𐔌 𑣲 ೀ ⁺˖ 18 years old. goofy, dark and sweet content. ᧔♡᧓ ო𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 coming soon. thank you for over 100 followers. 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦. some of my favorite fandoms are really my hero academia but you will find a bit of 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆. original works. gay shit. i will write male reader or my favorite same gender ships, whether its requested or im doing it for my own clit rubbing pleasure. 𝐡𝐚𝐰𝐤𝐬' 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐛𝐢'𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐮𝐭. black smeared lipstick. i am a huge dark romance, smutty type with a love for over 250~ characters. 𝐀𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍. i have alot of drafts so somedays i'll be super active then maybe two or three days pass and I'm dead. 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝜗𝜚 ‧₊ ꒱
The room was quiet, swallowed by a heavy, humid dimness that smelled faintly of ozone, old dust, and the dry, smoky heat radiating from Dabi’s bare skin. Hawks was completely off the floor, his legs locked tightly around Dabi’s waist, clingy and desperate in a way he would never admit to when the sun was up.
The contrast between them was almost ridiculous.
Dabi was shirtless, his scarred, stapled chest burning hot against the crisp, pristine fabric of the maid outfit Hawks had been coaxed into wearing.
The tight, corset-style bodice of the dress hugged Hawks’s lean waist, the white lacing strained, while the short, ruffled skirt and its puffy layers of white crinoline bunched up uselessly between their hips.
High on Hawks's throat, the separate ruffled collar twitched with every frantic breath he took, the tiny black ribbon bow resting right over his racing pulse. "You're shaking, Birdie," Dabi murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. His large, rough hands were hooked firmly under Hawks’s thighs, supporting his weight with effortless, grounding strength.
His thumbs dug through the soft ruffles of the skirt, pressing directly into the warm skin beneath.
Hawks didn't answer.
He couldn't.
His crimson wings were a complete, chaotic mess behind him—the back of the dress was wide open to accommodate them, and right now, the feathers were heavily ruffled, puffing out and trembling in erratic, agitated waves that betrayed exactly how undone he was.
Reaching out, Hawks's hands—framed by the dramatic, detached black bell sleeves hanging from his forearms—cupped Dabi’s face.
His palms pressed gently against the cool, scarred patches of Dabi's cheeks, his fingers sliding into the dark, messy hair at his temples. He held Dabi like an anchor, pulling him down with a sudden, quiet desperation.
When their lips met, the contact was bruising.
It was a messy, high-friction collision of teeth and heat, born from a mutual, silent agreement to drown out everything outside this room. Hawks squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers tightening in Dabi's hair as the kiss deepened, turning thick and demanding. Then, Dabi parted his lips, and their tongues slid together.
A sharp, helpless whimper broke from the back of Hawks’s throat, a tiny, trembling sound of utter surrender.
The friction of the touch sent a visible shockwave straight through his wings, the crimson feathers flaring wide before shivering and collapsing inward, draping over them both like a heavy, protective blanket. Any remaining pretense of control, of the "mission," of who they were supposed to be to each other, completely dissolved.
Hawks melted.
His entire body went heavy and compliant in Dabi’s unyielding grip, his forehead pressing against Dabi’s temple as he let himself be entirely consumed by the scorching, desperate heat.
The friction of their chests was a scorching, solid weight, and with every ragged breath Hawks took, the tight lace of his corset strained against Dabi’s bare skin.
Dabi’s grip on Hawks’s thighs tightened, his blunt fingernails dragging up the sensitive skin of Hawks's inner thighs, pushing the ruffled layers of the white petticoat completely out of the way. He lifted Hawks just an inch higher against the wall, aligning them perfectly.
When Dabi slowly, relentlessly slid himself inside, Hawks’s eyes blown wide. He let out a breathless, choked gasp that was immediately swallowed as Dabi captured his mouth again.
There was no thrusting, no frantic movement—just the agonizing, overwhelming sensation of being filled completely. Dabi let Hawks's weight settle back down, letting gravity do the work until they were flushed tight.
"Just like that, Birdie," Dabi growled against his lips, his breath hot and smelling of smoke. "Hold it right there. Keep me warm."
Hawks’s fingers clawed desperately into the muscles of Dabi’s shoulders, his nails leaving faint red marks on the unscarred skin.
His legs locked even tighter around Dabi’s waist, ankles crossing behind Dabi's back to clamp himself down onto him. The sheer fullness of it made Hawks’s head roll back, his throat arching as he trembled from the inside out.
Every tiny, involuntary twitch of Hawks’s internal muscles squeezed Dabi tightly, drawing out low, dark groans from the taller man.
Hawks was completely stretched open, stuffed full and melting around him, his body adjusting to the thick, burning heat stretching him to his absolute limit.
"D-Dabi..." Hawks whined, his voice incredibly small, a desperate, broken sound. He began to rock his hips in a instinctive, pleading tilt, desperate for some kind of friction, but Dabi’s heavy hands clamped down hard on his hips, pinning him completely still.
"No moving," Dabi whispered, his dark blue eyes burning with a sadistic, heated intensity as he stared down at Hawks’s flushed, tear-stained face. "Just sit on it. Let me feel how tight you wrap around me when you're completely still."
Hawks whimpered, a high-pitched, pathetic sound of pure ruin.
He couldn't help the way his body shivered, his crimson wings flaring wide behind him, the feathers rustling in violent, erratic waves as they brushed against the walls of the dim room.
His inner muscles clamped down in a rhythmic, desperate squeeze, trying to coax a movement out of Dabi, but Dabi only grunted, his grip bruisingly tight on Hawks’s hips as he forced them to remain locked together, completely motionless and agonizingly full.
tags. deliveryboy!suna x fem!reader<. drabble, modern au, nsfw, heavy teasing, suggestive themes, suna is a menace, smooth talker, lowercase.
the rain was absolutely relentless, drumming a steady, irritating beat against your apartment window as you stood frozen in the entryway.
on the small table by the door sat a grease-stained cardboard box, radiating a faint, lukewarm heat. standing right in the threshold was the delivery boy, dripping wet, looking completely and utterly miserable.
he wore a oversized, rain-soaked windbreaker with the pizza shop's logo fading across the chest.
his dark hair was damp, clumping together and framing a face that was the literal definition of deadpan. rintarō looked like he would rather be anywhere else in the world than standing on your welcome mat at nine o'clock on a stormy friday night.
his sharp, fox-like eyes were half-lidded, staring down at his digital receipt tablet with a lazy, exhausted posture.
"that'll be eighteen fifty," he droned, his voice flat, completely devoid of any customer service enthusiasm.
your stomach dropped.
your hands immediately went to your pockets, finding absolutely nothing.
panic set in as your eyes scanned the messy living room behind you—your purse was upstairs, your wallet was locked in your car, and your phone app was completely glitching out.
you had a grand total of zero dollars within arm's reach.
an awkward silence stretched between you, heavy and thick, save for the sound of the storm outside.
rintarō didn't move an inch.
he just blinked slowly, waiting, his expression perfectly blank as if he was entirely used to people wasting his time.
wishing you could just disappear into the floorboards, a sudden wave of nervous, chaotic energy took over.
you let out a weak, sheepish laugh, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you looked from the lukewarm pizza box up to his damp, unbothered face.
"so . . . funny story," you started, giving him a playfully tragic look. "i don't actually have my wallet on me. can i pay for my food another way . . . ?"
it was a total joke.
a stupid, desperate attempt to break the agonizing tension before you begged him to hold the food while you ran out to your car in the pouring rain.
but the reaction you got was immediate.
the heavy, sleepy glaze over rintarō's eyes vanished in an instant.
his head tilted slightly to the side, his gaze sharpening as it locked dead onto yours.
the miserable, tired delivery boy persona dropped completely, replaced by a slow, incredibly lazy smirk that crept onto his lips.
he quietly leaned one shoulder against your doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest as those fox-like eyes slowly tracked over your face, suddenly looking very awake.
"another way, huh?" rintarō murmured, his tone dropping into a smooth, low drawl that sent an immediate flush straight to your cheeks.
he tapped his fingers against his arm, his smirk widening just a fraction when he noticed how flustered you instantly became. "i'm listening. what exactly did you have in mind?"
two hours had completely blurred together, the heavy downpour outside now nothing more than white noise against the loud, sticky heat trapped within the confines of your bedroom.
the room smelled faintly of rain and slick, the discarded pizza box downstairs long forgotten.
rintarō was panting heavily, his chest heaving under you as you straddled his lap.
his dark hair was a messy, sweat-dampened disaster against the pillows, his usually pale cheeks flushed a deep, breathless crimson.
after four rounds of relentless, messy orgasms, his stamina was completely spent, yet those sharp, hooded eyes still tracked your every movement with an intoxicating, possessive focus.
your movements were driven by a desperate, messy urgency, your hips sinking down to ride him over and over again as you chased another peak. you were completely unraveled, your fingers digging tightly into his shoulders for leverage as you set a frantic pace.
every single friction of your bodies created loud, creamy squelches, the wet, relentless sounds filling the quiet bedroom.
"fuck," rintarō choked out, a low, ragged groan tearing from his throat as your tight heat squeezed him perfectly.
his pale, slight veiny hands gripped your hips with sudden, bruising force, his thumbs digging into your skin to anchor you.
he couldn't even manage his usual smug commentary anymore; he was completely at your mercy, his hips instinctively hitching upward to meet your desperate, dripping thrusts as you both rapidly approached the edge once more.
︵ ೀ tags. jester!gojo x princess!reader. fanfic, fake dating vibes, royal au, arranged marriage au, teasing, mild angst, satoru is an absolute menace, slow burn, secret romance.
the royal banquet hall was suffocating.
the heavy scent of roasted meats and expensive wine did nothing to clear the tension in the air, nor did the monotonous drone of the prince sitting beside you. he was perfectly proper, perfectly boring, and entirely oblivious to the fact that you were staring blankly at your gold-rimmed plate just to avoid looking at him.
the corset of your dress laced tight, keeping your posture flawlessly rigid as the prince spoke at length about his kingdom's trade routes.
your hands rested in your lap, fingers lightly trailing over the intricate lace and jeweled draping of your skirt.
every curl of your hair was pinned back in perfect, elegant ringlets, crowned by a delicate pearl headband that suddenly felt far too heavy.
"and so, my lady, the northern ports would provide quite the advantage to your father's court," the prince continued, his voice flat enough to put the entire high table to sleep. "i trust you find the arrangement suitable?"
before you could force out a polite, empty response, a sudden, dramatic clash of brass cymbals echoed through the hall, completely cutting the prince off.
from the shadows near the grand pillars, a tall, sprawling figure stepped into the torchlight with entirely too much theatrical flair.
satoru wore a striking dark purple and black harlequin patterned jester outfit, tailored with sharp gold trim and diamonds that fit his massive frame with a strangely regal edge.
his fluffy, messy white hair stood out in bright contrast against the dark fabric of his heavy jester hat.
with a fluid, teasing grin, satoru reached up and casually pushed his large jester hat to the back of his head, letting it hang loosely against his snowy locks as he looked directly at the high table.
the action fully exposed his face, and it was utterly breathtaking.
his sharp, half-lidded eyes were an impossible, piercing sky-blue, framed by long, snowy white eyelashes. along his lower waterlines, a faint, dusty pink flush made the vivid blue of his irises pop even more dangerously.
painted over his right eye was a deep red heart extending past his brow and down his cheekbone, paired with a tiny matching beauty-mark heart beneath it.
over his left eye, a sharp, dramatic black diamond stretched into a clean point, mimicking a stylized, dark tear dripping down his pale skin. his lips remained entirely bare—soft, naturally plush, and parted in a wicked smile.
he pranced closer to the high table, catching a stray apple tossed from a silver bowl and juggling it effortlessly between his black-gloved hands.
"oh, dear prince! do forgive the interruption," satoru loudly chimed, his voice dripping with mock innocence. he paused his juggling, catching the fruit and tilting his head as his striking eyes locked onto the suitor.
with an agonizingly slow, deliberate motion, he lowered one white-lashed eyelid, throwing a massive, mocking wink right at the prince's face.
"but i couldn't help but notice the princess looks quite pale. are you sure you aren't boring her to death? because i hear boredom is a highly contagious disease in the north!"
a few courtiers stifled sharp gasps.
your father frowned from the center throne, but satoru merely laughed, a light, melodic sound that sent a familiar shiver down your spine.
the prince stiffened, his face flushing an angry crimson as he adjusted his stiff collar with a sneer. "mind your tongue, fool. we are discussing serious matters of state."
"matters of state! how thrilling," satoru gasped.
he bypassed the guards entirely, his massive stature allowing him to effortlessly lean right over the high back of your chair.
he was so close you could smell the faint scent of sweet candy and crisp winter air clinging to him.
his head tilted down, those breathtaking, painted blue eyes fixing entirely on you as he whispered, just loud enough for only you and the trembling prince to hear, "personally, i think the princess would look much better in a crown that doesn't come with such a dull, dreary conversation partner."
he gave you a tiny, private twitch of his lips, his soft bare mouth curving as he waited to see if his perfect little princess would finally break her royal composure and smile.
eighteen year old sweetheart. my fanfics and original work will make you cherish these letters as if they were your own heart, 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 ִ ׄ𖹭 ֶָ֢ these love letters is where you will find my 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 .
hawks' slut , dabi's whore .
the weeknd :: chris brown :: tate mcrae :: ariana grande :: chase atlantic :: don toliver :: melanie martinez :: doja cat :: lil tecca :: sarbina carpenter :: quavo :: saweetie :: latto :: megan thee stallion :: tory lanez :: rihanna :: bludnymph :: flo milli :: nicki minaj :: sailorr :: ashnikko :: kali uchis :: 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 <𝟑 .ᐟ
⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⌗ 𑣲⋆ 𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃
♡ masterlist coming soon .
— dividers by ♡ @designlikenonsense ♡ @uzmacchiato ♡
I hate how I keep changing my aesthetic . makes me lose motivation when I feel like I have to constantly restart my entire blog to make everything fit and compliment the entirety of my account .
eighteen year old sweetheart. my fanfics and original work will make you cherish these letters as if they were your own heart, 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 ִ ׄ𖹭 ֶָ֢ these love letters is where you will find my 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 .
hawks' slut , dabi's whore .
the weeknd :: chris brown :: tate mcrae :: ariana grande :: chase atlantic :: don toliver :: melanie martinez :: doja cat :: lil tecca :: sarbina carpenter :: quavo :: saweetie :: latto :: megan thee stallion :: tory lanez :: rihanna :: bludnymph :: flo milli :: nicki minaj :: sailorr :: ashnikko :: kali uchis :: 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 <𝟑 .ᐟ
⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⌗ 𑣲⋆ 𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃
♡ masterlist coming soon .
— dividers by ♡ @designlikenonsense ♡ @uzmacchiato ♡
꒰ ♡ synopsis ꒱ :: The soft patter of rain against your bedroom window pane provides the perfect cover for a secret relationship meant to be kept entirely in the dark. Clad in a delicate black satin babydoll—the sheer mesh draping over your skin while the plush, dark fur trim brushes softly against your thighs—you are pinned to your own sheets while Dabi is already deep in the middle of working on your ink. You wanted something delicate to contrast your soft aesthetic: a pair of dark, bold coquette bows etched permanently right under the curve of your glutes. What you didn't expect was the suffocating, raw tension as his lean, heavily scarred hands slide the sheer mesh out of the way to drag the needle across your skin. From the searing heat of his initial stencil placement to the trembling overstimulation of his live needle work, the quiet hum of the machine soon gives way to an intense, high-friction descent. Marked, ruined, and forced to watch the entire masterpiece unfold in your vanity mirror.
꒰ ♡ word count ꒱ :: ~3.5k
꒰ ♡ warnings ꒱ :: NSFW :: established relationship :: secret relationship :: bedroom setting :: lingerie (black satin/sheer mesh babydoll) :: smut :: tattoo artist dabi :: reader x dabi :: non-quirk au :: soft rain setting :: dark atmosphere :: thigh tattoo :: coquette bows :: rough oral (female receiving) :: face riding :: clit torture :: material worship :: high friction :: deep penetration :: rough sex :: light praise :: mirror work :: overstimulation ::
The bedroom was swallowed by a heavy, suffocating darkness, illuminated only by the harsh, concentrated beam of the ring light bolted to the edge of your nightstand.
Outside, a soft, relentless rain patted against the window pane, a rhythmic backdrop that felt entirely too quiet against the low, steady buzz vibrating through your mattress.
The room smelled thick and heavy—a sharp, sterile sting of green soap and metallic ink clashing violently with the faint, stagnant trace of cigarette smoke clinging to the worn leather jacket tossed over your desk chair.
You were pinned flat on your stomach, the plush fabric of your duvet bunched uselessly beneath your chest. Every breath you took felt shallow, trapped entirely under the weight of his unpolished, grit-laden presence looming directly over your lower body.
You were completely exposed to him, dressed only in a delicate black satin babydoll.
The sheer mesh top clung tightly to your back, the thin fabric doing nothing to shield you from the cool air of the room, while a single dark ribbon bow rested right over your chest, twitching with the uneven stutter of your heart.
Dabi didn’t say a word.
He didn’t need to.
He lounged casually across your sheets, one heavy, denim-clad leg bent over yours to anchor your hips firmly against the mattress, keeping your door locked and your secret safe from the rest of the world.
His lean hands—mapped with a chaotic network of rough, old burn scars and pale medical tape wrapping around his knuckles—moved with a slow, agonizingly precise deliberation. His skin was intensely hot where it pressed into you, the heat of his scarred palms contrasting sharply against the cool glaze of the stencil fluid drying on your skin.
With a lazy, practiced motion, his long fingers gathered the sheer, dark mesh of your babydoll, slowly dragging the fabric upward until the plush, dark fur trim was bunched past your hips, leaving the bare, sensitive skin on the backs of your thighs completely bared to him.
"Stop squirming," Dabi rasped, his voice a low, gravelly drawl that cut right through the mechanical hum of his portable tattoo kit.
He didn't wait for a response.
His lean, scarred fingers spread wide, bracing firmly against your hip while his long, calloused thumb smoothed down your flesh, pressing heavily right under the curve of your glutes to pull your skin perfectly taut. The sheer friction of his rough palm against your bare skin left a trailing, electric heat that made your thighs tremble before the needle even touched you. He leaned in a fraction closer, his chest nearly brushing your back, bringing with him the suffocating aura of absolute control.
Then, the pitch of the machine shifted, whining sharply as he brought the live needle down.
A sharp, searing sting tore through the hyper-sensitive skin right under your cheek, so raw and intense that your breath instantly caught in your throat.
Your fingers instinctively bunched into the fabric of your pillows, your knuckles turning white as you buried your face down to muffle the breathless gasp that threatened to rip from your lips.
The physical sensation was immense, a heavy, driving friction that felt less like an aesthetic addition and more like a permanent, agonizing branding on your skin.
Dabi noticed the exact moment your muscles locked up.
He didn't pull the machine away; instead, he let out a low, rough chuckle that vibrated deep in his chest, the sound dark and entirely unbothered by your pain. He dragged the needle with an unhurried, ruthless precision, etching the bold, dark lines of the first coquette bow directly into your flesh.
"Hurts right there, doesn't it, doll?" he murmured against your ear, his breath hot and smelling faintly of mint and smoke.
He deliberately wiped away a streak of excess black ink and blood with a rough strip of gauze, his touch heavy yet calculated. He looked down at the stark, dark lines cutting into your soft skin, his bright turquoise eyes darkening with a heavy, possessive lust as he watched your lower body shiver under his hands.
"You're shaking like a leaf," he growled affectionately, his lean, scarred hand pressing harder into your hip to keep you pinned flush against the mattress. He dragged the machine down for another long, agonizing pull, the burning sting stretching your endurance to the absolute limit. "But you're staying nice and still for me. Such a good girl."
The praise was light, but the dominance behind it was total, completely possessing your space and leaving you entirely at the mercy of his lean, scarred hands.
The abrupt silence in the bedroom was sudden and jarring as the tattoo machine finally clicked off. The rhythmic buzz that had vibrated through your bones for hours died completely, leaving only the sound of your own ragged, uneven breathing and the soft, steady patter of rain against the window.
The skin right beneath the curve of your glutes was on fire, radiating a deep, angry heat that made your entire lower body tremble against the mattress.
Dabi didn’t give you a single second to recover.
With a sharp, plastic snap, he unceremoniously stripped the black latex gloves from his lean hands and tossed them onto the metal tray. His scarred, bare fingers were intensely hot as they immediately clamped around your waist, digging deep into your soft hips.
With a low, effortless grunt, he dragged your body backward across the sheets, pulling you down to the very foot of the bed.
"Look up," he commanded, his gravelly voice slicing through the dark atmosphere.
He didn't wait for you to comply.
His fingers tangled in your hair, lifting your head just enough to force your gaze toward the full-length vanity mirror standing directly at the foot of the mattress. The view in the glass was dizzying, a stark and heavy contrast. Pinned under his dark, unpolished frame, you were completely exposed.
The delicate black satin cups of your babydoll were crushed against the sheets, while the sheer mesh draped over your trembling lower back.
Right beneath your cheeks, the fresh, bold ink of the twin coquette bows stood out vividly—etched in deep, flawless black against your heavily flushed, raw skin. They matched the dark satin details of your lingerie with a twisted perfection, branding you completely.
"Look at what I did to you, doll," Dabi murmured, his bright turquoise eyes locking onto your reflection in the glass, dark with a heavy, possessive lust. "Fucking beautiful. Marked up exactly how you belong."
Before you could even process the sight of his work, Dabi shifted.
He stepped down from the mattress, kneeling on the floor right between your spread thighs, his lean shoulders framing your view.
His lean, scarred hands gripped the backs of your knees, pushing your legs wide apart until your center was completely open to him in the mirror.
"Come here," he rasped, knocking his knuckles against the edge of the mattress. "Ride my face. Right now."
The demand left no room for hesitation.
Trembling, your skin burning from the fresh ink, you dragged yourself forward to the very edge of the bed, positioning your core directly over his face.
As you hovered over him, the sheer mesh of your babydoll fell forward, draping softly over his heavily scarred cheeks, while the dark, fluffy fur trim brushed against his collarbones.
Dabi didn't close his eyes; he kept his burning turquoise gaze locked onto yours through the mirror as he leaned in, his hot breath hitting your slick skin a split second before his mouth made contact.
He started with a rough, unhurried ruthlessness.
His tongue was heavy and calloused, parting your folds with a deliberate, grinding friction that made your hips instantly jerk.
Dabi caught your thighs, his lean fingers clamping down to steady you as he used his lips and teeth to nip at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, driving a sharp, electric spike of pleasure straight to your core.
The rhythm was relentless and heavy, a slow, deep lapping that sucked your moisture in with a wet, echoing sound that filled the quiet bedroom.
"Ah... Dabi, please," you gasped, your fingers clawing at the edge of the mattress as the overstimulation began to claw at your mind.
He didn't answer with words.
Instead, the dynamic shifted into pure, agonizing clit torture.
Dabi’s lean hands locked onto your hips like vices, pinning you down ruthlessly against his mouth so you couldn't pull away or back down from the intensity. He buried his face entirely into your heat, focusing the raw, heavy friction of his tongue directly onto your hyper-sensitive clit.
He began to suck, a deep, relentless draw that pulled your center completely into his mouth right through the sheer fabric of your matching thong.
The wet friction of the mesh rubbing against your clit under the pressure of his mouth was completely overwhelming, a sharp, agonizingly good torture that had you thrashing against his grip.
When he finally hooked his long, lean finger under the thin strap and pulled it completely aside, his bare tongue made direct contact with a heavy, ruthless flick.
You screamed his name into the dark room, your head tossing back as your vision blurred. In the vanity mirror, the sight was entirely unhinged—you were forced to watch your own body completely unravel, your hips ticking and bucking helplessly against his mouth while the fresh coquette bows on your raw thighs twitched violently with every desperate shudder of your pelvis.
