#fuckin with it heavy 🙂‍↕️

[simonbrain]

love the idea of reader just trying to fuck all her stress out with a random at the bar before returning back to her mundane life, and simon deciding he's going to keep her instead 🙂‍↕️

the prick doesn't budge when you try to kick him out; instead, he drags you back into bed and works his mouth to loosen you up again, and now you've forgotten why you were trying to haul his ass out of your home.

(you attempted to sound stern while telling him to get out of your house, but he merely chuckled, the sound so raspy and condescending that it stroked a heat within you that you thought was sated last night.

"this is our home. now get your arse back in bed, i'm fuckin' hungry.")

you had to really fist at his hair to pull him off of you, and that only turned him on if the deep groan rumbling out of him was anything to go by—you swear his tongue sunk deeper inside you. he only relented so he could fuck you dumb in the shower after, leaving you with trembling legs and feeling more dirty than clean (atta girl, don't you waste any of tha'—keep it all in).

you blink, and now suddenly you're seated as he spoon-feeds you a nice, hearty breakfast, huffing something like messy girl when toast crumbs get all over your face and the wooden table.

words can't express how flustered you are; you're too stunned to even continue telling the big man who's now feeding you scrambled eggs that he needs to leave. all you feel like you're capable of doing is opening your mouth to accept another spoonful, ignoring the ache you feel between your thighs when you catch his heavy stare and hear a low hum of approval.

then he's leaving (and it's not because of your nagging), muttering something about having to work those mutts to the bone today, all while you're trying to make sense of what's happening. he gives you a sloppy kiss to silence your questions and exasperation, one that makes you feel hot all over and almost melt into a puddle had it not been for the firm grip he had on your ass.

he licks his lips when he pulls back, eyes darting to where your shirt just barely covers where he'd rather be all day than having to go and train recruits. he stares for an uncomfortably long time and before you can speak up, face growing a little hot from the tension, he's turning around to finally leave.

before the door shuts, he says, "be a good girl, ay? see you tonight, birdie."

you're left with your thoughts and feelings of dread and anxiety. there definitely isn't any underlying interest or anything; the freak has fucked your brain out of your head, that's all. you're sure he didn't even mean it anyway. maybe. hopefully.

a drop of his come rolls down your thigh, and arousal shame burns through you. since when did you let one-night stands finish in you?

(your so-called one-night stand came home hungry and pissed, so worked up that he dragged you over to the nearest surface and played with you for a good hour. by the time you had half the mind to tell him about the dinner in the oven—your eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets at how much money he had sent you for groceries earlier, nevermind how he got ahold of your account details—he grunted and finally gave your poor pussy a break, scarred mug all slick and flushed.)

good luck when he takes you to meet his mates at the bar a week later, the same bar you brought him home from; the comments from them make you wish a hole in the ground would just swallow you right up.

"pretty thing ye caught, lt," johnny grins, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. he's a bit over the top, ogles your chest too hard, but overall he's... alright. you'd probably notice how perverted he really was if you actually looked at him longer than a few fleeting glances, but his stare is kind of unnerving.

kyle—perfection personified—hums in agreement, a warm smile on his face that puts you at ease. somehow you don't pick up on the ulterior motive behind his gaze running over your body, eyes roaming over your chest more discreetly than johnny but just as appreciative. "pretty indeed. you don't mind sharing, do you ghost?" kyle teases, pretty eyes glancing over at simon, who only huffs at that and shakes his head (much to your confusion).

who the fuck is ghost? you only know big guy and simon.

there's a deep chuckle and your focus flits over to the man seated in front of you, captain john price. if you thought simon was scary, john's a man who demands respect and attention just by being in his presence. "you chose the wrong dog to bring home," john hums, voice deep and gravelly and making you shamefully squeeze your thighs together.

"but that's alright, sweetheart. you have three others now, yeah?" the purr that comes out of his mouth is sinful, and when you nod and stammer out a yes, sir as if you were one of his soldiers and not the sweet girl that simon has brought to his captain, looking for approval of his newest toy, he only smiles.

simon's hand squeezes your thigh underneath the table, trailing upwards, and you're slowly understanding what it is that you've gotten yourself into.

[sai-int]

possessive sex with RTS!Simon!! angry grunts, hand over your mouth, putting you in a full nelson. just utterly overloading your senses with nothing but him

i like your funny words, magic man 🙂‍↕️

— combining this with the anon who wanted hair pulling, choking, & spanking

— very rough sex, fem reader below the cut

the more time you spend with simon, the more his edges seem to wear down. he starts to soften until you barely notice it happening.

he murmurs sweet nothings against your skin now, calls you pretty things in that reverent voice like you’re a saint. it’s all praise, all worship, and after a while, it becomes easy to forget the version of him you once knew. easy to believe that the violence doesn’t live in him anymore—that it burned itself out somewhere along the way.

but it’s still there, still simmering and latent.

simon may be gentle with you, but that doesn’t mean he’s forgotten who he is. and when you start to test him, when you push just a little too far—he’s more than willing to remind you.

he’ll let the other version of himself—ghost— slip through the cracks, just long enough to make sure you remember who you’re dealing with.

not because he wants to scare you.

but because he knows it works.

because sometimes, you need a reminder that sugar only ever came after the steel.

—it was ghost you initially invited in, after all.

….

he’s been on edge throughout the entirety of your outing together.

something about the way you smiled at someone too long, or the sway of your hips in that goddamn dress when you leaned over earlier. you’d felt how tense he was in the way he brushed past you, the way his eyes lingered just a second too long on your throat, your hands, your hips. but it isn’t the same kind of tense he gets when he comes home from work all dead-eyed.

it’s possessive.

by the time you get home and the front door clicks shut behind you both, the air’s heavy with it—his restraint stretched thin, about to snap.

and when it does, it’s immediate.

he crowds you fast, slams your back against the door with a thud, big hands gripping your jaw, your throat, like he can’t decide where he wants to feel you first.

“don’t even fuckin’ know what y’do t’me,” he grits out, and his voice is low, simmering with something darker than lust, something nostalgic.

you try to speak, but it’s already too late—he’s kissing you, if you can even call it that. it’s more like he’s trying to drink the sounds and spit right out of your mouth, gulp down your vocal chords before they can even muster a whimper.

his teeth catch your lip and you can feel how soaked you are, a fresh wave of heat instantaneously rolls from your tummy to your cunt. his hand slips into your hair, dragging your head back by the scalp just so he can look at you better. he’s breathing hard, like holding himself back takes more energy than unleashing.

“get y’fuckin’ clothes off.”

you blink, caught in the pull of him, but you’re too slow. he moves you and spins you around, pushes you down against the arm of the couch, yanks your underwear down so fast the waistband burns. the cool air hits your thighs and then he’s on you, thick and hard and already leaking against your entrance despite not even hearing his belt clink.

he doesn’t slide in. not yet.

instead, he pulls your arms back, strong forearms locking under yours, around your neck, locked in a painful full-nelson. you’re bent and helpless, back arched in a perfect ‘C’, legs spread, nothing but the sound of his breathing and your pulse simultaneously in your ears.

then he sinks into you.

you gasp—sharp, near-silent—but he shoves his ring and index in your mouth before it can even leave your throat.

“nah, none of that,” he grits. “neighbors don’t need to hear the kinda sounds i wring outta you—all mine.”

the pads of his left fingers move to press on the back of your tongue, making you drool uncontrollably all over him—while his right arm is still hooked under your arm, mits yanking the delicate hair at the nape of your neck back by the root.

the stretch of his cock is brutal—deep and punishing , like he’s trying to fuck himself into your spine. and all you can do is take it, feel your eyes roll back and your cunt remold itself as he sets a break-neck pace, grunting like an animal in your ear every time he bottoms out.

“so fuckin’ tight—like y’were made for me, hmm?” he pants. “this pussy remembers who owns it, don’t it?”

he pulls his hand out of your mouth, slaps your ass hard—once, twice, until the sting blossoms warm and dizzying. your muscles jump under him, breath hitching against his palm.

“answer me.”

you nod frantically, choking on your own mewls. he growls and yanks your head back harder, lips brushing your ear.

“didn’t fuckin’ hear you.”

“y–yes simon—“ you whimper into his palm, barely intelligible. “yours. all yours— fuck—”

he groans at that, full-body shudder rolling through him. you feel it in the way he fucks you deeper, harder—driving it home like he’s trying to hammer the truth into your bones.

his hand slides from your ass to your throat, fingers wrapping around your neck, just enough pressure to make your vision blur. he’s everywhere—pressing into you from behind, filling your senses, your lungs, your entire world.

and then he starts up again with that mouth of his.

“look at you. stretched out, fucked out… gaggin’ for it, girl— fuckin’ hell,” he bites your shoulder, “and y’love it, don’t you? love bein’ used like this, yeah?”

you’re barely coherent now, drooling onto the couch below, legs shaking, eyes glassy as your mind floats. this isn’t about pleasure. it’s about control. about simon fucking riley needing to mark you from the inside out, until your voice, your body, your soul only echo him. it’s not just sex—it feels like a demonic possession.

he’s knows he’s got you right where he wants you—so far gone on him that even if he let go, you’d still be reaching.

lord knows you won’t be calling an exorcist anytime soon.

[saudianna]

Oscar smut where everyone thinks him and his girlfriend are sweet and vanilla but they’re absolutely filthy and either someone walks in on them or Oscar accidentally sends a sex tape to a grid group 🙂‍↕️

exposed

p in v | smut | mirror sex | filming kink | sex tape | bent over | ass eating (fem) | oral (fem) | fingering (fem) | ass fingering?? (also fem..) | super cutie aftercare | slight exhibition kink?? | hair pulling

the hotel room is dimly lit. he’s showered, grey sweatpants slung low on his hips— v-line visible and his slutty waist sweaty. his post race winning smirk plastered on his face.

you’re curled up on the bed, short lacy slip on, legs bare, your hearts already pounding because you know that look. you’re about to get fucked silly.

he’s walking up to you, hands in pockets, eyes raking over your bare thighs and smirking.

“wore my team shirt today huh?” he says quietly.

you nod.

“looked so good baby.”

“put it back on.” he carries on.

you blink, confused. “now?”

“yeah,”

he murmurs, slowly sitting on the bed and sliding his hands up and down you with such gentleness it almost made you feel a false sense of security, like he wasn’t going to be pressing your face into the sheets later on.

“take everything off and put on that shirt again.”

he mumbles sternly, smiling and looking you up and down.

there it was.

the video starts blurry— oscar adjusting the phone camera propped on the dresser, switching it to front view.

smiling sharply and pressing you into the very uncomfortable dresser. grinning at the camera, maintaining eye contact and kissing down your spine, holding your hips.

he’s eventually trailing down to your ass, kissing your hole and barely managing to slide his tongue through the tight entrance.

eating out your ass, god it was so hot you thought, filming yourselves— your arms clinging on the dressed, grabbing anything to get some sensibility.

