forrestbrew

[forrestbrew]

I no longer have a spark to write for max verstappen :( im sorry guys. he will not be in the next f1 p-link <\3

[forrestbrew]

neighbor!clark who greets you on your very first morning in town with his mom’s homemade apple pie, shifting his weight from foot to foot like he’s not sure if you actually want it, but hoping you’ll say yes anyway.

neighbor!clark who’s always the first to rush over when you’re juggling too many grocery bags, taking half of them before you can protest, and walking you to your door like it’s second nature.

neighbor!clark who somehow always has time to fix things for you; changing the lightbulb you can’t reach, unclogging your stubborn sink, coaxing your car’s engine back to life with a smile that makes you suspicious he’s hiding more than just mechanical skills.

neighbor!clark who once (accidentally… or so he claims) used his x-ray vision while you were in the shower and couldn’t look you in the eye for three days afterward.

neighbor!clark who shows up during a power outage with an easy smile and a flashlight, saying he’ll “just keep you company and make sure you’re safe,” but staying long enough that you both end up asleep on the couch.

neighbor!clark who “forgets” his jacket at your place after helping you carry something heavy, so you’ll have to come by and return it.

neighbor!clark who definitely heard you tell your best friend about your “hot neighbor” when the window was open and hasn’t let you live it down since.

[forrestbrew]

Can you make formula one p links but add Carlos, Daniel, Fernando? Pls and thank you

Hii sorry i dont write for any of those drivers!

[forrestbrew]

Big Man, Small Space

જ⁀➴ Clark Kent can't get enough of how different your sizes are in the mirror—finding yourself bent over the bathroom counter while he admires how good you look.

𖹭.ᐟ WARNINGS: SMUT MDNI, Clark being massive ofc, Severe size difference, Short!Fem!reader (under 5'6), PLEASURE DOM CLARK, Small apartment bathroom lol, Clark being overly strong, Mirror play, Hand on throat, No real sex just fingering and lots of praise and obsessivness.

Note—this is. so long, sorgy!

Your playlist booms through the small bathroom while you're finishing your makeup to go out with Clark to a new restaurant just a few blocks down. Clark—who has pulled up a chair in the doorway to watch you and listen to your music with you—finally looke up from the book you lete him borrow and freezes completely. His body is stiff and he is suddenly quiet from when he was originally talking about the book. You look at yourself in confusion at his sudden silence—looking over to find Clark's heavy breathing and still frame staring at you.

"W-what?...keep talking, Clark." your words are soft as you turn the volume on your speaker down while maintaining eye contact with the large man. His gaze traces the curve of your jaw, the way a loose strand of hair brushes against your temple. He swallows, realizing he’s barely breathing, like if he exhales too loudly you might notice how much this is working him up.

Clark shifts in his seat, a faint pink blooming high on his cheekbones. “Nothin’,” he murmurs, but it comes out lower than he intends, his voice roughened by something he doesn’t bother hiding anymore.

He pushes to his feet, the movement unhurried but deliberate, like he’s made a decision he’s not walking back. His height fills the small bathroom doorway, broad shoulders seeming even bigger when he steps toward you. Your breath hitches as he stops just close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him.

One of his hands lifts, brushing his thumb along your jaw as if he’s checking whether you’re real. “You know,” he says quietly, eyes locked on yours, “I was tryin’ to be a gentleman. Let you finish. But if you keep lookin’ at me like that…” His gaze flicks to your mouth for half a second before returning to your eyes. “…and I’m gonna forget what we were supposed to be doing today.”

The last thread of his patience breaks when he notices the touch of shimmer against your face under the warm bathroom lighting. One hand slides to the small of your back, the other cupping the side of your face as he leans down and kisses you—firm, unyielding, like he’s been holding back for far too long. His grip tightens, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the steady thump of his heart under all that muscle.

You feel him exhale against your lips, the sound part relief, part hunger. When he finally breaks the kiss, his forehead rests against yours, breath warm and uneven. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, voice gravel-deep, thumb brushing over your cheekbone—he’s memorizing the shape of you.

Before you can reply, he’s kissing you again—harder this time—guiding you back against the counter with a low sound in his chest that makes your knees go weak. Clark’s hands are everywhere—one gripping your hip, pulling you in tight, the other splayed against your lower back to hold you exactly where he wants you. His thumb strokes just under the hem of your shirt, skin on skin, and you shiver at the contact.

Your fingers slide up into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your lips. He responds by pressing you harder against the counter, his hand traveling down to grip the curve of your thigh, urging it around his hip without breaking the kiss. Without warning, Clark’s grip shifts—one firm at your waist, the other sliding to the back of your thigh. He lifts and pivots you in one smooth motion, turning you to face the mirror. Your palms catch the cool edge of the counter, your reflection meeting his in the glass. His frame looms behind yours, chest pressed to your back, his breath brushing your ear. “You see yourself?” he murmurs, gaze locked on your eyes in the mirror.

