pull him out of his jeans but he smacks her hands away.

"Answer me."

"I'll be good," she promises, "Please, bud."

"There's my good girl," he says, pulling his length out. With a hand on the back of her head, he pulls her in closer.

"Nice and slow," he says, "We have all the time in the world sweet girl."

Sweet nani this is so beautiful :*-) I could talk about fussy tiger lashing out and being bratty because she needs to be set right again ALL DAY. I'll bet it originally happens on like, a FaceTime call or something. It always seems to happen that way. If Bill is away, he still tries as much as he can to kind of keep their bedtime routine going--even if it's like 7AM in the morning for him, he'll kind of make sure him and tiger go to bed together. As much as he can, he'll call her around her bed time, they'll have a cup of tea together like they always do when he's there, they'll talk about their days, how they're doing. And it's how Bill knows how she's really doing--because sometimes she'll say she's fine, but he notices the hunching of her shoulders, the averted gaze, the low tone of her voice. The nervousness of it. And when he knows she's small for him, he changes the way he talks to her--he, too, takes on that special tone of voice that will help her feel better. Calls her his sweet girl, tells her that he wishes she was there with him, that she can be there with him in an instant; all she has to do is say the word and her flight will be booked.

But other times, tiger is small but in a real fussy way. She's had a day where she's had to make a lot of decisions and be in charge and she hates that, and it’s starting to get hard for her. There’s nothing, nobody there to set her right again, to make her feel small, to spank her when she needs it--and hell, she’s getting real bratty about it. Maybe Bill lets it slide once or twice, if they’re on a FaceTime call and she’s sassing him a bit too much. He’ll exert whatever power he can in their dynamic from so far away, and while it seems to snap her back into place for the time being, it has little effect the next day or the day after. Tiger just isn’t getting sorted about it, and the longer it goes, the more she’s pushing it.

And Bill to his credit is stern with her on the calls because sass won’t be tolerated, he’s stern because he knows she’s looking for it--but afterwards maybe he’s also thinking that she just needs some comfort. So the big sap, maybe he mails the little tiger plushie to her, along with a few of the shirts he’s worn--just so she can feel like he’s there, she can get his scent and his comfort even from thousands of miles away. And while it worked for a day or two, after that tiger was back to her bratty, insufferable self and Bill quickly realized that only one thing will set her right. And he knows it’ll be a fight, but quite frankly he’s also getting a little fed up of her attitude and every single time she steps out of line, ohhh his fingers are just twitching, aching to bend her over his knee and spank her raw.

And one evening, they’re on their routine FaceTime call. It’s 10PM for tiger but it’s like, the wee hours of the morning for Bill and he’s fresh off a night shoot, he’s feeling a little irritable, and tiger is just in full brat mode.

“How was your day?” he yawns, smiling when he notices that she’s wearing his sweater that he sent over last week.

“Fine.” she quips. He waits to see if she’ll continue, but she doesn’t.

“How was work?” he tries, but man even his patience is wearing thin.

“You just asked me that,” she snaps.

“I asked you how your day was,” he says, his tone even, “And now I’m asking how work is going.”

And then tiger does it--she does the one thing that she should never do.

She rolls her eyes. Bill’s blood boils.

“And I just said--” she starts.

“Enough,” Bill growls, and man it’s menacing, “Enough, tiger.”

She blinks in surprise, but even through the camera she can see his glare. She fiddles with her hands nervously, suddenly feeling timid.

“Look at me,” he commands. it takes her a second, but eventually she lifts her gaze.

“I have had it with this attitude kid,” he seethes, “You are going to get your ass on a plane and come to me. If you want to be a brat, then you can be one right here in front of me and see how fucking brave you are then. Am I clear?”

Silence.

“Am. I. Clear?” he asks again.

“Yes,” she says meekly, “But what about--”

“You’re done asking questions. In fact, you’re done talking completely. Go to bed, and I’ll see you in two days.”

“But Bill I--”

“Goodnight, tiger.”

And the call is done. An e-ticket comes through her email not even 20 minutes later, and the message that accompanies it is curt, short. The time the Uber will come pick her up, arrangements for when she lands. Tiger gulps, but dutifully starts packing her suitcase.

But like, here’s the thing with tiger, right. Tiger stews. And while hearing how stern he was with her over the phone definitely snapped her back into place a bit, tiger’s brat side was quick to take over again and she had ample time to let it rage, let it seethe. ‘Ole moneybags, he thinks he can talk to her this way? He thinks he can just order her to get on a plane and fly halfway across the world to him? He thinks he can call her a brat and get away with it? And you know, if tiger had any self awareness whatsoever, maybe she would realize that all of this attitude is coming to the surface because she’s missing the yin to her yang--she’s missing the calming force, the authority that he exudes, missing their dynamic and being set back right again by him. She’s missing the absolve of correction, the high that comes with a spanking and knowing that she’s worthy of correction, she’s missing the consequences to her actions. She’s fully small for him, she’s in dire need of the balance that their dynamic brings to her, and it’s manifesting in a horrid way.

