pathetic little bimbo bitch

andy | 18 | she/her | writer | mha | haikyuu REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

[imagines-mha]

imagines-mha, a masterpost

(used to be imagine-mha and isseis-wife)

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[aphelya]

ᓚᘏᗢ – waking up in sae's bed instead of yours !

the sunlight was the first thing that betrayed you. it was too aggressive, pouring through floor-to-ceiling windows that definitely didn't belong in your apartment. it made your head throb.

for a moment, you just lay there, drifting. the sheets were like silk against your skin and the air smelled like expensive cedarwood and something cool. it was the kind of comfort that made you want to disappear back into sleep forever.

i must have treated myself to new bedding, you thought. good for me.

but then you tried to roll over, and the world came crashing back in.

your movement was stopped by a heavy, solid weight across your waist. a thick arm, corded with lean muscle, was draped over you like an anchor.

wait.

you didn't have a boyfriend either. you didn't even have a cat. and you definitely didn't remember inviting anyone over after that chaotic brand gala in roppongi.

your heart did a frantic, jagged rhythm against your ribs as you looked down. a large hand was splayed across your stomach, his thumb hooked into the waistband of the silk sheet. the skin was pale, his knuckles dusted with a light tan and there was a strength to the limb that made your breath hitch.

who the fuck was that? were you dreaming?

so, slowly, praying that this was just a very vivid, very muscular dream, you turned your head.

the first thing you saw was dark, reddish hair messy against a charcoal pillow. then, the sharp, almost aristocratic profile. the high cheekbones. the straight bridge of a nose that looked like it had been sculpted by van gogh himself.

sae itoshi.

wait. sae itoshi?

the prodigy? the boy genius? japan's greatest treasure? the man who looked at the media like they were dirt under his cleats? and right now, his face was nestled in the curve of your neck, his warm breaths fanning across your skin?

that sae itoshi?

oh, God.

oh, no.

no, no, no.

the flashes came back brutally: the vip lounge where you'd shared a drink, the surprisingly deep conversation that had made you forget he was supposed to be unapproachable, the way he'd looked at you. the back of his car. the way his hands had felt on your waist when you'd reached his penthouse ...

"sae," you whispered, your voice trembling. you didn't want to wake him up, but you desperately needed to not be here when he fully woke up.

no response. for someone who was so sharp and alert on the pitch, he was an infuriatingly deep sleeper.

you tried to gently lift his arm, moving as slowly as humanly possible to avoid a scene. but as soon as you created an inch of space, his grip tightened, pulling you back against his chest until there wasn't a single millimeter of air between you. he let out a low hum against your shoulder, his nose brushing against your ear.

"stop moving," he muttered, his voice a deep vibration that sent a shiver straight down your spine.

"sae," you tried again, your voice cracking with a mix of desperation and mortification. "sae, please... did we... why am i here? did you kidnap me?"

you tried to peel his fingers back, but it was like trying to move iron. instead of letting go, he let out a sharp, exhaled breath against your neck. a sound of pure annoyance at being disturbed. slowly, his eyes flickered open.

up close, those teal irises were lethal. there was no morning fog in his gaze. within seconds, they sharpened so fast, it made you want to pull the duvet over your head and never come out.

he didn't move his arm. if anything, he shifted his weight, pinning you more securely to the mattress as he watched you more nervous within seconds.

"you're here because you were too tired to give the driver your address, he said, his voice low. "and you're in this bed because you didn't seem interested in the guest room last night."

your jaw dropped, your mind racing. "i- i don't- sae, did we... did something happen?"

a slow smirk began to pull at the corner of his mouth. he leaned in just a bit, his nose brushing against yours. "your memory is surprisingly fragile for someone who was soo vocal a few hours ago."

"vocal?" you asked, your hands coming up to press weakly against his shoulders. "i wasn't- i'm sure i was just... being polite?"

sae let out a short laugh, the vibration of it traveling directly into your palms. he didn't pull back. if anything, he tilted his head, his gaze dropping to your lips for a second before meeting your eyes again.

"polite isn't the word i'd use for someone who spent twenty minutes arguing that my technical precision was overrated," he murmured. "right before you decided to test it for yourself."

you squeezed your eyes shut, a memory of you grabbing his tie in the elevator hitting you like a physical blow. you had definitely challenged him.

"oh no," whispered into the space between you, your forehead thumping weakly against his shoulder. "i actually said that? to you?"

"repeatedly," sae countered, his smirk widening as he felt you go limp with shame. his arm, still locked around your waist, tightened just enough to remind you that you weren't going anywhere.

"you were very specific about the lack of heart in my playstyle," he added, his breath warm against your temple. "you said i was like a machine, so i felt obligated to prove that i had human components."

"sae i'm so sorry," you groaned, your face hidden against his skin. "i'm not- i don't usually do this. i've never done this before and i didn't mean to actually- i think i just got caught up in the moment and i wanted to prove a point, but i didn't mean to be so ..much."

"wait."

sae pulled back just enough to force you to look at him. his teal eyes were no longer lazy but scanning your face so intensely that it made your heart do a nervous flip.

"you've never done this?" he asked, his voice dropping. "as in... i was the first?"

you tried to look away, but he caught your chin with his free hand, forcing your gaze back to his.

"i've been busy! my career, the traveling, i just hadn't found anyone i actually wanted to.. you know.. until last night. please don't make it weird, i'm already dying of embarrassment."

sae stared at you for a long moment, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.

"so, the model of the century gave her debut performance to a, what did you call me again, boring footballer?" he murmured, the smugness returning ten-fold. "that's nice."

"don't let it go to your head!" you huffed, trying to push him away again, though you were trapped by his legs.

"too late," he murmured, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulled you flush against him again. "it's already there. along with the fact for someone who claims to be so busy, you were incredibly focused on me at three in the morning.

"hey! i was... i was overstimulated! the lights, the music, your face, your outfit, it was a lot."

sae let out a laugh again, his hands moving from your jaw to thread through your hair, tugging gently until you were forced to look at him again.

"if it makes you feel any better, superstar, i don't bring anyone to my penthouse. especially not girls who spend the whole night trying to act like they aren't looking at me."

you blinked. "you were watching me?"

"i've been watching you for months," he admitted. "every billboard, every campaign. you're the only one in the industry who looks like she actually has a thought behind her eyes. i've been waiting for this moment."

a small, surprised laugh escaped your lips. "oh! so sae itoshi had a crush on me?"

"don't use such word," he said, though the faint tint of color on his own cheekbones betrayed him. "let's just say i'm a fan of real talent, and since you decided to give me your debut, i feel a certain responsibility to make sure you don't regret it."

"i don't regret it," you whispered, the embarrassment finally turning into something genuine. "i just, i just don't remember everything.."

"you don't? then my job isn't finished. i can't have you walking around with a blurred memory of the most important night of your life. it's bad for my reputation."

"since when do you care about your reputation?" you peeked one eye open, wary of the smug look on his face.

"since now. care for round two?"

your breath hitched as his hand began a slow wander down your spine. "sae, wait- i have a fitting in two hours-"

"the only thing you're fitting into right now is this bed," he rasped, his lips ghosting over yours. "cancel it."

"you're so arrogant," you whispered, though your fingers were already tangling in his messy hair, pulling him closer.

"and you're still here," he murmured against your mouth before pulling the duvet over both of your heads, cutting off the morning light.

"try to keep up this time."

a/n: why is this so freaked out ...

© aphelya 2026. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works.

[dirtyl0ver]

Green Light (BEN Drowned x F!Reader)

CW: Sexual content, drug use (weed), strong language, face-sitting, sex under the influence, ass worship, light degradation, established friendship, friends-to-fuckbuddies dynamic

Summary: It started like every other hangout: weed, laziness, a little too much eye contact, and Ben pretending not to stare at your thighs. But the smoke got thick, the teasing went too far, and suddenly that line between “just friends” and something else? Not so clear anymore.

Wordcount: 9k

You were half-sprawled across your bed, limbs tangled in a nest of pillows, book balanced against your stomach. It had been a slow, quiet evening, the kind where you could hear the hum of the fridge in the kitchen and every creak in the ceiling felt like the house breathing. Most of the residents of the house were out for the night, either on missions or out doing God knows what, which meant one glorious thing: peace.

Just you, your book, and the slow tick of time stretching out beneath the quiet hum of the house.

Then your phone buzzed.

You didn’t rush to check it. Just let your thumb slide down, glancing half-bored until you saw the name.

BEN.

And underneath it: you tryna blaze?

Your mouth twitched into a smirk immediately. Typical.

Of course he was already baked, sprawled out in his stupid little gamer cave, probably surrounded by empty Monster cans and snack wrappers he’d been “meaning to throw out” for three days straight. And of course, he wanted company. Or maybe just an excuse to stare at your thighs again, which he always did like it was a glitch he couldn’t fix. Either way, you were already climbing out of bed before your brain caught up.

You messaged back a half-assed “omw”, then tossed your phone to the bed and headed for your dresser.

Time to tease.

You picked out a crop top that clung in all the right places, one of those soft, ribbed ones with a deep scoop neck and not much else. No bra, obviously. Then the shorts - the teeny tiny ones, soft, low on the hips. You gave yourself a once-over in the mirror. Good. Cute enough to fluster, relaxed enough to pass off as “what, this old thing?” Lastly, you spritzed just a bit of body mist behind your ears, something sweet and subtle, the kind he always pretended not to notice, even as he leaned closer than necessary.

Then you were padding barefoot down the hallway, the floor cool beneath your feet, the air still heavy with that rare, uninterrupted stillness. You could feel your own movement, the easy sway of your hips, the way the fabric of your shorts crept with every step. Anticipation licked at your skin like static.

Ben was the kind of friend you could get high with for hours without saying much - just music, smoke, and the occasional dumb conversation that spiraled into hysterics. You’d crashed in his room more times than you could count, legs in his lap, sprawled on his bed, laughing about nothing. But he was also a complete perv, and he didn’t hide it. His eyes were always on you - your legs, your tits, the way your shorts rode up when you shifted. He didn’t even try to be subtle about it. And you didn’t mind. If anything, you leaned into it. The way he looked at you made everything buzz - lazy, vulgar attention that didn’t really mean anything. You flirted back just to watch him squirm, pretending it was harmless even as it built into something hot and humming under the surface.

Ben’s door was closed, but the light underneath was green, some old LED strips he never turned off casting that mossy glow over everything. The faint thump of bass leaked out into the hallway, one of the old-school rap beats he loved so much.

You opened the door without knocking.

The room hit you like a wave - warm and low-lit, completely disconnected from time. Green LEDs traced the corners, casting everything in a neon jungle glow. An open energy drink sat sweating on his desk, surrounded by a clutter of cords, snack wrappers, and some crusty ashtray that looked like it hadn’t been emptied in weeks. The air was stale but familiar, carrying the faint scent of something sharp, maybe the leftover stench of countless smoked joints. Posters layered the walls - glitch art, horror icons, half-naked anime girls with obscene proportions. It was a gamer cave, no doubt. But it was his, and it suited him perfectly.

Ben was sprawled across his bed, head propped on one arm, his blonde hair messy like he hadn’t bothered to fix it all day. He wore grey sweatpants slung low on his hips and a plain white tee that clung to the soft lines of his chest. Laid out beside him on a tray were a few pre-rolled joints, a half-empty grinder, and his rolling tools. In his hands, he was carefully licking the edge of a raw paper, sealing another.

You walked in slow, letting your hips sway just a bit extra. “Wow,” you said dryly. “Already cozy, huh?”

He didn’t look up right away. He sealed the joint, gave it a delicate roll between his fingers, then looked at you through the haze of his lashes. That crooked smile, so mischievous.

“Yup,” he said. “Just needed a pretty lady by my side to complete the ritual.”

You snorted, sliding onto the bed beside him, your bare leg brushing against his. His sheets were warm and smelled just like him - a mix of cheap cologne, weed resin, and boy-sweat baked into cotton.

You glanced at the lighter on the tray - black, scratched and cheap, with a crude naked cartoon woman on the side like a trashy 90s porn ad.

You picked it up, turning it over in your hand. “This your taste in women?” you asked, gesturing at the cartoon tits.

Ben glanced at you, eyes low-lidded, mouth tugging into a grin. “That’s Jeff’s lighter. It’s his favorite. Don’t insult his wife.”

“This?” You turned the lighter over, inspecting the worn plastic and exaggerated anatomy. “This is his wife? She looks like she’d offer three holes and a loyalty punch card.”

“Hey,” Ben said, mock-offended. “She’s a classic.”

“Well,” you said, slipping the lighter into the waistband of your shorts like you were stashing stolen treasure, “she’s mine now. I’m liberating her.”

He made a noise, half groan, half laugh. “Shit. Jeff’s gonna cry when he finds out you jacked his wife.”

You raised a brow, already grinning. “You gonna snitch?”

Ben rolled onto his side, resting on one elbow, his grin widening. “Hell no. I’m encouraging it. You stealing other guys’ girls? That’s hot.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

He held out the freshly rolled joint, still warm from his fingers. “And yet, here you are.”

You took it with a lazy smirk, leaned in, and let your lashes do half the talking. “Maybe I just come for the weed.”

His gaze dipped slowly, mouth to collarbone, collarbone to chest, then lower. His eyes landed on your thighs like he couldn’t help himself. “Mhm. Sure.”

You lit up, Jeff’s Wife sparking to life in your fingers, the flame catching with a flick-snap-fwoosh. You took a long pull, lungs tightening around the heat, the lemon-diesel tang clawing in deep before melting sweet and sticky behind your eyes. You held it until the burn went soft, then exhaled, slow and elegant, like you were exorcising tension.

The smoke drifted out of your nose and lips, warm and smooth, curling over your chest and spine like silk ribbons. It made your skin buzz. The kind of high that flooded you. Colors deepened. Shadows breathed. The bass under the looping track hit you just beneath the ribs, syncing with your pulse.

Ben was still watching you.

He hadn’t blinked.

Lips slightly parted, that same grin ghosting at the edges of his mouth, eyes darkened under the green LEDs like the room was built just to spotlight your existence.

You passed the joint back, fingers brushing his, skin grazing skin. His touch was warm. Always was.

“You’re staring,” you said, voice soft but smug, like you already knew the answer.

He didn’t bother denying it. Just smiled again and laughed, like the truth had never been worth hiding.

You kept passing the joint back and forth until the cherry was a tight, angry ember and the paper wore a tar-dark resin ring near the tip. You ghost-lit it twice with Jeff’s Wife when it threatened to canoe, laughing every time Ben pretended to scold you for “over-torching the dome.” 

The haze settled around you like a thick velvet curtain, folding time in on itself. First it landed behind your eyes, numbing thought, then bloomed across your scalp like a heat rash made of glitter. Finally, it sank, low and molten, into your limbs. Your muscles unspooled. Your skin buzzed.

The bass under the looping track had melted into your bones. You could feel it under your ribs now, pulsing in sync with your blood like the room had found your frequency.

You shifted slowly, turning to face him, one knee folded beneath you, the other bent toward his hip. The movement dragged your shorts higher, fabric creeping like it had a mind of its own. The soft inside of your thigh brushed against the comforter. You didn’t fix it. Let the fabric stay bunched high. Let gravity have you.

Ben noticed.

Of course he did.

His gaze flicked down, mouth, collarbone, chest, hips, thighs, and stuck there. Then it jerked back up, like he’d caught himself and failed to recover in time. Then drifted down again, pulled off-course like a magnet to metal.

You smirked, catching him in real time. “Eyes up, champ.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even try to defend himself. Just took the joint from your hand and pulled, cheeks hollowing as he inhaled slow. The cherry glowed like a little warning light.

He exhaled, thick and lazy, right between you. Smoke curled in the air, softening the space like static fog.

“Can’t,” he said, voice raspy, grin wide. “It’s too fuckin’ much, baby.”

You raised a brow, but your smile was already tugging at the corners of your mouth. “What is?”

He laughed, the sound low and unguarded. “Everything. All of you.” He squinted, like the green LEDs had suddenly gone too bright, or like looking at you directly was dangerous. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

You gave him your best innocent blink. “What, existing?”

Ben passed the joint back, shaking his head in mock defeat. “Looking like that. Wearing that. Sitting like that.” His voice dropped half an octave. “You’re fucking hot.”

You laughed, but this time there was a crack in it, just a little. The kind that came when you felt seen, and not just as a joke. A heartbeat of honesty pulsed under the high.

“You’re so stoned,” you said, hiding behind the smoke as you took another hit. It clawed at your throat, sweet and sharp, and settled low and warm in your chest.

You exhaled in a soft stream past his shoulder, not looking directly at him now either. Your head floated somewhere above your body, but your limbs felt weighted in the best way.

Ben leaned back against the headboard, one foot flat on the mattress, the other stretched out lazily. His shirt rode up just enough to flash a strip of pale skin above his waistband. A soft line of muscle, shadowed in green. He looked completely relaxed, unguarded in a way that felt rare.

Open. Sprawled wide like he trusted you in his space, or forgot he wasn’t supposed to.

And for one long, weightless moment, you didn’t say anything at all.

You just looked at him. And he looked right back.

And with him leaned back like that, legs spread, shirt hitched, eyes soft, the green LED glow hit him square across the lap.

That’s when you saw it.

The fabric of his sweatpants was tented high, unmistakable, the outline of his cock pressing forward through the thin cotton like it wanted to be caught. Straining, zero deniability.

You stared. Then blinked.

Then stared harder, because subtlety was dead and weed made honesty feel like gravity.

“Ben,” you said, voice tilting into mock-scandal, “are you seriously hard right now?”

He followed your gaze. Then looked back up at you with a grin that was equal parts boyish and filthy.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” You snorted. “That’s not a maybe, that’s a–” You waved a hand at his lap. “–whole situation.”

He spread his hands in mock surrender. “I told you you were hot. You didn’t stop being hot. These are just… natural consequences.”

You reached out with your foot, gave the side of his thigh a playful nudge.

The motion pressed the fabric tighter across his lap, and your laugh cracked out again, half amused, half oh God that’s real.

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re curious,” he countered, eyes narrowing like he could see right through your laugh.

Your mouth opened to say no I’m not, but nothing came out. Because you were. High stripped out the buffer between thought and want, and the want was humming now, low and warm, insistent.

