#gunfuckers

[whirlpool-blogs]

“Take my love, shoot me in the dark” sounds so intriguing! Tell me more!

gunfucking fic lives on, baby!! (original post here)

"Gale." John swallows, eyeing the pistol. "Let’s think this through a moment."

"Oh, I’ve been thinking, that's for sure," replies Gale. "A bombing mission on a Sunday morning, right in the city center? Women and children leaving church at midday? You’re a monster, you know. You’re no better than them."

He brushes his hand underneath John’s jaw. "But you already knew that, didn’t you?"

[explainslowly]

Have been around a gun safety discussion on a discord server which inspired me to write down my thoughtprocess:

You know how on Shriekcast they joke that once the killing curse is introduced, wands essentially become guns? Well it's the other way around on Supernatural. All guns are wands. They know your intent.

The relationship a gun on Supernatural has to a real-world gun is only superficial. A gun on Supernatural would never accidentally discharge. A gun on Supernatural would not kill someone you didn't want to kill. It's not a real-world object, it's magic.

Thus I am retracting my previous posts about how the 'guys shooting guns' show has more magic bladed weapons than magic guns. All the guns on supernatural are actually magical. Have been from the start.

Logically, Winchesters were raised by a vet and taught to shoot from a young age. They should understand how gun safety works. Personally, going by this logic completely breaks the show for me in a way that I do not know how to solve, thus my previous thesis. They are magical guns, you don't need to observe gun safety. The gun is your friend and it knows what you want it to do instictively.

[muttonsnacks]

why is it called a "buttplate"... youre telling me guns have asses?

[agoddamn]

In honor of the latest American mass shooting, I am here to beg you not to support shit like this:

This happens after every goddamn massacre and I'm getting more and more concerned about how pushback against it seems to die down every time.

[saltedsolenoid]

if yiu watn smut reference i think you should read the wilashe cock ring fic

...what's the title?

[yameoto]

RUSSIAN ROULETTE. CAITLYN KIRAMMAN

piltover / zaun civil war

tw; dark!caitlyn, prisoner!reader, blowjob, gunplay, gunjob? gunfucking, drastic power dynamics, degradation, humiliation, bondage, hate sex, bratty!reader, noncon. dead dove. rape. wc; 1.9k ao3 vers.

WHEN Piltover's oh, so fearless leader strides into your humble abode, you can already tell she's having a bad day. Caitlyn's eyes are bloodshot. Hells, she’s still in her uniform. The tresses of silken, inky locks are no longer taut ponytail—stray strands dangling, tangled, cheeks nicked with dried blood. You doubt it's her own.

Your first instinct, as a prisoner chained to the wall and completely at her mercy; is to act like a right fucking brat. Because that’s been working out so well for you, thus far.

“Rough day?” not that you could give a single fuck. “All tired out from gassing out children on the streets? Poor baby."

Caitlyn remains silent as she dismisses the guard with a flick of her wrist, and you're still talking. Yipping away like a dog snapping at her heels. "There are other ways to solve wealth inequality than killing all the poor people, you know." Her stare is glacial.

God, the mouth on you.

She’s considered moving you to her family’s personal prisons. Though, keeping Zaun's lauded revolutionary locked-up in the Kirramman's basement would draw a couple eyebrows. The dungeons under the council-room you so lovingly blew up, along with her mother, suffice.

“Paint a portrait,” You sneer, like the little shit you are. A bloodstain clinging to her sole, that she hasn't scraped off yet. "How 'bout you shoot a gloryhole and fuck that instead, princess."

So you do see the bulge she's packing. Good. She's been aching to unload in you, all day.

"I'm not in the mood for talk." Caitlyn says, coolly, shoving the cellblock door open and stepping inside. Clearly. Her cock is pulsing. She hasn't even made the effort of the usual charade, in drilling you with that perfunctory interrogation sequence—for the benefit of the enforcers stationed at your cell. (Shame. you take your petty joys in turning up your nose and spitting in her face, like some structured caricature of foreplay).

You have such tight lips. Caitlyn delights in prying them open.

“Knew you couldn’t resist. Come back for another round, already?” Somehow, you manage to sound cocky, even though there's a smear of her dried cum streaked just below your brow, from just this morning.

Caitlyn tries to be good. She really does. You just make it so hard.

“Hold this for me.” She orders, like you're one of her little soldiers waiting on her hand and foot. A snarky reply about the shackles around your wrists is on the tip of your tongue. No matter. Caitlyn forces the barrel down your half-open mouth anyway, before you could so much as say bang.

“Mmf—“ Cold metal forces your mouth apart. your eyes widen, pupils swallowing up your irises. This is new. For a moment, blind panic seizes your body, because there is a gun in your mouth. It's not like you don't know there's a guillotine with your name inscribed. (All, 'cut the head off the snake', or whatever eloquent, prissy-spun bullshit Caitlyn spits in your ear as her nails scrape the walls of your cunt).

It's been too long. The war could be over, for all you know. Though, you wouldn't put it past her to keep you past your expiration date.

Speaking of, Caitlyn doesn’t even bother to hush you. She only thrusts, further—far enough to bruise your throat and stop your incessant, muffled whining. Your gag reflex triggers. Unbidden, tears sprout, to burn behind your eyelids. Silently, you buck.

“Oh, don't be so dramatic. You’ve taken worse.” Caitlyn rolls her eyes, languidly pushing the pistol in, and out. In, and, out. She guides in smooth, composed motions—never letting up enough to allow you more than seethe, breathing harshly through your nose. “It’s good practice."

The fiifth time you gag, she finally lifts the barrel out. You were never one to waste the opportunity to snark, even if you really should be saving your breath.

“Holding a dress rehearsal for my public execution? I'm. You must really like me, doll.”

“Oh, no,” Caitlyn drags metal, over your lips. It's warm, from the time it’s spent crammed down your throat “for gagging on my cock.”

Even though you’re expecting it, you lash out—momentarily ripping the veil off your faux swagger. Caitlyn tuts, though she gets a vivid lick of satisfaction from seeing you, bare, for once (and goodness, how much effort you take), before shoving the gun back in place. You fix her with a glower that seeps with pure, divine, hatred—chapped lips puckering goadingly around its muzzle. Screaming for her, to just fuckin' do it, already. Caitlyn almost admires how you haven’t lost your rage, your viciousness. It's the one thing you have in common.

She swiftly upticks the revolver, and jerks it out, callous. The roof of your mouth snags on its sharp-whetted sights, and blood sluices down your throat. You can’t tell the taste from the metallic tang of metal. A string of pink saliva connects its spitsoaked barrel to your sputtering lips, chest heaving.

“Don’t have the balls to take the shot, huh?” You spit, as if there isn’t enough of that smeared over your chin, pooling helplessly into your collar.

“Should you be so lucky.” Caitlyn smiles, the bitch, as she swoops downwards, markedly unblemished hands grasping your jaw. Of course, you think, lividly. Of course Piltover’s own general doesn’t get her hands dirty.

Although, she makes an exception for you. How sweet.

Caitlyn foregoes further fanfare, pushing you downwards. Your limbs fold in on themselves—a lion, declawed. The feeble thrash of your arms, bound at the wrist and hastened to the iron-wrought wall—are no match for the demanding brace of Caitlyn’s thighs as she slides gracefully to her knees, elegant hand seizing you by the throat.

"But I’d make such a pretty martyr," You wheeze, hyperaware of the click of Caitlyn’s belt unbuckling. All of a sudden, you miss the cool sensation of a pistol in your mouth.

Caitlyn, on the other hand, adores this angle. How your eyes sear. Jaw clenched, hollows sucked in rage and hunger—as if you would blow the brains out her head if you could. Seething, at how she has the opportunity herself, but denies you the satisfaction.

Instead, you get this. She untucks herself at a leisurely pace, almost marvelling at the way her cock descends in a mighty shadow, darkening your face. You scowl. Her free hand shoots out to smush your cheeks, the moment you bare your teeth and open your mouth to talk back. So predictable.

