jock bf!yuji itadori who won't stop till you squirt for him.
c.w. mdni, dubcon, fingering, squirting, pussy slapping, overstimulation, slight anal, rimming, slight dacryphilia, aged up yuji, mean yuji, college au.
art by kcokaine_ on x
The air in your dorm is thick enough to choke on, smelling like heavy sweat and the salt of your own arousal.
Yuji’s weight is an absolute, crushing force, his massive jock frame pinning you into the mattress like you’re nothing.
He’s got you folded nearly in half, your knees tucked tight against your chest, and he’s using one heavy forearm to press your hips down, effectively trapping you so you can’t even squirm away from the onslaught.
He’s been on a mission all week.
He’s been obsessed, driven by this single, hungry goal to see you truly lose it, to see you squirt for him.
He’s made you spray before, but it’s always been a tease, a small, pathetic little spurt that dies the second your orgasm takes over, and your muscles tighten up.
But today? Today, he’s decided he’s not stopping until he’s absolutely drenched.
"Look at you," he grunts, his voice a low, vibrating rumble. "So fucking needy. You’ve been leaking for me all day, haven't you?"
He doesn't wait for an answer. His hand, thick and warm, is buried deep inside you.
He’s got three fingers shoved in, pumping them in and out with brutal efficiency.
Every time he pulls back, there’s a loud, wet pop!, followed by the sickeningly sweet squelch! of your juices being churned up.
He’s bullying your walls, stretching them, his calloused fingertips finding that exact, spongy spot that makes your vision go blurry.
"There it is," he murmurs, his eyes wide and fixated on your slit. "I can see it. You're gonna gush for me today, baby. You're gonna fucking flood me."
He picks up the pace, his thumb hooking over your clit and grinding in frantic, heavy circles while his fingers hammer into your soaking cunt. The friction is intense, a building pressure in your lower belly that feels like a dam about to burst.
You’re sobbing, your head tossing back as you moan his name, your voice cracking.
"Yuji, please!"
He hits it.
He finds the rhythm perfectly, a deep, driving thrust that hits the sweet spot with unerring accuracy.
Your entire body jolts, and suddenly, a hot splash of fluid erupts from you, hitting his cheek and chin with a messy splat.
You scream, a high, broken sound of pure pleasure, as your orgasm crashes over you.
But as the initial spray dies down and your pussy begins to spasm and tighten, the heavy flood he was waiting for never comes.
You’re just...spent.
Yuji freezes, the hot liquid dripping down his jaw.
He lets out a long, disappointed huff, his lips pulling into a pout that’s almost adorable if he wasn't so goddamn mean. He looks down at your pussy and the sheet beneath, which is slick but not nearly as soaked as he wanted it to be.
"Fuck," he mutters, his voice a mix of frustration and hunger. "Just a little spray again? Really, baby?"
He doesn't pull away, though. Instead, he leans in, his eyes darkening again as he stares at your trembling, swollen folds. He shifts his weight, his large hand gripping your thigh to hold you open even wider.
"Don't think you're getting off that easy," he growls, a determined grin returning to his face. "We're doing it again. I'm gonna make you gush if it's the last thing we do today."
And then he's diving right back in.
You’re a complete mess, your voice raw from screaming and your nerves frayed to the point of snapping.
Every time he dives back in, it’s too much. The sensation is so sharp, so overwhelming, that you start frantically shaking your head, your hands weakly pushing at his massive shoulders.
"Yuji, stop please, it’s too much! Stop, stop!" you sob, the words tripping over each other as you beg him for a moment of peace.
But he’s in the zone. He’s a jock on a mission, and he’s not listening to your whining. He leans down, his face burying into your heat as he latches his mouth onto your clit, sucking it hard and hungry.
The combination of his wet, heavy tongue and his fingers hammering inside you is pure sensory overload. You’re wailing, your hips jerking uncontrollably, but he just seems to get more determined.
Finally, he huffs, a sound of pure frustration.
"God, you're such a brat, whining like that when you're this close," he grumbles, pulling his mouth away.
Before you can even catch your breath, his large, heavy hand comes down in a sharp, stinging crack! right across your swollen, weeping pussy.
