NIKO ; they/them ; twenties | isfj-t | rbs & interacts with nsfw/dc | proud pro/self-shipper | struggling artist & occasional writer | slowest creative ever | sdv seb fiend
【 BYF & DNI × GALLERY / MASTERLIST × BOUNDARIES 】
THINGS TO KNOW
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He still can't get used to this. Mr. Yang had told him to basically sit pretty and enjoy the journey, but Sunday still feels antsy just sitting around leisurely. Pom-Pom already takes care of most of the tidying between assigned chore hours, and Dan Heng insists he doesn't need any assistance with the archives.
There's only so much reading, journaling, and listening to music that Sunday can tolerate before it shifts from relaxation to anxiety that he should be doing something more productive. Recently, he's gotten into feng shui and has already reorganized his room and the common space in his passenger car. March and Stelle have declined his consultation to increase the energy flow of their rooms (though there certainly is a strong and off-puttingly chaotic energy from both their rooms that suggests flow isn't necessary), and he feels like it’d be insulting to Miss Himeko’s elegance for him to suggest he could improve her quarters.
That just leaves you, his room neighbor. You have a habit of leaving your door open—something you've explained as letting people know where you are and if you're available to be bothered. Your room isn't necessarily messy, but there's quite a bit of clutter when it comes to trinkets, an excessive amount of scented candles, and textbooks stacked against your wall like the backdrop of the Penaconian Dreamscape. Part of him is curious to see all the titles and read all the candle labels, but he's never spent time in your room other than brief conversations.
Your door is open when he goes to check. You're not there, likely in the bath or having a drink in the party car, so he decides to take a respectful look around. You've mentioned before that anyone is welcome to your textbooks, so it doesn't feel like he's snooping or invading.
Already, he's making notes on how to move your bed and how you could add a tall shelf to block off your computer desk from the rest of the room. Your shoes are lined up neatly, but certainly could be given a more distinct home. You have a basket that could maybe-
Oh.
Sunday regrets looking at its contents. You're using it as a laundry hamper, and right on top is a pair of your panties turned inside out. He immediately backs away and makes an exit from your room.
Once in the familiarity of his own room, he sighs and places a hand over his rapidly beating heart. He just committed an act of violation. He will absolutely need to confess to you later and apologize. It's the right thing to do, even if it was an honest mistake (a very embarrassing one at that).
He runs through the confrontation in his head. Will you just laugh it off? Most likely. But what if you get angry? That he can handle, even though he knows you'll be annoyed at worst. Truly, the worst outcome would be for you to tease him. You might look at him with smug disdain and call him disgusting—a pervert.
Shame boils in his stomach, spreading its gripping heat throughout his body. His neck and face go hot, making him dizzy. Even a flap of his wings won't cool him off. The heat drops further down from its point of origin, tightening in his loins. How disgusting of his body to react this way, but the shame feeds itself in a loop.
Foolish. There's no reason for him to be feeling like this. Perhaps he got it all wrong. Perhaps there's nothing to apologize for.
Sunday pokes his head out of his room and checks down the hall to see if you've returned during his crisis. Your door is still open, so he slips out and peeks inside. Still empty. With heart pounding, he rushes over to your laundry hamper and double-checks to make sure what he saw was actually your underwear.
Another bout of shame washes over him when they are indeed panties, only this time, he doesn't look away. He leans in closer to inspect. There's a small white stain in the gusset, indicating they've definitely been worn. His mouth fills with saliva. His core tightens all the way down to his groin. He shifts uncomfortably on his feet, nearly falling forward from how closely he's leaned in.
Then, an aroma hits him. His mind slips away from himself, no longer some sweet dove but rather a ravenous vulture. He grabs the scrunched-up fabric and is about to bring it to his face when-
“Mr. Sunday?”
He whips around and straightens up, clasping his hands behind his back in a dignified posture. You're back, apparently from the bath, judging by the water still in your hair and the towel draped over your arm.
“Ah, I was just checking out your book collection to see if you have anything on Luofu architecture,” he lies all too easily as he squeezes your panties in his fist.
“Nothing on architecture, just sacred geometry,” you say as you step further in and begin to peruse your book collection.
“That's probably above my head,” he says earnestly. “Excuse me.”
He brushes past you, heart racing as he catches a whiff of your bath products. The panties are balled up tightly in his fist. He can't help but think about the scent seeping into his glove.
He quickly retreats to his room and slides the door shut, making sure to lock it. Even still, he doesn't feel quite safe. Safe from what? He's the dirty, disgusting, dangerous one. Oh Xipe, he has sinned. A pathetic thief, but the deed has been done. What's one more thing to atone for?
He unfurls his hand, revealing your panties and the delicious little white stain on them. Hesitation and humiliation grip him for a moment, but he's already come this far. There's no reconstructing his wings now. All that's left is to fall.
He brings them to his face and inhales deep. His eyes flutter. His mouth waters, and a hunger blooms deep inside of him like the mouth of the Voracity. He inhales again and again, shivering at the smell hitting the back of his throat. He lets out a quiet groan, mouth opening and letting his tongue dart out to lick a stripe up the fabric, making him moan again.
This is sick. He's disgusted with himself for not being able to stop. Tears prickle at the corner of his eyes as he continues to lap up the scent. He stops just short of shoving the whole garment in his mouth. Instead, he holds it between his teeth, and he hastily unzips his pants to access his throbbing, aching cock. With one hand, he strokes himself with a satisfied moan, while the other hand holds your panties to his nose again.
The scent makes him dizzy with lust. He stumbles backwards until his back leans against the wall that separates his room from yours. The walls of the Express are thick and soundproof, but even if they weren't, he wouldn't care about your hearing at this point. All that matters is his desperate need for release. The musky, tangy scent has him choking on need. Once again, he begins to lick and suckle at the fabric, eager to consume.
Any thoughts of him being pathetic and perverse only fuel the burn. His cock is so hard it hurts. He wonders if he could die from need. He wants you. He needs you. He imagines your panties being worn by you and straddling his face as he presses his nose into your leaking cunt. They're soaked with an obscene amount of his saliva.
His imagination runs even wilder—your ass backed into his hips, grinding against him, bending over to rub your leaking pussy all over him. He brings the panties away from his face and wraps the damp fabric around his cock. He throws his head back, whimpering and moaning and panting with reckless abandon. His hips move in short thrusts as some of the fabric catches against his leaky cockhead, mixing his pre with the stain of your juices.
His belly feels tight. He can feel the veins of his cock swelling up with more blood, making him that much harder. He smears his precum with your panties, biting his lip as he fights his lewd noises. He can't control his hips. He's going to- He’s gonna-
There's a light knocking on his door that slowly brings him to his senses. Rather than be embarrassed, he's annoyed at the interruption. However, he knows it could be something important involving the Express and its crew.
He adjusts his pants and woefully tosses your panties on his bed. All he wants is to get back to his fantasies, but he goes to his door and slides it open only just enough to poke his head out.
His heart stops when he sees it's you, standing a little awkwardly as you rub the back of your neck. Could you have noticed the panties missing from your hamper? Are you here to call him out on it? Will you accuse him of being a disgusting freak? His cock throbs against his will.
“Is everything alright, Mr. Sunday?” You ask.
“Yes,” he answers as normally as he can muster. “Why? Did you hear something?”
You dart your eyes to the side and then look back at him, leaning in closer.
“I heard you calling for me, um, inside my head. You kept saying you need me. It sounded like you were….in pain,” you say tentatively.
warning : i leaned into the "freakiness" of it because of my friends [in reality all i did was make the print more defined .....] but there's nothing explicit!!
full uncensored piece & alt versions under the cut !
byf & dni | navi
no overlay / no smoke / no overlay or smoke ver [in that order]
omg thanks for being the first person to bring up the ishuzoku reviewers part of my lil post. and i also saw that you like shokugeki no soma!! incredibly based.
xx alcannetta
ps your theme is sooo cute. kissing the little carrier bat before i send them off.
hihi :D !!!! thank you for writing the ishuzoku reviewers post 🤤 reading the sunday snippet truly made me feel like i was IN an episode guh your hcs are spot on <3 also yes shokugeki no soma on top its so good !! more people need to give it a shot 😩
& shfjdkgblehd THANKYOU ! i put a lot of time into the personalization, i appreciate your kind words sm <3 [carrier bat does too!!]