The joint had burned down to a roach. You pinched it between your nails, took the last hit, and leaned forward to drop it in the ashtray. He caught your wrist as you were pulling back, lazy-light, just holding. Testing.

“You good?” he asked. No teasing this time. It was a real, genuine question.

You nodded. “Yeah. You?”

“Very.” His thumb brushed your wrist bone. “C’mere.”

You could’ve pulled away. Should’ve, maybe. But the room was hazy and slow, and the softness in his eyes disarmed you. So you shifted closer, knees bumping his thigh, one hand braced near his shoulder. You smelled warm skin, burnt paper and his usual cologne.

He picked up a fresh joint, stuck it between his lips, and sparked it with a lazy flick. The tip flared orange, then settled into a steady glow. He took a long, slow drag, deep enough that his chest rose with it, then leaned back against the pillows, exhaling the first cloud toward the ceiling like a reset. Clearing the air. Or maybe setting the stage.

He looked at you then, eyes low, mouth already curling.

“Shotgun?” he asked.

You didn’t answer. Just leaned in.

He hit it again, slower this time, holding the smoke tight in his lungs. Then he turned to you, mouth parted. One hand reached up to cradle the back of your neck, guiding you close.

When your lips met, he exhaled - a slow, steady stream of smoke blown straight into your mouth. It hit first: warm and bitter, sweet around the edges, thick with heat. And then came the kiss, soft but hungry. Like a line you'd both been dancing around for months had just vanished.

You kissed him back.

Slow, exploratory, like you were mapping something sacred. His lips were warm and a little chapped, tasting like weed and lemon and sour candy. Your mouths opened together, just enough for your tongue to flick against his. You caught his bottom lip, pulled slightly, and he made a sound, low, helpless, that landed between your thighs like a dropped match.

His free hand skimmed the curve of your waist, fingers slipping just under the hem of your crop top. Just holding, touching.

You shifted closer. Your chest brushed his, just enough contact to feel the heat of him through his shirt, just enough to make the fabric of your shorts hike even higher where they bunched at your hips.

You finally pulled back, barely, just enough to breathe.

Both of you were flushed, high, and vibrating. His eyes were dark and wide, pupils swallowing the color. Yours probably looked the same.

“Friends, right?” you asked, voice soft, breathless.

“The bestest of friends, baby,” he agreed, grin crooked. “With… all the right benefits and everything.”

You laughed, nodding.

Your forehead rested against his, breath mingling, skin sticky-warm from the haze and heat. Your thighs burned where they touched him, every point of contact sparking like static. His hand was at your waist, thumb drawing idle circles just under your shirt. You were both buzzing now, high and heady and tipping further into it with every second.

“God, we’re so fucking gone,” you murmured.

Ben chuckled at that. “Yeah. Just how I like it.”

Then he kissed you again.

This one was different, still slow, still playful, but needier. Hungrier. Like now that the seal had been broken, neither of you could pretend not to want more. 

You climbed into his lap without thinking, just a smooth shift of hips and hands and suddenly you were straddling him, thighs bracketing his hips, weight settled over the obvious swell in his sweats. You felt the hard length of him, thick and twitching under the soft cotton.

You both paused at the contact. His eyes found yours and the look on his face made your stomach flip over itself.

Like you’d just undone him.

“Comfy?” he asked, voice thick, low, amused.

You smiled slowly, then rocked forward just enough to grind, a lazy little shift of pressure that dragged the curve of your body right across the solid length of him.

“Getting there,” you murmured.

His hands moved automatically, like he couldn’t not touch you, palms sliding over your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft inner curve like he was trying to memorize it. His gaze kept flicking between your mouth and your chest and your hips, like he didn’t know where to look first.

You leaned in and kissed him again.

Your tongue flicked lightly against his and his breath hitched, hands tightening at your waist like he was holding back from doing more, barely. Then his hands moved, slowly, sliding up under your shirt, warm palms dragging over your ribs, until they reached your tits.

He cupped them gently, thumbs brushing over your nipples. You gasped softly into his mouth, the contact lighting you up from the inside out.

He groaned, low and needy, and did it again, a little firmer this time, kneading like he needed to memorize the weight of you in his hands. You rocked forward, your body answering instinctively, pressing into his palms.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, lips still tingling, then hooked your fingers under your shirt and peeled it off in one smooth motion. Tossed it to the floor without a second thought.

Ben’s breath caught like it punched through his lungs. He stared, lips parted, completely wrecked.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “You’re unreal.”

You smiled, slow and lazy, grabbing his jaw with one hand. “Then do something about it.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

His mouth landed hot and open against the curve of your breast, tongue dragging slowly over the soft skin before he closed his lips around your nipple and sucked, firm and slow.

Your back arched, a sharp gasp escaping your throat as the wet pull of his mouth sent a jolt straight to your core. Your fingers tangled in his hair without thinking, holding him there.

He moaned low and guttural, like this was his high, his hit. The vibration of it made you twitch.

Your hand reached blindly for the joint still smoldering in the ashtray. You brought it to your lips and lit it again, the flame kissing the tip just long enough to catch. You took a long, slow drag, deep enough to burn, hot enough to sting.

Smoke spilled from your mouth in a silky stream as his tongue flicked and swirled around your nipple, his hands gripping your waist like he was grounding himself. Your body was already humming, nerves lit up, every inch of skin aching for more.

“Holy fuck, Ben…” you breathed, voice cracked.

He grinned against your skin, teeth grazing you, then leaned back just enough to look up, cheeks flushed, lips slick, eyes wild.

“This is all your fault,” he rasped, voice ruined and teasing. “Coming in here in those shorts…”

You smirked and reached down, dragging your fingers lightly over the hard ridge in his sweats. He gasped, hips twitching up into your hand.

“You’re the one pitching a tent,” you whispered, “not me.”

He chuckled, short and breathless. “Fair.”

Then he sat up, one hand bracing behind him, and tugged his shirt off with the other, tossing it onto the edge of the bed. His torso was lean and pale in the green LED glow, muscles defined just enough to be noticeable when he moved. He was sprawled back, open and exposed, letting you look.

And you did.

Your hand dragged down his chest, over the faint cut of his stomach, pausing right above the waistband of his sweats.

Then you reached lower.

Your fingers curled lightly around the outline of his cock through the soft cotton, teasing just enough to feel the shape of it. Thick, hard.

His breath left in a harsh exhale. “Fuck…”

You looked up at him through your lashes. “Still comfy?”

His laugh came out strangled. “I might die right here.”

You smiled, sweet and slow and sharp, and kept your hand right where it was, just a gentle squeeze to remind him: you weren’t done yet.

His hands returned to your thighs, sliding down the tops, fingers hooking lightly into the waistband of your shorts.

“Stand up,” he said.

You raised a brow, but obeyed, sliding off the bed with a lazy stretch and planting your feet at the edge while he stayed reclined, half-propped on his elbows, looking up at you like he’d just paid cover for a private show.

His gaze dragged down your body in one slow, greedy sweep.

“Alright,” he said, voice hoarse. “Let’s see the full damage.”

You laughed at that, your high wrapping around you like a spotlight. You hooked your thumbs in the waistband of your shorts and peeled them down inch by inch, deliberate, teasing, until they slid over your thighs, past your knees, pooling at your ankles in a lazy heap.

Ben made a sound behind you - half choke, half moan.

You stood there, breathing slow and thick, skin glowing faintly in the green LED wash. The lace of your panties caught the light just enough to glint. They were delicate, semi-sheer, dipped low in the front and high at the hips, hugging your body like they’d been drawn on with intention. Every curve. Every inch. The fabric disappeared between your legs, framing more than it covered.

Ben’s breath caught. His eyes were glassy and wide, pupils blown into darkness.

“Holy fucking shit,” he muttered.

You smirked. Stepped out of the shorts, kicked them aside. “What?”

He gestured vaguely with one hand, the other clutching the bedsheet like he needed something to ground him. “Those panties, fuck… Turn around.”

You blinked, faux-innocent. “Huh?”

He cleared his throat, coughed out a breath. “Do a 360. I need the full damage report.”

You snorted, but spun slowly on the balls of your feet, hips swaying just a little extra as you turned, high enough to forget shame, bold enough to enjoy the effect. When your back faced him, you paused. Let your weight shift to one hip. Let the lace bite in, frame the curve of your ass, draw a map for his hands.

Ben groaned, out loud. A broken, involuntary sound from deep in his chest.

“Fuck, baby,” he gasped. “Put that ass in my face.”

You looked at him over your shoulder, lip caught between your teeth. “You serious?”

He was sprawled now, head tipped back against his pillows, one arm slung behind him, the other curled around the lighter. His cock strained up in his sweats, tenting high and twitching slightly with every lazy pass of his eyes across your body.

“Deadass,” he said, expression completely serious. “Sit on my face. Right now.”

You giggled, high, flushed, and drunk on the absolute wreckage you were causing. “God, you’re such a slut.”

He grinned, unapologetically. “I’m your slut tonight. C’mon, baby. Don’t be shy. Bless me.”

So you did.

You crawled over him with that stoned, feline confidence, every shift of your hips intentional, every glance over your shoulder calculated. You swung one leg over his torso, then the other, straddling his chest with your back to him, knees planted wide on either side of his ribs.

Your ass was facing him - full view, center stage - lace stretched tight and glinting under the LED wash. You felt his breath hitch beneath you, his hands already rising to grip your thighs like he couldn’t believe this was real.

Then you shifted higher, inching back toward his face until you were kneeling over him, thighs bracketing his head now, your weight hovering just above his mouth.

Ben let out a breath like he was bracing for impact.

Your back arched naturally from the position, spine curved, ass fully presented, pussy barely veiled in lace and practically dripping just inches from his face. Not yet touching, just hovering. You paused there. Letting him look. Letting him want.

His hands slid up your thighs, slow, almost reverent, fingertips digging into soft flesh as if to prove this was real. His thumbs pressed into the crease where your thighs met your hips, anchoring you above him. You could practically feel your heartbeat pounding between your thighs.

And then you sank.

The moment your ass pressed down onto his face, just the lace meeting his mouth, Ben let out a deep, guttural groan, muffled, greedy, almost relieved. You felt his breath bloom against you, hot and humid, as he exhaled right into you, like he was inhaling your scent and exhaling something holy.

Then he gently pulled back.

“Hold up,” he rasped, voice cracking under you. “Gimme a second.”

You stayed hovering, thighs trembling slightly from the angle, breath shallow from the anticipation. He shifted beneath you, one hand fumbling at the nightstand until he grabbed another joint. He lit it with a flick, spark-snap, inhale, the flame flaring briefly beneath your thighs as he lit up.

The audacity of it made your stomach twist.

He took a slow pull, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted around the joint as he breathed in deep like he was savoring both the smoke and the fact that you were straddling his face.

Then he exhaled right against the lace covering your ass and pussy.

The smoke rolled out of him in a thick, curling stream, winding through the sheer fabric of your panties. The warmth of it hit you in waves: soft, then sharp, then gone, but the heat it left behind buzzed under your skin.

Your thighs flexed. Your hips twitched forward without meaning to.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, voice high and thin, fingers digging into the sheets. “Ben–”

You giggled, half breathless, half overwhelmed, because the whole thing was insane. You were stoned, half-naked, dripping, while this man was lighting up under your ass like it was a fucking altar.

And then he put the joint down.

No more teasing.

He buried his face in you, no hesitation now, mouth pressing firm through the lace. His hands gripped your hips, guiding your weight down until you were fully seated on his face.

His breath came rough and greedy, every exhale hot against your core, every inhale dragging in your scent like oxygen.

You looked over your shoulder and the sight hit you like a punch - his face flushed, eyes glassy and half-lidded, completely lost in you. He looked wild. Like he was grateful to be buried there.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you gasped, still laughing through the high, hips twitching.

In answer, he smacked your ass. Hard.

The sound cracked through the haze, sharp and filthy. You gasped, whole body jolting, skin stinging where his hand landed.

“C’mon,” he growled into the fabric, voice hoarse, “shake that ass a little for me.”

You blinked, heat rushing up your spine. “What?”

“Right here, baby,” he rasped, thumbs digging in deeper. “Just move. Just a little. Right on my fucking face.”

You let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh, but you did it.

You rocked your hips, slow at first. Just a little grind. Just enough to let the lace drag across his lips and cheekbones.

He groaned beneath you, low and broken, completely gone.

You did it again.

And again.

Your thighs trembled as the pressure built, as his nose pushed hard against the wet patch soaking the lace. You started to move without thinking - slow, swaying circles that fed both of you. You were high, throbbing, heart racing, riding his face like you were chasing something.

Ben reached for the joint again, fumbling one hand off your hip just long enough to bring it to his lips. He hit it hard. Then he exhaled - a thick, warm breath straight against your ass.

“Good fucking girl,” he growled between exhales. “That’s it. Fuck, you’re so hot like this.”

You kept swaying, kept moving your hips just enough to tease, just enough to keep him groaning under you like he could lose it just from the feel of you.

You were shaking. High out of your mind. Pussy soaked. And this man was smoking and moaning and burying his face in your ass like it was his last meal.

“Okay, okay,” you gasped, hands scrambling for his knees as your thighs started to go numb. “You’re gonna make me blackout.”

He pulled back, just enough to breathe, his cheeks red, face wrecked, hair sticking to his forehead. He looked dazed. Like he’d taken a hit of something stronger than weed.

You slid off him, dropping to your knees beside his chest, panting, legs shaking.

Ben blinked up at you like you were something holy, lips parted.

You leaned over and snatched the joint from his fingers, took a long hit, then blew the smoke slow across his chest. “You good?” you asked, smirking.

He nodded, jaw tight, then licked his lips and leaned up on his elbows. “Fuck. Yeah.”

You raised an eyebrow, catching the way his eyes dropped immediately to your tits, bare, nipples peaked, flushed with heat. He adjusted slightly against the pillows, and the motion drew your gaze right back to the problem he was very clearly dealing with: a thick, twitching bulge fighting hard against the fabric of his sweats.

“You look uncomfortable,” you said sweetly.

He gave you that look, cocky, half-lidded, and said, “You could help with that.”

You tilted your head. “Oh yeah?”

“C’mon,” he groaned, hand dragging up his own stomach, breath hitching. “Put that pretty mouth to use, baby.”

You grinned. “So needy.”

He let his head drop back onto the pillows, both arms folding behind it like he was posing for you. “So fucking ready,” he shot back. “C’mon. Be good.”

You moved slow on purpose, fingers to the waistband of his sweats, teasing first, dragging your nails along the edge just enough to make him twitch. Then finally, finally, you hooked both sweats and boxers and pulled them down in one slow motion.

His cock sprang free, flushed and leaking at the tip. Thick, heavy, curved just slightly - resting against his lower stomach with a twitch of tension like it couldn’t wait.

You blinked. “Jesus, Ben.”

He just smirked. “Don’t act surprised.”

You giggled again and leaned down, trailing one teasing kiss along his hip, letting your breath ghost along his length without touching. His thighs tensed under you, all muscle and impatience, and his cock twitched again, begging.

“Fuck, baby…” he moaned, voice raspy, “don’t play with me.”

He raised the joint to his lips, hit it slow and deep, then let the smoke roll lazily from his mouth as he met your eyes. “Suck it, I know you want to, come on.”

You laughed, a quiet, wicked thing, and then finally wrapped one hand around the base of his cock and took the tip into your mouth.

Ben groaned, a low broken sound that filled the whole room.

Your tongue circled his head slowly, lapping up the precum before easing further down. Your lips stretched, mouth warm and wet around him. He tasted like skin and salt and faint weed resin from your own breath. Your free hand slid up his thigh, nails dragging lightly, and he shuddered.

Above you, he watched, arm still behind his head, joint dangling from two fingers now, eyes glued to the way you moved.

“Holy fuck,” he groaned. “That mouth is too good.”

You hummed around him, sinking down farther, slow, smooth, letting him feel every inch of tongue and spit and suction. He bucked just slightly, thighs twitching, breath catching in his throat.

“Oh my god,” he gasped. “Yes. Just like that, fuck.”

He took another hit, shakier this time, and exhaled with his mouth hanging open as you swallowed him deeper. His cock throbbed against your tongue, thick and hot, and you could feel the tension in his abs start to lock tight.

You pulled off just enough to flick your tongue under his head, your hand stroking him slick while you looked up and said, voice hoarse: “You’re not gonna finish already, are you? You haven’t even seen my pussy yet.”

He groaned hard, dropping his arms and gripping the sheets now like he was falling apart. “I want–fuck–I want everything.”

You smirked, then dropped your mouth back down and gave him exactly that.

You sucked him just a little longer - slow, deep, wet strokes that had his thighs trembling and breath stuttering. Your tongue dragged under his cock, lips pulling tight around the shaft, spit dripping as you bobbed, moaning low just to feel the way it made him twitch.

Your ass was up, arched, back curved in the perfect angle, and fuck, you knew exactly what you were doing. You could feel his eyes on you, glued to the way your hips rolled slightly with every movement, the way the lace of your panties stretched over your ass, sheer and teasing.

Ben let out a breathless moan, one of those completely undone sounds, and rasped, “Jesus… fuck, I love that view.”

You popped off his cock slowly with a wet slurp, licking your lips as you looked up at him. His chest was rising and falling fast, one hand twisted in the sheets, the other still loosely holding what was left of the joint.

“Break time,” you said sweetly, crawling up his body like a cat. You landed in his lap and plucked the joint from his fingers and took a hit. 

He grinned, eyes glassy, mouth still open a little. “There you go, baby. Hit it.”

You exhaled over his mouth before kissing him again.

The kiss was smoky and indulgent. Your tongue flicked his, slow and open, letting him taste himself on your mouth. Ben groaned into it, hands sliding up your waist like he needed to anchor you to him. His grip tightened like he couldn’t stand the thought of you slipping away.

But you pulled back, just slightly, hips rolling in slow, sinful circles over the thick line of his cock, pushing up tight against the soaked fabric of your panties.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You tryna kill me?”

You rolled your hips again, just enough to make him twitch under you. “Mmh. Not yet.”

Then his voice went lower, rough and ruined: “Ride me, baby.”

You blinked down at him, feigning surprise.

“From behind,” he added quickly, licking his lips. “Turn around. Let me see that pretty ass bounce. C’mon. I need it.”