"Ah!" The sound that leaves your throat is half sob, half scream.
The sting is sudden and hot, but as the slap lands, the impact triggers something deep inside. A small, desperate spurt of fluid rips out of you, splashing against his hand.
Yuji freezes.
He stares down at your pussy, red, swollen, and angry looking from the friction and the slap as it quivers and pulses, completely drenched in your slick.
A slow, realization filled grin starts to spread across his face. He looks like he just discovered a cheat code.
"Wait..." he breathes, his eyes blown wide.
He doesn't hesitate. He brings his hand down again, a heavy, stinging slap that makes your vision swim. Crack!
Another spurt of heat shoots out of you, a messy little jet that hits his knuckles. You’re crying now, the overstimulation turning the pleasure into something almost painful, a dizzying ache that won't let up.
"Yuji, no! Please, it hurts ah!"
Crack!
He does it again, and again, his hand landing with rhythmic, stinging force.
Each slap coaxes another frantic, involuntary spurt from your soaking slit. You’re sobbing, your legs trembling so hard they’re practically vibrating, begging him to stop.
A manic sort of excitement lights up his eyes, a predatory glint that tells you he’s finally cracked the code and he’s going to milk every single drop of pleasure out of your body if it kills him.
"I got you," he rasps, his voice thick with a terrifying sort of triumph. "I fucking got you, baby."
He doesn't give you a second to recover from the stinging heat of the slaps.
He dives back in with a renewed, violent energy, his massive fingers plunging deep into your soaking, overstimulated cunt.
He’s bullying your walls, his fingers grinding ruthlessly against that spongy, sensitive spot he’s been hunting all day. At the same time, he latches his mouth back onto your clit, his tongue swirling and sucking with a heavy, wet intensity that makes your entire lower half feel like it’s on fire.
It’s too much. The stinging from the slaps, the deep, stretching pressure of his fingers, and the relentless, hungry suction of his mouth. You’re a sobbing, twitching mess beneath him, your hips jerking as you try to find air.
He’s pumping his fingers at a ridiculous, blurring speed, the sound of it that heavy, frantic squelch! squelch! squelch! filling the room and drowning out your cries. He’s driving you toward the edge with a single minded focus, his eyes never leaving your pussy, watching for the exact moment the tension snaps.
Suddenly, he pulls back enough to give you room to breathe, but he stays hovering close, his face inches from your heat. He wants to watch. He wants to see the exact moment you shatter.
"There it is," he growls, his eyes blown wide as he watches your slit begin to quiver and swell, the pressure building to a breaking point.
"Show me. Give it to me, baby!"
The tension in your lower belly reaches an unbearable peak.
"Ah ! Yuji, please ngh, ahhh!" You let out a broken, high pitched moan, your back arching as far as it could.
Just like every other time, the orgasm hits you with a sudden, sharp intensity, and a small, pathetic little spurt of fluid escapes your slit.
But as soon as that first tiny spray leaves you, Yuji strikes. He doesn't let the momentum die; instead, he brings his heavy hand down, slapping harshly at your clit before his fingers begin rubbing it with a frantic, punishing speed.
"That's it! Don't stop! Keep going!" he roars, his voice thick with pure, unadulterated greed.
And then, the world finally breaks.
It isn't a spray. It isn't a tease. It is a long, steady burst of fluids that erupts from inside you, a fountain of slick that sprays in every direction.
You let out a sound that isn't even human a sobbing wail of pure ecstasy that tears from your throat as the fluid gushes out of you in a relentless stream.
"Og god! Ahh! F-fuck! Fuck Fuck!!!" You're screaming, your voice cracking, your entire body convulsing in the climax so massive it feels like your soul is being squeezed out of you.
"Yuji! Yuji! It’s ngh, ahhh!"
The fluid hits everything his hands, his chest, the sheets, the air itself as you squirt like a goddamn fountain, your pussy unable to stop the flood.
Yuji is grinning like a man who has just won the lottery, his face flushed and his eyes wild with triumph. He’s practically vibrating with excitement, watching the way you're being absolutely wrecked because of him.
"Fuck! You did it! You fucking did it, baby!" he shouts, his voice a triumphant growl.