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ thinking of interspecies reviewers x hsr ₊˚⊹ ᰔ
aka monster! hsr boys x gn! reader smut blurbs, ooc?! ps, pls lmk if i accidentally used some specific genitalia xx
amazonian mydei: your personal trainer at the gym cum succushop run by athletic amazonians. a very popular succuboy, with his strict but warm exercise and diet programmes all personalised for each customer. and also for his undeniably attractive physique, with tattoos that stretch and emphasise his muscles whenever he moves. he rewards you after every session with massages, including ones where his hands dip between the curves of your asscheeks to touch your sex with the excuse that you need to relax your lower muscles too. so much for relaxation, since you'll find yourself back to exercising as you bounce on his cock in the private rooms.
angel sunday: he yearns, he pleases, he gets tied up. an angel who wanted to save all those engaged in the vice of intercourse, yet ended up becoming corrupted himself. a rare and prized beauty, so his demand is high and only the richest customers can become his patrons. his wings are very sensitive, and he cheeps melodiously like a birdmaid when they’re touched. he’s into sensory depravation, so blindfold him, tie him to the bed and have your way with him. trace your fingers along his smooth angelic flesh and bruise it with the red rope, leave your mark on this lowly fallen angel. take him back to heaven when you sink on top of him, edging him while he’s hopeless to do anything but cry at the tightness of your warmth.
dragon dan heng: double dick danger. more vanilla than the others, his real defining features are his two dicks. apart from that he seems cold during first impressions due to his strict professionalism, but his skill is no joke and his aftercare is warm for a cold-blooded serpentine species. he’s a safe choice for beginners and virgins, starting out with just one dick depending on your comfort, but the way he praises you when you’re taking both his dicks makes you quickly become a repeat patron. moreover, it’s cute when he smiles so demurely at you when he sees that you’ve visited him again. during his ruts, he only receives long-time customers since he’s more animalistic then, even breaking the bed on certain occasion, much to the exasperation of the receptionist.
ghost moze: he may turn invisible at will and you can't touch him, but he can touch you. the succushop is modelled like a gothic haunted house, and the succuboys are ghosts, spectres and other undead. it's exciting, not knowing when you'll be pounced on by invisible hands as you walk through the dim candlelit hallways, pulled into a private room adorned with golden ornaments and onto silken sheets to be penetrated on ghostly dick. he loves to make you watch your gaping hole squeeze seemingly around nothing in the mirror. you’ll be all covered in ectoplasm by the time he’s done with you.
golem boothill: an old golem who was used as a gun-slinging mercenary, now repurposed to become a sex toy! the main appeal about golems is creating your own unique sexual partner for the day, so used golems are usually second class succuboys. boothill, however, managed to overcome the stigma by the sheer charisma of his design and personality. he’s an old-school gentleman, who holds the door open and fucks you into the mattress like he’s just returned from a gruelling mission, desperate for relief. he groans into your ear about how you’re taking his cum like a good spouse as he folds you into a mating press. very hot, also, he has a vibrating dick.
human aventurine: a gambler who you can't win against, and has his way with you every time you lose. sex with him is as much as an addiction as gambling. ever since your first humiliating defeat, where he made you crawl to him on all fours, call him master, suck him off, then finally fucked you, you’ve been coming back in hopes of beating him, only to get beat by his meat (not that you mind that part). the way he finally pounds into you makes you see stars and almost forget his grating personality. his smug smirk is basically tattooed onto the back of your eyelids. oh dear, you still can’t find out how he’s cheating, can you? what games shall he play with his dear toy today…
salamander phainon: a certified good boy who lives to please. since salamanders burn almost everything they touch, save for fellow fire-resistant species and materials, he’s only managed to find employment at this salamander barbecue succujoint, as the grill of course. it’s hard to keep your hands off him when the oils drip tantalisingly down his pecs and abs, and he sucks the sausages enthusiastically with a full intent of cooking them perfectly. his heat also makes your mind fog, making you lose your inhibitions. if you can take his flames though, you'll be pleasured by our oiled up salamander and his warm dick, nesting heavy and snug inside you. he’s also a great choice for afab customers on their periods!
witch anaxa: a portal specialist and researcher. when you first enter the shop, you’ll be directed to a workshop for creating a pocket pussy modelled after your very own using his patented state-of-the-art technology, which you can then take home after the session. do note that it’ll cost extra to have more holes made. you can try sorts of positions and stimulations with his portals. for example, he can both fuck you on his dick and his frustratingly good tongue as he holds your own custom pocket pussy up to his lips. you can even watch the erotic way your inner walls squeeze against his penetration. expect multiple penetration with him, as he uses several of his own magical dildos and toys on your holes. his own chest is also a portal and erogenous zone so have your way with him too even while he pleasures you by playing with the celestial hole on his chest. he moans oh so cutely when you do, of course!
special mention to birdmaid robin who has the most angelic voice. her songs are heavenly, and so are the little chirps she involuntary tweet out when you overstimulate her!
── ✰ Means to an End .ᐟ.ᐟ (Band!AU Sebastian x F!Reader)
♯┆He doesn't often fuck fans. He’s never really enjoyed the experience, upset at the thought of being nothing more than a notch in someone else's bedpost—bragging rights, at most, to the person underneath him.
rating: smut (18+), angst
cw: band AU, power imbalance, drug use, angst, he doesn’t care about you, condom, hair pulling, slight objectification
wc: 4,858
A/N: I like my men mean I suppose. Sebastian is very not loving in this fic, you have been warned!!!
Burning smoke turns his voice into a mere croak, lungs full of the self medication that he has no choice but to blow back against your face, given the small quarters he pulled you into moments before.
He doesn’t often fuck fans. He’s never really enjoyed the experience, upset at the thought of being nothing more than a notch in someone else’s bedpost—bragging rights, at most, to the person underneath him. It’s a bit shameful too, he thinks to himself, to take the easy way out. He could fuck around with anyone he pleases, but a fan? Simple, the tired choice, really. There’s no fun in it when the other party has already handed him the win from the get go.
Blinking slowly, he greets you with a forced smile. The very same one he pulls on stage, canines flashing in the dim light to demand attention. The bus is empty tonight spare his company, thank fuck. He’s needed a break for a while, and it seems as though you’ll suffice tonight.
His personal little means to an end. Nothing more, nothing less… Exactly what he needs tonight after the stress of the show, and then some.
Music still yet booms around the bus, another act well underway as his members remain hidden somewhere else… He hasn’t the slightest clue as to where, and the drug that makes its way throughout his system renders him beyond having the capacity to care.
“Want some?” He coughs into the air, trying to clear the crack in his voice as more smoke tumbles from between his lips, just for more burn to enter upon another inhale. Still, he offers the joint towards you, lit end burning brightly in the otherwise dark back room he’s tugged you into.
“No, um, it’s all right!” You giggle back, and he struggles not to roll his eyes at the girlish sound.
Nervous, of course. They always are, he assumes. As if he isn’t just some regular guy who somehow had a stroke of luck in the form of a stage and applause. He has half a mind to correct your starstruck position with the truth, but settles simply on a small sigh. An annoyance than can be misconstrued as exhaustion from the earlier performance, as opposed to his frustration over the fact that you’re no different.
Not that he expected much of you in the first place, but there’s always a twinge of hope. A silent beg for something new, something exciting, something beyond just a brief filling of the hole in his chest.
Well, you’re about to find out exactly who he is. Without the crowd, with no applause, reduced to the mere man he truly is.
He shrugs at your denial of drugs, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek to suppress the annoyance he feels over your giddy excitement. “Suit yourself.” He huffs, taking a final drag of smoke before placing the almost done joint in a nearby ashtray, letting the stink of weed circle around you to no doubt get you a little high regardless of your personal preference.
You’re perched between his wide open legs, sitting so sweetly on your knees, like you’re awaiting his every instruction. Holding your breath as he repositions to settle more comfortably, trying not to take up too much of his space in fear of… God, he has no fucking idea. And that irks him further—he wouldn’t have brought you back here if he didn’t want you here.
“What’re ya so scared of?” he forces some light laughter out, stretching his legs out around you even more to reveal the slow growing bulge hidden behind his tight jeans. “Won’t bite, promise.”
In an attempt to coax you closer, he juts his hips out a little more. Wagging the dog a bone, as it were, because more than anything, he hasn’t the energy to bite. Can’t do anything but entice you, not willing to work for what you so eagerly, thankfully, want to provide him.
A sweet distraction from the stress brought on from arguments with band mates. Not that you would know, or care, right?
Similarly, he couldn’t care less about you beyond what you can provide him tonight. No name necessary—all he cares about is the fact that you were practically begging for his attention after the show, bouncing those pretty tits for him to drool at, easily allowing him to sneak you off in the dark of the night to the shitty tour bus as if it were the most romantic act in the world. Bet you think you’re special, right? Out of everyone who attended the show tonight, he picked you, yeah? And though you’re a sight for sore eyes absolutely, you could just have easily been literally anyone else. The girl to your left, the man to your right. Wouldn’t have made a single difference to him; you were just the most immediate hole within reach.