“Perhaps if you didn’t spit your food out at the guards, you’d have the strength to put up at least a little fight.” Caitlyn teases, too lightly for the context, as she lines up her flushed, swollen tip against your furiously jammed lips. A gob of pre-cum spouts from the slit, marring your cheek

"Maybe I was saving myself the trouble of hurling it up after we're done."

Caitlyn rolls her eyes. Pushes her head up against your pursed lips. “What are you? The world’s most grating ventriloquist?” She remarks, snide. She's weary of playing games. She needs it, now.

How she's grown so painfully hard, over this whole ordeal. You'd think she’d feel shame over it—so turned-on by something she sees clearly beneath her—but who wouldn’t get off on using their worst enemy like this? You'd do the same, if you were in her position.

At least, that’s what she tells herself when she shoves her cock down your throat.

"Ah.." Caitlyn shudders, the same time muscle memory has you sucking. Her neck arches back in open relief, hips bucking as she presses you, nose flush against the trimmed strip of dark pubes.

Her strokes are torturously slow. The most humiliating thing is the plap, plap, plap sound of her balls slapping against your chin, resounding in the empty dungeons. there is no audience—probably because nothing about this screams Noble House of Kiramman—or even legality. then again, neither does launching nukes into Piltover's place of governance. Tomayto, tomahto.

She withholds her moans for your own benefit, just so you can listen to the obscene sound of yourself, suckling along her dick. Caitlyn’s drags are lazy, relishing the beautiful suction of your lips. Slips herself far enough down your throat, for your swallows to turn to audible gulps, as you try not to choke.

She's not quite yet done. Her fingers dart downwards, twisting your panties aside.

“I don’t even know why you bother wearing these. They’re disgusting.” Rock-hard, a sore reminder of how routine this has become. She hooks them on her pistol, before promptly flicking them across the room, revealing the miserable, glistening wetness of your cunt.

Fuck. Your pussy is sodden like a cat left in the rain, dripping all over the carpet—much to your self-loathing. Caitlyn’s smirk is unrepentant.

“You're getting off on this? You're even dirtier than i thought.” She muses, as you glower hotly upwards, cheeks full of her. “I do hope you used your tongue.”

You're briefly confused by the comment, because, well—you are using your tongue and more—until the slick heat of your pussy swallows cold steel, and you gasp—walls straining, clenching around the foreign intrusion. Caitlyn eases the revolver in, with surprising gentleness. not that it does you any good.

Your spine arches off the wall, mangled noise ripping from your throat. Caitlyn shoves her length in, deeper, an impromptu silencer. “Don't whinge, darling.” she husks, knowing you loathe the pet-name. "It's unbecoming."

She never hurries, despite having places to be. Is it her fault that it feels so good to fuck your throat, like this? To pulse her gun in your cunt, almost playful, as she watches with the hooded eyes how your pussy greedily slurps the pistol to its hilt, before coming out again, glazed with the evidence of just how filthy she knows you to be. Her finger slides over the trigger, voice coming out in a breathy murmur.

“Bang.”

Caitlyn cums in thick, gooey spurts down your throat. Her head lolls back, shoving your head to practically kiss the sharp angles of her pelvis as you take it. Of course you take it. All your bravado, and still, you swallow her load like a beaten dog lapping at water, all the while, her pistol stretches you open. You don't plan it. God, it's like your body has a life of its own—a Pavlovian response, to the taste and feeling of Caitlyn trickling down your throat—but you orgasm like your life depends on it. Maybe it does. Your legs quake, limbs jerking, shoulder-blades scraping against the gritty brick walls as your entire being yanks itself upwards, like a marionette on strings.

When she pulls the revolver out from your cunt, this time; it is creamy white that strings from your helplessly pulsating folds to its hollow. You hiss, cheeks burning, panting—scrabbling back. An animal backed into a corner.

Caitlyn holsters her revolver, dripping with your sweat, your blood, your cum. Always on her person, yet as uncocked as the day it was minted—chamber still full. It’s only purpose is to fuck you stupid. She stands, buckling her belt back up, as you lie there.

“I'll break you, yet.” She promises.

Blood rushes between your ears, back scratched to all hell, bruises at the back of your throat. She’s splattered all over you. You grin.

“Should you be so lucky.”

Caitlyn scoffs, and iron bars screech shut behind her. You know you'll see her again, come sunrise. Or; you’ll know sunrise, come Caitlyn, again.

Tomayto, tomahto.

[bonbonly]

Hiiii ily so much, you feed my dark mind so well 💀

So here’s my thot…

Mask kink with Carlos? I was listening to São Paulo and I kept looking at the cover on Spotify and like…it dawned on me how HOT it’d be to have the mask and fear kink mixed together. Like SIR? hold me down 😩

𝐒𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐞

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your sweet lovely neighbor invited you to a halloween party, and you - ever the clumsy, naive girl - got tricked more than treated. 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: this is a dark fic! you have been warned! do not read if you are not comfortable with dark fics or any of the following: noncon/dubcon, slapping, p in v, oral (f receiving), gunplay/gunfuck, choking, gaslighting, fingering 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5k 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i unashamedly enjoyed writing this bye like why'd you put this in my ask, i literally went FERALLLLL over it but i hope you enjoy it babes!!!

"good morning, carlos!" you chirped, opening the mailbox in front of your driveway. your slightly older neighbor waved at you, a charming smile that made butterflies fly in your stomach. he was wearing jeans that were snug against his thighs, a loose white t-shirt on and his cap backwards. his hair swept back under the cap, eyes all big and beautiful. you sighed, dreamily as you watched him head back into his house. your dreamy neighbor that always flirted with you when you came over to deliver his mail.

"the mailman just can't seem to differentiate our houses, hm?" you'd laugh, teetering on your toes. you caught a small glimpse of his house, hoping he'd let you in so you could "jokingly" see what your future house would look like. he'd flip through the mail, shaking his head with a chuckle,

"ay, hermosa, they must think i like planting pink roses in my free time," he'd snicker, tapping your head with his bundle of envelopes. it was just a playful gesture, really, but you'd blush to yourself and watch him close his front door. you'd sigh out loud, realizing your efforts of dropping subtle hints about your interest wasn't working and you skipped back over to your house, tending to your garden once more.

halloween was coming up around the corner and this year, the entire neighborhood was doing a competition for the spookiest house. you were determined to win it. going out of your way to buy extra decorations, you spent much of the week giving you front yard some spooky decor. a giant spider on one side, some skeletons doing some funny dances, and then of course the lights. you only ever did the lights at night so you wouldn't spoil the surprised for your neighbors. so, who else would you call to help you?

your trusty and super hot neighbor carlos of course! he was more than happy to help you, saying that you were always so clumsy, you'd be so lost without him! you climbed up the staircase, toying with the cables and tape before you smacked them into a straight line on the edge of your roof.

"fuck, i can't reach!" you cried out, "carlos, can you do this instead?"

"no, no, you have to do it, chica. you can do it," he grinned, pushing your ass up the ladder. you yelped in surprise at his hand under your skirt, and you swore you felt him squeeze your flesh. you glanced down at him, staring at this big innocent brown eyes. no, you must've imagined it! he wouldn't do such a thing! not your super sweet neighbor! you sighed, going up another step on the ladder to finish attaching the rest of the lights. you turned back to find carlos pointing his phone at you, a smirk on his lips, "for the memories. it's your first time going all out for the decor!"

you hopped off the ladder, smacking your hands with a smile, "thank you so much for the help, neighbor!" and you were going to return back to the comfort of your bed, when he was so gracious enough to finally let you in his house! you giddily accepted his offer, pushing past him towards his house. he laughed, eyes trained on the way your ass bounced under that skirt - if it even counted as one. he trailed behind you, watching you crash onto his couch.

grabbing the tv remote, he flipped through a couple channels while settling down next to you, "you like horror movies?"