“shhh baby, just let it happen yeah? doing so good f’me.”

you’re whining at his words, his own merch perched up your chest and tits spilling out from under where it’s bunched up, hips being held up by his heavy hands and ass basically eaten into oblivion.

“o-oh god oscar- please fuckk-“

you moaned out, completely blissed out from the relentless swirling from his wet muscle breaching your rim.

“be quiet f’me baby. gotta make you cum so I can actually fuckin fit.”

you gasp out at his fingers prodding your hole— mouth moving down to your dripping cunt, lapping up your juices and licking through your folds, his fingers from one hand in your ass, other hands digits in your cunt.

“yeah? you gonna cum for me darling?”

you nod, caught off guard by his relentless finger-fucking, mewling out at the sensations he was providing you.

you squirt so hard it makes him weak, his mouth covered with your juices, chest covered aswell. he’s lapping it up and rising to pull your hips closer to him. pulling your hair to look at yourself in the mirror, hair messy, eyes watering and his chin covered with your cum.

“look how pretty you look baby, my little slut.”

he’s spitting on your pussy one final time before dragging his sweatpants down to release his pulsating cock, red and leaking at the tip. he’s smacking it against your clit and watching you absolutely shriek at the one on one taps he’s consulting you with. finally pushing in through your folds, breaching your warm entrance and groaning at the tightness, while you on the other hand are practically screaming at the stretch, being soo thick that he has to spit on it more. landing a direct hit to where your walls were gripping him so hard it was like his soul was being sucked out via his dick.

dragging your hair back even more, pushing in harshly, reaching your cervix with every thrust. grabbing your neck with one hand pulling you back to see the mirror.

“there you go baby, watch yourself break for me.”

he’s smiling at the camera, teeth on display and eyes flicking back to your stretched out cunt, wet heat wrapped around him. he’s grunting as he’s pounding into you from behind, watching yourselves in the mirror in front of you.

“yeah you like that huh? like seeing yourself fall apart f’me?”

he’s hitting all the good spots, so deep inside you you think he’s gonna bruise your fucking cervix. your legs shaking and body quivering, eyes rolls back so hard from his dead-on thrusts and absolutely filthy dirty talk he’s whispering in your ear.

“gonna fucking cum? gonna cum on my cock darling?”

“go on then, fucking do it, cum for me.”

“cum on my fucking cock.”

and you do, eyes rolls back so far he thinks you’ve died, legs spasming and you’re mewling his name, squirting all over his thighs and chest even more, he’s tugging your shirt down so he can see his name plastering along your back, finally hitting your cervix one more time and cumming deep, deep inside you.

after a few minutes of silence and his head rested on your spine, he pulls out, picking you up and puts you on the bed, grabbing the phone and spreading your legs to show the camera how much cum was leaking out from your absolutely spent pussy.

“god.. so good for me baby.”

he’s saying as he spread your folds with two fingers, your hips bucking in overstimulation and he groans sooo loudly.

“fuck… just look at that.”

he’s giving you the camera, your shaky hands taking it, confused.

until he started lapping at your pussy again.

“just cleaning you up like I should baby.. relax..”

he’s lapping up your and his juices mixed together with subtle growls and whines, looking up at you, one hand tightly wrapped around the camera, other rotating between tugging his hair, grinding his face into you and rubbing your clit as he pushes your thighs further apart. smiling up at you as you cum one more time, thighs squeezing around his head but he spreads them open once again to finish his job.

“there you go darling. all cleaned up yeah?”

you’re smiling as you cut off the video, he’s grabbing you and pushing you on the bed as he wraps his arms around your sore body, kissing you all over playfully as he takes off your his shirt.

“I’ll airdrop it to you.”

and so he does— right? or did he somehow accidentally click the wrong contact?

you guys wake up the next morning, spent and used.

“osc I don’t think my legs work anymore..”

he chuckles and pulls you on top of him.

“it’s okay baby, just relax. we can just cuddle and binge watch movies all day yeah?”

you nod and he grabs his phone, checking the time to see like… 40 notifications all from the f1 grid group chat, weird, he thought.

so he checks them and immediately gasps, face pale and shaking his head with dread..

“what? what’s wrong baby? are you okay?”

“um.. I accidentally sent the video from last night to the group chat.”

you’re both sitting at the edge of the hotel bed, silent, staring at oscar’s phone like it just announced your funeral.

he’s slack-jawed. borderline catatonic.

you’re clutching a pillow to your chest, blinking at the screen while the notifications still roll in.

“why is max just sending please over and over again?” you whisper.

“i don’t know,” oscar groans, burying his face in his hands. “i don’t fucking know.”

you laugh super loud, winkng at him, “maybe they all want a piece of me yeah?”

“oh my god…”

you pat his shoulder, trying not to laugh. “i think lewis complimented your stroke game.”

“i’m going to die.”

you peek at the screen again.

“lando saved the video to favorites.”

“OH MY GOD—”

he flops backwards onto the bed, mortified, arms over his face.

“they’re never gonna let this go. i’m gonna show up to the paddock and they’re all gonna wink at me.”

“probably,” you say, deadpan. “george is literally live-posting his emotional downfall in the chat. he said you’ve ruined sex for him.”

oscar groans louder.

“alex said he opened it in the garage osc..”

“WE WERE SO LOUD.”

“you were. i was performing.”

“you called me your ‘little slut’ in 4K.”

he groans so hard it vibrates the mattress.

“this is how my career ends,” he mutters. “not with a crash, not with a scandal, but with my dick on display in front of half the grid.”

you bite your lip, failing to hold back a giggle. “at least your form was great. i mean— solid rhythm. angles. deep thrusts. i’d rate it 10/10.”

he glares at you from beneath the pillow.

“you’re not helping.”

you grin. “you were so cocky in that video. ‘look how pretty you are, baby’—like be serious.”

he yanks the pillow off his face and tosses it at you. “i meant it!”

“well thank you baby, you’re pretty too y’know.” you smiled and put your hand on his thigh.

“yeah yeah. now I gotta make it up to you right?” he smirks and you straddle him..

“yeah.. I think you do..” he smiles and pins you down on the bed—

“well.. we can make some arrangements.”

[thinkinonsense]

i would love to hear your thoughts on logan + an inspection kink🙂‍↕️

oh, he definitely has one. it doesn't come out very often but when it does...😵‍💫

"let me get a good look atcha', princess."

logan's voice was hot and heavy against the delicate skin of your inner thigh. nibbling and kissing, teasing you. he's wedged his wide shoulders in between your legs, keeping them nice and open for his viewing. left in nothing but a pair of cotton white underwear that was now sticky with arousal and clinging to your most intimate area.

"please, logan..." you whimper, a tear rolling down your cheek. " 'nough teasing."

all night long, he's been torturing you. it started before you two went out to the bar. you had riled logan up in hopes to stay home tonight. at first, everything went as planned. logan had you bent over the kitchen counter, snapping his hips into yours roughly until he reached his climax. you felt so full with his release and so close, when suddenly, he pulls out of you and pulls up his pants.

"aw, look at that..." he marvels, pulling the thin material down your legs. logan couldn't believe that he was still spilling out of you. his thick index finger runs through the wetness mixed with his release, gathering it while your hips wiggle and bringing it up to his mouth to lick it off. "always taste so fuckin' good for me. isn't that right, princess?"

"mhm.." you nod, bitting back a moan.

completely taking you off guard, logan takes both of his thumbs and spreads you open in such a lewd way that you couldn't help but scratch at his shoulders. he knew how embarrassed you get when he stares but logan couldn't help it. how could he not be entranced by your beauty.

the second you look down at him, he's hovering his mouth over your mound and spits right on your button. logan loves watching the way your eyes roll back as he rubs everything together in slow skilled circles.

"p-p-please just fuck me already, lo." you moan, digging your nails into his skin so deliciously. "need it. need you."

logan shakes his head with a smirk, "not yet. i'm still enjoying my view."

𓂃 ࣪˖ ཐིཋྀ

author's note: sorry if this isn't exactly what you were hoping for lmao i've never written about an inspection kink but it was kinda fun! thanks for the request <3

[ruebossanova]

can you do 9, 29, and 25 with billie? thank you 🙂‍↕️

late - billie eilish

gf!billie x gf!reader

9 — “please don’t think i’m weird for this…” 29 — “choke me” 25 — “harder”

prompt list

----------------------------------------------------------------

the sound of the door unlocking makes your heart skip. you don't move from the couch, legs crossed, silk robe barely tied, phone untouched in your lap. you'd been waiting exactly like this. on purpose. for her.

footsteps. slow. heavy. then—

"the fuck are you wearing?"

you glance over your shoulder.

there she is. hoodie half off, hat still on, black pants slung low on her hips. billie's eyes drag over you like a spotlight, and you feel it—heat, weight, want—all before she even gets close.

"you're late," you say, innocent.

"don't care." she kicks off her shoes. "stand up."

you blink. "what—"

"baby." her voice drops. "i said, stand. up."

you rise slowly, untangling your legs. her eyes follow the hem of your robe, the way it shifts just enough to show the inside of your thigh.

she crosses the room in three steps. grabs your waist. pulls you in.

"you waitin' for me like this?" she mutters, lips grazing your jaw. "just sittin' here, lettin' that little pussy breathe?"

your breath hitches. "yeah."

she grins against your neck. "fuckin' knew it."

her hand slides up your spine, the other gripping your ass through the robe. her body presses into yours—hard, firm, something thick and hot already twitching against your stomach.

you glance down. your mouth goes dry.

"billie—"

"mhmm." her mouth finds your ear. "been thinkin' about you all day. got hard twice just picturing your legs open. had to pull over once."

your thighs clench. she notices.

"you like that?" she whispers, biting your earlobe. "like knowing how bad i want you?"

you nod, voice shaky. "yeah."

her hand slips into your hair, tugging your head back gently.

"then you just keep doin' what you're doin', pretty girl," she says, voice thick, "and let me fuckin' handle the rest." her grip shifts—hands on your hips, turning your body, pressing you flat against the cool wall.

you let out a soft gasp at the contact, but she's already there, body behind yours, mouth at your neck.

"hands up," she orders.

you raise them slowly, fingers splaying against the wall. she hums, satisfied.

"good girl."

her hands slip around your waist, sliding under the robe, finding bare skin. she yanks the silk apart like it's nothing, exposing you to the chill of the air and the burn of her stare.

"no panties," she mutters, grinning. "fuckin' knew it."

her palm cups between your legs, fingers parting you gently.

