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bunny | 26 | black | 18+ blog | dark content

[lilevixen]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ whichever way your heart may sway, you will find a route suitable to your desires ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

☞ requests: closed

ˑ༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ ▹•◃ ۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ

❥PACIFIST : masterlist

❥NEUTRAL : ab me

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❥STAY DETERMINED : rules/ what i write

my ao3!

(currently not consistently active)

[pichichustudios]

Killua brain rot kid

[bbyblooroses]

this is so cannon and no one can change my mind.

[my-cup-of-coffeee]

oh god i’m back in the building

[blindmagdalena]

You Let Me Complicate You

18+ 4k homelander x f!reader. bickering, post-breakup sex, dubcon/coercion, angst, jealousy, emotional manipulation, implied murder, stalking, boundary smashing, breaking and entering, cunnilingus, penetrative sex. read on AO3. written as a follow-up to the breakup, but can be read as a standalone. gif credit.

Breaking up with Homelander is... complicated. After all, it is a god that loves you.

"What do I taste like?" You asked him once, drunk on pleasure and those early honeymoon days of loving him. He’d been slow to answer, thinking it over. "Love," he said at last. "Like you love me." You wonder if that holds true. If he can still taste love in you. If that’s why he’s so eager to devour you, or if the absence of it has made him even hungrier.

Homelander is an aberration.

Stronger than a hundred men, faster than a bullet and sharp as a tack all paired with a teaspoon’s depth of emotional maturity. He’s volatile, twisted, broken in ways no amount of therapy could ever hope to duct tape back together. He’s no better off than a dog that bites to kill. No matter how he got to this point, the best thing for him–for the world–would be to put him down by any means necessary.

Too bad you can’t seem to stop fucking him.

It’s late when you hear the front door open with a distinct crack. You’re sprawled out on the couch in the living room, one leg draped lazily over the armrest. What comes next is no surprise to you–a shock of primary colors filling the narrow doorway, a handsome face made ghoulish by the haunting light of the television in an otherwise dark room.

“You nailed the door shut,” Homelander says, the inflection of his voice somewhere between a question and a statement.

“Because you broke it,” you throw back, a stale Twizzler balanced between your lips. It had tasted good enough when you started eating it, but now–in his presence–the sweetness of it has turned sour.

“You changed the locks,” he says with a light shrug, cape swaying as he meanders towards you. “My key didn’t work.”

“Your key? Stealing a key to my house does not make it your key,” you say tersely, lifting your foot to press it firmly to his thigh, stopping him in his tracks. 

He glances down, a mirthless smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before he catches your ankle in his gloved hand, yanking you down the couch so suddenly you lose your Twizzler to the floor with a gasp. It’s one thing to know that Homelander has strength enough to throw cars like frisbees. It’s another to feel it. It sends a rush of adrenaline through you like a jolt, followed swiftly by something hotter low in your naval.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking,” he begins, dropping your ankle. He lifts his knee and slots it between your legs, his opposite boot on the floor, his hand braced on the back of the couch, pinning you in place.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” you cut in dryly, moving to shift up the couch, away from him. He snatches your shoulder, halting you with ease. His thumb strokes your skin idly, goosebumps erupting beneath his touch.

“And I’ve realized that this whole… thing between you and I, this ‘will they, won’t they,’ ” he says, bobbing his head side to side. “It’s getting stale. Don’t you think it’s about time we progressed the plot?” He asks, leaning in close.

You brace your hand against his chest, holding him in place as ineffectually as you did earlier. You both know it’s all a game. It’s all pretense. There had been fondness between you once–love, even–but you’re done with that now. You have to be done with it, or Homelander will swallow you whole. He’s a black pit, a murderer, and his need knows no end. He’ll destroy you and everything you know and love if he thinks it’ll satiate that need.

You’ve lost enough. You can’t afford to lose any more of yourself to him.

“Jesus Christ, you even think in TV script,” you say, pushing on his chest. He leans back, but not by much. It sends a terrible little chill down your spine. “I’m starting to think the only thing that might actually kill you is an original thought.”