You grinned down at him, slow and wicked. “Need it, huh?”

“Yes.” The word hit like a confession, ragged and raw. “Need to feel you take it like that. Need to see you own my dick. I wanna watch every fuckin’ second.”

Your smirk deepened. You leaned in until your mouth brushed the shell of his ear.

“Good boy,” you purred.

Ben’s eyes blew wide. Pupils dilated. His breath caught like you'd just yanked the soul from his body with just those two words.

You leaned down, dragging your tits across his chest until your nipples brushed his lips, and he latched on instantly. Mouth hot and hungry, sucking at your tits like he needed it to survive. The sensation made your thighs tremble.

You cooed softly, threading your fingers through his hair with one hand. “You always this obedient?”

He moaned into your chest, mouth full, eyes fluttering. “Only for you.”

You smirked again, dragging the moment out like honey. Then, with slow purpose, you reached down, thumbs hooking beneath the waistband of your panties.

You peeled them down - hips swaying, lace dragging over your thighs, past your knees, until they dropped soft and delicate beside the bed. 

You held still, letting him look. Letting him see you fully bare, flushed, slick with want.

“Better?” you whispered.

Ben’s voice cracked. “So much better.”

You rewarded him with a slow grind against his cock, slick heat sliding over the length of him, coating him with every wet pass of your hips.

Then you leaned forward, kissed his forehead, sweet and mock-innocent, and turned around with slow, theatrical grace.

You pivoted in his lap, facing away now, knees planting on either side of his hips. The movement made your back arch naturally, ass settling over him in full view, your hands braced on his thighs for balance.

You reached between your legs, fingers curling around his hard and swollen cock, and guided him toward your entrance. You didn’t take him in yet. Just let the swollen head kiss your folds, sliding slowly through your slick, teasing both of you with the pressure and heat.

Ben choked. “Holy fuck.”

You looked over your shoulder, grinning. “Enjoying the view?”

He nodded like it physically hurt to wait. “Please, baby. Bounce on me. I need it.”

You sank down slowly, inch by inch, letting him feel every stretch, every shiver, every tight, hot drag of your body as you took him in.

He filled you, thick and deep, your walls gripping him as your hands braced on his knees and your head dropped forward with a breathless, guttural moan.

Behind you, Ben was losing it.

Groaning like a man possessed, hands grabbing at your ass, hips twitching up just to meet you, already ruined and begging for more.

You rocked your hips, slow at first. Letting him feel it. Letting yourself feel it - the stretch, the slide, the slick rhythm building in your core.

Then you started to ride.

And the sound of it? Skin on skin. Wet. Rhythmic. The slap of your ass against his thighs with every bounce. You could hear his breath falter - every inhale jagged, every exhale laced with curses and praise.

“Goddamn,” he panted. “That’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

You looked over your shoulder, voice breathless, lips parted in a smirk. “Enjoying it baby?”

Then you picked up the pace.

Ben’s hands went wild - gripping and smacking and guiding. He watched every movement, helpless beneath you, eyes glued to the curve of your spine, the bounce of your ass, the way your pussy swallowed him over and over again.

“Fuck,” he moaned, head tossing back. “Don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop.”

You rode him like you were made for it, hips rolling, thighs burning, your breath hitching with every wet slam of your body onto his. His cock hit deep, thick and pulsing, dragging you closer and closer to the edge with every thrust.

The high turned everything glowing. Slow and sharp at the same time, your nerves screaming in color, the pleasure a wave cresting higher with every grind.

Ben was wrecked beneath you.

Hair plastered to his forehead. Mouth open. Hands glued to your ass.

His voice kept running, hoarse and reverent. “Fuck, baby… you're fucking perfect. This ass, Jesus, it’s like you knew what you were doing coming in here wearing those skanky ass shorts.”

You laughed, breath catching. “I did know.”

He smacked your ass, hard, and you gasped, clenching around him, the sudden sting sending sparks straight to your core.

“Fuck–Ben!”

“That’s right,” he growled, driving up into you now, matching your pace with desperate thrusts. “Say my name while you bounce.”

You whined, voice high and broken, rhythm faltering, not from weakness, but from the sheer pressure building deep in your belly. That hot ache. That pull. The knot winding tighter with every slap of skin and every rough, perfect stretch of him inside you.

And that’s when he shifted, suddenly grabbing your waist, voice low and rough.

“My turn.”

You blinked, breath catching. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He sat up, pressed a kiss between your shoulder blades, then bit your shoulder lightly. “Get on all fours, baby. Time for some backshots.”

You obeyed instantly, too high and desperate to argue, crawling forward with shaky hands and arching your back for him - ass in the air, thighs trembling, soaked and ready. You felt him shift behind you, hands roaming, gripping, one spreading you open while the other wrapped around his cock and stroked it slowly, letting the head glide through your slick folds.

“Look at you,” he muttered, voice shaking. “Fuck, I could stare at this all night.”

You giggled in response, wiggling your hips in invitation.

He lined himself up, notching the head at your entrance, and then pushing into you in one smooth, hard thrust.

You moaned, face pressed into the sheets, hands fisting the blankets as he bottomed out.

“Fuuuck,” he growled behind you, voice wrecked. “So tight. So fucking wet. Shit.”

He pulled back, then slammed in again, harder this time, his thighs slapping against the backs of yours. He found a rhythm quick, pounding into you with the force of every high, every tease, every bit of tension you’d been building all night.

You were a mess beneath him, moaning openly, back arching deeper with every slap of skin on skin. The way he filled you was obscene - thick, deep, hitting that spot that made your whole body twitch.

And the sounds, wet and messy. His hips slapping into you. His groans. Your cries. The slap of his palm against your ass, again and again, leaving stinging heat behind.

“Take it, baby,” he growled, hands fisting your hair now, yanking your head up slightly. “Fucking take it. This what you came here for, huh? Wanted to tease me and then ride me like a slut?”

You gasped, eyes rolling back. “Yes–fuck, yes, Ben–don’t stop–!”

He groaned, deep and shaky. “That’s it. Let me fuck this perfect little pussy like you fucking deserve. Loud and messy, baby. Just like us.”

He didn’t stop. Just kept pounding you from behind, one hand gripping your hip so hard it’d bruise.

Ben was deep in it - hips snapping, fucking you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. The rhythm was relentless now, his cock hitting all the right spots, his voice rough with heat and weed and need.

He smacked your ass hard and moaned, “Fucking look at you–bouncing like that, pussy so tight–I can’t–fuck–”

You didn’t even have time to respond.

His thrusts stuttered, body locking behind you, and with a strangled groan, he pulled out at the last second - just enough to let himself spill all over your ass in hot, heavy ropes. His moans were deep and broken, every drop of cum landing sticky against your skin as he trembled through it.

You blinked, still catching your breath, still high, still aching.

He collapsed back onto the mattress, panting. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

You looked over at him slowly, grinning. “Wow.”

Ben covered his face with both hands. “Don’t. I swear to God.”

“Oh no, I’m absolutely going to.” You sat up on your knees, turning to look down at him with mock-disbelief. “You didn’t even make me cum, dude.”

He peeked at you from between his fingers, looking sheepish and cocky all at once. “Okay, but that ass? That wasn’t fair. You can’t just look like that and expect me to hold it together.”

You gave him a look. “So what, I get left high and dry?”

Ben blinked once, then twice - then sat up, expression shifting into something darker, focused. “Hell no. I saved the best for last.”

You arched a brow. “Oh?”

“C’mere.” He was already laying back down, arms open, mouth parted, voice low and hungry. “Ride my face. Let me give it back to you.”

You laughed, high and breathless and already climbing over him. “Knew I could count on you.”

But before you could move into position, you paused, suddenly very aware of the cum running down your lower back and ass. “Hold up,” you muttered, twisting just enough to grab the first thing within reach: his crumpled T-shirt, half hanging off the bed. You wiped yourself off with slow, absent swipes, dragging the fabric across your skin, catching traces of heat and stickiness. Ben watched from below, dazed and fascinated, like even the clean-up was hot. When you were satisfied, and his shirt thoroughly ruined, you tossed it aside and climbed fully over him.

He grabbed your waist the second you were close, guiding you up over his mouth, eyes dark and starving. You hovered for half a second, teasing, just to watch him squirm.

“Don’t you fucking dare play now,” he growled, hands tightening. “Sit down, baby. Let me make you cum like you deserve.”

You sank down slowly, facing him, thighs bracketing his head, and the second your pussy made contact with his mouth, he groaned into you. His tongue licked a broad stripe through your folds, and your hips bucked instinctively.

“Fuck–Ben–”

He moaned like you were feeding him something sacred, wrapping his arms around your thighs and locking you down as his tongue worked deep, long licks, then short flicks against your clit, then sucking, then licking again like he couldn’t get enough. He was loud about it, sloppy, like he didn’t care how wrecked he sounded or looked.

You grabbed his head for balance, hips rolling gently against his mouth, moaning high and shaky with every flick of his tongue.

“God, yes–right there–don’t stop–don’t fucking stop–”

He didn’t. If anything, he got more intense, hands sliding up to grip your hips and hold you still as he sucked your clit into his mouth and hummed like he was high off your moans alone.

You looked down at him, face half-shadowed, mouth open under you, eyes barely open, consumed. He was devouring you. Making up for cumming early with every stroke of his tongue like he was trying to erase the mistake.

You started shaking.

Your thighs clenched around his head.

The pressure in your stomach snapped.

You whimpered, hips grinding hard against his mouth as your orgasm hit, white-hot and shattering, making you collapse against the headboard, whole body trembling as his mouth stayed on you, licking through every twitch and aftershock.

You finally pulled back, breathless, hips trembling, thighs soaked.

Ben looked up at you, face shining, lips swollen, still panting.

“I win,” he whispered.

You slid down next to him and punched his chest lightly. “Only ‘cause I let you.”

He grinned, all teeth, completely fucked out. “Nah, babe. I earned that one.”

The room was quiet now, except for the low loop of the playlist and the sound of your breathing, uneven but slowly settling. The air was still thick with smoke, sex, and sweat, but softer now, warmer. Your limbs were jelly. Your skin tingled. Your brain was floating somewhere between holy fuck and I regret nothing.

You were laying beside him on the bed, one arm over your eyes, chest still rising and falling in slow, shaky waves. “I can’t feel my legs.”

Ben laughed next to you, his voice hoarse, almost wrecked. “You’re welcome.”

You peeked at him from under your arm. He was grinning, stretched out, completely bare, hair a mess, his face still flushed from all the effort he’d poured into eating you like a man on death row. He looked proud.

You smacked his chest lightly. “You came in like two minutes.”

“Okay,” he said, raising a finger, “but it was an elite two minutes. And I made up for it.”

You grinned, letting your head fall onto his shoulder. “You did. I’ll allow it.”

You both laid there for a beat, catching your breath, the silence not awkward but earned. You let your hand drift across his stomach lazily, tracing little shapes in the sweat-slick skin.

Ben reached for the nightstand and grabbed a fresh joint from the tray. He popped it between his lips and patted around until he found Jeff’s Wife.

He sparked it up, the familiar flick-snap-fwoosh breaking the quiet, and took a long, smooth hit. He exhaled toward the ceiling, then passed it to you without looking, like muscle memory.

You took it, inhaled deep, let it buzz through your lungs, then blew a stream of smoke out across his chest. “This is gonna hit so much harder now.”

He groaned. “I know. My body’s already vibrating.”

You giggled and rolled halfway onto him, leg thrown over his thigh, chest against his side. His arm wrapped around you like it always did, natural, like this wasn’t new. Like this wasn’t the first time you’d both turned a friendly little blaze session into a full-blown face-sitting, dick-sucking mess.

The joint passed back and forth in silence for a while, your breath syncing to his. The music kept humming. The lights kept glowing. The haze thickened, but everything felt still.

Then Ben spoke, voice quiet, amused. “We should add this to the weekly agenda. Blaze, bounce, bond.”

You rolled your eyes and pressed your face into his neck. “Shut up and pass the joint.”

He handed it over, and you both faded back into the stillness, warm skin against warm skin, smoke curling around your bodies like a blanket.

And for the first time all night, neither of you had anything more to say.

Just two… friends. High. Wrecked. And satisfied.

Epilogue

The next day, Ben was posted up in front of his setup, headset slung around his neck, chair leaned so far back it looked like he might slide out of it. His screen glowed with some half-paused game, but his hands weren’t moving. He was just sitting there, totally still, totally zoned, with a crooked little smile tugging at his lips.

He looked like a guy who’d just won the lottery.

The door slammed open hard enough to rattle the LEDs. Jeff barged in, shirt twisted like he lost a fight with it, breathing like he ran halfway across the house. “Yo. Where the fuck is my lighter? Don’t make me start flipping shit.”

Ben didn’t answer. Just blinked real slow, smile not fading.

Jeff narrowed his eyes. “Don’t do that shit. Don’t do the quiet little idiot smile. You seen it or not? The black one. With the big-tittied cartoon bitch on the side. My wife.”

Ben finally turned his head. Lazy. Like it took effort. “Iunno. Maybe she ran off with someone better.”

Jeff squinted. “...Why the fuck are you smiling like that?”

Silence. 

Jeff paused. “Wait. Wait.” Then he groaned like he already knew.

“No fucking way,” he said, pointing. “That’s a post-nut smile. Bro. Who the fuck’d you bag?”

Ben just smirked wider and leaned back even more, stretching like a cat. “Hey man, I don’t kiss and tell. But damn…”

“Don’t fuckin’ play with me, dude. Who was it?” Jeff was circling the room now like the answer was hidden in the furniture. “Did someone actually ride your gross little dick?”

Ben gave him a slow, deliberate nod - the kind that said, oh yeah.

Jeff stared. “Was it…?”

Then his jaw dropped. “No. No fucking way.”

Ben just licked his lips and stayed quiet.

Jeff grabbed the back of the gaming chair, staring down at him. “You fucked Y/n?!”

Ben didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. His smirk said it all.

Jeff took a step back like he was physically offended. “What the fuck. How the hell did you pull that?”

Ben shrugged one shoulder, smug and unbothered. “She came over to blaze.”

Jeff blinked. “You’re telling me you got to hit that off a fuckin’ joint and a playlist?”

Ben grinned. “Didn’t even play a full album, bro.”

Jeff made a noise like he’d just been shot. “Unreal. That ass is crazy. You could bounce a quarter off that thing and it'd hit orbit.”

Ben’s voice dropped into that cocky murmur. “I didn’t bounce shit.” He paused. “It bounced on me.”

Jeff grabbed his head like he was in pain. “You felt it?”

Ben leaned forward, arms on his knees, eyes glinting. “Both hands. Full grip. Sat on my face. Twice.”

Jeff just stared, mouth open. “Twice? You ate it?”

Ben blinked, deadpan. “Would again.”

Jeff exhaled like a man defeated. “Jesus fuck, man. I’ve been trying to get a look at her tits through a hoodie for six months and you’ve got her reverse cowgirl on your head like a fuckin’ carnival ride.”

Ben laughed, full chest, satisfied, lit up from the inside out.

Jeff shook his head, muttering. “She let you hit? Shit. I gotta start brushing my hair or something. Fuckin’ embarrassing…”

Ben leaned back in his chair again, stretching, arms behind his head. “Too late. You’re not her type.”

Jeff rolled his eyes. “Yeah? What is her type?”

Ben smirked, slow and smug. “Apparently? Me.”

[fatalshinobu]

Naomasa Tsukauchi is a very busy man, that was no secret to anybody who knew the detective. But nevertheless, that didn’t mean he didn’t care about his dear wife. Tonight just happened to be another night where he happened to arrive home late. He got caught up with paperwork, again. 

He walked down the darkened hallway that led to his shared bedroom with you. He was trying to be quiet, he was sure you were asleep by now. It was nearing two in the morning. Hence his attempt to be stealthy and silent. He slowly opened the door leading to the bedroom, making a small creaking noise that felt louder than necessary due to the late hour. 

His dark eyes scanned the room, only to realize you were in-fact awake, much to the man’s surprise. “Can’t sleep?” He asked, his words barely above a whisper so as to not disturb the quiet atmosphere. You jolted in surprise at the sudden break in silence, eyes flickering towards the door and giving a nod in confirmation.

Naomasa let out a small sheepish smile at your acknowledgement. He approached the bed, taking a seat near the edge, the mattress sinking under his weight. He looked down at you, underneath the covers. “I’ll join you in a second, hang tight.” He whispered, leaning down to kiss your temple before he stood up. He approached the bathroom connected to the bedroom the two of you shared. 

A couple of minutes went by—just a few. Not enough to keep you waiting long, before the detective finally returned. In more casual clothes now, he approached the empty side of the bed. Crawling into the warmth of the bed. “C’mere,” He whispered, holding an arm open for you. He let out a soft, yet content sigh as he felt you shift over to him. The room fell into a comfortable silence.

Naomasa’s hand lightly rubbing your back, creating a soothing feeling against your tense muscles. He could feel you slowly drifting off into sleep. He tucked his chin over your head, keeping you close. As your head rested on-top of his chest. You could feel the way his chest rose and fell with each breath he took. It was oddly soothing, your eyes starting to struggle to stay open. “I’ve got you.” He muttered out, his own voice laced with exhaustion. “Just go to sleep, sweetheart.” He whispered to you, his voice a soft tone that no one else got to receive from him. Eventually, he felt your body relax under his touch, breath evening out as he held you close.

He could tell you finally fell asleep, much to his relief. His eyes slowly closed too. Till the room was silent, other than the faint deep breaths of the sleeping pair. Creating a peaceful atmosphere.

author's note: this is my first post, I hope you enjoyed! (｡>﹏<)

[unearthly-doting]

Heyyyy could you possibly do

Finding their soulmate: creepypasta edition

any creepypasta characters you want (including Jeff the killer & Homicidal Liu pls 🙏)

finding their soulmate: creepypasta edition.

notes: crying i miss my colored text :( i got another two soulmate posts coming ur way soon guys bc that's in high demand it seems so!! also im on my tablet writing all of this and tumblr mobile sucks so if there's any mistakes blame them not me. anyways send requests for things if u want. love u all !

includes: jeff the killer, homicidal liu, eyeless jack, nina the killer, the bloody painter, and ticci toby.

warnings: not proofread and written while i was super tired so, yandere content, mdni, inconsistent length, reader injury in jeff and toby's parts, stalking, mild poly content in liu's part bc he and sully r a package deal here, kidnapping, breaking and entering, murder, this is all actually pretty tame, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, overprotective behavior. i think that's all??