Dabi held you there through the peak, his tongue working with a brutal, unyielding pace, forcing you to take every single ounce of the stimulation until you completely broke, shattering into a screaming, trembling climax that left you sobbing, entirely spent, and dripping heavily onto his face and your own ruined sheets.
Dabi finally pulled back, a low, ragged hiss escaping his teeth.
His face was entirely slick, glistening with your heat in the dim ring light, and his bright turquoise eyes had gone completely dark, blown out with an unhinged, burning lust that looked almost feral. He didn't give you a moment to breathe or pull away from the edge of the mattress. Standing up fully, his lean frame casting a massive, dominant shadow over your trembling form, he unzipped his heavy jeans with a sharp, metallic tug and freed his hard, unyielding length.
Before you could slide back into the safety of the dark sheets, his long, lean fingers clamped down on your ankles.
With a sudden, possessive jerk, he hooked your legs straight up over his broad shoulders, tilting your pelvis back and upward at a devastating angle.
He anchored you completely, pinning one lean, heavily scarred palm flat against your lower back, pressing down right over the soaked, sheer mesh fabric of your babydoll top to lock your hips into place. He didn't offer a slow buildup, nor did he ask for permission. Bracing himself, Dabi leaned over your spread thighs and buried his entire length straight inside you from behind with one deep, devastating plunge.
A breathless, choked shriek tore from your throat, your fingers instantly clawing at the bunched-up duvet as your inner walls slammed down tightly around his thick, invading width.
The sheer intensity of the entry was monumental, stretching you completely to your limit while the fresh ink right beneath your glutes throbbed with a searing, hot agony that blurred seamlessly into raw pleasure.
"Fucking hell," Dabi choked out, his voice dropping into a fractured, unpolished growl as his chest slammed flush against your sheer, mesh-covered back. His knuckles turned white where he pinned your lower back, his entire lean body locking up for a fraction of a second as he absorbed the tight, pulsing wetness of your core holding him captive. "Look at you. Look in the glass, doll."
He began to move, hitting a heavy, merciless pace that shook the frame of your bed. The rhythm was completely unrefined and loud—the heavy, wet friction of his pelvis pounding ruthlessly against your backside echoing in the quiet bedroom alongside the soft, steady patter of the rain outside.
In the reflection of your vanity mirror, the dim light caught the absolute chaos of the movement.
You were forced to watch the raw, unhinged sight of his lean, heavily scarred body taking yours with an aggressive, downward drive. With every single hard, bruising thrust of his pelvis, the fresh, bold black coquette bows on your raw thighs twitched and rippled in the glass, a permanent mark of his possession warping with the motion. The sheer mesh of your top and the dark, fluffy fur trim rippled and shook violently with the impact, framing your ruined state in a display of pure, dark material worship.
"Watch it," Dabi rasped into the crook of your neck, his teeth nipping hard at your skin, leaving sharp stings that matched the driving pace of his hips. "Watch exactly how I'm ruining you on your own bed."
Your vision swam with tears of absolute overstimulation, your mind entirely fractured by the overwhelming dual friction.
While his thick length dragged heavily inside you, his other hand reached around to the front, his calloused, ink-stained fingers finding your swollen clit and grinding against it with a heavy, ruthless pressure. The combination of his deep penetration and the rough friction of his fingers against your front sent a violent, inescapable wave of heat straight to your chest.
You thrashed against his grip, your head slamming back against his shoulder as your climax rushed toward you like a tidal wave. Dabi felt the sudden, frantic tightening of your walls, his turquoise eyes widening in the mirror as his own control shattered completely.
With a low, gutter-born growl, he drove himself forward one final, monumental time, burying his length completely to the root until your hips were crushed immovably against his lower belly.
He locked himself deep inside your pulsing core, his body going rigid as his cock pulsed violently against your cervix.
He flooded you with a massive, scalding release, the heat of it filling you entirely as you shattered into your final, screaming peak.
In the mirror, you watched his lean fingers dig into your skin, anchoring both of you together in a heavy, sweating exhaustion that sealed your secret bond right into the ruined sheets.
The heavy, suffocating silence after your mutual collapse didn't last.
The angry heat from the fresh ink on your thighs was still throbbing, matching the erratic, desperate beat of your heart against the mattress, but Dabi was already moving.
He didn't pull out.
He stayed buried deep inside your pulsing core, letting you feel the precise moment his length thickened and hardened right back up inside you, completely unbothered by how spent you were.
"You thought you were done, doll?" he rasped against your ear, his voice dropping into an even darker, rougher register that sent a shiver straight down your spine. "We’re just getting started."
Before you could even squeeze a gasp out, his lean, scarred hands locked onto your waist with a brutal, bruising grip.
With a sudden, unpolished heave, he flipped you completely over onto your back.
The transition was chaotic; your legs were forced wide, the delicate black satin and sheer mesh of your babydoll bunching messily around your waist, the dark fur trim tangled against your skin as he pinned you flat beneath his weight.
He didn't give your overstimulated body a single second to adjust to the change in position.
Dabi gripped your thighs, shoving your knees back toward your chest until your pelvis was tilted up, completely open and vulnerable beneath him.
His turquoise eyes burned down into yours, dark with an unhinged, insatiable lust as he aligned himself and drove straight back in with a hard, devastating thrust that bottomed out completely against your cervix.
You shrieked against the mattress, your hands flying up to grip his lean, scarred forearms as the sudden, deep penetration tore right through your lingering sensitivity. This round was entirely different—it was fast, unrefined, and incredibly rough.
Dabi didn't anchor himself this time; he used his entire momentum to hammer into you, his pelvis slamming against yours with a loud, wet, echoing rhythm that completely drowned out the soft patter of the rain outside. He was ruthless, his lean body driving a relentless, high-friction pace that had you tossing your head back, your heels digging desperately into the mattress as you tried to survive the sheer force of his movements.
"Look at me," he growled, his hand snapping up to clamp around your jaw, forcing your tear-blurred gaze to lock onto his face. His features were tight, glistening with sweat and your own heat, his teeth bared in a feral grin. "Look at how good you take it. Fucking ruined for me."
He began to mix his brutal pacing with a agonizingly deep grind, his calloused, ink-stained thumb pressing heavily against your clit with every single downward thrust.
The dual friction was a total assault on your senses—the burning, raw ache of your fresh coquette bow tattoos, the deep, bruising stretch of his cock filling you to the absolute limit, and the sharp, electric sparks of his fingers punishing your front.
Your mind fractured completely.
You were sobbing his name, your hips ticking and lifting off the sheets involuntarily, completely helpless as he ruthlessly chased his own release.
The pace became chaotic, the mattress shaking violently as Dabi threw his entire weight into the final, punishing drives, completely claiming your bedroom sanctuary for the second time.
The raw, bruising pace of the first extra round had barely slowed before Dabi was dragging you right back to the edge of the abyss.
You were completely breathless, your chest heaving against the mattress, your inner walls still spasming around him in a tight, desperate attempt to recover. But Dabi didn't give you the luxury of a break.
His length was already thick, rigid, and burning hot inside you, his unhinged stamina turning the dark, rain-slicked bedroom into a relentless trap.
"Still too soft," he panted, his breath dragging heavily over your wet skin.
His turquoise eyes were entirely dark, fixed on your thoroughly wrecked state with a heavy, unpolished hunger. "I told you, doll. I'm marking you until you can't think of anything else."
With a sudden, rough shift, he didn't even pull out before hauling you off the flat of your back.
He yanked you upward, forcing you onto your hands and knees in a sharp, sudden doggy-style position right at the absolute center of the bed.
The transition made you gasp, your slick thighs trembling violently as the raw, angry heat of the fresh coquette bow tattoos throbbed in protest against the movement.
The delicate black satin and sheer mesh of your babydoll draped messily over your lower back, the dark faux fur trim brushing against his scarred shins as he loomed over you from behind.
Dabi didn’t waste a single heartbeat.
He leaned his entire weight forward, pinning your chest flat down against the pillows while his lean, scarred hands clamped hard onto your waist, digging his fingers deep into your hips to lock your pelvis high in the air.
He drove back in with a brutal, unrefined surge.
The angle was devastatingly deep, his thick length bottoming out completely against your cervix with a heavy, wet impact that sent a sharp shockwave of pure pleasure straight to your core.
A broken, high-pitched sob ripped from your throat, your fingers clawing desperately into the mattress sheets as he immediately unlocked a chaotic, relentless pace.
This final round was pure, high-friction escalation.
Dabi hammered into you from behind with a ruthless, animalistic rhythm, the loud, unpolished sound of his pelvis slamming against your backside echoing sharply over the soft patter of the rain outside.
He was unyielding, his lean body throwing everything into every single downward plunge, stretching your overstimulated walls to the absolute limit.
"Look at the mirror," he growled in your ear, his voice fractured, a low, gutter-born command as he reached around to grip your jaw, forcing your head to turn toward your reflection. "Watch it. Watch how those bows move when I'm breaking you open."
Through tear-blurred vision, you were forced to watch the entire chaotic masterpiece in the vanity glass.
Your body was bucking helplessly under his heavy momentum, the sheer mesh top and dark fur trim rippling violently with every single hard, crushing thrust of his pelvis.
Every time he buried himself to the root, the fresh black bows on your flushed thighs twitched and stretched in the reflection—a permanent, undeniable visual of his total possession.
The overstimulation was agonizingly complete.
To push you entirely over the edge, his calloused, ink-stained thumb found your swollen clit from behind, grinding down on it with a heavy, unhurried friction that matched the brutal drive of his hips.
Your mind shattered.
You couldn't even form words, your voice reduced to breathless, broken cries as your core clamped down around him in a tight, violent vice. Sensing your final collapse, Dabi let out a rough, guttural roar against your neck, his teeth sinking hard into your shoulder as he delivered three final, devastating drives.
He buried himself completely, locking his hips immovably against yours as he flooded you with a final, scalding release—marking his canvas, ruining your bed, and sealing your secret bond in the deepest, darkest surrender possible.
The constant, rhythmic buzz of the tattoo machine was the only sound cutting through the low grunge music drifting from the studio speakers.
Dabi sat leaned forward on his low stool, the heavy, sharp scent of sterile alcohol and ink mixing with the faint trace of cigarette smoke clinging to his black hoodie.
His long, calloused fingers—mapped with rough, old burn scars and pale medical tape wrapping around his knuckles—braced firmly against the back of your thigh, holding your soft skin perfectly steady.
He was finishing up the fine shading on the pair of dark, bold coquette bows, carefully etching the twin ribbon designs designs directly underneath the curve of your glutes so they lined up perfectly on the back of each leg.
Every time the needle hit the hyper-sensitive skin on the back of your thigh, your breath caught, your fingers instinctively digging into the leather edge of the bench.
Dabi noticed the exact shallow dip of your chest.
He didn't pull the machine away; instead, he let out a low, gravelly chuckle that vibrated deep in his chest. His heavy, hooded gaze flicked up from the dark, heavy lines of the ribbon tails he was pulling, his bright turquoise eyes locking directly onto your flushed face over his shoulder.
"Hurts right under the cheeks, doesn't it, doll?" he murmured, his voice a lazy, raspy drawl as he deliberately wiped away the excess black ink with a strip of gauze, his touch surprisingly careful despite his unpolished, rough appearance.
He leaned in a fraction closer, a smug, dangerous little smirk playing on his lips as he admired how the dark bows framed your legs.
"You're shaking. But you're staying nice and still for me. Such a good girl."
"I'm fine," you whimpered out, trying to reclaim your composure under the weight of his suffocating focus.
"Sure you are," Dabi chuckled softly, his thumb tracing a slow line right over the edge of the freshly finished bow. His scarred palm smoothed over your bare skin, leaving a trailing, electric heat that made you shiver more than the needle ever could.
"Just a few more lines left on the left loop. Look right at me while I finish it up. Don't look away."
dividers by :: @strangergraphics .
this is more of a short but if u want a full fanfiction... ask baby.
♡ synopsis :: It was supposed to be a quiet, detached escape from the crushing weight of the Port Mafia—just a heavy haze, low music, and the slow burn of smoke filling the dimly lit room. But when Dazai is high, the carefully constructed walls around his mind don't just crack; they completely dissolve. Spaced out, lazy, and dangerously unraveled, his focus narrows entirely onto your soft, trembling frame. You’re so easily startled, a wide-eyed little deer caught in his dark orbit, but he has no intention of letting you run. He traps you in the center of the mattress, his touch slow, heavy, and intensely possessive as the chemical delirium takes over. In a slow-motion blur of sensory overload, he uses your soft cries and pure innocence to anchor himself to reality, dragging you under the waves of his haze until you're completely ruined for anyone else.
♡ word count :: ~ 5,500
♡ warnings :: NSFW :: hazy sex :: high sex :: bsd dazai :: protective dazai :: possessive osamu :: bambi reader :: praise kink :: crying during sex :: sensory overload :: heavy dirty talk :: slow pace :: bedroom sex :: body worship :: marking :: overstimulation creampie :: multi-round :: lazy grinding :: breathy groans :: tracking marks :: desperate praise ::
The thick, heavy smell of sweet, herbal smoke hangs suspended in the stagnant air of the bedroom, catching the dim, fractured slivers of moonlight filtering through the heavy velvet drapes.
The room is a sanctuary of absolute shadow and rich, dark tones—the sprawling bed draped in rumpled, midnight-black velvet sheets that seem to swallow what little light remains. On the center of the mattress, Dazai is completely unraveled, a man utterly untethered from the crushing, violent gravity of his reality.
He is lying flat on his back, his long, lanky frame stretched out with a dangerous, boneless lack of coordination.
His black dress trousers are unbuckled at the waist, and his dark silk shirt is completely unbuttoned down the front, the fabric spilling away from his sharp shoulders to expose the stark, pale expanse of his chest. The signature bandages that usually wrap tightly around his torso and neck are partially unraveled, trailing across the dark velvet like discarded ribbons.
Dazai is completely spaced out, staring blankly up at the ceiling with heavy, half-lidded eyes.
His right arm is lifted slightly, long fingers drifting through the heavy, fragrant air as he traces lazy, uncoordinated patterns in the floating smoke rings, completely detached from the world around him.
You stand just inside the threshold of the room, your soft, hesitant presence radiating a pure, easily startled energy that contrasts violently with the suffocating darkness of his space.
Your fingers twitch against the hem of your soft clothing, your wide, curious eyes tracking the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his bare chest. You take a single, tentative step forward, the faint rustle of your bare feet against the floorboards cutting through the absolute quiet of the bedroom.
The subtle sound breaks through his chemical delirium.
Dazai's drifting hand freezes mid-air.
Slowly, almost painfully so, his head lolls to the side against the pillows. His dark, dilated gaze snaps directly onto you.
Under the influence of the haze, his dark brown pupils are blown out so wide that his eyes look almost entirely black, completely stripped of their usual sharp, calculating corporate veneer.
For a long, breathless moment, he just stares at you through the smoke, as if trying to determine whether your soft frame is a vivid hallucination or a tangible reality.
A slow, lazy, entirely unpolished smile spreads across his lips—a look that is fiercely possessive and dangerous.
"Ah... look at you," Dazai rasps, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly vibration that rolls over your skin like a physical touch, heavy with a substance-induced slur. "My sweet, quiet little deer... wandering straight into the dark. Come here."
You hesitate, your heart jumping into your throat as your soft personality makes you want to step back from the raw, feral hunger radiating from his gaze. But before you can even think of retreating, Dazai’s long arm shoots out with a sudden, surprisingly fast sweep.
His hot hand hooks firmly around your wrist, his long fingers anchoring deep into your flesh with an unyielding, iron-clad grip.
With a low, breathless grunt, he yanks your arm down into his space.
You let out a soft, startled whimper as your balance completely shatters, your body falling forward onto the mattress.
Before you can even attempt to push yourself up, Dazai shifts his physical weight, rolling his broad, lean frame directly over yours.
With a heavy, suffocating lurch, he pins you flat against the center of the dark velvet sheets, trapping your soft, trembling body completely beneath the burning expanse of his torso.
The sheer contrast is electrifying.
His long limbs trapping you entirely, his heavy chest flattening your breasts as he settles his lower belly firmly against your thighs.
He is completely unpolished and lazy, his movements heavy and uncoordinated, yet there is an absolute, commanding authority to the way he uses his physical bulk to render you completely immobile.
"You're shaking, sweetheart," Dazai murmurs against your cheek, his hot, smoke-scented breath scalding your skin as his face buries into the side of your neck. He lets out a deep, animalistic groan, inhaling sharply to drink in your clean, natural scent, completely unhinging himself over how soft and innocent you feel beneath him. "So soft... so easily frightened. It makes me want to tear you apart just to see how much you'll cry for me."
He begins a relentless, slow-motion assault of heavy, lazy touch.
His palms move frantically yet sluggishly over your body, dragging up from your waist to smooth over your bare ribs, his fingers digging deep into your skin with a needy, bruising pressure that makes you violently shiver against the sheets.
He doesn't have his usual elegant restraint; the chemical haze has stripped him down to his most primal, possessive instincts.
His mouth slides down your jawline, his lips wet and heavy as he presses a succession of slow, bruising open-mouthed kisses along your throat, deliberately tracing the frantic, rapid beating of your pulse. You let out a soft, stuttery gasp, your fingers flying up to grip the open edges of his black silk shirt, your nails digging into the tense, rigid muscles of his shoulders as his blistering heat begins to completely melt your soft composure.
Hearing your breathy vocalization breaks the final shred of his detachment.
Dazai groans deeply straight into your ear, his hands traveling up your spine until his fingers wind tightly into the hair at the nape of your neck.
He doesn't pull roughly enough to hurt your sensitive skin, but his grip is absolute—a light, dominant hair pulling that forces your head back, exposing the long, flushed line of your throat to his dark, dilated gaze.
"Look at me," he gasps out, his breathing a rapid, panting hum as he stares down at your parted, trembling lips. His thumbs press hard into your jawline, tilting your face up entirely to his whim as the smoke continues to swirl around the bed. "Wide eyes, completely trapped under my weight... you’re mine tonight, baby. You don't get to run from the me."
The heavy, sweet smoke hangs thick over the midnight-black velvet, trapping the two of you in a private, suffocating pocket of the dark bedroom.
Dazai is hovering directly above you, his lean, lanky frame bearing down with a heavy, boneless pressure that forces every bit of air from your lungs.
As you lie there, pinned flat beneath him, your wide, frightened eyes track the messy way his black silk shirt spills completely open.
Your breath hitches as your soft, observant nature catches a subtle shift in the shadows. The pale gauze bandages wrapped around his lean forearms are sliding downward, loosened by his sluggish, uncoordinated movements.
Beneath the fraying white fabric, a series of fresh, raw red cuts peek through—sharp, angry lines sliced into his skin from a recent night of violent reality. It is a striking, devastating reminder of the dark, bleeding underworld he rules when he isn't lost in this substance-induced delirium.
Dazai notices the exact moment your focus shifts.
A low, raspy whimper catches in his throat, and his dark, completely dilated pupils narrow tightly onto your wide eyes.
Instead of pulling away or hiding the damage, the chemical haze in his mind turns the moment entirely feral.
"Don't look away from me, baby," he whispers, his voice dropping into a gravelly, slurred vibration that brushes heavily against your lips. He lets out a soft, breathy growl, his lean, long fingers locking firmly around your wrists and pinning them flat into the velvet pillows. "You see how ruined I am? You see what the outside world does to me? But you... you’re so soft. So fucking clean and innocent. It makes me want to corrupt every single inch of you."
He is completely unhinged by the stark contrast between your fragile, easily startled personality and the violent, blood-soaked reality of the Port Mafia. He wants to drag you straight into his darkness, to stain your pure innocence with his heavy, unpolished touch.
Slowly, with an agonizing, lazy pace, Dazai begins to strip away your soft clothing.
His touch is light yet completely dominant, his long, slender fingers trembling slightly against your skin as he hooks into the fabric, sliding it down your body with a needy, possessive insistence. He handles you like a fragile prize—something precious he has stolen from the light and has absolutely no intention of giving back.
"Ah... look at you," he moans softly, the sound deep and completely unrefined as your bare skin is exposed to the cool air of the bedroom. His eyes trail down your body, drinking in the sight of your trembling frame under the stylized shadows of the room. "So beautiful. So wide-eyed and scared for me. You’re shaking so bad, sweetheart. Do I scare you that much?"
"Osamu," you whimper out, your soft voice breaking into a high, stuttery sob as your hips instinctively try to twist away from the intense, focused heat of his gaze.
"Stay still for me," he commands, letting out another low, dominant growl that instantly freezes your muscles against the mattress. He shifts his lean hips, slotting himself perfectly between your thighs to pin you wide open beneath his weight. "You don't get to move away from me. You're my good girl, aren't you? You're going to stay right here and let me mark what's mine."
He leans down, his face burying directly into the soft crook of your neck.
Dazai completely surrenders to the sensory overload of your warmth and your clean, natural scent, his breathing turning into a rapid, panicked pant.
He begins a slow, merciless assault on your skin, using deep, open-mouthed bites along your neck and your prominent collarbones. He doesn't rush; he sinks his teeth down with a deliberate, agonizing pressure, letting out soft, needy moans into your skin as he leaves dark, bruising tracking marks across your chest. The pain is sharp and sudden, making you let out a series of breathy, startled cries, but he immediately follows every bite with the wet, hot slide of his tongue, soothing the wound while firmly cementing his brand on your body.
"You taste so fucking sweet," he whispers against your wet skin, his long fingers trailing up your spine to wind tightly into the hair at the nape of your neck. He pulls back just enough to force your head back, his grip unyielding and dominant as he forces you to look up into his dark, substance-hazy gaze. "Look at how pretty your neck looks when it’s ruined with my marks. The whole world wants to tear me apart, baby, but tonight... you belong entirely to me. You’re my favorite little distraction."
The heavy dirty talk and desperate praise hit your soft nervous system like a physical shockwave.
You are completely overwhelmed by the pure, unyielding dominance radiating from his lean frame.
Your fingers fly up to grip the open edges of his black silk shirt, your nails digging into the tense, wire-tight muscles of his shoulders as his blistering heat begins to completely melt your composure.
"Please, Osamu... it's too much," you sob out, your head thrashing side to side against the dark velvet sheets, your wide eyes swimming with hot, helpless tears from the intense overstimulation.
"It’s not enough," he growls softly, his lips pressing a hard, wet kiss directly into the center of your throat, tracing the frantic, rapid beating of your pulse. He lets out a low, breathy whimper, his lean pelvis grinding forward in a heavy, lazy circle that drags his rigid length firmly against your hyper-sensitive core. "I want you completely unraveled before I even touch you. I want those pretty eyes crying my name until the smoke completely clears."
He shoves his mouth down onto yours, breaking your lips open in a deep, sloppy kiss that tastes heavily of herbal smoke and his raw, desperate need for your focus.
He moans directly into your mouth, his tongue driving deep, mimicking the heavy, ruthless pace he is about to inflict on your soft body as the bedroom turns into a den of pure, breathless heat.
The thick, intoxicating haze of the herbal smoke continues to pool over the midnight-black velvet, trapping the room in a slow-motion blur.
Dazai breaks the deep, sloppy kiss with a breathy, slurred groan, his lips glistening and his dark, blown-out pupils fixed entirely on your flushed, trembling face. He is completely unbothered by speed, his chemical delirium stripping away any sense of urgency as he drinks in your wide-eyed, helpless expression.
With a lazy, heavy shift of his lanky frame, he begins to slide down your body. The cool fabric of his unbuttoned black silk shirt drags slowly against your bare skin, his loose, fraying bandages brushing across your stomach like a phantom touch. He drops his head lower and lower until he is kneeling perfectly between your parted thighs, his sharp chin resting right against your soft inner skin.
You let out a soft, panicked gasp, your hips instinctively twitching to close the distance, but Dazai lets out a low, warning growl that vibrates heavily against your flesh.
