#y'all know the scene

[keyh0use]

Kinktober Day 16: Gun Play

Threats, gun f*cking, name calling, unprotected sex, Rafe calling Barry baby for once. Consensual. Proofread 1 time

Barry hated horror movies, that was an indisputable fact. No matter how corny or camp or cinematographic, Barry hated horror movies. Intentionally scaring himself, subjecting himself to brains splattering and innocent victims screaming in petrified glamour was not for him. But it was for Rafe. Rafe was a glutton for all things scary; movies and attractions alike. Usually, the boy would settle down and watch whatever new, disgusting flick had come out while Barry was at work. On rare occasions, when a film required—according to the kook—to be watched at night, Barry would retire to bed early to read, much to Rafe's displeasure.

Then came October and Rafe's eagerness won the older man over, and suddenly Barry had unintentionally entered into a month-long movie marathon. Each night was a new film, Barry's choice and then Rafe's. Barry wasn't much into movies, never was. He didn't have a TV growing up and he didn't like theatres, but there were some classics like The Godfather and some old westerns he used to watch at his grandparents house, which he was admittedly quite excited to share with his boy. And Rafe—Rafe watched the hell out of those movies. He sat quietly, ate his snacks and was fully engaged, fully prepared to share his thoughts afterwards. So Barry grit his teeth during the gore and limb-cutting, suppressing the urge to gag as organs spilled out. Most of the movies were franchises, and they seemed to get more violent as the numbers rose and it became more difficult every other day to control his rolling stomach. But it was just gross. Barry could deal with gross, after all, once it was over it was over. No big deal. Until the night before last when Rafe told his man in a light tone, I chose something a little different this time, not really gory or anything so I thought you might like it and then put on the most twisted, fucked-up film Barry's ever had the displeasure of watching. True to word, it wasn't overly gory but boy did it leave a lasting impression, the dealer glancing over at his boyfriend in horror to see a sweet looking smile pointed back. Only twenty or so minutes in and Barry was squeezing his eyes shut and saying, Rafe, no, while making a grab for the remote. Poor baby, cooed Rafe, wrapping the older man up in his embrace, blocking Barry from turning the movie off. You scared? No, bitch, I don't wanna watch some kid the same age as my sister die, Barry snapped. It took a second for the words to sink in and Rafe to realise the sister in reference was Wheezie, a genuine smile gracing his face then as he cuddled in closer, reassuring Barry it wasn't that bad. Only Rafe had lied, and while Barry sat and took it, he held a grudge for the last 48 hours. It was the boys turn once more and he returned to his roots, putting on the third Texas Chainsaw Massacre. "Come sit on my lap," demands Barry, nodding down at his clothed crotch. "But—" starts Rafe, pointing limply at the screen. Barry warns, "Not askin', sweetheart."

The same old song and dance played on screen, unsuspecting people rolling in from out of town and discovering the oddities within the backwards Texas countryside. Barry could barely focus on that, though, too busy guiding the kooks ass back and forth over his prominent erection.

Rafe is genuinely trying to enjoy the movie, though he's seen it a dozen times before but it grows more difficult the harder his dick gets, straining against the confines of his pajama pants.

The sound of a chainsaw startles Rafe's gaze back to the screen, attention slipping again and again. They're supposed to watch the movie, that's what tonight is about. All the kook yearns for is traditions, something the Cameron family never upheld around holidays.

Ward's idea of tradition was his son following in his footsteps; joining the family business, finding a nice partner to settle down with and providing grandchildren.

Rafe has fulfilled one of three on that list but it didn't matter, that wasn't what he wanted. No, the kook has dreamt of carving pumpkins and decorating the whole house for the season and taking corny couples photos for years. For the most part Barry was completely onboard, willing to be dragged around from apple orchards to corn mazes—but had ultimately drawn the line on anything with haunted in the name.

Movies were a compromise and Rafe wanted this to be a thing too, cuddling up on the couch with snacks to share their favourite films like a date every night of the month.

