₍^. .^₎⟆ ❝ hello, name is elyan. he/him/his. you can call me el or whatever you want, doesn’t matter much to me. i write, a lot, mostly smut. only male reader. requests and dms are always open. i’m a chatterbox — talk to me, i’ll respond to you. ❞
whenever i’m writing or reading angst and i read a line that hurts me, i get this overwhelming feeling of dread deep in my gut and my palms start to hurt. anyone else?
synopsis: you have to wash his dirty mouth out with soap. 🫧
word count: 1k
cw: porn with no plot, GN reader, AMAB char, top!reader, sub!char, bottom!char, sadist! reader, masochist!char, non consensual, manhandling, hair-pulling, gagging, crying, humiliation, degradation.
note: yes, it is inspired by felony martinez.
you and your boyfriend are in the middle of a heated argument, arguing about something you can't remember; his words are sharp and foul-mouthed. he's always had a mouth that could make a sailor blush—half the time, you can't tell if he's trying to provoke you or just doesn't know how to hold back. every argument, every teasing moment, even the way he talks in bed, he's never shy about throwing out curses or lewd remarks as if it's second nature. each insult is nastier than the last, filthier and more degrading until he spits out something so foul that your temper finally snaps. without warning, you seize his arm, nails digging deep into his skin, and wrench him toward you, shoving his back against the wall so hard he grunts. you twist his wrist behind his back, forcing him to bend forward as you manhandle him—rough, unrelenting—toward the restroom. he stumbles after you, cursing, trying to wrench free, but you’re stronger. he’s still spitting venom when you kick the door open, slam it shut behind you, and shove him so hard against the sink bowl that he winces, his breath coming in ragged bursts. you press your body into his, trapping him, one arm twisted behind his back, your grip bruising on his hip.
"you want to run your mouth like that?" you snarl, voice low and threatening, grabbing the heavy bar of soap from the sink. "fine." you yank his head back by his hair, your fingers fisting at the roots, pulling until his scalp aches and a sharp whimper escapes his lips. his face is forced up to meet yours, his breath hot and ragged on your cheek, the confusion and fear in his eyes thrilling you. you grip his jaw, fingers digging into the hinge until his mouth pops open with a wet, reluctant click, his lips trembling.
you ram the soap in hard—forcing it between his teeth and deep against his tongue, grinding it in until he gags. the bar is slick and abrasive, scraping over his tongue, catching against his teeth. he gags violently, choking on the bitter, chalky taste, spit, and suds bubbling out and dribbling down his chin in sticky, foamy strands. his body jerks and writhes in your grasp, hips bucking against the cold, unforgiving counter as he tries to twist away. his wrists strain beneath your grip, knuckles white and fingers clawing uselessly at the smooth surface.
you keep him pinned, your fist twisted in his hair, your weight pressing him down so hard he can barely move. his eyes water and redden, long lashes sticking together as tears spill freely, streaking messily down his face. each time he tries to shake his head, you tighten your grip, making him whimper and shudder. drool and foamy bubbles spill from his mouth, running down his chin and throat, soaking the collar of his shirt. his cheeks are flushed and blotchy, eyes brimming with angry, helpless tears as you grind the soap in, forcing him to take the taste.
you watch as his jaw works desperately, muffled noises escaping around the bar of soap, spit flying with each attempt to talk or beg.