"uh... not at night," you laughed, "i can handle anything in the light. just not in the dark. get a bit scared, yeah i know how embarrassing that is but it's the truth."

carlos nodded his head, landing on a horror film. he tossed the remote to the side, out of your reach. you gulped, already feeling a bit queasy at the gore on the tv and you felt bad about being in his house and demanding stuff from him. you shifted in your seat, averting your eyes to the nicely decorated walls, and then you felt his hand on your thigh. you glanced down at how big his hand was, and especially how it was inching closer to your clothed sex. you chuckled, thinking he must be a bit tired from helping you and you grabbed his hand, placing it back down on his lap. his eyes, which were originally transfixed on tv, snapped to you. a hard glare that you faced that made your skin crawl. he brought his back down on your thigh, squeezing your flesh harshly, enough for it to hurt. you cried out in pain, smacking him across his face. you grabbed your belongings, fleeing from his house. it surely didn't help that you lived right next door, but you locked your front door and ascended the staircase to your bedroom, holding back some tears. this had to be some sort of twisted nightmare. your sweet neighbor wouldn't do that to you! he'd only ever been nice! why would he think it was okay for him to touch you? you shook your head, taking off your clothes to slip into your nightwear and you buried yourself in the covers of your bed. it just had to be a dream!

and thankfully, that's exactly what your sweet neighbor told you the next morning at your door. he had a pot of petunias in his hands, that same warm smile on his face,

"morning, chica!" he greeted, "saw you had an empty spot in the garden. you know, i was going to the store and i saw this and said hmm, this looks like it belongs in (y/n)'s garden and so i bought it! no need to pay me back, i just want to make sure if anyone wins the halloween decoration contest it should be you!"

you stood there dumbfounded, wondering if the events of last night really happened. with much hesitance, you decided to test the waters, "a-aren't you mad at me?"

"mad at you for what?" carlos asked, furrowing his brows.

"i slapped you pretty hard yesterday," you replied, "because you were feeling me up, remember?"

carlos's jaw dropped, and his eyes darted around your front door. he shook his head in disbelief, "w-what? excuse me? i helped you with your decorations and then you went to sleep.."

"but it felt... it felt real, i knew that-"

"so you'd accuse me of touching you?" his shoulders fell, his lips forming into a thin line, "forgive me, hermosa. i spent 30 dollars getting these plants for you, and this is how you repay me? increíble. te esfuerzas por ayudar a una chica y ella no es más que una pequeña zorra," he muttered in spanish. you didn't understand what he was saying, but you figured it was something awful about you. you shook your head, taking the flowers from his hands,

"y-you're right. i'm so sorry. i must've just had a very vivid nightmare. i'm so sorry, carlos. how can i make it up to you? you did help me last night with all the decorations," you pouted. he licked his lips, eyes raking over your body still in your nightgown from last night and he shrugged.

"uh... déjame pensar, hmm...." he scratched his chin, fingers gliding up his jaw, "a good friend of mine down the street is hosting a halloween party. you should come over. i'll accept your apology if you sneak me extra chocolates."

you sighed in relief, extremely happy that your sweet neighbor was willing to forgive you for your foolishness. you giggled, nodding your head frantically, "yes, yes! i'll definitely do it! when's the party?"

"tomorrow and it starts at 10:00."

"that's kinda late for a halloween party," you frowned, and carlos rolled his eyes,

"are you coming or not?"

"i'm coming, i'm coming. just had to blurt out my thought, that's all. thank you very much for the flowers, carlos," you held up the pot in your hands, a sheepish smile on your lips as he walked off to his house. he looked gorgeous with that tight sweatshirt, his pecs barely contained under the fabric. how could you have ever thought of him in a bad light! he was such a sweetheart, buying you the petunias knowing that it would work well with your decorations. you pouted your lips at the thought, cooing at how pretty the petals were before heading back into your house.

you had picked out a really cute cat outfit for the night. it wasn't really meant to be revealing or sexy, just a cute outfit. a long black gown with black stockings, black cat ears and a tail to match. you had lipstick on your nose and used your eyeliner to draw whiskers. content with how your outfit turned out, you hummed to yourself as you left your house, locking your front door. the end of the street was a bit of a walk, and since it was dark outside you whipped out your phone as the flashlight to guide you. you came across a very shady house, only the front light on. no other decorations. that should've been your first warning to get back home, but you assumed it was part of the ambience for the party. you knocked on the front door, craning your neck to see if there's any light inside the house. no response. you scowled, grabbing the door knob only to find the door completely unlocked.

"hello?" you peered inside, flicking some of the switches on. when none of them seemed to be working, you glanced down at your phone and realized you were only at 20 percent. it would be pointless to waste all your phone battery trying to find people in the dark, "ok guys, come on now! jokes not funny!"

you bit your lip, your chest tightening at how dark it was around you. you really hated the dark. "i get that this must be some sort of sick joke. hello? anyone? c-carlos? someone? turn on the lights now!"

despite all your attempts at getting a response, none came. you huffed under your breath in annoyance, crossing your arms at how stupid you could be to come over to some random person's house. you only trusted the address because your sweet neighbor gave it to you. your ears perked up at the sound of metal jingling in the distance and you whipped your head around to to the kitchen. with cautious steps, you extended your arms out to feel the walls, using them as a way to guide you. in the darkness, you could make out what you assumed to be the kitchen counter, and then some cabinets above. the moonlight through the windows shone onto a small corner of the shelf, a flashlight on display for you to grab. you shook the device in your hands a couple times, turning the switch on and off before shaking it once more. a couple more harsh smacks to the side of the flashlight didn't do the trick either.

and then the front door clicked shut, the sound of a lock turning making your ears perk up.

"hello?" you called out once more, stepping out of the kitchen. the front door was a few feet away, the lock unmistakably turned on. one you heard the sound of metal chains dancing together, that's when your brain decided to gear up. you sprinted to the front door, crashing right into a pillar that helped support the structure of the house. you moaned in pain, hands clutched your forehead. clumsy little (y/n), never able to defend herself even if her life depended on it. the flashlight rolled around your frame as you rocked side to side, whispering small "ows". the door was just a feet away, and you extended your hand to crawl over when a firm boot stomped right onto your fingers.

"fuck!" you howled, the feeling of your bones being crushed coursing through your veins. you felt the boot drag down to your head, pressing your face against the wooden floor.

"shh, shhh...." a voice from above you cooed, "not a word from you. you have to be quiet."

"my fucking fingers," you hissed, curling your digits to see if anything was broken. the boot dug deeper onto your skin, almost choking you as you struggled to breathe. your voice was nothing more than strangled cries, your feet kicking around. within seconds, the mysterious man above you kicked your back, sending you rolling over into what you assumed was the living room. you coughed out loud, rubbing your sore face before feeling firm hands grip onto your ankles, dragging your body to the kitchen.

"who... who are you? let go of me!" you hollered, using your free hand to swat him away. you could barely see anything in the dark, and that only scared you more, "what's going on?" your attempts to sit up are thwarted when he brings his arm against your neck, pinning you onto the ground. his face was inches from yours, and you could smell him. he smelled familiar, a certain type of cologne that you remembered from somewhere but being so stricken by fear, your thoughts were all jumbled together. all you could think about was finding a way to escape. you took note of his white mask from the dim moonlight, a frown etched into the plastic material. with his free hand, he dragged his palm down your body, groping your lush tits. he had a rich laugh when you squirmed against him, trying to wriggle away.

"please, please let me go," you whimpered, feeling your hips being hoisted into the air as his hands snaked around to grab at your ass. he smacked the flesh of one cheek, fingers digging in to leave small crescents when he squeezed. he flipped you onto your stomach, pulling the tail tied around your waist and letting it snap against your skin. you gasped out loud, trying to process the way your skin stung afterwards. his hands slid up your back, curling into your collar before ripping apart your dress. you cried out loud, having worn nothing underneath save some black panties.