"Don't you dare close your legs for me, baby," he whispers, his voice dropping into a raspy, dominant slurr. His long, slender fingers reach up, wrapping around the curve of your hips in a sudden, white-knuckled grip. Despite his lazy, boneless posture, his fingers anchor deep into your skin with a bruising, unyielding pressure, pinning your pelvis flat into the dark mattress. "You stay right here. Look at how wide open you are. So pure... but you’re already soaking wet for me, aren't you?"
He doesn't wait for an answer.
He buries his face directly into your soaking, hyper-sensitive heat, his tongue moving with an agonizingly slow, calculated precision designed to completely shatter your soft composure.
Dazai works with an unhurried, flat pressure, dragging the broad muscle of his tongue upward from the very base of your slit.
He licks through your clear, glistening lubrication with an agonizingly slow tempo, forcing your sensitive pink folds open.
The sheer weight and heat of his tongue makes your whole body violently shudder, every nerve ending between your thighs immediately catching fire from the intense, focused friction.
He tracks the exact line of your seam until he hits your swelling, hyper-sensitive clit. But right when you think he is going to press down and give you the relief you are starving for, he stops.
He merely brushes the very tip of his wet tongue against your bud, letting out a hot, teasing breath that makes a high, breathy whimper explode from your throat.
"Osamu—please," you sob out, your hands flying down to grip his unbuttoned shirt, your nails digging deep into the dark silk as your hips try to buck upward against his mouth. Hot, helpless tears begin to spill from your wide eyes, tracking down your cheeks into the velvet pillows from the sheer overstimulation.
"Not yet, my sweet little deer," he moans softly against your wet skin, a deep, lazy chuckle vibrating directly into your core. He completely ignores your breathless tears and whimpers, his white-knuckled grip on your hips tightening until you are locked completely immobile beneath his mouth. "I say when you get to break. Look at you, crying so beautifully for me. I haven't even slid inside you yet, and you’re already begging."
He plunges his tongue back in, deeper this time, using a slow, drilling motion that stretches your tight opening wide.
He swirls his tongue deep inside you, gathering your sweet, sticky fluids, before drawing it back out with a heavy, sucking motion that makes a loud, wet sloshing sound echo through the quiet, smoky bedroom.
To make the torture even more unyielding, Dazai slips his free hand between your bodies.
His long, slender fingers are completely slicked with your own moisture as he drives two fingers straight inside your tight opening, while his thumb presses down heavily on your hyper-sensitive clit.
He begins a lazy, unpolished rhythm—his fingers stretching you from the inside with a slow, deep curve, while his heavy tongue laps at your bud in a torturous, unhurried rhythm.
The double sensation is a total sensory assault on your soft personality.
Every single stroke pushes you right to the absolute precipice of a shattering orgasm, your inner muscles twitching and clamping down around his slick fingers in pre-climax spasms.
But whenever he senses your body preparing to shatter, his dominant, possessive edge takes over entirely. Dazai intentionally edges you. He lifts his head just an inch, pulling his mouth away from your soaking core and freezing his fingers perfectly still inside you.
He lets the cool air of the bedroom hit your exposed, throbbing skin, forcing your arousal to ache painfully in the sudden absence of his heat.
"Look at those pretty, crying eyes," he whispers, a low, breathy whimper catching in his own chest as he glares up your body. His lips are completely glistening, smeared with a messy combination of his own spit and your clear fluids. His chest is heaving violently, his unbuttoned shirt completely unraveled around his lean shoulders as the substance-induced haze drives his focus entirely onto your ruin. "Look at how desperate you are for me. Tell me what you need, sweetheart. Beg me for it."
"Please... fuck, Osamu, just let me cum," you cry out, your head thrashing side to side against the dark mattress, your fingers tangling frantically in his messy brown hair to drag him back down to your core. "I'm so sensitive, it hurts, please—"
"I’ve got you," he growls softly, his protective edge breaking through the delirium as he surrenders to your soft, broken pleading. "I’ve got you, baby. Let it break right here for me. Show me how ruined you can get."
He buries his face back into you with an unyielding surge of intensity.
Keeping his fingers buried deep inside your tight opening to stretch you wide, he flattens his tongue and begins to lap at your clit with a sudden, driving speed, using a fierce, wet suction that pulls your hyper-sensitive bud straight into his mouth.
He sucks on you mercilessly, his tongue working in a frantic, unpolished rhythm that matches the rapid, echoing pulse in your veins.
The intense, targeted suction on your clit hits your nervous system like a physical shockwave.
Your spine arches completely off the velvet sheets, your body curling as a devastating, blinding orgasm rips through your soft body. You let out a loud, uninhibited scream into the smoky room, your inner walls clamping down in a succession of violent, rhythmic contractions that coat his fingers and tongue in your release.
Dazai moans deeply against your skin, swallowing down every single drop of your climax, holding your shaking hips perfectly still as you break completely beneath his mouth under the quiet, starless night.
The blinding white heat of your climax is still vibrating violently through your core, leaving your thighs trembling and your breath hitching in weak, shattered gasps against the rumpled velvet.
Dazai lifts his head slowly from between your legs, his chest heaving under his unbuttoned black shirt.
His lips are soaked and glistening with your clear, slick fluids, and his dark, blown-out pupils look entirely black in the dim, smoky light. Seeing you completely unraveled and weeping from the overstimulation, his protective yet dominant edge takes over entirely. He has absolutely no intention of letting you recover.
He slides back up your body with a lazy, boneless coordination, his lean, lanky frame crowding you so closely that the heavy, burning heat of his torso traps the cool bedroom air completely out of reach. The fraying white bandages around his lean forearms slide down further, exposing the raw, recent cuts to your wide, tear-filled eyes, but he doesn't care about the outside world anymore. His focus has narrowed entirely onto your soft, trembling frame.
He grabs your thighs, dragging your legs wide until your knees are bent and pinned flat against the mattress on either side of his lean hips, locking you into a deep, completely exposed angle. The thick, throbbing length of his cock is completely rigid, pressing hard against your soaking, freshly ruined opening.
"Look at you... look how wide open you are for me, baby," Dazai groans, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly whisper that slurs heavily from the chemical haze. He presses the blunt, aching tip of his length directly against your seam, grinding his pelvis in a slow, torturous circle that drags your own slick lubrication all the way to his root. "You’re completely covered in your own sweetness, sweetheart. And you’re still shaking so beautifully for your Osamu."
"Osamu—please," you sob out, your hands flying up to grip the open edges of his silk shirt, your knuckles turning white as you try to brace yourself for the sheer size of him. "I need it, please—"
"Tell me what you need," he demands, his long, slender fingers tightening their grip on your hips to anchor you firmly against the bed. His dark, dilated eyes are locked directly onto yours, forcing you to look at him as he prepares to completely possess you. "Say it. Tell me exactly whose cock is about to ruin you."
"Yours... yours, Osamu," you cry out, your voice breaking into a high, stuttery whimper.
Hearing his name completely breaks his remaining restraint.
Dazai lets out a deep moan, and without a single shred of hesitation, he drives his hips forward, sinking his thick length entirely inside you in a single, deep, lazy plunge.
"Ah—fuck..." A loud, breathy scream explodes from your throat into the empty bedroom, your eyes rolling back as his sheer depth completely takes your breath away, stretching your raw, swollen walls to their absolute capacity.
The angle of the bedroom sex is completely devastating.
With your hips pinned flat against the velvet and your knees bent wide, your core is stretched completely open, allowing him to penetrate deeper than you ever thought possible. He sinks all the way to the absolute root, his lower belly slamming heavily against your backside with a wet, echoing slap.
Dazai stays locked inside you for an agonizing second, his entire frame shuddering as his drifting mind suddenly anchors itself against the reality of your tight, hyper-sensitive walls squeezing around his rigid length. He lets out a ragged, stuttery gasp against your neck, his hot breath scalding your skin as he buries his face into your collarbone.
"God, you’re so tight... you’re squeezing me so fucking hard," he pants, a low, dominant growl vibrating straight into your chest. He begins to move, establishing a deep, slow-motion rhythm that completely disregards your mutual exhaustion. He pulls back slowly, dragging his thick shaft against your raw, freshly ruined walls, before slamming all the way back in with an unyielding, possessive force.
It is a relentless, heavy grinding rhythm.
Dazai is driving into you with an agonizingly slow speed, his lean hips rolling with a needy, crushing pressure that forces the air straight out of your lungs with every single stroke. He uses your tight, twitching reactions to keep himself grounded, his long fingers trailing up your spine to wind tightly into the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling just enough to force your head back so he can glare down at your unpolished, breathless expression.
"You're taking all of it... every single inch," he chants against your skin, his lips hot and wet as he presses a succession of bruising, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline. "Look at how loose your mouth is, sweetheart. Look how easily you let me break you. You’re my good girl. I’m going to ruin you so bad you won't be able to run from me tomorrow."
The dirty talk is a total sensory assault on your soft personality, breaking your mind just as fast as his hips are breaking your body.
Every single downward plunge hits your cervix with a brutal, heavy impact, sending sharp shockwaves of pure pleasure-pain spiking through your spine. You are completely overstimulated; the soft velvet beneath your back, the raw texture of his bare skin, and the deep, unyielding depth of his cock are driving you straight toward a shattering, unyielding peak.
Your inner muscles begin to clamp down around him, twitching in frantic, pre-climax spasms that threaten to pull him over the edge along with you. Dazai lets out a high, stuttery whimper, his growly tone breaking completely into a needy moan as he feels the tight squeeze of your walls. He picks up the pace just a fraction, his movements turning frantic and heavy, driving himself into you with a raw speed that echoes loudly through the dark, smoky bedroom as you both climb toward the absolute precipice together under the quiet, starless night.
♡ synopsis :: The bakery has been closed for hours, but Kuroo has never been one to follow the rules. Striding past the locked doors with his tie already pulled loose and his dark hair unraveled, he doesn't care about the fresh pastries cooling on the racks. He’s completely intoxicated by the scent of sugar and strawberry glaze clinging to your skin. Trapping you against the flour-dusted kitchen counter, his possessive edge takes over, turning the pristine bakery into a den of breathless, sticky heat where he plans to devour every single inch of his favorite treat.
The hum of the industrial refrigerators is the only sound cutting through the darkened, quiet expanse of the bakery kitchen.
The front lobby is entirely pitch black, save for the faint, bleeding pink glow of the neon open sign that you’ve just switched off, casting long, stylized shadows across the pristine tile floors and the empty glass display cases. The air back here still smells heavy and intoxicatingly sweet—a thick blend of baked vanilla, spun sugar, and fresh strawberry glaze clinging to the flour-dusted surfaces and the fabric of your apron.
You are just wiping down the main prep area when the sharp, distinct click of the back door lock echoes through the room.
You freeze, your heart jumping into your throat, but the sudden wave of panic vanishes the moment a tall, broad silhouette steps out of the shadows.
Tetsurou.
He looks completely, devastatingly wrecked.
His dark, messy hair is unraveled, falling haphazardly across his eyes in a way that looks entirely unpolished and fiercely dangerous. His black suit jacket is gone, his dark tie pulled so loose it hangs limply around his neck, and the top three buttons of his white dress shirt are completely undone, exposing a stark, sweat-slicked view of his collarbones and the sharp, defined planes of his chest. He looks like a man who has just survived a brutal, exhausting day of corporate warfare—and he looks entirely desperate for a distraction.
His dark eyes, completely blown out and heavy-lidded, instantly lock onto you through the dim pink light. He doesn't say a single word. He just steps forward, his heavy dress shoes clicking sharply against the tile, his posture radiating a possessive, unyielding gravity that commands the entire room.
"Tetsurou?" you breathe out, your voice a soft, echoing whisper in the quiet kitchen. "We’re closed. You can’t just—"
"I don't give a fuck," he rasps, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that rolls over your skin like a physical touch. "I need you. Right now."
Before you can even set down the washcloth, Kuroo closes the remaining distance between you in a single, predatory stride. His large, hot hands fly to your waist, his long fingers digging deep into the soft flesh of your hips with a fierce, branding heat. With a sudden, breathless lurch, he shoves you backward, driving your body across the floor until your lower back slams directly into the edge of the large, industrial stainless steel counter.
The contrast is immediate and shocking.
The cold, rigid steel bites mercilessly through your clothes, making you let out a sharp, gasping gasp into the empty room.
But you have absolutely no time to process the chill, because Kuroo immediately crowds your space, pinning you flat against the metal with the heavy, burning expanse of his torso. He traps you entirely between his broad shoulders and the counter, his lower belly pressing a hard, heavy ridge directly against your thighs.
"You smell so fucking sweet," he growls against your skin, his chest heaving as he buries his face directly into the crook of your neck. He inhales sharply, drinking in the scent of vanilla and your natural warmth, his body trembling slightly from the sheer force of the desperation rolling off him. "It’s driving me crazy. I've been thinking about this all day."
He begins a relentless assault of heavy petting, his large palms moving frantically over your body as if he’s trying to map out every single curve through your clothes. His hands drag up from your hips, sliding beneath the fabric of your apron to grip your waist, his thumbs smoothing over your bare skin with a rough, needy pressure that leaves you completely breathless. He is completely unrefined, his usual teasing smirk entirely replaced by a dark, feral hunger that demands total submission.
His mouth slides up your neck, his lips hot and wet as he presses a succession of bruising, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline. You let out a soft, stuttery moan, your fingers flying up to grip the open edges of his white shirt, your nails digging into the tense, rigid muscles of his chest as his heat begins to completely melt your composure.
Hearing your voice breaks the tiny shred of restraint he had left. Kuroo lets out a deep, animalistic groan straight into your ear, his hands traveling up your spine until his fingers wind tightly into the hair at the nape of your neck. He doesn't pull roughly enough to hurt, but his grip is unyielding, a light, dominant hair pulling that forces your head back, exposing the long, flushed line of your throat to his dilated gaze.
"Look at you," he gasps out, his breathing a rapid, panicked pant against your skin as he stares down at your parted lips.
His fingers tighten slightly in your hair, tilting your face up to his whim. "Closed up, all neat and pretty in your little kitchen... while I'm out here losing my goddamn mind. You’re mine tonight. Do you hear me? You’re my fucking distraction."
He doesn't wait for an answer.
He shoves his mouth down onto yours, breaking your lips open in a deep, wet, uncoordinated kiss that tastes of your vanilla lip balm and his raw, unbridled desperation. He moans directly into your mouth, his tongue driving deep, mimicking the heavy, ruthless pace he wants to inflict on your body. He grinds his pelvis hard against yours, the heavy fabric of his slacks rubbing mercilessly against your hyper-sensitive core, trapping you completely against the cold steel counter as the kitchen turns into a den of pure, breathless heat.
The deep, wet kiss breaks with a breathless, heavy snap, leaving both of your lips slick and glistening in the dim, bleeding pink glow of the neon sign. Kuroo is panting heavily, his chest heaving against your breasts, his dark eyes absolutely consumed by a frantic, unhinged delirium. The scent of vanilla on your skin, combined with the heavy, sweet aroma of the kitchen, has completely hijacked his senses. He is a man starving, and the pristine, orderly world of your bakery has suddenly become his personal playground.
"I can't get enough of this," he groans, his voice a gravelly, guttural rasp that vibrates directly against your lips. "You smell like a fucking dream, babygirl. Sugar and warmth... it’s making me lose my goddamn mind."
His large, hot hands move with a sudden, frantic impatience.
He reaches down, his long fingers hooking into the waistband of your apron and your clothes, dragging them down and out of the way with a rough, needy insistence that leaves you completely exposed to the humid kitchen air. Your lower back is still pressed firmly against the edge of the cold, industrial stainless steel counter, creating a stark, electrifying contrast against the burning, feverish heat of his body.
Kuroo’s gaze tracks down your body, his pupils completely blown out as he drinks in the sight of your bare skin under the soft, stylized shadows. A dark, predatory smirk flickers across his face, but it’s stripped of all his usual corporate polish—it is raw, possessive, and entirely unhinged.
His eyes suddenly dart over to the large, stainless steel mixing bowl sitting on the prep station right next to your hip. It is filled to the brim with a freshly whipped, thick, and vibrant strawberry frosting—rich, sweet, and heavily scented with fresh fruit.
"Let’s see how sweet you really are," Kuroo whispers, his voice dropping into a low, teasing drawl that sends a violent shiver straight down your spine.
Without taking his eyes off your face, Kuroo plunges his large right hand directly into the bowl. His long fingers come out completely dripping, coated in a thick, heavy layer of the pink, sugary cream. Before you can even gasp at the sheer audacity of it, he shoves his hand forward, pressing his sticky fingers firmly against the soft, smooth flesh of your inner thighs.
"Ah! Tetsurou—!" you cry out, your hips instinctively bucking up off the counter as the cool, thick frosting hits your sensitive skin.
"Shh... stay still for me," he growls, his tone thick with a dominant command that completely paralyzes your muscles. He clamps his clean left hand down hard on your opposite hip, pinning you flat against the metal, forcing your legs to stay parted wide for his whim.
Kuroo begins to spread the thick, sweet strawberry frosting over your skin, his palm moving in slow, heavy, deliberate circles. He paints a messy, suffocating path from the middle of your thighs all the way up to the very cradle of your hips, intentionally coating your hyper-sensitive folds and your swelling core in the thick, sugary glaze. The texture is heavy and cold, contrasting violently with the blistering heat radiating from his pelvis as he continues to press his hard ridge firmly against your leg.
"Look at you... completely ruined with my mess before I've even touched you," he purrs, his heavy dirty talk filling the quiet kitchen, making your face flush a deep crimson. "You look so fucking delicious like this, sweetheart. Just a sweet little treat made entirely for my mouth."
He deliberately works his sticky fingers deeper, smearing the strawberry glaze over your clit, his thumb working in a slow, torturous rhythm that forces a loud, embarrassing sob from your throat. Your core is already throbbing, clenching hard around the heavy sensation of the sugar mixing with your natural, slick arousal.
"You like that, don't you? You like being dirty for me," Kuroo gasps out, his own breathing turning into a rapid, panicked pant as the sheer visual and sensory overload begins to break his remaining sanity. He watches the way your inner muscles twitch beneath the pink cream, completely unhinged by the proximity.
He doesn't wait another second. With a breathless, desperate hitch in his chest, Kuroo drops to his knees on the hard tile floor, slotting his broad shoulders directly between your parted thighs. He grips the backs of your knees, hoisting your legs up and draping them over the edge of the steel counter to expose your messy, frosting-coated core completely to his dilated gaze.
His head snaps down as if drawn by a violent magnetic pull, and he buries his face straight into the sweet mess.
The first touch of his tongue is massive, heavy, and completely intense. Kuroo doesn't start with gentle, tentative licks; he uses an intense tongue usage designed to completely devour the frosting off your skin. He drags his tongue in a broad, flat path from the very bottom of your slit all the way up to your hyper-sensitive bud, licking a thick, wet path through the pink cream.
"Mphf—fuck," he groans against your wet skin, the sound muffled and vibrating directly into your core as he tastes the sharp contrast of the sugary glaze and your natural, salty warmth.
He begins to work with a frenzied, driving speed. He uses the heavy muscle of his tongue to flatten your folds, swirling it deep inside your opening to drag the frosting inward, before snapping his head upward to drag his rough, textured tongue heavily over your clit. The wet, slapping sounds of his mouth against your slick, sticky skin echo loudly through the dark bakery, blending with the low hum of the refrigerators.
Every single stroke of his tongue is a targeted, suffocating assault of pure heat and pressure, pushing your overstimulated nerve endings straight toward a devastating breaking point.
You are completely unpolished, your fingers flying to the top of his head to tangle frantically in his messy, dark hair, alternately trying to pull him closer and push him away as the friction pushes you straight toward the edge. But Kuroo's grip only tightens on your thighs, his long fingers digging deep into your flesh, holding you perfectly still as he continues to ruthlessly clean every single drop of sweetness from your body.
The thick, sugary scent of the strawberry glaze mixes completely with the intoxicating, musky heat of your own arousal under the low pink neon glow.
Kuroo is already down on his knees on the hard kitchen tile, his broad shoulders wedged firmly between your thighs, but his pace suddenly shifts.
The frantic, messy devouring from a moment ago slows down into something infinitely more dangerous, a deliberate and calculated pussy eating torture designed to completely unravel whatever tiny shred of composure you have left.
He grabs your hips with a white-knuckled pressure, his large, burning palms locking your pelvis flat against the edge of the industrial stainless steel counter.
"Don't you dare move," he rasps, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that rattles from his chest straight into your inner thighs. His dark hair is completely disheveled, a few messy strands sticking to his forehead, and his eyes are dark, heavy, and completely unhinged. "You stay right here and take every single lick, princess. I'm going to taste every single drop of this."
He buries his face back into your soaking heat, his tongue moving with an agonizing, merciless precision.
He doesn't rush.
He works with a slow, flat pressure, dragging the broad muscle of his tongue upward from the very base of your slit, licking through the pink cream with an agonizingly slow tempo. The thick, textured weight of his tongue forces your sensitive folds open, tracking the exact line of your seam until he hits your swelling, hyper-sensitive clit. But right when you think he’s going to press down and give you the friction you are starving for, he stops. He merely brushes the very tip of his tongue against your bud, letting out a hot, teasing breath that makes your whole body violently shudder.
"Tetsurou—please," you sob out, your hands flying down to grip his broad shoulders, your nails digging deep into the fabric of his unbuttoned shirt as your hips try to buck upward against his mouth.
"Not yet," he murmurs against your wet skin, a dark, low chuckle vibrating directly into your core. "You don't get to come until I say so. Look at how wet you are for me. The sugar is melting all over my tongue, but you’re the one that tastes so fucking good."
He plunges his tongue back in, deeper this time, using a slow, drilling motion that stretches your tight opening wide.
He swirls his tongue deep inside you, gathering the sweet, sticky fluids coating your inner walls, before drawing it back out with a heavy, sucking motion that makes a loud, wet sloshing sound echo through the quiet kitchen. The contrast between the cool, residual sweetness of the frosting and the deep, molten heat of his mouth is a total sensory assault.
Every single nerve ending between your thighs is completely on fire, overstimulated by the relentless, slow-motion friction. Kuroo is intentionally edging you, pushing you right to the absolute precipice of a shattering orgasm before completely shifting his focus.
Whenever he senses your inner muscles start to twitch and clamp down in pre-orgasmic spasms, his grip on your hips turns bruisingly tight. He pins your thighs down mercilessly, lifting his head just an inch so his mouth leaves your core. He lets the cool air of the bakery hit your soaking, exposed skin, forcing your arousal to throb painfully in the sudden absence of his heat.
"Look at me," he commands, his breathing a rapid, ragged pant as he glares up your body. His lips are completely glistening, smeared with a messy combination of strawberry pink and your own clear, glistening fluids. His pupils are so dilated that his dark eyes look almost entirely black under the stylized shadows of the neon sign. "Look at how desperate you are. Tell me what you need, sweetheart. Ask me for it."
"Please... fuck, Tetsurou, just let me come," you cry out, your head thrashing side to side against the stainless steel prep table, your fingers tangling frantically in his thick, messy hair to drag him back down. "I'm so sensitive, it hurts, please—"
"I’ve got you," he growls, his possessive edge taking over completely as he surrenders to your pleading. "I’ve got you, baby. Let it break right here."
He buries his face back into you with a sudden, violent surge of intensity. Abandoning the agonizingly slow pace, he flattens his tongue and begins to lap at your clit with a heavy, driving speed, using a fierce, unyielding suction that pulls your hyper-sensitive bud straight into his mouth. He sucks on you mercilessly, his tongue working in a frantic, unpolished rhythm that matches the rapid, echoing hum of the industrial refrigerators.
The double sensation of his heavy tongue drilling deep inside your opening and the intense, targeted suction on your clit hits your nervous system like a physical shockwave. Your spine arches completely off the counter, your toes curling as a devastating, blinding orgasm rips through your entire body. You let out a loud, uninhibited scream into the empty bakery, your inner walls clamping down in a succession of violent, rhythmic contractions that spray your release directly onto his waiting tongue.
Kuroo groans deeply against your skin, swallowing down every single drop of your climax, holding your shaking hips perfectly still as you break completely beneath his mouth.