"maybe this’ll teach you to watch that filthy mouth," you snarl, keeping the bar wedged firmly between his lips until his muffled noises turn to desperate, gagging whimpers. his glare is blurred by tears, his whole body writhing beneath your grip, knees knocking against the cabinet. his face is a mess—red, streaked with tears, suds and spit dribbling down to stain the front of his shirt, humiliation and anger mingling in his gaze as you force him to endure every second.
finally, when his struggles weaken and his breath hitches in frantic, wet sobs, you relent. you yank the soap from his mouth and release your hold, allowing him to collapse against the counter and spit the mess of suds into the sink, coughing and gasping for air, cheeks streaked with tears. his hands grip the edge of the sink so tightly his knuckles blanch, shoulders heaving as he hawks up the last bits of foam. his mouth is a mess: lips raw and puffy, smeared with sticky suds and streaks of spit, the corners crusted with white, frothy bubbles. his tongue is swollen and pink, coated with a thin, greasy sheen of soap that refuses to wash away. the insides of his cheeks are red and irritated, his teeth flecked with stubborn, bitter-tasting residue no matter how much he spits. each time he tries to swallow, he grimaces, jaw aching from being forced open and his breath coming in shallow, shuddery bursts.
when you catch his eyes in the mirror, they're blazing with anger, a glare full of wounded pride and resentment. but as your gaze drifts downward, the truth is impossible to miss: his hips are pressed tight to the counter, a shameful, unmistakable bulge straining in his jeans. the outline is blatant, the denim visibly tented, and he shifts his stance as if to relieve the ache or hide the evidence, but it only draws more attention to his arousal. the heat in his cheeks is mirrored in the way his chest rises and falls, breaths shallow and shaky, and the tension in his thighs is unmistakable. he squirms, trying to subtly hide it, the flush on his cheeks deepening as he realizes you've noticed—his body betraying just how much the rough treatment has gotten to him. you would have never thought.
NOTE: the pitt... gonna write more, definitely. pt 2? toxic dennis and reader?? yes?
WC: 0.5k
TAGS: bratty!whitaker,, situationship (?),, implied possessive reader despite not being in an established relationship with whitaker,, praise,, whitaker knows what he’s doing,, mention of dr robby,, age gap,, older!reader,,
“oh- oh god, oh fuck. wow. wow-ah..” dennis gasped out softly, his voice raspy and hoarse, his cheek smushed against the pillow he was holding with a white knuckled grip. he was lying on his stomach, breath heavy.
this was only one of the many positions you have had him in already.
“tapping out yet?” you say breathlessly, your hands on his hips, just above his ass as you pulled your cock out, right before pushing it back in. dennis trembled and whined meekly, shaking his head as best as he could. “n—no, nuh uh..”
“...perfect, then.” you whisper, one hand sliding up his spine to grip the back of his neck. it was then that your pace sped up a little, thrusts more punctuated, brutal and sharp. “such a good boy. good boy, dennis.”
your quiet words earned another full body shiver with a high pitched keen, his back arching even if the action was stuttery. in all honesty, he was spent. tired. fucked out of his mind. sweaty to no end, muscles aching. but he couldn’t rid himself of the need to feel you, your cock, inside him.
pressing him harder into the mattress, you sit up to shift the angle, shoving your cock in deeper, coaxing even more throaty moans from the younger man underneath you.
dennis squirmed, turning his head to the side. his eyebrows were stitched together, eyes shut tight, lips parted. saliva was dribbling down his chin, onto the pillow as he kept making those pretty little whimpers and moans. “h-harder.. mmh!—” he managed, biting his lower lip when a more shrewd thrust made the tip of your cock brush against his prostate. not the first time that has happened tonight. but what a brat. he was asking for it harder when he had a puddle of drool on the pillow?
“no, dennis.” you respond, keeping your thrusts the same. it was difficult when his hole sucked you in and clenched around you like that. “you take what you get. you don’t ask for more. it’s disrespectful.” you say as you lean over his back, eyes boring into the back of his head.
“sorry.. sorry, i know. i just—ah—think you can do.. better. r-rougher.” he says innocently, looking at you from the corner of his half lidded eye. “..doctor robby cou—”
“don’t do that.” you cut him off flatly. “don’t bite the hand that feeds you. not gonna end well.” it pissed you off. the mention of doctor robby during your time. it made you just want to drill your cock so deep in him, to make him scream and cry. but that was exactly what he wanted. it was a trap and you very well knew it.
now it was even harder to resist the urge, the primal, feral need. shit. your free hand moved to his back, keeping him pressed against the bed. you were going to drag it out. make him take you slow and deep. mark him inside and out, rearrange his fucking guts and make him see stars.