"a slut through and through," the man's accented voice whispered above your head, tearing at the fabric and bringing the rest of the material over your head. he tossed it to the side, and returned his hands to feel the rest of your body, "oh, mierda, i've dreamt about this for so long, so fucking long."

to emphasize his point, he smacked your ass a couple times before sinking his teeth in your flesh. your anguished wails did nothing to deter him, and you were sure he had bit hard enough to draw blood. your ass felt like it had been burned against a hot iron rod; your arms flailed behind your back, trying to push him off you but instead the stranger ripped your panties to pieces, spreading your ass as he spit down to the ring of muscle, watching it wink at him. his saliva trailed down to the edge of your cunt. you couldn't really tell what was going on but quite shortly, you felt your arms being guided behind your back, tightly bound before he grabbed your hips and once again pulled your ass up into the air. your legs wrapped around his, your back arched uncomfortably as you felt another wave of his saliva wash down against your cunt. you couldn't help but whine out loud when he wrapped his lips around your folds, nibbling on them as you shook your head. your bound arms thrashed into the air but it wasn't really helping you at the moment. his tongue delved into your pretty pussy, his deep moans vibrating through your core.

"please stop, i'm begging you! i don't even know who you are!" you whined, tears streaming down your face. your cries were cut short as a moan ripped through you, his thumb circling your clit as his tongue lapped at your sweet nectar. your could feel the edge of his mask hit your ass every time his tongue went deeper inside you. it swirled around in your tight walls like some festering parasite, eagerly waiting to ruin its host. his tongue traveled up to your asshole, circling the ring of muscle and that's when your screams became louder. "not there! stop it! let go of! let go or i'll scream so loud that-"

"keep screaming, no one will save you, zorra," he bit down on the globe of your ass, humming when you let out a sob. he buried his face between your cheeks, his tongue delving into your hole with a lewd sound. his tongue pushed deeper inside you, spreading your rim as his thumb went back to circling your clit.

"mmm, sabes tan bien gatito," he rasped, pulling back for a moment to admire his handiwork. your poor asshole winked in the cool air, glistening with his saliva. "i can't wait to feel this little ass squeezing my cock." he punctuated his words by spanking your ass hard, leaving more handprints on your soft flesh. you yelped, trying to wriggle away like a snake would but he gripped your hips harder, holding you in place as he dove back in, his tongue plunging into your asshole with renewed fervor.

the masked man's other hand slid around to your dripping pussy, his fingers pushing two digits knuckle-deep into your weeping cunt. he pumped them in and out, palm grinding against your clit with each thrust. the combination of his tongue on your ass, and fingers in your pussy transformed your screams into wanton moans.

"aww, is the puta enjoying what i give to her, i knew you'd come around," you could tell he was smiling as his fingers curled inside your gummy walls. the tightening coil inside your gut finally snapped as your juices gushed around him, soaking his black t-shirt. he laughed out loud, shoving you back onto the ground, "look at you, you ruined my shirt." he placed each of his feet on either side of your trembling body, gazing down at the way your face was filled with smudged make-up. your whiskers all askew, mascara streaming down your face. he grabbed you by the collar you had on, twisting it as you gasped out loud, struggling to breathe once more. you felt yours leg give away, watching him drag you back to the living room as he threw you onto the couch.

"who.... who even are you- oh!" you squealed, feeling his hand come across your face. it burned and you feel the iron tang of blood flood your mouth, you lip busted from the impact. he grabbed hold of your jaw, using his other hand to adjust his mask before slapping you once again. you were sure your face was bruised when he finished, your lip swollen almost as if to silence you for the entire duration he had you in this cursed house.

"cat got your tongue?" he chuckled, caressing your burning cheek with his thumb. when you didn't respond, he dug through his pockets for his phone, snapping a picture of you shaking on the couch with tears streaming from your face. you shielded your eyes from the flash, and through your fingers you caught sight of his hair swept back. you recognized the silkiness of it. you knew this person, but you just couldn't understand where. before you could open your mouth to ask the same question that's been bothering you all night, you heard the click of a gun, the barrel pressed against your forehead. "i think you know what to do right now, right?"

you shook your head, your bottom lip quivering and the man in front of you laughed, using the barrel to wipe away your tears, the cold metal making you hiss. you gulped when he dug the gun into your neck, your body shaking as a new wave of tears washed over you. "you're going to fuck yourself on my gun. come on spread those legs."

his request made you freeze in place and when he placed the gun right onto a prominent artery in your neck, you whimpered and nodded your head, reluctantly spreading your legs.

"there we go," he cooed, "see, puta, you can learn."

he spit on the barrel of his gun, rubbing the saliva around before crouching down to see your womanhood clenching the air, bracing yourself for what was about to happen. you rubbed the barrel of the gun along your wet slit, the cold metal sending jolts of sensation through your core. you felt your juices on the metal barrel, making it slick and shiny as your dragged it over your clit and pushed it inside you. you whimpered, throwing your head back onto the couch as you stared at the ceiling, trying to convince yourself that this was all another horrible nightmare.

"fuck, look at you, getting off on my gun," the masked man taunted, "you're even more depraved than I thought. sabía que eras una puta sucia, pero esto..." you bit your lip hard, trying to stifle a moan as you began to move, fucking yourself on the gun with very hesitant thrusts. "louder, you quiet little whore," the masked man scoffed, his other hand coming down on your inner thigh. you whined out loud, nodding your head and letting out small, forced moans. sensing that you were trying too hard to make noises, and pressed the metal deeper into you. a satisfied growl escaped his lips when you cried out loud, arching your back.

"fuck, that's too big... please, that's too big," you moaned, bucking your hips to push the barrel out of you but instead the masked man took the opportunity to drive it deeper inside you, pulling it out before slamming it right back in. you screamed out loud, feeling the gun stretch you open as the man snorted,

"scream for me, puta. i want to hear every single noise clearly."

your hips rocked back and forth, taking the gun as much as you could. you panted, tongue stuck out as the man shoved his fingers into your mouth, dragging the gun in and out of you with a much faster pace than before. you struggled to handle the girth of the gun, your eyes rolling the back of your head. he slapped your face gently so that your eyes snapped back to his masked face. the emptiness you faced scared you, it made you sob at how defiling this felt and yet you could feel your orgasm approaching once more. the smell of your arousal mixed with uncontrollable fear spread through the room, and he could feel your pussy fluttering around the barrel of the gun, your juices flowing freely as you fucked yourself into oblivion. your cunt spasmed around the barrel of the gun as you cummed, gushing your release over the cold metal. the masked man watched as your juices splattered onto the floor, forming a puddle beneath the couch.

"no puedo contenerme más, i need to feel you around my cock," the man moaned, unbuckling his belt. your still bound hands weakly thrashed once more, your eyes glossed over. your mind was spinning, still not over the last orgasm. the gun was tossed the side, and he grabbed hold of your jaw so that you faced him not the weapon that you just fucked. he fumbled with his zipper, shoving his pants down as he let his cock spring up, the sound of his member slapping against his stomach echoing in the room. you could feel the warmth of his body radiate off him; it was suffocating. you shook your head, trying to plead your way out of this. you already did everything else he asked for! you just wanted to go home and get ready for the halloween house contest tomorrow! he gripped your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your abused flesh as he placed the swollen head of his cock against your sensitive clit. he smacked the tip against your pearl, watching you mewl out loud at oversensitivity. with one brutal thrust, he slammed his hips forward, burying his massive cock deep into your cunt. you felt the air get knocked out of your lungs, silent screams falling from your lips as he stretched you open, his thick shaft forcing its way past your gummy walls. tears streamed down your face as he began to move, fucking you hard and fast, his heavy balls slapping against your ass with each thrust.

"this cunt was made to be ruined, made to milk my cock, hecha para ser mia" he growled, snapping his hips faster against you. the sound of skin against skin did little to calm you down, instead your ears rang and when he began to rub your clit, you were sobbing out loud at how everything felt... felt so good. your mind a dizzy mess, not following along with what was happening.

between moans you once again asked the million dollar question on your mind, "w-who are you? who are you?"