The blinding white heat of your orgasm is still pulsing violently through your core, leaving you trembling and entirely unraveled against the cold edge of the metal.
Kuroo stands up slowly, his tall, lean frame casting a massive, predatory shadow over your shaking body. He is completely breathless, his chest heaving violently against his unbuttoned white shirt, his lips soaked and glistening with a heavy mixture of strawberry pink glaze and your own clear, slick fluids. His dark eyes look completely black in the bleeding pink neon light, his fierce, possessive edge taking over entirely now that you’ve broken beneath his tongue.
He doesn't give you a single second to recover.
"Up," he rasps, his voice dropping into a low, commanding growl that leaves absolutely no room for argument. "Get up on the counter for me, sweetheart. All the way."
Before your weak, overstimulated muscles can even attempt to comply, Kuroo’s large, hot hands hook around your waist. With a sudden, effortless surge of strength, he lifts you entirely off your feet, hoisting your body upward and slamming you down flat onto the main expanse of the large, industrial prep counter.
The movement sends a white cloud of fine, flour-dust billowing into the humid air around you. The powdery white grains cling to your sweat-slicked skin, coating your thighs and your bare lower back in a messy, chaotic smear that contrasts sharply with the deep crimson flush of your skin. Kuroo steps immediately into the space between your knees, crowding you so closely that the heavy, burning heat of his torso traps the cool kitchen air entirely out of reach.
His hands fly to his waist, his long fingers working with a frantic, unpolished speed to undo his belt and slide his slacks down past his hips. The thick, throbbing length of his cock springs free, massive and entirely rigid, a heavy bead of pre-cum glistening at the blunt head under the stylized shadows of the ceiling rack. He looks absolutely devastating—his dark tie still hanging loose around his unbuttoned collar, his dark hair a messy, unraveled halo around his sharp jawline.
He grabs your ankles, dragging your legs wide until your knees are bent and pinned flat against the flour-dusted steel on either side of his broad hips, locking you into a deep, completely exposed angle.
"Look at you... look how wide open you are for me," Kuroo growls, his heavy dirty talk filling the quiet expanse of the dark kitchen, breaking whatever tiny shred of composure you had managed to gather back. He presses the blunt, aching tip of his length directly against your soaking, freshly ruined opening, grinding his pelvis in a slow, torturous circle that drags your own slick lubrication all the way to his root. "You’re completely covered in my mess, sweetheart. The frosting, the flour... and you’re still starving for me."
"Tetsurou—please," you sob out, your hands flying back to grip the edge of the cold stainless steel counter behind you, your knuckles turning white as you try to brace yourself for the sheer size of him. "Just do it. I need it, please—"
"Tell me what you need," he demands, his fingers tightening their bruising grip on your thighs, his thumb pressing hard into your skin to anchor you firmly against the metal. His eyes are fierce, locked directly onto yours, forcing you to look at him as he prepares to completely possess you. "Say it. Tell me exactly whose cock is about to ruin you on this counter."
"Yours... yours, Tetsurou," you cry out, your voice breaking into a high, stuttery whimper.
Hearing his name on your lips completely breaks his remaining restraint. Kuroo lets out a deep, animalistic groan, and without a single shred of hesitation, he drives his hips forward, sinking his thick length entirely inside you in one deep, brutal plunge.
"Ah—fuck!" A loud, breathy scream explodes from your throat into the empty bakery, your eyes rolling back as his sheer depth completely takes your breath away.
The angle of the counter sex is completely devastating.
With your hips pinned flat against the rigid steel and your knees bent wide, your core is stretched completely open, allowing him to penetrate deeper than you ever thought possible. He sinks all the way to the absolute root, his lower belly slamming heavily against your backside with a wet, echoing slap that cuts through the low hum of the industrial refrigerators.
Kuroo stays locked inside you for an agonizing second, his entire frame shuddering as your tight, hyper-sensitive walls squeeze around his rigid length in a series of desperate, pre-climax spasms. He lets out a ragged, stuttery gasp against your neck, his hot breath scalding your skin as he buries his face into your collarbone.
"God, you’re so tight... you’re squeezing me so fucking hard," he pants, his voice cracking with pure, unadulterated pleasure. He begins to move, establishing a raw, relentless pace that completely disregards your mutual exhaustion. He pulls back slowly, dragging his thick shaft against your raw, freshly ruined walls, before slamming all the way back in with an unyielding, possessive force.
It is a completely raw, multi-round pace. Kuroo is driving into you with a feral, badass speed, his hips rolling with a needy, agonizing pressure that forces the air straight out of your lungs with every single stroke. The white flour on the counter sticks to his sweat-slicked thighs, making a beautiful, chaotic mess of your bodies as the dark kitchen turns into a den of pure, breathless heat.
"You're taking all of it... every single inch," he chants against your skin, his lips hot and wet as he presses a succession of bruising, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline. His hand tracks up your spine, his long fingers winding tightly into the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling just enough to force your head back so he can glare down at your unpolished, breathless expression. "Look at how loose your mouth is, sweetheart. Look how easily you let me break you. You’re my favorite little treat. I’m going to ruin you so bad you won't be able to stand at this counter tomorrow."
The dirty talk is a total sensory assault, breaking your mind just as fast as his hips are breaking your body.
Every single downward plunge hits your cervix with a brutal, heavy impact, sending sharp shockwaves of pure pleasure-pain spiking through your spine. You are completely overstimulated; the cool steel beneath your back, the rough texture of the flour on your thighs, and the deep, unyielding depth of his cock are driving you straight toward a shattering, unyielding peak.
Your inner muscles begin to clamp down around him, twitching in frantic, pre-orgasmic contractions that threaten to pull him over the edge along with you.
Kuroo lets out a high, stuttery whimper, his growly tone breaking completely as he feels the tight squeeze of your walls. He picks up the pace even more, his movements turning frantic and heavy, driving himself into you with a raw speed that echoes loudly through the dark bakery as you both climb the peak together under the quiet, starless night.
The frantic, wet slapping of Kuroo’s hips against the industrial steel counter echoes rhythmically through the dark, quiet expanse of the bakery kitchen. The white flour-dust has completely coated the two of you, creating a beautiful, chaotic smear of white and flushed crimson skin under the soft, bleeding pink glow of the neon open sign. Every single muscle in his broad frame is wire-tight, coated in a thick, glistening sheen of sweat that washes over the messy remnants of the strawberry frosting play on your thighs.
Both of you are completely spent, your lungs burning and your limbs trembling violently from the sheer physical endurance of the multi-round counter sex. The absolute peak of overstimulation has arrived, turning your hyper-sensitive nerves into an exposed wire where the slightest touch feels like a total sensory assault.
"I'm at my limit... fuck, sweetheart, I'm so close," Kuroo gasps out, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that cracks with pure, unadulterated desperation.
He leans his entire upper body over yours, abandoning any attempt to hold himself up on his hands. His sweat-slicked chest collapses flat against your breasts, the heavy, frantic pounding of his heart rattling directly against your ribs. His long fingers track weakly but possessively up your arms, locking his hands into yours, his palms burning as he pins your wrists flat against the flour-dusted metal on either side of your head.
The angle is completely lock-in and devastating. With your hands pinned and your knees still hoisted high on either side of his broad hips, his thick, nine-inch shaft is buried to the absolute maximum depth, flattening against your cervix with every single heavy, unyielding movement.
He didn't pull back to pace himself; the fading haze of his frantic desperation has concentrated into a final, feral momentum between his thighs. He begins a frantic final pace, his hips driving into your soaking, freshly ruined core with a raw, unpolished speed that ignores your mutual exhaustion. It is a ruthless, heavy friction—the blunt head of his length stretching your swollen, raw walls to their absolute capacity with every single frantic stroke.
"Ah! Ah, Tetsurou—!" a loud, breathy vocalization explodes from your throat into the empty kitchen, your head thrashing from side to side as your fingers claw blindly into his large palms.
The sensitivity between your legs is absolute. Every single millimeter of his entry feels like a blinding shockwave of pleasure-pain, your inner muscles clamping down around him in a series of violent, involuntary tight squeezes that try to process the overwhelming fullness. Your core is throbbing violently, completely on fire from the double sensation of the cold steel beneath your spine and the molten, suffocating heat of his body consuming yours.
Kuroo lets out a succession of loud, uninhibited subby moans straight into the crook of your neck, his teeth baring as a ragged, stuttery sob catches in his chest. The tight, crushing grip of your raw walls is overstimulating him to the brink of pure madness, short-circuiting his remaining sanity as he tracks the wet, sloshing sounds of your combined fluids echoing through the dark bakery.
"You're squeezing me so hard... you’re gonna milk me dry right here on the counter," he growls into your skin, his breathing reduced to a rapid, panicked pant as his pupils blow out until his dark eyes look entirely black under the stylized shadows. "Take all of it, baby. Look at me and take it all."
He completely abandons all restraint, his lower belly pounding mercilessly against your backside with a wet, heavy impact that tilts your hips forward against the metal. He is chanting your name now, a low, broken prayer into the quiet night, his movements turning frantic, chaotic, and completely unhinged as the final, devastating peak begins to shatter his mind.
The friction hits an unbearable, blistering breaking point. With one final, monumental downward plunge of his pelvis, Kuroo buries himself to the absolute root, his hips locking immovably against yours as his entire frame goes completely rigid.
A loud, strangled cry of pure, unadulterated pleasure rips straight from his throat into the dark kitchen air. His toes curl, his back arching violently off your chest as his cock pulses in a succession of massive, rhythmic jerks. He cums violently inside you, his thick length throbbing inside your core as he floods your twitching, hyper-sensitive walls with a massive, scalding release.
The sheer volume of his final creampie stretches your inner muscles to an absolute bursting point. Your core shatters in tandem with his, a massive, explosive orgasm ripping through your entire body as your walls clamp down on his pulsing shaft in a succession of tight, milking contractions.
You scream directly into his shoulder, your nails digging deep into the tense muscles of his back as he continues to pour himself into you, filling you to the absolute brim until the thick, messy white fluid begins to overflow your ruined opening, dripping down your thighs and leaving a heavy, glistening puddle on the flour-dusted counter.
As the final, rhythmic pulses of his cock slowly fade, the tight tension in his muscles completely snaps. Kuroo lets out a long, trembling sigh, his head dropping heavily onto your shoulder as his lean frame goes entirely limp over yours.
The quiet hum of the industrial refrigerators returns to fill the silence of the dark kitchen, the cool breeze finally cutting through the sweltering heat of the room.
The sweet haze that had driven him feral since closing time finally settles into a heavy, peaceful exhaustion.
He stays locked inside you, his lips pressing a soft, wet kiss against your flushed jawline as the two of you lie tangled together on the messy counter, completely spent, unpolished, and utterly consumed by the exhaustion of the night.
♡ synopsis :: A relentless summer heatwave is nothing compared to the fever of a rut. With a fast, needy start that leaves no time for prep, Keigo is completely unraveled by your scent. He alternates between growling commands and desperate, subby whimpers, completely undone as you pull him down by his heavy feathers. Between breathless chants of "please," deep, desperate rounds, and the overwhelming friction of wing play, the golden hour sunset witnesses him completely lose count of the inches—and his mind—inside you.
♡ word count :: 9,800
♡ warnings — tags :: NSFW :: beach sex :: public sex :: summer rut hawks :: needy hawks :: switch hawks :: possessive keigo :: size kink :: overstimulation :: riding torture :: female riding hawks :: sensitive reader :: body worship :: wing play :: wing touching :: pulling him by his wings :: pheromones & scent mention :: oral (female receiving) :: deep fucking :: thigh humping :: open leg position :: ass up face down :: loud subby moans :: breathy & gaspy moans :: moaning into kisses :: "please" chant :: self-edging :: seven rounds :: creampie :: cumming via wing play :: cumming at the same time :: counting inches ::
The air on the private stretch of shoreline is thick, heavy, and suffocatingly hot, hanging over the isolated cove like a damp velvet weight.
The horizon is bleeding a deep, bruised violet and brilliant, molten gold, the last rays of the July sun melting directly into the churning ocean. But the oppressive summer heat wave has nothing on the sheer, stifling fever emanating from Keigo.
He stands just at the edge of the tide, his boots already discarded somewhere back near the rocks, the water lapping over his bare feet.
His wings—usually so pristine, so perfectly controlled—are heavy, twitching erratically, the massive crimson feathers rustling with a violent, desperate energy. The heavy, sweet, intoxicating musk of his summer rut pheromones fills the air, thick enough to taste, completely overtaking the sharp tang of the salt water.
It’s a scent that is purely, undeniably him—but amplified, dark, and utterly consumed by an ancient, primal need.
His golden eyes are completely blown out, the pupils swallowing the irises until they look almost entirely black under the fading sunset. He’s staring at you. He hasn't looked away once since the moment he dragged you down the secluded path to the sand, his gaze heavy, burning, and desperately possessive.
"I can't," he rasps, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that sounds entirely unraveled, stripped of all his usual carefree charm. "God, sweetheart... your scent. It’s driving me out of my fucking mind."
He doesn't wait for a response.
He doesn't have the capacity for it. With a sudden, breathless lurch, Keigo closes the distance between you in a heartbeat, his large hands coming up to grip your hips with a fierce, branding heat. There is absolutely no time for slow build-up, no room for gentle transitions or careful preparation. The summer rut has completely snapped his restraint, and the desperate, needy hunger rolling off him is entirely overwhelming.
He shoves himself against you, trapping you between the solid, burning expanse of his chest and the soft, giving sand beneath your feet.
His fingers dig deeply into your skin, his touch hurried and frantic as he plucks desperately at your clothes, his breath hot and ragged against your neck. He’s trembling—actually shaking—from the sheer force of the denial he’s putting himself through just to touch you.
"Please," he whimpers directly into your skin, his lips pressing a succession of hot, wet, uncoordinated kisses along your jawline, his breathing so fast it's nearly a hyperventilation. "Please, I need you right now. No prep, no waiting—just let me have you, please, please..."
His large, heavy wings flare out completely, casting a massive, dark crimson shadow over the two of you, shielding your bodies from the rest of the world, creating a private, stifling oasis of pure heat and scent.
The feathers brush against your bare arms, the soft downy edges contrasting sharply with the rigid, tense muscles of his frame.
He’s completely unhinged by the proximity, his hips already twitching, grinding a hard, heavy ridge directly against your thigh through his thin shorts.
He is entirely at the mercy of the rut, a slave to the scent pouring off your skin, completely undone before the real heat has even begun.
The sheer, suffocating weight of his pheromones makes the air entirely too thick to breathe.
Keigo is completely past the point of reason, his mind entirely hijacked by the summer rut.
He doesn't just want you—he is starving for you, a raw, feral desperation bleeding from every single tense muscle in his body. His fingers twitch against your waist, digging into your skin with a bruising, desperate grip as he forces you backward until you sink onto the soft, shifting sand.
Before you can even catch your breath in the heavy evening air, Keigo drops to his knees between your thighs.
He doesn't pause.
He doesn't look up.
The scent pouring off you is a physical drug, and his head snaps down as if drawn by a violent magnetic pull.
His hands dive under the fabric of your clothes, shoving them up and out of the way with a frantic, uncoordinated rush, his large palms hot and slightly damp against your inner thighs. He spreads your legs wide, shoving your knees apart with a rough, needy insistence that leaves you completely exposed to the humid ocean breeze and his burning, dilated gaze.
When his face buries itself into your heat, a loud, guttural growl rips straight from his throat—a sound so deep and uncharacteristic that it makes your core clench in immediate, throbbing reaction.
The first touch of his tongue is massive, heavy, and completely unrefined.
He doesn't start with gentle lapping or teasing nips; he devours you.
His tongue strokes upward with a broad, flat pressure, licking a thick, wet path from the very bottom of your slit all the way up to your swelling clit. You let out a sharp, gaspy moan, your hips bucking up off the sand, but Keigo immediately clamps his hands down on your hips, pinning you firmly to the earth.
"Ah—fuck, you're so sweet," he groans against your wet skin, his breath a scalding blast of air that makes you shiver. "So hot. Let me taste, sweetheart, just let me have it—"
He plunges his tongue back in, deeper this time, using a frantic, drilling motion that mimics the raw pace of a hard fuck.
He uses the heavy muscle of his tongue to flatten your folds, drinking you down like a man dying of thirst in the middle of a desert.
The wet, slapping sounds of his mouth against your slick skin blend with the crashing of the waves against the shore, but your world has completely shrunk to the absolute madness between your thighs.
He is using his tongue with an intense, unyielding rhythm, swirling it deep inside your opening before snapping his head upward to drag his rough, textured tongue heavily over your hyper-sensitive clit.
You are completely unrepared for the sheer intensity of it.
There is no gentleness, no pacing; it is a relentless, suffocating assault of heat and pressure.
Every time you try to twist away from the overwhelming sensation, his grip tightens on your thighs, his large thumbs digging deep into your flesh to hold you perfectly still for his mouth.
"Keigo—please," you sob out, your voice stuttery and broken as the pleasure begins to spike violently. Your fingers fly to his head, tangling frantically in his thick, messy blonde hair, alternately trying to pull him closer and push him away as the friction pushes you straight toward the edge.
Hearing his name breaks whatever tiny shred of control he has left.
Keigo begins to pant heavily against your skin, his own breath hitching in a series of desperate, subby whimpers as he eats you out even faster.
His tongue works with a frenzied, driving speed, burying itself deep, drinking the frantic flow of your arousal as you begin to slick his entire mouth and jaw. He is sucking on you now, pulling your sensitive bud into his mouth with a heavy, bruising suction that makes your eyes roll back, your toes curling deep into the sand.
He raises his head just an inch, his face completely flushed, his lips glistening and dripping with your fluids. His golden eyes are completely wild, staring straight up your body to lock onto your face.
He wants to watch you break. He needs to see it.
"Look at me," he gasps, his voice cracking, a needy, desperate chant rising in his chest. "Let me see you come for me. Give it to me, sweetheart, give it all to my mouth—"
He buries his face back into you with a violent, final surge, his tongue flattened and driving hard, his thumbs working in tandem to part you as wide as possible.
The double sensation of his heavy tongue burying deep inside you and the sharp, targeted suction on your clit hits like a physical shockwave. Your hips lock, your spine arching off the sand as a devastating, shattering orgasm rips through your entire body.
You let out a loud, uninhibited scream into the empty beach, your inner muscles clamping down in violent, rhythmic spasms.
The moment your walls squeeze tight, spraying your release directly onto his tongue, Keigo completely snaps.
Watching the pleasure transfigure your face, feeling the intense, throbbing heat of your climax pulsing against his mouth, and inhaling the explosive, concentrated burst of your sweet scent completely shatters him.
He doesn't even have his shorts down. He hasn't even touched his own length. But the sheer psychological and physical overload of your come filling his mouth sends him completely over the precipice.
A loud, strangled groan chokes in his throat as his body goes entirely rigid.
His heavy crimson wings violently snap shut around the two of you, the massive feathers trembling and rustling furiously as his hips jerk forward into the sand. He cums violently in his shorts, a massive, unbridled release twitching through his frame as he buries his face back into your trembling thighs, his chest heaving as he groans into your wet skin, completely undone and panting heavily from the sheer, unmitigated shock of the first round.
The heavy crimson wings that had shielded you slowly part, rustling heavily as Keigo forces his chest up off your trembling thighs.
The air between you is suffocating, practically vibrating with the thick, sweet musk of his summer rut pheromones.
He is panting, his lips wet and glistening under the deep, bruised violet of the twilight sky. Coming entirely in his clothes from the sheer overload of watching you break has done absolutely nothing to cool the fever in his blood; if anything, the taste of you on his tongue has only made the summer rut turn entirely predatory.
"Sweetheart... God, look at what you do to me," he groans, a low, growly vibration rattling deep in his chest.
He scrambles upward, his movements frantic and uncoordinated as his large hands grab your wrists.
He doesn't pin them down roughly, but his touch is demanding, dragging your hands up until your fingers are resting vaguely against his chest and shoulders.
He wants you touching him, needs to feel your skin against his, even if his mind is too far gone to guide your hands properly. Every muscle in his upper body is locked tight, slick with a thin sheen of sweat that catches the last reflection of the fading golden hour light.
With a breathless, desperate hitch in his chest, Keigo shoves himself between your knees again, but this time, he doesn't drop his shorts.
The thick, throbbing length of his cock is still trapped behind the fabric, visibly straining, soaked and heavy. Instead of pushing inside you, his instincts override his reason. He grabs your left leg, hoisting it up and draping it over his hip, pinning your thigh tightly between his lower belly and the sand.
Then, he begins to hump you.
It is a completely raw, desperate rhythm.
He drives his hips forward, burying his covered length directly into the soft, yielding flesh of your thigh. A sharp, strangled groan escapes his lips as the friction hits him.
He grinds his pelvis hard against your leg, rolling his hips with a needy, agonizing pressure that forces the air straight out of your lungs. The thick fabric of his shorts rubs mercilessly against your hyper-sensitive, freshly ruined core, adding a layer of agonizing friction that makes you cry out, your fingers flexing blindly into the tense muscles of his back.
"Ah—fuck, fuck, it’s too hot," Keigo pants, his growly tone breaking into a high, stuttery whimper as he drives his hips forward again.
He’s moving faster now, his wings flaring wide behind him, the feathers twitching and snapping in tandem with the desperate thrusts of his pelvis. He is deliberately using the tight squeeze of your thighs to ride himself, desperate for the release but actively trying to fight the explosive peak that is already clawing at his mind.
He is trying to edge himself, trying to make the agonizing torment of his summer rut last, but his own body is betraying him.
Every time he hits a hard, heavy rhythm against your thigh, his whole frame shudders, his teeth baring as a low, animalistic growl rips from his throat. He forces himself to stop, locking his hips tight, his chest heaving violently as he presses his forehead directly against your shoulder.
"Don't move, sweetheart... please, don't move," he begs, his voice cracking into a breathless, desperate chant. "If you move, I'm gonna break. I'm gonna come again. Just let me... please, let me just feel you."
But the friction is too much, the scent of your release coating his jaw and mixing with his own heavy pheromones is a lethal combination.
Keigo whimpers, a gaspy, broken sound, before his restraint shatters entirely.
He begins to hump your thigh again, completely unhinged, his movements turning frantic and heavy. He is grinding against you with a bruising, unyielding force, his head thrashing side to side as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.
"Please, please, please," he chants against your skin, his lips hot and wet, his breathing completely unraveled.
He is chasing the edge, pushing himself right to the absolute brink of a second, massive climax, his lower belly slamming mercilessly against your leg until you are both crying out into the empty, darkening beach.
The deep, bruised violet of the twilight sky has turned to a heavy, starless ink, but the risk of discovery feels closer than ever.
The open, empty stretch of the public shoreline offers no real shelter; anyone walking along the distant boardwalk could look down and see the dark, shifting silhouettes on the sand.
The sheer vulnerability of being completely exposed to the open air only thickens the heavy, suffocating cloud of Keigo’s summer rut pheromones. He is entirely unraveled, his chest heaving as he lies trapped beneath the weight of his own desperate fever, his massive crimson wings trembling erratically against the damp sand.
Tired of the agonizing friction of his covered length grinding against your leg, you decide to take complete control.
With a breathless surge of energy, you shift your weight, slipping out from under his heavy torso and pushing him flat onto his back.
Keigo lets out a sharp, stuttery gasp at the sudden loss of contact, his golden eyes blowing out completely as he watches you strand yourself over his hips. His hands fly up to grip your waist, his fingers digging deep into your skin, but he doesn't pull you down.
He is completely paralyzed by the sudden shift in dynamic, his submissive, needy side completely taking over as you reach down and finally, ruthlessly drag his soaked, heavy shorts down past his hips.
His cock springs free, massive, throbbing, and completely slick with a thick bead of pre-cum that catches the faint light of the distant coastline.
He is shaking, his entire lower belly twitching as you line yourself up.
You don't give him a single moment to prepare.
Taking a deep breath of the hot, salt-kissed air, you grasp his shoulders and sink down onto him all at once, taking the entirety of his thick, rigid length straight into your tight, swollen core.
