kay

18 I like men

[lanadelreyylover]

good boy

Chris Redfield x Reader

You're not sure how you can get the big, boulder-punching Chris Redfield to fold, but you're gonna try.

based on this request

“Hi there,” Chris greets, smiling wide. He’s wearing a black henley, the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, masterfully sculpted, mottled with a splattering of brown freckles, a few green veins that run up and down the length. With his hands on your elbows, he pulls you in for a hug, not too close, but not at all cold. Perfectly suitable for a pair of people who have yet to even kiss on the lips.

“Hi, handsome,” you return in his ear, rising up on your tip-toes to press a chaste peck onto his cheek. As you retreat, you notice his face flush the slightest tinge of pink, and it’s not from the shimmering print of your lipgloss.  

Over dinner, the two of you exchange questions and get-to-know-yous, banter typical of a third date. He tells you about his job, sparing you the gory details of what you come to learn has been quite the incredible career. But it’s not the chatter of bioterrorism and boulder-punching that has you intrigued. 

It’s the way he blushes every time you lend him a compliment; how he takes in an especially deep inhale when you smile with your pearly whites. And that glimmer in his eyes, the one that tells you he’s falling. Hard. 

Making a man like Chris fall in love is easy enough. You want to make him fold. 

It didn’t take much convincing getting Chris to accompany you back to your apartment for a night cap. By the end of dinner, though the two of you talked for what felt like hours without pause, he wanted more. More of your voice. More of the way you look at him, eyes glimmering like the sun’s reflection on the sea.

You gave him a tour of the kitchen, the living room, and he enthusiastically watched as you showed him all the tchotchkes you have displayed on the shelves, the photos lining the mantle of you with friends and family. After the drinks ran dry, he proposed that the two of you settle onto the sofa and watch a movie. You proposed something else entirely. 

“How about you kiss me, Chris?”

He doesn’t waste a second before his hands rise to cup your face, but he hesitates before leaning in, wanting to savor the moment he’s been thinking about since the night you met. His chocolate brown eyes fall to your mouth, plump and fleshy, then his lips follow. 

It’s the kind of kiss that engages each sense, alerting every nerve in your body, the tingling wires shooting off like sparklers on a summer evening. His large arms wrap around you, pulling you closer into his chest as his tongue continues to dance around your mouth, inviting your own into a passionate tango. 

“Taste so good,” you slur into his mouth and he kisses you deeper, his hands squeezing your waist with all the more power. 

You test him every step of the way as the two of you tumble down the hall and into your bedroom. Every time you say his name or tell him how good his hands feel on your body, he lets out a sound neighboring that of a whimper, so low it almost goes undetectable. 

It’s humorous, you can’t deny. The paradox between the bulging muscles that flex beneath every movement, and the whiny moans that leave his lips the more you tease and taunt him. Hands wandering up and down your thighs as you straddle him, you can feel his need grow beneath you as he lifts his head off the bed to try and catch your lips in a kiss. You quickly pull away and his brows cinch together, his lips curling into a frown. 

“You’re so pretty when you pout like that,” you say, bowing down to whisper into his ear, nibbling the lobe. His cock twitches against your thigh as you draw slobbery lines up and down his neck with the tip of your tongue. “Now are you going to be a good boy and let me ride your face?”

“Oh fuck,” he mutters. A rolling, rumbling growl leaves his chest, and as you pull away, you can see that his cheeks are flaming crimson, his eyes as wide as saucers.

He’s so gone. 