His eyes narrow and his bright white teeth flash predatorily in the darkness. “You’re lucky I haven’t broken your neck,” he says, hand slipping from your shoulder to your throat. The sharp press of his thumb into your windpipe steals your breath, makes your thighs tighten on either side of his leg snug between yours. His lips split into an unkind grin. “Or maybe not. You’d probably like that.”

“You’re disgusting,” you spit, gripping his wrist with your other hand. Your pulse is starting to throb against the leather of his glove. He moves his thumb from your windpipe to your jaw and turns your head away, leaning in with a deep, pointed inhale along your neck.

“Is that why your hormones are going haywire? Because I disgust you?” He asks, grinding his thigh between your legs in a way that makes you gasp. “Y’know, given how full of it you are, I was sure I’d smell the bullshit on you. But all I smell… is how fucking wet you are.”

He grabs your hip and the memories come to you like muscle memory. How good it feels to be gripped and fucked and loved by someone beyond your comprehension. To feel as if you’ve stopped the world turning and called the sun itself to shine on you alone.

You twist your chin out of his grip and level him with a heated stare. “I hate you,” you hiss, grasping for the knife you know will twist the deepest. 

It works for a second, his smug expression faltering, but only for an instant. His jaw sets, and his lips curl into that same unkind smile. “C’mon, babe,” he coos, the intimate familiarity woven into that pet name making your skin crawl. “We both know that I can always tell when you’re lying.”

He kisses you like he always has. Like you belong to him. In a way, you suppose you always will. There’s nothing you can do to pry your throat from Homelander’s jaws. Nowhere you can run that he won’t eventually find you. Like quicksand, the more you fight, the tighter he clamps down. Truth be told, though, that isn’t the worst of it. The worst of it is that the tighter he grips you, the less you want to fight him.

His tongue slithers into your mouth like a serpent into the garden and you bite down hard. While pliant between your teeth, the flesh doesn’t yield. It never will. He never will. Instead he moans a little chuckle that fades into a rumble against your lips.

“That how it’s gonna be?” He asks, the words rasped into your mouth. “Y’wanna bite and claw? Play hard to get?” He laughs, the sound of it reedy and light, like it’s all a silly little game of make-believe. “I can do that.”

He reeks of his own desperation for what he says to be true. More than anything, he wants to dress up his desires as yours. He wants to believe he’s giving you what you want. That way, he can trick himself into believing you need him.

He bites the middle tip of his glove and tugs it off with his teeth, tossing it aside. His bare thumb brushes your lip, smearing his spit and yours. “I saw you with that fucking loser,” he says, the airiness suddenly gone from his voice.

Your stomach drops. Two days ago you’d been with a man. You’d been so desperate to forget him that night that anyone would have done the job. You stumbled out with some nobody from the bar who’d been good enough for a sloppy makeout session in the back of his truck, but not good enough to bring home. It hadn’t ended well.

How close of an eye is Homelander keeping on you?

“I’d be angry if it hadn’t been so fuckin’ pathetic,” he says through his teeth.

“Liar,” you say tightly. You feel his fury in the tension of his body. He’s pissed that you’d seek this out anywhere else. As if he still has a claim over your body. Your pleasure.

His eyes flash up to yours. He sneers, pushing his thumb between your lips. “I watched you bite his lip until he bled. I watched him slap you,” he says, dragging the pad of his thumb along the ridges of your bottom teeth. The memories come to you as he speaks them, every moment of it made bleary by alcohol. “You wanted it rough, but he couldn’t handle you, could he? Because you’re used to something better. You’re used to a god.”

You sneer right back at him, yanking your head to the side, his thumb slipping from between your lips. “Could you be any more in love with yourself? Go fuck yours-”

“I still had to kill him, of course,” he continues nonchalantly, grinding your thoughts to a screeching halt. He laughs humorlessly. “For kissing you. And, well–for everything else, obviously. Slapping you,” he says, brushing his knuckles down your cheek. The same one the man had struck. “Humping your leg like a fucking dog.”