"you're soaked," she whispers. "dripping down your thighs already."

you let out a shaky breath as her middle finger circles your clit—barely there.

"how long you been like this, huh?" she kisses your shoulder. "ten minutes? an hour? since noon?"

you arch back against her. "billie—"

"shh." her free hand slides up your chest, fingers wrapping gently around your throat. "say it."

"since noon," you breathe.

her grip tightens just slightly. "that's more like it."

she thrusts her hips forward, grinding her strap between your ass cheeks, the hardness of it making your knees wobble.

"you want it?"

"yes—please, baby—"

"what do you want?"

you press back against her. "your dick."

"where?"

you close your eyes, moaning. "inside me."

she laughs, a low, filthy sound. "say exactly what you want, mama. c'mon."

your voice is barely a whisper. "wanna be bent over and fucked hard. wanna feel it deep. want you to choke me while you do it."

that pauses her. then—

"fuckin' hell."

her mouth crashes to your neck, biting just enough to sting. then her hand wraps tight around your throat—not enough to hurt, just enough to make your whole body go still.

you feel her lean in, breath hot, words slower now:

"you want me to choke you while i ruin this tight little pussy, baby?"

"yes," you whisper.

"then get on the bed."

you crawl across the bed slowly, trembling, your robe falling off one shoulder. your hands sink into the sheets, knees wide, ass high. you hear her swear under her breath.

then the mattress shifts.

billie climbs up behind you, her palm smoothing over the curve of your ass, squeezing hard. you let out a soft moan. she leans over you, her chest against your back, her voice close to your ear.

"you ready for me, sweet girl?"

"yes."

"yeah?" her fingers brush your folds. "so wet it's fuckin' leaking. you were made for me, huh?"

"i was—billie, please—"

she lines up behind you—thick, hard, the head of her strap nudging your entrance.

"deep breath, baby."

then she slams in.

you cry out, forehead pressing to the bed, your body jolting forward from the sheer force of it.

"fuck," she growls, gripping your hips hard. "this tight little pussy—gripping me like you own me."

she pulls back, then thrusts again—harder.

your moans melt into the mattress. she fucks you in rough, perfect rhythm, each thrust pushing you further up the bed.

"you wanted this, right?" she hisses. "wanted me to fuck the thoughts outta you?"

"yes—god, yes—"

her hand slides into your hair, yanks your head back.

"say it again."

"i wanted it," you cry out. "wanted you inside me—wanted it hard."

she snarls.

"good girl."

her hand slides back around your throat, squeezing tighter this time, and her thrusts pick up—slamming into you, thick and deep, your moans ragged and desperate.

"harder," you gasp.

she doesn't hesitate.

the sound of her hips crashing into your ass fills the room—raw, rhythmic, obscene. her grip on your neck tightens just enough to blur the edge of everything, and your eyes roll back as the pressure builds.

"that's it," she whispers, voice like smoke. "you take it. you take all of me."

you're shaking, moaning into the sheets, the slap of her hips against you loud and steady. you feel it—tight and hot in your belly, rising, seconds away from breaking.

"billie—baby—i'm gonna—"

and then she stops.

you choke on the silence, the sudden stillness of her cock buried inside you but unmoving.

"no," you whimper. "don't stop—please, please—"

her hand slides back into your hair, yanking you up until your spine arches and your head rests against her shoulder. her other hand presses flat on your stomach, holding you still.

"you don't come yet."

"why—"

"because i didn't say you could," she growls, voice low, commanding. she pulls out slowly, just enough to make you sob, then thrusts in again—agonizingly slow. your toes curl.

"you feel that?" she whispers, lips grazing your ear. "how deep i am? how slow i'm going? this pussy's so fuckin' needy for it."

"please, billie—"

"nuh-uh. you just keep begging'. i'm not done listenin' yet."

she starts to grind into you, hips rolling, cock hitting every nerve inside you at a pace so slow it's unbearable. her fingers find your clit again—barely touching.

"you want me to choke you again?"

you nod frantically. "yes—please—choke me."

her hand slips up to your neck, squeezing, soft at first, then tighter as her thrusts pick up just a little more speed—just enough to make you whine.

"you're so fuckin' pretty like this," she mutters. "face all red, pussy clenchin' around me. look at you."

you try to turn your head, but her hand tightens, forcing your eyes forward.

"nah, baby. keep your head up. let me feel you fall apart."

you let out a broken moan, thighs shaking violently.

"fuck—i'm close—billie, please, i can't—"

"yes, you can."

"please—"

"you wanna cum, mama?"

"yes."

she leans in, breath hot and low in your ear:

"then earn it."

those three words hit harder than her thrusts. your body tenses, back arching as she slams into you again, faster now, no more teasing—just raw, unrelenting rhythm.

her hand is still tight on your throat. her other fingers roll over your clit like she knows exactly what you need.

"you close?" she growls. "say it."

"yes—yes—"

"good fuckin' girl."

she thrusts harder.

"you gonna come on my dick?"

"yes—please, i need to—i need it—"

"then come."

you shatter.

your entire body convulses, pleasure ripping through you like a tidal wave. your mouth falls open, no sound escaping, just breathless gasps as your walls clench around her.

billie doesn't stop.

she fucks you through it—deep and rough and perfect, letting you ride the high with her cock still inside, her hand still wrapped tight around your throat.

"that's it," she breathes, voice shaking. "fuckin' take it, baby. just like that. that's my good girl."

you slump forward, completely wrecked, forehead pressing into the sheets as your moans taper into shaky breaths.

she leans over you, body flush to your back, kissing your shoulder, your spine, your neck—slow, soft, grounding.

"you okay?" she whispers.

you nod weakly. "y-yeah."

she slides out gently, unbuckling the harness and tossing it aside, then pulls you into her arms like she can't stand the distance.

you collapse into her, body heavy, eyes fluttering shut.

she kisses your forehead. "you did so good for me."

you hum against her chest.

"you wrecked me," you murmur, dazed.

she smiles. "damn right i did."

fingers brushing your hair back, she whispers one last thing before sleep starts to pull at you—

"next time... you're wearin' that robe to the door."

----------------------------------------------------------------

tags; @bxllxebxtch @st0nerlesb0 @dousleepanymore @mxmsuki @billiescation @angellvk @bilswifee

[isasweetie]

currently my favorite writer U ARE SO TALENTED 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ goshhh js thinking about rafe locking reader inside the room cause she’s having a tantrum ! :( (lwk that one scene with him and sarah)

aww i adore u!

⋆˙⟡ in which rafe locks you in a room during a tantrum.

rafe wasn’t a difficult man to piss off, per say, but usually he’d just yell at you and maybe punch a wall. arguments would always end in sex from him as an apology, and adding on that, you would apologize easily too. unfortunately, tonight was a bit different.

he’d been following your stomps around the house for a while now. you were crying and he was yelling. all you wanted was a moment to gather your thoughts, but rafe wasn’t having it tonight. he was proactive, he wanted to talk to you right then, force some sense into your mind and get you to apologize for him. it never once crossed his mind that maybe he should calm down and apologize himself.

“rafe, leave me alone, i wanna be alone!” you cry as you rush down the stairs to go back to the living room from the bedroom.

he scoffs, and you can hear his shoes stomping behind you. “stop throwing a fuckin’ tantrum and actually speak to me like a human, then!”

“you never listen!”

that’s his trigger. without a second thought, he grabbed you by the back of your neck as if you were some puppy, making you yelp and cry harder, as he drags you downstairs to the wine cellar. “oh, you want me to fuckin’ listen, huh? yeaah, be a good boyfriend and cave to your every demand? you got it, babe,” he says angrily, obviously sarcastic as he stands in front of the wine cellar with you. “now, you wanna talk, or you want your alone time?”

your eyes are fuzzy with tears, unaware of what his plan is, even though he’s trying to insinuate it. “want alone time,” you cry.

he scoffs and shoves you in the wine cellar, closing the heavy door, locking it, and resting his back against it.

you blink, looking around. there’s a beat of silence where you’re confused and registering what happened, and he’s taking a breath of relief, thinking his plan worked. then it hits, and suddenly you’re worse than before, sobbing and screaming and wiggling the doorknob desperately.

“rafe!” you cry, distressed and nervous. “rafe, let me out!! this isn’t funny!”

he sighs, squeezing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “shuuut up, not letting you out until you get a fuckin’ grip, baby,”

“not fair!” you yell, trying to yank on the door. “rafe, let me out! being such a jerk!”

he wants to argue that stupidly innocent insult badly, but he chooses to be quiet so you give up and calm down as well.

the crying goes on for longer than he thought, until you’re coughing and sitting down because you’re so tired from the screams. you’re reduced to nothing but sniffles, and your knees are hugging your chest for some support.

eventually, thank goodness, light floods the room as the door opens. it must’ve been at least half an hour, but it was still too long.

“hey, baby,” rafe sighs, ears admittedly ringing from how loud you were earlier. “how are you?”

you’re quiet, mad at him now. he sits down beside you.

“jesus,” he sighs under his breath. he puts a heavy hand on your shoulder. “had to do it. see how calm you are now, baby?” he waits for a nod from you before continuing. “yeeah, exactly. you wanted alone time so i gave you that, it’s fine, hm?”

“…it was scary,” you admit gently, voice still trembly.

“didn’t know i’d scare you, had to act on impulse to get you nice and quiet,” is his explanation as he starts rubbing your shoulder. he always knows what to say, it seems.

you nod gently, and he stands up. “c’mon, up,” he nods his head, taking your hand. “you ready to talk now?”

“mhm,” you hum softly, shaky legs standing up as rafe steadies you.

he walks you back through the basement, and for the first time, you hear an, “i’m sorry for scaring you,” come out of his mouth.

those five words make you much more at ease to talk and cuddle for the rest of the night, even if he might not of meant them.

taglist🪽— @dearapril @popou61 @suncove @hittmeandtellmeyouremine @dollyfiles @wtfdudesblog @yktayy9669 @nixcyrr @st6ined @girlwhorizzed

[cillslover]

hiiii i just found your blog and i love it, i have an idea but i don't know if you'd be interested.🥹♥️

he's thinking about tommy and a reader it's completely useless when he's around, as tommy is this powerful man she no longer feels the need to defend herself or anything because she knows Tommy puts everything at her feet, and he's so so nice to her but he's still aggressive with everyone around him and people are like "tommy she's no good" and he's like "it's because you haven't seen her at night, you don't have that luck" or something like tommy being dirty and cheeky tommy or just leaning on her chest and making fun of the comment.😮‍💨

i don't really know if this makes sense, but I hope it does, please don't feel obligated to write this, please ignore it if it is not to your liking, i love what you write and it's a pleasure to read you.🙂‍↕️♥️

xoxoxo

She Doesn't Need To Fight Anymore

Pairings: Thomas Shelby x Female Reader

Warnings: sexual innuendo, adult language, heavy drinking, mild possessive themes.