“Right,” you laugh, anxious energy ruining his vibe a tad as you effectively force him into another show tonight, demanding he ease your nerves. “It’s just—Y’know, I… I can’t believe I’m here, y’know?”
Y’know, y’know, he mocks in his head. “Right,” he smiles placidly, helping you to submit to your wants and desires only because they align with his own in this exact moment. “So don’t ruin the opportunity, y’know?”
His mimicry is meant to be alluring, a game of back and forth his fans so often like to play—or so Sam has told him anyway, the resident fan-fucker that he is. But alas, Sebastian’s social battery is running severely low right now, no thanks in part to the prior argument with said fucker. Likewise, his patience only runs so thin, and he isn’t sure exactly how much time he has left to vent his frustrations through the use of your body, or how long the cloud in his head will last as a buffer between his stage presence and his actual personality.
Though it seems like Sam is right. The bait works, and you’re swiftly nodding back at him in a grotesque seeking of approval. “Of course I wouldn’t! I won’t, I promise!”
He’s had a hard time believing you thus far, but he gives you another chance. Even unzips his jeans for you, letting his soft bulge spill out a little from the new opening.
“Come and show me then.”
The bed he’s on is small. Much too tiny for the sort of activities he needs right now, but it’ll suffice. He hasn’t the time to search for a better location, nor does he necessarily think you deserve much else besides the dingy back end of the bus. He’s there, what more could you want? That’s how fans work, right? The dehumanisation, limiting him to his presence and naught else.
He may as well do the same to you.
Upon his direction, you finally move into action. Maybe you’re able to pick up on the slight edge of frustration leaking into his words because he’s never been the best at hiding his emotions, no matter how much media training he’s been subjected to. But he’d like to think it’s because you’re on the same wavelength as him. Raring to complete this transaction, keen to brag about fucking the favourite member of your favourite band to your friends when you get back home, adamant that you’re telling them the truth when you retell exactly how you start crawling towards him, flashing a cheeky glimpse of cleavage that convinced him earlier to give in to his more selfish desires. The primal urge to fuck his feelings out, no matter the ethics involved in fraternising with fans. Sam does it all the time, so why shouldn’t he indulge when the opportunity presents itself?
As it so often does.
You’re no different from the rest, but he nonetheless appreciates the fact that you’re giving in now. Edging closer to his half sat position, half laying back against the wall the bed is bolted to. “Atta girl,” he encourages you, a more genuine smirk tugging at his lips now that you’re playing nice. Maybe the stink of weed is finally taking hold of you, prompting you closer, all the way until you straddle his thighs, leaving his hardening cock to pulse and throb for more pressure as you tease him with a slow sway of your hips. “See? S’not so bad, right?” his hands grip loosely at your waist, an attempt to keep you pinned in place, but he harbours little strength to offer you anything more obsessive.
“Sorry, I’m just a little nervous…”
“I know…” he coos naturally, clouded by the drug as he focuses on helping you come out of your shell. Putting in the minimum amount of work required to open you up for him, so that he can selfishly get what he wants before having to throw you out for the night. “I’m no different than anyone else.” Just like you, he keeps to himself.
“That’s not true…” You lean closer to him, a strong smell of perfume filling the air around him to rival the smoke, and he can only imagine that you picked the scent out specifically for a pipe dream situation like this. “You’re special to me.” Your nails rake playfully down his clothed chest, and he has to fight back a yawn at the tired excuse in the hopes of keeping you perched on his lap.
What’s worse is that he fears that if he opens his lips to speak, he’ll only end up telling you off for the obvious flattering lie, so he instead hums noncommittally as he tries to focus solely on the feeling of your weight on his thighs… How nice and warm you are in his hold, a cute little thing with the hots for him simply due to his influence.
Is it so wrong to use you if you’re practically begging for it?
The power imbalance ordinarily makes him feel gross, icky with guilt at even the thought of exerting it against anyone. Which is why he smoked the weed, just a little help to lower his standards, forget his morals just for one night. Just another night for him, but maybe the best one for you. He’s yet to see how memorable you’ll make it for him, though he hasn’t got much faith for now.
“Don’t have much time.” He gulps, emphasising his urgency with a barely there pat on your ass.
“Right, yeah. Course.”
“Condoms are under the pillow—”
Before he can politely ask you to grab one, you’re already reaching over for his benefit. And if anything, he’s just happy to have picked a submissive one tonight. The thought alone of having to deal with foreplay, of pretending that this is something more than it already is, gives him a headache. You’re probably wet enough already, right? Soaked right through the second he brought you into the bus, knowing full well what his intentions were when he showed you to the furthest bed. He doesn’t even have to try in order to prepare you—existence is all it takes tonight, right?
In the meantime, he prepares himself by pulling his erection out from the fly of his boxers. Letting it cool in the air as your soft gasp at the sight of it has more hot precum rolling down the length of it. Just human natures, pure instinct, and nothing about you specifically. He tends to it idly, gently tugging on it once or twice as you busy yourself with ripping the packet open—eagerly, may he add. Watching as it slips from your hold until you resort to using your teeth for the job.
The discarded package is thrown to the side, cock still yet in his hand as he wags it towards you, red hot tip leaking and begging for your attention.
For any attention at this point.
He briefly wonders if you’ll tell your friends all about your fumbling about too, but you deprive him the chance of dwelling on the thought for too long, heeding his warning of future company and time constraints by placing the end of the condom right on top of his tip, and he groans in both frustration at the feeling—bareback is infinitely better, but is he fuck knocking up a fan of all girls—and enjoyment at the fact that he’ll soon be able to rid the anxiety building in his chest.
The cooling effect of the condom does little to calm his lust—pure unadulterated lust, nothing else harboured for the moment—especially when you pout so prettily back at him like that. Seeking more approval for the way you gently, slowly, roll it down his whole length. Trying to keep the tension of teasing alive and well in spite of the lack of time he has with you, leaving just a peek of his base free from the constraint of safety as he finally lets out a shaky sigh once you let go and flutter your lashes back at him expectantly.
You are rather pretty. Makes it easier to stay hard at the very least.
“Thanks,” he breathes, hot and heavy, unintentionally flirting with the simple appreciation he offers you if the way you flush and hide from his half-lidded drug induced gaze is anything to go by. He’s sensitive too, much more than normal, thanks to the weed. Could probably get off just as well if he had the energy to jack himself off in private, but the warmth of another body was too enticing to pass up on, especially with the way you practically skipped right behind him into the tour bus. “I uh— Are you ready?”
He couldn’t care less about whatever fantasy version of him you must have built up in your head through viewing him in interviews, music videos, live on stage… He only cares about getting what he wants in the easiest manner possible. Though he assumes he doesn’t have to check in with you, his head tilting at the way your thighs rub together provocatively, coaxing another fat bead of precum to try and escape his new confines. Instead smearing nicely against his tip as he instinctively reaches out to grab at his erection, feeling the weight of every throb your coquettish actions pull out of him.
“Yes. More than.” You state plainly, clear and carrying some sort of faux confidence he decides to exploit.
“Good,” his hands once again find home on your hips, tapping at them lightly as an attempt at encouragement to get closer. “C’mon then,” he rasps, shuffling down the sheets to bob his cock closer to your core. “Need it.”
Not you. It. The mere act of sex itself as opposed to you as a person. The sole worth you provide him right now. Hidden only behind a short skirt and thin panty barrier he intends on penetrating if you don’t hurry up with dragging it to the side, just before you reposition as he wordlessly asks for. Almost as if you planned for this exact situation more than the concert itself, right? Maybe all of his fans feel the same way. That’d be embarrassing for them, he muses to himself.
It’s not the most comfortable position given how tiny the bed is compared to two bodies, but the weight you offer him on top is at least appreciated with a dry hum. Pleasantly surprised at best, amused at worst. At any rate, this is the extent of what you can offer him at the moment, and he wastes no time in exploiting your timid efforts for his own selfish needs. Flipping your skirt up with ease, chewing on his lip right at the slight sliver of pussy you allow him to see. And though under any other circumstance—perhaps with a lover, and not someone like you—he’d appreciate the teasing a little more. Would enjoy dragging the moment out for as long as his weak heart could handle; but he simple can’t wait any longer. Driven purely by lust, he taps his cock against your mound once or twice in a begging to hurry the fuck up, smearing beads of precum over the condom until your barrier is fully removed to the side, and he’s instead tapping his tip against your warm, soaked little sit.
Fucking fans, he internally chastises you. He’s got no idea how you’re not somehow mortified about your actions tonight. Gross.
Though the fact that you are in fact already this ready for him is a bonus. Means he doesn’t have to put any more effort in, tilting his hips without a word to angle his condom covered cock down towards your hole, one hand digging his nails into the fat of your thighs to help you sit up a bit to help accommodate his length.
