kb_o3

22 f

[k-b030]

kb_03

22 - she/her

smut / fluff

heavily influenced by whichever insane obsession I have going on (currently the rygos cinematic universe)

this blog contains nsfw & potentially dark content. minors dni as you will be blocked. if you’re not into this content, feel free to block me <3

my library

requests are open if you'd like to submit something <3!

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

Imagine this...

warnings : drunk Holland; declarations of love; existential crisis;

It’s nearly two in the morning when the sound of your phone yanks you out of sleep. Loud, relentless ringing cutting through the dark. When you finally answer, there’s a heavy sigh on the other end, followed by a painfully familiar voice. “Hi…” Holland March. “Holland? Where are you?” “No idea…” You hear him sniffle. “Are you crying?” “It’s allergies.” From the noise in the background, you immediately realize he’s in a bar. And judging by his voice, he’s completely wasted. Another sniffle, then suddenly: “You canceled… You canceled our date.”

“Holland, I told you,” you sigh, rubbing your sleepy eyes, “I had to stay late at work, and then something came up and…” “I knooow!” he groans dramatically. “But it feels like you broke up with me. Besides…” another miserable sigh, “the bartender already hates me. I kept telling him how much I love you and he…” “Jesus Christ… just give me the address.”

Half an hour later, you’re standing inside the bar. A few exhausted customers still linger near the booths, and your disaster of a boyfriend is slumped at the very end of the counter looking like human heartbreak. The bartender gives you a look full of sympathy. “You came,” Holland says the second he sees you, his face lighting up instantly. “I’m having an existential crisis. Without you, my life is just… a black hole.” You shake your head in disbelief that this is somehow your life now. Though honestly, you aren’t even surprised anymore.

The entire drive home is filled with Holland’s drunken rambling. “You showed up in my life and then, boom! Suddenly you were everywhere. Every day. In every thought. I love you so much. I don’t know why you left me…” “I didn’t leave you, Holland.” “Maybe I do know…” he mutters sadly. “But does it have to hurt this much? What if I’m having a heart attack? Can you drive to the hospital?” “You are not having a heart attack. You’re drunk. And dramatic.” “So… basically a heart attack.”

Getting him out of the car is a battle all on its own. He leans almost his entire weight against you, mumbling nonsense about eternal love, unbearable loneliness, how deeply he loves you, and how much deeper he suffers. Getting him upstairs and into the bedroom takes nearly half an hour. It feels less like helping a man and more like wrestling a large, emotionally unstable animal. Eventually, he collapses onto the edge of the mattress.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, staring up at you. “Seriously… devastatingly beautiful.” You try loosening his tie, but he keeps catching your hands to kiss your hands instead. When you start unbuttoning his shirt and reach for his belt buckle, a sudden look of concentration crosses his face. “Foreplay, sweetheart?” he asks hopefully. “I’m ready.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re going to be embarrassed about this in the morning.” He begs you to stay like you’re abandoning him forever "I’m literally just getting you water.” By the time you come back, he’s already asleep.

There’s no point driving back to your apartment now, so you slip into bed beside him. Barely seconds later, Holland rolls toward you in his sleep, one strong arm wrapping around your waist while his head settles heavily against your shoulder.

“…love you.” Your heart aches instantly. Then, a second later. “…and the sex was unbelievable…” You freeze. “…could barely walk after…”

Before you can even recover from the shock, he’s already dead asleep again. “The universe is testing me,” you mumble under your breath. You press a kiss to his forehead and close your eyes. You already know you’re never letting him live this down in the morning.

[kenough-for-me]

Too Sweet

Luke Glanton x Reader ~~ Sweet Girl!Reader ~~ 3.1K

You know you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain Pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape

Warnings: Minors DNI!! Smut (first time writing it, might be cringey), he guides you through it, use of ‘pretty’ and ‘pretty girl’ and ‘baby’, one-night stands (it’s Luke), slight angst, pregnancy mention, hopeful ending (he just wants to be a dad, your honor)

The carnival was as lively as ever, filled with the laughter of children and adults alike, the screams of those on the terribly put-together rides, and the conversation between friends and family.

The rev of motorcycle engines.

The carnival was only in town for a few more weeks, arriving early summer and leaving early fall.

You didn’t originally want to go, preferring to avoid the high prices and scams. 

But friends can be very convincing when they mention a handsome motorcyclist.

It took a while of begging, but after finally agreeing to their pleas, they dragged you to the carnival, specifically a small tent near the back.

You all rush in late, the stunt show having already started by the time you're situated near an empty corner of the tent.

The announcer’s voice booms through the tent, showing off every move, commenting on the trio as they work.

Standing in the small tent, your friends on both sides, your eyes held wonder as you watched the three motorcyclists, promptly dubbed Luke and the heartthrobs.

They bobbed and weaved around each other in the ball cage, the voice of the announcer becoming background noise as one even goes upside down, your amazement only growing.

So entranced with what was before you, the motorcyclists carefully left the ball cage one by one. It took one of your friends gripping onto your arm and dragging you out before you finally snapped out of it.

But your gaze remains over your shoulder, watching as the group of three leaves on the other side, barely catching a glimpse of blond hair as he removes his helmet.

Your group of friends all stand together outside the tent, their words going in one ear and out the other, your mind still recalling the events of just the past few minutes.

Eyes wandering over the different groups of people exiting the tents, your eyes find a man standing off to the side in the middle of a group of kids. His blond hair instantly catches your eyes, as do the tattoos that litter every inch of his skin.

He stood, an unlit cigarette limply sitting between his lips, muttering something to the group of children while signing a piece of paper.

His eyes glance up, sharp and blue, as if sensing you staring at him.

Your breath hitches, shoulders tensing ever so slightly before you quickly look away, following after your group of friends as they head towards the area of booths that held the corny carnival games, their voices talking about which stuffed animal they wanted to win.

A soft chuckle follows you as you go.