“That’s what has me acting out.” His hands roam slowly over your hips, fingers tightening with each pass, the heat of him pressing close enough to make your pulse race. “Stay right there,” he says, voice low and commanding, eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. “I want you to watch.” Clark steadies you against the counter, his chest pressed to your back, his eyes fixed on yours in the mirror.

The weight of his hand at your waist tightens, then drifts lower—slow, deliberate—until his fingers find the hem of your skirt. You gasp when he slips beneath it, the warmth of his hand trailing up your thigh. His touch is unhurried, almost cruel in how long he takes, teasing just enough to make you squirm against him. Clark’s expression is darker—hungry, almost reverent—as his fingers toy higher, skimming where you’re most sensitive without quite giving you relief.

“Gosh," he groans softly, dragging his mouth along your neck as his fingers press just enough to make you shiver. “You’re already trembling for me.” His gaze flicks from your body to your reflection. “So gorgeous like this." Your fingers tighten on the edge of the counter as Clark finally presses against you where you’re aching, his touch firm but maddeningly slow. He circles once, twice, watching your face in the mirror the entire time. You shift your hips, desperate for more, but he only chuckles low in his chest, holding you steady with his other hand at your waist. His fingers trace deliberate patterns, dipping closer, retreating, making you whimper at the edge of relief.

The sight in the mirror is almost unbearable—your own flushed face, the way his broad body cages yours, the focus in his eyes as if nothing else in the world exists but the sounds you’re making for him. Clark groans mix with your moans, his forehead pressing to the side of your head. “That’s it, sweetheart. Don’t hold back. I want to hear it.” His pace builds, skilled and relentless, each movement pulling you higher. Your body trembles against the counter, breath catching as pleasure coils tight inside you, his voice a constant murmur of praise and command in your ear.

Your hips stutter against his hand, chasing every stroke, your breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps. He moans, yes moans at the feel of you unraveling, his grip on your waist tightening like he’s holding you together while he works you apart. The coil inside you snaps, and your body bows forward, a cry breaking free as release tears through you. In the mirror, you catch the sight of your flushed, wrecked expression—Clark’s broad frame behind you, his hand still moving as if he’s determined to drag every last tremor out of you.

“That’s it,” he growls softly, lips pressing against your shoulder as your thighs quake. “So perfect when you cum for me.” Only then does he ease the pace, his hand sliding back to your hip to hold you upright as your breath stumbles back into rhythm. His mouth lingers against your skin, warm and reverent, even as the heat in his eyes promises he’s nowhere near finished.

[forrestbrew]

Big Man, Small Space

જ⁀➴ Clark Kent can't get enough of how different your sizes are in the mirror—finding yourself bent over the bathroom counter while he admires how good you look.

𖹭.ᐟ WARNINGS: SMUT MDNI, Clark being massive ofc, Severe size difference, Short!Fem!reader (under 5'6), PLEASURE DOM CLARK, Small apartment bathroom lol, Clark being overly strong, Mirror play, Hand on throat, No real sex just fingering and lots of praise and obsessivness.

Note—this is. so long, sorgy!

Your playlist booms through the small bathroom while you're finishing your makeup to go out with Clark to a new restaurant just a few blocks down. Clark—who has pulled up a chair in the doorway to watch you and listen to your music with you—finally looke up from the book you lete him borrow and freezes completely. His body is stiff and he is suddenly quiet from when he was originally talking about the book. You look at yourself in confusion at his sudden silence—looking over to find Clark's heavy breathing and still frame staring at you.

"W-what?...keep talking, Clark." your words are soft as you turn the volume on your speaker down while maintaining eye contact with the large man. His gaze traces the curve of your jaw, the way a loose strand of hair brushes against your temple. He swallows, realizing he’s barely breathing, like if he exhales too loudly you might notice how much this is working him up.

Clark shifts in his seat, a faint pink blooming high on his cheekbones. “Nothin’,” he murmurs, but it comes out lower than he intends, his voice roughened by something he doesn’t bother hiding anymore.

He pushes to his feet, the movement unhurried but deliberate, like he’s made a decision he’s not walking back. His height fills the small bathroom doorway, broad shoulders seeming even bigger when he steps toward you. Your breath hitches as he stops just close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him.

One of his hands lifts, brushing his thumb along your jaw as if he’s checking whether you’re real. “You know,” he says quietly, eyes locked on yours, “I was tryin’ to be a gentleman. Let you finish. But if you keep lookin’ at me like that…” His gaze flicks to your mouth for half a second before returning to your eyes. “…and I’m gonna forget what we were supposed to be doing today.”

