#consensually course!!

[ptieuca]

buffy + wearing her cross necklaces backwards around angel

[corpusdiem-seizethedead]

*Angel and Husk taking Nuggets for a walk, minding their business*

Some rando: Slut!

Angel: *stops*

Angel: Hold my pig-

Husk: Kick his ass, baby. I got your pig-

[chains4w-gutzfuckk]

men who use any variation of ':3', 'xD', '>.<', '^_^' will be pegged on sight

[roronoagem]

something about luffy being hungry all the time makes me think that he gets pussy drunk and you have to physically fight him to make him stop because he loves you too much he can’t get enough of your pretty pussy.

[le-chevalier-au-lion]

#FF0000: rosquez [t]

Valentino had been—thinking. He is having fun, really, this season despite Jorge’s general existence a few meters away. And he likes races in the US, its plastic artificiality, people’s way, way, way too white teeth and loud laughs and exaggerated sports passion. Bringing home a podium is always good.

A little less now, sure, because he knows he can win again. Knows he’s going to, eventually; it isn’t like he can do anything else with Yamaha. But Valentino won’t forget Ducati kicking his legs from under him—wishing that the bike would just fucking work for one weekend over two fucking years.

So, he’s happy. Enjoying himself, even if the club is gritty and cheap and stuffed, sweat sticking to his throat and dripping down his back to his underwear, his beer lukewarm.

Until he catches Marc weaving through the crowd, that is.

Getting up is a split-second decision. One moment, Valentino is sitting with his mechanics, ignoring them shouting over the music. The next, he’s prowling, drink abandoned, his crew calling after him.

He ends up catching Marc close to the bar. Grabs him by the wrist. Marc’s skin is fever hot, and he sways in place when he swings around to look at him.

“Honda is being stingy with you. This place is shit,” Valentino says, flashing a smirk.

Marc—honest to God—cackles, and the pulsing lights wash over his face, over the ugly openness of his honking laugh. Like this, Valentino can see him, really see him. The fritz of champagne and beer sizzles in his stomach, heavy out of nowhere.

Marc had been with a girl, is the thing. Maybe more than one. It’s there, on his bottom lip, on his chin—smeared lipstick. Red and very bright. Bit waxy.

Cheap, probably.

“No, no, it is fine,” Marc leans in to shout into his ear. “We’re barhopping!”

He says it in English, clumsy, his accent rolling each r hard, cutting sharp on the ing. It’s, frankly, ridiculous.

And his breath is hot, damp. Reeks with alcohol where it brushes against his cheek. Marc is swinging with the beat of whatever shitty synth pop they’re playing, so Valentino needs to steady him, a hand on the small of his back, fingers hooked on his belt loops. He feels mean, though—suddenly. Not a pleasant sensation.

His smile turns harsh. It’s like holding a knife between his teeth.

“Are you even old enough to drink here?”

Valentino wants Marc wrong-footed, wants to prod at him until he winces or—well. But Marc only shakes his head, beaming, crucially still covered in lipstick. There’s some on his collar too. And another drippy, blurred mark on his throat.

“Nope! But Honda, ah—” He makes an exaggerated gesture for passing money around, almost trips over himself.

Marc ends up knocking into Valentino, all wild-eyed, sloppy with drink. Their chests are brushing. Valentino—it hasn’t moved an inch, that prickly, unkind feeling, thorns going down his throat when he swallows.

This close, he can smell Marc—sweat, champagne, something sticky and too sweet and overly feminine. It’s cloying. Nauseating along the stench of way too many people packed together, writhing or dancing

It grates on Valentino’s nerves for the first time in his life, that there are so many people out on a Sunday night—Monday morning, whatever, it’s even worse if it’s already Monday. He has no idea why.

“Ah, ah, underage drinking, bribery?” Valentino waggles his eyebrows in mock reproach, counting on his fingers. Marc immediately straightens—tries to, at least. Christ, alright. “You’re being bad. Very naughty.”

There’s something about Marc, in his too shiny eyes, in the stubborn way he juts out his jaw. His bottom lip wobbles, though. “It’s my first win.”

“First time going out without your dad too, I guess.”

He mouths along Valentino’s words before they dawn on him. Blinks. Scowls.

Valentino doesn’t give him time to answer. It’s easy now, to try and make him squirm. “Allora, did you sneak out of your hotel room? Told your dad you’d stay with your brother—what’s his name—and play video games?”

Marc ducks his head to the side, lips pressed together. It’s hard to say for sure, but Valentino thinks he’s flustered. Blushing. A nice, girlish pink—a lot more proper than the red on his mouth. Goes along with his tanned skin better.

It needles under Valentino’s skin. Everything does—Marc, and lipstick, and the club, and the girl, maybe girls, and Marc again. He can feel his hands prickling.

“Can’t miss out, hm?” He slides his tongue over his teeth, watches Marc watch him with his usual shamelessness. “When will you get the chance to get sucked off in a dirty restroom again, right? The smell of piss is, ah, an experience.”

Marc warbles in a breath. “It isn’t like that,” he protests weakly.

Valentino raises an eyebrow. It is very much like that—he remembers Donington Park well enough, in 2000, how he’d crawled back to his hotel room at 8 in the morning horribly, horribly smug.

He reaches down between them. Marc jolts, sucks in his stomach on an instinct, his eyes huge, like a baby deer’s. His belt is done all wrong, crooked, too loose, the lip hanging out. The button of his jeans is open. At least, he thinks, less amused than he makes himself look, he remembered to zipper up.

Valentino tsks. “I think it is,” he says, shaking his head, pretending to be oh so disappointed. “You’re being reckless. What will the journalists say when they catch you like this? You don’t want a scandal.”