Summary: The boys can't help teasing Tommy about how in love he is - claiming he's gone soft. But Tommy's got nothing to prove.

A/N: Hi! Thank you so much for the request! I loved the idea of Thomas in this context. I tried my best to follow what you described, and I’m so sorry if it’s not exactly how you pictured it 😭 but I really hope you enjoy it! Thank you again, you’re so sweet 💗

────────────────────────

The Garrison was alive in that familiar way, thick smoke curling along the ceiling, a hum of laughter and shouting from the back, and the dull clink of glass being cleaned behind the bar.

Thomas Shelby sat in his usual corner booth. Hat tipped back, waistcoat unbuttoned, a cigarette burning slow between two fingers. His left arm was stretched across the back of the booth, fingers lightly touching Y/N’s shoulder. Not gripping, not pulling, just there. Present. Constant.

She leaned into it without thought. Always did now.

There was a time she used to be sharp. Defensive. Quick with a look or a word to cut down whatever lewd or backhanded thing was said to her in passing. But that was before.

Before she was his.

Before people learned better than to speak to her without lowering their eyes first.

Tommy watched her as she laughed at something Ada said from across the room. She hadn’t touched her drink in the last ten minutes, the kind of detail Tommy always noticed, and she wasn’t even trying to hide how comfortable she felt. Legs crossed, hand resting casually over her knee, the way her shoulder sat loose under his arm.

Like the fight had gone out of her, but not in the way some would think. She wasn’t drained. She was safe. And she knew it.

He exhaled slow through his nose, watching the way she leaned in to whisper something to Polly across the room, leaving the booth without hesitation. Her palm ghosted across his knee as she passed, and then she was gone, slipping into that circle of women near the back.

It was only then, like fucking clockwork, that the rest of the table came to life.

Arthur leaned in immediately, already half-drunk, slapping his hand against the wood. “Christ, Tommy. Didn’t know you needed a leash now.”

John barked a laugh. “Was half expectin’ her to feed you a grape and pet your head.”

Johnny Dogs chuckled, pulling the cigarette from his mouth with a grin. “You’ve gone soft, Tom. Never thought I’d see it.”

Tommy didn’t react at first. Just rolled his wrist slowly and glanced over at the bottle, pouring himself another finger of whiskey.

“Soft,” he echoed flatly.

Arthur grinned. “We’re just sayin’, you used to have a look that could drop a man ten feet away. Now look at you, sittin’ there lettin’ her pick the fuckin’ songs for the pianist. She's no good for you Tom”

“She didn’t pick the songs,” Tommy said evenly, but his voice was barely a protest.

Johnny snorted. “Didn’t have to. She looks at you and the room tilts.”

Tommy finally leaned back in his seat, mouth twitching just slightly at the corner. Not quite a smile. More like… acknowledgment.

“You lot weren’t around when I met her,” he said simply, eyes drifting back toward her again. “She used to tear men apart with her mouth. Didn’t let anyone touch her, talk to her, get too close.”

“Now look at her,” Arthur said, laughing. “Tamed.”

Tommy shook his head once. “Not tamed.” He tapped ash off his cigarette. “Just doesn’t need to fight anymore.”

The table quieted slightly at that, not because they understood, but because they almost did.

“She doesn’t need to keep her back to the wall,” he continued, voice low. “Doesn’t need to watch every door in a room. Doesn’t need to second-guess who’s coming up behind her.”

He looked down at his drink. Then up again. Cold and clear.

“Because I already did it.”

A beat passed. John coughed into his hand. Arthur blinked once, then looked away. Johnny Dogs gave a slow nod and said nothing at all.

Across the room, Y/N laughed. real, loud, the kind of sound that carried even through the noise. Her head was tilted back, hand resting lightly on Polly’s arm. Whatever she said made even Ada smile.

Tommy kept his eyes on her.

“None of you know what it’s like,” he said calmly. “To see someone like that… someone who’s spent their whole life on edge… finally fucking breathe.”

No one spoke.

“People say she’s no good. Weak. Useless.”

Arthur started to open his mouth.

Tommy didn’t let him.

“That’s what people say,” he repeated. “But people don’t know what I know. They don’t see her when the world’s quiet.”

A brief pause.

Then Johnny Dogs snorted into his drink. “Bet we don’t, Tom. Bet she’s got you busy when the world’s quiet.”

John grinned instantly, catching on. “Yeah, Tommy’s not takin’ meetings in the morning ‘cause he’s getting fucking suffocated in bed.”

Arthur barked a laugh. “Can’t even walk straight after, probably. That’s why he’s always sittin’ down lookin’ half-dead.”

Tommy didn’t flinch. Just took another sip of whiskey.

“I’m not complaining.”

“Oh, we know,” Johnny said, wiping a hand down his face. “Saw you limping into the Garrison on Tuesday. Thought you got shot again.”

John cackled. “You have gone quiet in meetings. Is she wearin’ you out, then?”

Tommy exhaled through his nose, a tiny grin threatening.

“She’s enthusiastic.”

Arthur banged the table, practically wheezing. “Fucking hell, Tommy.”

John leaned in. “She enthusiastic when she’s on top, is she?”

Tommy gave a small shrug. “Wouldn’t know. Doesn’t happen that often.”

That made them roar.

Johnny Dogs nearly choked on his drink. “You bastard!”

“She prefers to be ruined properly,” Tommy added, like he was discussing the weather.

Arthur was gone, doubled over.

John slapped the table. “You’re an animal.”

Tommy just leaned back, relaxed. “You asked.”

“Yeah, and now I'll never sleep again, thanks for that Tom. I'll carry it to my grave..” Johnny muttered.

Arthur pointed at him. “You know he’s serious, too. Tommy doesn’t lie about that shit.”

Tommy just smirked again, lighting a fresh cigarette. “All I’m saying is, if you lot had what I have, you wouldn’t be sitting here moaning about all this shit.”

John took a long drink and shook his head. “No wonder she walks like that. Looks like she’s got secrets.”

“She does,” Tommy said, exhaling smoke. “And I’m all of them.”

The boys groaned in unison.

“Oh, piss off!” “Alright, you ruined it.” “Too far now.”

Tommy just chuckled once, low and under his breath, and kept his eyes on her, like none of the conversation touched him at all.

Because it didn’t. Not really.

He’d already won.

[gamblersdoll]

heybae i got a request that’s been on my mind 😩 so like, imagine mha pro-hero boys s/o wearing pheromone perfume for their date and them not being able to get it together 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

+ their s/o being clueless to why theyre acting like that🗣️

teasing, heavy smut intended themes, grinding, groping, light shocking, mind control , daddy kink. denki, kirishima, izuku, bakugou, shinso

izuku had the best smell ever, sure you rolled it on your neck and wore the dress that he loves— and it only smells like shortcake to the naked eye and nose, but for him? you smelled different, his arks wrapping around your torso and nose buried into your neck.

“smells good.. which one is this?” he mumbled in your skin, softly nibbling at the flesh until you responded. “you best answer quickly—“

“its a new one, zuk.” you giggle, trying to pull away and look alright for the eyes of the public. what you worry is if izuku was all over you, would his rankings drop?

“well i gathered that, baby.” he sarcastically says, a hand on your thighs and he grips— hard. “we wont be out here for much longer, ‘kay?”

“we just got here… why do you wanna leave so early?”

bakugou knows of the pheromone perfume that went viral, yet he doesnt know what it smells like exactly. all he smells on you is something savory in his nose, even if it was sweet. “nope.”

“no what?” you innocently ask, leaning against his shoulder and holding his hand. you know he smells it, his knee bouncing when he gets nervous or aroused.

“you know fuckin’ what, brat.” he growled to you, trying his best to keep his composure and not eat you up here— because thats all hes thinking about. “you wore the good smelling perfume you got, and you know damn well you smell too good.”

“what perfume? most of the perfumes i have are mists or oils.” you giggle, putting a hand on his knee.

“you better move your hand or im going to fuck you up.” he deadpans, his hand gripping your hip and sliding up to the side of your breast. “if yer’ gonna play dumb, fine— but let’s remember i dont care about fuckin’ in public.” he reminds.

denki just shifts all the time, pulling his sweats or jeans down and hes got a fist on this lap, every now and again hes softly punching his lap when youre not looking (he does this because ‘it helps the boner go away.’)

“you okay, honey?” you asked, holding his hand and kissing his cheek, he never not responds, but he feels like hell when you get so much closer.

he tilts his head back away from your face, watching his adams apple bob when he swallows. you get into his lap, he groaning and putting his hands on your hips. “denkiiiiiii, whats the matter, baby?”

“we gon’ fuckin fight.” he looks to you through his lower eyelids. “you got that phe-pheromone shit, didnt you?” your core tightens, his voice becoming deeper when he keeps his head back.

“what for? im not even wearing perfume.” you giggle, cradling him and having each leg on his side.

“oh, so im delusional?” he shoots his eyes to your face, hands groping your breasts pulling the shirt and licking his lips. “if you think im delusional, say that.”

“kaminari— we in public!” you whisper shout, trying to move his hands but he swats you away.

“oh, nowww we’re in public?” he dramatically says, tilting his head back up and sucking on your collarbone. “always touchin me and shit.. now im going to touch you, mama.”

you hiccup, a whimper from your throat and he presses his hips up against your heated folds. “kami—“

“fuck, smell so good, sweet thing..” he growls, taking his finger and a small zap hits your thigh. “hehe, feels good, doesnt it?” he asks, licking his hickey that he left on you. “finally got cher’ zing, ma.”

kirishima is a mutt, anything that smells good on you, he bites and drools on your skin to see what smells good. usually he would try and do that— but this time he had to keep his hands to himself. “pleasepleasepleaseplease..”

“hm?” you turn, peering your eyes away from the movie.

“please let me bite you, please beautiful. promise i wont bite so hard again, i swear.” he whines, getting closer to you in the movie theater seats. “you smell so good, pretty please?

“i smell good ?” you question, him shaking his head yes fast and he reaches in for a bite, but you pull away. “what do i smell like, kir?”

he pauses, not really knowing how to describe the scent, but he swallows thickly. “.. i dont know how to describe it.” he whines, pressing his hands on his lap and he groans. “please, just one bite.”

“if you cant tell me what i smell like, do you think you deserve it?” you tease, getting a little mean with him and he pouts.

“you smell like pears.”

“still not getting one.”

shinso has stolen your perfume before and tested it on himself, but he didnt realize you had also worn it around him. it makes sense, one day on a coffee date you both get stares from people around you.