The last thread of his patience breaks when he notices the touch of shimmer against your face under the warm bathroom lighting. One hand slides to the small of your back, the other cupping the side of your face as he leans down and kisses you—firm, unyielding, like he’s been holding back for far too long. His grip tightens, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the steady thump of his heart under all that muscle.

You feel him exhale against your lips, the sound part relief, part hunger. When he finally breaks the kiss, his forehead rests against yours, breath warm and uneven. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, voice gravel-deep, thumb brushing over your cheekbone—he’s memorizing the shape of you.

Before you can reply, he’s kissing you again—harder this time—guiding you back against the counter with a low sound in his chest that makes your knees go weak. Clark’s hands are everywhere—one gripping your hip, pulling you in tight, the other splayed against your lower back to hold you exactly where he wants you. His thumb strokes just under the hem of your shirt, skin on skin, and you shiver at the contact.

Your fingers slide up into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your lips. He responds by pressing you harder against the counter, his hand traveling down to grip the curve of your thigh, urging it around his hip without breaking the kiss. Without warning, Clark’s grip shifts—one firm at your waist, the other sliding to the back of your thigh. He lifts and pivots you in one smooth motion, turning you to face the mirror. Your palms catch the cool edge of the counter, your reflection meeting his in the glass. His frame looms behind yours, chest pressed to your back, his breath brushing your ear. “You see yourself?” he murmurs, gaze locked on your eyes in the mirror.

“That’s what has me acting out.” His hands roam slowly over your hips, fingers tightening with each pass, the heat of him pressing close enough to make your pulse race. “Stay right there,” he says, voice low and commanding, eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. “I want you to watch.” Clark steadies you against the counter, his chest pressed to your back, his eyes fixed on yours in the mirror.

The weight of his hand at your waist tightens, then drifts lower—slow, deliberate—until his fingers find the hem of your skirt. You gasp when he slips beneath it, the warmth of his hand trailing up your thigh. His touch is unhurried, almost cruel in how long he takes, teasing just enough to make you squirm against him. Clark’s expression is darker—hungry, almost reverent—as his fingers toy higher, skimming where you’re most sensitive without quite giving you relief.

“Gosh," he groans softly, dragging his mouth along your neck as his fingers press just enough to make you shiver. “You’re already trembling for me.” His gaze flicks from your body to your reflection. “So gorgeous like this." Your fingers tighten on the edge of the counter as Clark finally presses against you where you’re aching, his touch firm but maddeningly slow. He circles once, twice, watching your face in the mirror the entire time. You shift your hips, desperate for more, but he only chuckles low in his chest, holding you steady with his other hand at your waist. His fingers trace deliberate patterns, dipping closer, retreating, making you whimper at the edge of relief.

The sight in the mirror is almost unbearable—your own flushed face, the way his broad body cages yours, the focus in his eyes as if nothing else in the world exists but the sounds you’re making for him. Clark groans mix with your moans, his forehead pressing to the side of your head. “That’s it, sweetheart. Don’t hold back. I want to hear it.” His pace builds, skilled and relentless, each movement pulling you higher. Your body trembles against the counter, breath catching as pleasure coils tight inside you, his voice a constant murmur of praise and command in your ear.

Your hips stutter against his hand, chasing every stroke, your breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps. He moans, yes moans at the feel of you unraveling, his grip on your waist tightening like he’s holding you together while he works you apart. The coil inside you snaps, and your body bows forward, a cry breaking free as release tears through you. In the mirror, you catch the sight of your flushed, wrecked expression—Clark’s broad frame behind you, his hand still moving as if he’s determined to drag every last tremor out of you.

“That’s it,” he growls softly, lips pressing against your shoulder as your thighs quake. “So perfect when you cum for me.” Only then does he ease the pace, his hand sliding back to your hip to hold you upright as your breath stumbles back into rhythm. His mouth lingers against your skin, warm and reverent, even as the heat in his eyes promises he’s nowhere near finished.

[forrestbrew]

Big Man, Small Space

જ⁀➴ Clark Kent can't get enough of how different your sizes are in the mirror—finding yourself bent over the bathroom counter while he admires how good you look.

𖹭.ᐟ WARNINGS: SMUT MDNI, Clark being massive ofc, Severe size difference, Short!Fem!reader (under 5'6), PLEASURE DOM CLARK, Small apartment bathroom lol, Clark being overly strong, Mirror play, Hand on throat, No real sex just fingering and lots of praise and obsessivness.

Note—this is. so long, sorgy!