"come on mi vida," he scoffed, almost as if he was insulted that you kept asking the same question, "use that pretty brain of yours you know exactly who i am. i've seen the way you look at me." but as he drilled into your cunt, you really didn't know. you couldn't think, your brain on overdrive, too caught up with the sensation of his thick cock filling you up like the whore that you were. your let your legs wrap around his waist, pushing him further into you on instinct and he laughed, using his hands to pull his sweat-stained shirt over his head. his mask came off, and in the dark you could barely see the outline of his hand running through his silky hair.

"t-the mask, your mask," you whimpered, narrowing your eyes to try and focus on the voice. the outline of his jaw, you recognized him. you knew who it was, the name was on the tip of your tongue. quite suddenly, he pressed the mask against your face, hardly giving you enough room to breathe.

"you wanted to know who i am with my mask off, we can work in different ways hermosa, i'm not picky," the man snickered. your head was buried into the couch's cushions, and you could see black spots clouding what was left to see in the dark. as your final orgasm of the night shot through you, the man pulled the mask away from you and let you breathe as you screamed out loud, squirting all over his cock. he groaned out loud, emptying his load as he shot ropes of his cum inside your cunt. he loved the way your cunt clamped down on him, constricting him as he watched you create a new puddle of your juices onto the ground. he pulled out of you, watching his cum leak out of you. he caught hold of his phone again, zooming in to see your cream-pie'd cunt and when the flash took hold of the dark room, the last thing you saw before passing out was your sweet neighbor carlos grinning at your fucked out body.

it was late in the afternoon the next day when you finally came back to your sense. your entire body felt sore, as if you had been roasted alive over a wood of fire. with shaky legs, you stumbled out of your bedroom, looking around the living room. you were back in your house, but you didn't know how. you still felt the feeling of your cunt being stretched out, and your head was throbbing in pain. the doorbell to your door rang and you glanced out the window to see carlos there with a bag of chocolates. you scowled, remembering how he towered over you the night before. not wanting to be too suspicious, you opened the door and stood there with a very worried expression on your face.

"carlos... how... nice to see you," you whispered, gulping.

"ah, hermosa! i'm so glad you're doing better! you know last night, the craziest thing happened! i was coming to pick you up for the halloween party but ever the eager girl, you fell from your ladder and hit your head!" he shook his head, "mi niña torpe, you can never go a day without hurting yourself!"

"i fell off a ladder?" you asked, tilting your head.

"yeah! you hit your face pretty badly," he winced, bringing a hand to cup your cheek. the warmth of his palm made you moan a bit, closing your eyes in relief. you and your vivid nightmares. your sweet neighbor would never do this to you! he was always looking out for you. you almost wanted to mention the bad dream, but then remembered how he got offended the last time you revealed what happened when you were asleep. you decided to keep your mouth shut and invited him into your house, taking the bag of chocolates.

"the halloween house contest will start soon," you grinned, limping to the couch to sit down. "you should sit down carlos, we have a few hours before the kids arrive. maybe you could help me organize the goodie bags!"

when you looked up, you saw him towering over you. he ran a hand through his hair, tossing the tv remote in his hand a couple times before dragging it down your neck,

"we have time, mi vida, we can spend time together alone until then," and he watched you furrow your brows, starting to understand what he was hinting towards, "you want to watch a horror movie?"

[bitin-and-barkin]

Keeping him in line

Warnings: Gunfucking, facefucking, shoe humping, sub Dutch, he's like super pathetic honestly, humiliation (Dutch Receiving), degradation, gender neutral reader, dom reader, the reader is SO fucking mean, Dutch deserves it tho, masochism, pain kink, anal, smut, all consensual dw, I like to think this could've stopped the downfall of the gang

-------------------------------------------------------

Thinking about being an "old friend" of Dutch.

Used to go out robbing with him back in the day, until some crap went down. He thought you died, and you thought the same for him. But after the blackwater incident, a long overdue meeting happens when you both try to rob the same train.

Thinking about him "Inviting" (practically begging) you to join him, even though you both know you're doing damn well on your own.

Thinking about once you graciously agree, he's consulting you for every little thing, saying something along the lines of "let me consult the missus/mister" before he plans any jobs, finally taking SOMEONE'S advice other than his own. Treating you like Hosea, like himself. A higher up, a leader, despite you having never set foot in this gang in over 10, 15, years.

Thinking about him insisting that you don't have to do any of the "dirty work" if you don't feel like it. Barking orders at others to "take care of it" while dragging you back to his tent for no reason at all, other than to just smoke and drink and chat about everything and nothing.

Thinking about others being weirded out and slightly jealous of all the praise and approval you get from him, with even Molly questioning if he's sweet on you. Everyone is thinking it, that maybe he had something going on with you in the past. But, even when he was with Annabelle? He had never treated her this kindly.

Thinking about him catching glances at your fingers while you handle your gun, the way you draw it and shoot in the blink of an eye. Watching your hands move as you play poker at camp, making everybody else at the table go broke.

Thinking about him watching the way your chest heaves in and out after a gunfight. Watching the way your silver tongue talks them into money and out of trouble, even better than he or Hosea can.

Thinking about him stating he needs to "take a break" with Molly due to him "needing some time alone" while she watches him talk to you the same way he used to chat with her, but with actual longing in his eyes.

Thinking about you talking to him, almost down to him, with a certain smug look on your face as he looks at you with a certain devotion on his. You calling out the flaws in his ideas and plans, doubting him, doing things that would get anybody else labeled as a traitor. But not you. Anybody but you. As when you do it? All he can do is sit there and take it.

Thinking about you pushing him down by the chest where he sits anytime he does something or says something that you don't like. Knocking his drink out of his hand in front of everybody when he gets too out of line.

Thinking about punishing him for his behavior at night, taking long drags of his cigar and putting it out on his arm as you grip his hair and shove his face into his bed as you fuck him into the sheets.

Thinking about you leaving bruises on his neck after you choke him too hard for being too mean to one of his boys or after one of his infamous plans fuck up once again.

Thinking about making him rut up against your boot as you face fuck him, saying he isn't deserving of even touching you, and if he wants release he has to work for it himself. Stating that your shoes better be shining when he's done down there as he rubs his dick against your spurs, desperate for friction.

Thinking of you fucking him with his own gun after he begs you for more, with you degrading him for getting a hard on. Asking him what the Pinkertons, what his gang, would think if they learned that Dutch Van Der Linde himself is no more than a common whore. One barely good enough to fuck. Saying that maybe you should turn him in, that way you can use the money to buy a whore that actually does what they're told.

Thinking about him crying into your lap as he begs for release, and all you do is laugh at him and shove him off, leaving him alone and aching after you climax and he doesn't. Knowing that he needs this punishment to keep him in place.

Thinking about him palming himself for the rest of the night and choking himself with a tie you got him a long time ago, fucking himself stupid with your gun which you left in his tent. But it's not enough. Such a greedy boy. It's never enough for him.

That's why you have to keep him in line. It keeps him sane.

[dnickels]

listen to me. in 2024 solomon tozer lives in a broken down winnebago deep in the mountains and has amassed a cult online following for vlogs of him doing bongrips and gunfucker ramblings in a world historic terrible male living space. he also sometimes livestreams himself riding his atv through his neighbors property and hiding while the sheriff tries to serve his many warrants. thats not the point. the point is slowly people start to realize the winnebago isnt such a shithole lately and sol is sober more often and talking about jesus and everyone assumes he joined a militia and he has to make a video saying he absolutely did not, he just got a wife and naturally twitter is staggered but not as much as when sol accidentally leaves the livestream going when "babe" walks in the room and its missing hiker john irving.

so for christs sake if i come home from work and solving is still losing the ship poll i will lose my shit

[spaghettioverdose]

you can tell it was a liberal democrat type who shot him because libertarians and republicans are gunfuckers who train obsessively at range while fantasizing about gunning down brown peoeple, so at least one of the 8 shots would've at least been medically significant instead of being a bad piercing. if it was an anarchist, it depends what kind. the types you see on tumblr with the opossum fursona or picrew icons would've missed just as bad if not worse. if some anarcho nihilist type who really wants to be a terrorist was aiming for trump, they would've had to scrape his childhood memories off the stage. a principled ml wouldn't have done it because it would be politically pointless to kill trump. realistically, what do you think is going to happen if trump dies? the republicans pick another guy. whatever policies they wanna push, are just gonna get pushed by someone else. it would've been funny, but that's about it.