The next night, after hours of mental debate, pacing back and forth in front of your bed, you decide to head back to the carnival. 

Without your friends this time.

You spend way too long checking yourself in the bathroom mirror before you leave the house, straightening the skirt you wore, adjusting every strand of your hair until you find it perfect.

The lowering sun in the bedroom window was your tell that you needed to hurry.

The show, once again, had already started by the time you had entered the same tent as last night, finding yourself front and center as you watch the stunt show with the same wonder-filled eyes.

The roar of engines and the shout of the announcer fill your ears, but just as last night, they all become background noise to the show in front of you, your eyes following the rider with the red jacket.

Every cell in your body tells you that it's him.

The confidence that oozed from every upside-down turn, like he knew he was putting on a good show with every move he made.

Yeah, that was him.

The show ended as quickly as it started, your body being led by the group of people as they head out of the tent, your eyes shooting over your shoulder multiple times to watch as he heads out the other way, his form hidden behind the tent flap as it closes.

You quickly step off to the side once the cooling night air hits your face, away from the crowd as they disperse into different parts of the carnival. Your eyes move without you telling them to, looking around for something, but what catches your eye is the group of kids that run past you.

Their hands held pieces of paper and a myriad of pens or pencils, their smiles as bright as the sun, with their cheeks rosy, excitement flowing off their little bodies in waves as they made it towards their destination.

Him.

That blond hair and those sharp, blue eyes. The tattoos that were painted on every inch of his skin.

He entertains the kids with the same indifference as last night, signing their papers and mumbling soft words down to them. This time, a lit cigarette was held loosely by his lips, the smoke framing his face as it flowed out of the burning end and up towards the night sky.

And just like last night, his eyes flick up in your direction, catching your gaze before you can look away.

His lips quirk into a grin, silent and teasing like the cat that caught the canary, and he sends the kids off with few words.

Your heart was already racing as you stared off in a random direction, feigning interest in the group of game booths that were in front of you, your cheeks already warming to the touch at being caught in your staring.

Crunching of grass under boots only causes your heart to skip, your hands gripping onto the fabric of your skirt as you will your mind not to make a fool of yourself.

“Hey.”

His voice was a rumble as he made his way to stand beside you, his body just close enough that you could smell him.

Motor oil, cigarettes, and a faintness of cologne.

After a few moments, your eyes finally flick up to meet his gaze, finding him staring intently at you, his cigarette glowing between his fingers and that same grin upon his lips.

“Hello.”

Soft voice.

That’s what instantly caught his attention.

Just a word spoken from between your glossed lips, and he could already feel the sugar rush that bled through his very veins.

It was addictive.

Everything about him was rough; everything about him screamed trouble. He wasn’t made to be around a girl like you.

Soft and sweet, your eyes held a look in them that just screamed to him that you shouldn’t have even been here alone.

But he liked indulging himself every once in a while.

He takes a breath of his cigarette, flicking the ashes beside him. He turns his head away from you, blowing the smoke up into the air, before his gaze quickly moves back to you, smoke still billowing from his lips and nostrils.

“Name’s Luke, but you knew that already, didn’t you?”

You did.

The announcer said his name almost every other sentence.

But that didn’t fall from your lips. Instead, you give him your own name, watching as he takes another drag before your name leaves him in a gentle hum.

It sent a jolt through your spine at the way he said your name.

A word you had heard your entire life, and Luke said it in a way that made it feel like it was truly special.

Flicking down his cigarette, he stomps it out with his boot, his hands stuffing into the pockets of his jeans as he looks into your eyes, his grin only widening with his next words.

“Want a ride?”

—

This was not the ride you imagined Luke talking about.

But, oh, did it feel so good.

You sat, perched on his lap, his cock nestled deep inside you.

Underneath you, he rested against the pillows, that same grin upon his lips curling around the fresh cigarette that he had lit just before, as his hands rested warmly against your waist.

Your thighs tremble on either side of his hips, hands planted firmly on his chest as you take a moment to get used to his size.

One of his hands lifts from your hips as he takes a drag from the cigarette, blowing the cloud above him instead of in your face, despite how badly he wanted to.

Despite himself, knowing he should give you as long as you needed, he can’t help the way his hips buck at the squeezing of your walls around him, smile widening at the yelped moan that bubbles past your lips at the movement.

“Come on, pretty. Give those hips a swirl.”

His voice was a drunken hum, even though not a drop of alcohol had passed his lips, his hand returning to your hip.

Luke was drunk on you, on the feeling of you around him, on top of him.

Eyes half-lidded and biting your bottom lip, your perfectly manicured nails dig ever so slightly into his pecs as you begin to slowly roll your hips, leaving him with a delicious sting that he would chase forever.

Luke’s head falls back, releasing a huff of smoke as your hips move, causing you to squeeze him even more.

“That’s it, pretty girl.”

His words were released in a drawl, fingers digging into your hips enough that you would find beautiful bruises in the shape of his hands the next morning.

Keeping his grip tight, he helps guide your movements, watching the way your eyes roll back when he occasionally bucks his hips.

His grin turns wolfish as he feels your walls tighten in a way he has grown familiar with, hand slipping from your waist to your front as he begins to thumb at that sensitive bundle of nerves, rewarding him with a whimpered moan as your body tries to curl in on itself at the sudden addition of pleasure.

“Luke… Luke…”

“Sound so pretty, baby. Let go for me, yeah? Cum for me, pretty.”

A mix of moans and whines escapes you as he feels that familiar rush, the tightening of your walls, your nails digging enough to draw little specks of blood.

He wasn’t far behind, having come so close just from resting inside you earlier, with just a few more bucks of his hips, he groans your name around his cigarette as he releases deep inside you.

Your body slumps against him, body instantly exhausted from release. With your head resting against his chest, his heartbeat was the sound that lulled you to sleep.