Your playlist booms through the small bathroom while you're finishing your makeup to go out with Clark to a new restaurant just a few blocks down. Clark—who has pulled up a chair in the doorway to watch you and listen to your music with you—finally looke up from the book you lete him borrow and freezes completely. His body is stiff and he is suddenly quiet from when he was originally talking about the book. You look at yourself in confusion at his sudden silence—looking over to find Clark's heavy breathing and still frame staring at you.

"W-what?...keep talking, Clark." your words are soft as you turn the volume on your speaker down while maintaining eye contact with the large man. His gaze traces the curve of your jaw, the way a loose strand of hair brushes against your temple. He swallows, realizing he’s barely breathing, like if he exhales too loudly you might notice how much this is working him up.

Clark shifts in his seat, a faint pink blooming high on his cheekbones. “Nothin’,” he murmurs, but it comes out lower than he intends, his voice roughened by something he doesn’t bother hiding anymore.

He pushes to his feet, the movement unhurried but deliberate, like he’s made a decision he’s not walking back. His height fills the small bathroom doorway, broad shoulders seeming even bigger when he steps toward you. Your breath hitches as he stops just close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him.

One of his hands lifts, brushing his thumb along your jaw as if he’s checking whether you’re real. “You know,” he says quietly, eyes locked on yours, “I was tryin’ to be a gentleman. Let you finish. But if you keep lookin’ at me like that…” His gaze flicks to your mouth for half a second before returning to your eyes. “…and I’m gonna forget what we were supposed to be doing today.”

The last thread of his patience breaks when he notices the touch of shimmer against your face under the warm bathroom lighting. One hand slides to the small of your back, the other cupping the side of your face as he leans down and kisses you—firm, unyielding, like he’s been holding back for far too long. His grip tightens, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the steady thump of his heart under all that muscle.

You feel him exhale against your lips, the sound part relief, part hunger. When he finally breaks the kiss, his forehead rests against yours, breath warm and uneven. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, voice gravel-deep, thumb brushing over your cheekbone—he’s memorizing the shape of you.

Before you can reply, he’s kissing you again—harder this time—guiding you back against the counter with a low sound in his chest that makes your knees go weak. Clark’s hands are everywhere—one gripping your hip, pulling you in tight, the other splayed against your lower back to hold you exactly where he wants you. His thumb strokes just under the hem of your shirt, skin on skin, and you shiver at the contact.

Your fingers slide up into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your lips. He responds by pressing you harder against the counter, his hand traveling down to grip the curve of your thigh, urging it around his hip without breaking the kiss. Without warning, Clark’s grip shifts—one firm at your waist, the other sliding to the back of your thigh. He lifts and pivots you in one smooth motion, turning you to face the mirror. Your palms catch the cool edge of the counter, your reflection meeting his in the glass. His frame looms behind yours, chest pressed to your back, his breath brushing your ear. “You see yourself?” he murmurs, gaze locked on your eyes in the mirror.

“That’s what has me acting out.” His hands roam slowly over your hips, fingers tightening with each pass, the heat of him pressing close enough to make your pulse race. “Stay right there,” he says, voice low and commanding, eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. “I want you to watch.” Clark steadies you against the counter, his chest pressed to your back, his eyes fixed on yours in the mirror.

The weight of his hand at your waist tightens, then drifts lower—slow, deliberate—until his fingers find the hem of your skirt. You gasp when he slips beneath it, the warmth of his hand trailing up your thigh. His touch is unhurried, almost cruel in how long he takes, teasing just enough to make you squirm against him. Clark’s expression is darker—hungry, almost reverent—as his fingers toy higher, skimming where you’re most sensitive without quite giving you relief.

“Gosh," he groans softly, dragging his mouth along your neck as his fingers press just enough to make you shiver. “You’re already trembling for me.” His gaze flicks from your body to your reflection. “So gorgeous like this." Your fingers tighten on the edge of the counter as Clark finally presses against you where you’re aching, his touch firm but maddeningly slow. He circles once, twice, watching your face in the mirror the entire time. You shift your hips, desperate for more, but he only chuckles low in his chest, holding you steady with his other hand at your waist. His fingers trace deliberate patterns, dipping closer, retreating, making you whimper at the edge of relief.

The sight in the mirror is almost unbearable—your own flushed face, the way his broad body cages yours, the focus in his eyes as if nothing else in the world exists but the sounds you’re making for him. Clark groans mix with your moans, his forehead pressing to the side of your head. “That’s it, sweetheart. Don’t hold back. I want to hear it.” His pace builds, skilled and relentless, each movement pulling you higher. Your body trembles against the counter, breath catching as pleasure coils tight inside you, his voice a constant murmur of praise and command in your ear.