[feninina]

𝐣𝐨𝐛 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 ༉‧₊˚.⁀➷

𝘁𝗼𝗺𝗺𝘆 𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗯𝘆 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺𝗮𝗹𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿.

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: desperately, you come to tommy shelby for help, hoping he would lend you a job that could finally free you from your sorrow, not knowing he had other things in mind.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: SMUT (minors dni!!!), heavy dubcon, mentions of sickness and death, poverty and slight angst. gunfucking, oral, implied dacryphilia, cheating, oral (f receiving), hair pulling, spitting.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 3.6K words.

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: hi!! i was gone for a very long time but now i’m finally back, yayyy!! 😁 hope y’all enjoy this little thing i wrote, lmk if there’s a mistake, it’s always good to receive some feedback.

smut under the cut

It was a lovely afternoon outside, the sun bathed the streets of Birmingham with a warm shine, the birds chirped on the trees and the children played outside their classrooms. You wished nothing more but to be there, sitting between the flowers watching your students run and chase each other, listening to the sweets laughs that came out of their throats with every step they took, but instead, you were there, sitting in front of Thomas Shelby, and those, were no longer your students.

"Someone's here to see you" Lizzie Shelby announced to his husband moments prior, who was focused in the papers on his desk, not raising his eyes to meet his wife on the door of his office.

"Who?" he asked sharply, more interested on the work he was doing in that moment than any potential visitor.

Lizzie accustomed to his unwavering dedication to business, sighed softly as she stepped into the room, exposing you to his sight, standing timidly behind her, waiting for Tommy's approval to go inside. "It's your son's teacher"

Thomas Shelby finally tore his gaze away from the papers, a mixture of surprise and curiosity flickering through his eyes. "Yeah? Bring her in," he replied, setting aside his work momentarily, intrigued by the unexpected reunion.

Lizzie nodded before giving you an unenthusiastic look, gesturing you to go inside. You complied, smiling awkwardly at her and starting to walk towards the desk of the imposing man in front of you, who's only presence made you feel weak at the knees.

He stood, offering you his hand to take, stretching it with such a formality that made you regret coming here, to ask what you were about to ask.

"Miss" he said, clearly not even remembering your name. His tone was calm, but a hint of curiosity sounded clear in your ears as he spoke. "Is my son giving you trouble?"

Your fingers were trapped inside his large palm and your tumb brushed against his knuckles, making you sense how rough his hands actually were. The smell of smoke filled your nose and your mouth parted slitghly, not losing the sight of his mesmerizing blue eyes as your soft skin met his, a soft sigh coming out of your lips.

"No, sir" you said, your voice breathy as embarrassment ran through your whole body, you put your hands together in front of your legs as he let go of it, the feeling of his calloused skin lingering on yours. "Charles is an amazing student"

He sat again, gesturing for you to do the same, he knitted his eyebrows for a second, his silence feeling everlasting in your buzzing ears. You felt your whole face burn in anticipation, a knot in your stomach building since the moment your brain came up with this little twisted idea.

"Is he?" he asked with a light chuckle, lighting up a cigarette, you nodded. Once you were sitting, you crossed your legs so the shaking was less evident, putting your lips into a fine line when Tommy continued speaking. "Because I don't think you only came here to tell me what a great student my son is. Did you?"

Smoke came out of his velour lips along with his words, the grey cylindrical cloud making its way up to the ceiling and forming a faint curtain that enveloped the both of you. Still, even between the smoke that enveloped him, you could still feel his eyes burning holes through your skin, making you throw your head down, your gaze glued on your fidgeting hands that rested on your trembling lap.

"Actually, Mr. Shelby" you stuttered, raising your eyes for a moment to meet his stoic face. God, you felt pathetic. "I- I'm not Charles' teacher. Not anymore"

"Yeah?" he said, licking his lips. "What are you doing here, then?" his tone was plane, a little intimidating in your ears, and you were so nervous, that you didn't notice the amusement behind it. Him? He was having a blast. A little young beautiful thing like you sitting on his office, practically entering the wolves mouth by your own will.

You could feel the humiliation flow through your body as you tried to come up with a way to tell him what you needed— to do that beyond your beliefs request that you were there to do. And you stayed quiet, lost in your own thoughts, trying to come up with an idea to speak your mind.

You were desperate, you truly were.

Last week, your sister fell sick, and for her bad look, your family was poor. Starting with your already struggling parents and adding your low wage job to that, she would be death within the span of two months or less. You adored teaching, every little part of it, and the little payment wasn't really a problem to you, but that was before your sister contracted the fever.

Now, the bills were too much to handle, and your poor and elderly parents expected something out of you, to maybe ask for a little extra payment at the school, but you knew that wasn't possible, they barely payed you the minimum. But going against your instincts, you did as you were told, and asked for a raise, or, maybe an advanced payment— the only thing they gave you was a nice and simple "Clear up your desk".

It's an euphemism to say that your parents were disappointed. They supported you during the course of your teaching career because they held hope for you to marry a wealthy man, who would help you to support your family with their expenses, but that was very far away from reality.

It was unrealistic, to run into a man's arms just to save your penurious family from a dying child. You could do it, jump in with both feet into a marriage with no love just for the economical part, but what man, in his right mind, would marry a malnourished and poor woman like you? You weren't even that beautiful in your own eyes.

You were lost in your own thoughts, playing with your silk handkerchief between your fingers looking down at your lap. It was silly, even considering coming here, but this was your best choice.

Not the last— you could be a hostess, you could swipe floors and wash clothes, maybe even beg for your old job back, but you know that it won't pay the bills, it won't save your sister, but this? Oh yeah, this will.

You knew about the Peaky Blinders, everyone on Birmingham knew about them, and last year, you had the luck to teach the child of the one and only, Thomas Shelby. Charles was a well-behaved kid, it surprised you, to be honest, knowing the reputation attached to his last name you thought it would be a nightmare to have him in your classroom, but Charles was sweet, polite.

But beyond his good manners and perfect grades; you noticed, his shinning shoes. His fancy clothes. The endless talks he starred to the other kids about his father horses and his big house.

And you always despised the Shelbys, they were criminals, evil people. You were just another permanent victim of their damage to Birmingham, that's what you considered yourself and the other folks like you. It was just a logical thing; they profited by destroying the city, the city that you barely afforded to live in.

But now you wanted to be a part of them, because you knew that it could be the only way to save your sister. And you begged to god that Thomas Shelby would take pity on you and maybe hire you to at least wipe his floors.

You'll do anything.

"So," he said again, snapping you out of your intern turmoil "what are you doing here, ey? Wasting my time?"

You took a sharp breath, looking at him with those big, teary eyes that made him wish to jump to the other side of the desk and tear you apart, a big sigh leaving his lips at the delicious thought of laying his hands on your tender skin, that shinned like gold in his sight, to touch and mold it to his will.

But he stayed there, waiting for you to speak as he watched with that unsettling stare of his that made you wish you never came here in the first place as you opened your mouth and closed it again, trying to find a way to say— to ask what you came here to ask.

"I know that the pay here is good" you started, your body covered in a cold shiver that ran down your spine as you spoke. "And I really need the money-”

Your words came out rushed, your tongue pushing them our of your mouth before you could think twice about it, urging you to say them before the man in front of you would lose his patience and kick you out of his office.

But he didn’t speak, amused, looking you through the smoke of his cigarette, the corners of his lips twisting into a minacious smile, the way you struggled to talk, to look at his eyes, it all entertained him.

He was thinking, very carefully, about what to do with you. You were being ridiculous, of course, he had to suppress a laugh when he realized what you wanted, and if you were any other person you would be out of his office whitin the blink of an eye. But he was trying to decide what to do with you.