"Ah-ah! Fuck!" Keigo screams into the open night, a loud, uninhibited subby moan ripping straight from his throat. The sound is completely raw, vibrating with the sheer shock of the tight, burning heat encompassing him.
His massive crimson wings violently flare outward, slamming into the sand and sending a spray of white grains into the air as his hips instinctively jerk upward to meet you.
But you clamp your hands down firmly against his chest, pinning him flat to the earth. "No, Keigo," you pant, your voice breathy but commanding against the sound of the crashing waves. "You stay still. I'm in control."
A broken, pathetic whimper escapes his lips, his head thrashing from side to side on the sand.
The sheer psychological overload of being completely possessed, combined with the crushing physical tight squeeze of your walls around his hyper-sensitive cock, sends him straight into pure overstimulation.
He is completely at your mercy, his hips trembling beneath you as you begin to lift your hips, sliding slowly, agonizingly up his length until you are barely riding the very tip, before slamming yourself all the way back down to the root.
"Please—sweetheart, please," Keigo begs, his voice cracking into a series of gaspy, stuttery whimpers. "Don't do it slow, oh god, you're killing me... just fuck me, please, just drop on it—"
You completely ignore his pleas, intentionally weaponizing his summer rut against him.
You establish a brutal, teasing pace—a pure riding torture designed to keep him balancing precariously on the very edge of sanity. You grind your pelvis heavily against his, rotating your hips in slow, crushing circles that force a series of loud, embarrassed moans from his throat.
Every time he tries to arch his back to force a faster, harder rhythm, you hold him down, forcing him to take the agonizingly slow friction of your body consuming his.
The sensory input is completely devastating for him.
The cool ocean breeze hitting his sweat-slicked chest contrasts violently with the suffocating, molten heat of your core.
He is so sensitive that every single slide of your walls feels like sandpaper and velvet all at once, overstimulating his nerve endings until his vision starts to blur.
"I can't—I'm gonna break, I'm yours, I'm fucking yours," he gasps out, his hands moving frantically from your hips to your thighs, his fingers flexing blindly as he tries to find purchase. He can't handle the slow, deliberate torture of your movements. His chest is heaving so violently that his ribs stand out sharply against his skin, his breathing reduced to a rapid, panicked pant.
Unable to bear the distance any longer, Keigo reaches up, his hands tangling in the back of your shirt to drag your face down to his.
He buries his mouth against yours, desperate for any kind of anchor in the middle of the storm.
But even as his tongue tangles with yours in a deep, wet, uncoordinated kiss, he can't silence the unhinged vocalizations breaking in his chest.
He moans straight into your kisses, a succession of muffled, vibrating groans and high-pitched whimpers that bleed directly into your mouth as you continue to ruthlessly ride him.
The taste of his own desperation, mixed with the sharp tang of salt on his lips, only fuels your fire.
You pick up the pace just a fraction, slamming your hips down with a harder, wetter impact that makes his entire frame go completely rigid beneath you.
"Mphf—ah!" He gasps into your mouth, breaking the kiss as his eyes roll back into his head.
His teeth bare as a stuttery, breathless sob escapes his lips, his lower belly glistening with sweat as he completely loses control of his own muscles.
He is chanting your name now, a low, broken prayer into the dark, empty beach, completely unraveled by the ruthless, unyielding torture of your hips riding him straight toward a devastating peak.
The riding torture has Keigo completely unhinged, his body twitching helplessly beneath you as you maintain your ruthless, agonizingly slow pace.
His golden eyes are glassy, rimmed with tears of pure overstimulation, his mouth hanging open as a steady stream of breathless, stuttery gasps slips from his wet lips.
He is a slave to the summer rut, completely trapped in the molten heat of your core.
Desperate for an even deeper, more devastating friction to break the agonizing tension, you lean forward, pressing your sweat-slicked chest flat against his.
Your hands track over his trembling shoulders, reaching past his neck until your fingers sink deep into the thick, rigid base of his massive crimson wings.
With a breathless grunt, you fist your hands into the heavy, soft plumage and pull.
"Ah! Sweetheart—!" Keigo lets out a loud, strangled moan, his entire spine arching violently off the sand as you use his wings to drag his upper body flush against yours.
By pulling on his wings, his biological reflexes override his restraint.
His heavy, powerful primary feathers violently snap forward, wrapping completely around the two of you like a massive, dark red cocoon.
The sheer force of the movement thrusts his hips upward with a sudden, unbridled desperation, forcing his thick, rigid length to sink all the way into you, burying itself so deeply to the root that your breath catches sharply in your throat.
The dark, private sanctuary of his wings traps the sweltering heat, making the air impossibly thick with the concentrated, intoxicating musk of his pheromones.
But it’s the physical sensation of the feathers that pushes you both over the edge.
As you resume a hard, frantic rhythm, lifting and slamming your hips down onto his cock, his massive feathers rustle violently against your bare skin. The soft, downy under-feathers and the sharp, stiff barbs of his primaries brush mercilessly against your sensitive back, your inner thighs, and the flushed skin of your waist.
The friction is a total sensory assault.
Every time you slide down his length, his wings squeeze tighter around you, the feathers petting and scraping against your hyper-sensitive skin in tandem with the wet, heavy bottoming-out of his pelvis.
"Fuck, fuck, I can't hold it—you're pulling my wings, oh god, it feels too good," Keigo whimpers, his growly tone completely melting into a series of subby, pathetic cries. He moans straight into your neck, his lips biting desperately at your shoulder as you continue to ruthlessly ride him through the rustling, static charge of his plumage.
He is completely overstimulated, his lower belly twitching violently against your thighs as the double sensation of the tight squeeze of your walls and the intense wing play completely short-circuits his nervous system.
You are climbing the peak just as fast.
The overwhelming warmth of his feathers, the suffocating scent of his rut, and the deep, unyielding depth of his upward thrusts are driving you to absolute madness. Your inner muscles are already clamping down, twitching in frantic, pre-orgasmic spasms around his throbbing length.
"Keigo—I'm gonna come, right now," you sob out, your fingers tightening their bruising grip on his wings, pulling him in even tighter until there is absolutely no space left between your bodies.
"Come for me, sweetheart, please, together—I'm yours, I'm yours—" he screams, his voice cracking into a breathless sob as he completely gives up on trying to edge himself. He abandons all control, his hips locking in a frantic, upward-surging rhythm, driving himself into you with a raw, feral speed that matches the desperate thrashing of his wings against the sand.
The friction hits an unbearable, blistering breaking point.
With a final, crushing downward slam of your hips, your core shatters, a massive, explosive orgasm ripping through your entire body as your walls clamp down on him in a succession of violent, milking contractions.
The exact millisecond your tight squeeze clamps around his hyper-sensitive head, Keigo completely snaps.
A loud, uninhibited scream of pure, unadulterated pleasure rips straight from his throat into the open night air.
His body goes completely rigid, his toes curling into the sand as a devastating synchronized climax consumes him. He cums violently inside you, his cock pulsing in massive, rhythmic jerks as he floods your twitching core with a thick, scalding release.
His massive crimson wings violently twitch and shudder around you, the feathers ruffling and flaring out in explosive, erratic bursts as he pours himself into you, both of you crying out into each other's mouths as the synchronized wave of pleasure completely drains the remaining strength from your bones.
The cool night air slicking over your sweat-dampened skin offers no relief from the sweltering heat of the summer rut haze.
You are both trembling, the heavy synchronized climax of the previous round still ringing through your overstimulated nerves.
But before the thick pool of your combined fluids can even begin to cool between your thighs, Keigo’s hands are moving again. The brief flash of submission from the riding torture completely vanishes as a dark, fiercely possessive urge takes over.
His large hands grip your hips, his palms burning as he ruthlessly shifts your weight off his lap.
"Move for me, sweetheart," he rasps, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly tone that vibrates with an unyielding command. "Ass up. Face down in the sand. Right now."
You barely have the strength to comply, but the raw authority in his voice leaves you no choice.
You shift onto your hands and knees, pressing your chest flat against the cool, shifting grains of the sand, burying your face in your arms. Your hips are left hoisted high in the air, completely exposed to the dark, ink-black sky and his dilated, heavy-lidded gaze.
Keigo doesn't waste a single heartbeat.
He slides up behind you, his thick, sweat-slicked thighs slotting perfectly against the backs of yours.
His massive crimson wings flare wide, casting a towering shadow over your arched spine before snapping down to lock you into position. He grips your hips with a white-knuckled pressure, his thumbs digging deep into your flesh to anchor you firmly against the earth.
He didn't pull out clean; his cock is already thick, heavy, and dripping with the messy remnants of the previous creampie, stretching to an even more intimidating size under the relentless demands of his summer rut.
He presses the blunt, throbbing head of his length directly against your slick opening, and without a shred of hesitation, he sinks entirely into you in one deep, brutal thrust.
"Ah—fuck!" A loud, breathy vocalization explodes from your throat, your fingers clawing desperately into the sand as his sheer depth completely takes your breath away.
The angle is devastating.
By forcing you flat on your face and pulling your hips high, your core is stretched completely open, allowing him to penetrate deeper than he ever could before.
He sinks all the way to the absolute root, his lower belly slamming heavily against your backside with a wet, echoing slap that cuts through the sound of the crashing waves.
Keigo lets out a deep, animalistic growl straight into the open air, his entire frame shuddering as your tight, swollen walls squeeze around his rigid length. He stays locked inside you for an agonizing second, letting the sheer, suffocating heat of your inner muscles overstimulate him to the brink of madness.
"God, you're so deep... look at how much of me you're taking," he pants, his breathing turning into a series of ragged, stuttery gasps against your ear. He leans his upper body entirely over yours, pressing his chest against your back, his hot breath scalding your neck. He begins to pull back slowly, sliding out until he’s barely threading the tip of your wet slit, before driving all the way back in with a heavy, unyielding force.
"One," he gasps out, his voice cracking with pure, unadulterated pleasure. "That’s one... look how easily it sinks in."
He pulls back again, dragging his thick length slowly against your hyper-sensitive, freshly ruined walls, making you let out a high-pitched whimper. Then, he drives back in, hard enough to tilt your hips forward into the sand.
"Two," he groans, a breathless, desperate chant rising in his chest as he deliberately starts counting the inches he’s forcing into your body. "Two inches... three... fuck, sweetheart, you’re taking all of it. Tell me how it feels. Tell me how deep I am."
You can't even form words.
Your vocalizations are reduced to loud, broken sobs and breathy, stuttery moans as he establishes a relentless, crushing pace. He is completely dominant now, using his heavy wings to pin your shoulders down while his hands ruthlessly manipulate your hips, lifting you higher to meet every single downward plunge of his pelvis.
"Four... five... six..." Keigo chants, his eyes completely blown out, staring down at the tight, slick junction where his thick shaft disappears entirely inside you. The sight completely breaks his remaining sanity. He begins to drive into you with a feral, unbridled speed, his lower belly pounding mercilessly against you as he loses track of the numbers, his mind completely consumed by the raw friction of the deep fucking.
"Seven... eight... god, all nine inches, stretching you so wide," he screams into the open night, a loud, uninhibited moan ripping from his throat as he hits your cervix with every single frantic stroke.
He is completely unhinged by the depth, his wings thrashing against the sand in perfect synchronization with the brutal, wet rhythm of his hips.
The overstimulation is total; every single inch he counts inside you pushes you both straight toward a shattering, unyielding peak under the dark, empty beach.
The unrelenting fever of the summer rut refuses to let him rest.
Even after the devastating depth of the previous round, Keigo’s body is driven by an unyielding, primal momentum that completely ignores your mutual exhaustion. He is trembling, his chest rising and falling in ragged, shallow gasps as he gently rolls you onto your back against the cool, damp sand. Every muscle in his frame is wire-tight, coated in a thick sheen of sweat and the sweet, overwhelming musk of his pheromones.
With a low, desperate whimper, he crawls back between your thighs.
His hands handle you with a desperate sort of reverence, catching the backs of your knees and spreading your legs as wide as they can possibly go, pinning your ankles deep into the sand.
"Look at you... god, look at what I did to you," he breathes, his voice cracking into a high, stuttery gasp.
He leans down, completely surrendering to a wave of heavy, unhinged body worship.
His lips are hot, wet, and desperate as he buries his face into the soft skin of your inner thigh, pressing a succession of bruising, open-mouthed kisses along your flushed flesh.
He licks a damp path upward, his tongue heavy and smooth against your skin, worshiping the very cradle of your hips. He whimpers directly against your skin, a pathetic, needy sound that vibrates straight into your bones. He is completely spent, his muscles shaking from the sheer endurance of the rut, but the sight of your ruined, open-legged posture drives him into a state of pure delirium.
"So beautiful, sweetheart... you're so good for me," he pants, his hands sliding up to cup your waist, his thumbs tracing the line of your hip bones with a frantic, trembling pressure.
When he drags his thick, rigid length back to your opening, the sheer contact makes you let out a loud, agonized cry.
The sensitivity is absolute.
Every single nerve ending in your core is completely raw, throbbing violently from the previous rounds. Before he even pushes inside, the mere friction of his blunt head against your swollen folds feels like a total sensory assault.
Your hands fly to his shoulders, your fingers clawing into his damp skin as you try to twist away from the overwhelming sensation.
"Keigo, wait—please, it's too much," you sob out, your voice broken and breathy under the dark night sky. "I'm too sensitive, everything hurts, it's too much—"
"I know, I know, baby, I'm sorry," he gasps, a desperate whimper catching in his throat as he presses his forehead straight against yours. His golden eyes are glassy, completely unfocused, overflowing with a needy, submissive desperation. "I can't stop. The heat... it won't let me go. Please, just let me slide in slow. Just let me hold you."
He doesn't force you with a brutal thrust this time; instead, he uses a agonizingly slow, heavy pressure to sink back into your tight, swollen core.
"Ah! Ah god!" You scream into the empty beach, your hips locking as his thick, nine-inch shaft forces its way back inside your overstimulated walls.
Every single millimeter of his entry feels like sandpaper and molten velvet.
Your inner muscles clamp down around him in an immediate, violent, defensive tight squeeze, trying to reject the sheer intensity of the fullness.
The tight, crushing grip of your raw walls sends Keigo straight over the edge of pure overstimulation.
A loud, subby moan rips from his throat, his teeth baring as his head thrashes side to side against your shoulder.
He can't handle it.
He is so sensitive that the friction of your twitching core makes his lower belly contract in violent, pre-cum-dripping spasms.
"Fuck—ah! You're so tight, it’s too much, sweetheart, you’re squeezing me to death," he cries out, his breath hitching in a series of ragged, stuttery gasps.
He begins to move, but his rhythm is completely unraveled.
It is a slow, heavy, grinding friction—his pelvis rotating against yours in deep, crushing circles rather than hard thrusts. Every time his lower belly slams against your clit, a sharp shockwave of pure pleasure-pain spikes through your spine, forcing loud, uninhibited sobs from your lips.
You are completely overwhelmed; the cool ocean breeze hitting your sweat-slicked chest, the rough texture of his feathers brushing against your arms, and the thick, unyielding fullness inside you create a total sensory overload.
Keigo is weeping into your neck now, his vocalizations reduced to a continuous, broken chant of desperate whimpers and ragged sighs.
He is completely lost in the delirium of the summer rut, his wings twitching erratically behind him, the massive red feathers dragging through the sand as he continues to slowly, ruthlessly consume your open, sensitive body under the starlight.
The heavy, exhausting weight of the hours-long summer rut has pushed both of your bodies to their absolute limits.
The ink-black sky is completely still, the distant crash of the waves the only sound echoing across the dark, empty public beach. Your muscles are trembling, completely spent, and your skin is entirely slick with a heavy mixture of sweat, sea salt, and the thick, sweet musk of Keigo’s fading pheromones. The blistering haze that has driven him feral since twilight is finally starting to recede, leaving behind a deep, heavy ache of pure physical exhaustion.
But there is one final, desperate surge left in him—a deep, instinctual need to lock you down and completely finish what the summer heat started.
With a low, ragged sigh, Keigo collapses his upper body entirely over yours.
He doesn't have the strength to hold himself up on his hands anymore; instead, his chest presses flat against yours, his heart hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against your ribs.
His hands move lazily but firmly down to your thighs, hooking beneath your knees to lift your legs one last time, draping them heavily over his broad shoulders.
"Last one, sweetheart... ah, god, just one more," he whimpers directly into your ear, his voice entirely unraveled, a breathy, stuttery rasp that completely lacks his usual playful edge. "I’m so tired... but I need to fill you. I need to leave everything inside you."
He doesn't pull out to realign himself.
His thick, nine-inch shaft is already buried deep within your raw, hyper-sensitive core, held tight by the swollen, throbbing walls of your freshly ruined opening.
As he shifts his weight forward, the blunt head of his length pushes even deeper, flattening against your cervix with a heavy, unyielding pressure that makes a loud, breathy moan explode from your lips.
"Keigo—ah, it’s too deep," you sob out, your fingers flexing weakly to claw into the damp sand beneath his shoulders. The sensitivity is total; every tiny movement of his pelvis feels like an absolute sensory assault on your overstimulated nerves.
"I know, baby... I know. Just take it for me. Lock me in," he gasps, his teeth baring as a low, growly vibration rattles deep in his chest.
He begins the final round, but it is entirely different from the frantic, aggressive pace from before.
It is a slow, heavy, devastatingly deep fucking.
He draws back agonizingly slow, sliding out until he is barely threading your wet folds, before driving all the way back in with the entire, exhausting weight of his hips.
The friction is thick and incredibly wet, the heavy, slapping sound of his lower belly hitting your backside echoing rhythmically in the dark night air.
Every single downward plunge sinks to the absolute root, his thick shaft stretching your overstimulated walls to their absolute capacity.
Keigo lets out a succession of loud, subby moans straight into the crook of your neck, his lips pressing wet, uncoordinated kisses against your collarbone.
He is completely spent, his whole frame shaking violently with every single thrust, his massive crimson wings draped heavily over the two of you like a weighted blanket. The feathers are damp, dragging through the sand, no longer flaring with aggressive energy but wrapped tightly around your bodies to trap the very last of his sweltering heat.
"You're so tight... even after all of it, you're still squeezing me so good," he whimpers, his breathing falling into a rapid, desperate pant as the final peak begins to claw at his mind.
His hands move from your knees to tangle in your hair, holding your head steady as he buries his mouth against yours, moaning directly into the kiss as his hips pick up a frantic, unhinged momentum.
He can't hold back the climax any longer.
The receding haze of the rut concentrates into one final, explosive focal point between his thighs. His lower belly goes wire-tight against yours, his breath catching in a series of sharp, stuttery gasps that break the kiss.
"I'm coming—sweetheart, I'm filling you up, take all of it, please!" he screams into the open night air, his voice cracking with pure, unadulterated pleasure.
With one final, brutal downward slam of his pelvis, Keigo buries himself to the absolute maximum depth, his hips locking immovably against yours. His body goes completely rigid, his toes curling into the sand as a devastating, monumental climax consumes his entire frame.
He cums violently inside you, his thick length pulsing in a succession of massive, rhythmic jerks that flood your raw, twitching core with a massive, scalding creampie.
The sheer volume of his release stretches your inner muscles to a bursting point, forcing a high-pitched, broken whimper from your throat as your own walls clamp down in a desperate, defensive tight squeeze. He holds himself locked inside you, groaning loudly into your skin as he completely pours every single drop of his summer fever into your body, filling you to the absolute brim until the excess fluid begins to overflow and slick your thighs.
As the final, rhythmic pulses of his cock slowly fade, the tight tension in his muscles completely snaps. Keigo lets out a long, trembling sigh, his head dropping heavily onto your shoulder as his massive crimson wings go entirely limp, settling over the two of you in the quiet dark.
The suffocating, heavy musk of his pheromones finally begins to dissipate into the cool ocean breeze, marking the absolute end of the summer rut haze, leaving both of you completely spent, tangled together in the sand and utterly consumed by the exhaustion of the night.
Sae doesn’t do things halfway, and he certainly doesn't tolerate inefficiency—especially not from you.
When he stalks into his home office, still radiating the clinical, icy intensity of a post-match high, his teal eyes immediately lock onto you sitting at his desk.
He doesn't say a word at first.
He just closes the distance with that precise, calculated stride that leaves defenders stranded on the pitch.
Before you can even spin the chair around, his large hands grip your waist, lifting you effortlessly and depositing you right on the edge of the mahogany desk, scattering your papers everywhere.
"You're distracting," he murmurs, his voice a cool, gravelly rasp against your ear. His long fingers trace the edge of your jaw, forcing you to look at him. "And when something distracts me, I eliminate it. Or I ruin it until it can't think about anything else but me."
He doesn't wait for your permission.
Sae leans in, his mouth dropping onto yours in a messy, punishing kiss that tastes of mint and arrogance.
His tongue slickly dominates yours, his hands moving down to bunch up your skirt.
The contrast of his lean, athletic frame looming over you is dizzying; his thighs are dense, powerful muscle from years of professional training, pinning your legs wide open against the desk edge.
With a sharp, sudden rip, his long fingers tear your panties right down the seam, exposing your soaking center to the cool air of the room.
You let out a breathless gasp against his lips, but he merely uses the opportunity to slide two fingers deeply inside your tight, slick folds.
"Look at you," Sae draws back just enough to look down at your flushed face, his expression an intoxicating mix of boredom and intense, burning lust. "So wet just because I looked at you. Pathetic."
He begins to finger you with a ruthless, high-speed precision, his thumb grinding hard against your hyper-sensitive clit.
He matches the driving friction below by pressing his hard, unyielding length—still trapped in his training sweatpants—directly against your opening, grinding his hips in a slow, heavy circle that sends a violent jolt of overstimulation straight to your core.
You scream his name, your hands clawing desperately at the fabric of his shirt as your walls instantly begin to clamp down, completely overwhelmed by the dual friction of his fingers and the heavy weight of his lap.
"Don't come yet," he commands harshly, though a low, rare groan slips past his lips as he feels how tightly you're squeezing him.
He hitches your hips higher onto the desk, completely unbothered by the mess he's making, entirely focused on driving you to the absolute brink until you're begging him to finally slide inside.
dividers: @sisterlucifergraphics .
this is more of a short but if u want a full fanfiction... ask baby.
♡ synopsis :: After a grueling day, Satoru returns with his apex-predator instincts dialed to a dangerous high. He doesn't want to talk, he doesn't want to play—he wants to completely strip you down, wipe away the scent of the outside world, and mark every single inch of your skin until you are thoroughly claimed through six exhausting, feral rounds.
The heavy click of the front door unlocking cuts through the quiet of the apartment, immediately followed by a low, dragging sound—the plush, heavy weight of a thick white tail brushing lazily against the hardwood flooring.
When Satoru steps into the dim light of the entryway, the sheer, imposing reality of his presence hits the room before he even utters a word.
He is massive, his towering height easily blocking out the hallway light behind him, casting a long, dominant shadow that stretches across the floor straight to your feet. Yet, despite his intimidating stature, his frame carries a deceptive, striking contrast. He isn’t bulky or overly broad; instead, his build is defined by a lean, wiry musculature, every contour of his body tightly wound and packing the dense, lethal strength of a true apex predator. His broad shoulders taper down to a narrow waist, and beneath his fitted shirt, the subtle, shifting ripple of his muscles moves with an innate, dangerous fluidity.
He doesn’t say hello. He doesn't offer his usual boisterous, cocky greeting or flash that trademark, blinding grin.
The silence he brings with him is heavy, thick with a restless, simmering tension that instantly changes the air in the room.
His pale blue eyes—usually hidden away—are completely uncovered, wide and intensely blown out, the pupils dilated so large they almost swallow the brilliant iris entirely. High on his head, a pair of thick, plush white leopard ears twitch, pinning back slightly as his gaze locks onto you.
A deep, subterranean sound begins to vibrate from somewhere deep within his chest. It’s a dark, rumbling purr, so low and resonant that you can feel the physical vibration of it humming in the air, rattling the floorboards beneath your socks.