“Sit.” He breathes, not intending on commanding, but you seem to misconstrue his words as such anyway in one fell swoop. Forcing him into shooting upright, briefly, before falling back down onto the cheap sheets once your ass is plush against his thighs. Sopping wet, aiding in the stretch his cock imprints inside of your eager hole—you could at least pretend not to be so desperate. It’s not a good look.
“Fuck me,” he rasps, giving himself a second to adjust to the feeling of your vice grip tight cunt, imagining that part of it must be a genuine attempt not to let him leave, and that you simply cannot be this fucking tight right off the bat. His ego won’t allow it. “Are you—” he swallows thickly, biting his tongue. “You ready?”
You surely look it. Flushed cheeks, lips parting in an attempt to breathe through the girth he provides, a moan caught behind your tongue because he hasn’t given you permission to move, let alone speak yet.
But he doesn’t have the time for any allegations of anything sinister, so he’s obliged to ask, despite how enthusiastic you are about taking his cock.
You nod as quickly as you can, and he notices a small gulp, a little swallow to try and steel yourself for whats about to come. He doesn’t intend on playing too roughly, but you have wasted enough of his time already.
With all the respect you currently deserve, he draws his hips back as much as he can—which really isn’t much at all, given how flush you are against him—before snapping them back against you, resulting in a slight bounce that he immediately takes advantage of by repeating the action again and again, his palms gripping to your waist to keep you steady enough to take his cock, because he’s selfish and doesn’t so much care for your safety as he does for his own pleasure. Which means you must stay put, besides the bouncing he’s fucking you into, otherwise his cock might slip free and he doesn’t have the patience to hump his way back inside.
It’s not like he hears you complaining about his greedy attitude anyway. Immediately holding onto his sweat soaked top for dear life, mouth hanging open now as hushed moans threaten to slip past your tongue, hot breath fucked out of you with his sudden fast pace; now that he’s started, he hasn’t a hope in stopping. Not when it feels so good to be using you like this, an external show of his frustration, his disgust in how hopeless you are for him. What was he even mad about in the first place…?
Oh, right. Sam and Abi taking a stand against some bullshit decision for the band—God, he’s still so riled up about it. Enough to just…
Without thinking, a hand raises to the back of your head, shaky in the vice hold it soon takes of your hair as he fucks faster at the argumentative memory. He can’t help but to feel like this is a low point in his life, wrapping your hair between his bruised knuckles, giving you as much of a knowing look as he possibly can without his eyes rolling to the back of his skull when you ride his cock like that, even if forced into the motion from how mean his unfair thrusts are. Like he’s mad at you. But you’re a good girl, aren’t you? Just a needy, pathetic little fan, who wants nothing from him besides his cock. So you nod, like he’d expected, before he tightens his grip on your hair and he pulls.
The neck his action reveals has him drooling, just a little. Spurred on by how tight your little cunt gets at his roughness, cheap bed promising to break under the harsh squeaks his humps make. But he’s gotta hand it to you—you sure do look pretty when getting fucked.
“Takin’ me— ah, taking it so well,” he corrects himself through breathless grunts. Licking his lips absently as he appreciates the view of you without your face front and centre, so that you’re unable to watch him enjoy himself ruin your tight hole. “That’s it, atta girl—” he encourages, just to keep you nice and tight and wet for him, cock throbbing at the feeling of your slick dripping down to the sheets under his ass.
He’s not entirely sure if the dizziness he’s experiencing is from the weed or from how hot the back room gets when he’s fucking you as hard as he can, heaving with panted gasps for air as you continue to bounce up and down his fat cock, letting him set the pace with heavy, eager humps for more. Of you? Surely not, more catharsis. Tonight’s previous annoyance slowly ebbing away with every well timed thrust, fucking as deep as he possibly can to finally make those pretty moans spill from your parted lips, a sound that forces his mind further away from the band to instead focus on the present.
At the way you grip his cock like a champ, even with the condom on he can feel your walls fluttering around him, like you’re trying to prove yourself to him or something. Even as you struggle to take the pace he fucks you at, your grip slipping once or twice as you instead rely on him to keep you upright with his nails digging gently into your scalp and the other steadfast on your hip. Pushing you down onto his cock so that not much gets to leave before he’s already slamming back up into you, channelling all of his restless energy into precise, brutal thrusts that leave you squeaky.
He hasn’t the willpower to be annoyed at the sounds you make when his cock seems to easily enjoy them. Shuddering precum from his tip, begging to mark you from the inside out—not that he’d ever grace you with such niceties, but the frustration builds in his balls as he instead takes to fucking you faster. Harder, tugging on your hair one last mean time before returning to your hips, and lifting you into the air. Just a little, enough so that you’re kneeling instead of sitting, allowing him complete control to ruin you some more. Fuck his shape into you so that no one else seems to fit, so that you’ll spend forever wishing that he’d just pick you, trying to replace the feeling of tonight for as long as you live because nothing could ever compare to fucking him, right? To live out every fans dream, taking his fat cock over and over again, able to reach out and touch his chest, his neck, his cheek—right before he tugs his face away under the guise of a rough moan.
Besides, it’s much easier to swallow his guilt over the act of fan fucking when he imagines you as a realistic toy. Just something for him to play with and nothing more, his rhythm slipping up once or twice as your volume increases, some sort of mantra consisting solely of his name that goes straight to his cock escapes you, heels planted firmly against the sheets to help leverage his hips up and up, not once providing you with a break because this is all about him and how he feels.
Which is good, mind you. So good, a string of curses escaping him at the way you just… Just let him use you like this. Like you’re happy to do so, biting down on your bottom lip with cracked pleads for more, clinging to him with sheer desperation as he seeks more of that selfish pleasure you’re so eager to offer him. Small, tight little hole wrapping around him so perfectly, so nice and snug, leaving him a little breathless as short huffs and groans are all that crawl up his throat. No words are needed beyond please, yes, oh my God, not when your cunt is doing all the talking for him. Contracting around him, so obviously on the cusp of feeling better than you ever have—and likely ever will—that the intense milking grip of your hole around his fat cock has him struggling to hold on. Using your heated skin for stability, praying that the bed doesn’t break under the weight of his fast fucks, he tuts quietly at your inability to last long yourself.
Not that he expected anything more of you, but he nonetheless fucks harder at your signals. Thrusting deeper, keeping you pinned in place with rough hands as he forcibly bounces you up and down, staring directly at your tits as they bounce with you, pretty cleavage almost hypnotising him as he concentrates on the way your cunt takes him. Wet squelches of your enjoyment echo in the small room around him, the bed under him violently begging for a break as he only pays attention to himself, fucking at a tempo that suits him, a greedy grunt driving him forward as he thrusts a couple more times for good measure.
And even as he’s cumming, spilling the accumulation of frustration and pity into the condom you so nicely adorned him with earlier, he’s still fucking into you. Small stuttered thrusts to completion, milking himself empty inside of your useful cunt until he’s completely spent, only letting go of the iron grip he has of you once he’s sure that he’s done, and even then he’s still circling his hips idly once you’re settled back down on his lap.
He’s not sure if you came too, and he’s certainly not fussed either way. Catching his breath in the now stuffy room, a wave of disgust washes over him at the lovesick little look you send his way. Only he hasn’t the strength at all now to mimic your affection, abstaining from such niceties to instead squeeze his eyes shut with a throw back of his head.
He’ll blame the weed, he decides. I was under the influence, that’s all.
“Was it good?”
Even you don’t assume to speak so highly about yourself. It’s not I, but rather it.
“Yeah,” he sighs, shifting his hips away from you in a plead for you to get up off of him, which you thankfully understand without any complaint, allowing him to remove and tie the condom off to the side. The sight of his spent seed grosses him out, a welling of frustration tightening around his chest. “Thanks.” He manages to huff out.
“Sure,” you plop back down onto the bed, waiting a second for him to lazily look over at you, and then down at your lower half, before settling back at on your face. “I uh, I suppose I should get going, right?”
Thank fucking God.
“Right, the crew should be back soon and…” And, well, you know. He doesn’t want to entertain you any more than he already has.
“Yeah, no, totally. I get it!” You smile genuinely at him, and all he feels in your regard is shame. Some regret too, maybe. “Lemme just…”
Behind you is some miscellaneous items brought on by himself, Sam, Abi, and God knows who else. Some leftover makeup from previous fans no doubt, empty alcohol cans, and more of the like. But most importantly to you is a small notepad and pen.
Sebastian rolls his eyes when you aren’t looking.
“Here,” you hand him the obvious phone number once scribbled down, a sickening little heart underneath it as if it’d help your case. “N-not that I wanna assume or anything but…”
“Thanks.” He takes the paper passively, yawning as he stretches out on the ruined sheets in an effort to get you gone sooner.