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, throat tight. Bile burns at the back of it. All you wanted was to get away from this. The blood, the horror of it. Yet no matter what you do to dissuade him, he brings death to your doorstep. “You have everything. You could have anyone. Why are you–”

“Because I want you,” he hisses, words so sharp his sharp teeth snap together. “Because I love you, and that’s what you do when you love someone,” he says. You can feel the accusation building in his words. “You don’t give up on them. And if that means cleaning up every dirty little mistake you make,” he says softly, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “So be it.” 

A cold shiver rolls down your spine. You stare woundedly at him, lips parted, brows pinched together, the misery of it all etched into every line of your face. He stares at you in turn, and after a beat, his own hard expression softens.

“Hey, hey,” he says, the heat of his breath a ghostly kiss on your lips. “It’s okay,” he says, brushing the tip of your nose with his. “I forgive you.”

He kisses you again, more tender now. Your eyes prickle with tears. His gentleness hurts so much more than his violence. It disarms you, carries you to a time when things were simpler between you. Sweeter and warmer. 

Homelander makes the world feel wonderful and dangerous, like standing in the middle of an electric storm. Being loved by him is the feeling of having your ribs cracked open, your heart cradled in his bare hands, possessive and bloody. What had been thrilling grew stifling, a feeling you realize now never truly went away.

He’s inescapable, literally and figuratively. Even when he isn’t inviting himself into your home or lurking in the periphery of your vision, Vought’s hero is plastered on every billboard and screen in the city. You haven't been able to breathe without inhaling the thick miasma of him.

Tears roll down to your temples as you kiss him back, both hands fisted in his soft hair, tugging. He makes a pleased little sound against your lips, teeth grazing your bottom lip. He’s always kissed like a man possessed–like every brush of your lips is a drop of salvation–but the hunger he’s developed since you tried to leave him is unparalleled. He kisses you like he means to devour you whole.

You bite back a sob, but the hiccuped noise of it catches his attention nonetheless. He breaks from you, looking down at you with a feverish mix of yearning, impatience and something that almost resembles pity, which might be the closest thing he knows to sympathy.

“Hey,” he coos, dusting your jaw with feather light kisses. “Don’t cry.”

“It’s awful,” you choke out.

“What is?”

“Your love.”

“I know,” he says after a prolonged pause. “It’s all I know.”

You look at him, the image of him bleary through your tears. There’s a morose resignation in his ocean-storm eyes, a distance that makes him seem far, far away from you, even as you taste the heat of his breath on your lips.

Focus returns to his gaze, and suddenly he’s present again. “It’s all I know,” he says again, his tone made of wood, stiff and splintering.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you lift your palm to his cheek, hovering just shy of touching. He’s pulled to it like a magnet, nuzzling into your palm, eyes closing. His hand slides down the familiar slopes of your body, settling at your hip, where his fingertips sink in like claws, the pressure of them shy. For as vicious as things have gotten between you, he’s never hurt you. A fact he lords over you as if he should be applauded for it.

I love you more than anything. You know that, right? That I would never do anything to hurt you? He’d asked you during that first fight. When everything went wrong. 

You’d only been able to nod then, trapped with a man you didn’t recognize wearing the face of the man you loved.

That’s right. Of course you do. Because if I wanted to hurt you, I would have. It would have been easy, huh?

Despite how desperately you’ve tried to fortify yourself against him, it’s still so easy.

Homelander is an aberration, but so too is he a man, and there was a time when the man was all that you saw. When the monster at the core of him reared its head, bloody and unrepentant, that became all you could see in him. Now, the two are so irrevocably tangled in the sinew of the other, you’re never sure which you’re looking at.

“I miss you,” you confess to the man in him, voice so soft only his ears possibly could have discerned the words. As if you can hide the words from the monster lurking behind if you speak them quietly enough. 

He looks as confused as your own aching heart. “I’m here,” he says, everything in his tone willing you to believe it. He doesn’t understand that you miss who he was before you knew what he was.