Luke stares down at you, silently shocked at how easy it was for you to fall asleep. Something curls deep within his heart at the sight of it, his fingers slowly curling in your hair as his other hand stubs out his cigarette.

A feeling he didn’t want to ignite.

—

When you woke the next morning, the bed was cold and Luke was nowhere to be seen. Shakily, you gather yourself and your things, looking around his trailer once more.

It was stupid.

Leaving behind a small note with your number on it and your name (just in case he forgot).

Giving yourself false hope as you walk home, alone, legs trembling and embarrassment bleeding through every cell in your body.

But the call never came. The phone never rang.

Your heart dropped as you heard about it while walking through the store. The carnival was gone.

And with it… him.

Used.

That’s the word that echoes through your mind every time you think of that night with him. Of his blond hair and blue eyes. Of his words he whispered in smoke.

A mistake.

That’s the word that echoes through your mind as you stand in front of the mirror every night, watching as it slowly begins to grow with a life that was never meant to be.

You told your friends in a mixture of sobs and cries, realizing that your life would never be the same after a night that you could never take back.

They held you tight, whispered their support, and made sure that you knew that they would be there every step of the way.

Why need a father who was probably a deadbeat when the baby would have had such a large, supportive family already?

You hear that first little heartbeat at a doctor’s visit, and the second word instantly melts from your mind.

The night might have been a mistake… but this baby was not.

And you steel yourself, already making a plan on how you would continue.

Without Luke.

—

The carnival was back in town.

A year had passed.

Ninth months of struggling through a pregnancy. A birth. And a little girl who was 3 months old.

Of course, she had to be born with his blond hair and blue eyes.

At least she had your nose and smile.

She was currently held against your chest, wrapped in a soft length of cloth to keep her from slipping, something your friend had seen in a magazine and taught you how to do.

You had been walking around, watching as her small eyes took in all the sights and sounds, your friends playing every game they could to win her more stuffed animals to fill her room.

The tent that held the revving of engines was one you avoided quite heavily; the trailer that you remember vividly was one you made sure to be out of sight from at all times.

Standing back, you watch as two friends work together to throw darts and pop as many balloons as possible, aiming to get the biggest teddy bear that was zip-tied to the frame, the smile on your lips soft.

They cared for the little girl against your chest as much as you did.

Behind you, you hear your name breathed out, like it was in reverence, like it was a word to be treasured.

There you find him.

You had been so busy watching your friends play that you had completely missed that the roaring of engines no longer echoes through the carnival.

That blond hair.

Those blue eyes, softening at the sight of you.

They flick down to the infant wrapped against your chest, taking her small form in, taking in the instant similarities.

“Is she-”

“Yours?”

Luke’s eyes move up to meet yours, looking over your face, watching as it switches between a myriad of emotions: regret, anger, sadness, before finally landing on something calm.

“Yeah… she is.”

He looks like he was going to say something, but is interrupted as your friends call your name, quickly swarming around you with heated glares thrown his way.

Luke wasn’t even given a chance as your lead away, more glares thrown over their shoulders, his eyes watching as you disappear behind a booth, his shoulders slowly drooping.

He had a daughter.

—

Luke’s motorcycle engine roars as he stops in front of a small house, quaint and so distinctly you, kicking out the stand and killing the engine.

Nerves roll through his entire body, more than had ever done so before.

He was used to one-night stands, never looking back and riding into the wind, never to speak to the woman again.

But then there was you.

Soft and sweet, you.

You, who had left your number in his trailer with a little heart by your name.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, he slowly makes his way to the door, giving three sharp knocks and then shoving his hands in his pockets.

A slight shuffle is heard inside, your voice muffled as you speak to somebody, before the door swings open.

And the air is knocked from his chest.

Hell, he knew you were pretty, but seeing you now was downright ethereal.

Even with your hair a mess, even with the spit-up staining your shirt, you had a certain glow about you.

The little girl lying in your arms squirms slightly, her small fist gripping onto your shirt as she releases the softest of coos.

Luke instantly finds himself wanting to take a picture.

He watches as your eyes shift at the sight of him, not expecting his form to be what was taking up the small area of your porch.

“Luke?”

Your voice was still as soft as he remembered it, without the sounds of the carnival and your friends to drown it out.

“I wanted to see you.”

Your grip tightens around the small girl, a protective grip as you try to put up more invisible walls between you.

“You didn’t even call-”

“I screwed up, okay.” He interrupts you, grabbing a cigarette for comfort and placing it between his lips, not yet lighting it, “You were this sweet thing, and I always screw up anything good for me. So I just… stayed away.”

His confession was punched out, something he didn’t enjoy confessing to somebody in the open, but damnit, he wanted this life.

No… he needed it

Needed you and her in it.

“How did you even find me?”

You shift a little on your feet, adjusting your hold on the infant as her eyes finally drift over to Luke.

Eyes that looked so much like his, but brighter, so full of life.

“Will you hate me if I say I cornered one of your friends?”

A sigh rolls past your lips, having a feeling you knew which one spilled, they were always easy to cave under pressure.

You’d need words with them after this.

Your eyes stare up at him, before moving up and down, taking in his form with the slightest quirk of your lips.

“You won’t stop… will you?”

“Not a chance, pretty.”

His answer comes quickly, and he is sure of it.

Glancing down at the girl in your arms, you watch as she looks from Luke to up at you, giving you the smallest of smiles on her lips. Your shoulders relax ever so slightly before your gaze moves back to Luke.

“Would you like to hold her?”

“Yes.”

That answer comes even quicker.

You wait until he shoves the cigarette into his pocket, carefully placing the precious bundle into his arms, making sure they are in the correct position to hold her. He seemed weary of holding her, like he was afraid that he was doing something wrong.

But his blue eyes soften even more, if that was possible, his voice softening to a whisper.

Crossing your arms, you lean against the doorframe, watching with a soft smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Maybe… just maybe… things would turn out okay.

