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sneaky stage fright rewatch ty sm for introducing me to this gem
THANK YOU FOR SENDING ME THIS!
Man I fucking love this, I adore that movie, and I am so glad me being so nuts about it helped other people find it!
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No bcs why everytime i see fiona dressed as charles lee ray i get turned on... He is not real... I mean ... Her father is and she is but not HIM yk.
Because hot, just that is it, he is hot, she is hot and I am bisexual and weak.
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I finally figured out a month long mystery of mine
You know that tiktok audio "Oh, we're being rude? Awesome! My fucking turn" everytime I hear it it reminds me of someone and I couldn't for the life of me figure out who, but I just heard it again and its you!
Idk why but it reminds me so much of you dear Bex, and I mean that with the highest possible compliments
Bro, I love that you thought of me with this, fuck yeah!
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Hello, are your commissions open at the moment?
My personal life currently feels like it is on fucking fire, so I am gonna say no at the moment.
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I like dorian electra for a lot of reasons but pretty high up there is “made the phrase ‘put the fear of god in me’ into a graphic innuendo for anal”
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being madly in love with someone platonically is so ridiculous. hey man i think about you all the time. i wish you were here right now. talking to you makes me indescribably happy. i miss you. honestly what the hell
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people who comes onto your page and proceeds to like every single post you made within the last 48 hours before disappearing never to be seen again is something that technically isn’t sex but feels like edging
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Fiona Dourif as Charles Lee Ray
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I am genuinely so worried for all the young horny dykes going into adulthood thinking there's something "problematic" / "wrong" with them for being horny because fucking tiktok lesbians think any horny dyke content is "male gaze fetishitic"
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Its Danny Ghostface DBD.
Idk what this guy is supposed to look like but I made him hot. You're welcome.
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does anyone hve any sin recommendations i just fell from the garden of eden five seconds ago
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Feather River Bulletin, Quincy, California, March 20, 1924
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Takin' It - Bo Sinclair
Bo Sinclair x GN!AFAB!Reader
wrote this based off this one singular textpost i made when i was also high. enjoy
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WORD COUNT: 695
WARNINGS: nsfw, pegging, bottom!bo, top!reader, reader uses a strap but does refer to it as a cock at one point, doggy style, making bo beg, face down ass up, degradation sorta, reader ended up way meaner than originally planned so enjoy that, vauge hints at bo being a dickhead outside of sex, like a vauge primal urge to fuck bo, both reader and bo are called a bitch, bo calls reader sweetheart/baby/bitch lol, proofread but im currently high and wrote this in an hour so.... take with that what you will <3
“F-fuck you!”
It never failed to make you laugh at just how often Bo ran his mouth. Whether it was in the morning when he decided the breakfast you cooked was too cold, or the afternoon when you had dropped the flashlight you were holding for him in the sweltering garage and he had berated you for an hour, or earlier in the night when he had made some snide comment. Or, like right now, when he was bent over the bed with the blankets gripped tight in his fingers and his face squished into the mattress. His mouth just never seemed to stop running.
“Shut the fuck up, wouldja?” You grunt, hips snapping forwards harshly, the sound of skin hitting skin filling the room followed by a sharp hiss from Bo, though it was slightly muffled, just like everything else he said. “How’s it feel, Bo, huh? I can feel you shaking under me.”
For once, Bo doesn’t answer you. You can just barely make out the stitched brow, the open mouth, the few tears that had slipped down his cheek mixing with the sheen of sweat that covered him in the darkness of the room. Your hand, which had been holding onto his hips for the last thirty minutes, dig into the plump flesh, eliciting another hiss and you can’t help but grin down at him when you feel the resistance as you push back inside him. 
“Aw, look at that, fuck. You love it, don’t you? Feeling my cock inside you like this, making you take it,” you grunt, your thrusts speeding up, getting harder. Briefly, you wonder if this is why Bo acted the way he did; being on top and feeling, seeing, smelling every change in your body and being overcome with an urge so interwoven with your body that you act without thinking? Wanting to get more from you and knowing you could give it if he just did it a bit harder, a bit faster, for a bit longer? “You better tell me or I’ll stop.”
Bo makes a choked noise, a sob, and you moan under your breath, sweat rolling down the back of your neck. “Fuckin’ bitch!” Bo spits and you start to pull out, both hands resting on his hips to push him off of you, only another inch or two of the silicon left inside of him, and his hand reaches behind him to blindly grab at your hip. “D-Don’t! Dontchu fuckin’ dare!”