SYNOPSIS: dean asked questions he should’ve kept to himself. and most importantly, he had been coy about it. idiot.
CHARACTER: older!male reader x dean winchester
NOTE: mmm, countertop sex.. part ²? yes? maybe yes.
WC: 0.5k
TAGS: age gap,, rough sex,, countertop sex,, kitchen sex,, bottom dean,, top reader,, anal,, unprotected sex,, light masochistic dean,, first time anal,, big dick reader,,
“o-oh, yea—mmff, fuck—” dean gasped out, a loopey grin spreading across his face.
have you ever had sex with a man?
“oh my fuckin’ go-ohd—” his fingers tightened around the edge of the marble countertop. your countertop.
what’s the youngest you’d go?
“mmh-mmm-ah shit!—” the back of dean’s head hit the marble, though he paid no mind to it. the pleasure was so intense that the pain didn’t even register.
what about a guy in his twenties? would ya shag him?
you still remember the grin on his face when he asked that.
“ghhh-sonovabitch..” his voice was higher pitched. slurred. broken, even. shirt bunched up to his chest. he shivered violently when your teeth just barely grazed his pulse point.
“god—fuck—please—” such a pleading tone. he was begging.
“please what?” you whisper, eyes flitting up to his face, fingers digging into the skin of his thighs like a brand, rough yet grounding. there. definitely not meaningless. “you wanted this. now take it.”
dean whimpered before a sob tore out from his throat, head thrashing around against the marmoreal stone, hips stuttering, cock twitching—untouched, leaking, aching. neglected. just barely rubbing up against your abdomen.
your pace fastened, not by a lot, but enough for dean to arch his back and struggle against your hold. his thighs quaked, legs hanging off of the counter, toes curled.
you were big. thicker than he anticipated. first time with a guy and he was already getting stretched to fucking oblivion. he felt full. it hurt, of course it did, but what was dean if not a masochist.
with a broken, loud moan, he willed his shaking body to meet your relentless, sharp thrusts. his ears were ringing and he could barely even hear himself, the only thing clearly audible was the sound of skin slapping against skin.
“you—you told me i could ask you- a-ah—anything..” he panted out, glossy eyes barely open as they locked onto yours.
“…and look where it got you.”
your response was simple, almost mocking. with a deliberate roll of your hips, you had dean’s eyes rolling into the back of his head, mouth falling open in a soundless gasp as he bared his neck.
the brutal drag of your cock inside him made his brain turn to mush. he clenched around you, involuntarily of course, just because his imagition was conjuring filthier images. he couldn’t help it. the thought of you fucking him whenever you wanted wherever you wanted? it practically made him salivate.
“dean.”
he keened. at the sound of his name on your lips, he fucking keened. desperately so, like he was just happy you were acknowledging him. and maybe he was.
“dean,” you repeated, moving a hand to pat his face before gripping his jaw. “eyes on me.”
oh you didn’t have to tell him twice. you had that quiet authority, one that made others do exactly what you asked with no need to reiterate. dean loved it. he craved it.
his hazy eyes locked onto your own.
“you with me, space cadet?”
always, he wanted to say. but he bit it back with a choked groan, in response only nodding his head, though the action was barely noticeable.
“say yes.”
“ngghhh—” his thighs tensed as you stopped your thrusts, his hole pulsating around you. “sorry—yes—fuhhcck… uuh-hh..” his pretty face was flushed pink, right from the tips of his ears down to his chest. and he glistened with sweat—how gorgeous.
those are all the male reader blogs i follow and frequently read 😈 unfortunately, i love rereading my own work (what did you expect with an ego like mine), so i don’t have a lot of blogs recs for you D:
SYNOPSIS: reader can’t resist the vampire urges when it comes to fucking dean
CHARACTER: vampire!male reader x dean winchester
NOTE: hi y’all... i lost the plot somewhere in the middle btw..