He moves. It isn’t a human walk; it’s a silent, predatory glide, his long legs closing the distance between you in two quiet, calculated strides. Before you can even process the sudden shift in his demeanor, he has you entirely cornered against the nearest wall.
The sheer size difference between you is dizzying.
Satoru looms over you, his lean frame completely eclipsing your vision, trapping you in the small pocket of space between his body and the drywall.
His white tail swishes sharply behind him, the thick, spotted fur cutting through the air with a restless, agitated speed that betrays just how wound up his feline instincts are after a long, grueling day.
He leans down, tilting his head so his face is mere inches from yours, letting you feel the intense, radiating heat waves rolling off his skin. His ears twitch again, flattening completely against his silver hair as he drinks in your scent, his nostrils flaring as he silently establishes his territory.
When you instinctively raise your hands, your palms pressing against his chest to either push him back or ground yourself, Satoru acts with terrifyingly quiet precision.
With a single, lightning-fast motion, his large hand clamps over both of your wrists.
His grip isn't brutal, but it is entirely unyielding, showcasing the effortless strength hidden beneath his lean muscle.
He forces your hands up, pinning them securely against the wall above your head, locking you into a position of total vulnerability. You try to shift, to wiggle out from underneath him, but his long, heavy tail instantly snakes around your waist, acting like a thick, plush vise that anchors your hips flush against his.
"Ah, ah," he murmurs, the first break in his silence coming as a rough, gravelly whisper that brushes hot against your ear. "No touching, princess. I didn't give you permission to help."
With his free hand, he begins to undress you.
He works with an agonizing, agonizingly slow precision, his long fingers hooking into the fabric of your clothes. There is no frantic tearing or rushed fumbling; every single movement is deliberate, a cold demonstration of absolute control. He slides the fabric down your shoulders, his sharp claws catching slightly against the material, making a soft scratching sound that echoes in the quiet space between your racing hearts.
Your breath catches as the cool air of the room hits your bare skin, but the chill is instantly replaced by the overwhelming, predatory heat of his body crowding closer.
Satoru takes his time, peeling away every barrier between you until you are left completely exposed beneath his intense, unblinking stare. He looks you up and down, his chest heaving with that continuous, heavy purr, his eyes tracking the rapid pulse jumping in your throat.
You are entirely stripped down, entirely trapped beneath his lean, towering frame, and completely at the mercy of the feral hunger rolling off him in waves.
The low, rumbling vibration in Satoru’s chest never stops.
It hums directly against your bare skin as he forces you back onto the mattress, his lean, wiry frame covering yours completely. He doesn't let go of your wrists immediately, keeping them pinned to the headboard as he hovers over you, his pale blue eyes wide and entirely unblinking.
The heat radiating off his body is immense, almost suffocating, trapping you in a private, sweltering cocoon of his own making.
He looks down at you like an apex predator evaluating a prize catch, his white leopard ears pinned flat against his silver hair, his nostrils flaring as he drinks in the sight of you completely bared to him.
When he finally releases your hands, it isn’t to give you freedom. It’s because he is ready to begin the work of reclaiming you.
"Don't move your hands," he growls, his voice a thick, gravelly command that leaves no room for argument. "If you touch me before I'm done, I’m locking them back up. Understand?"
You can only nod, your breath hitching as he lowers his head to the side of your neck.
Satoru begins his slow, agonizingly thorough map of your body, starting right at the sensitive juncture where your shoulder meets your neck.
His tongue is hot, incredibly wet, and possesses the distinct, rough texture of a feline.
The slight abrasion of his barbed tongue dragging over your soft skin makes you gasp, a sharp, intoxicating contrast to the deep, heavy purring rattling through his throat. He licks a slow line upward to the underside of your jaw, catching your whimpers with his lips before dragging his tongue back down, tracing the hollow of your throat.
He doesn't just want to touch you; he wants to overwrite you.
"You smell like the outside," he murmurs against your skin, his breath a scorching contrast to the cool air of the bedroom. He nuzzles his face deeply into your neck, rubbing his cheek and jaw along your skin to coat you in his own pheromones.
"You smell like people, and work, and things that aren't me. It’s disgusting, princess. I'm wiping all of it off."
To seal the promise, he sinks his teeth into the meat of your shoulder.
He doesn't break the skin, but he bites down with a heavy, bruising pressure, his sharp canines pinching just hard enough to make you arch off the bed with a breathless cry.
He holds the bite for a long, agonizing three seconds, letting his scent sink into the freshly bruised, throbbing flesh. When he pulls back, a dark, distinct mark is already blooming on your collarbone, gleaming with his saliva.
He licks over it once, a rough, soothing swipe of his tongue, before moving lower.
His body worship is relentless and consuming.
He slides down your frame, his lean muscles flexing beneath his pale skin as he uses his forearms to keep your upper body pinned.
His tongue tracks down the center of your chest, circling the sensitive peaks of your breasts until you are writhing beneath his weight, begging for his hands, for his mouth, for anything to break the exquisite torture of his slow pacing.
He ignores your pleas, his white tail swishing behind him with aggressive satisfaction as he moves to your stomach, his rough tongue dipping into your navel, leaving a glistening trail of ownership everywhere he goes.
He pushes your knees apart, crowding his chest right between your thighs.
The heat radiating from his lap is thick and agonizingly close, but he isn't ready to give you what you want. Instead, he grabs your inner thighs, his large hands sinking into the soft flesh of your legs, lifting them onto his shoulders to expose you completely to the dim light.
"Satoru... please, I can't," you sob, your hips tilting up instinctively, searching for friction.
"Look at how pretty you look when you're desperate," he praises darkly, his blue eyes tracking the frantic rise and fall of your chest. He leans in and nips sharply at the soft skin of your inner thigh, right near the crease of your hip, leaving another deep, purple mark that stamps you as his property.
"But you can take it. You're going to take every single bit of this until you smell exactly like me."
He doesn't let you shift away.
With a sudden, fluid movement of his hips, his long, plush white tail snakes forward. It wraps tightly around your left thigh, binding your leg securely to his own flank, locking your hips open in an unyielding, wide position that leaves you completely defenseless.
Then, his mouth hits your slick core.
The initial touch of his rough, feline tongue directly against your hyper-sensitive center makes your vision spot. Satoru doesn't hold back.
He uses the broad, flat surface of his tongue to lap at you with heavy, wet strokes, dragging the rough texture right over your clit. You let out a loud, broken wail, your hands gripping the bedsheets so hard your knuckles turn white, your hips bucking frantically against the inescapable trap of his tail and thighs.
He is ruthless.
He drinks you in, his deep purring vibrating directly against your clit, sending a continuous, frantic electric current straight through your lower belly. Every time he senses you approaching the edge—the sudden tightening of your thighs, the hitched, desperate quality of your breathing—he deliberately slows down.
He switches from heavy, friction-filled licks to light, agonizingly soft breaths of warm air, blowing over your soaked folds until you are sobbing from the sheer overstimulation.
"Satoru! Please, let me cum, let me—"
"Not yet," he murmurs, his lips brushing your slick flesh as he speaks, sending a violent shiver through your legs. "You're too impatient, princess. I told you I'm taking my time with you tonight. Open up wider for me."
He enforces his command by tightening his tail around your leg, pulling you even tighter against his face. He goes back to work, his tongue moving with an intense, unyielding rhythm.
He suctions himself against you, his long fingers reaching up to pinch your nipples, completely splitting your attention and overloading your nervous system. The combination of the rough friction below, the deep, rumbling purrs echoing in your core, and the agonizing edges leaves you completely unhinged. You are shaking violently.
Your skin covered in a fine sheen of sweat, your mind reduced to nothing but the primal need to shatter.
He edges you a second time, then a third, dragging out the torture until your voice is completely hoarse from screaming his name.
Your body is entirely sensitized, every tiny movement of his lips causing your muscles to twitch uncontrollably. You are drowning in his heat, his scent, and the dark, possessive grip of his hybrid instincts.
Only when you are completely weeping, your body vibrating on the absolute brink of exhaustion, does he finally show mercy. His tongue moves faster, heavier, flattening out to deliver a merciless, relentless series of rough strokes directly over your swollen bundle of nerves.
The climax hits you like a physical blow.
Your hips spasm violently against his mouth, your throat tearing with a ragged cry as your walls squeeze rhythmically, flooding him with your release.
Satoru doesn't pull away; he holds you firmly in place with his tail, his mouth locked tightly against you as he drinks down your fluids, his deep, satisfied growl vibrating through your entire body as you finally, helplessly break.
The aftershocks of your climax are still rippling through your thighs, your chest heaving frantically as you try to catch your breath in the sweltering heat of the room.
But Satoru gives you absolutely no time to recover.
Before the high can even begin to fade from your mind, his large hands sink into your waist, his long fingers digging into your soft skin with a firm, unyielding grip.
With a single, effortless exertion of his lean muscle, he drags your trembling body across the sheets, pulling you straight to the edge of the bed. Your legs dangle helplessly over the mattress, your core still dripping, completely exposed and throbbing from his relentless oral assault.
He moves with a fluid, predator-like speed, shifting his weight to stand on the floor between your parted knees, his towering height looming over you once again.
The sheer size difference is dizzying from this angle.
Looking up at his lean, wiry frame, you are acutely aware of how small you are beneath him. His white leopard ears twitch, pinning back as his long, plush tail thrashes with restless, dominant energy behind him.
"Don't close your eyes, princess," he murmurs, his voice a deep, gravelly purr that vibrates in your chest. "Look at what you're taking."
He doesn't give you a chance to prepare.
Satoru reaches out, his hand tangling firmly into the hair at the back of your head.
His long fingers anchoring themselves against your scalp.
He tilts your head back at a demanding, sharp angle, forcing your chin up and exposing the long, pale line of your throat. His other hand grips your jaw, his thumb pressing firmly into your cheek to force your mouth open.
Satoru reaches out, his large hand tangling firmly into the hair at the back of your head, his long fingers anchoring themselves against your scalp. He tilts your ahead back at a demanding, sharp angle, forcing your chin up and exposing the long, pale line of your throat.
His other hand grips your jaw, his thumb pressing firmly into your cheek to force your mouth open.
When he steps forward, introducing his thick, heavy length to your lips, the sheer reality of his size hits you all over again. He is massive, far too thick to easily accommodate, and the initial stretch makes your eyes water. Satoru lets out a low, satisfied hiss as your lips wrap around him, his hips beginning a slow, deliberate tilt forward.
The pace he sets is dominant, unyielding, and completely controlled. He pushes himself into your mouth, his hands holding your head perfectly still so you have no choice but to take him. It is a desperate, dizzying struggle to breathe, your throat clenching as he slides deeply against your tongue, the heat radiating from him completely overwhelming your senses. You choke lightly, your hands instinctively rising to grip his lean wrists, but your weak tugs do nothing to move his dense, solid frame.
Instead of pulling back, Satoru lets out a deep, rumbling purr that vibrates directly against your tongue and teeth. His grip on your hair tightens, his fingers gently tugging to force you to tilt your head even further back, deepening the angle.
"Good girl," he murmurs darkly, his pale blue eyes wide and completely blown out as he looks down at your flushed, tearing face. "Look at you stretching for me. Such a pretty little thing, taking all of it so well. Drink me in, sweetheart."
He begins to pace himself more firmly, a mild, relentless face fucking rhythm that leaves your mind entirely blank. Every time he drives forward, his thick length fills your mouth completely, leaving you entirely dependent on the small pockets of air he allows you when he pulls back.
The dominance of the act is suffocating, his lean muscles shifting beautifully with every tilt of his hips, his white tail wrapping around your calf to keep your leg locked tightly in place against his hip.
But he isn't content with just taking your mouth.
While his hand continues to ruthlessly dictate the pace against your lips, Satoru’s other hand slides down your stomach.
His long, large fingers trail over your hip, wet with your own fluids from earlier, before plunging directly down into your slick, hyper-sensitive core.
The sudden, dual invasion makes your body jerk violently, a muffled scream caught entirely in your throat around his thick cock.
Satoru doesn't hesitate.
He thrusts two fingers deeply inside your soaked folds, his touch immediately finding the tight, pulsing rhythm of your interior. He begins to finger you ruthlessly, his knuckles rubbing hard against your swollen clit with every deep, sliding stroke of his fingers.
The sensory overload is immediate and total.
Your mind is completely fractured between the intense stretch in your mouth and the relentless, driving friction between your thighs. Satoru uses his hand inside you to mirror the dominant, unyielding pace of his hips, matching every deep thrust into your throat with a heavy, curling stretch of his fingers inside your core.
"Yeah, feel that?" he growls, his voice dropping into an unhinged, feral register as his white ears flatten against his silver hair.
"Stretched out at both ends for me. You're so wet, princess. You're practically drowning in your own fluids."
He pushes the pace faster, his fingers working you with a brutal, expert precision that leaves you completely defenseless. Your hips begin to lift off the mattress instinctively, chasing the thick, heavy friction of his fingers, but his tail tightens its grip on your leg, anchoring you to his whim.
The combination of the deep, suffocating rhythm in your mouth and the frantic.
Heavy strokes inside you pushes your nervous system past its absolute limit.
You are shaking, your skin burning hot, your vision sparking with bright white light as he drives you ruthlessly toward the edge for a second time.
You try to pull away, your throat tight as you whimper against him, but Satoru’s grip on your hair is ironclad.
He delivers three more heavy, deep thrusts into your mouth while his fingers curl sharply inside you, hooking against your G-spot with absolute malice.
The second orgasm hits you like an absolute tidal wave, breaking your resistance entirely.
Your internal walls clamp down with frantic, rhythmic spasms, clamping tightly around his buried fingers as a fresh flood of your release drenches his hand. Your throat squeezes around his cock in tandem, your body completely locked in a breathless, full-body shudder.
Satoru lets out a deep, guttural growl at the intense suction, his hips giving one final, heavy press against your lips, holding you there as your senses are completely flooded.
Leaving you entirely spent and weeping against him.
Satoru doesn't let you savor the dazed afterglow of your second collapse.
The air in the room is thick, heavy with the musky, sweet scent of your slick mixed with his own radiating, feral heat. His white leopard ears twitch, pinning back hard against his silver hair as he grips your waist and flips you onto your stomach with a sudden, breathtaking display of his lean strength.
Your face presses into the mattress, your breath hitching as he aggressively hooks his large hands under your hip bones. With an unyielding yank, he pulls your hips high, forcing you onto your knees in a vulnerable, deep arch that leaves you completely exposed to him. The sheer size kink is stark from this position; his towering, long-limbed shadow looms over your smaller frame, his heavy, plush white tail thrashing wildly behind him before snapping forward to wrap tightly around your left thigh, anchoring you firmly into place.
He doesn't ease into you. His thick, heavy length is already weeping with friction, pressing hungrily against your drenched, pulsing folds.
"Look at you, shaking like a leaf," Satoru growls, his voice a dark, gravelly vibration that rolls down your spine. "You're already so wide open for me, princess, but you're going to have to stretch a whole lot more."
With a sudden, brutal thrust of his lean hips, he finally breaches you.
The initial stretch is staggering.
A sharp, breathless gasp tears from your throat as his massive girth wedges your tight walls apart, forcing your body to accommodate his full size all at once. It is a painful, delicious, all-consuming fullness that makes your vision blur, your internal muscles desperately tightening around him as he sinks all the way in, burying himself to the root.
Before you can even process the intense weight of him inside you, Satoru begins a pace that is immediately rough, feral, and completely unyielding.
He drives into you with zero hesitation, his lean, wiry muscles flexing beautifully in the dim light as he slams his hips against your backside.
The impact makes a loud, wet clapping sound that echoes in the quiet room, a relentless, punishing rhythm that completely shatters your equilibrium. You try to crawl forward, your hands clawing at the bedsheets to escape the bruising depth of his thrusts, but the thick, muscular coil of his tail tightens around your thigh, dragging you right back onto his cock with every heavy stroke.
"Satoru—ah! It's too—please, it's too deep!" you sob, your head shaking frantically against the mattress.
He leans his entire heavy, lean frame flat against your back, pinning you beneath his weight. His face presses directly into the side of your neck, his lips brushing your ear as he continues to hammer into you from behind without missing a single beat.
A deep, deafening purr begins to rattle from his chest, so loud and low that it literally vibrates through your skull, rattling your teeth and turning your brain to absolute mush.
"Too deep? No way, princess," he murmurs darkly, his breath scorching your ear as his long fingers claw into your hips, anchoring you for a mercilessly hard shove. "You're taking every single inch of me like you were made for it. Look at how perfectly you wrap around my size. You're so tight, so wet... fucking perfect for me..."
The dirty talk is raw, unhinged, and stripped of his usual playful arrogance.
The feral hybrid instincts have taken the wheel completely.
Every heavy, grinding thrust is designed to plant him as deeply as possible into your core, his hips tilting to maximize the friction against your hyper-sensitive walls.
"I'm going to fill you up so high you'll taste me," he growls, his teeth snapping shut on the scruff of your neck, biting down hard enough to leave a deep, possessive mark while his cock bottoms out against your cervix. "I want my seed buried so deep inside you that you can't walk tomorrow. Tell me you want it. Tell me you want your Satoru to breed you."
You are completely undone.
Your mind fractured by the sheer sensory overload of the violent rhythm, the bruising bites, and the constant, skull-rattling vibration of his purr. You can only wail, your voice raw as you beg him to go faster, harder, completely lost to the primal synchronization of his movements.
The pacing turns manic.
Satoru’s breathing is a series of heavy, animalistic huffs, his white ears flattening completely as he senses your internal walls starting to quiver and seize around him.
He doesn't soften his blows; instead, he intensifies the assault, lifting his torso slightly to slam into you with everything his lean frame has, using the dense strength of an apex predator to ride out your resistance.
Your third climax hits with violent intensity.
Your internal walls clamp down on him like a vice, pulsing in frantic, desperate waves that drench his length in a fresh explosion of slick.
Satoru lets out a loud, guttural moan at the crushing friction, his jaw clenching as his own climax rips through him.
He delivers three more heavy, bruising shoves, bottoming out completely and holding his weight heavily against you as his cock pulses violently inside your squeezing core, riding out the devastating, shared high until you are both panting, shaking, and utterly consumed by each other.
The frantic, bruising rhythm grinds to a sudden halt, but the crushing fullness inside your core remains absolute.
Satoru lets out a long, shuddering exhale, his breath scalding the damp skin of your shoulder as he refuses to pull out. Instead of withdrawing to give you a moment of relief, his large hands slide under your armpits, and with a lazy, effortless hoist of his lean muscles, he drags your limp, overstimulated body back into his lap.
He shifts his weight until he is sitting upright against the headboard, pulling you to sit straddled directly over his thighs.
The movement forces his thick, heavy length to bury itself even deeper inside you, bottoming out against your swollen walls with a wet, heavy stretch.
You let out a breathless, weak whine.
Your hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders for balance as your sensitized internal muscles throb violently around his resting size.
"Shh, stay right there," Satoru murmurs, his voice dropping into a low, rumbling register that carries the heavy weight of absolute satisfaction.
Before your shaky legs can even attempt to shift or lift your weight to relieve the intense pressure, his long, plush white leopard tail whips forward.
The thick, muscular limb coils tightly around your waist, wrapping around you twice like a living, furry seatbelt that pins your hips flush against his lap.
It is a complete lockdown.
The tight grip of his tail anchors you so securely that every time you try to squirm or tilt your pelvis away from the suffocating heat of his groin, the plush vise simply squeezes tighter, forcing your wet core to slide right back down to accommodate his thick, heavy presence.
"Don't move, princess," he growls softly, his white ears twitching as they perk up, shifting forward with a relaxed, dominant contentment. "You're warming me up. Just sit there and take it."
He uses this simmering downtime to completely toy with your fractured state of mind. While his lower body keeps you utterly trapped, his long fingers gently tangle into your damp hair, stroking the strands away from your face with an agonizingly slow, possessive tenderness. The contrast is dizzying—his hands are soft and comforting, yet his cock remains aggressively buried inside you, a constant, heavy reminder of who owns your body.
A deep, continuous purr begins to vibrate from his chest once more. It isn’t the frantic, unhinged growl from before; it is a dark, content, and deeply territorial rumble that echoes through your shared embrace.
The vibration rolls right through his lean pectoral muscles and sinks straight into your torso, rattling your bones and keeping your nervous system balanced on a terrifyingly sharp edge.
You twitch involuntarily, a fresh wave of slick weeping from your walls as his girth stretches you out.
"Satoru... it's too much," you whisper, your forehead dropping against his neck as you tremble. "Please, let me slide off. It hurts to just hold you like this."
"It doesn't hurt, you're just hyper-sensitive," he corrects gently, though his blue eyes gleam with a wicked, teasing light as he looks down at you. To prove his point, he deliberately tilts his hips up just a fraction of an inch, his thick head rubbing directly against your most sensitive, aching internal spots.
You let out a loud, broken whimper, your internal walls contracting in a desperate, automatic spasm that tightly hugs his length.
Satoru lets out a dark, breathless chuckle, his white tail tightening around your waist to punish your sudden movement. "See? Look at how greedy you are. Your mouth is complaining, but down here, you're squeezing me so tight. You love having me stretch you out while we rest."
He refuses to let you shift or squirm, holding your hips perfectly still against his lap.
Every time your muscles try to relax, the sheer mass of his resting length forces you to stay completely aware of his dominance.
He leans forward, lazily licking a wet line over the fresh bite marks on your collarbone.
His rough tongue sending shivers straight to your core while your body is forced to helplessly cook around him, slowly building up a thick, dangerous heat for the next round.
The lazy, indulgent contentment holding Satoru against the headboard evaporates in a single, terrifying split second.
Deep within your core, the thick length that had been lazily stretching you out suddenly twitches. A massive surge of heat rushes straight to his groin, and you feel the raw, unyielding steel of his cock surging back to life inside your soaked walls. The resurgence is immediate, thick, and demanding, expanding with an aggressive speed that makes you let out a breathless, panicky gasp.
As his length grows hard and engorged against your hyper-sensitive interior, Satoru’s entire demeanor shifts. The teasing, playful dominance vanishes, replaced instantly by something completely feral, primitive, and ancient.
His body goes rigid beneath yours, the lean, wiry muscles of his torso tightening into solid stone as his apex-predator instincts seize total control of his nervous system. Above his silver hair, his thick white leopard ears pin flat back against his skull, a universal sign of a feline hybrid driven entirely by the madness of the hunt. His pale blue eyes are wide, glassy, and completely blown out, the brilliant iris reduced to a microscopic ring around two massive, dark pools of pure hunger.
He looks at you, but he isn't seeing his sweet princess anymore; he is looking at his mate, his prey, the only thing in the universe meant to receive his rawest, most unhinged desires.
"S-Satoru..." you whimpering, your hands trembling against his shoulders as the sheer mass of him pushes your walls past what you thought they could bear.
He doesn't answer.
A low, menacing hiss rips past his clenched teeth, a stark, animalistic sound that completely silences the room.
His hands slam onto your hips, his long fingers digging into your flesh with a bruising, desperate grip. With a sudden, explosive heave of his lean thighs, he reverses your positions. He flips you flat onto your back, his long limbs pinning your shoulders to the mattress as he crowds over you, his breathing coming in heavy, frantic, ragged huffs that scorch your face.
Before you can even scream, his hips snap forward.
The pace he sets is entirely unhinged.
He hammers into you with a wild, desperate ferocity, his lean frame vibrating with a frantic energy that shatters the rhythm of the previous rounds.
It is rough, messy, and totally unyielding, a relentless barrage of heavy, deep strokes that makes your hips bounce violently against the mattress.
The wet, slapping impact of his groin against yours is deafening, accompanied by the desperate, broken wails tearing from your throat.
Satoru is completely gone to the feral haze, his teeth bared, his head tossing wildly as he drives himself into you to the absolute root, chasing a high that is rapidly spiraling out of his control.
Then, the final evolutionary trait of the apex predator triggers.
Just as he slams into you at his maximum depth, a sudden, terrifyingly good pressure begins to expand rapidly at the very base of his length.