“You better get to begging then, bitch.” You say, leaning over and grabbing him by the hair like he has done to you time and time again, yanking him up. The toy is forced back inside him, deeper than it’s ever been, and you can feel the vibrations of a moan as your other hand rests against his throat. His head, being held back in the angle it was, reveals to you the perfect view of his fucked out face. 
Tanned and lightly freckled skin, weathered from days outside, covered in sweat and a redness that went from his nose to the tips of his ears. His eyes are half-lidded, eyes rolling into the back of his head every few seconds. You laugh at the drool that had collected in the corner of his mouth. A tug on the brown locks threaded between your fingers brings him back to the surface just enough to break his resolve.
“Fuckin’ shit! M’sorry, baby, keep going, alright? I do love it, shit, I do, Y/N! God, j-just like that, sweetheart, don’t you stop, alright? Christ, when’d you get this fucking strong, huh?” He asks, accent so much thicker when he’s not thinking about it. A brief squeeze on his throat and now that shit-eating grin is back on his face and he’s rocking his hips back, fucking himself on the toy as you catch your breath behind him. “You like given’ it to me, darlin’?”
You grin, leaning in and nipping at his neck. “I get the appeal.” You whisper, jerking your hips forwards and taking back over for him. “Now hurry the fuck up and cum or you don’t get to tonight.”
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bisexual-horror-fan · 10 days
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If never read the word "quim" again, it'll be too damn soon. Just say cunt.
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Then just for fun you take your tongue and run it over my lip | And gotta love the way she does it for the hell of it | We're in positions that most people only say they know | Rub it right up, against my body | You got your hand on a landmine, ready to blow |But the devil can hear you when you say... | C'mon and get up (get up), move your body |Use your body, lose control. |Use my body, make it yours (So get up) | We're gonna light this room on fire | Ya, you and I will burn it up tonight (so get up) | The two of us will fuel this fire | No way in hell we're slowing down tonight
And! Belly button shots with that slutty ass tattoo.
Smut? Implication? Sex dancing?. Edging? That's up to you. I am here to just proved a muse not a direct request.
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Well, well, well, Lorde! Thank you so much for giving me the in for write for Darry Jenner for the first time! I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it! And now this is officially the last fic of my 20s! A weird and fun smutty fic of an underrated character, how on brand! Let’s get into it, yeah?
Rating. Explicit. Length. 3.1K. Darry Jenner X GN! Reader. No Pronouns Or Parts Specified. Warnings: Teasing. Alcohol Consumption. Partying. Body Shots. Mild But Playful Slut-Shaming (Darry Is The Slut Here.). Making Out. Grinding. Hand Job. Blow Job. Throat Fucking. Edging. Sex. Riding. Banter. Reader Is Kinda An Asshole But It’s Fun.
“Who’s The Real Slut Here?”
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It’s Friday night, you are in college and so naturally you are out at a party, decently full of people, music playing at a healthy volume and your classmates drinking and making merry, excited the school week was done. You were of course among them, with the same idea in mind, of cutting loose and forgetting your stress, and you were well on your way to do that. You’d been here for around an hour, hadn’t really run into anyone you knew super well, but that was fine, you were enjoying milling and mingling. 
Currently making your way to the living room, looking around distractedly at the goings-on, people dancing, mingling, talking, in the early stages of hooking up, Hell, who knows, maybe you’ll find someone to grind up against yourself. 
That train of thought is quickly abandoned as another body collides into yours, shoulder to shoulder, and sharp contact with a small jolt of pain sends your body turning expectedly and unfortunately makes you drop your drink. You were drinking out of the natural party classic, a red solo cup, so broken glass wasn’t a concern, but the sticky and sweet mix of fruit juice, carbonation and alcohol spills over your shoes all the same. 
Eyes drop with a disgusted sound, your shoes are fairly waterproof so your socks getting wet isn’t a concern, but your shoes are going to be tacky and gross, you just know it. You feel annoyance and anger bubbling until you hear the frantic and rushed, “Oh my God, I am so sorry.” 