Marc is frozen in place. Valentino catches his throat bobbing when he plays his button hole, threading his finger into it.

“You’re making fun of me,” he manages to say. It’s a reedy, sullen thing.

He barks out a laugh. “Not too much, you’re still here.”

Maybe it’s the waste of it all getting to him, scratching under his skin. Marc is heavier than him, already more muscular. With the right bra, he might look like he has a nice pair of tits. And there’re his eyes, almost demure, long lashes fanning over his cheeks. And his mouth, too—pretty, insolent. Stained with some random girl’s lipstick.

So Valentino thought about it. Only a bit, in his defense. Hard to not, when you have something so eager one step lower than you on the podium. All that adoration…

The cut of his jaw is too sharp, and his voice too deep, but if you look at him right, or gag him with something, it’s just like fucking a woman in the ass.

Valentino clicks his tongue. Taps low on Marc’s stomach, feeling it jump under his touch. “Am I making too much fun of you?”

He speaks slowly, almost thoughtfully. Whiplash hits Marc like a slap on the face, and he hesitates for a moment, scrambling for words. His gaze keeps sliding down, to where Valentino is touching him. It’s not hard, to figure out what he wants.

“No, it’s—I’m having fun,” he says, almost too quiet to hear.

The words are scorching against the side of Valentino’s face.

“Odd idea of fun.”

Marc laughs again, like Valentino is absolutely hilarious. Or like he’s drunk. Valentino isn’t—drunk, that is—but he isn’t thinking, either.

He licks his thumb, then has do it again—his mouth tastes dry, like something has died inside it. Marc stops laughing. It’s the easiest thing in the world, to brush away the sloppy kiss mark on the hollow of his throat. Straighten his collar. Rub at his chin until it’s clean too.

The lipstick was cheap. It comes off just like that.

“What are you doing?” He asks, breathlessly, in a rattle of Spanish.

Doesn’t move one inch away, of course. Valentino grins.

“You had a little something on your face,” he shrugs, “I’m looking out for you.”

“Thanks,” Marc manages to croak out.

But there’s still—on his mouth proper. He wonders, idly, out of his own body, how easy it would be to wipe that off too. With his tongue, maybe. How easy it would be to go from that to getting his hand inside Marc’s jeans right there.

He doesn’t want to. In this light, now that it isn’t so smudged, Marc could be in makeup. Really. The waxy red glints.

“There.” Marc is trembling in his hold, like a live wire. Valentino trails his finger over his lips, too light. “You don’t want to meet Honda looking like a whore, do you?”

Marc makes a strangled noise—Valentino thinks he does. He can barely hear anything through the pound of blood of in his ears, over the thrumming line of heat between the pad of his thumb and his cock.

“I—”

“You should go. Enjoy your night,” Valentino cuts him off, very magnanimously. “It is your first win, no?”

Marc nods, dazed. Maybe—maybe when he wins again.

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

What do you think of reader having a life changing passionate one night stand with Billy? Got my man thinking of houses with white picket fences and a dog. But he wakes up and she's bolted. How do you think he'll stalk her and find her?

Asking for a friend 👀👀👀👀

I want you to know I've thought about this very idea already.

The idea of him experiencing a woman and realizing that he wants more than a one night stand.

He meets her maybe at a bar, and he's not really paying attention, just going through the motions of seducing her to fill that ache inside of him. But he starts paying attention the minute he fits himself inside of her, and suddenly he can't get enough of her skin and her mouth and the way her hair feels and the sounds she makes

And maybe she makes him laugh, after sex when they're almost asleep she says something that has him laughing and wondering what she'll look like in the morning, and whether he'd have the willpower to stop himself from jumping her and for those brief moments he doesn't feel so alone.

He should have seen her disappearing act coming from a mile away.

He can't forget her, and he doesn't want to, and maybe a few weeks later he catches sight of her at the same bar with another guy chatting with her and he tilts his head and decides that she won't be going home with anyone other than him anytime soon.

Maybe she left because she assumed that was what he'd wanted, she couldn't have been farther from the truth and he's going to make sure she knows it.

[saltpepperbeard]

Just coming on here and giving everyone a huge hug this morning. We’re officially at the two week mark. We’ve all done so much, and so much has happened in that short time frame.

I know so many of us are tired, or discouraged, or burnt. But just know that all of you are so so lovely, and even the smallest things are so so appreciated. Whether that’s filling out the feedback forms, tweeting at the other platforms, reblogging information, being here to lift others up, or taking time to yourself so you can come back for another push later, you’re all doing so, so well.

If nothing else, we’ve all managed to come together, and to shower the cast and crew with so much love.

So I’m sending that same love y’alls way, too. Keep up the good work, keep those fingers crossed, and mostly importantly, take care of yourselves 💜🏴‍☠️

[b1llowo]

What if instead of the Book of Mormon, it was called the book of 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝓼𝓸𝓷, and instead of Elder Price getting the Book of Mormon shoved up his ass, he got Elder McKinley's cock shoved up his ass

[amber-laughs]

barbrey should get to take theon as a pet when everything’s done. not a reek pet like he has a nice room, 3 meals a day and gets to pretty much do his thing but he also cleans up after her and brushes her hair maybe he finger bangs her from time to time idk just spit balling here

[huntquinlan]

i hope elain is a biter

[milolunde]

public proposal GONE WRONG *NOT CLICKBAIT* (HES PREGNANT?)

[virtual-bunny]

when yuuta eats your pussy out he will be there all day and won’t let you rest btw

[oneshotgremlin]

[one-giant-disaster]

POV: You are a tiny and I see you

[heian-era-housewife]

The feminine urge to whip it out and get him unquestionably pregnant.