You were a lucky woman, he thought. Because, luckily for you, he was more focused on the way your dress hugged your body in all the right places, the bright red color of your cheeks and those eyes full of tears— Luckily for you, he meant no harm, but his thoughts weren’t exactly good ones.

“I want a job” You finally admitted, his silence only encouraged you to keep speaking, sighing heavily and feeling the urge to explain yourself to him, but he quickly cut you off the moment you opened your mouth to tell your tragic little story.

“I’m not hiring” his voice startled you, and that only sentence felt like a slap on the face. “And if I was, what can you do for me, ey?”

You finally broke down, tears falling down from your eyes as you couldn’t answer that, shaking your head and mouthing a little ‘I don’t know’, your voice coming out as a soft whimper, music to his ears.

“I really need the money, mr. Shelby-”

“We all need it, don’t we?” he said, putting out his cigarette as he leaned in, resting his arms on the desk, trying to get a clear view of you. “But do you know what we do, honey? Can you kill a man? Are you good with numbers?”

“I- I am” you pathetically tried to answer his second question, but he laughed at you, coldly. “I was a teacher- I can-”

“Nah, that’s not enough” he said, pursing his lips. He then reached for something in hip, making your blood run cold as you registered his movements and your brain understood what he was looking for.

When you saw it in his hands, tho, you nearly got up from the chair and ran away, but your legs were so shaky, that you just looked at him with pure terror, not knowing what was going to happen.

“Do you know how to handle one of these?” He asked roughly, putting the gun on the desk and you felt a deep sense of relief going down your body, but still, you were scared. You shook your head, unable to say any words.

“So, you came here to waste my time, after all” he snarked, leaning back on his chair with a cocky grin, making you shiver. You should have ran away from that room several minutes ago, but for some reason, you felt like he was luring you in into something you didn’t know about.

“I don’t want to waste your time, mr. Shelby, my sister, she’s sick-” your pleas felt like honey to his ears, and he couldn’t help but lift himself up from his seat and walk towards you, rounding the desk and grabbing the gun in the way.

“You came to me to help your sister” he repeated, like he was trying to understand your reasons, nodding as he stood there, besides you. You looked up to him timidly, bitting your lip. You wanted to notice about anything else than the silver weapon in his hand, but you couldn’t, your eyes were glued to it. “That’s a good girl”

You knitted your eyebrows at the shift of his tone of voice, the fear now twisting your stomach, and you couldn’t help the way you grimaced when he brushed his free hand through your hair, which made you look at him with a hint of curiosity, your venison eyes not leaving his face.

How clueless you were.

“I can help you” he told you, his caress suddenly turning into a strong grip on your hair, yanking it so you stood up in front of him, making you yelp in surprise. “But you’ll have to help me, too”

Suddenly, your whole body ran cold as you felt the cold metal of his gun trail along your thighs, a gasp leaving your lips as panic filled all of your senses, more tears gathering around your eyes.

Tommy groaned at the sight, dragging the pistol upwards, sneaking it inside of your dress and in between your legs, the sensation of the weapon resting right outside of your mound making your knees fail you, but lucky for you, his strong grip on your hair kept you steady.

“Mr. Shelby…” you pleaded, closing your eyes when he started to move the gun in a circular motion, making your mouth betray you and slip out a pretty moan, that made Tommy’s pants grow tight on him.

“You see, that lady out there, it’s my wife” he explained, making you open your eyes while you tried to understand him, the way he brushed your clit with every quick movement of the gun between your legs making your brain send waves of fear and pleasure through your body. “She doesn’t satisfy me, not anymore”

You nodded, your agape mouth liberating soft gasps for him to hear everytime he pressed the blade further against your cunt. You wished nothing more than to him to pull it away, but at the same time, you wanted to beg him to keep doing whatever he was doing.

You could feel your panties get stickier by the second, your wetness flowing out of your pussy with every passing second, and you breathed heavily, not sure of what to do.

“I’ll pay you a generous salary to do that” and with that, you nodded even more feverishly, the idea making you feel repulsed, but something about the way he touched you and talked to you made your insides pulse. “And I’ll use you as I please, got it?”

Tommy smiled, moving your panties to the side and running the barrel up and down through your folds, making your heart run in circles on your chest, but you swallowed the fear, something about him having total control of you now made you feel even more attracted to him.

“I do, mr. Shelby” you chocked out, bitting your lip when he pushed the barrel inside of your slick hole, your hands coming to wrap themselves around his arms when you felt the weapon stretch your pussy out, closing your eyes in pure bliss.

With a dry chuckle from him, he started pumping in and out the gun from your cunt, and you mouth hanged open as you tried to find some kind of steadiness by grabbing his arms. He noticed the gun get slippery by how wet you were, and his eyes were fixed on how your nipples were showing through the fabric of your pretty dress.

A loud click from the gun made you open your eyes, but that didn’t stop the way your hips jerked against his relentlessly movements, the fear mixing with the pure pleasure you felt— and he, with those cold, blue eyes of his examining you, had you right there where he wanted you from the moment he saw those big and hot tears leave those eyes of yours. At his full and complete mercy. For him to use and abuse.

“You like this, don’t you?” he murmured, working the gun even faster, sensing how agitated he had you, the sight of you being completely lost at the feeling making him laugh a little. “You are a good little whore”

You nodded, your hands traveling to his shoulders as you had spread your legs even further, begging for him to not stop, the sound of your whimpers fulfilling him, doing unspeakable things to Tommy that you didn’t even imagine, but you would find out any time soon.

“You are, yeah?” he continued, and then you thought he would go easier, he trusted the gun more aggressively, making sinful sounds that made you blush at how wet you were, and then he leaned down, yanking your hair harder than before when he clashed his lips with yours.

You moaned into the kiss, letting him move his lips against your open mouth, your tongues dancing with each other at the rhythm of the forbidden song your body played everytime the gun entered and slipped outside of you, making your way through your orgasm.

His lips were soft against yours, his teeth making the slightest contact with your lower lip, the way he kissed you so tenderly made your stomach twist even more, pressing your eyes shut as you could feel your insides twitch and squeeze against the gun.

When he pulled away, you looked for his lips again only to find a teasing smile from him in return, one that made you feel tiny in his arms. And when you were about to beg for more, he pushed the barrel even deeper, only a moan coming out of your lips.

“Your body will be only mine to use” he whispered against your mouth, and by how hard he was pulling your hair, you feared that he would rip it out of your scalp. “You’re my property now, do you understand?”

You nodded, not wanting him to stop, your tongue pocking out of your mouth by how much you were moaning, a sigh of relief leaving your when his hand freed your hair, only to grip your jaw, keeping your mouth open. You knitted your eyebrows in confusion, one that was erased away when you felt his cold saliva on your tongue after he spited on it, closing your mouth with his hand to make you swallow it.

“Such a pretty girl” he whispered, moving the weapon even faster, fucking you mercilessly with it. “Going to come? Cream my gun?”

You nodded, moaning desperately as you could feel your climax approaching, pressing your body against his when you knew that your orgasm was close, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he pulled you by the arm and bent you over the desk, pushing your dress out of the way as he kneeled over, admiring the way your pussy sucked the barrel of the gun so heavenly, switching the angle so suddenly that it made you see stars.

“So good, you’re doing so good” he moaned out, spreading your folds with his other hand to have a more clear view of your swollen cunt, bitting his lip at how soaked it was, his mouth practically watering at the sight.

“Mr. Shelby” you moaned, closing your eyes as you could feel drool dripping from your mouth, wetting the papers he had on his desk. “Mr. Shelby, I’m close”

He smiled, licking his lips as he leaned in, his hand still fucking you with the gun in a pace that made you shake, shiver and scream. He was rough, unforgiving and brisk with his movements, so it surprised you when you felt the tenderness of his lips suck so gently on your pulsating and unattended clit.

The moan that left your lips was so loud, that you would hear surprised if Lizzie Shelby hadn’t heard you on the outsides of the office by now. And you couldn’t care, because with Tommy doing God’s work on your pussy like that, even if your sister died now, you wouldn’t give a fuck.