You had a response on your tongue, ready to snark out something close to, “Yeah you better be!” with a healthy amount of venom, but when your eyes raise to look at your assaulter in the face that quickly proves to be a difficult task. You become distracted by dark brown eyes and soft looking black hair, his face tinged with worry and what looks like genuine remorse, pink lips parted and hands up, it makes what was meant to be a bitchy barb melt into, “Yeah, you’re okay, I mean, it’s okay.” 
“God, no it’s not, looks like that was full-” You cut him off with a smile, anger was forgotten, “Really, it’s okay.”
“At least let me get you another drink? For my conscience if nothing else.” He is very sweet, reads as honest, earnest. You agree and say, “Yes, okay, I can let you do that.” 
He finally smiled, slow and more beautiful than it had any right to be. You and he make your way to the kitchen and once in there and in front of the drink station you both notice that there are no cups. He says, “I think there are some on the top shelf of this cupboard, hold on-”
“How do you know that?” You ask, and he says as he opens the doors, “Oh, my friend lives here.”
He reaches up to the aforementioned top shelf, rooting around for the cups, and you are just watching him, eyes move down his body and in the process of him stretching. His shirt rides up and you of course stare at the newly revealed skin, what you find there makes you gasp before laughing out, “Woah! Slut alert!”
He pulls the cups down, jaw dropped open as he says, “Excuse me?”
You respond enthusiastically with a point to him as you say, “You! I just realized, you’re a slut.”
The cupboard doors are closed, an eyebrow raised as he asks, “What makes you say that?”
You take the two strides forward to be within touching range, and you reach out, fingers hook in the hem of his shirt, and you yank it up and point to his tattoo with your other hand. “This! Look at this shit, guys who aren’t sluts do not have little whoreish rose tattoos like this!”
“Christ! You’re being awfully forward for someone I just met.” He smacks your hand away and smoothed his shirt back down into place, and you laugh again, “I notice you aren’t disagreeing with my assertion.”
He argues with you as the package of new red solo cups was torn open and one was retrieved, “Didn’t think I had to! I think it’s obvious I’m not a slut.”
You watch as he plucks up one cup and sets it down ready to finally make you that drink, but you aren’t concerned with that anymore, instead you asked, “Oh yeah? Wanna bet?”
“Seriously?” Was his deadpanned reply. 
“Yeah, let's ask ten people, if more than five agree with me that you are a total tart based off your tattoo, I win, and if less than five agree that you are not a slut, you win, and I’ll drop it.” You explained quickly, a wide grin overtaking your face.
He looks considering for a moment before asking, “What do you want if you win?”
You push his shoulder playfully as you ask, “C’mon, where’s the fun in that if I tell you upfront?”
A roll of his eyes as he crosses his arms over his chest, the small smile on his face as well as his tone tattles on the fact he is amused however, attempt to fix your drink abandoned, consumed in the current ridiculous conversation, “If you don’t tell me I won’t do it.”
You groan and kick the kitchen island you were next to, “Fine. Spoilsport. How about…” You look him over and then grin lewdly as the thought comes to you like lightning,, “A body shot.”
He laughs with a shake of his head, eyes drop to the floor as he shrugs and says, “Fine. You’re on.”
You shake on it, eye contact reestablished, and the game was on. 
Your hand on his wrist, you start to lead him around the party. The routine went as follows, you walk up to a person, ask if they are down to participate in settling a bet you were both in, if they said yes, you would be showing him off. You would lift his shirt excitedly, or he would be reluctantly tugging it up himself to show it off until ten people later you were saying positively giddy, “Seven out of ten college party goers agree! You are a slut.”
He sighs and asks quietly, “What shot are you doing off me?”
To you, there was only one answer possible.
“The classic naturally. Tequila.” 
Soon enough he is splayed across a table that is normally used for beer pong, currently in between games, and you are setting him up. He’d taken his shirt off before laying down, you rubbed the wedge of lime on him, the space of his belly button now slick and salt sprinkled, your other hand gripping the bottle of tequila you’d already taken the cap off of, you tip it and poured the liquid into the hollow of his belly button. He shivers and squirms slightly, some spills, overflows, and you chide him, “Fuck, stay still!” 
Before he can retort, you’d taken that same lime wedge and placed it in his mouth, rind side down towards him, flesh of the fruit upturned. The bottle is set down and you make your move.