An awkward silence fills the air before you finally take the hint, and once again thank him for his time before heading out. Though he waits until he hears the bus door open before calling a halfhearted “Stay safe getting home!” to you, knowing full well that the almost forgotten about nicety will likely make your night.
The door slams shut soon after—it always does, cheap fucking bus—but it’s the nicest sound he’s heard all night.
♯┆“’S a nice view t’night,” he hums mostly to himself, taking in the increasingly bleary nature of the skyline before him, willing his lashes not to flutter shut in an effort to fully be in the moment. “Shame you can’t see it too."
rating: smut (18+)
cw: smoking, blowjob, face fucking, throatpie, public setting
wc: 3,087
A/N: 3k words of pure blowjob? okay. i wrote this in two-ish hours in a frenzy.
The view stretched out in front of him is the sole reason why he wanted to bring you to the mountains in the middle of the night. Tucked away in a secret little hiding spot, behind the thicket and trees where one might assume is never-ending greenery hides the smallest of clearings—the exact one he’s taken you to. Led along the shallow winding path to reveal a stunning sight, one that he promised would inspire and comfort all from one simple viewing. It’s where he always comes to clear his head, with low traffic and even less noise, it’s a nice spot to wind down.
With as many stars twinkling in the night sky as little lights do from the city far away, dazzling from the high mountain spot he’s drove you to in the middle of the night. Like a pair of courting teenagers, sneaking off alone together to simply gaze out at the view of Zuzu city, dreaming of what might become of the future. A hopefully shared one, he muses to himself. Spurred on into romanticism by the shimmering of office windows, the bright orange glow of a place still yet alive despite the moons insistence on sleep. And it is comforting to find solidarity in such a sight, or at least Sebastian thinks so.
Maybe you have a different thought in mind, given your current position.
Dragging on the remaining half of his cigarette, his stance widens to provide himself a bit more stability, as if the huge bike behind him wasn’t support enough. Inhaling slowly to feel the burn of tobacco in the back of his throat as the perfect compliment to appreciating the view, holding it in his full lungs for four, maybe five seconds before exhaling just as lazily, trailing off into a soft satisfied sigh at the end of the hit.
“’S a nice view t’night,” he hums mostly to himself, taking in the increasingly bleary nature of the skyline before him, willing his lashes not to flutter shut in an effort to fully be in the moment. Though a shiver nonetheless rolls down his spine to spin his hazy gaze a tad, and a barely there curse falls from his lips, cigarette shaking in his two finger hold when you hum back at him in agreement. He takes just a moment to fix his hair before finishing his absent though, running a hand through the slightly damp strands in spite of the bare dry night. “Shame you can’t see it too.”
Situated nicely between his spread legs, kneeling politely on the hoodie he has placed on the dirt ground for your comfort, your back is unfortunately turned to the stunning city view. Unable to absorb the bright white lights like stars in your eyes, only sinking further down, back and forth between his legs, choking on his cock as opposed to tearing up at the pretty view just behind you. And it honestly is a real shame, seeing as the motive behind his decision to bring you up all the way out here away from town tonight was to show you the view—his own personal little slice of heaven, just a bike ride away. Not a space he often shares with anyone; in fact, you might be the first. Some sort of desperate plead for you to understand him through the city, and yet despite the utter beauty of the spot, he can’t complain over your lack of attention to the details of the lights. He’d be a fool to distract you from your more preferred view, after all, seeing as it benefits him at the end of the day.
After another heavy drag of smoke, he takes to settling his tacky hand on your head, ignoring the way your hair stick to his fingers in favour of lightly scratching, petting, whatever the movement might be called in an attempt to praise you for your efforts. Though he’s yet to ask you to be his girlfriend, he’s absolutely fucking certain that he’ll do so by the end of the night once you’re done, because fuck if you can’t suck a cock—shit. His stance wobbling a little under your tongue, fighting for what feels like his survival at this rate as the cigarette isn’t the only thing going to his head.
The tip of his cock gets squeezed by the back of your throat in quick succession, and he has no choice but to compliment you verbally. A rushed, hushed, holy fuck escapes him—a clear sign of his enjoyment, and further conflict as he struggles to endure your affections. You’re so good at sucking cock apparently—perhaps too good given how hot and heavy he already feels from a bit of teasing, sweating into the cool night air as the wind brushes past his unzipped exposed crotch. All tongue and spit, drooling down the length of him to turn his balls all sticky with a sweet mix of precum and saliva. Right, yeah, he has to make you his by the end of the night. Can’t let your talent go to waste on someone else.
“Never thought I’d be gettin’ my dick wet up here,” he half laughs, half whines, because of course you decide to double your efforts the moment he starts to speak like a little minx. Curling your tongue around his cock, providing just enough sweet suction to keep him on his tippy toes, and his fingers grasping a bit tighter to your hair. “Ah, b-but, bet you never thought you’d— you’d be on your knees tonight either, right?”
No, of course not. It was just meant to be a simple—albeit romantic—trip up into the mountains. Time and space alone with you which he rarely gets in the town, wanting to keep you all to himself for one night only under the most innocent guise possible. But the way you were clinging to him the whole ride up there, chest flush to his back, tits bouncing with the bumpy road. The vibrations from the motorbike engine, humming right under him as your hands held tight to his chest. The way you looked oh so adorable in his spare helmet, adorned with his leather jacket for extra protection on the nightly drive. God, it all made him go a bit insane to be honest. Slightly delirious with the night, unable to hide his stark enjoyment the moment you hopped off onto the dirt and grass with him, and his hopeless bulge was front and center begging for some much needed attention.
He’s not complaining at the way things have turned out, however. If anything, your harsh sucking and unfair licking only serves to embolden his decision to ask you out tonight, hoping to return your sentiments once he has a bed to lay you upon. His hips starting to twitch in time against your bobbing head, eyes rolling back to the feeling of your lips tightening around his girth, swallowing around his tip once or twice more to leave him gasping for air.
A final drag of his cigarette as he leans back a little is all he can manage. As if doing so will somehow help him hold on to the reality where you’re currently sucking him off like a champ, showcasing your skills in some sort of brave bid for his continued affections. He’d have given them to you and more regardless, baby… though your efforts tonight have certainly not went unnoticed. Scratching into your scalp a little more meaningfully now, wordlessly communicating the utmost pleasure you tongue fuck out of him as he throws the dimming cigarette to the side, and can finally provide you with his full, rapt attention.
Well, he cant exactly blame you for not acknowledging the view he specifically drove you out here to witness. The sight below him is far prettier by default, so he should really be thanking you instead. Sighing with some sense of finality as the hand on your head drops to cup at your cheek, sweaty thumb gliding across your skin to rub at it lovingly, almost cumming on the spot when your gaze flits up at him to supposedly check in, and he has to bite down on his bottom lip so as to not embarrass himself too quickly.
But you make it so difficult for him to keep quiet. Even in the grander scheme of things, pushing him past his limits enough to prompt him into even taking you out here to the mountains tonight, showing off your skills by making him shudder against the still yet heated bike from the journey here, his toes scrunching in the thick boots he’s chose to wear for the road—it’s impossible, really, to shut himself up. Expressing his complete and utter adoration for you with broken whines, half gasps of your name rolling off his tongue with such ease that he’s convinced it’s meant to be. And you suck him like you’ve known him already, unable to wait for him to pop the question any longer as determination is present in the way you brace yourself against his tensed up thighs, tongue flat against the underside of his cock to run right along the veins, smirking up at him with such devious delight when he’s unable to hold himself back any longer.
A soft sigh here, a choked moan there. “Do ya—shit, sorry,” his hips tremble against you. “D’ya mind if I… Y’know, move a little?”
He’s not usually this nervous, but something about the way you bat your lashes up at him so prettily has butterflies lining his lungs. Breath hitching before he even has a chance at speaking, gulping down the nervous energy that builds in his tummy right before another wave of pleasure rolls through him, courtesy of the way your tongue flicks right at his tip, coaxing more pre out to coat your tongue as his own.
“Please?”
The abundance of strain in his voice must give his position away immediately, because he can fucking feel your smile against his cock, and then his balls when your shove his whole length down to the back of your throat, resulting in a quick gasp and a tight hold of your cheeks with both his hands. Hold on, wait a minute, just a second—but then he feels you nod. Barely, no doubt due to the amount of cock stuffing your face full at the moment, but the confirmation is there. Consent to take control and show you exactly how much he likes you, how badly he wants you, and just how much he needs to make you his more than anything he’s ever needed before.
With all the teasing you’ve thus had him endure, flaunting all that expert ability to court him further, he’s already more than on the edge of busting before even getting your consent to let loose. Shaking in his hold of your face, offering one last meagre soothing circle of his thumbs against your pretty flushed cheeks as he simply gives in. To temptation, to the intrinsic human need to have you all to himself, instincts begging him to let loose as per your kind approval.