Your eyes widen in sudden, sheer shock as your internal walls register a massive, round swelling beginning to inflate right at your entrance.
It’s his knot.
The hybrid trait expands with an unyielding, thick pressure, stretching your soft, abused flesh past every perceived limit you ever had.
"Satoru! Wait—ah! Stop, it's too big! It's swelling!" you scream, your heels digging into the mattress as you try to push yourself away from the terrifying fullness stretching you open.
But there is no escaping him.
His long, plush white tail snaps around your waist like an iron band, anchoring your pelvis completely flat against his.
The knot expands further, a thick, bulbous mass of flesh that wedges itself tightly past your entrance, locking your bodies together permanently. The sensation of being completely plugged, stretched to your absolute limit, and hopelessly trapped by his anatomy is an agonizingly perfect sensory overload.
Your internal walls frantically grip the massive knot, your body instinctively trying to push out the overwhelming mass while simultaneously squeezing it with helpless, desperate spasms.
Satoru lets out a sharp, strangled gasp as the knot seats itself deep within your core.
The sheer, crushing friction of your tight walls squeezing his swollen base pushes his animal mind completely over the edge. He looks like he is about to lose his mind, his jaw unhinging as a possessive, unhinged roar builds in his throat.
But to keep from completely losing control and tearing the room apart, Satoru’s feline instincts force a sudden, desperate reaction.
With a frantic, lightning-fast snap of his neck, he reaches down and snatches the thick, plush tip of his own white leopard tail in his teeth. He bites down hard on the dense, spotted fur, using the sharp pinch of pain on his hyper-sensitive tail to ground himself against the devastating pleasure of the knot.
A series of muffled, undone sounds tear from his throat, completely distorted by the fur packed into his mouth.
He is moaning and whimpering around his own tail, the dark, pathetic noises vibrating against his teeth as his lean body shudders violently over yours.
His ears twist and twitch erratically, pinned flat one second and twitching forward the next as his knot fully inflates, sealing him inside you so tightly that not a single drop of air can pass between your bodies. The intense, suffocating fullness and the sound of his muffled, pathetic whimpers around his tail completely shatter your last remaining threads of sanity.
The sheer psychological weight of being knotted by a feral Gojo triggers an inescapable, violent wave of mutual orgasms.
Your internal walls explode into the tightest, most frantic contractions of the night, your core squeezing his knot with a crushing, rhythmic desperation that drenches both of your groins in a sudden, thick flood of your release.
Satoru’s eyes roll back into his head, his teeth sinking even deeper into his tail as his own climax rips through his lean frame.
His entire body locks up, his back arching into a rigid, trembling bow as his cock begins to release.
He pours a thick, endless torrent of hot seed directly against your cervix, his length pulsing violently inside you as he whimpers and moans into his fur.
The two of you locked together in a breathless, screaming, and completely inescapable shattering of your senses.
The heavy, suffocating pressure of the knot remains locked deep within your core, but the initial, blinding peak of the climax slowly begins to recede.
Satoru finally releases his tail from between his teeth, letting the plush white tip drop heavily onto the sheets.
He is panting hard, his chest heaving frantically against yours, his skin slick with a thick sheen of sweat that glints in the dim light.
Even as the swelling at his base begins to slowly subside, his dominant, possessive hunger refuses to let the night end quietly. You are completely at the absolute limit of your stamina, your muscles trembling, your body entirely sensitized and dripping with your combined fluids.
Yet, as the knot deflates just enough to allow movement, Satoru forces you through a final, desperate push.
He doesn't pull out.
Instead, his large hands clamp back down onto your hips, anchoring you to the mattress as he begins a series of deep, heavy, grinding thrusts.
"Satoru... please, no more, I can't take any more," you sob, your voice completely hoarse, your head shaking weakly against the pillows.
"Just a little more, princess," he rasps, his voice a broken, exhausted murmur that carries an unyielding, primal demand. "Take it for me. Take all of it."
He rides out the remaining deflation of his length with a slow, agonizingly thick pace.
Every time his hips grind forward, his heavy weight bottoms out completely against your swollen walls, dragging the remaining heat from his core directly into yours. It is a slow, crushing torment, pushing your body past exhaustion into a state of pure, mind-numbing overstimulation.
You can only lay there helplessly, your legs trembling as he ruthlessly claims whatever sweetness you have left.
With a final, deep, and heavy shove, his hips lock tightly against yours for the last time.
The final, massive creampie hits your core in violent, rhythmic pulses.
Because he stays buried so deeply, the thick torrent of his seed has absolutely nowhere to go. You feel every single pulse of it, a scalding-hot flood that fills your interior to the absolute brim, stretching your walls out one last time as he pumps himself completely empty inside you.
Satoru lets out a long, ragged groan, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as his body shudders through the final, exhaustive aftershocks of his release.
When he finally, slowly pulls out, the physical mess left behind is staggering.
Without his thick length acting as a plug, the sheer volume of his creampie instantly overspills. A thick, milky mixture of his semen and your slick rushes out from your stretched, pulsing core, pooling heavily on the dark bedsheets and dripping down the inner curves of your thighs. Satoru hovers over you for a moment, his pale blue eyes dropping down to look at the sight. A look of extreme, animalistic satisfaction washes over his face.
His white leopard ears twitch, perking up with a smug, deeply territorial pride as he drinks in the visual proof of his total ownership—your body heavily marked with his teeth, covered in his scent, and utterly overflowing with his seed.
The feral madness finally breaks, leaving him completely exhausted.
His lean, wiry frame collapses entirely over yours, his heavy head burying itself back into the crook of your neck.
A few quiet, pathetic whimpers escape him as he nuzzles into your skin, the vulnerable, tired sounds brushing hot against your collarbone.
He is spent, his energy drained from the frantic multi-round endurance, but his possessive instincts remain awake. Satoru softly presses a series of lazy, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline before his tongue emerges.
Moving with a slow, soothing rhythm, he begins to gently lick the deep, bruising bites he left on your neck and shoulders earlier, his rough, feline saliva working to calm the stinging, swollen marks he stamped into your skin.
"Mine," he breathes against your wet skin, a final, sleepy growl rumbling weakly in his chest.
He shifts his long legs, tangling them thoroughly with yours, and his long, plush white tail wraps firmly around your thigh, binding you to him like a living anchor.
He pulls your limp, exhausted body flush against his chest, refusing to let even an inch of space exist between you as he drags you down with him into a deep, heavy, and intensely possessiveness sleep.
♡ synopsis :: As the crown princess, your life is a series of gilded cages and suffocating expectations. Lately, those walls feel smaller, haunted by the whispers of a notorious, flame-scarred thief who slips through your balcony doors to steal your breath and leave you ruined in the dark. Terrified yet captivated, you confess these lawless midnight encounters to Hawks—your fiercely loyal personal knight, your trusted shadow shield. You tell him how the thief touches you, how he speaks to you.
Hawks stays completely quiet, his expression unreadable as he simply nods along, comforting you with a steady hand.
What you don't know is that the expected bloodbath will never happen. Your perfect knight already knows the thief. In fact, he’s the one who leaves the palace gates unlocked. Together, the two men have woven a wicked web around you. Behind your heavy velvet curtains and in front of your full-length vanity mirrors, your savior and your sinner have made a treasonous bargain—and they are going to turn your pleasure into a petty, breathless competition. By the time you realize your protector and your captor are working in tandem, you are already entirely at their mercy.
♡ word count :: 1,760
♡ warnings — tags :: double penetration (dp), spitroasting, mirror sex, toy play, vibrator on male character, competitive banter, bickering mid-act, "who does it better?", soft vs. rough contrast, silk ribbon bondage, overstimulation, edging/denial, marking/biting, praise & degradation, begging, kingdom-shaking smut, tactical betrayal, dynamic duo, wolves in sheep's clothing, corrupted innocence, crown princess reader, knight in tarnished armor, collusion, withholding information.
The velvet curtains of your bedchambers usually shut out the rest of the kingdom, but tonight, they feel like the walls of a trap.
The air inside the royal wing is thick, smelling of beeswax, crushed lavender, and the suffocating weight of a crown you never asked to wear. Outside, the distant, rhythmic chiming of the citadel clock heralds midnight, each strike vibrating through the heavy stone floors like a warning. You sit motionless at your vanity, the polished mahogany surface cool against your resting palms. Your fingers tremble slightly, a quiet, internal fracture that you try desperately to hide from the man standing in the shadows behind you.
In the silvered reflection of the full-length mirror, you track the ghost of a flame-scarred touch that still feels entirely too present on your skin. It has been twenty-four hours since the notorious criminal breached your balcony, yet the phantom heat of his rough, stapled hands seems to simmer just beneath your collarbone, a lawless brand disrupting your royal composure.
"He was here again, Hawks," you whisper. The sound of your voice is small, instantly swallowed by the heavy, ornate tapestries lining the walls. You don't dare look back at him directly, keeping your eyes locked on his reflection instead. "The thief. Dabi. He... he bypassed the courtyard guards entirely. He sat right there on my bed."
Beside the heavy drapes, Hawks stands as the absolute picture of knightly perfection. His armor is absent tonight, leaving him in a tailored, high-collared crimson doublet that matches the fierce, commanding span of the massive golden wings folded neatly against his back. He is your shadow shield, the fiercely loyal captain assigned to guard your virtue and protect your lineage from the corrupting forces creeping outside the palace walls. His posture is rigid, disciplined, his amber eyes scanning the perimeter of the dark room with practiced, military precision.
When you speak the criminal's name, you expect a reaction. You expect the sharp click of his heels, the instinctive reach for his blade, or the sudden, tense flaring of his primary feathers.
Instead, Hawks stays completely quiet.
The golden boy of the Royal Guard doesn't flinch. He doesn't sound the alarm. He simply nods—a slow, heavy, deliberate gesture of understanding that carries an unsettling weight. The silence stretches between you, thick and elastic, broken only by the crackle of a dying candle on your vanity.
Slowly, Hawks breaks his stance. His boots make no sound against the thick, plush rug as he closes the distance between the balcony doors and your seat. He steps into your personal space, his towering frame eclipsing the dim candlelight, casting a broad, protective shadow completely over your reflection. He places a large, gloved hand gently on your shoulder. The leather of his glove is supple, broken-in, and grounding, but his grip holds a subtle, unyielding firmness that prevents you from leaning away.
"Did he now?" Hawks murmurs. His voice is entirely too calm, a smooth, low cadence that lacks even a shred of the righteous fury a royal protector should possess. His thumb begins to move, tracing a slow, comforting circle against the base of your neck, his golden eyes locking onto yours through the glass. "And what exactly did he do to you tonight, princess?"
A shiver ripples down your spine, mistaken for a sudden chill. You swallow hard, your chest rising and falling rapidly against the tight, restrictive lacing of your evening gown. You are completely blind to the dark, knowing glint dancing deep within your knight's irises—the subtle, predatory curve of his lips that dissolves his usual noble facade.
"He..." You hesitate, your breath catching as you recall the rough timbre of the thief's voice from the night before. "He told me I belonged to the shadows now. He sat at the edge of the mattress and watched me brush my hair, Hawks. He said even my perfect, decorated guard couldn't save me from him. He promised he'd come back to take the crown jewel for himself."
"Is that so?"
The rough, gravelly voice doesn't come from the man holding your shoulder. It cuts through the quiet from the heavy, dark folds of the velvet curtains near the balcony.
Your heart violently drops into your stomach. Your breath hitches, your lungs freezing as a tall, slender silhouette detaches itself from the deep shadows and steps into the faint amber glow of the vanity candles. Dabi. His coat hangs loosely from his shoulders, the dark fabric smelling faintly of ozone, smoke, and the crisp night air. The silver staples holding his scorched, purple skin together gleam under the firelight, and a wicked, thoroughly arrogant smirk cuts across his features.
Instinctively, your body reacts to the danger. You press backward, trying to sink into the solid, familiar safety of Hawks’s chest, waiting for the metallic shriek of a drawn sword, waiting for your knight to lung forward and strike the infiltrator down.
But Hawks doesn't move an inch.
His hand remains perfectly steady on your shoulder, his fingers tightening just enough to pin you gently, inexorably in place against the vanity stool. He doesn't shift into a defensive stance. His golden wings remain relaxed, half-spread behind you like a cage rather than a shield.
"You're late, patchs," Hawks says, his tone entirely careless, the formal knightly demeanor vanishing in a split second as he glances toward the thief. He lets out a low, breathy chuckle, his thumb stopping its soothing motion against your neck. "She was starting to think I actually do my job around here."
Dabi chuckles, a dark, raspy sound that sends a jolt of pure panic straight down your nerves. He steps closer, completely unbothered by the presence of the captain of the guard, his heavy boots thudding softly against the floorboards until he is leaning over the vanity, his heated breath fanning across your cheek.
"Had to make sure the outer patrol was on the other side of the courtyard, birdy," Dabi sneers playfully, his brilliant blue eyes locking onto yours with a terrifyingly possessive hunger. "Though I see you left the side gate unlocked just like we agreed."
Your mind completely fractures under the weight of the revelation. The room seems to tilt. You look between the two of them—the fiercely loyal protector who has sworn his life to your safety, and the kingdom's most wanted criminal—as the cold, suffocating reality sets in.
They know each other. They've been planning this.
"You... you lied to me," you breathe, your voice shaking as you look up at Hawks's reflection, searching for the man who used to watch over you with disciplined reverence.
"I never lied to you, princess," Hawks murmurs, leaning down until his lips brush the sensitive skin of your ear, his breath warm and devastatingly close. His grip on your shoulders shifts, his hands sliding down to secure your waist against the stool. "You asked if I could keep a secret. I'm just keeping it. Now, let's see if you can keep one, too."
The realization clogs your throat like ash. The very foundation of your safety—the unwavering loyalty of the Royal Guard—evaporates into the dim candlelit air of your bedchambers. You are trapped between the two halves of a dark, treasonous conspiracy, and the terrifying truth is written plainly in the effortless, casual chemistry between your knight and your thief.
Dabi reaches out, his rough, heavily scarred fingers tracing the edge of your polished mahogany vanity before hooking beneath your chin. His touch is blistering hot, a stark contrast to the cool leather of Hawks's gloves still resting heavily on your waist. He forces your face upward, tilting your head back so you have no choice but to meet his piercing, electric-blue gaze.
"Look at her, birdy," Dabi murmurs, a slow, wicked grin pulling at the staples along his jawline. "She looks like she’s seen a ghost. Did you really think your pretty little savior was going to slip a blade between my ribs?"
"She’s innocent, Dabi. Play nice," Hawks says, though there is absolutely no heat behind his command.
Instead of defending you, Hawks steps closer, his massive golden wings expanding with a soft, rustling sigh. The feathers block out the exit to the balcony and the heavy doors leading to the palace corridors, effectively sealing the three of you in a private, high-contrast world of velvet and shadow. He leans his weight against the back of your chair, his hands sliding down from your waist to grip your upper thighs through the heavy, luxurious silk of your skirts. The sheer possessiveness of the gesture makes your breath hitch.
"You... you're a captain of the guard," you whisper desperately, your eyes darting to Hawks's reflection in the glass, pleading with the man who had stood by your throne for months with flawless discipline. "This is high treason. If my father finds out—"
"Your father won't find out, princess," Hawks interrupts smoothly, his voice dropping into a low, raspy purr that sends a shiver straight down your spine. He leans down further, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath warm and dizzying. "Who do you think he’s going to ask about the palace security? Me. Every report I write says your wing is completely secure. Every shadow I claim to chase out of the gardens is just an excuse to let him slip through the gates."
"It's a beautiful system, really," Dabi chuckles, his thumb rubbing across your lower lip, forcing it open slightly. He leans down until his face is only inches from yours, the scent of smoke and sharp ozone completely overwhelming the gentle lavender of your room. "The bird opens the cage, and I get to play with the prize. And tonight, sweetheart, we're tired of playing in the dark."
The utter helplessness of your situation settles into your chest. You are the crown jewel of the kingdom, yet inside these four walls, you are completely at the mercy of two dangerous men who have woven a wicked web specifically to unravel your royal composure.
"What do you want from me?" you gasp out, your chest heaving against the restrictive lacing of your gown, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs.
Dabi’s eyes flash with a dangerous, predatory hunger as his hand slides from your chin down the column of your throat, his calloused palm resting right over your racing pulse. "Everything," he promises roughly, his gaze dropping to the low neckline of your dress. "We want the screams you bite back when you're trying to be a perfect princess. We want to see exactly how long it takes to break that noble pride of yours."
Behind you, Hawks lets out a low, breathy laugh, his hands tightening on your thighs with an unyielding, bruising firmness that roots you to the spot. "Don't scare her too much yet, patchs. We have all night. Let's show her exactly what happens when a thief and a knight share the same crown jewel."
The air in the room shifts from terrifying to thick, suffocating heat as the rules of your captivity are laid bare. There is no rescue coming. The very man who should be drawing his sword to protect your virtue is already pulling you flush against his chest, his large, powerful frame anchoring you to the vanity stool.
"She’s too tense, birdy," Dabi grunts, his blue eyes flashing with a wicked amusement as he feels the rapid, panicked fluttering of your pulse beneath his palm. "Look at her. She’s still trying to hold her head up like she’s sitting on that pathetic gold throne downstairs."
"We can fix that," Hawks murmurs, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that vibrates directly through your spine.
With a smooth, practiced ease that makes your blood run hot, Hawks reaches around you. His gloved hands are deft, bypassing the heavy, structured pieces of armor you usually see him wear, opting instead to slide his fingers directly to the intricate, tight lacing at the back of your evening gown. He doesn't tear the fabric; he unties it with a slow, agonizing deliberation, loosening the silk cords one by one until the restrictive structure of the royal dress falls away, leaving you shivering in nothing but your thin, translucent undergarments.
You catch your own reflection in the full-length vanity mirror, your skin flushed, your chest rising and falling violently. Hawks tracks your gaze in the glass, his golden eyes dark with a hunger he has clearly suppressed for months while standing at attention by your side.
"Much better," Hawks whispers, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of your shoulder blade. "But she's still got her hands free to hide behind."
Dabi lets out a rough, amused huff, his gaze darting down to your vanity drawers. He slides one open with a sharp click, rummaging through the velvet-lined trays until he pulls out a long, thick black silk ribbon—the very one you used to bind your hair during formal court appearances.
"Let's make sure she stays exactly where we want her," Dabi sneers.
Before you can pull away, Dabi catches your wrists. His grip is firm, his calloused skin radiating an intense, feverish heat as he wraps the black silk tightly around your hands, binding your wrists together. He lifts your arms, hooking the silk ribbon over the heavy, carved silver frame at the top of the tall vanity mirror. The positioning forces your chest to arch forward, exposing the pale, trembling column of your throat completely to the candlelight, leaving you completely vulnerable.
"Hawks... please," you gasp out, your voice breaking as you look down at your knight, hoping a shred of his old discipline remains.
Instead, Hawks sinks down to his knees directly in front of you. He looks up at you through his messy blonde bangs, a dark, completely uncharacteristic smirk playing on his lips. His hands grip your outer thighs, pulling you right to the very edge of the vanity seat so your legs are parted for him. But instead of touching you immediately, he reaches into the pocket of his doublet, pulling out a small, sleek, humming device—a luxury toy subtly confiscated from your private bathhouse weeks ago.
Dabi lets out a loud, mocking laugh from behind your chair, his hips pressing firmly against your backside as he looks down at the captain. "What's the matter, bird-brain? Need a mechanical cheat because your own fingers are too stiff from saluting all day?"
"Shut up, patchs," Hawks snaps back, a sharp, competitive edge entering his voice. He doesn't turn the device on you. Instead, he shifts his own clothing, pressing the humming, vibrating tip directly against his own leaking, rock-hard length. A low, ragged groan tears from his throat as the intense vibration hits him, his golden wings flaring violently behind him. He glares up at Dabi, his eyes blown out and dark. "I'm just setting a baseline. Let's see how long you can last while watching me take her."
Dabi’s expression darkens, a dangerous, competitive fire igniting in his blue eyes as he shifts his weight, aligning his thick, searing heat with your entrance from behind. "Is that a challenge, captain? Because I can guarantee you I'll have her begging for the gutter before you even make a sound."
You shake your head blindly against the mirror frame, the silk ribbons pulling taut against your wrists as the sheer overstimulation of their competitive bickering drives your sanity over the edge. "Wait—both of you? No, please, I can't—"
"You can, princess," Hawks pants, his breath hitching as he discards the toy, his hands gripping your hips with a bruising force that leaves you completely trapped between them. "You're going to take both of us. Now let's see which one of us ruins you first."
The double invasion hits you like a physical wave, fracturing your royal composure into absolute pieces. Dabi drives forward from behind in one smooth, agonizingly perfect push just as Hawks claims his own share from the front. A loud, breathless cry tears from your throat, echoing off the glass of the vanity mirror as your body stretches to accommodate the overwhelming fullness of both your savior and your sinner.
Your bound fingers clench desperately against the black silk ribbons, the fabric straining against the mahogany frame as your head tosses back against Dabi’s solid, unyielding chest.
"Look at the mirror," Dabi commands, his voice tight and strained as he begins a brutal, heavy rhythm, his staples scraping lightly against your bare shoulder. He forces your chin up, making you watch the reflection of your own undone, weeping face. "Look at what we're doing to you, sweetheart. Tell your pretty little knight how much better the street rat stretches you."
"F-Fuck," Hawks chokes out, his usual sharp composure completely ruined as he moves inside you from the front. His face is completely flushed, his forehead pressing against your knee for a brief second as his hands grip your thighs with bruising force. "Don't listen to him, princess... look at me. Tell him he's just... a temporary distraction."
The bickering between them only intensifies, their movements becoming a chaotic, synchronized assault on your senses. Every push from Dabi drives you deeper onto Hawks; every desperate thrust from Hawks sends you slamming back into Dabi's unyielding heat. You are completely overstimulated, tears blurring your vision as the vanity mirror reflects a scene of absolute, treasonous depravity.
"He's moving too fast, princess," Dabi taunts, intentionally slowing his own pace to ruin Hawks’s rhythm, pulling out just far enough to make you whine before plunging back in. "The bird's gonna blow his load in a second. Admit it. I'm the one ruining your royal poise properly."
"In your fucking dreams," Hawks pants, his golden wings flaring wide in a desperate show of dominance, completely blocking out the candlelit room. He picks up the pace, his leather-gloved hands digging into your skin to leave marks that will be hidden perfectly beneath your high-collared royal gowns tomorrow. "She's crying my name, Dabi. Keep dragging your feet and I'll make her forget you're even in the room."
The sheer intensity of the climax finally rips through you in violent, uncontrollable waves, your walls pulsing with a desperate, crushing grip around both of them.
Hawks lets out a loud, ruined groan that sounds nothing like a noble captain of the guard, his body going rigid as his wings shudder violently, sending a flurry of loose golden feathers scattering across the floor. He finally loses his tight grip on his discipline, filling you with a thick, heavy warmth.
Right behind him, Dabi lets out a low, breathy growl, driving into you with two more heavy, brutal thrusts before he shudders violently against your back, releasing his own searing heat deep inside you.
For a long, breathless minute, the only sound in your royal bedchambers is the ragged, synchronized breathing of the two men who just shattered every law in the kingdom.
Slowly, Dabi pulls back, letting out a sharp, satisfied hiss as he lazily unties the black silk ribbon from the top of the vanity frame, freeing your trembling, bruised wrists. Your hands drop heavily into your lap, completely lacking the strength to move.
"Look at that," Dabi murmurs, his voice dripping with an arrogant, lazy satisfaction as he forces your chin up toward the mirror one last time. "The perfect princess, completely filled to the brim by a traitor and a thief."
Hawks slowly pulls himself out with a soft, wet sound, immediately reaching for a discarded silk cloth to gently clean your inner thighs, his attentive, worshipful nature returning the moment the competitive haze fades.
"Don't flatter yourself, street rat," Hawks murmurs softly, his voice still incredibly raspy as he glances up to glare at Dabi. "She was screaming my name at the end. You were just the background noise."