You lean down, one hand on his jean clad thigh, higher than it needs to be, fingers curling over the curve of his thigh, your mouth is close enough. Your lips latch, and you drink from him, tongue dips in, and you eagerly lap up the burning alcohol before you swirl along the perimeter and over that same tattoo that set this bet in motion. Next your tongue turns upwards, passing over warm skin and his firm toned stomach, catching the salt you sprinkled before. 
Afterwards you are pulling up and with one smooth stride, fingers trailing up his bare torso as you go, your other hand descends onto his forehead. Your fingers run through dark hair, a and you leaned down, you give him a ghost of a kiss as you steal the lime wedge, you linger longer than necessary, if he wanted and responded fast enough he could have kissed you, but he was too shocked. You are pulling back up, your fingers come up too, and you bite down, sucking the acidic delight back. Clean rind is pulled away, and you look down at him, stomach wet and lips shiny, staring up at you, and you say, “I realize something.” 
He sounds just a little out of breath as he asks, “What’s that?” 
“I never got your name.”
He realizes that’s true. A small cock of his head as he tells you,  “Darry. My name is Darry.”
You toss the rind of the lime wedge aside, and you tell compliment him, “Well, Darry, I have got to say, at least you are a man of your word. You have follow through.”
He sighs and holds one hand out, “Gee thanks, wanna help me up?”
You do so, gripping his hand and pulling him to sit up and get off the table. He goes to put his shirt back on, but grimaces, “I feel all sticky now.”
Taking in the sight of the hardwood and sturdy table that was covered in a million rings from never having seen a single coaster but cups upon cups of drinks and who knows how many spills your expression mimics his, “Yeah, that table was not clean, c’mon, let’s go to the bathroom, I’ll help you clean up.”
Soon you are standing in the ensuite bathroom attached to the master bedroom. You aren’t supposed to be in here, it is supposed to be off limits, but you’ve always been a rule breaker, haven’t you?
You are cleaning him up, warm and damp wash cloth running over his back, and you say, “So why don’t you think you’re a slut?”
“Cuz I’m not one?”
“Are you sure? Letting me parade you around the party like I did, letting me do a body shot off you like that, I mean fuck, dude, I tongue fucked your belly button before you told me your name. Seems pretty whore like to me.” You teased playfully, and he laughs shocked, seemingly speechless. 
You asked, “What do you think?”
He takes a deep breath before, sighing out, “I think no matter what I say, you are gonna think I’m a whore.”
You finish cleaning him and are wringing out the cloth into the sink and shrug, “Maybe, maybe not.” He catches your eyes in the mirror. He is staring. You stare back. 
You turn and there is this tension. You break it by dropping the cloth and flicking some water onto his still bare chest, a challenging raise of your eyebrows asking, “What are you gonna do about it?”
And you get what you want. 
He wants to put you in your place, wants to shut you up, but mostly you think, he just wants to, and so he makes the first move. His hands on your arms, pulling you closer and taking that single step, and he kisses you. 
The make out is speedy. 
A brief thought flits through your mind, that you were getting just want you wanted out of tonight, fun, relaxation, a few good drinks and getting to hook up with someone. You are feeling bold, and you think he wants it, you test the waters, you feel him up, hands over bare and exposed skin, and he doesn’t shy away, no he leans in closer, eager.
You suppress a smile as you deepen the kiss, one hand is on the back of his neck, the other running over the expanse of his chest and one leg hooks over his hip as you grind on him. He gets hard pretty fucking quick. 
The speed is enough to make his head spin. Two minutes ago, he had his hand in your underwear, touching you, but you made him stop and were now on your knees, pants open and pulling him out. You work him over, hand locked onto his shaft, and you stroke, firm grip, a squeeze whenever you get to the head, a twist of your wrist on the down stroke of his shaft and a steady move back upwards to repeat the process all over again. 
He is leaned against the counter when you lean in, your tongue flicking over the tip, and that has him moaning, head back. The view is fantastic, pants and underwear low on his hips, shirt still off, hands gripping the counter edge so hard you can see the flex of tendons in his forearms, it encourages you to wrap your lips around his head. You suck indulgently and keep your hand in motion, he tastes very fucking good, salt and tang, delicious and when you feel him start to throb in your palm you pull back. His head drops, chin tucked into his neck, to look down at you. His expression is crestfallen, he looks sad and confused as he asks, “Why’d you stop?”
You remain on your knees, tongue licking up the pre-cum on your fingertips before you say, “Because I want you to say it.”