But he’s still trying to woo you, letting out some sort of strangled whine while waiting a second or two longer. Enough to gather his senses, and not think with his dick for once this whole night.
“Will—you’ll let me know if y’need a break, right?”
Eagerly, you nod. Cheeks coated in a soft film of saliva, his balls taut at the sight alone, never mind the feeling of his sticky with pre coated thumbs as he taps at your jaw with impatience.
“Okay,” he swallows, offering you a lopsided smile as placation, a mute promise that despite what he’s about to do to you, he really, really likes you—and hopes you’ll like him too, even after this. “Okay, thank you.”
Ignoring how fucking stupid and corny he must sound by thanking you in the moment, his heart still stutters against his weak chest at the sight of you smiling back at him so keenly. Like you want him just as much as he needs you. And as someone who would like to be your future boyfriend, he may as well get a head start on giving you exactly what you want when he has the opportunity, right?
But God are you pretty like this… he knows for sure he’s gonna cum fast, even before he makes the first move on you. Because having you kneeling on top of his beloved purple hoodie, so neat and pliantly, looking up at him as if he were the stars in the sky, and not the blinding lights just behind you. Who cares how beautiful the sight might be when he’s got you between his legs, right? Begging so prettily, exhaling hot air against his pelvis as he steels himself for ruining that charming sight just below him. Now that feels like a right shame…
Though he can’t dwell on the thought for too long, impulsively drawing his hips back before he can think better of his actions, intending on start a slow enough pace to ease you in to the throat fucking but— but fuuuuck, you can’t seriously expect him to hold back any longer, right? Upon the first gag his tip fucks out of you he’s settling onto a fast snap rhythm, barely letting his cock leave from between your pretty pouty lips before he’s pushing his hips to the hilt of your cheeks again, holding onto your face to keep it still for his selfish pleasure; but you want him to be selfish, right? Asked for it when agreeing to his consent seeking, digging your nails into his quickly dropping jeans as he juts his hips more outwards, relying on his bike to keep him upright as he leans further back in an effort to fuck your throat better, deeper.
To your credit, you do look even cuter when he’s in control. Fucking between your tight lips to his hearts content, simply because he wants to, and because you’re so graciously allowing him to. Fucking like he’s got something to prove, wanting to showcase his own abilities in tandem with your own by thrusting so deep down your throat that you’ve little else to worry about. And the gagging his cock fucks out of you only has more pre dripping down your throat, his breath coming out in heated pants for air, huffing down at you with sheer concentration as your throat takes him just so well. Unfairly well, if he’s being honest. Rendering his hand useless for the foreseeable future as he already misses the tight wet heat of your mouth as he’s currently fucking it raw.
He stumbles out a greedy sigh of sexual tension, feeling it build steadily from his core. “You—you’ve got no—fuck, n-no fuckin’ idea how long I’ve—” without meaning to, his pace picks up. Deeper thrusts, faster pace, he’s lost all control now inside of you from the feeling of his hot and heavy cock gliding against your deft tongue, soft squishy cheeks welcoming his fat girth so warmly. “No idea how much I’ve wanted t’do this, dreamt of it,” he continues, struggling to keep up with himself as he huffs and puffs between his words, letting out hurried moans and soft gasps of amazement. You just feel so fucking good, got him dizzy with how good you’re making him feel. “Jacked off to the— jus’ the thought of this, God…” he rambles on a bit, a little out of it as your cheeks hollow deeper around him with his words, and he’s surrounded by this inexplicable heat. Feeling it creep up to his tummy, down to his balls where they grow tighter and tauter, his arms aching a little from the strain of keeping them flexed, thighs tensing up in a well known rhythm as he relentlessly fucks your face full, balls smacking back against your chin with every greedy thrust forward, drool staining his jeans with every draw back.
It’s difficult remaining upright when you flutter back at him with that half hooded gaze, jaw slack to accommodate his full fat length, limp in his hold to communicate utter submission. It’s enough to urge him into a frenzied haste. Well, he knew he wouldn’t last long before he even started.
“I’m—” he gulps, throwing his head back to try and hold off for a few more seconds, please. “I’m close, d’y want—” before he can finish his well intentioned question, he feels the force of your hands on the back of his thighs, helping him to bury his cock as deep as possible as a shuddered fuck is all he has the strength left to gasp.
A second later and thick, milky white ropes shoot out against the back of your throat, balls pulsing against your chin as he almost folds in on himself. His hands drop to your shoulders to help keep himself standing while his thighs shake, thrusting with faltering hips to help milk himself empty down your throat, aided by the amount of messy spit you’ve provide him. Wobbling your name out weakly as some form of thanks, hoping that the fat load he’s just forced you to swallow aids his case in securing his spot as your potential boyfriend.
And he doesn’t pull out until he’s softening, letting you nurse his spent cock until it becomes too much for him to handle. Wincing into the night as he withdraws his hips fully, and you have functionality of your jaw again.
“Wow,” he breathes, trembling with the aftershock of the orgasm you so easily tongued out of him. As far as views go, the sight of your fucked out, dopey smile has got to be amongst the best. “I uh… That was—thanks, I mean.”
Without replying, you smile back at him. Only briefly, because as soon as you’re standing you’re turning to look out at the city, just as he’d originally planned. And he’s pulling out another cigarette, lighting it with an unsteady hold as you turn back to face him.
You’d only looked for a few seconds, if that.
“I prefer this sight.” Looking him up and down, he can feel his cheeks flush under your fixation, encouraging him to tuck his cock away again with a petulant roll of his eyes.
There's no way beni does not have a breeding kink, I cannot be convinced otherwise. The aftercare on this man must be glorious you know he's gonna make you take a bath or shower with him.
notes: i won’t lie to you... i read breeding kink and mind went brrr, SO I DON’T REALLY TALK AFTERCARE HERE! I’M SORRY M’LOVE! luckily it isn’t too rough (or rough at all really), but if you want aftercare stuff feel free to send more focused concepts about it! i hope you enjoy this anyway!
warnings: 18+/nsfw, breeding kink
ok i can TOTALLY see it ----
the funny thing about it, too? it must catch you completely off guard. his dynamic with hinata and hikage is sweet and indisputably caring, but by no means fatherly. even when he interacts with the boys from the 8th, or the neighborhood kids that fawn over him, he exudes sibling energy; the older brother that won't let you play with him and his friends, but takes you and yours anywhere you ask.
add to that the lack of conversation about a future family, and you just end up assuming that children are nowhere on his radar. not yet, at least.
then, benimaru gets his hands on you, and something just seems to click.
the first time it happens, he's not even the one to initiate it. you, on all fours with your face pressed into his futon, ask for his spend --- take each deep thrust to the hilt and beg him to fill you. it's a whim at best, one you'd apologize for later if it didn't seem to spark something in him too. the hands that were at first pulling you back by the hip start to pin you instead, keeping you right where he'd like as his hips drive harder in response to your desperation. benimaru doesn't say anything back, but you can tell by the way his breath catches that he's as needy for this as you are. ready to fill you up.
it takes a few more good thrusts before it happens and he's draping himself over you, groaning in your ear until the shudders end, and he's completely empty.
after that, no amount of lust is truly satisifed until he's cumming inside you. and over time, the pattern evolves: he goes from heavy, wordless pants betraying his want to articulating it outright. starts asking to hear you say it (though he rarely waits for you to actually reply): "fuck, y'feel good --- gonna let me fill you up, right? gonna take everything?" it's unusual for him to speak much in bed, let alone so filthily, so your head always spins from the occasion. you nod quickly, obediently, and he just grunts, grip tightening on your hips, ass, thighs, until his fucking hits critical mass and he tumbles over the edge. every time, without fail, he uses those battle-trained legs to push himself forward and in - as far as you can take him - to plug you up.
and even when you start to whine as the fullness gets a little too much, he just clicks his tongue, moving to press soft kisses anywhere he can reach. "gotta give it time, sweetheart...," he reassures you, watching your eyes flicker in quiet acknowledgment, "let it take."
you don't get what he means until somewhere down the line, your belly starts to swell, and he looks the most content you've ever seen him.
thinking about a fic i’ve wanted to finish for a while now … might actually scrap all that i’ve written so far so i can learn to love the concept i came up with all over again, cuz what i have rn is so… underwhelming 🫠
following someone on the internet that you find attractive is so embarrassing . because why am i seeing an image of them and going into a trance imagining my head crushed between their stupid thighs at a random ass 3pm
Planning another group piece with the aerobic girlies (yes, Harvey included), having some post-workout tea sesh. But then I desperately needed to draw these two by themselves cause ohhh myy goddd 😩
I got another spam comment today on AO3, and I want to share it as a PSA. But before I do, I want you to understand that you SHOULD NOT DO what this comment is asking. Ok? Ok.