A mournful noise swells in your chest, but he kisses you before it can escape. “I’m here,” he says again, the hand at your hip turning into a fist in the fabric of your clothes, tearing them at the seams. “I’ll make you feel better,” he says between presses of his lips, hungry and rushing, like he can outspeed your miserable grief. “Let me make you feel good.”

Sex has always been an avenue of redemption for Homelander. Whether he’s frustrated, anxious, wounded or a combination of them all, he’s sought to remedy it through a good orgasm. He treats you as though the notion should hold true for you: the fight doesn’t count so long as he makes you come.

Yet again, you’re left stricken by him. As you have a dozen times before, all you can do is nod. Deep in your core, you know he’s right. He can make you forget this horrible ache in yourself, the grief and the fear. He can take you away to the dream you’d lived before you met the beast in his shadow. 

Coherent thought turns to water slipping between the cracks of your mind as Homelander’s bare fingers brush your inner thigh. You suck in a sharp breath that leaves you as a shudder and you clutch at his collar, twisting the fabric, unsure if you mean to push him away or pull him closer.

Homelander makes the choice for you, closing the distance and kissing you too gently, too sweetly. You spur him with your teeth, needing it faster, harder. Needing it to hurt just enough to not feel entirely right. He ignores your prompt, focused wholly on tasting you, on sliding his fingers up into the waiting warmth between your thighs. He presses the pad of his middle finger to your clit, deft and familiar.

You sigh, closing your eyes, ready to lose yourself to the feel of something good. He slides serpentine down your body, kissing you through your shirt, nipping at your skin through the fabric for the way it makes you jump. His lips trail down until they pass the hem of your shirt, finding where he’s stripped you. His mouth is unbearably warm, breath hot huffs on your bare skin, goosebumps erupting everywhere.

He mouths at your hip, sucks the skin dark before trailing further down, leaving a constellation with his lips. The scorching wet heat of his tongue feels like a brand on your clit, replacing his hand with his mouth. 

You thread your fingers into his hair, widening the spread of your legs to allow for the way he shoulders under and between them, lifting your lower half. He nuzzles into the nectary sweetness of you, moaning unabashedly for your familiar taste.

What do I taste like? You asked him once, drunk on pleasure and those early honeymoon days of loving him. Everything about him fascinated you; did his super smell lend itself to super taste? Could he pick out each note of you, dissect your profile into sections?

He’d been slow to answer, thinking it over.

Love, he said at last. Like you love me.

You wonder if that holds true. If he can still taste love in you, if that’s why he’s so eager to devour you, or if the absence of it has made him even hungrier. If he plunges his tongue to the core of you in the hopes he might discover lingering shreds of what the two of you once had.

A moan escapes you. His fingers bite into your thighs, tongue coaxing more. Restraint dissipating, you tighten your grip on his hair and tug, grinding hard against his mouth. He knows the stepping stones of your pleasure as well as you know yourself, knowing just when to suck, when to lick. He’s more relentless than any other man could hope to be, never needing to stop for breath, never succumbing to aching muscles. He maintains a pace that sends you careening so viciously towards release, you give a choking gasp when it hits you, your head thrown back against the couch as euphoric relief rolls through you in waves.

Homelander shrugs out from under your trembling thighs, his mouth slick and shining, eyes predator wide. You’re both panting, silently gauging the other. You’re first to break the standoff, his hunger infectious. You climb onto your knees and grab his shoulders, pushing his back to the couch, straddling him. He keens when you kiss him, an addictive sound that gives you a deceptive sense of power.

He murmurs your name in fervent repetition, dragging his mouth along your skin, inhaling you like a drug. You unbuckle his belt with the ease of experience, unzip his pants and slip your hand inside. Curling your fingers around his cock, you find it already hard and dripping in anticipation.

“Anything you want,” he breathes, the words coming between the prayer-like recitation of your name. “Money, diamonds, anything, I’ll make you a queen,” he says, eyelids fluttering at your touch. He pledges these things like an act of devotion, but you recognize this Faustian bargain for what it is. It will cost you your heart and soul.

“I’ll make you a god,” he moans at a particularly deft twist of your wrist.

Making you come will have to be enough for now.

