psychiatrist!geto is better to fantasize about than your selfish boyfriend | 18+
cw: mdni, porn with plot, mentions of masturbation, sly suguru, bro is NOT a good psychiatrist lmfao, shy reader at first, office sex, unprotected sex, cheating oops, 3.1k words, art by chuucho95 on x <3
Doctor Geto Suguru is the same age as you.
Yet the wall behind him is mounted with accolades that rivals veterans in his field.
The rain blurs the lights of the city into watercolor smears against the windows of the doctor's office. Inside, the room is silent, scented with sandalwood and the crisp smell of old books.
Psychiatrist visits inspire thoughts of padded rooms and grippy socks but you're not here due to a sickness of the mind and rather one of the body. One you're certain is going to migrate to your mind if it's not handled now.
See, you can't come. It's been an issue for a while now that's bothered you and you're tired of faking them with your boyfriend. You've decided to come here and see if it's owing to stress.
You lay on the leather chaise, the cool material grounding you as you recounted another week of feeling like a ghost in your own relationship. Another week of your boyfriend’s heavy, selfish touch that left you feeling used rather than wanted.
Dr. Geto sits in his chair, a notebook resting on his thigh, slender fingers curled around his fountain pen as he hums, scribbling down notes with intent nods as you speak.
His long, raven hair gathered loosely at the nape of his neck, trailing over the shoulder of his charcoal suit. He's a man of serpentine beauty—fluid, graceful, and deceptively large, his muscular frame filling the tailored fabric in a way that feels both protective and overwhelming. A few strands frame a face that is unnervingly kind.
“The guilt you feel regarding your own body, it’s a symptom of the neglect you’ve endured,” he says, his voice a low, soothing baritone. “You deserve to reclaim your pleasure.”
While his words aren't inherently lewd or explicit, you still squirm in your seat, unaccustomed to discussing such intimate topics with a man let alone a stranger. However, you're trying to get to the bottom of your rocky relationship with sex and how to resolve the unease you feel so this will have to do.
“How do I do that?”
“You have to touch yourself.”
Rearing back, you swear the corner of his mouth twitches in amusement at your appalled reaction. “I beg your pardon? Doctor, I can't do that. It's inappropriate.”
“Not here, Miss,” he clarifies and your face warms from jumping to conclusions. “Just from how you're reacting, I can deduce that you haven't indulged in self pleasure before. You don't know what you enjoy and have no autonomy over your body. Hence, you need to experiment and try out new things to figure out what pleases you and what does not.”
Nodding slowly, your hands twist the hem of your skirt as you absorb his words. The idea of masturbation feels shameful. You're not particularly religious but after growing up in a household where it was seen as a sin to be lustful, you still harbor such thoughts in your subconscious.
Lifting your shy gaze, you're stripped bare by his amethyst eyes scanning over your face, mentally jotting down every microexpression of discomfort that flickers across it.
Setting his notebook aside, the gentle smile he graces you with has your stomach flipping. It's startling how just that gesture has you relaxing, his presence easy to melt into, loosening your tongue.
“As your doctor, I want what's best for you,” he utters your name in that rich, mellow voice of his akin to a wife calling her husband and you perk up. “Please tell me if I'm overstepping your boundaries. I do not mean to be anything other than strictly professional.”
“Oh, no, no. You're fine. I was just taken aback is all,” you assure him with a shake of your head and an earnest smile.
Relief loosens the tension in his shoulders, his eyes softening. “Good, now shall we begin?”
“Yes, please,” that polite word has his irises swirling but you chalk it up to a trick of the light.
“Alright. Are you okay with following my instructions? There's this genre of audio erotica called guided masturbation which I recommend you look into but for professional purposes, I just want to ease you into it so you're not lost when you try it out, okay?”
Swallowing, you nod, shifting to get comfortable as you're laying on the plush couch. “Okay.”
“I want you to close your eyes and imagine your boyfriend touching you. You're in control, he's listening to you and eager to know what pleases you. Tell him how to touch you.”
Brows twitching, you want to tell him that this seems like an exercise for fitting for sex therapy but he'd already told you in your last session that he creates these activities based on the specific needs of his patients according to his observations and what he deems necessary.