[dxllified]

This is fucking revolutionary

[dxllified]

I absolutely hate when people write Chris like this super rough dom daddy when that’s just genuinely not him at all LIKE OMG DONT PISS ME OFF. Often times in fanfics where there’s smut he written to be so mean and he’s also in so many daddy kink and cnc fics which is kinda weird😭✌🏽He’d be so respectful, caring, thoughtful, and gentle, and he’d only be rough when you ask. Soft dom Chris>>>>>>

[poltergeistsnspectersnbanshees]

No shade to anyone who may like this but I'm sorry but I hate being degraded in fanfics... "oh yes you like that you cockslut bitch whore?" no I dont. My pussy is now dryer than Hawaiian punch. Why would I want someone I love to verbally assault me WHILE we're making love at that??? Call me sensitive but I'd start crying mid cum. Like damn tell me how you really feel??😭 Go ahead and splay it all out since you feel like you can knuck and buck while we fucking

[01627]

[shhuuga]

hey, don't cry. morally grey men that tower over you physically falling to their knees and worshiping the ground you walk on, okay?

[amazingmrcinema007]

The Unknown thinking Jason was going to be just some guy in a mask:

[dxllified]

why is cnc/dubcon/noncon normalized???? Like rape fantasies are NOT okay wtf 😭😭 bring back kink shaming people

[thebrownsugababe]

Idc, normalize kink shaming. Cause y'all be using “don’t kink shame” and “it’s fiction” to excuse being into incest, pedophilia, cannibalism, etc. Like, be so fr, you ship a 14 year old with a 30 year, want to get railed by your dad and want to see two brothers f*ck each other. I don’t engage with things fictionally that I don’t like/wouldn’t want to do in real life. Yes, I’m judging you.

[rodawgg]

hahahahahhahhahah giggles kicks my feet heeheheheehhe

[degustbez]

[rottenbrainstuff]

I think my favourite part of the bride! was how many times the bride is being loud and disruptive and decidedly unladylike, and Frank is just staring at her with open-mouth admiration. He genuinely is enthralled by her will and her independence and thinks it’s amazing. Get you a man who looks at you when you’re being insane the way Frank looks at the bride when she’s being insane.

[didireadthisright]

A Small Rant About THE BRIDE!

(Gif not mine)

Disclaimer: spoilers

Okay I have THOUGHTS about THE BRIDE! and I’m still kind of processing them.

Where Guillermo del Toro’s take on Frankenstein felt like a love letter to Mary Shelley’s original novel, THE BRIDE! feels like someone completely ripped the Frankenstein mythos out of its original context and rebuilt it into something entirely new. The story being told is definitely not about the creature (Frank) and his bride. The focus from beginning to the bitter end is about the Bride and her identity, her autonomy, and what it means to be created without your consent and then forced to figure out who you are anyway.

I’m not gonna lie, I left the theatre with very mixed feelings. Some characters (including Mary Shelley and Frank) felt weirdly mischaracterised at times, and there were moments where I genuinely didn’t understand some of the Bride’s choices or her behaviour (like I gather the way she speaks, oscillating between an amnesiaed Ida and the grandious Mary Shelley is supposed to mean something and maybe provide social commentary, but at this moment I havent figured out what it could mean). The side plot also occasionally felt like it wandered in from another movie. But at the same time, the cinematography, the colour palette, the theatrical dialogue, and the sheer energy of the film made it feel like something that was deliberately chaotic.

But honestly, I can already tell this is going to become a cult classic. Not because it’s perfect, but because it’s so unapologetically weird.

What I really loved was the dynamic between Frank and the Bride. He doesn’t try to control her or force her into being the “perfect wife” she was literally created to be. He lets her run wild, explore the world, build her own identity, and only really steps in when she asks for help or when she’s in danger. It feels less like ownership and more like trust. Like he wants her to experience the freedom he never got when he first woke up.

And the Bride herself is such a fascinating character because the entire movie revolves around consent. She’s lied to, manipulated, threatened, and assaulted throughout the story, but she never stops asserting her autonomy. From the moment she’s revived she keeps repeating “I’d rather not,” over and over like a mantra, and I loved that. When she ultimately reconnects with Frank, it’s not because she owes him anything, it’s because of the bond they built despite everything.

Is the movie messy? Absolutely.