“Fuck me,” you tell him breathlessly. “The way I like it.”

Like flipping a switch, the dazed pleasure in his eyes sharpens. The corners of his mouth tug, his upper lip twitches, eager tension slipping into his touch as his hands slide up your thighs, grasping your hips. His fingers sink in tight enough to bruise, despite the gentleness of his touch. The immeasurable power lurking within his unassuming frame is a novelty that never wears off, a thrill that shocks you to your core no matter how many times you experience it.

Like a vicious storm, he’s beautiful and terrible in equal measure. Caught in the eye of his maelstrom, the only thing left for you to do is weather him.

He guides you down onto his cock in one slow, agonizing pull. Even with his spit and your orgasm easing the way, it’s too much all at once. Relishing the aching burn of being split apart by him, you make a noise that gives him pause. You don’t let him stop. You brace your hands on his shoulders and lift off of him almost entirely before sinking back down deeper than you had before, wringing a moan from him in turn.

Homelander’s fingers dig securely into your back as your bodies slot together and find an old, familiar rhythm. By now he knows exactly the angle to take to best pleasure you. You let out a shaky sigh at the warmth that spreads through you, the pressure of your climax building, his heat sinking into you like the light of the sun itself.

You’re used to a god.

You cup his face and kiss him. You bite his lip until you should taste blood. You dig your nails into his skin so hard your knuckles ache. If he notices it, he’s only pleased by it.

“I’d move heaven and hell for you,” he swears between kisses, ripping the shirt from your body. The cool air hits your damp, hot skin like a shock. 

“I don’t want them,” you say, voice catching on one of his sharp and sudden thrusts. He’s close. You can feel it in the tightness of his muscles, in the erratic, merciless way he drives into you.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, voice reedy, tight. He kisses down your chest, scrapes his teeth over the swell of your breasts. “They’re yours. It’s all yours. I’m yours.”

Those words should hit you like a prison sentence, but they don’t.

They make you come.

Homelander holds you tightly as he, too, breaks into pieces, filling you with light and heat. He chokes more promises against your skin, kisses the salt from your skin and licks it greedily from his lips. You spin in place in his arms, dizzy on your own orgasm, riding out the aftershocks with his cock throbbing against the quiver of your cunt.

For a long while there’s nothing but the sound of your breaths and the distant din of the television. The tremors wracking your body gradually fade, and the chill of the open air begins to set in.

Homelander holds you tight as the sweat on your skin cools. He kisses a trail from your neck to your shoulder, nuzzling there before he rests his head down, face tucked into the crook of your neck. You feel wrung dry, eyelids heavy. You card your fingers absently through his hair, body boneless against his. Your eyes ache from crying, but you don’t mind it. Strung out like this, the aches left in the wake of pain and pleasure both feel equally good.

“It’s late,” he says warmly, a smile in his tone. He sounds lovesick, the way you both did once upon a time. Back then, you thought you knew every dark corner of his insatiable heart. “We should sleep.”

“Okay,” you agree, voice frayed. He lifts you gingerly from his lap, adjusting to cradle your naked body to his chest. Despite how Homelander unspools himself before you, you’re always the one left reduced. Bare and vulnerable both physically and emotionally. You slip your arms around his neck as he stands, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I could take you to the tower,” he whispers, sending a chill down your spine. “My bed’s bigger.”

“No,” you say, remembering a door you cannot reach, no matter how many times you grasp for it, and the god’s hands that sent you spinning. He’s already so capable of turning your home into a prison. You’re not sure you’d ever escape his penthouse. “I want mine.”

Perhaps the most terrible fact of all is that Homelander is neither a god nor a monster. 

He is simply a man without limitation.

“Sure,” he says, kissing your cheek. The touch lingers, dripping with his adoration. “Anything you want.”

So long as it includes him.

[lilevixen]

yalll… gyro zeppeli… GYRO ZEPPELI

[jagershot]

need to ride gyro like crazy rn 👅👅👅 love ur work btw<3

Hi anon!! tyvm & i hope you’ll enjoy this

Save a horse, ride a cowboy!