“Where would you like him to start?” he asks in a quiet voice that wavers like you're suspended in a body of water, waves lapping at your bobbing body. “Your lips? Your neck? Your chest?”
Hand rising, you brush your fingers over your lips, eyes fluttering shut as they tingle. “My lips.”
“How do they feel against his ones?”
“Soft like petals.”
“How do you want him to kiss you?”
Tongue peeking out, you tentatively lick the pad of your finger, tasting salt. “With…tongue. I've never done that before. He's always refused.”
And perhaps that is why your brain cannot conjure the image of him kissing you. You've always had a vivid imagination but now his silhouette is distorted like the still surface of water disturbed by pebbles dropped into it.
“Does it feel good?”
“This is hard,” you admit, embarrassed.
“How so?”
“I can't picture him doing this.”
The psychiatrist goes silent for a few moments, the faint sound of traffic and the ticking of the clock on the wall all that fills your ears, amplified by your lack of sight.
“No worries, you can picture someone else. A teenage crush, maybe a celebrity you like. Many people fancy imagining their favourite characters too,” he offers simply.
Lips thinning, the daydream you're in darkens, slowly seeping away and your disappointment creeps in. “I can't. Maybe we should try another time—”
“If it’s too difficult to focus on him, imagine me.”
Scandalised by the suggestion, your eyes fly open, head whipping to the side to look at him, your imagination shattering like stained glass hit by a brick.
“Excuse me? That's hardly appropriate.”
“Am I a worse candidate than your boyfriend?” he questions and your eyes widen at the teasing lilt in his voice.
“Um, no. I just find it odd. Don't you?”
A smirk curls at the corner of his mouth. “I can assure you that I've had patients who've tried much worse than just picturing me in their fantasies, Miss.”
Heat licks at your cheeks. “Ah, okay.”
“You have my consent. Ready to continue?” he cocks his head and asks, sleek hair cascading down his shoulder like spilled ink.
Assuming your position again, you sigh, eyes sliding shut. “Yes.”
“Imagine my hands. Where do you want them while we're kissing?”
With your eyes closed, you followed his forbidden directive. Your hands slid over your ribs, trembling.
“Here,” you murmur, squeezing at your plush waist and skating palms up to the curve of your breasts that tighten. “And here.”
“Okay, let's start slow. We want to build up the tension, drag it out. There's no finish line to race to. Just feel.”
Obliging, you run your hands up and down your sides from your hips to your waist, groping and caressing. They're not your delicate fingers but his thick, long ones digging into your flesh over your clothes, grabbing greedy handfuls of you.
“Does that feel good? My hands gripping at you, feeling you up in fistfuls?”
The question trickles into your ears, your pulse melting into hot syrup that pools in your stomach and dips between your legs. An airy, needy sigh passes your lips.
“Great,” you breathe a dreamy sound, thighs rubbing together, skirt bunching up and you can feel the phantom of his deft fingers hooking into the hem to hike it up.
“Very good,” he praises, voice light and sweet like he's proud of you for being an active participant in this exercise. “Now on to your neck. My lips are grazing your skin there, what do you want from me?”
“Bite it,” you blurt instantly, brows knotting as your neck warms with the ghost of his teeth sinking into it, your pulse racing against the enamel as he sucks a flowering hickey into the blank canvas of your skin, hot, needling desire swirls in the pit of your stomach and sizzles against your clit.
The dream morphs into something lucid, him hovering over you, caging you with those bulky limbs, mouth latched onto your neck as your nails drag down the cotton of his shirt that's taut against his meaty pecs, the muscles flexing beneath your palms. The zwip, zwip, zwip of your clawing against the fabric, laddering it with how desperately you're scratching.
His gentle scent of lilies and something woodsy, the tan terrain of his skin, the dips and ridges of his sculpted form, sweat beading his skin, a devouring hunger in his eyes that scares you and arouses you at the same time because it's so visceral and yet he's holding himself back, willing to kneel at your feet and worship you.
You don't see your boyfriend’s indifferent face; you see Geto's broad shoulders and his dark, predatory gaze softened by that clinical smile as he tells you how good you're doing for him, kissing down your neck and unbuttoning your blouse, calling out your name as you moan in response.