[ken-dom]

imagine asking six to choke u with his bicep during backshots,,,,, and he holds u so very tenderly and gentle euauauaugshhdhs im just a sucker for soft six 😞

His arm slipping slowly around your shoulder first because he can't bring himself to hurt you, and choking sounds like a dangerous game. His arms are big, thick and strong, your precious throat is no match for them. He can't do it.

He's rolling his hips slow and careful, so instead he compromises with fucking into you a little harder, a little faster while he holds you so close and careful.

You don't even care, it's enough just to know he cares about you that way, and his cock stretching you so full feels just right. You bring a hand up to hold his arm, whispering 'It's okay, that feels so good, don't stop,' and your gentle encouragement it so unexpected and sweet he cums on the spot.

[rockyhatemark]

Hi! I am absolutely giddy after reading your Holland March/neighbor headcanons! They’re both adorable and that part 2 with him going to her house drunk was really so sweet.

Would you be up to maybe a 3rd part where they finally go on a date? :)

You write beautifully and I love getting to read your ideas! Wishing you a wonderful day!

thank you so much! neighbor!holland is my heroin and you absolutely can have a part 3 (and 4 and 5 and 6…)! (Part 1) (Part 2)

I think your first real date with Holland is a secret. 

Not a secret per se to Holly, or Healy or your circle of friends.

But a secret to Holland.

You’ve been dying for your neighbor to work up the courage to ask you out. You thought your feelings were pretty clear (you wouldn’t sleep on your couch with just anyone) but apparently not clear enough to him. 

You worried for a little while that he was hesitant to pursue you because he held some sort of guilt for wanting to date another person outside of his late wife- which you fully respected. 

It was actually Holly that gave you the final shove you needed. She told you one Thursday that she was going out of town with a friend’s family for the weekend meaning her dad had nothing to do and the house would be empty.

“He’s been trying to figure out, statistically, what the perfect date is. He even had me to go the library to find books about it. You should just ask him out and save him the trouble because I think it’s driving him crazy.”

So you did. But in a way that wouldn’t label your outing as a date.

You had a sneaking suspicion that if Holland knew it was a date, he’d panic and act weird or try overly hard to seduce you. You didn’t need that, you just needed him as he was.

So Friday morning when you went out to get your mail and Holland just so happened to also be getting his mail at the same time, you asked him if he would take you into town later that evening for groceries.

“My car won’t start and I’m almost out of milk.”

“Oh! Yeah! Sure. Absolutely. Definitely. I’m not busy later so I can take you.” Queue a casual shrug. “Anyway, what’s wrong with your car?”

“Not sure.”

“I can take a look-“

“That’s ok! I’ll worry about it tomorrow.”

Holland follows behind you in the supermarket with the cart, leaning his forearms on the handle and donning a cheesy smile. You’re both laughing and having a great time while you gather ingredients for dinner. Holland doesn’t think twice about what you’re putting in the cart, just ogling at you when your back is turned.

When you ask him for help cooking dinner, he says he’s the worst person to ask but you wave him off and usher him inside. The two of you have a blast and a half, flitting around the kitchen together (the asparagus only gets slightly charred when Holland neglects his only job duty in favor of watching your shirt ride up when you reach for something) and you spend the next several hours talking.

A couple of glasses of wine are consumed and the two of you sit way closer than ‘friends’ should on the couch, but nothing happens beyond that. You walk him to his door with a laugh once your night winds down.

“Thanks for the date, Holland! I look forward to the next one.”

Holland looks like he’s trying to solve the world's hardest math problem, his wine muddled brain not helping him in the slightest. “Date?”

You kiss his cheek and hurry home before your stomach explodes with butterflies.

Holland is on your doorstep the next morning with flowers and a carton of eggs. “I was thinking we have that second date today over breakfast?”

[prudejudee]

…seb thoughts… Seb…thoughts…please?…

i gift you. sub and dom ideas. enjoy.

Sub!Seb

He craves the moment his hands are pinned above his head, his wrists held down with just enough pressure to remind him he's not the one in charge.

Sebastian has a thing for being talked down to. A low, steady whisper in his ear—"You're going to be a good boy for me, aren't you?"—and his cock twitches, pre-cum beading at the tip.

He'll whimper, actually whimper, when you tell him exactly what you're going to do to him. He's sensitive, responsive; a single tap on his thigh makes him arch his back.

Proper, messy, pathetic begging, with his fingers tangled in your clothes and his forehead pressed against your shoulder. He'll promise anything: twelve hours of practicing scales, a lifetime of cold coffee, whatever it takes.

His neck is his weakness. A possessive hand wrapped around his throat—sometimes choking or just holding—and Seb melts. His eyes flutter closed, his breath catches, and his entire body goes slack, surrendering completely. If you bite his jugular, just hard enough to leave a mark, he'll be hard for the rest of the night, and he'll keep touching the bruise with a dazed, satisfied smile.

Dom!Seb

He doesn’t get jealous often, but when he does, it’s cold and precise. He’ll pull you aside after an ex lingers too long at the bar, his hand firm on your back, guiding you to the bathroom. One finger under your chin, tipping your face up. “Who do you belong to?” He waits for the answer.

Then he bends you over the sink and reminds you, thoroughly, for the next fifteen minutes. When you come out, your lipstick is smudged and you can’t look them in the eye.

He values your ambition, your opinions, your fire. He’ll argue with you about jazz vs. pop until midnight, then pin you down and fuck the last bit of fight out of you—but he respects that fight. He needs it.

He can bring you to the edge with just the pad of his thumb tracing over your clit, slow circles, watching the way your hips twitch. He’ll talk you through it, low and steady, guiding your breathing. “Breathe with the rhythm, baby. Yes. Just like that.”

[cloudytimelapse]

“Just need to-” Ryland grunts before continuing, “just need to put slight pressure on the carotid arteries.” His index and middle fingers, resting on one side, and his thumb on the other, press into the skin over the arteries on either side of your neck. Your breathing picks up. You immediately feel the restriction in airflow, your eyes fluttering shut as his hips push forward. His eyes are practically sparkling as he watches you under him in marvel, his gaze roams from your neck, currently covered by his hand, to your wet lips parted as you breathe, and finally to your eyes, which are screwed shut.