More confusion as he asks, “What?”
Pressing him, you say, “I want you to say it, admit it.”
“Admit what?” Asked Darry, still not getting what you were driving at.
You smile and say it as if it were as simple as two plus fucking two, “That you are a whore. Nothing more than a needy slut. Say it and I’ll keep going.”
He looks shocked again. His mouth opens and closes, but he can’t say much more than, “I-...” before you start again, he moans anew, how cute is he? How stupid and gullible? This will be fun. 
You work quickly, hand and mouth serving to wreck him in short order. He is moaning, panting, hips rocking forward, and you can tell, nearly there, he is close, and you stop, he curses, and you tease once more, singsonging out, “You aren’t finishing until you say it.” 
“I’m not gonna-” 
Well, that won’t do. You don’t let him even finish saying that he isn’t going to do it. Your hands on his hips you lean in, and you make one swift move and you deep throat him, take him to the root, and he lets off the best sound he has all night, a choked off moan with shattered breathing, utterly close to ruin. He looks so pretty like this. He had run his fingers through his hair, bit his bottom lip so hard trying to stay quiet you think it might bruise and bleed, his chest and neck is flush, he is unreasonably hard and leaking pre-cum at a steady rate. 
You are relentless. You work him perfectly, swallow around him, suck, lick and more until he is about to burst. “Please, please, fuck, don’t stop, s’ good-”
He sounds fantastic when he begs, you feel yourself in need and aching. You almost want to give in, you are sure he will moan with the utmost gratitude, will sound hot enough that it might get you halfway there on its own without you ever having to touch yourself.
He is still begging, “So close, God, yes, ah-”  He sounds so fucking hot, amazing, he is all but whining, but he didn’t say the magic words you wanted and so, you then pull off of him. Remove his thick cock from your throat and mouth, the wet strings of saliva break apart, the leash that bound you and he no more. You stand up and pull away, are ready to fully leave the bathroom, fixing yourself up in the mirror, and he grips your wrist. He is painfully hard, dripping, breathing is laboured as he asks, “Please, fuck, please don’t leave me like this?”
You give him a nearly apologetic smile, one thumb wipes some stray spit from your chin as you prompt him, “Then just say it, Darry. You say it and admit it, and I’ll get you off.”
A pause, a beat, and he finally relents. 
He says it shockingly smooth and confident, maintaining eye contact with you, he states as if he truly believes it, “I’m a whore, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I’m a fucking slut.” 
“There you go. Good boy.” You step away and your hand locks onto the doorknob, you open it and asked him over your shoulder, “Wanna go dance?” 
He sounds shocked and calls after you, “Wait! I-I thought if I said it that you’d-”
You turn, eyes meet again, and you tell him, “Oh I’m going to take care of that-” And a nod down to his still raging erection, “-but I was thinking we can go take a break, let you calm down a bit and then maybe you’ll be able to fuck me without busting in two strokes. No offence, by the way, I didn’t make it easy on you, I can make an experienced guy bust in two minutes with some serious effort.”
That is a lot to take in all at once. His mouth opens, another unsure sound before as he asks, “You want to-”
You fill in the blank. “Fuck you Darry. I want to ride you into oblivion.”
He was so caught up he hadn’t noticed you were holding his shirt, you threw it at him and said, “Now c’mon you still owe me that drink from earlier too.” 
He caught the shirt and was putting it back on as he asks, “The one you hoovered off my body doesn’t count?”
You lean against the door as you watch him stuffing himself back into his jeans and closing his pants off his still obvious erection as you say, “Not even close.” 
He got you that drink, you did dance and later on in on top of the coats in a guest bedroom you kept your promise. Only afterwards, the sound of him whimpering while he came still ringing in your ears while you remain perched on top of him, heaving and sweat slick, coming down from your own orgasm, you tease him and say, “Was that so hard?”
He huffed out with a weak and satisfied smile, “No, suppose not, it was pretty great.”
You hum out, “I’ll say. And hey, Darry, you know this is all in good fun, right?”
He hums unconvinced and shifts under you, and you say, “No really, think about it Darry. I fucked you without ever telling you my name, I’m a slut too.”
The laugh he let out is the second-best sound you’d heard all night, when he sucks down a deep breath and the laughter subsides, he tells you warmly, “You fucking suck.”
“You know it.” 
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