Gyro Zeppeli x reader

synopsis: you got tired of riding Valkyrie all day long, and based on your attitude, he knew you needed to ride something else

cws: dom-ish!Gyro, petnames, thigh riding, cock riding, almost getting caught, age gap (reader is 21 gyro is 24 but acts like a grandpa), gyro has stamina😛

Tired. That described best what you were, besides hungry and annoyed. “Gyrooo,” You whined, legs aching from the position you were in since 9pm yesterday. It was currently midday, and the southern heat had made your skin crawl with sweat. “You said we’d stop to get a bite hours ago!” You complained, horse keeping up with his and Johnny’s. He sighed, “Not yet, doll.” Gyro replied.

“Can’t we at least stop to get some water? I’m dying, and tired.” You added, walking concomitantly with Johnny, while Gyro was leading. “I have some on me, if you’d like.” Johnny offered, passing you his glass bottle. You thanked him before downing the remaining water.

Gyro interrupted you, “We’ll get to a pit stop by tonight. A little motel my younger brother owns.” He informed, eyes stuck on the road. It was so, so empty and dry outside, you thought the only enemy the three of you could encounter was the rain. You held your tongue, wanting to complain yet knowing that one too many reproaches weren’t going to get you on Gyro’s good side anytime soon.

The rest of the day felt like a bottomless pit, warmth, thirst, and hunger turning you into a different woman. The sun was setting, and it became the moon’s occupation to guide you to safety for another night. You spotted a flickering light in the distance. “‘s that it, Gyro?” Johnny asked softly. You were laying on your horse on your stomach, as if he were an armrest. You lifted your head to look at Gyro, who hummed in response.

“Finally.” You muttered to your horse, Valkyrie. “We’ll get you fed in no time, little prince.” You whispered to him, hands brushing his sides. And in no time it was, by the time you guys made it, the moon shined in all its glory on the dotted sky, cold breeze passing you gracefully.

You heard both Gyro and Johnny get off their horses. Gyro turned to you, patting your back. “C’mon, doll.” He grumbled. Doll, you thought, you hated yourself for the dampness that would emerge from your cunt every time Gyro called you that. You stepped off, legs shaking.

You tripped, holding onto your horse as not to fall. “Ya okay?” Gyro raised an eyebrow. You shook your head, he chuckled, turning around to grab your arm. “And you were calling me a grandpa!” He exclaimed, making it inside.

“You are.” You chuckled lazily. “This grandpa’s carrying you to yer bed.” He replied, squeezing your arm.

Luckily for you, your room was on the first floor, next to Johnny’s. “Just two rooms? There are three of us.” You furrowed your eyebrows as Gyro dropped you onto the bed. “Be grateful we aren’t paying.” He replied, golden hair brushing past you as he moved to close your blinds. “I’m sleeping with Johnny. Knock if you need anything.” He added, closing the door behind him.

Finally some alone time, you thought to yourself. Sure, Johnny and Gyro were great company, but sometimes you needed to be alone. Your thoughts tended to get the best of you, and just like everyone, you could get quite needy sometimes.

It wouldn’t be a first, thinking about either Gyro or Johnny giving it to you, even though you preferred Gyro over Johnny, he seemed more..dominant maybe. You slipped in the showers, legs still fighting for their life as you rinsed the soap off you.

Maybe tonight was one of those nights, when you wished Gyro would just step in and finger you. Maybe he’d be the kind of guy who whispers kind, soft things to you. Or maybe he’d slap your ass while forcing your face into the pillow, you could only pray to find out.

You turned the water off, drying yourself down with a red towel. You considered going to sleep naked because of how heated you felt, however you were a bit sceptical when it came to the cleanliness of these sheets, so you slipped into a t-shirt you brought, feeling frisky and going commando.

You lay down, covering yourself with the sheets, tossing and turning as the moonlight greeted your bare face. You swore an hour passed before you could take a breath and feel as if you were on the brink of sleep, and even then, you were bothered by a knock on your door. You groaned, bare feet touching the cold linoleum. You unlocked your door, being greeted by snarky Gyro.