“Miss [Name].”
No, that's actually him talking to you right now. A big, warm hand clasps your wrist and tugs, your eyes blinking open, vision blurred and slowly clearing as you look at him.
Tie askew, his hair is not as neat as it was before you shut your eyes and his cheeks are slightly red as he peers at you.
“Sorry for touching you without your permission but you were getting carried away there,” he apologises, glancing down at your chest and away.
Glancing down, you gasp as he lets go of your wrist as you see the lace of your bra on display. You'd been undoing the buttons of your blouse, skirt ridden up so far that one move would have your panties flashing him too.
Mortified, you spring up and he hands you the blanket beside him which you gratefully accept and cover yourself with. “I am so sorry. I didn't realise—”
“It's okay, just tell me that your imagination will work perfectly when you're exploring it yourself somewhere private,” he interjects with a reassuring smile, clearing his throat.
Clapping, he stands. “Well then, this session is over. We made good progress, I think. Get home safe,” he greets you with a nod, exiting to room to give you privacy to gather yourself.
The fantasy was a revelation. It makes the drive back to your apartment bearable; it makes the shower sessions a sanctuary where you’d slip your hand between your thighs and whisper your psychiatrist's name into the steam.
After all, there's no harm in practicing. It's make believe, it's not like you're cheating on your boyfriend. Everything is alright.
It's liberating, really. The realisation that you're not a broken woman. That you're not undesirable. Touching yourself becomes a self love ritual.
The shame that usually curdles in your stomach evaporates, replaced by a searing, liquid heat.
Weeks pass. Your boyfriend is the last thing on your mind. When he fucks you, his movements are still clumsy and selfish, but you simply close your eyes and summon Dr. Geto, hand slipping between your thighs to rub your clit and make yourself come.
You're glowing, revitalized, and Geto watches it all from behind his mahogany desk, taking meticulous notes on your psyche—and your scent.
For months, he had been the architect of your recovery. After your boyfriend had spent years treating your body like an inconvenient vessel for his own release, Geto had taught you that your pleasure was a sovereign right.
During your final session, the air in the room changed—charged, heavy with the scent of his expensive cologne and the sudden, sharp intent in his eyes.
“I’ve been observing your progress,” Geto muses, standing up. He moves with the grace of a panther on the prowl, stopping beside the chaise. “You’re smiling more. You’re distancing yourself from the man who doesn't deserve you. But there is a final stage to this therapy—one that addresses the psychosomatic tension you’re still carrying.”
The man reaches down, his large, warm hand cupping your cheek. The touch is electric. “Sit up.”
You obey, heart hammering against your ribs.
He clears the papers from his heavy mahogany desk with a single, slow sweep of his arm. “Your boyfriend treats sex as a conquest. I treat it as a necessity. Bend over, please.”
Fantasy is about to become reality.
Moments later, you're gripping the edge of the polished mahogany, the grain cool against your palms, as Geto comes up behind you. He takes his time as he lifts your skirt, his fingers tracing the line of your spine with agonizing slowness.
“This is the session I've been waiting for,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, his breath hot.
Skirt rolled up to your waist, he bares your ass to him and peels away your soaked panties, picking them up and inhaling your musky sweet scent deeply. It's dizzying, so addictive. He balls up the flimsy cloth and stuffs it into his pocket.
When he eases in, it isn't the clumsy, impatient shove you are used to. It's a slow, deliberate push. He's massive, a solid weight that filled the void your boyfriend had left behind. You let out a shattered cry, your forehead pressing into the desk.
“That's it, you're doing so well,” he growls, his hands catching your hips, his thumbs digging into your hipbones to hold you steady. One hand slides to your belly, pressing down on the bulge there as you whimper. “Feel me here? Feel how perfectly you fit against me."
The drag of his cock inside you is all-consuming. Every time he drives forward, his heavy weight presses you down into the desk, the glossy wood and the heat of his body creating a sensory overload. Each vein and ridge rubs back and forth inside you, tickling all those sweet spots inside you that have your head swimming, drool dribbling from your parted lips and moans spilling from you that you barely recognize.