Your hips stutter against his hand, chasing every stroke, your breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps. He moans, yes moans at the feel of you unraveling, his grip on your waist tightening like he’s holding you together while he works you apart. The coil inside you snaps, and your body bows forward, a cry breaking free as release tears through you. In the mirror, you catch the sight of your flushed, wrecked expression—Clark’s broad frame behind you, his hand still moving as if he’s determined to drag every last tremor out of you.

“That’s it,” he growls softly, lips pressing against your shoulder as your thighs quake. “So perfect when you cum for me.” Only then does he ease the pace, his hand sliding back to your hip to hold you upright as your breath stumbles back into rhythm. His mouth lingers against your skin, warm and reverent, even as the heat in his eyes promises he’s nowhere near finished.

[forrestbrew]

Can you do Charles, Oscar, Lando & Max plinks please <3

😩 Yeah ofc. Doing four per driver this time, might make a pt 2!

Warnings- its porn. x-links.

Charles

Cuddling naked in his warm Monaco apartment

Charles fucking his shy little gf in his car

Sub!charles and a little pegging + handjob

Jealous charles fucking you on his couch before you make it to the bedroom

Lando

Lando's biiiig hands can bend you into the oblivion when he fucks you

Lando eats you out for his pleasure

Lando thrives off watching you squirm

Face down + smacking your ass is his favorite

Oscar

Osc loooooves to angle your hips just right

filming this with him for when he's traveling

taking turns doing the work whe you ride him

osc having to grip his hot goth gf hard during a thighjob

Max

Max likes his face being used however you want

Bad race? You're in for a rough fucking

older!max rocking your world in a hotel room

distracting him right before he streams a game

[forrestbrew]

Can you please do f1 plinks?

Absolutely. Please look at whk i write for an send your specific driver(s) of choice :)

[forrestbrew]

Achievement Unlocked: Out of Air

ׂ╰┈➤ Chris discovers your little thing for choking and can't seem to help himself in pushing the limit out of curiosity.

𖹭.ᐟ WARNINGS: SMUT MDNI, Nerdy!Dom!Chris, Nerdy!Sub!Reader, Fem reader, Choking/Breathe play, DRY HUMPING, Rough making out (forceful + biting), Pet names "Baby", "Good girl", "Sweetness", Faux sympathy— mildly mean Chris, PROTECTED SEX bcus Chris would 😓 No written aftercare 💔.

Notes! — i am writing this at 1 am with severe period cramps and insomnia. I actually LOCKED in with this and it's probably one of the longest pieces i've ever written so enjoy! Idk how many words... a lot....far too many.

It starts with a horror movie… an erotic horror movie. You’re both practically sweating your skin off, pressed next to each other on your bed, watching the scene unfold on screen—a guy in a mask who’s already sliced off half the girl’s shirt before his two meaty hands wrap around her throat. The man leans in to kiss her, the softness of it jarring compared to his rough actions. You side-eye Chris to see what he’s looking at, only to find him with a pillow over his lap, his eyes unwavering on the glowing screen.

It’s only your second “date,” but probably the fifth time you’ve hung out that week. It’s a cool Friday night, and the windows are cracked just enough to let the breeze fill your warm room. Chris glances over to find you already staring at him with a look he can’t quite decipher. “D-do you—want to, uh… skip this part?” he asks, nervous and quiet. You grin a little, leaning back with a more relaxed posture, a teasing tone lacing your next words.

“No… kinda enjoying this. Kinda wish that were me, a little.” You laugh, hearing his breath hitch and his tone falter as he quickly retorts—

“It can be.”

Now you’re perched on his large thighs, kissing him like you’d die if you stopped. The movie is temporarily forgotten as your hands tangle in his blonde tufts, scratching lightly at his scalp. Chris’s breathing grows heavy, soft sounds slipping against your kiss-plumped mouth. His large hands slide up your hips and sides, finding purchase on your chest just below the base of your throat. He pulls away for a moment to mumble, “…Were you serious about… w-wanting that to be you? His voice is thick with an itching need to know if you’ll indulge him. “Y-yeah… please.” Your voice is fragile and breathy as your hips move subtly in his burly lap.

Chris’s hands tighten on your hips, pulling you closer as his lips trail down your neck, grazing the sensitive skin with sharp, teasing bites. You gasp, pressing into him as his body presses insistently against yours, the friction between you both growing borderline muggy. One hand snakes up to cup the back of your head, tilting you slightly as his mouth hovers near your throat, his breath warm and shallow against your skin. Every inhale feels like it steals a little of your own air, and the sharp nip of his teeth sends shivers down your spine. Your hands claw at his shoulders, rocking subtly against him as his hips grind into yours, dry, relentless, and impossible to ignore. The room seems to shrink until it’s just you, him, and the shared, ragged rhythm of your need.

