I’m a feminist until it comes to Christian bale. He could put a saddle on me and make me jump over hurdles or some shit and id neigh for him or whatever

oozey mess
Three Goblin Art
sheepfilms
hello vonnie
occasionally subtle
No title available
Sade Olutola
YOU ARE THE REASON
No title available

No title available
Cosmic Funnies
trying on a metaphor

No title available
Xuebing Du

tannertan36
styofa doing anything
Cosimo Galluzzi
we're not kids anymore.

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Misplaced Lens Cap

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from China
seen from Canada

seen from Malaysia
seen from Brazil
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Brazil

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
@alesepulcro
I’m a feminist until it comes to Christian bale. He could put a saddle on me and make me jump over hurdles or some shit and id neigh for him or whatever
⊹ ࣪ ˖ pansies collection °・ ✿゙
Exclusive interview with GeneCo.’s premier collaborators — p. 46
“Complicated just works for us.”
📸💋
Freddie with gyaru makeup!!
whenever i say “screaming crying throwing up” this is what i mean
Little Women dir. Gillian Armstrong | 1994
whenever i say “screaming crying throwing up” this is what i mean
I feel like we dont talk about this little moment enough
rip patrick bateman you would’ve loved spotify wrapped
Wounded Lamb
Husband!Patrick Bateman x GN!Reader
Your husband is grumpy by nature… but when he's sick? He's an absolute drama queen nightmare. Lucky for him, you love the whiny little asshole anyway.
Tags: Fluff, drabble (~700 words), established relationship, married couple, gender neutral reader, pet names, sick fic, hurt/comfort (light), Patrick Bateman being a dramatic baby, grumpy x sunshine vibes, domestic fluff.
Imagine managing to marry the grumpiest, most dramatic dork in all of NYC—the kind of guy who’s ready to draft a will the second he catches a cold. Always exaggerating, always pouting, always dropping thousands on unnecessary specialist visits just because he felt a “small tingle” somewhere he insists it shouldn’t be.
One night, Patrick’s knocked out cold from ibuprofen, sleeping like the dead while you read under the soft glow of the nightstand lamp. Then he snorts—loud, sudden, obnoxious enough to jolt himself awake. His face cycles through sheer panic, disgust, and existential dread, as if the idea that a man like him (perfectly groomed, manicured, immaculate) could possibly snort is a personal betrayal.
c:
Hi
Hear me out the most FILTHY sex with 2000s trucker james FRESH outta rehab (yk the one with the hat n the long-ish hair—also hmo the hat AND the glasses STAY ON🤤). Just like hes doin the maximum- degrading, choking (slightly ofc), a MASSIVE daddy kink, mating press, breeding kink the whole fucking shebang. Just hearrr meee outt 😋🙏
I know which James you're referring to but I liked this photo too much so I used it anyway, even if it’s not exactly THAT James… I hope you like it anyway 🥰
All Night Long
Warnings: breeding kink, rough sex, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (m/f receiving), sex marathon, dirty talking, manhandling, choking
The sunset fades slowly behind the Montana mountains, painting the sky in shades of orange and catching the light on the half-empty bottles glimmering beside the fire. The field is dotted with laughter, off-key guitar chords, and the slow crackling of burning logs.
You’re happy your husband James accepted the invitation, happy to see him ready to step back into social life after the difficult path of rehabilitation. You want this to be a new beginning for all of you, and watching him among the friends of a lifetime fills your heart.
James sits a little apart, the guitar resting on his knees. He plucks the strings with a calm you know is only on the surface, a way to keep himself together. Every now and then he lifts his gaze, and when your eyes meet you feel a dizzy pull like a quiet prelude to what will inevitably happen later.
You’ve spent the entire day playing with that thin line: glances held a second too long, soft laughs, words whispered just low enough. You brushed against him more than once, deliberately, pretending distraction. Each time you saw his jaw tighten, his breathing shift.
You saw his eyes change behind his glasses, grow darker, heavier.
More than once he tried to get closer, to pull you aside, and each time you somehow managed to stop him. It took effort, because only God knows how much you wanted him, how easily you could have given in. But pushing him to the edge thrilled you, because you knew that when you finally allowed it, everything he’d been holding back all day would surge straight toward you.
With an excuse, a laugh, a “later” that sounded both like a promise and a punishment, you kept him at a distance, letting the tension climb between you until it was almost unbearable.
So when you stand up and walk toward him now, you know exactly what you’re doing.