WC: 2.3k
WARNING: vampire!male reader,, blood,, sum feisty dean just cause,, unprotected sex,, porn without plot,, anal,, anal fingering,, praise,, enemies with benefits (?),, cocky!reader,,
small huffs left dean’s lips as his chest heaved, hands fisting in the sheets. his eyes, hazy and unfocused were locked on you, your mouth specifically. he shouldn’t have even gotten himself into this situation in the first place. a hookup with a vampire? it reeked of life-long trouble. damn it all, it was dangerous and he knew it very well.
“relax.” you told him simply, your hands sliding to the underside of dean’s thighs, pulling him closer to you. “not gonna turn you.” you grinned, shifting your face lower. “you can handle a little bite, though. yeah?”
dean took a moment to process what you had said. “what?” he spoke, swallowing hard right after, then, furrowing his eyebrows. “what the fuck is that s’posed to mean? hey.” his voice was firm but he was squirming. he propped his palms on the matress and sat up. he was only in his boxers so the sight was.. delicious, to say the least. you meant it in both ways, obviously.
your fingertips slid under the fabric of his underwear, gently rubbing his skin. “what do you think, smartass?”
“uh-uh. you ain’t feeding on me, you leech. that wasn’t what we talked about.” dean defended immediately, his blinking excessive. his skin was hot to the touch though. “you hear me, right? i ain’t gonna have your filthy fangs in my neck.”
“who said anything about your neck?” you look up at him, your fangs visible as you give him a toothy grin. it only made dean stammer as he shifted his hips, his eyes zeroing on your sharp teeth. “..what? where the hell are you gonna bite then?” he questioned, his voice slightly breathless, though you didn’t miss the frustration etched in his face.
“here.” your word was quiet, but serious. dean’s eyes widened imperceptibly, watching as your mouth just inched closer to his inner thigh. “can i?” the question was simple, however dean knew it wasn’t like that. it may have sounded like it, but it was definitely a request.
“are you crazy? you wanna fuckin’ bite my thigh? you have any idea what the fuck you’re asking of me?” dean questioned, his tone taking an offended edge, his fingers gripping the sheets despite himself. “please?” you mutter with a pointed look, mouth open, waiting for the cue to go.
dean sighed heavily, clicking his tongue. he was regretting his decision before even making it. he knew he couldn’t resist you. “just this once. try to bite me again and i gut you.” he flopped back down on the bed, bringing an arm up to sling over his eyes. he didn’t want to watch.
a small, sharp hiss left dean’s mouth and his body twitched on instinct as your fangs sank into his thigh, breaking the skin. “mm.” dean hummed, clenching his fists. he could feel you drinking his blood from his thigh. jesus. when did he get this unhinged?
you didn’t necessarily need to feed on dean because you weren’t that hungry. but hey, why the fuck not? getting a taste of dean’s blood just before you ruin him? now that was thrilling. you hummed appreciatively against the skin, closing your eyes as you felt his blood seep into your mouth, the liquid warm and syrupy sweet. it effortlessly slid down your throat, your hands kneading the flesh of the back of dean’s thighs.
he squirmed again, and started to do so more often, his body twitching at the uncomfortable and somewhat painful feeling of your teeth in his thigh. he managed to stay quiet though, spreading his legs wider to feel more relaxed.
dean let out a small grunt as you finally pulled away and sat up, keeping your hands where they were. he finally looked at you and he really wanted to cringe at the sight—your pupils wide, mouth bloody and the blood smudged across your face, your fangs still visible—but he couldn’t. you were so attractive to him that no matter what you did, he would never think it’s off-putting.