“The esophagus-” he’s panting now, “is not to be crushed as it’ll obstruct the windpipe.” He does this with precision. As he mentioned, the portion of his palm between his thumb and index finger resting over your esophagus is just sitting there, not pressing down like his fingers on either side. You gasp, feeling lightheaded from the restriction mixed with the sensation of his length pushing deeper into you. The rest of his fingers that aren’t pressing onto your carotid arteries caress the skin at the base of your neck, a soothing action that distracts you momentarily from the fact that your brain is experiencing a temporary lack of oxygen.

He lets out a throaty whimper, feeling your walls squeeze around him. “The carotid arteries supply oxygenated blood to the brain. So pressing on it doesn’t stop breathing, rather results in lightheadedness” he gasps at the feeling of you and the way your body is reacting to him and his scientific ramble. “You feel that, baby? Do you feel woozy? Feel the pleasure heighten?” His hips ram into you deeper with each question, making you whine. His lips drag over your jaw and cheeks. “M’ close. Are you, baby?” he rasps.

In response, you can only moan, caught in the blinding pleasure. You feel him smile against your cheek at this. Your hands move from his hair to his bare shoulders, fingers pressing into his skin. Your hips arch to meet his as you finish. He gasps, feeling your release around him. He releases his hold over your neck, and thrusts a few more times before finishing with a groan. As you both recover and breathing returns to normal, he presses kisses over your neck where he had been holding you.

[mrs-calhoun]

just thinking about how i haven't seen anyone talking about ryland with a partner who also has glasses. AND as someone who wears glasses i feel like it's my duty to expand on this thought. 🤍

ryland who at first would get really flustered whenever your glasses would bump together when you kiss. he knows its not a big deal, but he's always worried it hurts you somehow. he'd have your face in his hands, kissing you gently, pressing into you a bit and your frames clash awkwardly. he pulls away, brows pinched together in worry, "oh- sorry baby."

ryland who gently takes both of your glasses off when you're sleepily making out before bed. one of his hands will be tangled in your hair as his other one reaches for your glasses. you reluctantly break the kiss, allowing him to take them off. he looks down at you sweetly as he removes them and gently sets them on the bedside table. you blush as he looks back to you, pupils blown and full of adoration. "you're so beautiful, honey..."

ryland who thinks its so cute when your glasses slide down your nose as you bounce up and down on his cock. you're sweating, barely holding on as you ride him sloppily. his hands are gripping your hips, honestly doing most of the work at this point as you've long been fucked out. he looks up at you, glowing, head tilted back, letting out the prettiest moan he'd ever heard. you looked down at him then, through your foggy glasses, they've slid down to the tip of your nose. you whine, orgasm approaching fast, "thats it, theres my girl/boy, come for me"

[yearningforsolitude]

thinking of ryland holding you in a headlock… his chest pressed to your back, the weight of him pushing you down into the mattress as he ruts into you. the sound of the mattress creaking under your shared weight and the wet slap of his sweaty skin against yours ringing out through the room. his other hand moves down to grab onto the flesh of your hip while he groans into your ear, one particularly deep thrust makes you swear that you can feel him in your throat. feeling the way his arm flexes around your neck juuust enough to where you start to feel that lightheadedness creep in that you’ve grown to crave when he’s not holding you in this position. how your eyes lose their focus, vision blurring ever so slightly in the corners with each passing second.

ryland loves how soft and pliant you are when he has you like this, the way you melt under him and how easily he slips in and out of you with no resistance. his eyes are closed, but when his eyelids flutter open he sees the way your cheeks have grown red from the pressure and your eyes have turned glossy. he can’t help the way his lips curl up in the corners at the sight of you, such a pretty thing underneath him. he eases his grip around your throat, allowing the pressure to slowly dissipate. “breathe, baby. you’re doing so good for me.” he hums, leaning in to press a kiss against your sticky cheekbone as he continues the brutal pace of his deep strokes.

[inksgoosiefolder]

i canNOT stop thinking about sitting on ryland's lap while he grades his students papers

18+, nsfw content

Ohhhhmy god. The inherent closeness and like, affection of being on someone’s lap? I don’t think I'll ever shut up about it. I love it so much. Chat don’t get me started on cockwarming- that’s like, pandora’s box for me.

But knowing Ryland, if you were to end up on his lap- be it cockwarming, riding him or just straight up dry humping, it probably would have started innocuously enough. 

Maybe after he gets home from work, the pair of you curl up on the couch together, half watching some movie while you soak in the proximity of love. But he knows that he’s got to grade these mock exams tonight otherwise there won’t be enough time for him or the students to revise before their actually exam. 

So maybe he decides to do some grading on the couch rather than at his desk,trying at first to do it laying down, paper proper up against his closed laptop so he can still lay back with you curled up into his side. 

But that doesn’t last too long, it’s far too difficult and his neck aches from the awkward angle. So he sits up instead, leant forwards to use the coffee table. You shuffle, head ending up in his lap, cheek shushed up against his thigh. That works for a little while too before he gets uncomfortable and stands. 

You whine, rolling over onto your back to blink up at him, a little sleep-dazed. “Where are you going?”

“Gotta mark these mocks.” He looks down at you, a little pitying, also kind of devastated by having to remove himself from your side. He’d mull it over for a second. Logistically, he’s got broader shoulders than you, it wouldn't be hard to reach around you to write on the papers. And he’d be able to see over your collar easily, especially if you slumped into him like you often do when exhaustion pulls at your bones. And the chair at his desk is one of those proper ergonomic ones, marketed towards gamers but he’d bought for the reclining feature so he could lean back and stare up at the ceiling as he thinks. 