"Your body isn't a burden," he whispers, his voice thickening as the friction built toward a fever pitch. "It is a temple, and I am its most dedicated servant. Tell me... does your boyfriend ever make you feel this seen?"
"No," you breathe sharply, vision dimming with heat. You're jelly, your senses dissolving into the scent of his cologne and soap.
"Then let him go," he grits, his grip tightening until his knuckles were white. "Forget his name."
Who?
He leans down, biting the sensitive skin where your shoulder meet your neck, his long hair falling like a curtain around you both. As he hits your deepest point, over and over, you feel the last remnants of your old life shatter.
"This is the only medicine you need," he hums, his voice breaking. "And I'll be sure to provide it whenever you want it."
You could feel the power in his thighs, the strength of his chest against your back as he presses his lips into the softness of your neck, cock sinking into you deeper and deeper with each smooth roll of his hips, the desperate drag of his body against yours nearly molding you two together as his cock carves a home for itself in your snug cunt.
“Fuck, do you know how good you feel? Sucking me in so greedily, fitting me like a glove. Your boyfriend barely left a mark,” he seethes, biting down on your shoulder as his lazy, savoring thrusts descend into something feral and harsh, grunts thrumming though your skin as the desk creaks and whines with you.
“Ah, Geto—”
“Suguru, baby. I'm your Suguru,” he mumbles in a drunken slur against the side of your face, lips smushed to your wet cheek, licking up the tears of pure bliss and relief that streak down your face.
“Suguru,” you gasp out and a long, drawn-out groan rumbles out of him, his abdomen bunching against your lower back as his hips smack against your plush ass, the flesh rippling.
“I’ve spent months learning every fracture in your psyche,” he rasps, his pace quickening, the sound of sweat-slick skin slapping skin echoing in the quiet office. “I know exactly where you’re broken. And I know exactly how to fill those spaces.”
He reaches around, his large fingers finding your aching clit, circling with a clinical precision that sends sparks crackling through your vision. You are far gone, your mind turning to white noise as he buries himself to the hilt, over and over.
Cupping your jaw, he turns your face so he can get a good look at you, half-lidded eyes dark and glistening with elation as he takes in your messy hair, smudged eyeliner, tears dotting your lashes and parted lips.
Ducking down, he licks a hot, wet stripe up your chin, slurping the drool there, tongue delving into your mouth and kissing you sloppy like you had fantasized about for months, hip thrusts stuttering from how sweet and buttery you taste.
“You’ve never looked better," he moans into your mouth, his voice thick with a dark, satisfied pride as he feels your pussy clench around him in a violent, weeping orgasm, drinking down your whimpers. “This is the only medicine you need from now on. I'll give it to you every time, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you mewl, incapable of saying anymore as you struggle to kiss him, legs quivering and cunt convulsing, drawing his orgasm forward, thick, creamy cum splattering inside your squelching walls.
You lay slump against the mahogany, breathless and gold-spun with afterglow. Suguru doesn't pull away immediately, buried deep within you, his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you together.
"Much better," he sighs, pressing a tender kiss to your shoulder, his kind smile returning to his face even as his eyes remained dark with a predatory satisfaction. "I think we’ve made excellent progress today."
Smiling deliriously, you're spent and shimmering, a patient finally cured by the most radical of treatments.
note: i doubt i did that blurb justice huhu but i wanted to write suguru
now that we're all comfortable with each other, can i just post something real unhinged real quick?
18+ content and also pretend age gap (is that a thing?) between consenting adults beyond this point
ryland who is only a bit older than you, barely enough to matter, really, but you like to pretend your age gap is larger than it actually is, just enough to make it feel a little illicit.
you play it up, act a little bit naive, like a sheltered young adult who hasn't had a lot, or any, sex before, and whose only real exposure to it before that has been porn and the highly exaggerated tales of peers. not exactly clueless, but innocent. easy to corrupt, to shape into his perfect little toy under the guise of just wanting to teach you how all of this really works.