See that bit at the bottom? Don't do that. Insert ParamedicGuy.gif going "Don't."
Other malicious spam comments I've gotten seemed designed to make an author question their writing, or outright encourage them to delete their stories from AO3. This one is different, in that it tries to get you to destroy the work on your own computer.
If you ran that command, it basically locates your Documents folder, then deletes everything in it, including all subfolders. It also does it without any prompt, so you have no chance to second guess your actions.
This is just fucking trolling.
Coincidentally, we just did training on a cyberattack similar to this, called a ClickFix attack. You can read about how that works here.
As a general rule, if ANYONE or ANY WEBSITE tells you unsolicited* to do anything in Powershell, CMD RUN, command prompt, shell command, or something similar, DON'T.
*There are legit reasons for running commands in PowerShell or the command prompt, but in those cases you are likely seeking out a solution to a problem you are already experiencing. Don't just run random commands on your computer as recommended by some unlogged-in guest on a fan fiction site.
Always think and consider before taking action, and get a second opinion from a trusted source. When I got this comment I was pretty sure what the command would do, and it took me about three seconds of googling to confirm it.
♡‧₊. PAIRING ⸺ Sebastian x F!Reader
♡‧₊. RATING ⸺ Smut (18+)
♡‧₊. WC ⸺ 3,488
♡‧₊. WARNINGS ⸺ drugs, drug use, dry humping, cum in pants
♡‧₊. SYNOPSIS ⸺ His speech only slurs like this when he’s under the influence, a faint heat rising to his cheeks at the sound of how utterly wrecked he is for you right now, prompting him into clearing his throat as if that was supposed to help save his ego.
♡‧₊. A/N ⸺ I can finally write one of those absurd author notes that are like "my life fell apart but here's something new!" but like actually. I was sick for 4 months straight and in and out of hospital with some mystery illness. I got a wisdom tooth extraction that caused my cheek to be stitched to my gum. My pet is old and ill. I thought I fell out of love with writing. Tumblr deleted my blog. I don't say this for pity! Just to explain my absence.
Something something I lived bitch. I have two more fics to post like this that were supposed to be part of an event, but I've given up with that to instead focus on more newer projects. A fresh start is needed. As a result, I'm not the proudest of this piece, but I hope it'll smooth things over between us okay? Please enjoy!
The soft faint glow from his sleepy computer monitor lights you up enough in a way that he can only describe as angelic. A halo effect surrounding you to leave him permanently breathless, vision blurred by the smoke you soon puff out right in front of him, only to further blind him with a cheeky flash of teeth that he can’t help but to mimic earnestly. A wide grin, tugging his lips sore in an attempt to reciprocate your freely shared enjoyment.
Because what else is he supposed to do when the sun is shining down on him in the dark, dank four walls of his basement room, hotboxing the night away with his stunning, pretty, adorable crush for the foreseeable future, other than return the same kindness to you when you pass the blunt back to him, tilting your head curiously to the side in a manner he finds most infuriatingly endearing.
You could be insulting him right now for all he cares, making fun of him in this very moment, and still he’d probably thank you for it. And how could he not? With the way you lazily blink back at him, inadvertently fluttering those pretty lashes his way as some form of encouragement to keep going, right? Feels good, doesn’t it? And he does, in fact, feel good. Taking another drag from the almost done blunt perched idly between his two fingers, inhaling the sharp smoke as deep as he can just to hold it in his blackened lungs for a beat or two—enough time to appreciate the way you giggle oh so cutely back at him, clearly entertained by just how whipped he is for you, wordlessly going along with whatever it is you might even hint at, because he likes you. Far too much it seems, seeing as you’re the prettiest picture he ever did see, the smoke in his lungs begging to be let out but he neglects to give it freedom for a few more seconds, just so he can keep staring back at your pretty face and your pretty red eyes and your pretty smirk, and wow, he thinks he’s actually in love with you.
Though the burn in his chest inevitably prompts him into exhaling, blowing the smoke right back at you just as you’d done with him mere moments ago. And the brief few seconds that you’re obscured from his vision has his heart racing, stuttering in a deep seated yearning he’s never felt for… Well, pretty much anything before.
So that must be love, right?
The drug in his system seems to confirm as such when his vision clears and he’s greeted to your wide beaming grin, flashing him with some more of the only sunshine he’s ever loved before. Better than the beach days Sam so often tries to coax him out to.
A heavy sigh escapes his parted lips. His mouth is mighty dry. He wonders if yours might be too. And, naturally, if you’d like to remedy that.
“What time is it?” your hushed voice grabs his attention, some sort of teasing lilt attached to the end of it that causes his heart to stammer some more, though he’s not sure if you meant to add the tone or not. Might just be the weed getting to you, right? It’s not like you like him or something, right?
Slowly, as if to distract himself from the self loathing, he manages to peel his back off from the couch he rests beside you on, just to squint his gaze over at the tiny corner of the computer screen to discern what numbers are staring back at him. Simple because you asked.
“Two,” he groans with the effort it takes to move given just how high you’ve got him tonight—and not just from the green. “…Thirty, maybe?” he huffs as he falls back into his original position, slouching against the sofa with a pillow placed precariously against his lap. Just in case, he’d told himself at the beginning of the night, knowing full well that he inevitably does get horny when he’s high… And his situation is only made worse when he’s got you cooing and pouting right beside him.
You hum noncommittally, and he slowly blinks back at you. “It’s late…”
“It is,” He agrees, stretching some of the heaviness out from his drug induced bones with his words. Another puff later and he’s tipping the ash into the nearby tray, placing the simmering down end into the little indent for the time being. “How y’holdin’ up?”
His speech only slurs like this when he’s under the influence, a faint heat rising to his cheeks at the sound of how utterly wrecked he is for you right now, prompting him into clearing his throat as if that was supposed to help save his ego.
Though to be honest, he needn’t have to smoke tonight with you. You’ve already got him high enough without the drugs, eyes glued to you to try and discern your state of mind at this very moment, all while he fights with his own to calm down in the face of your utter… God, what would he call it? Submission, perhaps? Maybe that’s just wishful thinking. But there’s this tinge of pink tainting your cheeks for him that seems to communicate exactly what he’d hope for, and he can’t help but to lean into the impossibly soft cushions some more upon your forever pause before answering.
“Good.”
It’s a simple answer, but one he feels intimately within himself too. A nice warmth spreading from his chest to his cheeks, tugging his lips into another smile as a soft sigh escapes his dry lips. It was your idea to spend the night together, and to say that he’s never agreed faster to anything before in his life would be a vast understatement. A night alone with the only person he’s ever had a crush on? Sign him the fuck up oh my God… And though it was offered as a casual hang out—a way to wind down after such a stressful farming year, no doubt—he can’t help but to imagine the setting to be a little more intimate than plain old friends hanging out for a smoke sesh together.
You've dressed up a little nicer than usual. Don’t get him wrong, he thinks you look pretty in anything—even one of those old potato sacks he’s seen you lugging around the farm before, he bets. But there’s been some extra effort put into your choices tonight that he simply can’t ignore, noticed right as you sneaked into his room past usual hours, creaking down the steps to his basement like some sort of late night angel.
“Yeah,” he squeezes his eyes shut briefly, sinking further into the couch. “Good. Me too.”
The words exchanged may be minimal, but he hopes you can feel the unspoken tenderness between them just as he does.
His eyes roll to the back of his head as he settles nice and heavy into the worn couch, body sluggish under the oppressive weight of the smoke that still swirls around his head, making him pleasantly dizzy so late at night. Early morning chilling with perhaps the love of his life as his legs stretch out wider to accommodate the growing pain between his thighs, hoping to God you don’t notice his painfully obvious attempts at hiding his affections for you. Because while this isn’t the first time he’s been high around you, it is the first time he’s been this high with you. Alone. Feeling increasingly needy and greedy, darting his tongue out in an attempt to wet his cracked lips in preparation for asking if you’d like a drink, but he feels a weight press back against him before he has a chance to croak a single word out.
It’s a good thing your effort hasn’t gone unnoticed tonight, he absently thinks to himself, otherwise he might be more surprised than he is right now.
Instead, he leans further into you. Helping you stretch over to him by puckering his lips against your own, prompted by the needy smile he feels pressing back into him, dry and cracked just like him—though not for long if he has anything to do about it.
It’s a soft kiss, unsure in nature until your drugged up mind assumedly catches up to the fact that he’s reciprocating, easing the unnatural position you’re forced into as you kneel over to him by placing a heavy hand on your hip, tapping on it once or twice to direct you closer as he refuses to let your lips go in the meantime.