And it wasn't a one-way deal, either because not only did Barry seem to like spending the extra, intentional and uninterrupted time together but Rafe already booked a December getaway for them up north after the older man let it slip that Christmas was his favourite.

I've always wanted to see snow, y'know? Barry had said. See like, one of them parades, it's stupid or whatever I just never did that shit as a kid.

Rafe was determined to have set in stone traditions for every damn holiday no matter what.

"Get undressed," orders Barry.

Gesturing to the TV, Rafe says, "But—"

"I'm not asking." Each word is enunciated and firm, leaving no room for argument.

Rafe plants his socked feet on the cold floor to stand, hauling his shirt off and then makes quick work of removing his pajama pants, both articles making a small pile on the arm of the couch.

A shiver ran down the boy's spine despite the quaint room being warm and inviting, the feeling of being completely exposed for Barry's pleasure always sending a thrill through Rafe.

Rough hands covered in callouses and healing cuts drag down Rafe's outer thighs, the older man letting out an appreciative noise as he trailed hungry eyes over the curve of the kooks ass.

"Can I sit?" asks Rafe quietly, belly swooping when Barry leans forward to press a chaste kiss between the dimples at the base of his back.

Barry answers easily, "If you turn around."

Those hands never leave his body as Rafe obeys, turning and sinking his knees into the couch cushions on either side of his man's hips. Rafe is vaguely aware the movie is still playing but it doesn't matter. Nothing does. Not when Barry looks at him like that.

The older man's attention never strays, both palms slipping around to grab a handful of Rafe's ass, dragging him forward until there's no space between them, Barry's sizeable cock wedged up against where the boy wants him most.

Rafe loops his arms around Barry's neck and leans in for a kiss which is eagerly accepted and he's so focused on the traces of beer lingering on the tongue fucking into his mouth to notice anything else, like Barry reaching beneath a throw blanket.

That's until cold metal is pressed into the small of Rafe's back and he's jumping from the contact, gasping quietly.

Rafe's face scrunches up in confusion and he makes a move to look over his shoulder, stopped only by Barry tutting in disapproval.

"Eyes on me, country club," Barry drawls, head cocked to the side.

Not one to disobey, blue eyes cut to the handsome man in front of him and Rafe tries to pinpoint what he's gotten himself into. "Barry?" the kook cautiously asks.

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

Rafe says, "The movie—"

"This is for the movie," assures the older man, blunt piece trailing up Rafe's spine. "Wanna enhance your experience."

"You gonna put on a gross mask?" Rafe jokes, but there's a nervous tremor running through him, practically vibrating in his man's lap.

Barry offers a sweet smile, dripping with insincerity. "Something like that," he says.

When Barry's fingers graze against the kooks shoulder he makes the mistake of looking, breath catching at the sight of the black barrel that digs into his jaw until he's forced to meet dark brown eyes again.

Barry watches—watches how Rafe's chest expands with a deep breath, how he gives a harsh swallow and how his attention is shifty.

"You wouldn't hurt me," states Rafe, voice wobbly.

"I'm trying to scare you. What, this ain't scary enough for ya'?" The tiny metallic click of the safety being flicked off is unbelievably loud. Barry leans in close to whisper, "And I think we both know I would hurt you."

Rafe's reaction is immediate, tears springing into his blue eyes and mouth slack in shock. The end of the gun is gently caressing his blushing cheekbone and it feels heavy. It feels loaded.

"I've never seen you this scared before," mumbles Barry in awe, landing a sharp, swift slap to Rafe's ass that has the boy whimpering. "You feel how hard you're making me, baby boy?"

The boy looks like he has something to say but it's cut short when a scream from the TV tears through their moment, making Rafe bounce in Barry's lap with a panicky shout.

Barry let's his head loll back for a moment, eyes fluttering shut and then his attention is back on his baby. "That felt good," he comments. "Would make you ride me dry if I didn't have other plans, but fuck I'd kill to hear you scream like that again."