Chris tilts your head back just ever so slightly, his fingers curling around your throat just enough to draw a shallow, needy gasp from you. The pressure is firm but careful, his thumb brushing over your pulse as he presses you closer, his hips still grinding insistently against yours. “Look at me,” he hisses, and when your eyes meet his, dark and hungry, he leans in, pressing his mouth against yours, stifling your gasp with a possessive kiss. The combination of his grip, his weight, and his relentless hips makes it impossible to think.

Chris is pressed fully on top of you now, his weight heavy and unrelenting as your hands claw at his wrists, trying to find leverage but failing against his firm grip. Your back arches instinctively with every deliberate grind of his hips, his movements slow, controlled, each one designed to drive you wild. He leans down, his chest pressing against yours, both hands cradle your throat, thumbs brushing over your pulse as he tightens just enough to steal your breath. “Look at me, Sweetness,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding, sending shivers down your spine. You find it nearly impossible to look at him with how filthy the whole scene is.

And suddenly his hands are gone. "W-wait why'd you st-" you're cut off by Chris shakily unbuckling his belt. "C-can't keep...teasing like this...need more...s'that okay, Baby?" His voice is rough and almost unrecognizable—you nod without a second thought, hips already rolling up instinctively, hungry for the connection you’ve both been building. Chris groans, leaning down to capture your lips in a desperate, fiery kiss before finally letting his hands roam freely again, sliding under your back, your sides, anchoring you against the bed as he positions himself.

Just as the tension reaches a fever pitch, he pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. “Wait—Sweetness… we need… condoms,” he rasps, his hands moving to rummage his bag quickly before retrieving them. The momentary pause, though frustrating, only intensifies the anticipation between you both. You pause and stare at the condom—was he anticipating this? Or maybe planning it by picking out the movie and pretending he had no clue what it was about? You swipe the thought away—far too eager to see this side of Chris to care...you'll question it later.

Once he situates the material on himself, he slides your sleep shorts off hastily, his own boxers thrown off into some corner of your room. Chris aligns himself and slowly, deliberately slides in, both of you gasping at the sudden, intimate connection. His hands grip your hips, guiding the rhythm as he sets a pace that’s steady and consuming, each thrust sending shivers of pleasure through both of you. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your back arching with every grind, and he leans in, peppering your neck and shoulder with rough, needful kisses. Every gasp, every whimper, every tremble from you only drives him harder, and the room fills with the combined sounds of your need and the loud smack of skin.

Chris leans down, pressing his chest fully against yours, trapping you beneath him. Slowly, deliberately, his hands slide up your sides, over your ribs, until they curl around your throat, firm but controlled. He tilts your head back just enough, using the grip as leverage to guide himself, each thrust driving deep and precise.

“Feel that, Baby?” he growls, voice low and possessive, his thumbs brushing over your pulse as he keeps you pinned. Your nails dig into his biceps as he rocks into you, every movement amplified by the way he holds you, controlling not just the pace but your air, your shudders, every gasp. Chris’s grip tightens slightly around your throat, his thumbs pressing just enough to make every breath a delicious struggle. He leans down, biting along your jaw and neck, and you whimper, arching into him as he grinds harder, relentless in both force and rhythm.

“Aw, Baby… you sound so desperate,” he murmurs mockingly, though his lips graze your skin with feverish intensity. “Poor thing… can’t even catch your breath, huh?” Chris tightens his grip around your throat with one hand, pressing all of his force into it—meanwhile, his other hand trails deliberately between your legs, teasing and stroking, finding the exact spot that sends jolts of pleasure straight through you. Your hips jerk helplessly against his teasing fingers as he continues pounding into you, the combination of the choke and the relentless, precise pleasure from his other hand driving you higher. “That’s it, Sweetness… let go for me. Let me hear you."

Your back arches violently, your hands clawing at his arms and shoulders as your body shatters under him, waves of pleasure ripping through you, holding you firm with one hand while coaxing every last tremor from you with the other. “Fuck, Baby… you feel so good,” he growls, voice ragged, teeth scraping your skin as he uses your body to chase his own release. His other hand still teases between your legs, coaxing shivers and whimpers from you while his hips slam into yours, relentless in pace and force.

Chris’s movements grow erratic, each thrust harder and more desperate than the last, his grip around your throat firm but controlled despite his pitched moaning and needy pounding. Chris's orgasm follows moments later, losing himself with a guttural groan, every muscle taut as he cums with a sharp gasp, hips stuttering against yours, still holding your throat as he rides out the intensity—eyes fluttering and rolling back. The room is filled with the ragged symphony of gasps, softened moans, and the sound of your bodies sticking together from the filthy sweat glimmering under the warm lighting of your room.