Did I understand every choice it made? Not really.

But I also can’t stop thinking about it, I want to write so much more about this movie, but I am holding back so hard, hich honestly might be the biggest compliment I can give it.

<3

[silverfactory]

my favorite thing about The Bride was the grotesquerie. frank licking black vomit off the bride’s neck. the gnarly possession scene. feeding each other old shrimp from their pockets?? all the unglamorous sounds and movements and textures. it never felt big or performative, like to “complicate” the leads’ sexiness, it was just good old fashioned gross the way dead bodies are supposed to be gross and it delighted me. i 🖤 strange & nasty women.

[sineva]

JESSIE BUCKLEY for Entertainment Weekly

ph. Gina Gizella Manning

[makeyoumine69]

Frank (The Creature) x Fem!Reader

Tags: NSFW, smut, blurb / WIP (~400 words), body worship, oral sex (f), unprotected p in v sex, idk what I am doing but this is my first attempt to write Frank from the Bride (2026).

The studio door creaked open. Frank filled the frame—rain dripping from his coat, eyes scanning the room: easels draped in cloth, canvases of stormy lakes and shadowed figures, the scent of linseed oil thick in the air. A single bulb swung overhead, casting warm pools of light.

"You came," you breathed.

"Couldn't stay away." He stepped inside, door shutting softly. "This... all yours?"

"All mine." You crossed to him, taking his wet coat, hanging it on a hook. "No servants. No father. Just us."

He looked at the chaise in the corner—blankets you'd arranged, pillows, a low table with candles unlit. Understanding dawned in his mismatched eyes.

"I... don't know how," he admitted, voice cracking. "Never been wanted like this. Afraid I'll break you. Or... repulse you."

You cupped his scarred face. "You saved me once. Let me show you how wanted you are."

You kissed him—slow, careful. His lips were cool, tasting faintly of rain and iron, but he learned quickly, parting for you with a quiet groan. Hands—massive, trembling—settled on your waist.

Clothes fell away gently. Your silk slip, his shirt—buttons undone one by one—kisses pressed to every revealed stitch. When he was bare, you traced him tenderly: bolts, seams, the thick line down his chest. He shivered.

"Beautiful," you whispered.

You guided him to the chaise. He lay back carefully, like the world might crack. You straddled his chest first, bare skin against his coolness.

"Teach me," he rasped. "Want to please you."

You shifted up, knees bracketing his shoulders. "Start here." You guided his head, fingers in his hair. "Tongue soft... yes."

He licked tentatively—flat stripe along your folds. You moaned; he paused.

"Good," you encouraged. "Now circle—here."

You touched your clit. He obeyed, tongue swirling slow circles, then sucking gently when you gasped. His hands gripped your thighs—careful strength holding you steady. The contrast—cool mouth, your building heat—made stars burst behind your eyes.

You came with a soft cry, trembling above him. He lifted his head, lips shining, eyes wide with awe.

"Tasted... alive. Like everything good."

You slid down, kissing him deeply—tasting yourself. His cock pressed against you, hard and cool, waiting.

"Ready?" you asked.

"Please."

You sank onto him slowly—inch by thick inch. He filled you completely; you both gasped. Foreheads touched.

"Too much?" you whispered.

"No," he choked. "Just... warm. So warm."

You moved—gentle rolls, deep and unhurried. His hands roamed: one cradling your back, the other cupping your breast, thumb brushing your nipple with wonder. Every thrust drew a low, desperate sound from him.

"You feel... everything," he murmured. "Heartbeat. Around me. Inside."

You kissed his stitches, tongue tracing lines like brushstrokes. The rhythm built—passionate, but never rushed. His strength showed in how he lifted you slightly, meeting each roll, yet always tender.

...

[omenfan666]

[christianbalesblueadidas]

the way i would fuck him it’s not even funny i am a ride he wouldn’t survive the wheels would come right off