“weirdo.” dean grumbled out, his facial expression a scowl. he moved his face away as you leaned down to try and kiss him. “now that’s a hell no. no.” he insisted, his hands landing on your shoulders to keep you at a distance. “don’t you like the metallic taste of blood?” you grinned. “i personally do. it’s one of my favourites actually. i could drink that shit for life.”
dean made an annoyed sound but quickly got distracted by the feeling of blood trickling down his leg. “you damn motherfucker.” he said breathlessly with no real bite, attempting to look down to assess the damage you had done. he squirmed again when your palm pressed to the puncture wounds, squeezing his leg. “ey—” just as he said that, you captured his mouth in a kiss. long, deep, passionate. you felt dean’s hands moving against your body, but he made no actual move to push you away as he reluctantly melted into the kiss, just slightly though, because soon enough, he let out a pissed off grumble into it. you knew why—it was the taste. the thought of him being pissed because of that made you grin against his lips.
“you’re a great kisser.” you mention, trailing your lips downwards, pressing insistent kisses all over his torso. it makes dean want to writhe but he holds it back. “of course i am. why would you expect any less from me?” he answered, watching you intently, his face a grimace despite the heat pooling in his gut. “come on.” you bring a hand up to lightly slap his face a couple times. “lighten up, you look mad.” your voice comes out as a whisper as you trail the kisses back up. dean grunts, shifting his chest up into your kisses. “i am. you fed on me, from my thigh mind you, like a freak, and then you kissed me with that stupid blood all over your face.” he complained flatly.
“oh, yeah. and? makes it better. i like putting on a show.” you smirk as you kiss him again, pushing him flat down onto the bed. dean’s own reciprocation is sloppy, a half-groan slipping out without his permission. he did cut it off, but as your hands slipped under the waistband of his boxers and pushed them down, with the intent to take them off, dean gasped lowly. his reaction made you laugh. “oh? big ladies man stammers when getting his underwear taken off?” you tease. “be honest, do you fuck in the dark so your lady can’t see what you’re up to?”
“shut your mouth.” dean grumbled out, his hands now resting against the sides of your neck. he did, however, lifts his hips to assist you in discarding the piece of clothing. when the words “atta boy” left your lips, dean didn’t know if he wanted to just evaporate from plain sight or beat the shit out of you, so he just settled for flushing red, cheeks burning, though he did try his best to not let you see the results your words provided.
“open.”
“what?” dean questioned as he looked to your face, eyebrows furrowed.
“mouth. open.”
your words were simple. clear. dean watched as your hand inched closer to his mouth, and by some miracle he complied without protest or questions, parting his lips. an almost imperceptible noise left him as two of your fingers slid into his mouth, pressing against his tongue. dean knew how this went, he’s done it multiple times before. he never had it done to him though. maybe it was the need to show you how good he was in bed, or maybe he truly wanted to satisfy you because who would dean winchester be if his partner was left unsatisfied, needs not met and expectations not exceeded?
dean moved his left hand to your wrist, grasping lightly as he sucked on your digits, swirling his tongue around them, coating them in his saliva. he watched your face intently, the crease in his eyebrows still present. you raised your chin up a bit, licking your lips. in anticipation, maybe. “perfect.” you mutter, pulling your fingers out as bringing them down, between dean’s legs, nudging them open with your elbow. the hunter spread his legs a bit wider, looking down to watch your actions.
of course, you being you, you had to tease him a little. just to rile him up. your wet fingers traced the rim of his hole as dean shifted his hips up and away from your touch, though he quickly schooled himself and brought them back to their original position with a quiet wince. “dean.”
“what now?—”
his words are cut off by a kiss, once again, sloppy and messy. he relaxes for a moment before his whole body tenses as you push your fingers inside his hole. fuck, that kiss was a distraction. dean’s hips cant upwards, thighs clenching, hands descending to your chest, fingers digging into your skin with a low mewl. “you’re pretty. so so pretty, such a beautiful sight.” you breathe out with a grin, ducking your head to nip at the skin of his neck. dean threw his head back in response, baring his neck as if on instinct. “keep ‘em still.” you said, fangs grazing his pulse point. with a curl of your fingers, dean’s thighs threaten to close. they can’t, thankfully. you’re in-between them. “dean.” you use his name as a reminder.