if you really want to get under his skin, you call him a dirty old pervert while he's fucking you. you should really be with a guy your age, you know. he has sooo much power over you, it's not right, you're practically helpless, oh noooo. and he'll reply that he's sorry, he simply can't help himself around you. you just look so good with your lips wrapped around his cock. and you like it, don't you? guys your age just can't fuck you as well as he can. better you stay with him. he can take such good care of you.
ryland with an oral fixation has me in a chokehold. like he always has his mouth on your temple, the back of your hand, he absentmindedly bites your fingers when he's deep in thought
NSFW below the cut
He realizes that your nipples are so sensitive that you might be able to get off with them alone, so he spends an evening just licking and sucking and pulling and tweaking until he has you moaning and writhing under him. He's patient, waiting your body out instead of trying to rush anything. Your chest is covered in his drool, his warm breath rushing over the wet spots and making goosebumps rise.
A harsh bite and sharp tug make your hips roll, and you feel the slow build of your release heating up your core. Your whine is familiar to him, he knows you're close. He bites again and flicks his tongue over the tip of your nipple, nimble fingers pinching and pulling the other one until your back arches.
You come with a cry, gentle waves of pleasure rolling through your body. When you open your eyes, he's looking at you with an annoying mix of awe and smugness. "That's a crazy party trick," he mumbles, flattening his tongue and soothing over your sore bud.
He brings you a cold compress in a towel later because he feels bad about how swollen and raw your skin is from his mouth and beard
DOM!dean winchester who will make you dress all pretty to go out somewhere, yet get jealous and pissy when another man keeps his eyes on you longer than 2 seconds, but even that’s too long. he takes you to the restroom and rips your panties off, stuffing them in his pocket, claiming your lips in a crushing, demanding kiss. his hands squeeze and knead your ass like he was playing with dough, a guttural growl slipping from his lips into yours. he makes you know you’re his, and he doesn’t stop until the whole place knows his name from how loud you were screaming it.
DOM!dean winchester who holds a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans when you two have sex in the bed beside sam, muttering a "shh, sweetheart. you don’t wanna wake poor sammy up now, d’you?" in your ear before nipping at your neck. when you nod and look at him with those teary eyes, he’ll smirk and kiss your forehead softly, a stark contrast to his thrusts that were destroying your cunt. "good girl." if sam does awake when your in a compromising position, your face will flush and you’ll give him an apologetic smile, while dean would just smirk and tease that "you missed all the fun, brother."
DOM!dean winchester who had to be touching you at all times, whether it was a hand on your waist, on your thigh, his foot grazing yours under the table, or literally just his pinky intertwined with yours when walking the streets. sometimes it was possessive, like he was letting everyone know you already had a partner, but other times it was different. you think those times were him just making sure you were there and still by his side, that you weren’t gonna leave him alone. you always let him, allowed him to take the comfort he craved in any way.
DOM!dean winchester who never lets you pay for your own drinks, food, or anything else you desired, despite you insisting time and time again that you earned your own money and could pay for it yourself. did he listen? absolutely not. he’d always act like he was deaf when you’d tell him, looking around absentmindedly before cutting you off by talking about something completely off topic. you shake your head and let him yap away, occasionally chiming in, unable to fight the smile creeping it’s way onto your face.
DOM!dean winchester who will twist your hair into a ponytail and tug it back when he’s balls deep inside of your inner walls, taking you from behind, his free hand raising and landing a hard smack on your ass every few minutes. he loved the way you’d whine at his palm striking your cheek, panting like a bitch in heat while he drove into you, your hands digging into his shirt that your face was buried in. he liked to have his clothing shoved in your nose whenever you had sex, so that when whenever you moaned and took a deep breath for air, all you could smell was him. all of your senses were him.
DOM!dean winchester who has you on your knees beneath the table if your out having dinner at a restaurant, which usually only happened on anniversaries or special occasions, his cock buried in the warmth of your mouth, tip hitting deep in your throat. he may try to keep his noises down, but he can’t help the groans that left his lips when you’d whimper around his length, your hand fondling his balls. his hand is tangled in your hair and pushing your head down until your nose was against his trimmed hairs, a low curse coming from him when he spills his load down your throat and you swallow it all.