You settle into his lap. You feel his breath shift, deepen. You move just enough above him for the message to be unmistakable. You feel the warmth of the fire on one side of your body and his heat on the other, stronger, more alive. He sets the guitar down beside him and goes still for a moment.
“Having fun?” he asks, voice edged with sarcasm as he rests his chin on your shoulder.
“Enough” you reply, tilting your head slightly.
“You’re playing with fire, you know?” His voice drops, low and rough.
You smile and lean closer, pretending to fix your hair. “Oh? That wasn’t my intention.”
“You’re not a very good liar,” he murmurs, shifting just slightly beneath you so you can feel exactly how tense he is through the denim.
Once night has fully settled in, all of you move to the dining room of the ranch you rented for the weekend. The hum of conversation blends with the clinking of glasses and the deep laughter of the bandmates and your closest friends. You take a seat across from James.
He speaks in a calm, measured tone, like someone who chooses every word with care. There’s more confidence in him now, more balance in the way he moves, but also a new kind of intensity.
He’s still wearing his cap with the visor pulled low and those thin–framed glasses that give him a quieter, more grounded look, yet beneath that calm, you recognize the same fire as always. His short-sleeved black shirt reveals his strong shoulders and the tattoos curling over the top of his bicep.
You can’t take your eyes off him. Each time he laughs, his jaw tightens slightly, and you feel a sudden warmth slide through your chest. You’re reaching your limit too.
The evening drifts by lightly, with half-empty glasses and voices overlapping around the table. The conversations grow more carefree, more playful, then, inevitably, a bit suggestive. Jokes, innuendos, loud bursts of laughter.
James shakes his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. You watch him, and for a brief moment your eyes meet, holding each other just a second too long.
“Come on, Rob, stop messing around! Don’t tell me you’ve never done it while camping… no one’s buying that!” Lars shouts, amidst general laughter. You and James look at each other again, with that knowing smile that says more than a thousand words. You remain silent, because you know that if you started talking, you'd make everyone pale with your stories, including the ones about where you fucked: practically in every room of every person present. Whether they were asleep or awake, it doesn't matter.
Every time someone says something a bit too bold because of the alcohol, you glance at him and smile. He returns it, with that half, smile that curls at the corner of his lips, the one that has always made you lose your balance.
Sometimes you catch him distracted, his gaze lingering just a little lower, on your neckline, on the curve of your neck where a strand of hair falls. He doesn’t try to hide it. He looks at you openly, then lifts his eyes back to yours, and in that small movement there’s a quiet intimacy, a desire he’s no longer able to restrain.
You wet your lips slowly. His breathing shifts; you notice it right away, deeper, heavier. His fingers tap against his glass, as if trying to find a rhythm to steady the impulse building inside him.
You, on the other hand, decide not to steady anything at all.
Under the table, you slip off a shoe and move your foot until it brushes his leg. A light touch, almost accidental. But then you linger.
You feel him hold his breath for a moment, then relax, and your foot continues its slow, deliberate path with growing confidence.
His eyes stay locked on yours, steady, focused. No one else around the table seems to notice anything, but between you two the air has turned electric. Every word you exchange with the others carries a double meaning, every smile hides a secret thought, an idea slipping deeper and deeper, something you both wish you could give in to.
You feel your heartbeat quicken, your skin warm. You like watching him try to keep calm, to disguise the effect you have on him. But he doesn’t quite manage.
You know him too well, you know what he's been thinking about all day, you know that his mind is imagining you lying on that table completely naked beneath him.
There’s a moment when he runs a hand over the back of his neck, lowers his gaze, and takes a deep breath. You realize he’s struggling to keep control, while you, instead, are losing it with a kind of quiet pleasure.
Under the table, you shift your foot toward him. At first you only brush against him, a light, teasing touch. Then, little by little, you let the contact linger. You feel him tense for an instant, then relax again, sinking deeper into his chair, spreading his legs slightly as he tries to keep up the conversation with the others as if nothing at all were happening.