JEFF THE KILLER — didn't have a soulmate. He didn't have any soulmark, there was no name on his wrist or a string around his finger. The universe had destined him to be alone, it seems. When he was younger, this had been crushing. Why did his brother get to have a soulmate but he didn't? What was so different about him that he didn't deserve a destined love?

Though, after he became the man he is today, Jeff found that he didn't care about soulmates. He probably would've killed his soulmate, if he had one. If anything, he found himself developing a burning hatred at the very concept of soulmates.

Everyone had always played it out to be something wonderful, something people were lucky to have. But he's seen otherwise. He's killed soulmates who have turned on each other just to try and save their own life. It's all a bunch of romanticized bullshit.

And he thinks you're a dumbass for believing that your soulmate would be a good person. Jeff doesn't understand why he hasn't killed you yet, you're just some nobody that he for some reason enjoyed the company of. Maybe it's because you never try changing him. Or maybe it's boredom, who knows.

But he hates when you talk about your soulmate that you've yet to meet. You speak as if you're already in love, and it leaves this suffocating feeling in his chest each time. It didn't feel like anger or annoyance, but he was too prideful to label it as jealousy. Why would he be jealous?

Why do you want to meet your soulmate so badly anyway? You have him. He may not be your soulmate, but does it really matter? You better really hope this man never realizes he's in love with you because you're actually fucked if he does, like…

The moment he comes to terms with his feelings for you, you're never meeting your soulmate. He's crossing out their name on your wrist with his knife and replacing it with his own. You wanted to meet your soulmate so badly, so there. Now he's your soulmate. His name is forever carved on your skin, after all.

He may even force you to carve your name into his arm as well to further solidify the whole ‘soulmate’ thing you so desperately craved. You're stuck with him now, like it or not. No amount of screaming and crying will change what's happened.

Jeff doesn't understand why you're so upset. You wanted this. You were practically begging him for it, always telling him your dream life with the one you're destined with. Seriously, you should've expected this from him.

But it's okay, he'll be the soulmate that you've always wanted.

He'll stay by your side. He'll kill anyone who dares to even think about you. You said so yourself, you don't need anyone so long as you have your soulmate.

Really, he's just giving you what you want. Though he won't lie, he can't help but feel a sick and twisted pleasure at having you depend on him. He likes having you around, even if it's with your mouth taped shut to keep you quiet.

Maybe this soulmate thing isn't as bad as he thought it was.

HOMICIDAL LIU — had always dreamed of meeting his soulmate when he was younger. Something about soulmates always fascinated him, and he absolutely loved hearing stories of soulmates meeting and falling in love.

He learned from a pretty young age that whoever his soulmate was, he shared scars with them. This was something he discovered when he felt a stinging sensation on his arm one day and he could see the scar manifest on his skin. He had been so fascinated by it, and even excitedly showed it off to his parents and Jeff as if it were some sort of reward.

Though, after nearly dying at the hand of his little brother, Liu had become… terrified at the thought of meeting his soulmate. He knew that you shared his scars now. You probably got weird looks from people on the street because of them, right?

And it must've been a horrific experience, waking up in the middle of the night to blinding pain all over your face and neck and arms, unable to stop the scars from forming, not knowing what was happening. You probably hated him. He wouldn't blame you if he did.

But when Liu met you, there was no way he'd be able to let you go. At first, he had just seen you in passing, He knew you were his soulmate the moment he laid eyes on you because you weren't even trying to hide the scars you had. You wore them proudly. He had followed you home that night, just to make sure you were safe.

He felt bad about it, but he couldn't help but come back the next day. His mother must be yelling at him from her grave, scolding him for stalking his soulmate instead of just talking to them like a normal person. A simple mistake on his end (aka Sully literally forced the man in front of you) led to the two of you actually meeting.

You had been so concerned, asking him if he were okay. It had been years since he sustained these injuries, but you still asked. You had always wanted to ask, ever since that night. Your pain was dull in comparison to what he must've gone through, and Liu nearly cried experiencing your kindness because he simply did not deserve it.

Liu tries really hard to have a normal relationship with you, he really does, but he's so utterly paranoid about your safety almost constantly when he's away from you. It makes him sick to his stomach imagining the danger you could potentially find yourself in without him around to keep you safe.

It didn't help that Sully only amplified these thoughts and good lord, how would you react to meeting Sully? Liu had always been very careful making sure that he never fronted when you were around, but Sully was starting to become ansty, eager to meet you.

When Liu wasn't hunting Jeff, he was with you. Sometimes you knew, but most of the time, you didn't. Stalking you was second nature at this point, and he doubts it's something he'll ever stop doing. Besides, it's not like he's hurting anyone by stalking the person he loves. Is it completely wrong and a violation of privacy and respect? Yes. Does he feel guilty? Absolutely. Will he stop? No chance. This is for your safety, after all.

Sully thinks he's a fucking fool behaving this way all for one person just because you're his soulmate (which he also thinks is dumb, by the way.) but then he actually meets you for the first time. You had immediately clocked in on the fact that he wasn't Liu, even though Sully prides himself on mimicking the man fairly well. Looks like you have two soulmates now! Yay!

Unfortunately for you, Sully is a lot more direct than Liu. Liu keeps his possessive thoughts to himself whilst Sully makes it very clear that you belonged to them. Liu's affection was hesitant, scared that he may hurt you if he's too eager. Sully's affection was almost suffocating, the way he'd cling to you and refuse to let go.

And if you ever decide that being with them is too much, trust me when I say they will go to great lengths to keep you with them. Liu isn't above locking you away somewhere if it means keeping you safe, and Sully won't hesitate to kill someone just to keep you in check.

Liu just wants to keep you safe. You can't protect yourself, so let him do it for you.

EYELESS JACK — was confused by the blackened, withered string connected to his pinkie. He knew what soulmates were, though he's not sure why the remnant of one was still tied to him. After his… changes… he shouldn't have a soulmate at all, not even the remnants of one.

Even the smallest string around his finger meant the bond was still there. It made no sense, it defied nature itself just by existing. He didn't understand, but he couldn't deny that he was curious. Whoever was on the other side of this string was destined to be with him, how could he not be curious?

It took time, but Jack had plenty to spare. He followed the string as best he could. The poor thing was so fragile, the smallest tug could tear the bond apart. He's not sure what he'll do when he finds the one he has a fragile bond with, to be honest. Soulmates aren't really… useful, to him. His only driving force is survival. Food. Nothing else is important.

Yet this was, oddly enough. There was just something deep inside of him telling him that he needed to find his soulmate.

And when he found the end of his string, it was connected to you. Now, Jack has no memory of who he was before becoming a flesh-eating demon. He was human once, he thinks, so maybe that's why there's something so familiar about you. A long forgotten part of himself was craving you.

And you? You were utterly horrified to find someone that resembles your missing best friend in your home one night. This was Jack, and yet… he wasn't. You didn't know this man. You didn't want to know this man. But he didn't care. Jack was dead set on having you.

He wouldn't leave you alone. He showed up every single night just to watch you. It was unnerving. To you, it felt like he was waiting for the right time to strike. You were waiting for him to kill you, to devour your soul or whatever.

To him, he was protecting you.

You were his mate. That's what he recognized you as. And as your mate, it was his duty to protect you. He didn't see his behavior as odd. To him, he was just providing for you. He saw no harm in breaking into your home every night to make sure you were safe.

Jack may not understand fully why he's attached to you like this, but he can make an educated guess. It's clear that you knew him. Or, you did, at least. You look at him as if you're looking at a ghost. Clearly, you were someone he's always been attached to. Though, it seems his demonic traits have amplified that attachment.

He won't hesitate to hunt you down if you try running away.

There's nowhere you can go where he won't find you. He'll follow you to the ends of the earth, if he must.

Jack doesn't need you to love him back. Hell, he doesn't need you to like him. He just needs you, in any way he can have you. His entire being aches when he's not with you.

So here you are, stuck with the creature. You're haunted by him, really. And, to be honest, you're not sure if you wanted him to leave.

NINA THE KILLER — wrote literal fanfic on how she wanted her first meeting with her soulmate to go. All she ever wanted was for someone to love her, so when she learned that the inner voice that all of her thoughts was in belonged to her soulmate, she was utterly ecstatic!

This was the only thing in life that mattered to her. Nothing else was important. Everyone in her life thought she was strange, how obsessed she was over someone she hasn't even met.

But if they could hear your voice, they'd understand. Whenever she needed comfort, she would just think random thoughts so she could hear your voice.

And when she finally meets you, it's like something out of a fairytale. To her, at least. She had just broken into your home to kill you, but when you begged for your life, it was like everything clicked.

She looked at you as if you were everything she could ever need, and it made you feel sick to your stomach.

Nina had no plans of letting you go now that she finally had you. One moment, you're in your home, and then the next, you're waking up in a cabin deep in the forest, decorated to seem like a cozy home.

She acted as if she hadn't kidnapped you. In her mind, you two were pretty much married already. You're her soulmate, after all! That's better than marriage in her eyes. And if you don't play along with her, she won't hesitate to remind you just exactly what she could do to you.

Not that she would ever actually hurt you!

No, Nina could never do that. You're the only thing that has kept her sane all these years. Your voice is the only thing that keeps her going these days.

You just gotta understand that Nina can't live without you. She'd never hurt you, but she's not above scaring you into compliance if it means you'll play along with her fantasies.

But if you ignore the fact that she kidnapped you and is holding you hostage in a cabin so deep in the woods that your chance of escape is slim to none, she's actually probably the best soulmate you could ever ask for. When you actually play along with her, that is.

She doesn't force too much affection on you. If she wants to cuddle you, she will, like it or not. But she never takes it any further than that. She respects your boundaries in her own sick and twisted way.

There's no escaping her love now that she finally has you. She'll drown you in it until it's all you'll want.

THE BLOODY PAINTER — had no real interest in meeting his soulmate, even if it meant his world lacked color. The lack of color in his world didn't deter from his passion for art, and he didn't need to see color to create a masterpiece. If anything, the black and white world he lived in seemed to fit him perfectly.

Sure, he had a few passing thoughts on what his soulmate might be like, but it's nothing he ever really entertained. And if he ever met his soulmate, he sincerely doubts he'd want any real connection with them. Rather, he doubts they'd want anything to with him.

So imagine his surprise when he bumps into you one day and color suddenly bursts into his world. It's dizzying, for the both of you, but all Helen can focus on is the red you were wearing.

Red is a beautiful color on you.

It's an awkward start to your relationship, mostly because it was so sudden. Neither of you really knew what to do, and in the beginning, it honestly seemed as if you two just weren't meant to be. But somehow, it seemed to work out.

Helen really didn't want you finding out about his whole serial killer thing. He wanted a normal relationship with you. Something that would separate him from the whole ‘Bloody Painter’ title the media had given him.

He could spend hours just drawing you. You invade his every thought most days, and he can draw you from memory. He has numerous sketchbooks just filled to the brim with drawings of you. And almost all of them feature the color red in some way.

Art was his main way of expressing his love to you. His expression was always apathetic and his words never felt like enough to him, so what better way to show his love than by painting you masterpieces? Almost every piece of art he made these days were dedicated to you. Even his murders.

It was only a matter of time before you learned about his side hobby, unfortunately. You were smart, something he loved very dearly about you. He's not sure when you started to suspect him of being a killer, but he knew you were starting to become wary of him. Whenever the news talked about a recent murder, he could always feel the way your gaze drifted over to him, even if for a moment.

To be honest, he didn't see any reason to confirm nor deny your suspensions. He was curious to see whether you'd stay with him or if you'd try to leave the longer you suspected him. Not that he'd let you, of course. Helen couldn't lose you, you were his muse. If he lost you, how could he ever create art?

Helen would only do something if you tried telling someone about your suspicions. Maybe your friend or family member was a detective, but whoever you try telling is going to end up a bloodied corpse in front of you, your boyfriend standing over their corpse with a look of mild disgust.

Their blood smearing onto your skin when Helen gently cups your cheeks, telling you how careless you had been, how you left him with no choice but to kill that person. You were freaked out by the entire situation, but Helen wouldn't let you go.

Red truly is a beautiful color on you.

TICCI TOBY — genuinely had no idea he had a soulmate, simply because he couldn't feel pain. Truth be told, he didn't even know what soulmates were until he was already a proxy. Kate had been kind enough to explain it to him, when he questioned the mark on her neck.

It was a concept that he found interesting because the idea of meeting someone who would finally understand him was too good to pass up. At the same time, he couldn't help but think it to be bullshit. Toby had always been disillusioned to love, even if he couldn't quite remember why. It just seemed too good to be true.

He wasn't even sure if he had a soulmate, truth be told. He didn't have any marks on him as far as he could tell, and there were no words or names or anything like that. He just assumed he was one of the rare few that didn't have a soulmate.

But then he met you.

You, the newest proxy. Fresh meat, dazed and confused and in need of training. He was like you once, years ago. He trained himself, too stubborn to listen to anyone else. Because of that, Slender always made him train any new proxy it brought. It annoyed him beyond belief, but he didn't have much of a choice.

There was something strange about you. He's not quite sure what it was, but he found it strangely difficult to look away from you for too long. There was just… something drawing him to you. He only understood why when he cut himself on his hand when he retrieved one of his hatchets he had you throwing.

You had gasped. It was a pained one, so of course he had to check you for injuries. When he found the cut on your hand, you had pointed out the fact that he had a similar one on his own. It was… weird, truthfully. And maybe he was being dumb, or whatever, but Toby couldn't help but wonder if… were you his soulmate?

The very thought was enough to drag his hatchet across his arm, watching as the very same cut he had given himself tore into your skin as well. It had left him speechless, to say the least. He felt conflicted in so many ways, and to be honest, he avoided you in the beginning. He had nobody for the longest time, and now he suddenly has a soulmate? It was just a bit much for him, and he needed the space.

But trust that once he's accepted that he has someone in his life now, you're stuck with him. Toby isn't a physical person, so you don't have to worry about him actually sticking to you, but he always seems to be keeping an eye on you. For Toby, he's always been hyper aware of his surroundings because if he's not, he could get hurt without realizing it and then bleed out and die, so sad. But now he has to make sure you don't get hurt as well, already becoming increasingly protective over you.

Any missions tasked to you, Toby will always join you. Doesn't matter how simple the mission is, or if you or Slender try to argue with him, he's going.

He's so protective over you that it borders on possessive. He hates when you get close to anyone, and the moment you leave his line of sight, he's hunting you down. Friend or foe, Toby doesn't want you near them. You have to understand that everyone has bad intentions. Hell, Toby himself acknowledges his behavior to be bad as well, he's well aware of that fact. But to him, it's for your own good. You can trust him, but you can't trust anyone else.

And there's literally no chance that you'll be able to leave him if you tried. As a proxy of Slenderman, you're stuck with him. Slender doesn't care about your comfort, it only cares about you completing the missions it gives to you. Sure, it finds Toby's behavior strange and mildly annoying, but it's not causing you any physical harm, so it simply doesn't care.

But Toby would never, under any circumstances, hurt you. That's something he will vehemently refuse to do no matter what, so you could use that against him if need be.

Just… just let him have this. Let him have you.

[cloverfarm]

— read you like a book

sdv!harvey x f!reader

rated e - 5k

Tags: gentledom/service!dom harvey, mutual pining/ yearning, mention of alcohol, flirting, kissing, begging, teasing, body worship, oral sex, vaginal fingering, implied squirting, multiple orgasms

A/N: had the thought that Harvey would know just how to take care of you, and wanted to explore that idea (and still deep in my Harvey-is-a-dirty-talker era)

“You want to know what I was really thinking about?” Harvey rasps, the tips of his fingers skating against your waist, slipping down to tease against the elastic band.

“I was thinking-,” A finger slips beneath the band, testing the elastic. Inching it away from your skin, but not making to remove them, “A girl like you should be taken care of.”

His voice drops, “And that I wanted to be the one to do it.”

(Or - Harvey overhears about your past lackluster experiences, and can’t help wanting to lend a hand)

There’s the clack of pool balls colliding in your corner of the Stardrop Saloon. The jaunty piano music muted, your fingers wrapping around a sweat-dewed glass.

A late-night Friday evening, the conversation already turning debauched as your off-handed remark of feeling frustrated was quickly misinterpreted and took another turn. Spiraling away from you, with their overlapping ideas.

Your nose crinkling with a suggestion to use the community board, one that has them bent-over with laughter - you could only imagine the shock at seeing such a message.

Help Wanted: Farmer looking to get ploughed. Used to getting a little dirty. If interested, please call…

“Could use an app. Been a while, but I used to do that.” Shane’s wiggles his phone at you, keying in the website for FerngillFlings. Flashing the front page at you, all while you try to ignore the clench of jealousy that flares to life in your stomach.

Sam leans over you, squinting at the screen, “You can’t tell me that works. Your matches come all the way out here?”

“Sure do.” Shane’s shoulder lifts in a shrug, from where his arm rests on the couch behind you. “Haven’t heard any complaints.”

The double-innuendo isn’t missed, your tongue poking into your cheek as your head shakes in exasperation.

“Haven’t heard, or haven’t listened?” Abigail shoots back with a smirk, and he rolls his eyes at her in response.

“Any matches from here?” You can’t help but ask, glancing sideways at him in curiosity.

He slumps a little further in his seat, knee knocking against yours, “Wouldn’t you like to know, farm girl?”

Thick fingers curl around the can before it lifts it to his lips, hiding his own smirk as you stiffen beside him.

Shane infuriated you. Always teasing, never answering a question directly. Deflecting a sly comment with a dry one of his own, until you weren’t sure where you stood with him.

You’d given up a while ago.

Your heart now quite taken with another.

“I think we’d all like to know.” Abigail chimes in, and you send a grin her way.

“I thought we were still talking about Miss Grange Queen?”

Your look turns apologetic - you know Pierre has been prepping all week as well - but she brushes it off, “I don’t care. Honestly, I hope you win this year. But he is right…”

A chipped polished nail taps her lip, before she fixes you with a look of concern, “When was the last time you got laid?”

The gulping swallow of your drink goes down wrong, making you splutter. A solid hand thumps you on the back, as your palm swipes across your mouth.