[forrestbrew]

Achievement Unlocked: Out of Air

ׂ╰┈➤ Chris discovers your little thing for choking and can't seem to help himself in pushing the limit out of curiosity.

𖹭.ᐟ WARNINGS: SMUT MDNI, Nerdy!Dom!Chris, Nerdy!Sub!Reader, Fem reader, Choking/Breathe play, DRY HUMPING, Rough making out (forceful + biting), Pet names "Baby", "Good girl", "Sweetness", Faux sympathy— mildly mean Chris, PROTECTED SEX bcus Chris would 😓 No written aftercare 💔.

Notes! — i am writing this at 1 am with severe period cramps and insomnia. I actually LOCKED in with this and it's probably one of the longest pieces i've ever written so enjoy! Idk how many words... a lot....far too many.

It starts with a horror movie… an erotic horror movie. You’re both practically sweating your skin off, pressed next to each other on your bed, watching the scene unfold on screen—a guy in a mask who’s already sliced off half the girl’s shirt before his two meaty hands wrap around her throat. The man leans in to kiss her, the softness of it jarring compared to his rough actions. You side-eye Chris to see what he’s looking at, only to find him with a pillow over his lap, his eyes unwavering on the glowing screen.

It’s only your second “date,” but probably the fifth time you’ve hung out that week. It’s a cool Friday night, and the windows are cracked just enough to let the breeze fill your warm room. Chris glances over to find you already staring at him with a look he can’t quite decipher. “D-do you—want to, uh… skip this part?” he asks, nervous and quiet. You grin a little, leaning back with a more relaxed posture, a teasing tone lacing your next words.

“No… kinda enjoying this. Kinda wish that were me, a little.” You laugh, hearing his breath hitch and his tone falter as he quickly retorts—

“It can be.”

Now you’re perched on his large thighs, kissing him like you’d die if you stopped. The movie is temporarily forgotten as your hands tangle in his blonde tufts, scratching lightly at his scalp. Chris’s breathing grows heavy, soft sounds slipping against your kiss-plumped mouth. His large hands slide up your hips and sides, finding purchase on your chest just below the base of your throat. He pulls away for a moment to mumble, “…Were you serious about… w-wanting that to be you? His voice is thick with an itching need to know if you’ll indulge him. “Y-yeah… please.” Your voice is fragile and breathy as your hips move subtly in his burly lap.

Chris’s hands tighten on your hips, pulling you closer as his lips trail down your neck, grazing the sensitive skin with sharp, teasing bites. You gasp, pressing into him as his body presses insistently against yours, the friction between you both growing borderline muggy. One hand snakes up to cup the back of your head, tilting you slightly as his mouth hovers near your throat, his breath warm and shallow against your skin. Every inhale feels like it steals a little of your own air, and the sharp nip of his teeth sends shivers down your spine. Your hands claw at his shoulders, rocking subtly against him as his hips grind into yours, dry, relentless, and impossible to ignore. The room seems to shrink until it’s just you, him, and the shared, ragged rhythm of your need.

Chris tilts your head back just ever so slightly, his fingers curling around your throat just enough to draw a shallow, needy gasp from you. The pressure is firm but careful, his thumb brushing over your pulse as he presses you closer, his hips still grinding insistently against yours. “Look at me,” he hisses, and when your eyes meet his, dark and hungry, he leans in, pressing his mouth against yours, stifling your gasp with a possessive kiss. The combination of his grip, his weight, and his relentless hips makes it impossible to think.

Chris is pressed fully on top of you now, his weight heavy and unrelenting as your hands claw at his wrists, trying to find leverage but failing against his firm grip. Your back arches instinctively with every deliberate grind of his hips, his movements slow, controlled, each one designed to drive you wild. He leans down, his chest pressing against yours, both hands cradle your throat, thumbs brushing over your pulse as he tightens just enough to steal your breath. “Look at me, Sweetness,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding, sending shivers down your spine. You find it nearly impossible to look at him with how filthy the whole scene is.

And suddenly his hands are gone. "W-wait why'd you st-" you're cut off by Chris shakily unbuckling his belt. "C-can't keep...teasing like this...need more...s'that okay, Baby?" His voice is rough and almost unrecognizable—you nod without a second thought, hips already rolling up instinctively, hungry for the connection you’ve both been building. Chris groans, leaning down to capture your lips in a desperate, fiery kiss before finally letting his hands roam freely again, sliding under your back, your sides, anchoring you against the bed as he positions himself.