“Come on, sweetheart.” He murmurs, holding a hand out for you to take. His fingers curl gently around yours as he pulls you to your feet, shuffling over to his desk. 

Ryland splays out his papers on the desk and sits himself down, turning the desk chair to face you. 

He reaches out with those gentle hands, gets them around your waist, your hips, pulling you closer and closer until you’re in his lap. Knees either side of his hips, he pulls you down on top of him, urging you to shuffle in closer until you can slump into his chest with your chin hooked over his shoulder. 

“Perfect.” Ryland murmurs, a kiss pressed just below your ear as he scoots the chair in under the desk, stopping just before it pressed into your back and getting himself back on task. 

But the issue is, the pressure and the warmths and the soft huff of your breath starts to get a little distracting. Your fingers are toying with the strands of hair on his neck, he’s been meaning to get a haircut but you always seem to like playing with it when he lets the locks grow out a little more. 

He swallows thickly, remembering how you’d pulled at it last night while he kissed up your thighs, his name tumbling from your lips in a breathy whimper. His cock kicks a little in his jeans, spurred on by the way you shift in his lap, a warm and pressing presence. 

Rylands breath hitches and you pull on one of those strands, finger curling around it, tangling it up with intention. “What’s wrong baby?”

That tone- it makes him weak in the knees, head lulling back with your gentle grip. You press a kiss to his temple, then lean back to look him in the eye. 

Your pupils were blown wide, a little hazy with want. 

“I, uh,” Ryalnd fumbles his words, closing his eyes to breathe out heavily as his hands find their home on your hips. You grind down, a drawn out motion that has a gasp stuttering out his mouth. “This wasn’t part of the plan?”

“Wasn’t it?” You murmur, kissing along his jawline. “Just wanted me to sit pretty in your lap, feel your cock kicking about and do nothing?”

“Wanted to grade my papers.” He manages, 

“Okay, I can wait.” You reply sweetly, pressing a kiss to his lips before standing. 

“Huh?” He asks, a little dazed as his hands fall to his sides. 

Ryland watches confused as you shuck your pants off. At first he thought you might just go back to the couch, maybe lay down in bed until he joined you. Then you hook a finger in the band of your panties and shuck those off too. 

Your knees find their place beside his hips again, one hand braced on his shoulder for balance and the other undoes his jeans and fishes his cock out. 

He can’t help but gasp, dick kicking in your palm. “Cold fingers-”

“‘S okay baby, I’ll keep you warm.” You press a kiss to his lips and lower yourself down onto his cock, allowing yourself one slow roll of your hips against his, relishing in the fullness before you settle back to where you had started. “Finish your marking. I’ll wait.”

[rockyhatemark]

thinking about showering with ryland

You don’t do it very often, usually taking separate showers out of ease and privacy, but every once in a while you get an itch to join him.

He’s always startled when you yank the curtain back to step under the spray (the combination of the running water and his humming masks the sounds you make when you enter the bathroom) but he’s all smiles once his heart slows, stepping back to give you some room. (“Fancy seeing you here!”)

The tiny shower in your shared apartment is… intimate when you’re both in it. It’s small enough that at least part of you is always touching him and part of him is always touching you.

Ryland’s toned body dripping in warm water, cheeks flushed from the steam and hair plastered to his forehead was addicting in a way that is hard for you to describe.

It doesn’t always end in sex- the two of you sometimes just need the quiet comfort of each other. You wash his hair, nails raking along his scalp until he's practically purring and nuzzling into your neck. Ryland washes your body with gentle hands until you're putty in his palms.

Buuuuut sex was always an added bonus. Ryland wasn’t the biggest fan of shower sex, spewing nonsense about how it’s one of the more dangerous places to do it because of the fall risk, but he never complained when you dropped to your knees in front of him.

The cramped nature of the shower meant positioning was hard. More often than not, Ryland had to pick you up and press you against the slick tile. 

Ryland is usually gentle, but he’s especially careful in the shower- always making sure his grip on the backs of your thighs are firm and the hold of your legs around his hips are tight before he even thinks about sliding in. His thrusts are steady and calculated, no matter how much you beg him to go faster.

Ryland does love that clean up is easy after a round in the shower- a quick rinse and the two of you are snuggled up in bed in no time.

can someone please yell at me and tell me to work on my actual fics, not these blurbs (holland march in the bath is next)

[foxedburrow]

look, i know we all love yearner driver but i feel like he could be a really good brat tamer. i feel like he is a really good brat tamer. we all saw the slap scene, come on.

mdni, 18+

it starts as teasing. just a few comments here and there, poking fun—whether it's about sex or not—just to get a rise out of him. he's already a quiet man. the most you get is a hum or a rare smile when he's unable to stop himself from cheesing at your jabs. the back-talk is what sets him off.

it's a slow creeping infestation beneath his skin. he has incredible patience, but you are proving to test that theory—and, god, you are testing it well. scoffs, eye rolls, even the subtlest tilt of your head. they're all catalogued and analyzed. driver knows your bratty habits more than you know them yourself.

a lot of face grabbing. he doesn't take off the gloves— he knows it's just shy of painful when he clamps a hand over your mouth, but the sharp hitch in your breathing is the greenest flag he's ever seen. your pupils are blown, brows rising with the silence between you. there's a moment where you're unsure if he's going to push you away or stare into your eyes for eternity just to prove that he has the upper hand.

he pulls you close. close enough so you see the tick in his jaw. there's a subtle tremor in his grasp, like he's either high off of the submission you're displaying or he's afraid of losing his composure.