“What?” You manage, through watery eyes.

“Okay, we definitely gotta know.” The hand still rests against you, pinned against the plush cushion of the couch. Fingers tapping expectantly between your shoulders.

Yoba almighty.

You know they won’t back down. Even Sam lingers, eyebrows raised as his hip rests against the edge of the pool table.

“It’s been… a while.” You hedge, glancing around the room before you can answer. Voice lowering - not worried about the bar, it’s too far away.

More concerned about the booth that sits just across the room. Occupied when you arrived - your gaze flicking to Elliot often as he had sat alone, waiting.

Knowing who would be coming - a little flip in your stomach with Harvey arrived late, red-cheeked from the run, the novel pinched between his fingers.

You thought it was cute. Their little weekly book club. On another night you would have hoped to eavesdrop - figure out what the choice was for this month.

“You talking weeks? Months?” Sam asks, ignoring the glare from Sebastian, the hip check that follows - indicating his turn.

“Pre-farm,” Your head shakes, “Two years, maybe?”

“Years?” Abigail screeches, as your eyes widen - a hand coming to press unconsciously against a burning cheek.

Unable to help the sidelong look at the table across the way. The heat in your cheek rising to your ears when your eyes meet hazel ones, before you’re dropping your gaze.

“It’s not worth it,” You try to rein them in, all but pleading, “It’s not like it’s all that satisfying either, you know?”

“You mean you don’t…?” Abigail suggests - looking at you dubiously, and even Sebastian is turning to give you a pitying look.

“I mean… sometimes, I guess?” Your shoulder lifts, and then drops, “It’s not a big deal.”

You could get there yourself just fine. Have certainly managed, with your current dry spell. Before, you sometimes would afterwards - alone - easing the unresolved pleasure that licks in your belly.

But you’re sure it wasn’t the same as having someone there with you. Having their focus so solely on you.

It’s not something you’re about to explain. This has gotten too deep. You’re used to the tales of Shane’s old one night stands. The occasional complexities that come from Sam and Abigail both dating the same person, but these talks rarely focus on you.

“What kind of guys are you fucking?” Shane asks bluntly, making you gasp.

“Normal guys.” You hiss, “Besides, it’s probably just me.”

Taking a sip of your drink then to deflect, the sharp flavor making you cough.

“You don’t starfish, do you?” Sam pipes up, helpfully.

It has you almost choking again.

Shane smirks, “Maybe it is you, Farm Girl. Should have someone here take a look-”

You miss the end of his comment with the sudden, loud scrape of wood. Heads turning to where Harvey half-stands, his chair pushed back. Staring your way, with lips parted and brow furrowed.

“You got something to say, Doc?” Shane scoffs, his voice a little too loud.

Harvey blinks, and reddens. Coming back to himself, a sharp click of teeth as they close - swiping his half-full glass from the table.

Mumbling something about needing a refill - before his head is dipping, and he makes towards the bar.

Your eyes follow him, before your hand is scrubbing over your face - the heels pressing into your eye sockets. And finally, mercifully, the subject is changed, a collective groan as Sam accidently knocks two stripes in the corner pockets.

But even as the evening fades - you can’t quite shake Harvey’s expression from your mind.

The air is cool, hinting at the coming frost. Your jacket shrugged on as you step outside, before plunking down on the cobblestone path outside of the Stardrop.

It’s dark, late. The scattered streetlights outside offering pockets of the town, the rest cast in hazy shadow.

There’s a flare of light to your side. Sebastian sneaking out for his smoke break, now that Robyn and Demetrius have called it a night. You sometimes go with him, keeping silent company.

Content to let your legs dangle, to listen to the croak and groan of the frogs near the river. To let your mind wander.

Tonight though, it’s still so singularly focused.

You don’t feel embarrassed about what you said, only that he overheard it. Harvey had so much of his life together - surely a man who was there to discuss books and drink wine would not want to spent his evening listening to the lewd gossip of folks younger than him.

What if he took your words to heart, and thought you were not interested? What if he thought you weren’t good? A sigh to yourself then, as you pull yourself together with a reminder. Not that he thinks anything of you.

But… you admit that you had hoped.

It’s only now that you hear voices just down the path, two friends bidding goodbye. That shade of green you’ve come to associate with Harvey has your ears pricking up - catching where they linger, near the park benches.

Bravery steeling itself, in your belly.

“I’m gonna head out,” You hear yourself saying, as you push to your feet, “I’ll catch up with you guys tomorrow.”

“You sure?” Sebastian asks, with a smoky exhale.

“Yeah.” It’s distracted. Giving him a wave, just as you skirt around the door that opens behind you.

Missing the pair of eyes that follow you as you leave.

Too far out of earshot to hear the murmured words, as he exhales another held drag from his cigarette, “You’re missing your chance, man.”

And then the answer, growled out as Shane’s hands shove deep into the pockets of his well-worn jacket.

“Never had one.”

“Harvey!” You call out, as he splits from his companion.

Missing how Elliot settles amongst the trio of benches, his book cracking open to finish the chapter under the streetlight.

Harvey lingers, in the middle of the cobblestone path. His expression almost wary, your explanation coming in a rush.

“I am sorry if we made you uncomfortable.” Your hands clasp together, fingers twisting, “We should’ve been more considerate. You and Elliot were there first.”

His expression clears at that, a slight mark between his eyebrows. He’s tall, you’re realizing. Not that you didn’t know, not that you haven’t stood next to him on occasion.

But your heart had never quite pounded like this, never so acutely aware of your proximity - too used to the barrier of the counter in his office.

“No, uh, not at all. I wasn’t uncomfortable.” Harvey clarifies, his voice soft, “I certainly didnt mean to try to interrupt. I’m afraid that was rude of me.”

His answer sends your mind careening into overdrive. Not quite taking his half-hearted excuse earlier, but too wrapped up in your embarrassment to truly process it.

That has you thinking - realizing that he had some sort of intention. Your heartbeat kicking up a notch, unable to help but wonder.

“Can I ask you something?” Your eyes search his, voice quiet in the night, “You don’t have to answer.”

The slight curve of his lips fall, an almost uneasy look passing his features - though he does not deny you, “If you’d like.”

“What were you going to say?” You ask him “Back in the bar. You can tell me, I won’t tell anyone.”

Your words hang, for a moment. And then silence, enveloped by the soft sounds of the night.

“Oh.” He hedges, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck, “It’s, ah… it’s just a shame.”

Your eyebrows lift, worry flooding through you as you wonder what he means.

“That you haven’t had a more… positive experience.” He finishes lamely.

The worry transforms, turning into a heated curiosity.

“Why would it be a shame?”

The shade of pink deepens across his cheeks, hidden in the shadows. A finger unconsciously hooking around his collar and tugging.

“Because there’s no reason satisfaction can’t be mutually inclusive,” He manages, “From uh, the point of view of a medical professional.”

Your lips press together to hide your laugh, charmed by his careful answer, “How I wish that were true.”

And that had him fixing on you, catching you in the brunt of his gaze, “It could be. Maybe you just haven’t met the right person yet.”

It makes your breath catch. That hope flaring to life again. Reading into his meaning, daring yourself to ask, “Is that right? You know anyone around here?”

Only to watch the way his face goes carefully blank - his words slow, “I’m sure… I’m sure you don’t need my help to find out.”

It’s hard not to feel disappointed. Hoping that there was an offer, woven into his words. The bit you had clung to leaves you, with the next exhale of your breath.

“I’m sure you’re right.” Your smile is small. Deflecting with a joke, because it’s all you know, “I don’t starfish, by the way. If you heard that part.”

He huffs a laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“I didn’t think you did.”

The look he gives you is at odds with his hesitance in answering. A soft, amused smile that makes your heart flip.

Yoba, you have it bad.

“Goodnight, Harvey.” You smile back - intent on ending the night before you make it worse, “And, thank you.”

His answer echos yours, his feet firmly rooted as you disappear into the night. Silence lingering under the soft glow of the street lamp, as his mind races.

“If you were looking for an invitation, old friend,” An amused voice comes from the benches - where Elliot still sits, his book long forgotten.

“That was it.”

The television blares as you stretch out on the couch - intent on unwinding a bit further, after a long day. Immediately stripping down to your loungewear as soon as you stepped in the door, cracking a window to let in the autumn air.

Your head rests on a pillow, an old quilt pulled haphazardly around your hips as you watch a rerun of The Queen of Sauce - something that fortunately required little attention.

Because your mind is occupied elsewhere, thinking back to the square with both chagrin and disappointment. Hoping that maybe Harvey had drank more wine than you thought - that maybe he wouldn’t remember how you all but threw yourself at him.

Gentleman that he is, he probably just wouldn’t bring it up in the first place. You don’t know if that’s more preferable, or less - perhaps you owe him yet another apology.

A timid knock at the door draws your attention, your feet silent as you slip from the couch. You really should move it - giving yourself a view of the small, narrow porch. Maybe installing another light outside.

But this was Pelican Town, you remind yourself - you’re not in the big city anymore. It was probably Abigail, not wanting to head home yet.

For now, you move to the door, pausing to shrug on the worn, plaid barn coat that hangs by the door, buttoning it in an last-minute attempt at modesty.

Your hand on the frame of the door as you crack the front door open, close enough to grab the old wooden bat you have tucked next to the rickety side table.

Eyes going wide when you realize who it is.

Harvey. His face half-turned away, looking like he’s second-guessing himself from your delay - half-way ready to book it down the steps that lead to the packed dirt road.

“Hi again,” You nudge the door open wider, leaning against the frame.

He turns back, surprise crossing his features again when he sees you. Eyes dipping down, snagging - slowly dragging back up over the bare skin of your legs, the low dip of the collar, as if he has forgotten himself for a moment.

“Hi.” He answers belatedly, blinking as he comes back into the present.

You wait a beat for him to explain, for any sort of sign as to why he’s here. Wondering why he travelled all the way in near-darkness, you knew more than anyone what a trek it could be.

And he must realize, because he blinks again, worry pulling down the edges of his brows, a small crease appearing in the middle.

“I-, well, Elliot-,” Harvey begins, throwing a thumb over his shoulder into the darkness, his other hand still clutching the book from the Saloon. Starting over when he realizes he’s making zero sense, “Back, in the square.”

His lips pressing together for a moment, an inhale of breath before the words rush out, “Am I misreading this?”

An emphasis on ‘this’, a small gesture with his fingers between the two of you. It makes you smile, relief flooding through you - enough to where you’re reaching out, tapping a fingernail against the solid cover of the book.

“I think you’re reading this just fine.” Your head tilts up to look him in the eye, seeing the relief on his own features as well, “Would you like to come in?”

“Yes,” He breathes, and you’re stepping aside with a smile - taking his book from him to rest on the little side table.

Hanging his moss-green jacket on your one good hanger by the door, showing him where to put his shoes.

Steps that make the floorboards creak because he doesn’t know which ones to avoid - not yet - as he lets you guide him to the couch. Carefully sitting on the middle cushion, the sharp, white starch of his dress shirt standing out against the worn, rust-orange fabric.

Your own feet following until you’re standing in from of him. Not quite believing, as your face tilts down to meet the upturned angle of his own.

Harvey was here.

The man who got more than a little bossy with you when you came in to the clinic with a bad scrape, or a cold. Who always has a smile, who listened intently when you keep him up to date about the new crops you’re growing, even though he knows nothing about farming.

Who you never had let yourself daydream about too often, because he had always kept you at arms length. You had always thought it was part of his profession, or that perhaps he just didn’t see you like that.

Like he’s looking at you now - like you’ve hung the stars.

You really want to kiss him.

You hope he’ll let you.

Slowly, like when you’re approaching a new calf, you move toward him. The slight, automatic spread of his knees as you step between them, before your own knees are bending.

Hands resting on the wooden frame of couch as you lower yourself - until you’re straddling his thighs, bare knees pressing into the worn cushions on either side.

“This okay?” You ask, close enough to smell a hint of his aftershave, the solid weight of him beneath you.

Hands that slide from their place at his side, up the curve of your calves, until they’re resting on the bare expanse of your thighs.

“Yes.” The word comes out low, fingers pressing against your skin as your own drop to the thick buttons of your coat, slowly working each one open.

Until you’re shrugging the fabric off to pool on the wooden floor - all bare arms and legs beneath in your too-large t-shirt, a pair of cotton underwear.

About to apologize for your choice in clothing - never actually expecting to take someone home - but the hands rise, cradling your face as he tips it to meet his.

A low sound in your throat at his lips touch yours, your hands resting on his chest, fingers fisting in the fabric. A feather-soft brush until you shift, pressing yourself against him as you lean in.

His groan matches yours. Hands moving, skating down your arms, curving around your hips. Your hips roll on their own, seeking the friction of his trousers. Something warm pooling in your belly, when he deepens the kiss.

Encouraging you, as those hands guide the roll of your hips again. As his tongue brushes against lips that part without thought.

There’s the sharp punch of fruit on his tongue, paired with the taste of him. A heady mixture, making you feel like you could get drunk off just this.

You can feel him harden beneath you. Pressing against your cleft as your thighs inch further apart. It’s only when your hands leave his - reaching for the bottom of your shirt, that he breaks away.

His lips kiss-swollen and pretty. Disheveled, his tie crooked, shirt wrinkled from your fingers. Equally dazed, his eyes flicking down to your mouth, and then further again.

“Not here.” Harvey’s voice is a low rasp, unmoving despite his demand.

It has your pausing, until you catch the way his first two fingers slip under the hem, petting against skin.

“Bedroom?” You offer, and he’s smiling. Leaning forward to kiss you again. Easing you off him but it’s reluctant - his fingers twining with yours as you stumble into the next room.

It’s darker in there, the light from the television flickering against the floor. Dissolving as it reaches your bed, your knees parting this time as he stands between them.

Your eyes greedy, focused on his fingers as he loosens his tie, the first few buttons of his shirt. His own drifting over every inch and curve of you. A short intake of air as you tug the shirt from your shoulders, leaving it to drop on the floor.

It feels like you’re on display, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not with the way he looks at you - his eyes snagging on the damp patch between your thighs, the pale fabric darkening with your arousal.

“You want to know what I was really thinking about?” He rasps, the tips of his fingers skating against your waist, slipping down to tease against the elastic band.

You’re near-mute. Left nodding, as the bed dips. As he urges you back into the pillows, folding himself onto the mattress with you.

“I was thinking-,” He tests the band, a finger slipping beneath. Inching it away from your skin, but not making to remove them, “A girl like you should be taken care of.”

His voice drops, “And that I wanted to be the one to do it.”

You feel yourself clench down around nothing. A low whine in your throat at the tone of his voice. So matter-of fact. Like he knows how to do just what he says.

“Can you?” It comes out strangled, your breath held as his eyes fix on yours, “Could you show me? What it’s like to be taken care of?”

“Would you like that, sweetheart?” He asks - his gaze searching. Slipping a second finger under, the blunt nails grazing sensitive skin.

“Yoba.” Your hips feel like they lift on their own, seeking him, “Yes. Please, yes.”

He smiles again, the moonlight catching on his glasses. A hand running through tousled curls, mussing them further. Fingers joining yours as your panties join the floor, baring yourself fully.

You expect him to touch you and he does - but not in the way you’re thinking. Lowering himself next to you, guiding your mouth to his again. His hand skimming the inside of your thigh. Fingers slipping along the crease where it meet your hip, inches away from where you ache for him.

“Harvey.” You sigh into his mouth. Chasing it when he pulls back, hearing the pleased hum in his throat. Carefully removing his glasses, tucking them into his shirt pocket.

Then his mouth is dropping to your neck, where your pulse flutters. To your shoulder. All while his fingers trace your skin, making you squirm in anticipation.

When his tongue peeks out to brush against tight, peaked nipple, you hear yourself cry out. Clinging to him again, as teeth graze against your breast - followed by a soothing kiss, his mustache tickling against the soft curve.

“I need you to touch me,” You pant.

Long forgetting what it was like to feel like this. The anticipation swirling in you like a dam about to burst. The desperation - knowing after all this time of wanting him, that tonight he is yours.

Your own hands grasping at him - tugging at the buttons. Pale skin and dark hair appearing with each one that loosens, trying to pull the hem from where it tucks into his trousers.

The hand against your thigh twitches, his gaze dark as he glances up at you. No longer hidden behind frames, you can see how his pupils are blown wide, inching out the hazel.

“I just want to make sure you’re ready, sweetheart.” He rasps, inching closer - fingers parting on either side of your mound.

“Want you nice and wet for me.”

It’s too much. You’re too wound up, needy. In your daydreams you’ve thought of him - in your bed, bent over the table in his office. Everything pales in comparison to this, turning you into a begging mess.

“I am,” You breathe, “Fuck, Harvey. You know I am, I’m-”

The words break off, turning into a ragged moan as he finally touches you. Parting your slick seam, where you’re dripping from the press of his mouth and the teasing glide of his fingers.

“There you are.” He hums, though you can feel the way his hips press against yours. Chasing his own urges, seeking friction where he strains.

Your eyes flutter half-shut as he teases as your entrance. Fingertips slick as he brings them up to circle your clit, sparks going up inside your belly.

Watching as he moves, the careful ease from where he lies next to you - now settling between your thighs.

“Yoba, you’re beautiful.”

He says it so simply, almost as if in awe. Your thighs start to clamp shut around his hand but he’s smiling - his left palm pressing your leg to the bed, opening you further.

Not used to his gaze like this. It flicks from your face, down to where his hands shift - his thumb rolling against your clit, as his middle finger sinks inside you.

He can feel how you clench around him already. Movements slow, drawing himself out just to sink further each time.

“So fucking pretty.” He says it again - you think, just to see you squirm. The way your eyes pull from his, the flex of your muscle under his palm.

Transfixed by the way his fingers move. The pressure against your clit, the way he presses deep. Your small room filled with the little sounds you make and the slick plunge of his finger.

Your panting breath catching, turning sharp as his finger crooks on the next pass. Carefully stroking against your inner walls, a throb of pleasure following.

He catches your sounds, a mark forming between his eyebrows. One you’ve seen before, in the way he focuses when you’re explaining something about your farm. A sweet stretch of pressure when he adds his ring finger, opening you further as he strokes again.

You haven’t felt anything quite like this. A ghost of it, with past lovers. Something that made your muscles tighten, but never so focused.