DOM!dean winchester who dishes out the best aftercare once he’s done rearranging your insides so they’re molded in the shape of his cock. he’ll grab a towel that he kept bedside for nights like these and wipe the mess from between your legs, throwing it in the hamper along with the bedsheets. once the sheets are changed and the bed is now clean, he’ll lay down and bring you into his arms, resting your head on his chest. his fingers draw lazy patterns on your sides as he whispers praises in your ear, kissing the top of your head: "did so good f’me, sweetheart", "love you so much", "my good girl, aren’t you?"
God, he looks so clueless in these gif (he clearly isn't). I need to fuck him and make him cum so many times that he just dazes out like this and can't even comprehend his surroundings..
I need this man to emp so bad it's not even funny anymore.
Like imagine his beard tickling and scratching you because of how hard and firm he is pressing his face against you.
growling and groaning against your cunt, making you think he really wants to eat you, like actually just take a little bite, because he really can't seem to get enough.
His grip on your shaking thighs is almost painful, keeping them still and spread wide for him.
Whenever you start to squirm, or even try to pull away from him because you're so overstimulated and can't seem to take it anymore, he'd tighten his grip on your thighs, before biting your clit, just a little, but enough to make you squeal and whine - to which he'd just respond by looking up at you with that warning expression on his face, his beard shiny and wet from your juices.
“We’re done when i fucking say so. Stop bitching or I'll do something that’ll really make you squeal.” he mutters, his tongue already halfway inside of you again.
He'd flick his tongue around your clit while looking up at you,grinning, making you keep eye contact with him.
And if you break it without him ‘allowing’ it, even if it's just for a second or two, because you physically can't take it, he'd just keep you on the edge til you're a crying and whining little mess underneath him. Begging and apologising to just let you cum now.
But he wont, he'd just mock you, make fun of you for begging like the little bitch you are, while continuing to turn you into a drooling, brainless doll.
feeling so needy when jack is working his shift and you call him while playing with yourself so you can cum to his voice :((
18+ mdni cw: daddy kink
“baby? everything okay?” jack calls you back, unable to pick up on the first ring because of incoming trauma, but he always finds a second to step outside—away from the chaos—to call you back.
you’ve got your hand in your panties, rubbing your clit slowly, been edging yourself now for a while, needing to wait to cum by the sound of his voice. “yeah—“ you say breathlessly, “everything’s okay!”
he notices the hitch in your voice, can hear the way you’re moving around on the other line, and his body heats up, cock immediately stirring as he’s on his shift. “baby… what are you doing?”
you whimper, “i’m sorry—just had to wait to hear your voice, jackie. i know it’s bad, you’re at work…” he hums lowly, “you been waitin’ for me to answer so that you could cum, baby? that it?”
you sigh, “yes—please, jack. i need you.” he turns around, gripping himself through his pants a bit as he lets out a low, “fuck.” moving your fingers faster at the sound of his voice and breathing, you feel yourself getting closer. he knows you’re almost there by the sounds of your whining, he can almost see you—back arched, legs bent and open, eyes closed and mouth slight agape… fuck.
“go ahead, baby, come for daddy—come on. gotta go back to work.”
you cry out, strings of moans coming out of his phone as he smiles, “there you go, what a good girl. callin’ her daddy for permission to cum.” you come down from your high, giving him a shy, “thank you,” as he clicks his tongue, “i’ll be home to take care of you soon, doll.” <333
ben does the absolute most to not give you any sort of gratification now, forcing you to go the extra mile just to get even the tiniest little kiss from him. he’ll force you to let him hit you, let him lick you in places you really wish he wouldn’t, let him use whatever objects he pleases to stretch you out for him, and his latest feat? leaving you tied up in the bed with a vibrator on max while he leaves.
you don’t even get the relief of a gag, something nice and hard to bite on as you squirm and writhe beneath the discomfort of an object that won’t stop unless you tell it to. the worst part is he doesn’t even have the remote. he left it on the night stand, just out of your reach. you can see it in your line of vision yet you can’t move to get it. your arms are wrapped under your knees in a fetal position, wrists and ankles tied up tightly with zip ties to the point they’ve become numb from poor blood circulation.
the vibrator between your legs feels like nothing now. it’s an uncomfortable, ticklish pleasure but nothing more than that.
you’ve become accustomed to this feeling, a floaty high of endorphins and overstimulation at your clit. you’ve even managed to fall in and out of consciousness a few times. what a relief.
you also don’t know how long it’s been. he purposely keeps the blinds and curtains shut and the big lights on so you don’t know. there’s not a single clock in sight. nothing to tell you whether it’s the next morning or just late afternoon.
when the door finally does open, you barely hear it beneath your own shaky, labored breaths.