"when i let go of you, the first thing you're gonna say is 'yes, sir'," his voice is low, still the calm murmur he usually has despite his steadily dwindling patience. a subtle tilt of his head prompts you, as if waiting for a nod or some form of obedience. "do you understand?"

he's also incredibly handsy when he wants to be. i think 50% of the time, he's demanding your obedience with his presence. he knows he could fold you in half if he wants to, but he's willing to wait to see if you submit if you know what's good for you. it's a waiting game with him, as infuriating as it seems.

other times, when you're squirming far too much for his liking, he maneuvers you however he wants. he pulls you back in when he's three fingers deep into you; when you squirm away with overstimulated whines. oh, he loves to take his time with you. whether it be with his hands or his tongue, he ensures you're either trembling or desperate before he even thinks of unbuckling his belt.

[prudejudee]

WEEEE IM SOO HORRRNNAAAAY WHAAAAT

[fernstyx]

summer roadtrips with ryland grace btw.

everything you need, you load into the trunk of your cramped little car, and then you just drive, south along the coast, then inland through the desert. you're sharing a bag of skittles, the windows are down and the playlist is a wild patchwork of both of your tastes. the sun shines down through the windshield - warming your shoulders, painting his hair golden. both of you are periodically singing along to the music or cracking dumb jokes about roadsigns or funny license plates you pass.

ryland is used to getting up early, so if you're still tired by the time you've checked out of whatever motel you stayed in and are back on the road, he lets you nap in the car. it's not always easy, mind you; he's a careful driver, but "careful" doesn't always translate to "smooth turns". he's doing his best, though.

you make a lot of stops. ryland takes you hiking through national parks, digging for fossils in old riverbeds, visiting canyons and craters and lakes and rivers and forests and plains. something about how he talks about the different ecosystems gets to you every time. this is a man who has never truly lost his childlike awe for the world he lives in, and it's possibly the most attractive thing you've ever seen.

he makes sure to take pictures of any curriculum-relevant sights, maybe a video or two, and lots of them, to show to his students when summer is over.

sometimes, looking at this beautiful, tiny, massive, fascinating world you both live in, the billions of years of history culminating in this moment, it strikes him: the sheer amounts of coincidences it took for you two to meet. ryland's not the type of person to believe in fate; in a way, that makes all of this almost more marvelous. he kisses you like you're a miracle, then. and, well, you kind of are.

[more fluff and a little bit of smut under the cut. gender-neutral and no reader genitalia described. there's some ambiguously penetrative sex where reader bottoms. also soft dom ryland if you squint.]

at some point, you end up renting what you affectionately call a "little murder cabin" at the edge of the woods for a night. with combined effort, you manage to get a fire going outside. ryland gets so caught up in staring at the night sky, his marshmallow is about as close to "lightly toasted" as the city of pompeii ca. 79 a.d.

you can't blame him, though. with all the light pollution of a place like san francisco, it's been a long time since either of you has seen quite this many stars. at some point, you migrate from your chair to his lap, all wrapped up in his jacket. "a whole universe out there," he mutters into your hair, "and everything i need right here." when you kiss him, he tastes like light beer and burnt sugar.

some nights, by the time you're settled in your motel room, you're so exhausted you can't do much except collapse into bed and sleep. but every now and then, you'll be taking a shower, and he'll join you, always making the same joke about wanting to conserve water and prevent desertification. that's never the reason, and you'll know it, even before he begins to kiss the water droplets off your shoulders. or you'll cuddle before bed, your head on his shoulder while reads his book, and your hands will start to wander. even in the warmth of a summer night in a room with questionably functional air-conditioning, you can see the goosebumps rise on his arms when you lean in close and your breath meets the skin of his neck.

he fucks you in slow, deep strokes, and it's good, it always is, but it's not enough. your nails are digging into his shoulder blades, his skin still warm from all the sun it soaked up, but no matter how prettily you beg, he won't go harder. perched at the edge of the bed, you squeeze your legs around him and whine for more.

it takes a little bit of coaxing (and a few assurances that you are, in fact, very very okay with it), but eventually, ryland figures out he can fuck you as loudly as he wants, he just needs to give you a pillow to press your face into or clamp his hand over your mouth. that last one in particular really does it for him. something about holding you down, making you moan into his palm, seeing you look up at him with those glassy, blissed-out eyes... drives him wild. and what you lack in ability to speak, he makes up for with dirty talk. "you're doing so well" and "you feel so good around me" and "shh, it's okay, just let it out, i'll keep you quiet".

it's a good way to spend summer all-around.

[prudejudee]

DRUNK SEB!!!! SLOPPY MAKEOUT WITH DRUNK SEB!!!!! DRUNK SEB WHO STILL TEASES THE EVER LOVING FUCK OUT OF YOU!!!!! like just imagine y'all are drunk at his club and making out sloppy style but as soon as you get back to his apartment he's locked tf in EVEN WHILE DRUNK!!!! idk man is this anything i just really love the idea of drunk seb

OH OH OH YEA OH YEA OH YEA JUST GOT OUTTA THE SHOWER AND SAW FHIS OUUHG

The club is empty. Last call was an hour ago, but you're still perched on the edge of the piano bench, your back against the polished wood, Sebastian's body crowding yours. His shirt is untucked, top three buttons undone, and he tastes like bourbon and sweat and something darker.

You don't remember who kissed who first. Just that it's messy—teeth clicking, mouths just slightly off center, his tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that has no discipline. His hand cups the back of your head, fingers digging into your hair, pulling you closer until your spine protests. You don't care.

"I'm not done with you yet," he mumbles against your lips. His breath is hot, whiskey-thick. "C'mon. My place."

The ride is a blur of his hand on your thigh, fingers kneading the soft skin, drifting higher until the driver clears his throat. Sebastian doesn't stop. He just presses harder, staring at you in the dark, those blue eyes hazy and fixed.

The apartment door barely clicks shut before he's on you. No ceremony. No fumbling for lights. He pins you against the doorframe, one forearm braced beside your head, the other grabbing your hip hard enough to bruise.

"Been thinking about this all night," he says, voice rough, slurred at the edges. "Watching you at the bar. The way you kept looking at me."

He kisses you again—messier this time. Open-mouthed, wet, a string of saliva connecting your lips when he pulls back. He wipes it with his thumb, then shoves that thumb between your lips. "Suck."