His breathing changes, slower, deeper. When he meets your eyes again, lifting one eyebrow, your breath catches in your throat.
You smile, pretending that look didn’t hit you as hard as it did, though inside you’re a storm of anticipation.
He drags a hand through his hair, tilting his cap back, then adjusts his glasses with a gesture that’s almost nervous.
He’s completely thrown off.
With one hand he grabs your foot but instead of moving it he pushes it even harder against his erection that is throbbing through the hard fabric of his jeans.
The voices around you fade into a distant blur. You focus only on him, on the way the light reflects off his fitted shirt, hinting at the strength beneath it. Every detail, every slight movement, pulls you in.
The atmosphere has warmed, and at this point you and James are probably the only ones still sober. In the general chaos, James gives you a small nod toward the staircase leading up to the rooms.
You rise slowly, trying not to draw attention, but as you walk past him you feel his hand close firmly around your wrist.
“I want your ass undressed in the next two minutes.”
He whispers to you, not caring whether anyone might hear him.
You head down the hallway, leaving the chaos behind, your anticipation building with every step.
You enter the room and quickly undress, slipping out of your clothes until you’re left bare, sitting at the edge of the bed facing the door.
A few minutes later, the door swings open and he steps inside with a firm, decisive stride, letting it slam behind him, looking at your naked body on display. He doesn’t fawn over you like usual, doesn’t tell you how stunning you look, how you’re his angel.
Today he wants to use you.
And you’re totally fine with that.
"Do you want to play?" he asks in a low, challenging tone. You nod slowly, heat spreading throughout your body. "On your knees... now" he orders as he quickly undoes his jeans, sliding them down his legs, followed by his boxers. You kneel in front of him and realize that teasing him all day has had the desired effect.
"Fuck..." you blurt out as you see him hard in front of you, taking him in one hand and moving down to his balls, caressing them.
Feel the warmth of his body on your face,
your hand wrapps right around his shaft, rubbing him up and down slowly before spit right onto his tip.
You let your drool drip right down, mixing with his precum, before jerking him off at your pace, letting your hand slide so eagerly and making his hips buck to meet your touch.
"Stop teasing me now, take it all." His booming voice sends a shiver down your spine, and you instinctively tighten your thighs. You obey and slowly take him into your mouth, looking into his eyes.
Knowing your man like the palm of your hand you know that seeing you like this drives him crazy, having control over you, at his feet while you suck him with growing passion.
Soon, he can't resist the sight of his throbbing, glistening cock in your mouth. His large hand ends up in your hair, gripping it tightly, guiding the rhythm and intensity of your movements, pushing your head hard against his pubic bone, making you gasp. "Swallow it deep... like that, good girl... how much do you love sucking me?" His words interrupted by long, labored breaths.
You moan against him in response, taking more and more, sucking him off and rubbing his sensitive shaft.
You stunned him, taking him deeper and bobbing your head up and down at a fast pace, barely giving him time to catch his breath, to brace himself.
"You're my slut, right?" He asks, tugging your hair slightly so you can look up at him.
You nod, your eyes watering as his inches fill your mouth completely, almost choking you. "Get up..." he orders again, leaning back slightly, "I need to fill you up completely."
You suck him one last time, flicking the shiny, throbbing tip, causing a strong spasm that makes him stagger for a moment.
As you stand, you lock eyes for a moment, your lips meeting in a hungry kiss, full of all the desire you've held back during the day. You are like two animals, without tenderness, only need. Your tongues seek and clash with each other, your lips devouring one another, and in an instant, you find yourselves on the armchair next to the bed.
He pushes your legs against your chest with a sharp movement and then he grabs your ankles with one hand, holding them tight almost at the level of the headrest of the armchair. You find yourself with your back pressed against the cushion and your body completely at his disposal, ready.
James is so impatient that he hasn’t even taken off his shirt, hat, or glasses, too caught up in the moment.
You feel him start to stretch you when his hand comes around your throat, not yet squeezing but just resting as he begins to fuck into you.
You hold onto the armrests of the chair, grasping something to cling to as he plunges into you.
Your eyes roll at the feeling, James not affording you the opportunity to adjust to him and his girth this time. He just thrusts in, slow until he’s buried fully into you, cock head just resting against your core, so deep.