“do you have something on you?” he asks, drinking his own hot coffee versus your frozen. “i can know when you’re lying.”

“mmm..” you hum, slurping through the straw and looking away.

“princess,” he says, activating his quirk and having a hand on your thigh. “are you wearing that perfume that got you ravaged last time?”

“yes.” you say, feeling his quirk disappear and bite your lip. damnit all, and his stupid manipulative quirk. “you dont have to always use your quirk on me, meanie.”

“you like when i do though, princess. especially when i have you tell me how you want to get fucked.”

“shinso— in public!” you remind, him shrugging and smirking to you. “keep your voice down at least!”

he gets into your ear, a hand on your tummy. “do i have to remind you who your talking to?” he warns, watching your head shake no. “oh, because what i think is you’ve forgotten who i am.” you try to open your mouth, but he clicks his tongue. “whats my name again?”

“sir.”

“no, no, no..” he coos, a hand in your hair and his fingers scratch your scalp— a warning he might pull your hair. “whats my name , or do i have to have another session with remembrance?”

“daddy.” you mumble, a heat to your face and you turn your head away. “youre a fuckin perv.”

[222col]

now what abt bimbo!reader x riff and she had his gun 😛😛😛

bimbo!reader x riff lorton

summary: no playing around with the gun, only riff's allowed to do that

cw .ᐟ nsfw, gunplay

꒰ notes ꒱ third blurb about gunplay? im more than okay with this 🙂‍↕️

arms around each others bodies, riff's too distracted by his hands on your skin to notice your movements. too caught up in the moment to acknowledge the weight change when you snatch the piece of metal from his waistband. his lips trail down your neck, leaving wet kisses in his wake.

"what d'ya even need this for anyway?" you mumble, raising the gun up to look over it in your hands. riff's lips stay kissing at your skin, inhaling the smell of your sweet perfume, not bothering to lift his head up to respond. "need what, dollface?"

"pow, pow!" you giggle, putting the gun out in front of you. now that, that gets his attention. his head snaps up, immediately snatching the gun from your grip, lifting it up over your head, out of your reach.

"s'not a fuckin' toy." he warns, gripping your cheeks with his free hand. watching the curve of your brows as you pout up to him, how your shoulders slump in defiance. "you hear me?" riff continues, his voice still rough.

a small nod of your head, not that you fully agreed with him. you'd watched him and the jets mess around with the thing more times than you could count.

"i'm serious." he mutters, squeezing your cheeks further. his fingers digging into the bones of your face, his grip almost bruising.

you couldn't deny he didn't look downright sexy in this moment. the gun in his hand, jaw clenched, gaze harsh in a way you'd never seen directed at you before. trying so hard to listen to his words, but you can't help the whimper that escapes you as he shakes you by the grip on your face.

"are ya listening?" no. definitely not. too busy clenching your thighs to acknowledge the telling off he was giving you.

"you're never to touch this, ever again." he orders, bringing the gun down from the air closer to your vision. watching the veins in his hands as he holds the grip of the gun, how his bicep tenses from the way in which he's holding it up to your vision. all but drooling at the sight before you.

it's only when your eyes meet his again that he realises the thoughts running through your mind. how your eyes have darkened slightly. a smirk ghosts over his features at the realisation. "am i makin' ya all hot an' bothered, pretty girl?"

a shy whimper from you hits his ears in response to his words. riff chuckles at the noise, an evil, taunting chuckle as his grip loosens on your face.

"you don't wanna tell me, huh?" he teases, as his hand trails down the side your body, running his fingers all the way down to your knee, before pushing up your skirt on his way back up.

"don't gotta tell me," he mumbles, his lips close to your ear as his fingers slip under your panties. running through your slick folds, letting your wetness coat his fingers. "i can feel it, darlin'."

his fingers stay beneath your panties, drawing lazy circles over your sensitive bud. his other hand, still holding the gun, comes up to rest on your shoulder. the piece of metal cold as it falls against the skin on your neck. riff barely notices the barrel aimed against your jaw, too busy watching the way your mouth has began to hang open from his touch.

breathy moans fill up the room, hands gripping at the side of the kitchen counter as riff's fingers begin to pick up pace. face and neck covered in sloppy open mouthed kisses, as riff's own breathing begins to grow heavy. panting against your skin, getting off to the sound of you.

his jeans growing tight, rutting his hips against your body for any form of friction. the cold metal still present against the side of your face. "so pretty f'me, doll," riff praises, rubbing circles on and around your clit as his lips suck a purple bruise into the skin beneath your ear.

"hnpph— riff, oh— oh my god," you whimper, clutching at the side of his neck, fingers grasping at the hairs you can reach.

"hm, gon' be a good girl for me?"

nodding profusely in response, jaw slack as moans fall freely. lips and tongues gliding over each others. gun pressed completely into your face, as riff holds you closer with the hand that's holding it. still barely conscious of the fact the gun separates his hand from caressing your cheek fully.

knees growing weak as the band in your stomach snaps, body almost buckling as the orgasm washes over you fully. feet barely able to keep yourself up as riff's name repeatedly leaves your lips.

pulling his hand from your underwear once your body has become to calm, lazy smirk plastered on his face looking over the flush on your cheeks. noticing the mark left from the gun pressed into your cheek, the slight imprint of the shape. only then realising how caught he'd become. running his hand over the lines left behind on your face, gently caressing your skin.

the gun is placed firmly in the waistband of his jeans once more, his eyes glued on you as he does. "don't touch that again."

"yes, sir." you bat your lashes, and riff all but growls in response, immediately hooking his hands under your thighs and hitching you up around his body. "atta girl."

© 222col. do not steal or repost my work without permission.

[jackactuallywrites]

All Seeing, All Knowing, All Loving Part 27

Warnings: Ghost backstory (it’s heavy)

Summary: You’re in Ghost’s car on the way to his actual house! That means yapping in the car 🙂‍↕️

Word count: 1,793

ao3 link

When you were in Ghost’s car, you realised what a typical lad he was.

Granted, he didn’t have the usual empty cans of monster or red bull scattered in the footwells, and there weren’t any subwoofers installed in the boot, but he did have the old house classics blaring out the speakers in the front, and it did stink of cologne— not that you were complaining.

You’d taken it upon yourself to educate the man. Not that you didn’t respect the old gods that were Prodigy, but Ghost’s playlists needed a bit of an update. His Gaga knowledge didn’t go past her fame era, a travesty! That was the first educational lesson; you didn’t have enough time to really dive all the way into each bop, so you just played a few hits from each era. Then, it was time for his introduction to slut pop, Petras, Ayesha Erotica, and strangely enough, Rebecca Black. You still weren’t over her comeback, but by God, the woman had turned out to be a phoenix.

You’d never expected to be driving down the motorway with Ghost, blasting Encore like he was one of the girlies, listening to his rough voice singing along, off-genre for what you expected he’d sing usually. Though he confessed to liking this ‘new’ genre, you weren’t convinced it was really his speed, so you switched over to another genre within the same sphere.

“So,” you explained, “Sleep Token is like, slut pop, but for metal. Baby-making metal. For getting your freak on in a graveyard, you know?”

He snorted, “Sensing a theme with your music love. Slut pop, slut metal, you tryna tell me something?”

You arched a brow, “There a problem with being a slut?”

Ghost laughed, “When did you hear me say that?”

You dropped your defence again, smiling, “I mean, it’s mostly a slut in theory rather than in practice.”

“You a poser, then?”

“What?”

“Looks like I’ve got more of a claim than you.”

You tilted your head at him, a little puzzled, “We being sneaky about prying into each other’s pasts?”

“Got no secrets from you, love. Well, no civvie secrets.”

You clucked your tongue, “Damn, and I was really hoping for the locations of those nuclear weapons.” You shifted in your seat, adjusting the seatbelt over your chest, “Alright, let me pry then. What’s your magic number?”

That earned a full belly laugh from him, and he shook his head at you, “Christ, the blokes you’ve been with give you numbers? Notches on their bedpost? Fuckin’ juvenile, that is.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “You telling me you lost count?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, “Well, teenage Simon was a bit of a dog.”

Your intrigue was piqued, “Really?”

He glanced away from the road for a brief second to give you a dazzling smile and a wink, “You’ve seen my face, what d’ya expect? The ladies loved me.”

You rolled your eyes at him, and he placed his hand on your thigh, “All in the past, love. Long in the past. Can’t really pull when I wear the mask. That and the whole, legally dead, family annihilator thing. Kind of a dampener on the ol’ love life.”

It was so typical of him to drop serious lore in a light conversation. You shifted so you could look at him better, brows skyrocketed upwards, “Beg pardon? Legally dead? Family annihilator? What the fuck?”

He looked straight ahead at the motorway, his fingers starting a light drumming on the steering wheel, “Ah. You didn’t look us up?”

You blinked, “Well, no. I figured what with you being all mysterious SAS and such, you wouldn’t have any presence online.”

“Oh, I got a presence, alright.”

You frowned. Did you really want to open Pandora’s box? Fuck that, you weren’t going to get your information from secondary sources online, not when you had the man himself in front of you.

“I want to hear the story from you.”

“S’not a nice one.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured that from the family annihilator thing. Nice stories don’t tend to include that.”

Ghost gave a sigh, his hands tightening and then loosening on the steering wheel, “Long and short of it, some cartel cunt killed my family. My mam, my brother, his wife, and my nephew. Framed me.”

You didn’t really believe stories like that existed outside of comics. Jesus fuck. Ghost shifted, resting his back against his seat, as though he was trying to get comfortable, like he hadn’t just revealed a nightmare of a life. It seemed more that he was trying to appear blasé about something that had no doubt left some deep scars on his psyche.

You wanted to comfort him, but you knew he wouldn’t want your soothing touch; it would mean acknowledging how deeply hurt he was, embracing those feelings once more. So, you glossed over it with a joke, allowing him an exit.

“I mean, no reason why you can’t pull. Bundy and Manson got love letters in prison. Maybe you just got no game.”

That caught him off guard, his stony expression lightening up, and he choked out a laugh, “You what?”

“I mean, I love the girlies, but some of us are very dumb. You definitely could have pulled. Fuck, you could have a whole little cabal of freaks after you. Clearly, you just have negative game.”

He chanced a sideways glance at you, “You tellin’ me I can’t pull? I pulled you, didn’t I?”

“Well, I think a smarter woman would have called the rozzers on you the second they figured out you were breaking into their flat.”

“What, and you’re not smart?”

“I mean, my survival instincts are clearly absolute dogshit.”

“Can say that again.”

You smiled, “What can I say, I got a thing for freaks. And, maybe a little thing for masked men.”

He raised a brow, “Really?”