Like he’s intentionally searching for this spot that makes sparks arc up your spine. Making you ache for more - to be filled by him.

“Mm,” He hums with satisfaction, “Right there. Does that feel good?”

It’s hard to think, with the thrust of his fingers. The circling pressure against your clit. Your own fingers curling - one in the sheets, an anchor. The other drifting up to cup at your breast, unable to help leaning into his ministrations.

“Tell me, sweetheart.”

There’s an edge to his voice. One that he uses in his place of authority, one that only stokes the roaring flame in your belly. Everything winding tight in anticipation, each steady pump of his fingers hurtling you towards your peak.

“Yes,” You moan, “Yes. Oh, Harvey-”

His head dips, mouth pressing a kiss against your abdomen.

“Good girl.” He husks, with your answer. The words shoot straight to your cunt, just as you begin to arch into his touch.

“Oh, please-” You whine, eyes sliding shut, “Fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”

The pinch of your fingers harsh against the tight bud of your nipple. The flicker of pain melding with the tight swirl of his thumb.

“Good.” He all but growls, the words low and rough in his throat, “Come on, honey. Show me.”

Your next moan turns high and long - as that tight string inside you finally snaps. A throbbing pleasure that begins at the apex of your thighs, radiating outwards as you bear down around him.

The hand in your sheets grasping and slipping on your way to him - his hand leaves your thigh to twine with it. Anchoring you as your hips buck into fingers that have gone still, giving you something to clench around.

“Just like that,” He coos, “Ride it out, I’ve got you.”

His breath warm against your skin, a kiss pressed to your stomach again, then hip.

“It’s not you,” Harvey tells you, each kiss moving lower, “You know that, right?”

Your breath catching - it feels like your cunt is still pulsing, when his mouth dips further. Not waiting for your answer this time - driving his point home with the talented tongue that suddenly presses against the bud of your clit, wet and warm.

Ensuring you won’t forget.

A moan is ripped from you, as he teases. Tight pointed licks, a flat lick following. A rough groan as he tastes your orgasm that coats his fingers, only just how beginning to move.

You’re too sensitive, squirming at his touch. Panting breaths and little jerks of your hips, the tight twist of overstimulation bleeding into something smooth and sweet as honey.

He’s ruining you for everyone else. The thought is a blurry one, something you can barely snatch. He hasn’t even fucked you yet, and you’ve already come harder than you ever have.

And is already working you towards a second. A rough groan when you let your fingers leave his to twist in his dark curls. Grasping onto his shoulder with the other one, his shirt wrinkling further.

You want it off. You want all of it off, want him bare and on top of you. Want to taste him on your tongue. Taste yourself against his lips, after this.

Unsure how he’s able to do it. Bring you to the edge again so quickly, but maybe it’s because you’ve never desired someone like this.

Deeper than desire, though you’re not quite ready to admit it.

You’re brought back, as his palm presses beneath your thigh. Hiking it over a shoulder, opening you to be devoured. Those fingers more confident now, sure and slick as they pound into you. Louder now, with the way you coat them, your release smeared across your thighs.

This time when you come, it’s against his tongue.

Brought over with the way his lips close sound and suck. The way he groans at your taste, his clever fingers leaving you breathless.

Choking on your heartbeat as you shatter. His wide palm curled around your thigh, keeping your cunt pinned against his tongue.

This time he can feel your pulse. Each throb of pleasure as it resonates through you. Feel the way you gush for him - his fingers dampening further, across knuckles and the flesh of his palm.

“Fuck.” You moan, when you can breathe again.

You expect him to pull away, after this. He must know you’re more than ready. But instead all you can see is dark eyes, a tongue that slips between the fingers that are still buried in you.

“Harvey,” You gasp, as his tongue then lifts to curl over your clit again, “Don’t you want to-?”

Doesn’t he want to fuck you?

Isn’t he aching, like you are?

“Tonight is about you,” He answers firmly. Lips glossy with your release, and despite his words you don’t miss the way his hips press into the bed.

“Sounds like I got some time to make up for.”

Your head falls back onto the pillow as you huff a laugh, breath catching as you feel his fingers slip free just long enough to work in a third.

Already finding that spot again, as he begins to build towards a third.

If he can read you this easily already, you think dizzily…

You can’t wait to find out everything else he knows.

So here for the Harvey Renaissance 🙏💕 would love to know what you thought! Are you enjoying 1.6? (If so what are your mod recs???) | part ii is up here!

[dragoncarrion]

Anytime i see a bunch of pride flags i have to restrain myself from saying "where mexico" bc i doubt anyone will know I'm referencing this

[chicken-delight]

[solardrake]

i am going to do it

[solardrake]

ah! ah ooh hoo oh ah ah

[solardrake]

it a litle bit cold

[safe-by-dawn]

~Obsessive Lover~

Ticci Toby Ver./ Kinks, Fetishes, and other Head-canons

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Starting a small series to kick off the blog. Currently taking requests, so drop a name and I'll tell you what kind of lover I think they are.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NSFW under the cut! MDNI!

Toby is definitely an undercover pervert, and you'd never know the amount of times he sneaks a peek at you any chance he gets. He adores stalking any social media you have, saving your pictures to any device he can get his hands on even before you make anything official with him. Loves taking pictures of you when you're not paying any attention for material for later.

Sneaks into your room and steals anything that smells like you. At first it threw you off, but being the sick individual that you are, it started to intrigue you when some of your things wound up missing and for awhile you couldn't figure out why some of your favorite underwear wound up missing.

That is until you finally got with Toby for the first time and found a pair under his pillow.

This man loves to stare.

Even before you started your relationship with him.

You bend to get something and his eyes are glued onto your ass until you raise back up. You notice that he does it after some time, even going as far as wearing low-cut shirt and leaning into him just to get his eyes on you and watch the way he drinks you in.

It's intoxicating, you can feel his eyes burning through you anytime you're in the same room together, it's one of the things that drew you to him in the first place.

He's a very touchy lover, despite probably not being a big fan of touch from anybody else, but he just can't get enough. Expect to be groped and have his hands on you at any point in time.

He was taken in as a proxy super young, so the sheer pent up sexual aggression he has is unmatched after not having a chance in his youth with other women. You'd never know that until you got in the sheets with him though.

He adores the way your face turns a pretty red when he wraps his hands around your throat mid-fuck.

Toby has no knowledge of pain and sometimes can't gauge it on someone else so he definitely needs someone that can handle a beating in bed. You'll be left with bruising and scratches for weeks.

Loves biting and nibbling on you to hear any sound that comes from you due to it. It just drives him on until you're a bruised up mess under him.

A sadistic lover as well, loves watching you cry from it all being too much. Too much pain as well as too much pleasure at the same time can be a combo that absolutely tears you apart but he just knows if you didn't like it you wouldn't keep coming back to him for more.

The more confident he gets the less his stutter comes out, You can't convince me otherwise. It was very prominent early on in your relationship, lacing its way into almost every sentence, but as he gets more comfortable and knowing that you're not there as some sick joke, it still comes but he can form his sentences a little better.

Which also means that when his ego spikes from having you as a writhing mess under him, his mouth is absolutely dripping with seductive tease. It's like a switch flips inside of him, throwing you for a loop when he whispers the most vile things into your ear while he's balls deep.

Loves to call you his, going as far to whisper "Mine" in your ear when in close proximity to him. Calls you some of the best pet names around every one around you because he wants everyone to know what's his.

Loves when you show the bruises he gave you, prefers when you don't try to cover them up. Going as far as trying to wipe off the concealer on your throat that covers up the most recent one that he gave you when you do attempt to cover them up.

And if anyone else so much as thinks to lay a hand on you, he already has their hand in a vice grip, and then he fucks you later to solidify that you belong to him.

Toby is possessive as hell, and once you're finally his you're not getting out of it alive.

[eyeless-cunt]

NSFW Slenderman Commission

Thank you bow for commissioning me 🌸<3

TW/CW: Smut. Monster fucking, Tentacles, Double penetration, Dom/sub dynamics, Overstimulation, Non-human genitalia, Double cock? Double cock. Oral, Mutual Masturbation

Obviously minors need to fuck away from this post.

WC: 3k

Slimy. That’s what this felt like. That’s what he felt like as he touched you. He was so gentle at first, testing your limits—seeing what boundaries he could push. Another tendril slunk out from behind him, making you wonder just how many he had. By the looks of it—two massaging your chest, another in your mouth, and yet another wrapped around your neck (not counting the four that held your body up)—it was a good amount. Some tendrils suctioned your skin as they passed. Very quickly, then they’d move onto another bare spot. The longer a tendril cupped your skin, the darker the mark would be when it left. Love bites that practically burned with more than just a simple desire.

“Do you like this?” He asked almost hesitantly, the expression on his face unknown as he seemingly looked down at you. His voice had deep static undertones that made you shiver. You wondered just where he was looking, or if his vision even worked like that. Finally, you nodded. He tsked. “No, no. Use your words, my love.” That was hard with a tentacle in your mouth, swirling around and pulling on your tongue. “Ye…yez.” You think he smiled, the corners of his white face where his smile should be were pulled up. “Good girl.” You felt yourself twitch at his words, making you pulsate in all the right spots.

“Now, before we start,” he removed a tentacle from your mouth, letting it slink down and move to your thighs, messing with the skin there teasingly and slowly moving inwards. “Tell me what you like.” You huffed, the tendril that teased your inner thighs distracting you. “I…,” another huff, “I like you.” A sound akin to laughing left him. “I meant something a bit…different. But I’ll keep that in mind.” You look away, a tad bit embarrassed. “Are you ready, little one?” You start to nod but catch yourself. “Yes. I’m ready.” “And what exactly are you ready for?” You whimper, not knowing what kind of answer he wants. His cock? His tentacles? “You. ‘M ready for you.”

“Good.” In little to no time at all your sleep shorts are on the ground, cold air rushing at your now bare folds. “Oh? Nothing on underneath? Did you expect this, little one?” You shake your head ‘no’ immediately, but he doesn’t say anything in response—not letting you know if he believes you or not.

You notice that so far his hands haven’t moved from his side. The only way he’s touched you is with inky tendrils. You don’t get much more time to think about it before your shirt is pulled over your head next. He hums, looking over you slowly. Does he like the way you look? The way you curve here and dip there? You’ve never been so bare before him. You have yet to be completely naked, but the way his pale gaze pierces through you makes you feel as though you are. You might as well be. You fight the urge to whine as a sneaky tendril unclips your bra, letting it fall in a heap with the rest of your belongings. He’s so slow, so methodical. Far too gentle with you.

Your patience wanes as he moves around your body, grabbing you in every place besides the one you most need him in. You wonder if begging will get you what you want—but realize that you’ve both just barely started. To beg now would only reveal just how desperate you are for him. Your pride wouldn’t allow it—not so soon, at least. Slender seems to have a different idea however, speaking up as if he had read your thoughts. “Where do you want to be touched?” The air leaves your lungs all too suddenly. You’d never had to ask for what you wanted during any sexual encounter. It was simply expected and given to you, and you had always returned it with the same principle in mind.

“I…I…,” you trail off, the words getting caught just behind your tongue. He leans down, his breath fanning your face. “You?” A light blush creeps up onto your cheeks, but you can’t even think to hide it with your hands—especially when they’re being held above your head like so. “Hmmm? How about here?” A tentacle tightens around your chest, sliding across one nipple and catching the other in one of his many suction cups. You can’t help but whine. Yes here. Absolutely here, is what you’re thinking—but you need him elsewhere too. This is so delicious—his attention is so delicious—but it would be angelic to receive this sort of attention a bit…lower. “No? Yes?” A simple whimper of, “yes,” is all you can get out to him. It’s the mixture of pleasure and the excitement of being bare before him that leaves you breathless.

“Yes what?” Your mind stutters for a split second, wondering what exactly he wants you to say. You can’t do much more thinking however, his tendrils quickening their pace just the smallest bit, leaving you once again incapable of coherent thought. “Ya-yes sir.” Slender lets out a heavy gush of air, and you can swear you saw something twitch in the corner of your eye. “Where else do you wish to be touched?” Your hips stuttering should be enough of an answer for this otherworldly being, but he seems to completely ignore it, instead focusing solely on your mouth which gapes with anticipation. “Lower…,” is what you mumble out embarrassingly. “Lower?” His static voice has a coy edge to it, questioning you even though he already so obviously knows the answer. “Mhm, lower. Please.” “Please what?” You sigh, wondering if pride was even a factor in this exchange anymore.

As one of his tendrils slides down your stomach you decide very quickly that it is in fact not a factor, and that you would throw more than just your pride away to have this man touch you. “Please touch my pussy, Sir.” You gulp, wondering if that was too forward. He didn’t seem to think it was based on his eagerness. “Since you asked so nicely…,” his voice trails off as two tendrils pull your legs apart, spreading you out in front of him. You can’t help but gasp as chilled air reaches you, his eyeless face seemingly fixated on what drips in front of him. Slowly but surely a tentacle begins to explore you, dancing around your clit but never meeting it. Frustrated, you roll your hips to create any sort of friction, but your efforts turn out to be fruitless when a tendril finds its way around your hips, holding them in place. Another tsk leaves him. You can’t tell if your desperate actions amuse or annoy him.

“Be still. Patience, little one.” You’re not sure how he can expect you to be patient when he’s still fully dressed and dipping into your folds so agonizingly slowly. At this point you’re just a moment away from begging him to fuck you already. As if he can sense this, he speaks again. “Was that all it took? Just a bit of playing with your nipples? You’re dripping, princess.” You know he’s right, but despite the raging shameful blush on your cheeks you can’t seem to help but whine some more.

Almost mercifully, a tentacle brushes over your clit, making your hips buck as much as they can while being held into place like this. The way he’s touching you so slowly makes you ache with need. “Please, sir,” you can’t help but whine out loudly. “Please what? Tell me what you need, love.” He pulls lightly at your nipple, sparks lighting in your stomach right after. “Mm. You. Inside me. Please, sir.” Another brush over your clit has you practically drooling. His attention is more than enough to drive you over the brink. Either he knows what he’s doing and he’s doing it great—or you’re just so insanely horny for him that it all feels like heaven. You can’t tell if he’s going to give into your pleas or continue teasing you—barely touching you yet still somehow showering you with physical attention. You’ve never been so needy after such little preparation, but the way his touches barely linger yet burn for so long afterwards has you craving them like a wild animal. The need is primal and bordering on ravenous.

“You want it that badly?” You nod immediately, your head shaking up and down a bit too quickly in a way that comes off as desperate, more so because it’s before he’s even finished his sentence fully. You swear he’s grinning under that blank face of his, his reactions becoming more transparent the more you engage with him. “Words, princess. Use them. I won’t tell you again.” Sucking in a breath of air, you respond as best as you can. “Yes. Ye-. absolutely yes. I want you so badly.” You roll your hips, hoping that’ll somehow get you what you want and at this point—what you need. Your prayers are fulfilled when finally an inky tendril starts to enter you. You can’t help but moan at the feeling of being slowly but barely filled. “How does it feel to be touched by me?” “Mmm…ngh—!” Is the extent of what you can get out. Too busy stretching yourself around him and letting your body get used to the burning that occurs as you get accustomed to the foreign object inside of you.

The tentacle inside of you is small compared to some of his others, but you’re glad he started with it. He pulls it out only a bit, only to push it further in right after. You moan, legs starting to shake as he moves—not too fast but definitely with a bit of force. Your back arches as he curls it inside of you, a pressure building in your lower stomach slowly. Another tentacle begins to rub your clit in circles, then rubbing up and down between your folds. As he picks up speed you become a twitching mess. “What do you want, my love?” ‘To cum’—is what you think you’ve said—but you can’t be too sure when your thoughts are this much of a haze. All you can feel is him touching you, almost but not quite filling you. You yelp when you feel another tendril entering you. You shiver, reaching out for something to hold. All you can reach is more tendrils suspended in air. Frustrated, you whine out.

“Hm,” he hums out questioningly. “Touch me.” Slender’s head tilts. “Aren’t I already touching you?” He isn’t. He hasn’t touched you with his hands, his body. He hasn’t brought you closer to him. You feel so far away. “I want to feel you. Let me-please—ahh-,” a suction cup meeting with your clit silences any words you may have gotten out previously. He can’t seem to understand why you would ever want to feel him, but he takes a step forward anyways. You motion him closer as his tendrils finally take a break on your weary and abused body. Your hands meet the skin on his neck, cool and soft. You feel him shiver under your touch, and slowly—oh so very slowly—you undress his top half. Undoing his tie, unbuttoning his shirt. You need help reaching certain parts of him, but he’s ever so helpful during the process.

You run your mouth down his stomach, kissing under one bump and licking another. You reach for his hand, bringing it to your face and showing him how to hold you. It feels so good to be held—really, and truly held—by him. Not even in just a sexual way. “Is this what you wanted, little one?” You can tell his expression is one of amusement. You smile up at him. “Yes sir,” is the only confirmation he needs to continue, now with more than just inky tendrils at his disposal.

He drags a hand up your side, feeling your body as his hand travels up to your back and then into your hair, gripping gently but firmly. He pulls your head back slowly, your chin pointing up at the ceiling. You wonder what he’s doing, only to feel something wet and slimy on your neck. “Aahhh…,” you exhale, wondering why it took him so long to touch you like this. You can tell he enjoys this closeness just as much as you do, if not more. “Do you like it?” It’s an honest question. One with a bit of vulnerability behind it. He hums. “I do. Very much.” That answer pleases you, so you can’t help but beam in response. “Good. ‘Cos I want you to feel good too.”

He nods, looking as if he’s contemplating your words and rolling them over in his head a bit. “Do you know what would make me feel good, little one?” Expectantly, you look up at him. “You on my cock.” You gulp. You weren’t expecting that answer, but you can’t say you’re not pleased by it. You only falter for just a moment before making up your mind and slowly…oh so very slowly…sinking to your knees as you motion for him to sit on the edge of the bed. (He was far too tall for this shit) He’s letting you take the lead only because of his insatiable curiosity, and you intend to quench it.