Fingers curl at the base of Barry's skull, Rafe knocking their foreheads together and whispering, "Stop." And gets the barrel nudged against his temple hard. "Please. Please, baby, stop."

It isn't often the kook refers to Barry by anything other than his name and when it does happen, substances or lack of sleep are usually to blame. And while it doesn't bother the dealer that Rafe has no pet names for him, it certainly makes him fucking melt when they slip out on these rare occasions.

"Say it again," prompts Barry, tapping the gun to the boy's plump bottom lip.

The word please is carried on a shaky exhale, watery eyes pleading.

"Say it and maybe I'll make this fast," Barry says with another, more intentional shove of the gun. "Then again, you know how much I love hearing you beg."

Rafe is looking at the older man with an innocent sort of curiosity, wet lashes clumped and lips slick where they're touching the end of the barrel, panting heavily. It's uncanny how familiar this all feels to the first time the kook tasted his cock—on his knees in this very room, a little nervous and a whole lot turned on—and that memory has Barry suggestively pushing forward, knocking metal against teeth.

And then the boy does something unexpected; Rafe tilts his chin up and lets his mouth fall open wider, tongue pressed flat to the underside of the barrel as he drags it up teasingly, watching Barry's reaction through hooded eyes.

Barry pushes forward without permission, sliding the gun further into the boys mouth until pink lips are stretched, spit collected at the edges and dripping.

"You know how many people I've gone after with this thing?" asks Barry, shoving the barrel deeper until Rafe gags. "All the pain this gun has caused and here you are, deepthroating it like a fucking slut." The degrading word has the kook moaning sinfully around metal, like he's tasting the dealer's come instead of gunpowder. Reaching down to fist Rafe's steely cock with the hand previously resting on the boy's ass, swollen tip soaked where Barry rolls the pad of his thumb lazily, he says offhandedly, "Could empty the clip in you right now, you know that?"

The threat has Rafe yanking his mouth off the gun, a string of saliva connecting his bottom lip to the end of the barrel. "No, you wouldn't, I know you wouldn't," he rushes out, wide eyes searching his man's face.

The TV flashes with a bright burst of white light that reflects off the gold piece in Barry's mouth when he grins. "Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn't," the older man drawls with a tilt of his head. "I love ya'—"

"I love you," Rafe interrupts, pointedly avoiding looking at the gun aimed at his head.

Barry hums lowly at that. "Know that, pretty baby, wouldn't doubt that shit," he says sincerely. "But we both know I also love hurting you...and making you cry, making you bleed. Fuck, you know that shit gets me goin'."

And now Rafe is scared.

Sure, Barry has never threatened to kill the kook before and while their relationship is built off trust, it's obvious some of the terror in those blue eyes is real, which is thrilling to the drug dealer.

"Please," Rafe whimpers.

"Please what? Please keep going?" Barry asks but doesn't care for an answer, promptly ignoring the kooks head shake. "Sure, country club, we can keep goin'. Lay down."

Rafe shifts nervously, knees squeezing his man's hips. "Will you put the gun down?" he mumbles.

"Lay—" starts Barry, tone stern as he presses the gun to the boys jaw. "Down. Now, Rafe."

Letting out a stuttered alright, okay, Rafe carefully falls off the older man's lap onto a neighboring cushion and lays back, legs instinctively falling open when Barry fully turns to kneel.

Barry wastes no time taking advantage of their new positions, both hands—one rough but warm and the other wielding a cold, hard weapon—exploring Rafe's exposed body. The Kook jumps when his nipple is tweaked, back arching just a little off the springy futon as the edge of the barrel trails achingly slow towards his hard cock.

Rafe's chest rises with each ragged breath, chin tucked down and eyes laser-focused on the gun getting closer and closer to his most sensitive area. "Barry?" the boy questions with an air of uncertainty.

"Yes?" the drug dealer replies easily, rubbing over Rafe's perineum.