“All the baddest bitches do. Everyone knows that, Si.”

“You fucked masked men before then?”

A blunt question deserved a blunt answer, “No. Could never get the lads to wear one in bed.”

Laughter bubbled out of him again, and he shook his head, “Freak.” He tapped on the steering wheel, “So, uh, that mean you want us to wear the mask for you?”

The excitement in his tone was palpable, and you glanced over at him, seeing that familiar look of lust on his face. That surprised you. “Really? I talk about shagging other lads and you’re still turned on? No jealousy or anything?”

He grinned, “What, you want me to get all possessive and controlling?” He shook the thought off, “Not my style. Don’t give a shit about who you fucked before me. Not my business. S’long as you’re loyal to me now.”

“You know, you’re weirdly progressive for a military lad.”

He laughed again, “Love, ‘ve been in therapy for a decade and some change. What did ya expect?”

Sometimes you wondered if he was real. A gorgeous man, with a strong body, a big dick, and for once, a solid personality. Usually you could only get two of those, maybe three if you were lucky, but four?

“How long till the house?”

“Why? You want to stretch your legs? I can stop at the next services if you need.”

“No, I just want to sit on your face.”

The engine revved as he pressed down on the accelerator, indicator ticking as he got into the fast lane, speeding down the road for a minute before thinking better of it and dropping back down to the speed limit, and moving to the far left once more. He groaned, adjusting himself with one hand, “You are a bad influence, gorgeous. Got me driving like a boy racer.”

It was impossible to not have an inflated ego with the way he reacted to you, and you grinned, impossibly smug. He reached over to squeeze your thigh again, “‘Bout another hour to go, darlin’.

“We could always find a lay-by.”

“You seriously talking about doggin’?” He thought for a second, before groaning, “Got me seriously considering it and all. Dirty girl.” He shook his head, “Change the subject, love, ‘fore all the blood leaves my brain.”

It was tempting to continue teasing him, but it did have the annoying side effect of getting you wound up as well, and there was no prospect of release for another hour. His hand on your thigh was torture enough.

“So, what’s the plan for the next couple days?”

Simon answered without thought, “Bend you over every surface in my fuckin’ house.”

You laughed, though you refused to dismiss that tantalising idea entirely, “Yeah, and after that?”

He tapped on the steering wheel again, “Dunno. Imagine the house will need a bit of a clear out.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “Have you lured me here with the promise of a holiday only to use me for free labour?”

He grinned, “Aye, maybe a little.”

You booed him, and he shook his head, still smiling, “Don’t worry, it’s not hard graft. Just dusting and vacuuming and that. The hard bit will come when I make you climb the Pen Y Fan with me.”

You raised a brow, “You’re making me go walking with you?”

“Aye. Want to show you where I did some of my training.”

“You’re joking if you think I’m doing SAS shit.”

He laughed, “You won’t have full kit on, and you don’t have to go full pace. It’ll be a leisurely walk for you. ‘ll even carry you if you get tired. Can take a pack up and all.”

You looked down at your trainers, “I don’t have the right shoes for walking!”

“We can go shops.”

“You seen how expensive hiking boots are? I don’t have £200 to drop on new boots.”

“I’m paying.”

“Si-“

“Don’t. My money, ‘ve got nothing better to do with it.” He gave you another sideways glance, “We could buy you all sorts of fun stuff to wear.”

You crossed your legs, “Don’t go broke on my account.”

He snorted, “Darlin’, I live pretty fuckin’ frugally. Could buy you a whole new wardrobe and not make a dent.” He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, biting it for a second, “Not a bad idea, now you mention it. There’s all sorts I’d like to see you in.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes, “We’ll see. Let’s just stick with the boots for now, if you insist on getting me up that mountain.”

He shifted his hand from your thigh to your hand, wrapping his fingers around yours and bringing your hand to his lips so he could press a kiss to the back of your hand, “That’s my girl.”

[beausling]

˗ˏˋSUICIDEBOYS INSPIRED BOTS

☆ BEAU ARLEN

a girl named drool and a pack of kools

offering the guy — that you knew was definitely too old for you — a cigarette at mardi gras may or may not have been the best decision you ever made. but you get to choose where to go from there. and remember folks; what happens on bourbon street, stays on bourbon street.

marlboro country

trying to get sober, when all you’d ever known was substance abuse, was hard. that didn’t even begin to scratch the surface. but meeting beau was like finally seeing a light — finally seeing a way out of the grave you’d been digging yourself further into over the last 15 years of your life. who cares what your sponsor had to say about it, he could help you. save you. you were sure of it . . . or were you?

࣪𖤐 DEAN WINCHESTER

finding shelter in my larynx

you’d thought things were awful before dean took on the mark of cain. you knew now that you were dead fuckin’ wrong. him trying to kill you? yeah, you never could’ve possibly predicted that. you thought things were going to get better soon, and that you’d all find a way to remove that cursed mark from his arm… but, somehow, it got even worse. and you’re left fighting every mental demon that was threatening to claw it’s way out of your throat.

i miss my dead friends

grief was a funny thing, sometimes. the denial made you feel like you were actually going insane — like, white-padded-room-crazy. you’d lost pretty much everyone you’ve ever cared about, except for sam and dean. but even they were constantly dying, and coming back, and dying again. it was a painful, never ending cycle. so, when your baby sister met her demise, you had a chance to rewrite some wrongs. to do the one thing that the winchester brothers never seemed strong enough to; you let go.

all these ideas have been in my head for MONTHSS and i finally fucking made bots out of them😸🙏🏼 maybe will eventually write them out as whole fics like i’d originally wanted to, but i still fw these heavy. if any of them act weird then IT WASNT MEEEE I DIDNT MAKE THEM🫣

also remember a couple weeks ago when i said i had an idea for a new username, but probably wouldn’t use it on here and might use it on my c.ai acc instead? yeah, i did that🤭🤭🙂‍↕️

💐 dedicated to: @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @jasvtsc @deanswidow @j4ckles @jensenacklesballsack @dirtylittlesinkrat

[nozhdyved]

charlieeee it has been..a week for my dysphoria. would you mind at all writing some Patrick x ftm!reader? idc what the plot is, i trust you🙂‍↕️i just need my dark haired man to comfort me

ohh andy my love... u and me both twin. i hope this helps and my messages r open if u ever need anything <3

it's a lazy and comfortable evening at casa zweig. takeout boxes are scattered across the coffee table and an old movie is playing on the tv. from dvd, which patrick always insists on. "the colors are better," he'd whine (they're not), but you always oblige anyway.

it's a joseph gordon-levitt night, and you're both snuggled up on the couch watching 10 things i hate about you, sluggishly full from the greasy chinese food you two always ordered, and quoting lines back and forth to each other.

his arm is wrapped around you, the pads of his fingers tracing gentle patterns across your shoulders and down to your forearm- a move that's typically comforting, but in this moment, as joseph gordon-levitt's face stares back at you, a sense of insecurity flares up.

you're no stranger to insecurity. sometimes patrick would come home and find you crouched in front of a mirror, observing your features. every swell under your shirt that was too big to pass off as pecs, whenever your hair brushed the nape of your neck, if you thought your eyelashes were too long. he grew used to it. used to you, for all your insecurities.

he notices, of course. silently, but surely. how you fidget as he runs a hand through your hair, and how you couldn't tear your eyes away from jgl's angular, masculine face. you reach a hand up to pinch the baby fat on your cheeks, a frustrated sigh escaping your lips. too loud. too heavy.

"baby." it's low and gravelly, almost a warning. like patrick's sick and tired of reminding you how handsome you are to him. his touch grows firmer around you, one pressed to your stomach and the other pauses on the back of your neck. "he's shrek compared to you."

a laugh escapes your lips at that, and you shake your head, tearing your eyes away from the screen to look up at patrick. "you don't need to lie to me to make me feel better," you say quietly, barely audible under the sounds from the movie. "i'm fine."

patrick snorts, pausing the movie and setting the remote down, pulling you into his lap. "yeah, you are. you're fine as hell," he murmurs, kissing your neck right at the pulse point. "don't tell me you need another reminder," he whispers suggestively, and normally you'd be up for it, but not tonight. you just shake your head and curl deeper into his lap, letting his body envelop you in a comforting softness that you'll never have.

patrick sighs gently, running a hand gently down your back. it's a comforting touch, making you forget the inhibitions of the body that you're trapped in. "you're so handsome," he mumbles, tucking his face into your hair and leaving a gentle kiss. "my handsome boy, you know that?"

you try. it's like you're poring over a stack of books, but none of the knowledge is sticking in your head. that's what it feels like whenever patrick reminds you of your boyishness, and what he loves about you. it never seems to stick. "i guess," you murmur in response, chewing on the inside of your cheek. "i don't feel like it."

patrick clicks his tongue and shakes his head, pulling your face close to his and leaning your foreheads together. "'m serious," he mutters, lashes tickling your cheeks. "you're just so fuckin' handsome, babe. drives me insane. god, can't believe you're all mine." his lips find your cheeks, your jaw bones, all along your soft skin and down your neck, across your adams apple. "love this. all of this, all of you," he murmurs, his hands snaking along your body to grip at you, as if scared of letting go and not being able to find you. "i don't care what you see. you're dumb as shit if you can't see what i do when i look at you, baby."

somehow, you find your voice amidst the loving words and gentle touches. "what do you see?" you whisper, needing to hear the reassurance from his lips.

he pulls away, looking down at you seriously and cupping your jaw, thumbs tracing the stubble that you'd just started growing. "a very, very handsome boy that i'm lucky to have," he says quietly, his voice low and earnest in the quiet evening. you've never seen him so serious, not even when he's playing. patrick kisses your forehead and hums gently, leaning back onto the cushions and pressing play on the remote. he lays you down across his stomach, his hands finding every crevice to gently paw and grope at, avoiding your chest and focusing more on your back and face, reverent touches that make you feel spoiled.

"i love you." it's like a prayer from his lips, whispered every two seconds as he kisses you, slow and gentle. and for the time being, your mind stops running, and you can just sit still.

siiiigh when is it my turn to have a loving mlm relationship who will see my titties and still think Oh Ya thats a man. anywah i frel like this is lowkey cheeks but i hope u wnjoy andykins!

taglist: @girliism, @imperishablereverie, @faiztsheap, @musingsofheaven, @yardofbrunettes, @forgetmenotnympho, @sweetheartfaist, @sweetestfaiszts, @hangels . click here to be added !

[dethtallica]

hi lmk if this is crazy but heres an idea..

imagine somewhere in '94 and the guys are in a bar or whatever and James starts to stimulate/tease Jason, without anyone noticing ofc. Then Jason drags James to somewhere and fucks him angrily 🙂‍↕️

(uhh sorry if this is bad, english is not my first language :<)

god i love this request so much..