Shaky hands unbutton his pants, the static in your mind growing heavier as the zipper gets pulled. One tendril brushes a lock of hair out of your face gently. What gets pulled out of his pants leaves you pale and breathless. You can’t call this a cock. Not by any means. You’re not sure what you expected. Human-like genitalia but not quite. This was entirely monster. Two smoke colored cocks stood out in front of you. They were sticky with an unknown substance, curved upwards and ribbed at the upper most part. Immediately your mind wanders to what those would feel like inside of you. Painful. But absolutely heavenly after you get over the pain surely. Your hand reaches out to grip one, watching slender suck in as you make contact. You start to jerk him off, pulling at the head. There’s no need for lube thankfully—thanks to whatever this stickiness is. It has no smell to it, and so to sate your curiosity you wrap your mouth around his ribbed head, suckling just barely. Just enough to get a taste. Salty but not quite.

You hear a faint grumble from slender as you pop off, taking notice of how his hips just barely lift themselves off the sheets and his elbows shake. You feel a bit of pride for making him feel good despite barely touching him. It gives you the confidence to make more risky jumps. You take what you can of one cock in your mouth, one hand holding it steady in your mouth as your other jerks off his second one. You can feel the static in the room get heavier and you take that as a good sign. You suck gently on the ribbed underside of his cock, his hips finally bucking up to create more friction. His head lolls back as you lick up his shaft and take his head in between your lips. “Mmmm…e-a-enough.” You pop off him once again, confused. You’re even more confused however when suddenly you’re in the air, once again your naked body being held suspended in air, caged by tendrils.

“I’ve had enough of the human foreplay. Now I want you.” You blush, his voice so much darker than before the two of you had started this dance. He’s strained, eager, and so deprived. Who are you to tell a starving man no? So you open your legs, two fingers reaching down and spreading your lips apart in front him. You let a finger enter inside, aching at the need to be filled again by him. Does he like the show? Undoubtedly—shown by the way one of his own tendrils is stroking his cocks as he watches you touch yourself. “Do you enjoy watching me pleasure myself, sir?” You ask the question softly, your index finger now circling your clit and pressing down on the bundle of nerves with just the right amount of pressure. You’re throbbing with need at this point, your fingers stroking up and down in a desperate attempt to get off. The way he watches you gasp and moan out while being touched by only yourself gets you off. You can’t help but love his attention as you get closer to an orgasm. Your back arches as you finally bring yourself to the edge, your heavy breathing ringing out. Your pussy clenches around nothing as you cum, milking only air.

Content, you relax. Your heart beats wildly in your ears as you come down from your high. “I do. You look so beautiful when lost in pleasure.” Despite his late response, you blush. In seconds you’re sat in his lap, his cocks laid against your stomach—showing you just how they compare to you in size. It’s intimidating, and honestly seems like a daunting task. But the way your pussy aches for more can’t be ignored. So you make the first move and lower yourself onto him. Immediately you both groan out—a mix of pain and pleasure. You can’t deny the way you suck him in further despite the burn.

He asks in a low voice if it hurts and you tell him the truth. It does. But you want more anyways. Maybe it’s the sounds he makes that pushes you further, or the way he looks laid out in front of you. Perhaps it’s the way he grips onto you, an attempt to hold you closer as he ruts up into you. All you know is that he just looks so pretty the way he is now. The scene before you is erotic. His shirt strewn over the bedpost, the black out curtains cracked to allow just the smallest bit of moonlight to peek through. The way his hips stutter in a weak attempt to not cum. So beautiful.

[meruz]

neil john combo

[sweet-oddityy]

𝑆𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑒 𝑏𝑦 𝑆𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑒 𝑝𝑡 2

𝐻𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑛 𝑂𝑡𝑖𝑠|𝐵𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑥 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑚𝑢𝑡

Ok so this is a second part to that one lil fluff thing I wrote. I didn’t intend it to be but here we are, if you haven’t read THAT yet and you want a little bit of context then I urge you to go do that. As you can tell this is 🔞, and although I cannot directly stop anyone under 18 from reading this I can urge you not to.

Contents: gender neutral reader, teasing (male receiving), edging, dom reader(?), sub Helen Otis, orgasm denial, handjobs

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

He’s absolutely gorgeous like this. Laying beneath you with your thighs pushing him flush against his bed and his wrists pinned with one of your hands above his head, the other hand stroking either his face or caressing his chest or waist. Both his and your lips were enthralled with each other, intoxicated with the lust for each other. You flick his lip with your tongue and he instantly lets you in, you feel one of his hands strain against yours and you get the feeling that he desperately wants to feel you. To trail his hand down your chest, your waist, the flesh of your thigh. But he can’t. Not tonight at least. He needs to know that he is not the one in control of this night. You pull away from him and relish in the way he follows your lips, a string of saliva connecting the two of you.

‘Helen. You said you would make it up to me, so stay still.’

His eyebrows furrow.

‘I want to make it up to you. Please can you let me do that?’

You chuckle and press your groin into his, feeling him grow and twitch against you. Oh how you love that feeling, how truly beautiful it is.

‘Helen I love you, but you’re not going to ignore me all day and then assume we’re going to play this your way.’

He whines but he gets it. You press his wrists down one more time as a warning and slowly let him go, and he doesn’t dare to move an inch when you do. You run your arms along his chest with feather light touches until you reach then hem of your shirt and lift if slowly over your head, you then go to his own shirt and pull it over his head. You’re both shirtless now, shirtless and so very turned on by each other. You lean and press a chain of hard kisses down his chest and midriff, he’s not particularly toned, there are faint lines of muscles but nothing other than that. You get to the waistband of his sweatpants and look up at him in a silent inquiry - to which he nods. You pull them down and lean back to admire the fruits of your labour. There’s a large tent in his boxers with a small wet patch of his arousal, which you promptly begin to rub. He lets out a breathy, whiney moan and tilts his head back.

‘Y/N…’

You continue to rub him, getting faster and faster with each stroke, with his back arching and his sweet voice ringing out.

‘Nng..! Y/-Y/N-!’

His moans get louder and louder, and you take this (along with the way his thighs spasm and his pelvis wriggles) as a sign that he’s close.

So you stop.

He lets out an exasperated sigh and takes a couple of deep breaths before tilting his head to get a look at you.

‘Why’d you-?’

You say nothing as you peel off his underwear and drop them off the side of his bed. You continue to say nothing as you gesture for him to give you his arms so you can pull him up to face you. And you still don’t say anything as you rise from your seat on his lap so you’re standing on his bed with either side of his legs and take your own shorts off, leaving you standing above him in your underwear. You step around him so you’re behind him and sit with your back to the headrest. You reach forward to pull him so his back is between your legs and kiss him gently on the head.

‘You said you’d make it up to me, didn’t you?’

He has an awful feeling that he knows what will happen next, yet by the twitch of his dick you can tell he really doesn’t have a problem with it. You reach down to his pretty cock and start to stroke him, with steady movements up and down the shaft and a frequent intermission of rubbing the head with your palm. He latches onto your arm and arches his back, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly, before he finally does makes a sound. It’s a melodic mix of a desperate cry, a whine and a hard exhale, which lasts a couple of seconds before he starts to pant. His groin comes up to meet your hands in an attempt to draw his orgasm closer. His attempts are simply futile, as you quickly remove your hand and leave him nearly crying in frustration. But nearly isn’t enough for you. Before Helen even has an opportunity to look up and plead with you, your hand returns to its position and mercilessly starts to jack him off again at an incredible pace. He starts to moan almost instantly and begins to writhe, with his backside pressing further into his mattress. His hands claw at your arm and he throws his head back, letting out a loud and guttural moan. It doesn’t take as long to bring him to the edge this time, and as soon as he clenches his eyes closed you once again remove your hand. His eyes start to water and he whimpers.

‘Y/N please.. I’m begging- hh- I’m begging you, please just let me cum.’

His words are periodically interrupted by him panting and you almost feel bad for him. You almost consider making this the last one. His cock is so painfully hard and is dripping in his own pre-cum, his head is blushing a furious rose colour that almost looks purple. It’s twitching and the veins are protruding, something you quickly became aware of as you could feel them. However all thoughts of stopping are quickly put to sleep when you make eye contact with him.

Those eyes aren’t the eyes of someone craving mercy.

You smile at him and stroke his soft hair.

‘You’re doing so well, Helen, just a couple more.’

His panting picks up again at this, and you can’t tell if it’s from exhaustion or excitement. You lean forward and resume your actions, you took a bit longer of a break this time, so he had gotten a few more seconds to cool down. You focus your attention primarily on the head, with quick sharp movements bobbing up and down, giving the period squeeze to be just that more torturous. He starts moaning again. Much shorter moans this time, whimpers rising from his throat with no pattern and filling his room, you’re glad that most people aren’t at home right now. You encircle your palm around the hole on his head, spreading his pre around and around, which results in a drown out plea from him, a beg of release. His legs twitch and his knee is brought up as he digs his heel into his bed covers, his pelvis is thrusting into your hand in an attempt to bring him closer to the edge, praying that this will be the time you let him ejaculate. But as his sweet voice reaches a falsetto, and his head draws back to hit your chest, you let go of his raw cock.

He’s crying at this point. Not out of pain, of course, you know he’s enjoying his, but from your merciless teasing and edging. He guesses that this is his punishment, to be brought forward and forward but never quite going off the edge for countless times. How many had it been now? Three, he counts to himself. Which means the next one would make four, one for each hour he spent away from you. He watches as your hand is brought up to your mouth, your tongue protruding to taste him upon your hard, though he can’t imagine it tastes nice. Your other hand, that was previously wrapped around his shoulders, comes up to his face to wipe a stray tear away. He’s actually crying.

‘Shhhh, don’t cry, Helen. You’re doing so well, this is the last one, I promise.’

He perks up at this and nods slightly.

‘Please… *hic*… Y/N, it’s too much-’

‘I know it is, and you’ve done amazingly.’

It’s almost embarrassing how wet this has gotten you, with so much of your own fluids soaking your underwear to the point where you can feel it drip onto the sheets and spread along his lower back. Every time he wriggled and moved backwards he would rub you, which you have a nasty feeling is on purpose. For the last time, you reach over to his ridiculously hard dick and start to stroke him. You don’t start off fast, using slow and steady rotations of your wrist up and down his shaft, eliciting a nasal shriek from the gorgeous man laying on top of you. He pants harder and harder as you quicken your pace, sometimes releasing a quick ‘hah~’.

‘Hn~~ Y/N… AH~! Y/N I promise I’ll- I promise I won’t ignore you any- NYNG-! I promise I won’t ignore you anymore! Oh fuck-’

You chuckle and nuzzle your chin into his head and him softly, making sure to ever so slightly quicken the bobbing of your hand.

‘I know.’

He’s twitching even more now, pressing his entire body into you and you can feel the sweat trailing down his back. He pants and calls his moans into the ceiling, and with one last stroke of your hand his comes undone.

His cum shoots from his dick in fat globs if white, either landing between the space in his legs or dropping down his shaft. His pelvis twitches with each spurt, so beyond relieved to finally have came. It takes him a few seconds to empty himself out, and you continue to draw out his fluids by drawing your hand up and down his shaft.

‘Well done, Helen, you did so well tonight.’

‘Thank you…. Thank you… thank you.’

He continues to pant and murmur his thanks as you get up and grab some tissues to clean him off. You catch the look of your underwear in the mirror, your arousal evident and untouched. This is something he notices when you exit the bathroom. He perches himself on his elbows and looks up at you.

‘You’re- do you want me to help you?’

You shake your head and kneel down to clean him up, taking extra care to be gentle around his softening cock.

‘Not tonight, let’s just go to sleep, ok?’

He nods and looks down at his ruined sheets. He winces and gets up to put on his previously discarded sweatpants and shirt. You both go through the process of cleaning up after yourselves before flopping onto his bed. It’s the same position as before, with him behind you and pulling you into his chest, your legs in a devils snare. You nuzzles into you and plants several kisses on your neck and shoulder.

‘I love you, Y/N.’

His voice is slightly hoarse and is very quiet, you can tell he’s tired.

‘I love you too, Helen.’

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

My asexual ass after writing the most vulgar and dirtiest smut.

Reminder to please send my requests cuz I’m bored and want to write, ok bye bye.

[choke-me-levi]

CONGRATS ON 1K KAT BBY <3

can i get 38 with kenny ackerman? ilyyyyyyyy♥

Ahhhh omggg Cherry ily sm thank you bby 🥺 I've never written for Kenny before so I did some mad research for this one, I hope it's okay!!! I also didn't write this in canonverse, so it's a modern day au!

This turned out a lot longer than I imagined but...I don't hate it????

cw: smut, mention of cheating, violence (f to deserving m), oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), squirting, creampie, daddy kink, use of princess as a pet name, dirty talk, lots of swearing because Kenny Fucking Ackerman, Kenny is a dirty old man.

This is written on my phone and not proof read so if you see any mistakes...no you didn't 🥰

38. Let me show you how a real man does it

You storm out of the house, slamming the door behind you.

"Baby, w-wait!!" The sound of your now ex-boyfriend scurrying after you doesn't make you turn around. In fact, it just makes you more pissed. "It-t-that wasn't what it looked like! I swear!"

You let out a venom filled laugh, wheeling around to glare at him, half naked still with a look of terror on his face.

"That wasn't what it looked like? Well, explain what it was then, because it looked like you were balls deep in your slutty ass secretary you've been telling me not to worry about for the past six months!!!" You screech, tears of rage burning your eyes. You hurriedly blinked, not wanting this motherfucker to see you cry.

"She doesn't mean anything to me! I love you! You've just been so distant with me lately, I mean come on Y/N, we haven't had sex in almost 2 months!"

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Well, of course, go stick your dick into some random chick's pussy just because I find it hard to want to get fucked by a man who smells like someone else's perfume when he comes home from working 'overtime'!!!!"

"Babe, Y/N, please-" he reaches out to touch you and before you can even think about it, you punch him straight in the face, making him stumble backwards into your open door. He clasps his hand to his face, pulling it away to see it covered in blood. Your hand is burning like a bitch, but you stand your ground.

"I want you gone by midnight." You sneer. "Any shit you leave behind is getting tossed out or burned. We're done."

And with that you get into your car and drive to the nearest bar, wanting to do nothing but drink until you couldn't remember your own damn name.

~~~~~~~~

The bar wasn't too busy for a Thursday night, you managed to find a booth and occupy it, having the bored looking waitresses bring you margarita after margarita. But they weren't doing the job. Six drinks in and you were still sober enough to remember your name and address. You reached into your purse to get your card to order something stronger, when a glass of whiskey was placed in front of you.

You look up, seeing the incredibly handsome, older man in front of you, giving you a smirk that should have had you running for the hills but instead made your pussy throb and your mouth go dry.

"Looks like you need this, kid," he drawls and you swear your heart skipped a beat.

"Uh...thanks," you stutter, picking up the small glass and throwing it back, making the sexy stranger chuckle.

"There's more where that came from, sweetheart, if you want it."

No, your brain screams, this is dangerous fucking territory, he's at least twenty years older than you, plus he's a fucking stranger, god knows what he's planning!!

"Oh, I think I want it," you smirk back at him, ignoring your still stupidly sober brain, making him chuckle darkly again. "Keep 'em comin', cowboy."

"Cowboy, huh? Never been called that one before," handsome stranger slides into the booth, sitting opposite you. "But you look like you're havin' a really shitty night, so I'll let it slide."

"Oh, you have no idea..." You trail off awkwardly, realising you don't even know his name yet. "I'm sorry, I don't even know you, I doubt you want to hear about my personal shit..."

"Name's Kenny," he drawls again, and your pussy clenches at his deep, smooth, gravelly voice. "And now we ain't strangers, so lay it on me, darlin'."

And so you say 'fuck it' and lay it all on him, from the ongoing problems you'd been having with your now ex boyfriend, the secretary, the lies...everything.

"-and we hadn't had sex in like 2 months, and that's not even the worst part!" You cry out, the alcohol causing you to throw all your dignity out the fucking window. Kenny raised an eyebrow, a smirk still etched across his face.

"It's not? That sounds pretty fuckin' shit to me, a man's gotta keep his woman dicked down,"

You snort, rolling your eyes.

"Motherfucker couldn't even make me come, I can probably count on one hand the amount of times I actually had an orgasm with him, and even then it was because I did it myself." You said bitterly, throwing back the rest of your whiskey, shuddering at the burn. Kenny laughed, actually laughed. You glared at him. "What's so funny, cowboy?"

Kenny finishes the rest of his drink, still with that goddamn smirk on his face.

"So you're telling me that you were with this loser for 3 fuckin' years and the only time you ever got off was because you did it yourself? Jesus, princess, no wonder you're drowning your sorrows."

The way he calls you princess has your pussy fluttering and your thighs clenching together. You glance at his hands on the table. They're so...pretty. Calloused, prominent veins...just the kind of hands you'd kill to have wrapped around your throat. And those fingers, so long and slender, you just know they'd feel so fucking good against your clit, rubbing up against that gummy spot inside you-

"Like what you see, princess?" Kenny chuckles, flexing his fingers as if to tease you. Your cheeks flush as you realise you've been staring.

"Shut up," you snap, rolling your eyes. "And anyway, don't fucking laugh at my sex life. I suppose you think you're some kind of God in the sack with a ten inch dick that leaves the ladies dehydrated and walking with a limp, right?"

Kenny laughs again, the sound only adding to the growing dampness in your panties.

"Let's just say, I ain't never had any complaints, that sufficient enough, princess?"

"Sure," you say sarcastically. He raises an eyebrow.

"You don't believe me? Well, I've seen the way you've been looking at me, darlin', why don't we head back to my place? Let me show you how a real man does it."

~~~~~~~~

"K-Kenny! Oh my god, Kenny, don't stop, don't stop!" You cry out, your back arching as your hand fists in the older man' hair as he devours your pussy, two fingers buried inside you as he laps and sucks at your clit. You are strewn across his bed, naked as he eats you out like man starved. You pull his hair, making him growl against your sensitive clit, the vibrations only heightening the pleasure. He angles his fingers inside your tight little hole, immediately finding that spongy spot that makes your toes curl. You can feel your orgasm, but it's different. The pressure is intense, and then suddenly you realise - "Fuck, fuck, Kenny! Stop!"

"Whassa matter, princess?" Kenny looks up at you from between your legs, his mouth and chin covered in your slick. "Too much?" He moves his fingers again, making you squeak.