He’s not surprised, not at all, that you’ve decided to kiss him tonight. He’s elated, rather, by the turn of events. But he is also struggling to contain himself—if not before, then certainly right now.
Tenting in his tight jeans the second your lips touched his, not in the least because you so easily follow his lead when he urges you closer until you inevitably fall onto his lap and are no doubt subject to the incessant twitching your feather light lips has him doing. Reacting to the faintest breath you let out against his lips by trembling his hips against you, letting you get comfortable on his thighs before once more returning his lips to your own.
Not a word slips past his kiss bruised tongue, poking it down your throat instead the moment you give him access, but he figures that he can communicate with his hands at least.
Settling on your hips like home, he idly tugs and teases at your hidden skin with soft circles, humming enthusiastically against you when he feels your tongue glide against his own, turning his breath all hot and heavy to match the harsh throb of his cock from under your clothed cunt. You’re so nice and warm—no doubt a side effect of the weed that still seems to circle your head—comfortable in his clammy hold as he bites his nails into your hips just a bit, a meagre amount, really, but the resulting gasp you drip down his throat has him immediately keening for more.
“’S this what’cha wanted all along?” he smiles into his whisper, spoken directly against your sticky lips with all the energy he can muster right now; which is to say, not a lot, thanks to the weed coursing through him. Pinching at the fat of your hips just to make you squirm some more on top of his hidden cock, a pleasant shiver rolling down his spine and right to his own hips, jutting them out towards you with a heavy sigh slipping past his lips.
And you only get him harder when you giggle back a soft little maybe, like you’re flirting with him or something, nodding lazily back down at him with that pretty half lidded gaze he’s swiftly learning to love.
Well then, he thinks to himself, he can’t let you down now—even with the lag provided by the drug, he intends on giving you exactly what you want tonight.
Because he desperately, urgently, frantically needs the very same too. And soon, given how hard and hot his cock feels under your weight, fuck, he could probably cream his pants right now if you were to just connect your lips with his one more time. Gasp against him again. Tip forwards, push your cunt closer to his cock, and shit, he just can’t help himself…
Not when it comes to you, apparently.
Because before he has time to realise exactly what he’s doing, his hips are already shifting from under you. Rolling back against where you sit, so that his fat bulge rocks steadily, slowly, right against your hidden heat, watching carefully for any sign of discomfort because while he might e under the influence right now, he’s not a dick. But the moment he catches up to his movement, his lashes flutter shut. Only briefly, because just as soon as they close, he has the instinctive urge to witness every intricate detail of your enjoyment to enjoy himself later tonight. Like when you inevitably have to head home, and leave him cold and alone without this addictive weight pressing back down against his erection, rock solid and needy, throbbing ceaselessly as thick beads of precum no doubt bubble to his tip just to stain his pants with degeneracy. When you go, and abandon him to the night, he at least wants the memory of you to keep him company. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s wanked to the thought of you, and he knows deep down in his tired bones, lazy with drug as he twitches his cock back against you, that it won’t be the last either. But this is as close as he’s gotten to you ever, fighting the way his eyes want to roll back to instead dote on the way you chew down on your bottom lip, like it’d matter how loud you are in his isolated basement room. But the sight alone is something to appreciate, both with his own shaky exhale at just how pretty he finds you right now, and with how stuttered his slow humps grow.
“How’s it feel?” You beam at him, mimicking his earlier question in a way that has him wanting to growl in response, settling for a drawn out groan instead as he gets into a comfortable rhythm of up and down, a slight back and forth of his hips to imitate the act of sex as he imagines slipping right between your cunt lips right now. That thought makes your cheek forgivable, at least for the time being.
“Good.” he can only huff, panting under you in equal parts exertion and adoration. You’re so fucking pretty it’s unfair! All the time, not only when you’re high, but there’s this certain sparkle in your eye that has him reeling right now. Desperation evident in the way he pinches and digs into your skin, sweat trickling down his forehead from the slight humping he’s doing, but it’s not his fault! He’s just so dizzy, y’know? Utterly in love with the feeling of your body on top of his, hoping that you feel as good as you’re making him feel right now, because in truth, he’s never in his life felt better than he does in this moment. “Real good.” He half laughs, though the sound of his enjoyment trails off into a greedy whine when you decide to place your palms on his chest, tugging on his hoodie with a furrow in your brow like the words are lost on you, but you’re hoping he can understand.
Holy shit, he hopes he can too. More than anything in his whole fucking life. Nothing matters more to him in this moment, actually, besides giving you what you rightfully deserve. What he’s wanted to give you from pretty much the first day he saw you—little fucking tease. You’re not even doing anything besides sitting there and he’s already so whipped, so ready and willing to give you the world and more, if only you keep making him feel this good, just like that, that’s it—
The feeling of your nails raking against his chest has his heart thumping, fists balling his hoodie up between your tight grip as you assumedly use him for some sense of stability, as if the hands he has firmly planted at your waist aren’t enough. And the precum your actions coaxes out of him has him feeling like he’s wet himself, surely staining through his pants to mark between your thighs with wet heat too, his breathing laboured and mind clouded by the haze of lust and drugs—he can almost taste the urgency present in your more impatient weight pushing back down against him.
The neat thing about being so high is that his senses are increased. Sensitive to the bone, shivering in his rather heated seat under you, melting into the couch with every eager roll of his hips, letting your clothed cunt pretend to wrap around him, bounce you on his fat cock as he inhales long and deep, smelling the sex of the room just to imagine how nice and tight, and warm, and wet you must be right about now… God knows he is anyway.
Maybe he’s just the biggest fucking simp in the universe, but even the slightest little sigh from you gets him going, especially when he’s in the clouds like he is right now. Dizzy with desire that pools between his legs, crotch just aching for freedom under the pleasant weight you rock back and forth on his lap, smearing the copious amounts of precum under his too tight jeans as he takes to bouncing you up and down just a bit faster. A little more urgently, though considering he feels as heavy as a rock right now, his movements are slowed with the cloud of weed hanging low over his head, but shit— even the small minuscule humps he offers you has him seeing stars. Like a filthy virgin all over again, gasping and groaning and holding onto you as tight as he can while you use him for your own enjoyment—this is all he’s gonna think about late at night for at least the next year. The look of your pretty, drowsy face, biting down on your bottom lip with a teasing coyness that has his heart hurting, cock twitching for more of the little flutters of lashes and rolls of eyes you send his way to communicate just how good you feel.
And he’s not doing much better himself, truth be told. A moaning mess, writhing under your heat with sloppy bucks of his hips and heavy sighs crawling past his pitchy whines. He’s sure he’d be more embarrassed about the state he’s currently in if not for the stink of weed surrounding him, and if not for the fact that you’re acting just as bad as him. Desperate for release—all inhibitions lowered thanks to the drug fuelled courage, prompting you to take what you want in the moment; which is him, thank fucking God.
The bite of your nails urges his hips to buck faster, throwing his head back in sheer bliss of the pleasure your added pressure rolls right down his spine, stomach flipping with butterflies at the way you look so effortlessly pretty on top of him, simulating riding him for him to gasp at. And he wants so desperately to tell you so; needs to babble praise upon you all night long if you’d let him! But he’s too busy getting his cock wet to really formulate anything coherent. Too preoccupied with keeping you whining and whimpering all pretty like that, unable to care for how downright greedy he is to see you cum on his cock—he hasn’t got time to even get it out!
Instead, all he has the energy to do is hold out. Just a few more seconds if the telling shake in your stability is anything to go by. Struggling to keep yourself upright as he instead takes a more aggressive role, and helps grind that pretty little cunt down against the outline of his cock for you, right up until you’re tensing up in his hold and mumbling a pretty string of his name in between sweet gasps for air—and those moans, God… That’s all he needs, baby. Just the sound of your enjoyment, knowing that it’s because of his cock that you’re sounding so good right now. All wispy and dulcet, coaxing him closer to the edge himself as he gets off on your gratification alone.
Because that’s all he’s ever wanted, to be honest. It’s simply a bonus that it’s because of him that you’re feeling satisfied right now, sweet talking his seed to shoot from his tip with your soft sounds of joy, that lopsided knowing grin that soon tugs on your lips helps him fall off the edge further. Folding in on himself as his body jerks with his fat load, shot right against his pants as he’s still actually fully clothed. Fuck, the things you do to him… Giggling cutely to yourself as he stains his skinny jeans sheer, making an utter mess of himself simply because he likes you that much. Too much, maybe, as his orgasm seems to roll on forever, leaving him choking on thin air by the time he’s done and then some.
It’s as he’s catching his breath that you decide to speak up again, trailing a single nail down his chest, pinching the fabric of his hoodie as if to help him cool down after such a life altering, hot experience.