You do. His eyes go darker. He watches you hollow your cheeks, tasting his split whiskey and salt on him. When he pulls his thumb out, it's glistening. He runs it down your chin, your neck, following the trail with his mouth, biting at your collarbone through your shirt.

"Bedroom," he growls. "Now."

He doesn't let you walk. He steers you by the hips, guiding you backward through the dark apartment, stumbling over shoes and stray clothes. You hit the edge of his mattress and fall backward, the springs groaning. He's on top of you before you bounce, knees spreading yours apart.

His hands tear at your bottoms—undoing the button, yanking the zipper down with more force than finesse. He doesn't bother pulling them off completely. Just gets them to your thighs, then shoves his hand inside your panties. Two fingers slide into you without warning, and you gasp, arching off the bed.

he breathes against your throat. "So wet already. S'that from me? From kissing me like a whore at my club?"

You can't answer. Your hips buck against his hand, chasing the friction. He pulls his fingers out, brings them to his mouth, and sucks them clean. The sight makes your head spin.

He fumbles with his own belt, the buckle clinking, the leather sliding through loops. His jeans drop to his knees. His cock springs free, already hard, flushed and leaking against his stomach. He gives himself a rough stroke, hissing through his teeth.

"Turn around F'me, Honey.."

You roll onto your stomach, pushing up on your elbows, making sure to yank your bottoms and underwear off. The position makes your head swim—the alcohol, the heat, the anticipation. He grabs a handful of your ass, kneading hard, then spreads you open with his thumbs.

He lines himself up, drags the head through your slick folds, teasing your clit until you whimper. Then he pushes in—no pause, no patience—and you both groan. He's thick, filling you in one long stroke that steals your breath. His hips press flush against your ass, and he stays there, buried to the hilt, panting against your shoulder blade.

"Jesus," he mutters. "Feel that? Feel how tight you are for me?"

He starts moving—slow at first, but sloppy. His rhythm keeps breaking, stuttering, because he's too drunk to be smooth. He pulls almost all the way out, then slams back in, the sound of skin slapping wet and obscene in the low night lighting. His hands grip your hips, fingernails digging crescents into your flesh.

"Harder," you gasp.

He laughs, breathy and wrecked. "Bossy thing you are. I like it."

He fucks you harder. Messier. You jolt up just a bit with every thrust, and you're so slick you can hear yourself, the wet squelch of his cock driving into you. He leans over your back, one arm hooking around your waist, pulling you up into a deeper angle. His mouth finds your ear, teeth grazing the lobe.

"Touch yourself. Wanna feel you cum on my cock."

You reach between your legs, fingers finding your clit neglected and needy. You rub fast, frantic circles while he pounds into you, the pressure building low in your belly. Your walls start fluttering around him, and he groans, his pace turning ragged.

"That's it. That's it—fuck, yes—come for me."

You do. It hits you like a wave, heat crashing through your limbs, your back arching, your mouth falling open in a silent scream. Sebastian keeps thrusting, chasing his own release, and you feel him twitch inside you. He pulls out at the last second, spilling hot and thick across your lower back, painting your skin with ropes of cum.

He collapses beside you, chest heaving, one hand still resting on your hip. The room smells like sex and sweat and spilled whiskey. After a long minute, he turns his head, presses a clumsy kiss to your shoulder.

"Stay," he says, voice hoarse. "Don't go anywhere."

He doesn't move to clean up just yet. Neither do you. You just lie there, tangled and drunk and buzzing, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin until sleep pulls you both under.

[iktheend]

stalker!driver who parks outside your work 10 minuted before you leave your shift to make sure you get out safe

stalker!driver who knows your daily routine

stalker!driver who watches you through your apartment window

stalker!driver who buys you things before even having a conversation with you

stalker!driver who follows behind your car perfectly enough that you dont notice someones following you

stalker!driver who sits in his car outside your apartment block, knuckles white against the wheel, waiting for you to leave because you’re 5 minutes later than usual

stalker!driver who practices what he’d say if you ever noticed him

stalker!driver who has definitely jerked off more than once in his car to the thought of you

stalker!driver who is desperate to hear your voice properly

stalker!driver who is on my mind 25/8

[astrophxge]

His odd ways and stalker tendencies have captivated me I’m putting him in my basement chained up

[larsandthewritergirl]

Ken who begs you to say you love him when he cums ☁

I've been thinking about this so often... like ever since you sent this I've been thinking of it

Like him panting in your ear, his mouth wet and hovering your damp skin "tell me you love me, baby." He'd whisper through broken breaths, thrusting in you with so much passion as he's so eager to pleas you and get you to cum

"Baby, please. Please, I love you baby, say it back." He'd softly bite you to remind you, making you comeback into him, your hand coming to the back of his head to brush through his hair "I love you, Ken. I love you, honey."

He cums the second he hears it 💞

[smuttylittlelife]

the way these pictures make me think ryland x inexperienced!reader where he teaches her how to ride while he’s in the pilot seat. (nfsw 18+)

(p.s. this is all my opinion)

the way this man would grip your waist, and squeeze it, for sure leaving marks. i can’t ever decide if grace is an tits or ass guy so i feel like he’d both knead maybe slap your ass and have his face buried in your chest. he wouldn’t even take your shirt off all the way, just pull it up enough so he can get his mouth on you.

this mouth on this man could kill me!

“that’s it baby, just like that.”

“you’re so good to me, baby”

“look so pretty falling apart on my cock.”

“you think you can speed up a little for me, dear?”

“such a perfect girl. doing such a good job for me,”

he’s a softdom! for sure in the beginning. he wants to make sure he’s taking care of you and he’s enjoying watching you fall apart on his cock. but as you get a hang for it, he’s whimpering, moaning, crying mess. because at the end of the day, this man is touch starved and you feel like absolute heaven squeezing him.

someone sedate me. i’m going to bed