You start to moan with each thrust, but you're immediately stopped by his hand on your neck, this time squeezing. It's not hard enough to take your breath away, but strong enough to hold you still, leaving you unable to make a sound, only to gasp.
In that position, you can't move, pinned to the chair, and the situation makes you feel so excited that you lose all inhibitions. His hips slam incessantly against your buttocks, his cock filling you so much that you can hardly even think of anything besides his name, and mindlessly babbles of feels so good and don't stop. He takes this as his sign to go to town, rutting in and out of you quickly.
"Little daddy's slut take all of me.." Each sink of his cock sends you both further into desperation. His hips shift quickly, quicker than he had ever been, but at the same time still so powerful and intense. "You're close right? I can feel it..so wet...so needy..m gonna breed you so- so deep...ffuuck".
His dirty words send you into overdrive, your body reacting to his every thrust, his every movement in a intense and all-consuming connection.
"Holy shhhhiit James... so close, I'm so fucking close..." you whimper as you hold onto him, trembling, feeling the final thrusts digging into you, bringing you to your climax.
"Fuck yes fuckfuck... mmh I'm gonna cum honey" the words come out of his mouth in a rush, without thinking, without filters. "Lemme fill your pretty pussy... you're mine... my slut..." His hand is still on your neck, squeezing you every time he feels your walls tighten around his rock-hard cock.
As you are about to reach orgasm, his hands end up on the backs of your thighs, opening them and holding them firmly, pushing them against your chest, crushing you with his weight. His body towers over you, the dark look behind his glasses and the way he bites his lower lip making you lose track of everything.
His cock begins to throb inside you as he slowly loses his rhythm until he almost stops completely, sinking all the way into your warm, sensitive pussy.
“Take all my seed fffff-uck” A roar rips from his chest as he snaps his hips forward and unleashes, flooding your womb with his cum, leaving part of himself deep within your body as his fingers squeeze the flesh of your thighs tightly. His balls are pressed tight against you, and you can feel them throbbing, unloading all they have into you. An intense jolt of pleasure makes you writhe, making you let out moans that mingle with his. He lowers himself onto you, abandoning himself completely between your legs, his mouth glued to your ear, his breath ragged against your skin as he thrusts inside you one last time before stopping, filling every last inch of you.
Your ragged breathing fills the silent room.
When he rises to catch his breath, he stares at you, his gaze lingering on your breasts, slowly groping them with one hand, then down to your navel, moving to the point where your bodies are still connected.
He pulls out of you with a low, deep moan. “You’ve been teasing me all day… now I’m going to make you pay for it all night...."
He kneels in front of you and forcefully pulls you towards him, grabbing your legs. You feel your juices slowly run down your inner thighs, and before you can recover, his tongue lands on your sensitive pussy, making you jump at the sensation.
The fact that he's licking you right there in the spot where he filled you moments before turns you on like you've never imagined. It's such a dirty, raw, instinct-driven action that it wakes you from your slumber. His tongue opens you up again, demanding you, his lips suck you greedily, his mouth marks every inch of you, making your feet curl.
“Holy fuckin shit, this is amazing…fuckk” you whisper almost to yourself, narrowing your eyes.
When the movements of his tongue changes, moving slowly and circularly over your clit, you look down, but you can't see his face through the visor of his hat. So you turn it back for a better view, then sink back into the chair, letting yourself go once again. He brings you to the climax, your body tensing toward him, your hips seeking him, pushing against his mouth, while your moans drown out everything.
That night you lose count of how many times you come, doing it in every position until your bodies are consumed by passion and raw desire.
"God James... I'm exhausted" you whisper in his ear as you straddle him, your legs shaking after yet another orgasm. "Once more baby... I know you can... be a good girl for me.. need to breed you once again" he whispers in turn, grabbing your hips to lean you back against the bed and positioning himself between your legs to start all over again.
paul on the making of the psychosocial mv
Biding my time until the time is right..
I actually dont remember if I posted this or not and its also kinda old but im still proud of it!!😊😊😊