"In your dreams, bird-brain," Dabi scoffs, though there's no real heat behind it as he reaches down to trace a lingering, possessive finger over the fresh bite mark he left on your shoulder.
Hawks stands up, wrapping his massive golden wings around both you and Dabi, completely hiding the three of you from the rest of the dark, silent palace. He leans down, kissing away the tears of overstimulation still clinging to your cheeks.
"Let him talk, princess," Hawks whispers against your lips, his hand resting securely over your heart. "The gate is locked now, and the secret is ours. We'll let him think he won... until tomorrow night."
dividers by: @honeyluvsw , @uzmacchiato and I think the black bows are from @cursed-carmine but I'm not sure . correct me if I'm wrong !!
♡ synopsis :: it started with a couple of drinks and a stubborn streak. you’ve spent the last three hours whining, pouting, and begging katsuki for just a single ride in his prized sports car—specifically a midnight cruise through the neon-blurred city streets. he’s spent those same three hours aggressively shooting you down, claiming his car isn't a toy for a needy, buzzed brat.
but tonight, your persistence finally breaks his ironclad patience.
with a harsh click of his tongue and a rough grip on your waist, he drags you out to the garage, throws it into gear, and peels off into the dark. you wanted to feel the high-octane speed, but trapped inside the suffocatingly tight, leather-scented cabin, the real danger isn't the speedometer—it’s the look in katsuki’s red eyes when he abruptly pulls over into a deserted overlook. the engine is idling low, your liquid courage is peaking, and katsuki is entirely done playing nice. If you’re going to beg him for a ride, he’s going to make sure you earn every single mile.
♡ word count :: 3,522 ♡
♡ warnings — tags :: NSFW. racer au :: car sex :: oral (receiving katsuki) :: teasing :: foggy windows :: drunk sex :: aged up katsuki :: riding katsuki slightly veiny dick :: rough sex :: messy kissing :: sloppy fucking :: nipple play :: moaning katsuki :: three rounds :: light hair pulling :: marking :: mild growling :: body worship :: praise degradation :: clit rubbing ::
The neon glare of the city blurred into streaks of liquid amber and electric blue against the rain-slicked windshield, refracting through the steady, rhythmic sweep of the wipers. Inside the suffocatingly tight, leather-scented cabin of the sports car, the atmosphere was entirely too hot. It wasn't just the climate control; it was the low, heavy rumble of the twin-turbo engine vibrating straight through the floorboards and into the marrow of your bones, a physical manifestation of the man sitting less than six inches to your right.
You were leaning heavily against the passenger door, a warm, reckless buzz humming through your veins from the drinks you’d spent the last three hours downing at the underground racer hangout down by the docks. Your fiery red curls fell in a chaotic, tangled cascade over your shoulders, framing a face flushed a deep pink from the alcohol and a thoroughly stubborn, relentless pout.
"Katsuki," you whined, your voice carrying that loose, uninhibited edge that only a heavy pour of bourbon could provide. It was a little louder than usual, a little more demanding, entirely stripping away the cautious boundaries you usually kept around his notoriously short fuse. "You’re driving like an old man. You’re driving too normal. I begged you for hours to take me out in this thing. Put your fucking foot down."
Beside you, Katsuki’s jaw ticked so hard a muscle strobed beneath his pale skin. His hands—large, heavily calloused, and patterned with the faint, pale scars of a mechanic and a driver who handled explosive machinery—were wrapped white-knuckled around the Alcantara steering wheel. The sleeves of his heavy black racing jacket were ridden up slightly, revealing the sharp, tensed lines of his wrists and the thick veins striping his forearms.
He had shot you down all night. Every time you had leaned against his shoulder at the bar, slurring a request for a midnight cruise through the high-speed loops of the city, he had shoved a glass of water in your face and told you to shut your mouth. He’d aggressively called you a needy, impatient brat in front of half his pit crew. But your persistence—that specific, stubborn brand of redheaded defiance—had finally cracked his ironclad patience. Ten minutes ago, he had reached his limit. He’d grabbed you by the meat of your waist, practically hoisting you off the barstool, dragged you out to the private garage, thrown you into the bucket seat, and peeled off into the midnight streets.
He’d told himself he was only doing it to shut you up. He’d told himself that a brisk, high-G loop around the beltway would scare the alcohol right out of you and buy him some goddamn peace and quiet.
But having you inside the enclosed, dark space of the cabin was doing the exact opposite of calming him down. The scent of your perfume, mixed with the sharp bite of liquor and the natural heat of your skin, was trapped in the small interior, circulating through the vents until it was the only thing he could breathe.
"Shut the fuck up," Katsuki growled, his crimson eyes cutting to you for a fraction of a second, burning with a volatile mix of irritation and something much heavier, before snapping back to the dark asphalt ahead. "Sober or drunk, you’re a needy little brat, you know that? I’m not wrapping a quarter-million-dollar machine around a concrete barrier because you can't keep your mouth shut or sit still."
Instead of backing off, the liquid courage prompted you to shift in your seat. The leather groaned beneath you as you unbuckled your seatbelt with a clumsy click, sliding your body across the center console. You didn't care about the safety ratings or the speed. You let your hand drop onto his thigh, your fingers tracing the thick, heavy seam of his racing pants right over the dense muscle. As your palm slid upward, you felt it—the hard, thick, unmistakable ridge of his cock already thickening and lengthening beneath the heavy fabric, pressed flat against his lower abdomen.
You leaned closer, your loose red curls brushing against the stiff collar of his jacket, your breath hot against the side of his neck. "You're a professional, Bakugo. Best on the circuit. I think you can handle a little distraction."
Katsuki let out a sharp, ragged breath that sounded like a snarl. The muscles in his thigh instantly locked stone-wall hard beneath your palm, his entire lower body rigid as his cock throbbed violently against his zipper in response to your touch. A low, dangerous rumble vibrated deep in his chest—a mild growl that had absolutely nothing to do with anger and everything to do with the sheer friction of his restraint snapping in half.
"You really think you're fucking funny, don't you?" he hissed, his voice dropping into a register that was dangerously quiet.
Without warning, Katsuki violently jerked the steering wheel to the right. The tires screamed against the wet pavement, the rear end of the sports car breaking traction for a fraction of a second before the computer corrected it, tearing off the main highway and plunging down an unlit, neglected access road. The undercarriage rattled as the car kicked up loose gravel, ascending a steep incline that led to a deserted, overgrown city overlook.
He slammed on the brakes. The force threw you forward slightly against the dashboard before you tumbled back into the leather. He hit the ignition button, cutting the roaring engine down to a low, sinister, throbbing idle that vibrated directly up through the floorboards and into your thighs.
The pitch-black darkness of the overlook swallowed the car completely. The rain was coming down harder now, heavy drops drumming a frantic rhythm against the carbon-fiber roof, while the distant, soft smudges of the city skyline glimmered like dying embers through the side windows.
"Out of your seat," he ordered, his breath hitching as he unbuckled his own harness. "Now."
Before you could even formulate a slurred reply, Katsuki reached across the console and hit the manual adjustment lever on your passenger seat. With a sharp, sudden thud, the backrest reclined completely flat, turning the passenger side into a dark, leather-lined alcove. In the next heartbeat, he ripped his zipper down with a harsh, metallic screech. He didn't wait for you to adjust. He shifted his massive, heavy frame entirely over the gear shifter and the center console, crowding into your space until he was hovering directly over your body, blocking out what little ambient light filtered through the windshield.
His thick, slightly veiny dick popped free of his dark underwear, already fully erect, heavy, and slicked with a heavy bead of pre-cum at the crown. It twitched in the dim, red glow of the dashboard instrument cluster, looking massive and menacing in the tight confines of the car.
"You wanted to see what this car can do?" Katsuki sneered, his face inches from yours, his crimson eyes wide and blown out with a terrifying level of arousal. His pale, rough hands dove directly into your vibrant red hair, his fingers tangling tightly into the curls near your scalp, pulling just enough to force your head back against the flat headrest, completely exposing the long line of your throat. "You’ve been begging for a ride all damn night, running your mouth off to every extra at the track. Now you’re gonna earn every single mile of it."
"Katsuki—"
"I told you to shut your fucking mouth," he commanded, his thumb pressing hard against your lower lip, forcing your mouth open. His eyes burned into yours with a primal, predatory intensity that made the alcohol buzz in your head sharpen into pure, unadulterated adrenaline. He leaned down, his chest crushing your breasts, his breath hot and smelling of the mint he’d been chewing to keep his focus. He guided your head down with a firm, unyielding pressure, his intentions instantly clear as the warm, pre-cum slicked head of his cock brushed heavily against your flushed cheek. "Look at me. Get to work, brat."
Your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird as you adjusted your position in the cramped alcove of the passenger footwell, your knees resting on the floor mats while your upper body was draped across the flat leather seat. The heat radiating off Katsuki’s body was completely overwhelming, a furnace confined within a carbon-fiber box. The moment your lips parted and you took the thick, flared head of his cock into your mouth, a heavy, breathless grunt tore from the very back of Katsuki’s throat.
The commanding, untouchable superstar of the asphalt completely dissolved the second your warm, wet throat wrapped around his length.
His fingers tightened instantly in your messy red curls, his knuckles digging against your scalp as he established his grip. He didn't just let you suck him; his hips hitched forward instinctively, his thick pelvis driving forward to slide his dick deeper into your mouth, testing the wet depth of your throat. You let out a muffled, choked sound, your eyes watering as you gripped his tensed thighs for balance, but the discomfort only seemed to make him harder.
He was moaning openly now—harsh, desperate, unrefined sounds that bounced off the glass and leather of the interior. He was completely weak to the sensation of your tongue swirling around the sensitive ridge of his head, his usual abrasive insults melting into broken, praising degradations that he gasped out between ragged breaths.
"F-fuck... yeah, suck it just like that, you needy girl," he choked out, his head throwing back against the roof liner, his eyes closed tight as a bead of sweat broke from his hairline and rolled down the sharp line of his jaw. "Good girl... look at how fucking greedy you are for it. Couldn't even wait until we got back to the apartment, could you? Had to have it right here."
You sucked him harder, using the slickness of your saliva to coat the entire length of his shaft, your hand sliding up to cup his heavy balls, squeezing them gently. Katsuki let out a sharp, fractured gasp, his hips jerking in a erratic, uncontrolled rhythm that was a far cry from his usual precision on the track. He was pacing himself, you could tell by the way his thighs trembled and the way he would suddenly freeze, his fingers ripping at your curls to pull your mouth away for a few agonizing seconds just to catch his breath before burying himself right back inside your mouth.
"Shut up... fuck, just let me taste you. You’re entirely too loud," he muttered, though you hadn't said a word, your mouth entirely full of him. He was projecting his own lack of control onto you, his mind completely fried by the contrast of his pale, calloused fingers tangled in your vibrant red hair, guiding your head up and down his shaft.
The windows were already beginning to cloud over from the sheer exertion of his breathing, the cool rain outside chilling the glass while his body heat turned the car into a sauna. He thrust his hips forward twice more, a low, guttural growl ripping from his chest as your throat clamped down on his corona.
"Out," he panted suddenly, his hands moving from your hair to grab your armpits with bruising strength. "Get up. I’m not spilling a single drop of this on the seats, and I’m sure as fuck not finishing on your face yet."
Before you could fully recover your breath, Katsuki hauled you up over the center console, his movements frantic, messy, and fueled by a sudden, violent surge of pure adrenaline. He didn't care about the cramped dimensions of the sports car; he only cared about the burning need to be inside you. He dragged you straight onto his lap, straddling him in the driver's seat.
Your back pressed flush against the heavy, small-diameter steering wheel, the horn giving a brief, muffled beep as your weight shifted against it. Your hands desperately scrambled for leverage, palms slapping against the smooth leather of the dashboard and the cold glass of the driver’s side window as he reached down, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear and ripping them to the side with a brutal, single-minded yank.
The temperature inside the cabin skyrocketed past the breaking point. Your breath hitched as Katsuki peeled his heavy racing jacket off his shoulders, throwing it carelessly into the passenger footwell and leaving him completely shirtless. His heavily muscled chest, slick with a fine layer of sweat, heaved like a marathon runner's as he stared up at you in the dark, his red eyes zeroing in on your dripping, soaked core.
He didn't waste another second. Katsuki grabbed his thick, veiny dick, his fingers slick with your saliva, lining the flared head up with your soaking wet, swollen slit. With a single, unholy groan, he grabbed your hips and slammed his pelvis upward, while his weight pulled you down.
You shrieked, the sound echoing loudly in the small cabin, as he buried his entire length inside you in one heavy, deep, unyielding stroke.
The sensation of his thick cock stretching you open so suddenly made your vision blur, the remaining haze of the alcohol completely evaporating under the sheer intensity of the fullness. Katsuki didn't give you a moment to adjust to the stretch. His hands clamped down on your hips like iron vices, his fingers digging deep into your skin, leaving faint red marks that would undoubtedly bruise by morning.
"Fuck, you're so tight," he growled into your ear, his teeth grazing the shell of your earlobe before he began to move. "So fucking wet for me. Look at you."
As you began riding him, your hands framing his face, the sheer heat of your combined bodies met the cool midnight air outside, rapidly coating every single window in a thick, heavy layer of condensation. The city lights outside blurred into completely meaningless, soft smudges of orange and white, totally locking the two of you away from the rest of the world in a secure, steam-fogged cocoon.
"Katsuki, please," you gasped, your fingers digging into the hard, bunched muscles of his shoulders, your hips moving in a rhythm that was fast, desperate, and completely uncoordinated from the lingering effects of the bourbon. Your wet folds were sliding and slapping loudly against his groin with every rough, upward thrust of his pelvis, the wet, messy friction filling the quiet car.
"I've got you, shut up," he growled back, his calloused, scarred hands mapping every single inch of your skin in a frantic, possessive display of body worship. He squeezed your thighs, lifting your weight slightly just to slam you back down against his thick cock, controlling the depth and the speed with the same ruthless authority he used to control a thousand-horsepower machine on the asphalt.
His hands slid upward, his rough palms scraping against your ribcage before his fingers clamped around your breasts. His thumbs aggressively teased your nipples, rolling them roughly between his callouses until you were arching your back off his chest, your clit rubbing hard against his pubic bone with every down-stroke as you cried out his name against the foggy glass of the driver's side window.
"You like that, don't you, brat?" he panted, his chest bouncing against yours. "Look at what you did to my car. Windows are completely fucked. Can't see a damn thing outside because you're so fucking hot."
It was rough, heavy, and beautifully sloppy fucking. The confined space meant every movement was restricted, forcing an intensity that a bed could never provide. Your knees pressed into the sides of the driver's seat, your toes digging into the floorboards as Katsuki pulled your face down by the chin, crashing his lips against yours in a series of messy, bruising kisses. He tasted like the salt of his own sweat and the raw, unbridled heat of his hunger.
He was completely unhinged by the sight of your flushed, sweating skin and your wild, tangled red curls bouncing wildly with every heavy, relentless stroke of his cock inside you. He leaned his head down into the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing over the sensitive skin of your collarbone before biting down firmly, marking you with a deep, dark hickey that would take weeks to fade. He let out a low, vibration-heavy growl against your skin as your internal walls suddenly clamped down hard on his dick, signaling your approaching climax.
"Katsuki—I'm gonna cum—"
"Do it," he ordered, his pace turning frantic, feral, and completely devoid of his usual calculated precision. He was just a man tearing into the only thing that mattered. He thrust upward three more times, his cock swelling to an impossible thickness inside your twitching walls until you screamed, your orgasm ripping through you and milking him dry. With a loud, broken groan, Katsuki shoved his hips up one last time, holding you tightly against his chest as he blew a thick, hot load deep inside your core.
The silence that followed was broken only by the sound of two pairs of lungs fighting for air in the oxygen-depleted cabin. The windows were completely opaque now, covered in thick condensation that trickled down the glass in long, clear tears. Katsuki’s forehead rested against your shoulder, his breath coming in hot, ragged puffs against your damp skin. His cock was still buried deep inside you, softening slowly but still filling you completely, your bodies glued together by sweat and fluid.
For a long time, neither of you moved. The low rumble of the idling engine beneath the floorboards acted as a steady, mechanical heartbeat, keeping the car warm against the storm raging outside.
"Fucking hell," Katsuki finally muttered, his voice incredibly rough, stripped of its usual razor-sharp edge. He shifted slightly, his large hands resting heavily on your waist, his thumbs tracing small, absentminded circles against your skin. "You're a fucking menace."
You let out a soft, tired laugh, burying your face into his neck, your red curls sticking to his damp shoulder. "You're the one who drove us out here, racer."
"Because you wouldn't shut your damn mouth," he countered, though there was no real bite to it anymore. He tilted his head back, looking up at the fogged-over roof liner, a slow, self-satisfied smirk touching the corners of his lips. He reached up, his fingers gently tangling in a stray strand of your red hair, wrapping it around his knuckle before giving it a light, playful tug. "Look at this mess. You completely wrecked the interior."
"We can clean it," you whispered, shifting slightly on his lap. The movement caused his softening cock to slide inside you, the wet friction creating a soft, squelching sound that immediately made Katsuki's breath hitch.
His crimson eyes narrowed as he looked down at you, his grip on your waist instantly tightening. The soft, post-coital aftercare was already beginning to warp back into something dangerous. His cock throbbed inside your wet warmth, the contact awakening a second wave of arousal that neither of you was ready to suppress.
"Clean it?" he repeated, his voice dropping an octave, a low, familiar growl returning to his chest. "We aren't anywhere near done yet, brat."
Before you could protest, Katsuki’s hands were moving again. He didn't let you slide off him. Instead, he shifted his weight, grabbing your thighs and hoisting you up just enough to reposition you. He reached down to the side of the driver's seat, hitting the electronic adjustment buttons until the driver's seat reclined as far back as the roll cage would allow, giving you both just a few more inches of precious headroom.
His cock was already hardening back up inside you, fueled by the lingering adrenaline and the intoxicating sight of your body draped over his.
"Katsuki, wait—" you gasped as he gripped your ass, lifting you up before dropping you back down onto his fully erect shaft. The suddenness of the second penetration made your back arch, your hands flying to his chest for support.
"No waiting," he growled, his hands sliding up your back, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulled you down for another deep, messy kiss. "You wanted a ride, remember? We're taking the long route."
This time, the pace was entirely different. The initial frantic urgency had worn off, replaced by a deep, heavy, relentless rhythm that was designed to completely break you. Katsuki moved with a terrifying level of stamina, his hips thrusting upward with a slow, agonizing deliberation that hit your sweet spot with every single stroke.
The windows, already heavily fogged, seemed to coat over even thicker, isolating the two of you in a private world of heat, leather, and explicit friction. The sounds of the storm outside were completely drowned out by the heavy slapping of your skin against his, the wet, messy noises of his cock sliding in and out of your soaked core, and the broken, breathless praises he muttered against your skin.
"Look at how well you take it," he whispered, his voice a gravelly rumble against your jawline as his fingers tangled in your red curls, pulling your head back so he could watch your face twist with pleasure. "Such a good girl for me. Soaking wet, completely stretched out on my lap."
You were completely lost to the sensation, your head tossing from side to side, your messy curls wiping against his chest as you rode him. Every muscle in Katsuki's body was tense, his abs rippling beneath your palms as he held you by the hips, driving himself deeper and deeper until you felt like you were completely fusing with him.
The climax came on like a sudden twist in the road. Your walls tightened around him like a vice, a desperate, broken sob escaping your lips as you hit the edge. Katsuki felt it instantly, his own control snapping as your internal muscles clamped down on his dick. With a loud, uninhibited roar, he slammed his hips upward three more times, his pace turning completely frantic as he buried himself as deep as possible inside you.
You came together, a violent, shattering explosion of pleasure that left you both completely breathless, trembling in each other's arms as Katsuki blew his second, massive load deep into your pulsing core, filling you to the absolute brim.
The engine continued to idle low and steady beneath you, a constant, mechanical hum in the quiet night, as the windows remained completely white with steam, locking your little world away from the rest of the city.
ⓘ 𝑺𝑴𝑼𝑻! ⋆ bf!matt ⋆ riding matt while he’s high ⋆ high sex ⋆ matt taking over at the end + more. «𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕»
ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕... riding your bf while he smokes.
Matt lays beneath you, his usually dead eyes looking even more so than usual due to the weed in his system. You don’t know if the dilation of his pupils is due to the fact that he’s high as a kite or if it’s because you’re currently riding him cowgirl style, your naked body looking ethereal in the dim lighting of his bedside lamp.
He lifts his hand to his face, taking a long drag from the joint in between his pointer and middle finger, jaw working so sexily. The dress you wore for Gabi’s birthday party is discarded somewhere on the floor beside Matt’s bed along with the pretty lace bra and matching panties that you’d worn for him.
Smoke curls around his face when he exhales as a low moan slips past his lips involuntarily. He’s in awe as his eyes hungrily drink you in. The way you’re moving above him is sin, and the way your tits are bouncing is making his dick twitch inside you.
God. He can’t believe you’re riding him like this—so prettily and so his.
His hips twitch beneath yours, cock throbbing with each lewd movement of your hips. Your pussy is like a warm, velvet vice around his length, making him leak precum into your greedy cunt. The sensation of you riding him is heightened by how high he is right now, and you can tell by the way he’s moaning more than usual.
You lean forward, placing your hands on his chest, freshly manicured nails lightly digging into his tanned skin as you pick up your pace. Your hips slam down against his still-pale ones with wet plaps and squelches that would’ve made you flustered if you weren’t high on both pleasure and the joint burning between Matt’s fingers.
He’s barely keeping his eyes from rolling back, the pleasure threatening to overwhelm him. Matt doesn’t usually smoke. He tries to keep it minimal since he doesn’t want to get addicted to drugs. But sometimes he just can’t help himself.
It helps him calm down—or so he says.
And it makes sex feel ten times better.
Plus, Matt knows you find it attractive when he smokes.
And you do. You can never get the image of his jaw working as he takes a pull from the joint between his fingers out of your mind. The way he exhales the smoke, the way his eyes turn bloodshot and droopier as the weed hits him, the way he looks like he’s in heaven when you’re riding him while he’s high—everything about him in this state makes you so wet.
Matt’s free hand reaches down to thumb at your clit, his eyes zeroed in on your pretty cunt stretched obscenely around his girth—your slick making everything slippery. You jolt at his touch, your jaw going slack as your inner muscles flutter and work around his thick meat.
"Oh-- fuuck..." Matt hisses when you clench around him, his eyes flickering back up to your face to see the fucked out expression etched onto it as you pause momentarily. You shift your hips, trying to adjust to the new stimulation as your body buzzes with pleasure.
A breathy moan leaves you as his thumb works over your clit in slow but relentless circles, and you resume riding him despite the tension coiling deep in your tummy—needing more of his cock.
But it doesn’t take long for your thighs to shake and burn. Yet you try your best to keep riding him anyway. And Matt knows you’re starting to get too tired to do so. So, he decides to take control even though his mind is a jumbled mess of pleasure and fogginess from the joint you’d shared.
You barely notice as he takes one last drag of the joint in his hand and puts it out on the ashtray on his bedside table before his hands grip your hips tight enough to make you gasp and still your movements.
He flips you both around with ease, his dick slipping out with a wet sound, and immediately crashes his lips against yours as he pushes himself back home in your tight heat. Matt finally exhales the smoke he’s been keeping inside his lungs into your mouth, and even in your hazy mind you can’t help but find it unfairly hot.
And you’d think Matt would stop after one round—but no.
He fucks you like he wants your pussy to mold into his shape.
isa’s rambling ۶ৎ i’m so rusty since i haven’t written anything in almost a month now but i hope it’s not too bad :D and it’s all thanks to that pic of matt ’cause i immediately got sm motivation to write something filthy when i saw that pic. and lemme tell you that that prompt @chratts0pepsican sent in was amazing 😛 (also i assumed it was smoking weed rather than just smoking cigarettes and ran with it so i hope that’s okay :p)