TEASE

1994

CW - angry sex, rough sex, semi-public sex, choking, masochism, hair pulling

Jason wasn’t too pleased with the boner straining his tight jeans. They’d just finished a long show and the brunette routinely felt nothing short of absolutely exhausted after a gig— especially if it was a long one, like the 2 hour one Metallica had finished. However, his desires were anything but tired. No; they were running wild in his brain like drunk fans who just got a hold of coke.

Usually he’d be mellowing out with a blunt and a Misfits record. Now, he was stuck at a busy bar late at night, sitting by his lover with a beer in front of him as he battled his perverted thoughts. So what if James looked a little too good on stage tonight and it got Jason a little worked up. Sue him for finding the hottest man alive attractive. Jason glances at the blonde next to him and feels his erection twitch in its confines from just the sight of his boyfriend. James didn’t even have to do anything to get the bassist going. All he had to do was sit there and look pretty, and Jason could cum his jeans just staring at him.

The brunette bit his lip thinking about all the things he wanted to do to James right now. He wishes he could drop to his knees right now and teasingly unzip his pants with teeth before taking his length into his mouth, sucking him like there’s no tomorrow. Wishes he could feel the heavy weight of his cock in his hand or the slippery pre-cum that’d dribble from his cock, or—

Without thinking about it, Jason’s hand found its way to James’ thigh. Jason snapped out of his dirty fantasies to see James giving him a look. The guitarist wasn’t too fond of any sort of PDA, even just touching was too much. Their relationship was to be entirely secret. This didn’t stop Jason from giving James a sly smile before sliding his hand closer to his inner thigh and squeezing ever so lightly, causing James to tense up and huff.

“Jase.” He whispered. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Jason asked innocently.

James’ jaw clenches as he gives the bassist another warning look before attempting to move his thigh away from his lover. With a pout, Jason feels the warmth of James’ inner thighs slip away. It doesn’t take long for Jason to decide he won’t give up so easily. His fingers pause on the edge of James’ leg before creeping up the side yet again, this time getting even closer to the blonde’s crotch.

James hissed and glared at Jason again.

“I swear to god, Jase, fuckin’ stop—“

“What’s wrong, James? Something bothering you?” Jason teased in reply to James.

James’ face goes pink with anger. Jason had no place to be acting like such a brat in public where people might notice! Before James can yank the bassists’ hand off of him, he feels fingertips ghost over his half hard cock and shivers. James freezes for a moment. Jason takes this as on opportunity to press his fingers against his dick with more pressure, and James snaps.

The blonde grips Jason’s wrist with force. With a quick movement, his hand is shoved away, but still in James’ grip. The bassist feels himself twitch in his pants yet again from the harshness of the encounter— he loves being tossed around. Like he’s just a plaything for James to take his anger out.

Luckily for him, that’s exactly what James plans to do.

James practically drags him to the men’s bathroom and shoves him against the cold tile wall after locking the door behind them.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re such a brat! You really think you can just get away with touching me like that in public? Huh?” James yells, his hand reaching to grasp Jason’s neck with force. Jason gasps, his arousal growing as the thick hand around his windpipe restricts him from breathing. It’s hot as fuck to Jason. All he wants is to be punished. Thrown around. Fucked.

“Answer me!” James barks.

Jason shakily nods. His cock throbs against the harsh fabric, fully erect. James takes note of this and uses his free hand to mimic Jason’s actions from earlier and slowly ghosts over his weeping dick. Jason cries out from the tease, struggling against the hand on him, bucking his hips into James hand only for him to pull away. The brunette whines from James’ treatment.

“You don’t deserve to get your cock touched. Not after you pulled that shit. If you wanna cum, you’re gonna have to cum from just my cock in you. Got it?”

Jason moans at that. He nods again, his limit almost being reached. The restriction of air was making his vision turn blurry and his eyes water more and more by the second. He starts to silently beg James to let him go, and since James is merciful (sometimes), he finally lets the other boy go. Jason gasps for air the second the hand leaves his throat.

“Pathetic. Turn around. ‘M gonna fuck you.”

Whimpering, Jason obeyed and repositioned so his ass was facing James. He gave it a loud smack before squeezing it with force. This causes Jason to make another whiney plea as his legs tremble. The guitarist wastes no time, quickly yanking down both Jason’s jeans and boxers after unzipping him. Now, the brunette’s ass is on full display to his boyfriend.

“S-Shit.. James.. Please..”

“Shut up.” James orders, spitting on his fingers and tracing Jason’s hole before plunging in.

Jason yelps from the sudden intrusion and screws his eyes shut as James works a finger inside of him. It feels like he’s purposefully avoiding that sweet spot inside of him, and for that, Jason huffs and whines. The finger is only alone in his hole for a good 30 seconds before another is forced in, and then another, and then another..

“G-god, please, James! I’m ready, just— hurry up..!”

“Shut your mouth. I’m gonna put it in now, and you better fuckin’ be quiet or I swear to god I’ll never let you cum again.”

The bassist groans at that as the thick fingers once opening him up slowly slide out of him. Empty, he waits for James to fill him up. A blunt head belonging to James’ cock nudges against the tight rim of his lover’s hole to tease him before he quickly shoves himself with no warning. Jason bites his lip to prevent himself from screaming as he’s stretched wide to fit the daunting width of James’ cock.

“Fuck, yeah. You’re tight..”

Jason loves the praise. He loves knowing that he can make James feel good, that he’s tight and wet and good for his owner. It makes his mind feel fuzzy, like he’s been chain smoking joints. It’s such a reward to be fucked after being a brat. He knows he’ll get what he wants even if he makes James pissed. Because he’s a spoiled sub, and he loves it.

James’ cock slowly retreats before plunging into him again, beginning to fuck into him like he’s a horny teen who just got their hands on a fleshlight. And god, did Jason feel like a fleshlight. Perfectly tight, soft and warm.. and all for James. Jason has to stop himself from screaming again from the ruthless force that James forces his cock in and out of him. They’ve fucked rough before, trust him, but this was different. James was plowing him like never before.

Skin slapped against skin as James dug his cock into Jason’s perfect little hole with reckless abandon. Drool seeped from the brunette’s agape mouth along with moans and whimpers because how could he keep himself quiet when he’s getting the best dick of his goddamn life? James knows exactly where Jason’s prostate is and aims there every single thrust, making sure his cock hits that delicious spot inside Jason that made his legs shake and his mind go blank.

“O-Oh god, James, fuck, s-so good.. please..!”

Jason doesn’t even know what he’s asking for. He just knows that all that matters is James right now. All that matters is James and his impossibly thick cock that’s impaling him over and over again. James growls from the sweet noises and praise coming from his lover’s mouth and reaches to grab a chunk of the brunette’s hair. A yank, and Jason is short circuiting from the masochistic pleasure shooting through his skull.

“God, you’re such a f-fuckin’ freak. You love this, don’t you? You like being hurt by me. You like being choked and roughed up so much, yeah? My little slut loves being fucked and degraded?” James asks, moaning in between words.

“Fuck— yes! So much..!”

Just what James wanted to hear. James groans and grips Jason’s hips, hard enough to leave beautiful purple bruises, and starts fucking him even harder and faster than before. Jason can’t help it— he moans like a pornstar as his prostate is assaulted by the constant pressure of the guitarist’s cock. James growls, both turned on and angry from his inability to keep quiet. If they were caught like this, it was over.

“You just can’t shut up, can you? You don’t even deserve to cum.”

“I-I don’t deserve to cum.. ‘M just a slut..” Jason says, moaning, eyes stinging with hot tears.

Jason can feel his orgasm approaching and he knows it’ll hit harder than any orgasm he’s previously had— and he won’t even need his poor, weeping cock touched to do so. All he needs for that sweet release is James cock pumping in to him as the blonde searches for his own release. He can tell the other is close too from the growls and groans getting whinier and breathier as well as his thrusts starting to get messier and less coordinated.

“J-James.. please— please cum in me. I want it. I want.. I want your load—!” Jason begs, tightening around his dom as he gets closer and closer.

James speeds up a final time and throws his head back as the seconds fly by. He only lasts a short amount of time before he’s stuttering and letting out a long moan before spilling into Jason. The hot cum squirting against Jason’s prostate makes him go weak and he loses it right after James, his load coating the cold bathroom floor and unfortunately, his black shoes. They share their orgasms together, both trembling and blissed out, until their cocks begin to soften.

The blonde slowly pulls out, leaving a thin string of cum connecting his cock and Jason’s hole.

Hot.

“…Next time you tease me like that, I won’t be as nice.”

Jason was totally gonna do it again.

[weird-dere-writes]

has ichigo ever used your body for stress relief? have you ever used his? how does it usually go? 👁️

Yes and yes, dearest Mimi 🙂‍↕️

Prepare for some SERIOUS yappin' hejdhekdudodyd like masters in yapology level yapping omg why did dumping my thoughts end up this long HHHHHHHHHGGGG. Imma be so real, writing for Ichigo was the easy part. What took so long was writing about myself osenuikjfrdiknbtikfj. I am psychoanalyzing him and exposing myself here frfr skjrbfiyerbdikeidj. But I hope you enjoy :3.

If y'all don't wanna read about me n Ichigo fuckin' skip this one lmao <3

With Ichigo, there are 3 perceivable levels of stress. I've come to learn this the longer we've been together.

The first stage is him being quieter than usual. Like it isn't unlike him to be quiet and doing his own thing; to have content silence. But there's a slight tension in the silence that I can feel when he's bothered. Typically, whenever I ask him at this stage if everything is okay, he will tell me what's going on. Normally, it isn't anything too big or serious, but he'll get my thoughts on things concerning whatever the situation or feeling is.

The second stage is when the silence is more loud. He's more distant and often needs some space to himself to introspect (what he would call it) or brood (what I would call it). His natural scowl will seem to get a bit deeper at these times. Sometimes, I'll brush my thumb between his brows to smooth the wrinkles and advise him to breathe. Even to breathe with me in a short exercise sometimes. Just as a reminder that I don't know what's going on, but I'm here for him when I think I see him getting a little too deep. Because at this second stage, I'm not getting anything out of him until he's ready to tell me or our friends that know exactly what's going on force it out of him in a way I can't.

The third stage of stress is when I believe him to be at his peak. He's physically restless and fidgety, which is really unlike him. I KNOW something is heavy on his mind that he either feels powerless or doesn't know what to do about. But he doesn't want to bring me into anything or worry me, so he remains tight-lipped. He wants to figure things out on his own. Obviously, I hate to see him this way, so my move is to comfort him how I can, given the circumstances.