"Feels like-feels like I'm gonna pee-" you mutter, utterly mortified, covering your face. Kenny chuckles.

"Trust me baby, you won't. Means I'm doin' it right, hmm? Just relax, and let it happen, okay? Now, lemme eat this pretty little pussy some more, yeah?"

"Yessss," you hiss as his mouth finds your puffy clit once more and he picks up the perfect motion once more, and you feel your orgasm building again along with the intense sensation. This time instead of fighting it, you allow your body to relax and just focus on the mind blowing orgasm you know you're going to have. Your hand returns to Kenny's hair, fisting it once more and encouraging him to keep going. He fucks his fingers into you at a brutal pace, hitting that spot with every single thrust.

"I'm-ah, ah, ah, fuck, coming! I'm coming!!!"

Your body convulses as that dam finally breaks, pleasure washing over your body in a way you've never experienced before as clear liquid gushes from your pussy and drenches Kenny's face.

"Ho-holy shit! That's a good fucking girl!" He growls against your clit, not letting up on his delicious rhythm. "Christ, princess, you fucking soaked me!"

You don't respond, too fucked out to even care. You whimper as Kenny pulls out his fingers and his tongue leaves your clit, sitting up slightly. Your jaw goes slack as he removes his shirt and pants, then his boxers. He jacks his - alarmingly huge- cock a few times, still with that fucking smirk on his face. "What's the matter, baby? Think you can handle me?"

You respond by spreading your legs for him, giving him a little show as you play with your sopping hole for him. Kenny groans, climbing back on the bed. He spits on his cock, fisting it a few more times.

"I ain't gonna be gentle with you, princess," he grunts, hands now coming up to your hips. "Get on your knees, hands on the headboard."

"Yes, daddy." You say before you can even think. Thank god you're no longer facing him so he can't see your cheeks flushing.

"Daddy, huh? I think I like that even more than cowboy, baby girl." A sharp slap to your ass makes you jump, your pussy clenching around nothing. "Say it again, princess. Beg daddy to fuck ya."

"P-please, daddy," you whimper, pushing your ass back against him, desperate to feel him inside you. You moan, louder than you should have, as he teases your slit with the head of his cock, covering it in your juices. He slaps your ass again.

"You can do better than that, baby, come on..."

"Please, daddy, fuck me! Fuck me with your fat cock until I can't take it anymore!" You cry out, pounding the headboard with your hands in desperation.

"Atta girl," he growls, before pushing his cock all the way inside you. "Fuck, princess, your little pussy is swallowing me...that fuckin' idiot was chasin' after other tail when he had this at home?! Fuckin' moron."

Kenny's fingers bit into your hips as he pulled almost completely out of your wet heat before slamming home again, his cockhead bumping against your cervix in a painfully pleasurable way. Your gripped the headboard and flung your head back, sinful moans leaving your lips. Kenny leant forward, his sculpted chest and stomach pressed against your back as he drove his cock into you over and over. He nipped at your should, your neck, pushing aside your hair to tug on your earlobe with his teeth. He was going slow, probably giving you some time to adjust to his size, but you wanted more, you needed more.

"I thought you were going to show me how a real man does it," you hissed, looking over your shoulder at him. "Stop being nice and fucking wreck me. I can take it. Please, daddy."

Kenny lets out a feral growl, grabbing your hands and removing them from the headboard, then quickly pushing your head down so that your face was smushed into the mattress.

"Gotta mouth on ya, don't 'cha? Push that ass up for me then princess, and I'll show you what happens to brats who try and tell daddy what to do."

You do as you're told, arching your back even further and pushing your ass up for him. Kenny pauses, his thumb circling your asshole. "Bet you've never had this ass fucked, huh princess? Don't worry, we'll change that pretty fuckin' soon, but right now-" he slams his cock back into you, rougher than before and knocking the air out of your lungs. "-M'gonna fuck your pretty little pussy and stuff you full of my cum, yeah? You like that? Fuck, you're getting tighter, you nasty little slut, you like that? Wanna be filled with daddy's cum?"

"Yes! Yes! Yes, daddy, please!" You cry out, every thrust of his hips drawing out a pleading moan from your throat. Your eyes filled with tears with every bump against your cervix, but it didn't stop your pussy getting wetter, the lewd sounds of skin on (wet) skin filling the room. "Fuck! Ah-hnn-m'gettin' close, d-addy!"

"Yeah? Gonna come on daddy's cock princess?" Kenny grunts, his fingers biting into the fat of your hips. "Gonna come just from daddy fuckin' ya?"

"Yessss!" You hiss, your eyes rolling back as you feel the tension inside you snap, your pussy gripping his cock like a vice as you convulsed around him. Kenny fucks you through it, chuckling lowly as he watches you fall apart for him. You can barely keep yourself up on your knees with the way you're shaking. It's too fucking cute. Once you've stopped shaking, he flips you over onto your back, placing your legs on his shoulders. He could feel himself getting close, and he'd be damned if he was gonna fill you up without watching your pretty face as he did so.

The change in angle makes you mouth fall open, your moans filling the room, his name falling from your lips like a damn prayer. And as much as Kenny wanted to keep hearing those precious whines and mewls that went straight to his dick, he couldn't help but think how fuckin' pretty you'd look with somethin' in your mouth.

"Open wide, princess," he grunts, and you do so, accepting his two fingers that still taste of you deep into your mouth, immediately suckling on them and moaning around the thick digits. "Fuck, there's a good girl, it's a damn shame I didn't have you put your pretty little mouth around my cock, but we got time. Right now though, I want you to suck on daddy's fingers while he fucks you, got it?"

You hum in response, your big eyes locking with his as he folds you in half, pushing his cock and fingers deeper in your holes. You gag around his fingers, the sound making his cock twitch.

"Shit!" He hisses. "You keep makin' sounds like that sweetness and tightening this pretty little cunt around my cock and I'm gonna come so fuckin' hard, and I ain't quite done with you yet-" just to prove his point, he slams into you even harder, now chasing his own high. "Fuck, this pussy is so fuckin' good..."

You scream, muffled by his fingers, as he finds your gspot again. Encouraged by your sounds and facial expressions, and the drool escaping from your mouth, Kenny breathlessly chuckles and keeps driving his hips into that spot again and again and again. You grip his bicep in warning. "Again?" He smirks. "Jesus, princess, sensitive little thing, ain't ya? But this time, you gotta wait for me, got it? Don't come until I say so."

You whine in protest, still muffled by his fingers in your mouth, but you obey, doing your best to hold on as he cock slides deliciously against your gummy walls. You squeeze your pussy, hoping the extra tightness will help bring Kenny closer to the edge as you know you won't be able to last much longer. He lets out a loud groan and you know your plan is working.

He pulls his spit coated fingers out of your mouth, and brings them to your clit.

"Ah, fuck! D-daddy, please! M'so close! Please cum in my pussy daddy, I want it so bad, want you to fill me up!"

"Yeah? Better come with me then, baby girl, daddy's gonna fill this tight little hole up, stuff you full- fuck, fuck, fuck!"

With a long, drawn out groan, Kenny pushes his cock into you as deep as he possibly can, rope after rope of thick, white cum painting your walls. The sensation of that and the way he sounds when he comes was enough to send you over the edge for a third and final time, your juices flowing from your pussy and soaking the both of you as your eyes rolled back and you choked out "daddy!", Your nails digging into his arms and definitely leaving marks.

Kenny collapses on top of you, his softening cock still inside you, not quite wanting to leave your soft heat just yet. You can feel a mixture of his come and yours trickling out of you, but neither of you care. You both lie there, breathing heavily, sweat glistening in the soft light of his bedroom.

"Fucking hell," Kenny laughs, breathlessly, before pushing himself up to kiss you deeply. He then looks down between you and grins. "This is gonna be a bitch to clean up."

[imagines-mha]

ok this blog haunts me its time for a theme change

[boogieboobs666]

ok but Tokoyami doe..... (AGED UP)

like, he's a bird- HE HAS A RUT EVERY SPRING

I imagine another student of ua, with a quirk similar to Hawk's quirk. She's a human with the same type of wings, maybe another color. And she's a little more bird-like than him. Maybe she has other bird-like features too.

So now that it was spring, everyone noticed how she was acting a little weird. She was quieter, not talking as much. she was also acting unusually protective of her closest friends. And, the strangest feature, she never let anyone get close to her room. Because in there she had built a nice cozy nest. That's where she spent most of her time these days. Fixing her nest. Adding more pillows or blankets, and feathers. Also stocking up all the snacks she could find in there. Her hormones were wack, and she had constant mood swings. But the worst part was her wings. They had been shedding everywhere and would ruffle up randomly. Her motherly instincts were strong too, and she tried her best to act casual. But everyone had at this point noticed. Including Fumikage.

Because of his quiet and awkward nature, no one really noticed when he became even more distant. The only thing they noticed was him looking less and less tired, and suddenly having this nice smell following him wherever he went. (ofc there were the random boners too, but again, as he was so withdrawn it wasn't too hard to hide.) But he hated this time of year. HE WAS JUST SO HORNY.

He had noticed how you acted, and seeming you were part bird too it was his best guess you were suffering just as much as him this time of year. He did feel bad for you, he really did. He knew how the hormones were. But god, he just loved the thought of you, spending all this time in your room, building a nest, waiting for a mate to come and fill it. He wondered what your nest looked like. Was it big and spacious? Or was it small and cozy? What did you use to build it? Blankets? Pillows? Or maybe even your feathers. God, he loved your feathers. They were so pretty, so smooth and flawless. He wanted to feel them, to be able to touch and rub them just how he wanted.

These thoughts were not helping with his rut at all. He tried his best to avoid you, to not be near you during this time. What would you do if you found out what he had been thinking of you all this time? You would be disgusted. But you were just so precious- AGHHHH!!!

He was walking towards his room, he couldn't find himself joining the others in the common rooms. It was getting late anyways.

But as he was walking, he suddenly felt this amazing smell. It smelled so sweet, so good, it was instantly making his very being perk up. As good as it smelt, he knew where it was coming from right away. It smelt like you. He tried fighting it, but he couldn't control his instincts anymore. He started walking in the direction of your room.

You had for once joined the others, them being worried as to what was going on with you. You reassured them everything was fine and had a nice time just hanging around. But it didn't take long before you were getting quite angsty, being away from the nest for so long. So finally, you headed back. As you turned the corner of the hallway to your room, you stopped.

There, sitting outside your room was Tokoyami. He was sitting on the floor with his elbow propped up on his knee, his head resting against the wall. He seemed kinda peaceful, but at the same time, you knew how tense he was. As bad this time of year was for you, you couldn't imagine how awful it was for him.

He jumped at the sound of your voice, looking at you with wide eyes as you slid down next to him. He opened his mouth to say something, but he wasn't able to form any words.

"man, I hate spring" he looked at you and slowly nodded. You kinda just sat there for a few minutes. As he finally found the right words, he eventually explained he had discovered the scent of your nest and nothing inside him gave him the strength to ignore it. As innocent as you knew he was, you flustered up at the thought. Although the nest had a function, you certainly did not expect to use it for that function. At least not for a few years. I mean, were you ready to let someone in it? Before you could think about it, before you could process what was leaving your mouth, you had said it.

"want to see it?"

You really hadn't meant to ask it, but here you were. Standing nervously in the corner as Tokoyami slowly took in the nest you had spent so long building. He felt like he couldn't breathe. It was so.... just nice. It was big, with good space. There sure were enough pillows and blankets. In between the materials he could see other things, stuffed animals, some nice lights, and even snacks stuffed in the corner of the room. But the best part was the nest was filled with your feathers. Your beautiful feathers showing off who the nest belonged to, along with your scent. He felt blood rushing to his groin.

As you stood in the corner, you could feel your scent being quickly replaced by Tokoyami's. It filled your senses. He could feel it too. He turned around to look at you, and it felt like something just snapped in the both of you, at the same time.

In mere seconds you were on each other, rushing to get each other's clothes off. You were tearing, biting, and licking at each other. And that's how you spent the whole night. Mating and lost in pure lust. For hours.

As for the next following days, you would do absolutely nothing but lay in the nest. Most of the time you were accompanied by Tokoyami, who got a serious warning for exploding on mina when she tried to get to your room to check on you. His instincts were completely wild now, wanting nothing more than protect his nest with his precious mate in it. He only ever left to get food and do the most necessary hygienic procedures. But other than that he was always cuddled up by your side. (once, you had gone to the bathroom and stumbled upon Ochaco on the way back. Fumi did not like that. Once you finally got back he pressed you down in the nest, berating you on how you should stay in the nest, where it was safe.)

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

Bonus:

When Fumi's rut starts passing, and spring was close to summer, you actively started dating.

AGHHHH imagine since the reader has wings ok-

Fumi slumps down in a chair after a long day, and you come up behind him. Putting both your arms and wings around him. He hides his face in your wings, and he has this thing where he will pluck out any feathers of your wings if he sees them out of place.

ahggghhhhfgfhggh ok sorry I'm finished

OH BTW, very much inspired by @lucifersthiccthighedbetch

[boogieboobs666]

ok but Tokoyami doe..... (AGED UP)

like, he's a bird- HE HAS A RUT EVERY SPRING

I imagine another student of ua, with a quirk similar to Hawk's quirk. She's a human with the same type of wings, maybe another color. And she's a little more bird-like than him. Maybe she has other bird-like features too.

So now that it was spring, everyone noticed how she was acting a little weird. She was quieter, not talking as much. she was also acting unusually protective of her closest friends. And, the strangest feature, she never let anyone get close to her room. Because in there she had built a nice cozy nest. That's where she spent most of her time these days. Fixing her nest. Adding more pillows or blankets, and feathers. Also stocking up all the snacks she could find in there. Her hormones were wack, and she had constant mood swings. But the worst part was her wings. They had been shedding everywhere and would ruffle up randomly. Her motherly instincts were strong too, and she tried her best to act casual. But everyone had at this point noticed. Including Fumikage.

Because of his quiet and awkward nature, no one really noticed when he became even more distant. The only thing they noticed was him looking less and less tired, and suddenly having this nice smell following him wherever he went. (ofc there were the random boners too, but again, as he was so withdrawn it wasn't too hard to hide.) But he hated this time of year. HE WAS JUST SO HORNY.

He had noticed how you acted, and seeming you were part bird too it was his best guess you were suffering just as much as him this time of year. He did feel bad for you, he really did. He knew how the hormones were. But god, he just loved the thought of you, spending all this time in your room, building a nest, waiting for a mate to come and fill it. He wondered what your nest looked like. Was it big and spacious? Or was it small and cozy? What did you use to build it? Blankets? Pillows? Or maybe even your feathers. God, he loved your feathers. They were so pretty, so smooth and flawless. He wanted to feel them, to be able to touch and rub them just how he wanted.

These thoughts were not helping with his rut at all. He tried his best to avoid you, to not be near you during this time. What would you do if you found out what he had been thinking of you all this time? You would be disgusted. But you were just so precious- AGHHHH!!!

He was walking towards his room, he couldn't find himself joining the others in the common rooms. It was getting late anyways.

But as he was walking, he suddenly felt this amazing smell. It smelled so sweet, so good, it was instantly making his very being perk up. As good as it smelt, he knew where it was coming from right away. It smelt like you. He tried fighting it, but he couldn't control his instincts anymore. He started walking in the direction of your room.

You had for once joined the others, them being worried as to what was going on with you. You reassured them everything was fine and had a nice time just hanging around. But it didn't take long before you were getting quite angsty, being away from the nest for so long. So finally, you headed back. As you turned the corner of the hallway to your room, you stopped.

There, sitting outside your room was Tokoyami. He was sitting on the floor with his elbow propped up on his knee, his head resting against the wall. He seemed kinda peaceful, but at the same time, you knew how tense he was. As bad this time of year was for you, you couldn't imagine how awful it was for him.

He jumped at the sound of your voice, looking at you with wide eyes as you slid down next to him. He opened his mouth to say something, but he wasn't able to form any words.

"man, I hate spring" he looked at you and slowly nodded. You kinda just sat there for a few minutes. As he finally found the right words, he eventually explained he had discovered the scent of your nest and nothing inside him gave him the strength to ignore it. As innocent as you knew he was, you flustered up at the thought. Although the nest had a function, you certainly did not expect to use it for that function. At least not for a few years. I mean, were you ready to let someone in it? Before you could think about it, before you could process what was leaving your mouth, you had said it.

"want to see it?"

You really hadn't meant to ask it, but here you were. Standing nervously in the corner as Tokoyami slowly took in the nest you had spent so long building. He felt like he couldn't breathe. It was so.... just nice. It was big, with good space. There sure were enough pillows and blankets. In between the materials he could see other things, stuffed animals, some nice lights, and even snacks stuffed in the corner of the room. But the best part was the nest was filled with your feathers. Your beautiful feathers showing off who the nest belonged to, along with your scent. He felt blood rushing to his groin.

As you stood in the corner, you could feel your scent being quickly replaced by Tokoyami's. It filled your senses. He could feel it too. He turned around to look at you, and it felt like something just snapped in the both of you, at the same time.

In mere seconds you were on each other, rushing to get each other's clothes off. You were tearing, biting, and licking at each other. And that's how you spent the whole night. Mating and lost in pure lust. For hours.

As for the next following days, you would do absolutely nothing but lay in the nest. Most of the time you were accompanied by Tokoyami, who got a serious warning for exploding on mina when she tried to get to your room to check on you. His instincts were completely wild now, wanting nothing more than protect his nest with his precious mate in it. He only ever left to get food and do the most necessary hygienic procedures. But other than that he was always cuddled up by your side. (once, you had gone to the bathroom and stumbled upon Ochaco on the way back. Fumi did not like that. Once you finally got back he pressed you down in the nest, berating you on how you should stay in the nest, where it was safe.)

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

Bonus:

When Fumi's rut starts passing, and spring was close to summer, you actively started dating.

AGHHHH imagine since the reader has wings ok-

Fumi slumps down in a chair after a long day, and you come up behind him. Putting both your arms and wings around him. He hides his face in your wings, and he has this thing where he will pluck out any feathers of your wings if he sees them out of place.

ahggghhhhfgfhggh ok sorry I'm finished

OH BTW, very much inspired by @lucifersthiccthighedbetch

[imagines-mha]

no because im gonna jump off a cliff this is the best picture ive ever seen in my life ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!