Rafe stutters out, "What are you doing?"

Without a glance towards the boys frightened face, Barry lifts the gun and spits directly on it, smoothing saliva over the shiny piece before placing the blunt end against Rafe's entrance. "Just opening you up, stay still, country club," explains the older man.

All the air rushes from Rafe at once and he's shaking his head vigorously, babbling, "No, no, no. Barry, no, please—" only to be cut off by pressure against his rim and then the barrel is sinking into his very unprepared hole.

Rafe's whole body is trembling as the gun slowly slides almost all the way out before being roughly crammed back in, barely slick metal cold and dragging along his inner walls in a way that borders pleasant—but not quite.

The shape is odd and uncomfortable, something the boy can't help but focus on given his prostate is being neglected as the makeshift sex toy is stretching him open.

On the staticky TV the final scenes begin playing out, the sound of weapons clashing and terrified screaming ensue, loud even over the kooks panicked whimpers and Barry's responding groans. Dark, hungry eyes watch as the barrel disappears again and again, finger carefully placed off the trigger.

"Fuck, you're so hot," Barry mutters.

Rafe begs brokenly, "Please—" and before the other man can make some smartass quip, he confesses with a wavering voice, "I want your cock. I wanna be fucked by you, please, baby? Please fuck me. Please!"

Whether it's the desperation dripping from the kook or the use of baby or a combination, Barry is quick to remove the gun and wipe it off on the couch—something that will surely get him scolded when Rafe has the mind to care—and shoves his shorts down until they bunch around his knees.

Barry at least has the decency to wet his dick before unceremoniously pushing inside in one long, fluid motion that has both of them crying out.

"That feel good, sweetheart?" the older man asks, hips rocking as he finds his pace.

Both of Rafe's hands come up to tangle in Barry's hair and he's nodding. "Yes," the kook whines.

Coming to hover over the boys lean body, Barry knocks the gun against Rafe's temple and says, "You come before I give you permission I'll blow your brains out, yeah?" and then leans in to swallow a gasp, lips pressed together gently as Rafe's hole clenches down violently at the threat.

The hand not holding a presumably loaded weapon is caressing the boys cheek, loving touch and passionate kissing a harsh contrast to the slap of Barry's balls against Rafe's ass and steady jabs to his sensitive prostate. No amount of squirming or soft begging against grinning lips slows the brutal fucking or releases the hold the dealer has on the gun, held firm and sure to his sweaty skin.

"Always look so pretty taking my cock," praises Barry through grunts, heat pooling in his belly. A single tear slips out of wide, watery blue eyes and the gun catches it just as Rafe tenses around his thick length. "You ain't even embarrassed you're getting off with a gun to your head. I could kill you, Rafe."

Barry doesn't know why he says it or why it undeniably turns the both of them on so much; Rafe's life being in his hands.

Maybe it's because of the thrill and the comfort. Barry would never hurt his baby and Rafe knows that, even if his heart is pounding and his brain feels foggy, relying solely on trust and fate.

And the fact that Rafe is letting this happen is fucking intoxicating, the way Barry feels like he could do anything to the kook makes his head reel.

Rafe's brows are pinched together and he's panting harshly, cock pulsating between their grinding bodies. "Oh, fuck, don't stop. Please don't stop," the boy begs, wrapping his long legs tight around Barry's rocking hips.

Barry's movements grow erratic, chasing his high with little regard for Rafe's, just the way the kook likes it.

Slender fingers are yanking ruthlessly on dark curly hair as Rafe pleads for permission to finish, whimpering please let me come. Please, baby, let me come for you on a babbled loop, fresh tears dripping down his temples.

Barry sets the gun down on the cushion and cradles Rafe's face in both big, overworked hands to bring their lips together as his fat cock drives the kook right to the edge. "Come, go ahead," he rushes out before licking his way inside the boys mouth.