“Do you mind if I crash here? Johnny sleeps like a madman.” He complained, abs shining in the dim light. You shook your head, moving from the doorway. Gyro threw his pillow on your bed, he chuckled. “You hug a pillow to sleep?” He rasped.

Your ears were tinted pink, “Can’t sleep. Desperate times call for desperate measures.” You whispered. And maybe it was something in the air, or Gyro was intensely dehydrated, “C’mere.” he muttered, throwing your pathetic pillow on the ground. You obeyed, trying to keep your legs together, scared of what Gyro might say if he noticed you weren’t wearing any panties.

His strong arms were wrapped around you, calloused hands rubbing circles on your nape. You whined quietly into his arms, warmth overwhelming you. Gyro moved one of his clothed legs between yours, trying to accommodate himself. You spread your legs shamefully, feeling his thigh flex against your puffy clit.

Unfortunately, your dampness had nowhere else to go besides for Gyro’s pants. You pretended to be asleep, palms feeling his warm chest. You tried to ignore the growing pain in between your legs that only Gyro would be able to handle. Your nails scratched at his chest, forming a punch with your fingers. You bit your bottom lip, feeling his thigh flex under you with precision.

Gyro lowered his hands to your hips, slowly grinding your hips against his thigh. Your breath shuddered, “What’re you doing, Gyro?” You asked quietly, not opposing.

“I can feel how wet you are through my pants, doll. Don’t tell me you don’t want this.” He rasped, the words got stuck in your throat, only sound coming out being a pathetic whimper as you wrapped your legs around his thigh properly, moving your hips faster. “T-thank you.” You whispered in the nook of his neck.

You slowed your movements down, deciding to try your luck. “Gyro.” You sighed softly, hands roaming around his abs. “Hm?” his voice turned you on even more. “Can I..” You started, already regretting your decision.

“Can I ride you?” You murmured, earning a loud chuckle from Gyro, who only moved you on top of him. You blushed, fingers playing with the band of his pants. You slid them off with ease, watching as his leaky cock sprang out.

Gyro stood tall at 8 inches, not lacking in girth either. You thought you’d die if you had to take it all, alone. Your fingers brushed over his tip, causing Gyro to groan quietly. You lifted your hips, feeling his tip graze your understimulated bud before reaching your hole, which wanted to suck him up in one swift movement. You lowered yourself onto his cock, feeling impaled by it.

“G-gyro!” You whimpered, resting your hands on his chest. “Tha’s right, sweetheart. Take it like a big girl.” He groaned proudly, taking your left hand in his and pressing a kiss to each of your fingers. You clenched around him, somehow feeling even more turned on by his actions. “Y’re so big.” Your whines were interrupted by Gyro grabbing you by your neck and mushing his lips into yours.

He groaned into the kiss, biting your bottom lip. Your hands moved to his nape, tangling themselves in his sun-blessed locs. “F-fuck, take it.” Gyro groaned, pulling away to catch his breath. Your hips didn’t stop their attack on his, praise only making you want to fuck yourself even harder on him.

You accidentally let out a wanton moan, earning a slap on the tit from Gyro. “Ya really want this entire motel to hear how good you feel on m’cock? Yeah? You’re a little slut, aren’t you?” Gyro teased, fucking up into you frantically. The motherfucker felt you clench around him, “‘m..’m not!” You argued back, yet your pussy was telling him something else.

“Really, doll? So you don’t want Johnny to bust ‘n here and see you fuck yourself dumb on my cock?” Gyro’s snarky remark was interrupted by a groan, feeling you bite down on his shoulder. Truth be told, if Johnny even heard the two of you, you’d be content, on cloud nine just because he’d see that you’re his and his only. You shook your head, “N-no! You’re the only one who gets t-to!” Your wails made Gyro chuckle.

His hand moved back to your tit, this time massaging the zone he left red. His cold lips made contact with your neck, leaving huge bite marks everywhere. “G-gonna cum,” You moaned, clit brushing against his pelvic hair. Gyro kept himself trimmed, blonde hair camouflaging perfectly with his skin.