“christ, i forgot you were still here.” are the first words to come out of his mouth. you whine softly, twisting your head up and blinking at him wearily. he kind of makes a surprised face, lips curving up into a smile. “you’re awake still? baby, it’s three in the damn morning.”
that doesn’t really register. you don’t even remember when you first got pushed onto the bed and all wrapped up in plastic. your eyes flutter shut again as he walks around the bed, grabbing the little remote and switching it off to your relief. the bed creaks under your body and dips from his weight.
his hands are all over you, moving you closer and fiddling with the zip ties until they rip apart. “been sitting here for, like, twelve hours. new record, y’know that?” he murmurs, tossing the plastic rings and ripping off the ones at your ankles. “i almost forgot about you. you were so quiet, all tuckered out f’me.”
his hand reaches between your legs and pulls the vibrator out of your legs. it’s disgustingly sticky with sweat and your cum. he doesn’t comment on it, but you can tell he’s happy. you groan, flexing your wrists and feet and undoing your unnatural posture. “really? twelve?” you ask softly, looking up at him. “yeah. let me look.” he spreads your legs open, fingers sliding to your core and spreading you open. he inspects you like some fucked-up doctor, the edge of his nail scraping against your swollen clit until you’re squirming.
“oh, i know. must hurt so bad.” he brings his hand back up, tilting your head back and capturing you in a sweet kiss. honestly, that’s better than any orgasm you could ever have. “did so good. you deserve something nice later, alright?” he coos, brushing your hair out of your face. a big smile crosses your face, lips wobbling excitedly. “really? you’re not just fibbing again, are you?”
“fibbing? where the fuck do you live, europe?” he scoffs. running his palm against his beard. “later i’ll let you go somewhere nice, yeah?” you nod again. “just go shower and come back to bed.”
Stealing boyfriend!Grace's fox cardigan to wear around the house when he comes over, and pouting when he asks for it back. He's more amused than annoyed, tilting his head down to look at you over his glasses. "Don't you have your own sweaters lying around here somewhere?"
You cross your arms. "They don't smell like you."
"Baby, at this rate I'm not going to have any clothes left."
You sigh. "Fine," you say, letting the front of the sweater hang open to reveal that you are very much naked underneath. You plaster on a bored expression to hide your glee at the way his eyes nearly pop out of his head. "Guess I'll have to go put on something else," you call back to him as turn to walk away, letting the oversized sleeves slip off your shoulders.
"No, that's—you don't have to put on—" He scrambles to get up off the couch. "Wait—"
Anyways. You are very obviously not making it to the bedroom. Does he fuck you in the cardigan:
A) on the kitchen counter (your arms around his neck, his hand on your lower back to steady you as he thrusts into you relentlessly, trying to kiss but its so sloppy and open-mouthed and desperate that you're basically just moaning into each others' mouths. after he comes, he immediately drops to his knees to lick it out of you)
B) on the couch (you riding, him sucking on your nipples like his life depends on it, his fingers digging into your hips as you slowly grind against him. you find the perfect angle that lets the tip of his cock kiss your g-spot while also dragging his pubic bone against your clit, and when you clench around him he lets out a whimper that you feel all the way down to your toes)
C) on the floor (prone, one hand fisted in your hair as he presses your face into the carpet, his mouth hot on your ear whispering the filthiest things as he pounds into you. when you try to kiss him, he pulls back just out of reach, laughing when you whine, before pulling your hips up just enough to let him wrap an arm around to get at your clit as he fucks you deeper than you thought possible)
⠀ 𓊆 ♰ 𓊇 ⠀⠀ ∿ ⠀⠀ older ! 𝒅̲𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 and his freaked out girlfriend
⌗ ⠀ dean winchester ⠀ ✗ ⠀𝒇 ! reader .⠀ ⠀ㅤ𓂅⠀ ⠀suggestive ༝ established relationship ༝ food play ? ༝ reader is horny ༝ implied sub / switch ! dean winchester ༝ no age gap mentioned ༝ older ! dean ( between s9 and 15 ) ✴︎ 𝒎𝓲𝗻𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁 .
⠀ 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 !
OO1 ⠀ ⠀ 𐂂 ⠀⠀˖⠀ ⠀everyone thought that dean would be the one to be insufferable . . . and they were wrong . you were actually way worse than him when it came to any physical interaction between the two of you .
OO2 ⠀ ⠀ 𐂂 ⠀⠀˖⠀ ⠀if you guys happened to be at a bar you’d most likely end up kissing him at some point in the night . tongue and all . sam stopped complaining and just minded his business , already choosing another table for him to crash and enjoy his beer far away from you guys freaky selves .
OO3 ⠀ ⠀ 𐂂 ⠀⠀˖⠀ ⠀you ’ re the one to propose role play in the bedroom and who the fuck is he to say no ?
“ i really think it’d be nice to be slapped by a cow girl during sex … ”
OO4 ⠀ ⠀ 𐂂 ⠀⠀˖⠀ ⠀ and you did give him a few smacks , mushy tip kissing your cervix while you bounced happily on his dick with nothing on except for the cowboy boots . he was the happiest man alive
“ you think we could make a sex tape ? ” you once asked out of the blue. “ what , you mean amateur porn or sex tape sex tape ? ”
OO4 ⠀ ⠀ 𐂂 ⠀⠀˖⠀ ⠀next thing you know , dean had his personal camera in one hand as he thrusted you from behind . skin rippling at the smacks he gave to you ass . ++ he secretly jerked off to the few tapes you filmed whenever he or you were away
OO5 ⠀ ⠀ 𐂂 ⠀⠀˖⠀ ⠀HEAVY on that costume kink !! you give him bedroom eyes whenever he shows up in his cheap costumes .. tbf you thinks he’s sexy in any costume and you guys always end up fucking in random places
OO6 ⠀ ⠀ 𐂂 ⠀⠀˖⠀ ⠀big in semi - public too btw . . . it’s that bad . dean swears you’re insane but still lets you give him a blow job behind his car in the empty parking lot in front of the motel .
OO7 ⠀ ⠀ 𐂂 ⠀⠀˖⠀ ⠀you’re also the one who proposed to put music on during sex and dean insisted on choosing his personal playlist . so whenever he was down on his knees with his thumbs spreading your folds and tongue lapping at your pussy thoroughly , enter sandman or some other classic rock music would blast through his speakers
OO8 ⠀ ⠀ 𐂂 ⠀⠀˖⠀ ⠀you secretly wanna peg him but you left him some hints here and there for him to catch on . . . he’s so dense he never caught them until he saw your search history—there was a link to an online boutique selling sex toys and he saw a strap-on in your wish list .
OO9 ⠀ ⠀ 𐂂 ⠀⠀˖⠀ ⠀whenever you’re on top ( which is almost all the time ) you lean down to bite his nipples and that always surprises both of you every time a very raunchy grunts leave his lips
"fictional" incest supporters pulling out the victim card and acting like you've shot their puppy right in front of them after calling them out on their utter and absolute bullshit. WHO is surprised, be honest.
ryland who will tell you to use your words while he’s fucking you, his pace painfully close to what you want yet not nearly enough, but when you open your mouth to talk he shoves his fingers in.
he’s sweetly condescending, voice breathy, “hm? what’d you say sweetheart?” as he leans a little closer, tilting his head to the side like he’s waiting for you to whisper it to him. you can feel the pads of his fingers pressing slightly onto your tongue.
when you try to speak again he just pushes them a little deeper, making you gage slightly around his digits as the rough pads of his fingers press down on your tongue. you’re drooling around them, lips closing when he speaks again, his words and the slight whine to his voice making your head dizzy. “hah—sorry, angel. i don’t think I can give you what you want if you won’t tell me.”