”don’t- don’t order me around with your fingers up my ass. s’weird.” his voice was small, whiny even. he was breaking down and it was happening quick. with a twist of your wrist and another curl of your fingers, you got dean to keen and arch his back off of the bed. “good?” you mumbled, your mouth latching onto his pec. dean pursed his lips and then pulled them into a tight line, to keep the embarrassing, wanton sounds at bay as he scrunched his face up, shutting his eyes. eventually, he let out a breath he was holding, feet restlessly sliding back and forth, side to side and mussling up the sheets.
————————
“m-mm-m-m—” these little hums were what you got from dean as you fucked into him, your hands gripping the back of his thighs to keep him close. “come onnnnn,” you urged him with a breathless voice. “moan as loud as you want to. let me hear how good you feel, baby.”
a disgruntled sound left the hunter due to the pet name, as he turned his head to the side, pressing it into the pillow with continuous gasps, one hand on his chest, fingers clenched tight around his necklace, the other hand fisted in the sheets. his thighs trembled where you held them up, abdomen tense. he was sweaty, flushed from the tips of his ears down to his chest.
“ngh!—ah- fuck.. fuckin’ shi-i-itt..” he moaned, the noise like a melody, a soothing balm to your ears. the sound of your pelvis slapping against his ass was getting on your nerves, to be honest. you loved the way he his hole kept sucking you back in whenever you retracted your hips, lived for it, even. greedy little bastard. “mmh— m-motherfucker..” he groaned, voice low and raspy, barely coherent. dean’s whole body trembled and spasmed as you slid your hands down to his ass, gripping tight to pull him even closer, your cock deep inside, his hips now off the bed. both of his hands frantically moved up, fingers tightening on the edge of the headboard above him as a loud whimper escaped him. poor dean clenched his jaw so hard you swore you could hear his teeth grind together as he straightened his head, slamming it back into the pillow a couple times as your thrusts slowed down to the point where it was unbearable. he choked on your name, opening his eyes to look at you. with a satisfied groan, you guide his trembling hips to move in circles, before pulling him up a bit higher. you shifted the angle, which resulted in your cock hitting his prostate and oh—
“ghhh—god fucking damn it!” dean sobbed in a broken voice with a violent shudder, body twitching and tensing, trying to move away. you kept him in place though. ”uh-uh-uh. it’s okay, you can take it, big guy. you can take my cock like the good boy that you are, yeah?” you praised him mindlessly as you kept drilling into him with those deep, rough, unrelentless thrusts. dean was gasping for air as he sat up, wrapping his arms around your neck to hold onto you. you let him, of course, shifting to sit back on your heels as you just held him up, moving him on your cock. “ahaahahh..ah- oh- my god- oh f-uh-uck- fuckfuckfuckkk—”
dean’s leaking cock pressed against your abdomen as he clung to you like his life depended on it, trembling like a leaf in the wind as his fingernails pressed into your skin, raking them up involuntarily. whenever he fixed his hold, it happen over and over again. the sting of the scratches, his noises right in your ear, the lingering taste of his blood on your lips, his body against yours… it was all so fucking hot.
when your fangs grazed against his earlobe and you whispered some dirty nonsense against it, dean whimpered, pathetically so, thighs clamping down around your waist. “you’re in for a ride, dean. not getting away from this one so soon.”
the implication, the overwhelming feeling he was already getting drowned by made him cling to you even harder, if that was possible. dean’s sounds never came to an end, he didn’t even have a chance to close his mouth, the noises being so insistent, coming out unrestrained, like it was meant to happen. fuck.