He smiled against your skin, moving his hands to your hips, dipping his fingers into the fat of your ass. Gyro’s strong arms bounced you up and down his cock like a fleshlight, green eyes stuck on your jiggling chest. “Let go f’me, beauty.” He rasped, thrusts becoming irregular and messy.

Gyro enjoyed feeling you squeeze him, watching as you tried using your hands to stabilise yourself, gripping his wrists as he fucked into you with imprecise thrusts. You felt your climax hit you like a wave, ripples of pleasure causing you to squirt on him. Gyro chuckled proudly, “So good f’me, my lovely girl.” his praises made your ears ring, pace relentless as he was chasing his own orgasm.

Gyro filled you up, hot spurts of cum painting your walls white, “F-fuck.” He groaned, resting his head on your tits after stilling his movements. You wrapped your arms around his nape, fingers gripping at the roots of his hair, causing Gyro’s cock to twitch before spurting his last drops pathetically.

“You alright, doll?” Gyro huffed, calloused thumbs rubbing circles on each side of your torso. You nodded, forehead resting atop his. “You were amazing, Gyro. Are you okay?” You asked softly, daringly grabbing his face and brushing your thumbs over his cheeks. He nodded, you pulled him into a kiss, ignoring the uncomfortable, sticky feeling between your legs. Gyro sucked on your bottom lip, bringing one hand to toy with your left tit, pointer and thumb taking your nipple and tottering it. You whined into the kiss.

Gyro felt eager than ever, grabbing you by your hips and placing you under him. You chuckled, moving two strands of hair from his face. “You look handsome. You are handsome.” You brushed his reddened lip.

Uh oh. Gyro was hard again.

author’s note: this was my first req ever hope i did good!! please don’t translate, copy, or share my work without my permission + my inbox is very much open to let ur freak out

[point-two-two]

yeah

[bloodovey-deactivated20251107]

google how do i stop the wave of nausea i feel whenever i get jealous. google how do i stop feeling like i wanna crawl out of my skin when i feel unwanted. google answer me

[planetsano]

so… since its the new year can we collectively agree to get the vibes right and back to how they used to be on ani fic tumblr in 2020-2022?

[poppy-metal]

re-entering my slut era

[lexxnova]

RIP to the opportunities we missed because of shyness and low self esteem.

[valtsv]

the worst thing about writing or any kind of craft is having an idea you're really excited to make a reality but then you sit down and realize how much work it's going to take to get to that point and suddenly you feel like those two little gay guys in the mountain in the lord of the rings

[valtsv]

do you remember how good it was in our head mr frodo

[aliferousdreamer]

i feel so bad for lucas. he's made his intentions clear by joining the basketball team from the start. him, mike and dustin all said they wanted high school to be different and he's sticking by what they said. he just wants him and the gang to stop being bullied because they're outcasts... like he's not even doing it for himself; he's doing it for everyone.

then lucas said that mike and dustin coming to his big game was really important to him and yet they chose a campaign over him. he saw them exiting the hellfire club looking like they had an amazing time without him, like they didn't even care that he was there or not. he had no one - not a single person - come to support him. lucas' ambition and efforts to experience a better life is lowkey being punished by his friends.

he's also trying his best with max. he's being so concerned, gentle and understanding with her even though she's evidently been brushing him off for months. he won't give up on her. he offers her the ticket, sees her suffering and expresses his worries but doesn't get angry and push her. he's so patient and understanding.

lucas is trying his damn best. he's so underappreciated by his friends. he's trying to better himself whilst helping all of them and he deserves better.

[lilevixen]

i be craving a relationship so bad until i remember the type of love i want, no, the love i KNOW i deserve is that fictional love, that intricately-plotted, slow-burn, gnaw-on-your-pillow-in-the-middle-of-the-night kind of love. not a fucking slide up on my instagram story. real life going to sob WHY can’t i just write the love of my life into existence dear lord i beg

[konoko]

[pupdotcom]

your honor, in my defense: who cares like omfggggggggg who cares???????????? like. come On

[levi-lover]

horny for love! yearning for sex!