Rafe spasms around his man's dick, muscles tightening as his back arches and he shoots between them, pearly white ropes coating his torso. The cry that rips from his throat is coarse and piercing, louder than the end credits of the forgotten film still playing.

The boy whimpering in sensitivity is what has Barry spilling inside the fucked-out hole without warning, choked off groan coming from somewhere deep in his throat.

When they've come down enough to move, Barry's cock slips out with a rush of come, soaking a patch on the futon.

Barry takes a second to wipe Rafe off with a shirt before standing up and nodding towards the corner seat of the couch. "Sit back," he orders gently.

"Why?"

"To watch the movie?" Barry replies confusedly, one brow cocked.

Rafe suggests, "We can turn it off, we've already missed half."

Snatching the remote from the stained coffee table, Barry presses down on the rewind button and looks back at his boy expectedly. "We're watching it 'cause it's your night."

"Okay," Rafe says, barely containing the happiness radiating off of him. "But why do you want me in your spot?" "I love you, baby, and I'd protect you from anythin', you know that?" asks Barry, eyes sincere. At Rafe's responding nod he continues with, "Exactly. If we were in some real shit like this backwards movie I'd give myself up immediately if I thought you could get away but like hell am I holding you through another one of these damn things."

Five minutes later the two are cuddled up on the couch, Barry's cheek resting over Rafe's heart, one arm wrapped around his tan shoulders and fingers playing with his hair.

The movie is still disgusting but it's easier to swallow when Barry's wrapped up in his favourite persons embrace.

[notherpuppet]

Someone asked if I was adding more to "Buckshot"

...and then I accidentally posted it before I was done answering LOL. Anyway, here was the answer:

I have some ideas that I just haven't fleshed out yet. But I really like that AU and I want to return to it.

As for the Buckshot specific "chapter"...I do have some 'deleted scenes' that I just didn't feel like drawing (laziness) but hmm maybe i'll get the motivation to sketch them out eventually.

Some deleted scenes:

Scene 1.5 [Lucifer looks at Alastor's wounds as he's changing his bandages and clothes. Alastor's covered in severe scars exhibiting many different kinds of injuries.] Lucifer: "So many scars...I wonder what he's been through..." [Lucifer glances at Alastor's face, which somehow still has a faint, but visible smile.] Lucifer (incredulous and annoyed): "Yet he always keeps that smile on his face..." CUT TO FLASHBACK MONTAGE: Lucifer, Alastor, and Charlie playing in the park, eating dinner altogether, and singing backup for Charlie while Alastor plays the piano. [Lucifer smiles softly and turns up the corners of Alastor's sleeping smile.] Charlie: "I thought Al needed to sleep!" >:-0 [Lucifer draws his hands back suddenly, embarrassed.] Lucifer: "Where did you--" [Charlie climbs onto Alastor's rest bed. She haphazardly reaches for Alastor's face.] Charlie: "My turn or it's not fair!" >:-D Lucifer: "Charlie, no!" --- Scene 4.5 (happens at the dinner party, in Lucifer's room, after Alastor bleeds through his shirt) [Lucifer quickly changed into a red tuxedo. Alastor is lagging, due to his pain and need to clean his wound with a soft cloth.] Lucifer: "Let me help you--" Alastor: "I can handle this." Lucifer: "Would you stop being so stubborn? You're drugged up, drunk, and moving slow as hell. You want to arouse more suspicion or do you wanna get this over with?" [Alastor rolls his eyes and rudely tosses the cloth at Lucifer's face. Lucifer's quick reflexes catch the cloth effortlessly.] Lucifer: "That's what I thought." [Lucifer begins to clean Al's wound. Alastor has a pained expression. He winces and grabs Lucifer's wrist forcefully.] Alastor: "You're being a brute." [Alastor guides Lucifer's hand gently and drops his hand once Lucifer adapts. Lucifer helps bandage Alastor back up and get dressed. They're now both in new tuxedos, sans bow ties. Before Lucifer can grab his bowtie, Alastor snatches it.] Alastor: "Allow me." Lucifer: "I can tie my own bow tie." Alastor: "Did you not say we were in a hurry? I think we both know it will go faster if I just tie it." [Lucifer rolls his eyes but resigns. Alastor ties the bowtie swiftly and perfectly.] Lucifer: "Ugh, how do you do this so easily? Aren't you high?" Alastor: "As a kite." [There is a beat and they both share a laugh. Suddenly they hear a distant voice yelling:] Adam (distant): "So much for a quickie!" Alastor: "We should go."