But like, to tiger? My girl tiger boards that plane in full how dare he mode and is more than ready to fucking rip him a new one when she sees him. Except that doesn’t quite go as planned, because when it comes to tiger her plans are pretty chaotic and ill-advised to begin with.

So like, she lands. And the stupid car is waiting for her when she gets there, just like he said it would be. And it takes her back to his stupid apartment, just like he said it would. And he’ll only be in later on that evening because he’s on set all day, just like he said he would be.

So tiger stews some more. Pops open a bottle of whisky. And by the time Bill gets home, she’s full of fucking fight and fire and way too full of whisky and Bill can already feel his pants tightening, his fingers itching the minute he sees the defiant look on her face. He knows that look.

“Well there he is,” she starts, “The man of the hour. All hail the king, I am at your service.”

She bows exaggeratedly.

“Careful,” Bill warns as he glares her down.

“You fucking think,” she pauses, downing the rest of her glass,”You fucking think you can boss me around like that? You think you get to call all the shots and I’ll just come fucking running?”

But like, Bill isn’t really about words. Bill’s an action man. And if tiger was in her right mind maybe she would have caught it sooner--but the whole time she’s ranting at him, the whole time she’s mouthing off, Bill is just taking slow steps forward, forcing her to take steps backwards. It’s a delicate dance, but he has every advantage.

“Tiger,” he says menacingly, “Get on your knees.”

“Get fucked clown boy,” she spits, swigging another gulp right from the bottle.

“Get on your knees before I put you on your knees.”

“Come over here and fucking make me.”

 And by this point, she’s about a foot or two away from the wall--so Bill just lunges for her, slams her back into the wall and clamps a hand over her mouth.

“As you wish,” he says through clenched teeth--and then he manhandles her. Pulls her forward, hooks a leg around the back of her knees to force her down. But tiger isn’t going down that easy and god, all the blood rushes to his groin. She wrestles him, latching her arms onto his waist for leverage to try and pivot to get better footing. He grabs her shoulders, twisted her around and jamming a leg behind hers--but she spins, ends up slamming his back into a wall and turns to run.

Both of their resistance kinks are on overdrive.

She doesn’t get two steps from him before he grabs her elbow, whipping her around. He pulls her into him, shifting his body weight quickly and getting her feet all tangled up--and finally with a good shove, she slams down onto her knees. She tries to get up immediately but a strong hand on her shoulder shoves her back down, the other one weaving into her hair at the base of her neck and yanking her head back.

“There’s my good girl,” he says condescendingly. He lays a wet, noisy kiss on her mouth and flicks her nose before standing upright, staring down at her as she glares.

“Get fucked,” she says, and he chuckles darkly as he takes slow steps, circling around her.

“That’s the plan,” he murmurs into her ear from behind, biting hard at her earlobe and she gasps.

“Such a smart, smart mouth on you these days kid,” he comes back around in front of her, “You think you get to talk to me that way?”

When she doesn’t answer he grabs her chin roughly, yanks it up to meet his gaze.

“Do you?” he repeats, “Do you get to talk to me that way?”

“No,” she mumbles. He puts his hand to his ear, pretending as if he didn’t hear her.

“No,” she says a little more clearly.

“And are you supposed to be a brat?” he asks, “An insufferable one, at that?”

“...No.”

Her shoulders are shrinking a little, some of the fight leaving her, and it’s just making Bill’s chest thrum even more.

“Not so brave now, are you kid?” he taunts, “Not so fucking brave here on your knees in front of me. Go on. Say something.”

Tiger stays quiet.

“You wanted this,” he keeps taunting, “Go on, try me.”

She says silent still.

“Mmph, that’s what I thought,” he says making his way behind her, he crouches so his lips are at her ear again. “You are in for a world of fucking pain, kid.”

She moans at that--actually moans--and oh, Bill gets another idea. He hauls her up--just picks her right up, throws her over his shoulder like she weighs nothing. He makes his way to the bedroom, and slams her down onto the bed before climbing on top and closing his hand over her throat.

“You don’t get to come tonight,” he threatens, “Only good girls get to come. You, kid, have been a fucking brat--and you’ll get punished like one.”

And like, listen. LISTEN. It’s hard. Bill spanks her until her ass is bright red and covered in welts. He has his way with her any way he wants, as many times as he wants--and when tiger comes (because really, it’s inevitable), then she gets spanked again. The entire night just has her floating in that space where pain eventually becomes pleasure, he just works all the brattiness and anger and are out of her in the only way that ever proved effective--by forcing her into that headspace where she just doesn’t think anymore. About anything.

He probably wakes up the next day to her head beneath the blankets, her warm mouth on him, and he sighs as she pushes him to the back of her throat.

“Slow sweet girl,” he rumbles, gently threading his hand through her hair, “Nice and slow for me.”