Just as the tension reaches a fever pitch, he pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. “Wait—Sweetness… we need… condoms,” he rasps, his hands moving to rummage his bag quickly before retrieving them. The momentary pause, though frustrating, only intensifies the anticipation between you both. You pause and stare at the condom—was he anticipating this? Or maybe planning it by picking out the movie and pretending he had no clue what it was about? You swipe the thought away—far too eager to see this side of Chris to care...you'll question it later.

Once he situates the material on himself, he slides your sleep shorts off hastily, his own boxers thrown off into some corner of your room. Chris aligns himself and slowly, deliberately slides in, both of you gasping at the sudden, intimate connection. His hands grip your hips, guiding the rhythm as he sets a pace that’s steady and consuming, each thrust sending shivers of pleasure through both of you. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your back arching with every grind, and he leans in, peppering your neck and shoulder with rough, needful kisses. Every gasp, every whimper, every tremble from you only drives him harder, and the room fills with the combined sounds of your need and the loud smack of skin.

Chris leans down, pressing his chest fully against yours, trapping you beneath him. Slowly, deliberately, his hands slide up your sides, over your ribs, until they curl around your throat, firm but controlled. He tilts your head back just enough, using the grip as leverage to guide himself, each thrust driving deep and precise.

“Feel that, Baby?” he growls, voice low and possessive, his thumbs brushing over your pulse as he keeps you pinned. Your nails dig into his biceps as he rocks into you, every movement amplified by the way he holds you, controlling not just the pace but your air, your shudders, every gasp. Chris’s grip tightens slightly around your throat, his thumbs pressing just enough to make every breath a delicious struggle. He leans down, biting along your jaw and neck, and you whimper, arching into him as he grinds harder, relentless in both force and rhythm.

“Aw, Baby… you sound so desperate,” he murmurs mockingly, though his lips graze your skin with feverish intensity. “Poor thing… can’t even catch your breath, huh?” Chris tightens his grip around your throat with one hand, pressing all of his force into it—meanwhile, his other hand trails deliberately between your legs, teasing and stroking, finding the exact spot that sends jolts of pleasure straight through you. Your hips jerk helplessly against his teasing fingers as he continues pounding into you, the combination of the choke and the relentless, precise pleasure from his other hand driving you higher. “That’s it, Sweetness… let go for me. Let me hear you."

Your back arches violently, your hands clawing at his arms and shoulders as your body shatters under him, waves of pleasure ripping through you, holding you firm with one hand while coaxing every last tremor from you with the other. “Fuck, Baby… you feel so good,” he growls, voice ragged, teeth scraping your skin as he uses your body to chase his own release. His other hand still teases between your legs, coaxing shivers and whimpers from you while his hips slam into yours, relentless in pace and force.

Chris’s movements grow erratic, each thrust harder and more desperate than the last, his grip around your throat firm but controlled despite his pitched moaning and needy pounding. Chris's orgasm follows moments later, losing himself with a guttural groan, every muscle taut as he cums with a sharp gasp, hips stuttering against yours, still holding your throat as he rides out the intensity—eyes fluttering and rolling back. The room is filled with the ragged symphony of gasps, softened moans, and the sound of your bodies sticking together from the filthy sweat glimmering under the warm lighting of your room.

[forrestbrew]

also requesting.

clark kent. who’s literally obsessed with you to the point of constantly needing to have his hands on you?? potentially mirror sex because he needs to see your face??????)!!$!!! or… something based on the scene of him and lois getting a lil freaky in the kitchen. but SPECIFICALLY the alternate cut where he has his glasses on.

ALSP DOING THIS TN

[forrestbrew]

i need. i neeed.

nerd chris. goofy. but weirdly able to pull out some freak shit….. big hand on your throat while he kisses you. not really squeezing, just a liiittlee bit of pressure… enough to make your brain get all fuzzy.

him not really expecting you to be into jt and finding out you’re VERY into it.

basically i need his hand on my throat while he rearranges my guts i fearZ

no anon bc this is my usual freak shit

Yes. doing this. 🫣

[forrestbrew]

Hi! I just wanted to let you know the link for the characters/fandoms you write for isn’t working!

Oh crap! Fixing it now! thank you! should be available within the next 5 mins!!!

[forrestbrew]

IT WAS TOO FUNNY NOT TOO, I WAS LEGIT CACKLING TYPING IT KAMLAMOSKEK

I love torturing my friends 🩶🥹 @z0mb1epuzzy

[forrestbrew]

I love torturing my friends 🩶🥹 @z0mb1epuzzy

[forrestbrew]

Can you please do plinks? (only if you're comfortable)

Yes! Please send in who you want from my character list! ❤️

[forrestbrew]

Agreed.

Idk i think making out with Swagger while his fingers tangle in your hair pulling you closer by the nape of your neck would fix anyone