[bertoyana]

X-MEN APOCALYPSE (2016)

+bonus:

[mulderscully]

@rwrbmovie & @rwrbsource's rwrb appreciation month bingo: underrated moment

[zephyrchama]

Satan with an MC who's not academically inclined. An MC who doesn't enjoy studying, who doesn't read books for fun, who would much rather be anywhere other than a quiet library. Someone with what he, a demon with high standards, considers to have low intellect and low grades, who doesn't think things through before rushing into them head-first.

Satan finds them ridiculous. They're crazy, a complete wild card. He can't take his eyes off of them. What a troublesome human. How absurd and silly and endearing. What a captivating human. If they can't sit still for five minutes, he'll just have to follow their lead to the ends of the Earth.

Satan has trouble coming to terms with the fact he's head over heels for them. It frustrates him to no end. The realization hit him like a truck out of the blue one day, and he's already fallen hard. So hard that he can't possibly imagine being with anyone else. That's okay. Satan convinces himself he has enough book-smarts to make up for the both of them.

Satan knows his human is foolish, but nobody else can dare say that out loud. That's Satan's privilege and his alone. People quickly learn to avoid demeaning MC if they don't want to incur Satan's wrath. His nose may be stuck in a novel but his eyes aren't following the words, they're following the human in his peripheral vision.

They're a breath of fresh air. They don't overthink things. They don't make situations complicated. They're Satan's favorite kind of open book. They force him to live in the moment. MC might not know complex math or obscure history, but nobody can teach Satan the joys of life and emotion quite like his human can.

[jadeluz-official]

He always loved her, didn't he?

[bisexualfbiagents]

THE X FILES | Beyond the Sea (1.13)

[emkini]

@blu3berrydraws​ said: how about Zuko in Lucifer Sam?

Color Palettes Here 

[mobius-m-mobius]

#insane choices being made 👀

Loki 1x04 // 2x02

[hualianschild]

absolutely love it when they put details like this

[rottmnt-residuum]

Part 4 of Arc II (Part 30)

we've hit the stuff that actually came from the dream baybee!!! it only took what? eight months?

⇇ | ⇽ | index | ⇾

[bloggingboutburgers]

Sorry I promise this is the last time I mention the Kickstarter in a while unless asked, because it's already got way more support than it already needs (which I couldn't be more grateful for), but here's a quick shoutout to my partner @civiart being incredibly patient and supportive throughout all the process even though I've probably been very annoying in many ways

[beif0ngs]

Buggy the Clown || Anime vs. Live Action comparison shots 

[epicfirestormer]

*Clenches fist* thematic color scheme,, opposing narrative before converging and becoming one,, Nimona being the one to both push and close the gap between them,,

[starliteonearth]

I'm seeing a lot of discourse on the Daemyra divorce scene and some are arguing that Rhaenyra was terrified and she flinched when Daemon raised his hand, but I've rewatched the scene over and over, for research purposes, and Rhaenyra wasn't petrified, she was PISSED (and very turned on considering her eyes literally drop to his lips right after but some of y'all are blind I guess). And she didn't flinch, she SNARLED. It was very much "try me bitch, i'm not playing with you today", which is why Daemon pulls back his hand so quickly. Mans had to consider his next move very carefully lol

Like come onnnnnn now

[ari-the-arotistic]

Guys, Hermes told them where to go to find the entrance of the underworld, and probably told them about Crusty, of course they know who he is, literally chill