You arched your back against his face, moving your hips erratically against the gun, feeling your orgasm finally unleash and hit you with an animalistic force, painting his gun white as you soaked up his face, and he drank it all, thirsty for you.

“Oh, God” you mewled, bitting your lip, never feeling something so intense before. He let go of your clit with a loud sound of his lips, chuckling when he heard you.

He shook his head, helping you ride out your orgasm, moving the gun more slowly before finally pulling it out. He was going to take good care of you, and you felt relieved; he was going to save your sister, and also, fuck you so good.

“Don’t call for him, sweetheart” he said, and you looked up at him in confusion from your position in the desk. Your heart sinked in your chest while your stomach churned with excitement when he put the gun beside you on the desk and began to unbuckle his belt. “God won’t hear you here, only I will”

thanks for reading, w/ love, fenina 😌

[girlbeatings]

GUN PLAY WITH CAITLYN PLEASE PLEASE PLAYING RUSSIAN ROULETTE WHILE THE GUN IS INSIDE YOU BUT YOU DON'T KNOW THAT THE GUN IS EMPTY MMHM PLEASE

well !

[ladytauria]

i love all of the wip snippets that you've posted <3 and i'd like to know more about gen jason sexploration and sladejay gun fucking please 👀

hehehe thank you, i'm glad!!

so jason sexploration is supposed to be a series of moments where jason explores his personal relationship with sex & sexuality... aka, masturbates a lot, lmao.

the first scene takes place when he's 15. the second will take place during lost days, when he's around 17? 18? and then a third at 19, after the events of under the red hood. i haven't picked out ages for the other moments, lmao, and then i'm also contemplating a 'bonus' +1 scene where he has sex with another person... unsure if i will write that with a ship or with an OC tho, if i do it at all.

i think i've shared snippets of it in the past but i don't think i tagged them well, so i will share again!

Jason got his first ever erection almost a year after living in the manor. He’d been sparring with Bruce when it happened—humiliatingly, Bruce had warned him about it before they ever started training. Jason’s only consolation was that Bruce had been just as awkward about it as he was, and they’d silently agreed not to talk about it after.

Jason hadn’t forgotten about it, but… he’d been so sure it wouldn’t happen to him that when it did—

He’d burned with humiliation, and taken the coldest shower he’d ever had.

It’s been almost two years since. Jason still pops boners during training. On patrol. At school, even, like he doesn’t have enough problems. He wakes up with them. It’s—

He doesn’t like it, but—he’s gotten more comfortable with it, over the years. No longer as humiliating, now it’s more… annoying. He’s gotten better at getting rid of them without needing a cold shower, though it’s still the surest remedy.

Lately, though…

Lately Jason’s been curious about… about what it might feel like.

It’s… It’s not that he’s never wondered before, it’s just… everything else always eclipsed his curiosity.

Tonight is different.

Jason doesn’t know what about it is, but— It is.

He doesn’t patrol tonight. His homework is finished. He has both one of his favorite books and the next book in a series he’s reading on hand, just in case this goes badly and he needs a distraction.

He locks his door. It’s kinda weird. He hasn’t—he hasn’t bothered locking his door in… a while. But. He doesn’t want to be caught with his pants, literally, down.

Jason dawdles a few extra minutes, making sure he’s got everything he needs. Towel? Check. Lube? Check. He takes a breath. Holds it. Exhales.

Other people do this all the time. It’ll be fine.

He pulls off his clothes, leaving them neatly off to the side. He… his nakedness feels—almost wrong in the quiet room. He almost wishes he’d left his clothes on, but—bad enough the towel will end up soiled.

He lies back, cock already semi-hard. He drizzles the lube in his hand, almost flinching at the cool of it. He lets it warm to his body temperature before tipping it over, letting it pour onto his cock before he wraps his hand around the base.

It’s—

Weird.

Feels okay, though.

He’s— Jason can’t bring himself to look up videos, or anything. Doesn’t want the history, the evidence on his phone, not when everything about it feels shameful and wrong.

He knows it isn’t.

It’s normal. Healthy, even. Unfortunately all the scientific evidence in the world can’t make the feelings go away.

Jason goes slowly, alternating the pressure of his hand as he strokes, finding what he likes best. Unbidden, his eyes close. He pictures—no one, really. A body. Soft and feminine, hands a little calloused.

His hand speeds up.

Breasts, heavy and round and perfect, pressed against his back. Kisses pressed over his shoulder. A hand splayed flat over his belly, holding him close, holding him still.

“A-ah—“

sladejay gunfucking is a potential sequel for taking a bird in hand, which i actually wrote before i had even really started that fic, lmfao.

it is... more or less exactly what it sounds like, tbh.

“Are you really that desperate?” The sneer dripping from Slade’s words shouldn’t turn Jason on, but it does. “Can’t even wait till we get home for me to fuck you?”

The words hit Jason right in the chest, and he gasps, unsure whether to nod or shake his head.

Slade understands anyway. “Fine,” he growls. He bypasses the traps on Jason’s tac pants. It’s a move that normally wouldn’t be that hot—except he does it with one hand. Jason’s cock throbs. Slade jerks his pants down, yanking them over the swell of his ass, down to the thickest point of Jason’s thigh where they catch. Slade leaves them. He tears one of his gloves off with his teeth. Jason’s belly swoops. “Lube,” he demands.

Jason’s hand shakes as he pulls out one of the packets he keeps in his inner jacket pocket. Slade snatches it from him and tears it open with his teeth. Lube splatters onto Jason’s exposed thighs—he cries out at the chill of it. There’s just enough left to coat Slade’s fingers.

Slade doesn’t bother with any build up. He smears the lube over Jason’s hole, making him gasp—and then cry out as Slade shoves two in at once. He shoves his fist into his mouth to muffle himself.

There may be no activity in this area now, but the last thing he wants is for someone to come running and find the Red Hood being fucked by Deathstroke.

Or—

Fuck.

The way his cock throbs at the thought… maybe part of him does want that.

He can examine that later.

Slade ignores his prostate. He pumps his fingers hard and fast, scissoring them every couple of thrusts. Even with the lube there’s a slight burn. Jason relishes in it, his hips working, riding Slade’s fingers as best he can.

He whines into his fist when Slade pulls out the last time. The whine turns into a yelp when Slade smacks his thigh—the sound loud, seeming to echo in the quiet place. Then something presses against hole. It’s cold, blunt. He looks down, eyes wide, and finds Slade pressing a gun against his hole.

And not just any gun.

That’s Jason’s favorite.

He whimpers.

It’s not in protest.

He doesn’t know how Slade got it out of his holster without him noticing, but he doesn’t particularly care, either. The gun bears down harder. Jason’s rim gives to the force of it. He moans, tossing his head back. It hits the cold, hard rooftop, sending a dull pain through his skull. He hardly registers it; focusing instead on relaxing his muscles to accommodate the pistol barrel being slowly pushed inside of him.

Slade huffs a laugh. “Should’ve figured you’d like this,” he says, voice low and gravelly. “This is meant to be a punishment, Jason. Maybe I should have belted you first.”

Jason whines again.

Both of them know that wouldn’t have done any good, either. Slade has whipped Jason’s ass red and raw before fucking him hard before. All it accomplished was giving Jason a mind-blowing orgasm.

If Slade really wanted to make Jason think twice, he’d do what he did after that time—

Making him sit on a textured mat while writing lines. ‘I will call for back-up if I need it,’ is a phrase imprinted on his mind now.

His ass still throbs thinking about it.

“If—If this is a punishment,” he says breathlessly, “then remind me to—uhn, fuck—earn them more often.”

Slade snorts. “You misbehave enough already.” He rocks the pistol a little more firmly, and Jason clenches around the barrel.

[spaceandbones]

PISSWOLF GUNFUCKING??? ON YOUR DASH??? thx @numbaoneflaya for letting me play barbies with Jilly 🧚‍♀️