I will come to him, place my hands on both his cheeks and look into his eyes. I see storms raging in them as he looks back at me. We take a moment and freeze. Just to focus on one another for a bit. Then I will gently tilt his head down and kiss his forehead, before bringing him into my arms. I'll hold him and speak softly. Tell him that I know something is bothering him, but i won't ask him to tell me anything. Tell him that we need to find a more productive way to release this energy in his body, and ask him how he wants to proceed. Sometimes we'll go out on a walk. Sometimes we'll lift weights. Sometimes we'll play a video game. Sometimes we'll draw. Sometimes we'll cook. Just something to get his body moving and his mind on something else for a while.

At times, he won't know how he wants to proceed. He can't think of anything he'd want to do. That is when I offer up myself. If he wants, he can have me. 9 times out of 10 in that situation he will say yes. (The other 1 of 10 times we will just end up cuddling for a while.)

It is at this point that once we are in the bedroom (our stress relief sex is always in the bedroom where we are safest and coziest <3) that I gently usher him through everything. I'm readying our bed while I have him go splash his face in the bathroom. When the bed is done and he comes out, I am undressing him; removing all but his shirt (more on that soon). I will dress down to either just my bra or full nudity depending on the vibe. I'm getting him on the bed, kissing his body, hitting all his sensitive spots, caressing his hips, whispering sweet nothings to him. Doing basically everything but touching him in that spot bc he's more slow to warm up in these times. I just focus on loving on him gently. I don't start touching him there until he either moves my hand to it, or asks me to. Usually by then it is a solid pole and it's hot 🌡. I'll stroke him for a little bit and we'll kiss until he's ready to flip us over.

Missionary is his chosen position just about every time he's using my body for stress relief. He wants to see me. He wants to see into me. He wants me to see him. He wants me to see something in him. To show me something he cant find the strength to say in words.

At any other time in missionary we are very close quarters. Most of our bodies are touching. It is very intimate.

Not to say this is not intimate, but there is a marked level of tension in the air that is not sexual. Like, his state of mind manifests itself physically in that missionary at these times is at arms length as he is above me.

He'll start with a slow grind as he feels things out; his brows furrowing upwards as he tries to focus on the good sensations, grunting here and there. When he starts feeling it is when he'll take the hem of his shirt and put it in his mouth. He needs to bite on something. The grinding becomes more of a deep ramming, and he goes from grunting here and there to a bit more whiny/whimpery.

And its like AUGH. Cus the visual AND him whimpering is so HOT but I hate it has to come from circumstances that bother him. Bc I can still see it in his eyes.

Between my own mewls here and there i am murmuring to him, affirming him, complimenting him, reassuring him, just being present with him.

When he's getting close, his eyes will flutter closed. And I want nothing more than to pull him close. But I leave him where he desires to be until his eyes clench and he spills inside me.

I don't always get to finish with these sessions, but that's okay. He'll apologize for it in those instances, but I shush him. I just wanna support him fr. I'm happy to hold him again at the end of it all.

I love him sm he is my baby he is my everythiiiinnnggggg 🥹🧡.

With me, it’s not so much progressive stages of stress, but more so 3 differing kinds. Different ways I instinctively deal with a given situation.

Type 1: Head full

I can’t stop thinking about whatever is bothering me. I'm getting in my head; overthinking about the occurrence that disturbs me, replaying it over and over, pondering how it could have gone differently, having realizations after the fact, wishing i would have said something different to better get my point across, drowning in the crippling ordeal of being perceived the wrong way, knowing I should not be this affected and yet continuing to feel. My face feels like stone and my head begins to hurt. I am increasingly aware of the tension in my brows, trying to make sure I don't look mad or something. I feel warmer the longer I think. Especially in the face. I feel my pulse more.

Similarly to Ichigo in his first stage, if he asks me about whatever bothers me, I am more likely to tell him about it in this type of stress response. We can talk it out. Maybe there will be some reassurance, some criticism, some advice, etc. He is there to make me feel heard so I can get the racing thoughts out of my head. So I can move on with my daily life frfr and not be trapped in this simmering emotion.

Type 2: Head empty

Stress is weighing on me. I am frustrated, but whatever situation I was put in is something I am still actively navigating; perhaps by obligation. I have no choice but to continue to try to push through it. But because I don't have the space to overthink, I instead shut down and just go through motions trying to get through to the other side. Until I can breathe again. And by that time I am just tired. Too tired to begin to overthink even then. A little relieved things are over but still can't quite believe I was put under that much stress. Especially so if it wasn't because of my doing.

When in this type of stress response, like his second stage, if possible, I tend to be more to myself. I feel like if I try to explain things to someone that they just won't understand my thoughts and be somewhat careless and uncaring with their response. The weight of that possibility is too much for me. The amount of emotional effort it takes to express myself when I'm that bothered is not worth risking. Even just practicing in my head or out loud alone if I feel somewhat resolved to do so will have me shedding tears.

Sometimes when I get like this, I assure Ichigo that I trust him. I see that my being this way is bothering him. I feel that I need to let him know that i'm aware he would never try to hurt me. I just... can't bring myself to talk about whatever is going on. Other times he already knows and is ready to just do what he can to support me.

This is where sometimes he will offer himself up sexually for stress relief. When I am in this type of stress, his typical move is to eat me out. As long as we have been together, I am still shy about this man giving me head. I will be a blushing mess and can barely look at him. Also I feel his view looking up at me is probably so unappealing??? This is all strategic on his part, though.

Since I can't tell him of my stress, this is his way of having me be vulnerable to him in another fashion. He will hold me firmly by the legs or hips to keep me from squirming, to keep me from humping his face too much, to allow him control of the situation and hindering me from hiding or running away. When he's doing this, he is making sure my eyes stay on him too and it burns me from the inside out. And he knows it, staring back at me with his tongue between my legs. If I break our shared gaze he will either tell me to look at him or stop his ministrations until I look back at him.

It can be a long song and dance that pushes me to tears, but he's resolute. If it gets to that point, he will hold my hand to comfort me, but nothing else changes. I will be crying when I cum as I drown in the depths of his pools of brown. Once the waves of orgasm finish washing over me is when he allows me to look away. When I start to squirm a bit and sob shakily; fisting at my eyes.

He'll give me a minute to process the physical and emotional release before he's caressing me, and moving in to hold me. Telling me how proud he is and that no matter how much i looked away or how stubborn I was that I did good. Reassuring me that he's here and everything is gonna be okay <3.

Type 3: Avoidance

A certain something I do not want to face looms on the horizon, bringing up an anxiety in me that I cannot always place. I keep telling myself I have more time, that I will get to it, and do other things instead that I enjoy, or simply get rest, as a chronic procrastinator does. I've gotten quite a bit better about it over the years I think, but sometimes I do have that nagging itch, to turn my gaze the other way and keep the stress at bay. Slowly letting it creep closer and closer until it is upon me, and more stress inducing than it ever had to be.

The sex that happens for relief in this instance of stress response is usually a while after the fact of the stressing event. My own choice to ignore whatever I didn't want to face leading to a compounding of high stress and being forced into action is not a good time for it lmao.

Ichigo did warn me multiple times about this upcoming stressor, but uh... 🧍🏾‍♀️. My brain said no sibnfkernbikdfd.

It will be a 50/50 on if he decides to help me in the moment or leave me to deal with it myself. Extremely valid of him ngl. A girl needs to learn sometimes ✊🏾😔.

He doesn't take joy in me being stressed though, of course. Once what I needed to get done is all said and done, he will move in to help me decompress. Not always in a sexual way, but when it is, he goes all in. Wants to get me to a point where I'm so blissful I can't even think, stress be condemned to hell.

Ichigo will set up our room. With candles (on candle warmers cus he's safe like that uwu), rose petals, music and all. Will have me undress and lay on the bed on my stomach. Get me nice and oiled up as rubs me down with a full body massage, gently working the tension out of my muscles. Once he's done I'm nearly falling asleep, but he'll have me position myself so there is a pillow under my hips and I am hugging another pillow.

From there, my man will commence hitting it from the back. Again, he isn't really holding me down, but holding me firmly (not that I planned to move much anyway lol).

Also note that when he is doing this he is again at arms length above me; considering that I may still need that space as he does when I let him use my body for stress relief. (what a thoughtful sweetie 🥺)

He will make me cum no less than three times. He will hold me firmly as mentioned before until I cum the first time. Leading up to the second time, his touch is more light; more comforting. His hands, big and warm, are rubbing circles into my skin, stroking down my back, etc. Leading up to the third time, his thrusts are a lot slower, but deeper. He stops sometimes to kiss down my back before continuing his movements. He's calling me his pretty girl and telling me how much I deserve this; how much he loves me.

Rounds past that point could be anything fr. But know that by the end of it all, my heart is full, my puthy is full, my mind is full but only of him, and I am crying bc I am in utter euphoria 🕊️.

WHEW ‼️

thank u for putting your eye bawls to my yap session 😌💞.

[wedriftlikelonelyplanets]

also once again requesting wip funds 😄😄😄 (githhhw 🙂‍↕️). iyw. 😚 please?? 🥰🥰

also if there is ever an anon in your askbox about githhhw. just know its me. probaly 💐💐💐💐

okay okay okay here we go. unofficially WIP wednesday. I had to go looking for something like...shareable from this fic that wasn't just the smut i've started writing now.

As per previous snippet, please know this is Max F, not Max V.

Max makes an indignant sound, “Fuckin’ hell, mate, not that bad in the kitchen, am I?” and Oscar just laughs. “Reckon I’ve seen enough of your cooking streams to know that you’re not really the one who knows how to cook, mate,” he says, and something shifts. There’s colour in Max’s cheeks now, as he laughs, loud and bright, shakes his head.  “Coming with the jokes, not fair when I have two of you to gang up on me,” Max says, elbows Lando in the ribcage. “If you’re not letting me cook, are you going to, Bob?” he asks, “Think your attempt would be more horrendous than mine.” Lando looks indignant, “Fuck right off, think I can manage just fine.” It’s easy banter, as Lando attempts to make something halfway to palatable, before he gets distracted roughhousing with Max, and it turns into a smoldering lump on the stove because he’s feeling some sort of way about it, about Max’s hands on him. It leaves desire sitting heavy in his chest. Imprinting the vision of Oscar with his head thrown back laughing on the inside of his eyelids for the rest of his life. 

thank you for existing in my inbox to scream about githhhw verse i love and appreciate you for it!!!

[itadorysss]

Oh they fuckin in tybers office for sureee🙂‍↕️

Or atleast a heavy make out sesh 😩🤷🏻‍♀️

GURLLLL WERE YOU LOOKING THROUGH MY DRAFTS????😭😭😭😭 may or may not be a scene like this…🤭