He doesn't even wait for the pulsing to slow. He pulls his hand back, clearing a path so he can lunge forward, latching his mouth directly onto your soaking, drenched pussy.
He drinks you in greedily, his tongue lapping up the endless stream of your nectar, his face glistening and messy as he devours every single drop of the fountain you've become.
You are a shivering wreck, your body still twitching from the aftershocks of a climax so intense it felt like your very bones were melting. You’re sobbing, the tears flowing down your temples and soaking into the pillow just as steadily as the hot, messy fluid continues to weep from your exhausted pussy.
Every time you think the sensation is fading, another small, involuntary pulse sends a fresh trickle onto Yuji's face, only making him lap harder out of joy.
Yuji is relentless. He doesn't let you rest, his tongue working with a starving hunger as he licks you clean, drinking up the remnants of your fountain until your slit is finally beginning to settle.
He’s a mess, his chin and cheeks are glistening with your scent.
But he isn't done. Not by a long shot.
Before you can even catch a single, his large, calloused hands are on your hips. With the effortless strength of an athlete, he hauls you up, flipping you over until you’re braced on your elbows and knees.
You’re panting, your head hanging low, your muscles feeling like jelly, but he doesn't give you a second to recover.
He reaches down, his thick fingers hooking into the flesh of your ass, spreading your cheeks wide to expose your quivering holes to him.
"God, you're so fucking soaked," he grunts, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that makes your stomach flip.
"Let's see if we can make you squirt from anal, too."
Your eyes go wide, a fresh wave of panic and arousal hitting you all at once. "Yuji wait, no, ah!"
He doesn't wait. He dives in, his warm, wet tongue dragging a long, slow stripe right over your puckered entrance.
The sensation is completely different sharper, more invasive, and so incredibly intense that the overstimulation from your previous orgasm carries forward, spurting out a little more liquid across his jaw as he smirks.
"Ngh! Ahhh! Yuji, stop, it's too much!" You cry out, your voice trembling as you desperately try to reach your hands behind you.
You're trying to grab his wrists, to pull him away, to shield yourself from the sheer, overwhelming sensation of him rimming your ass so hungrily.
But you're too weak, your arms shaking as you reach blindly through the haze of your own tears, your fingers only brushing his skin before he pushes deeper, his tongue swirling and probing with a focus that tells you he’s just getting started.
SYNOPSIS & WARNINGS — Satoru's such a nice friend! He comes over to comfort you after a nasty break-up, rubbing your back while you sob into his chest... hold on, why is he pulling his pants down!? non-con and dub-con themes, cream-pie (stealthing implied), dacryphilia kind of?? dunno it's mentioned a few times. Proceed with these in mind!
MITSU'S NOTES — Sorry for these dark ass warnings... didn't mean for them to be so dark but I lowkey didn't know how else to write this fic and it's also so shitty and rushed I feel like a failure of a writer 💔 Again; proceed with your own caution.
WORD COUNT — 0.6k words
Satoru's large hands gently run over your back, patting your head while you sniffle into his chest. You had called him about thirty minutes ago, gasping and sobbing into the phone as he could barely make out what you were saying. Even if he couldn't make out whatever you were desperately crying, he grabbed his keys and made his way over to your apartment.
Satoru sighs while his lap is covered in crumpled snotty, wet tissues. He'd honestly preferred it that way. The paper covered his growing erection, which was because of your tears. Satoru wasn't really ashamed of it—it got him off, no? But his neck flushed with embarrassment since, well, you were his best friend and you have been his best friend since middle school. No matter, he tuned out your shaky voice, nodding along mindlessly as his cock desperately throbbed in his sweatpants. Satoru had no idea how long he could handle this before he basically exploded.
You, however, had no idea of the internal battle rising inside—and out—of Satoru. Your nose was runny, blowing into yet another tissue while your shirt is covered in ice-cream stains from an hour ago. You glanced up at him when you noticed shuffling, then the motion of his gray sweatpants being pulled down to be met with his black boxer briefs, which had a growing wet patch.
"S— Satoru..?" Your voice came out gentle, clutching his shirt while staring up at him with your tear filled eyes made any semblance of mercy or restraint disappear from Satoru's body to be replaced with lust and want.
"M'sorry, (name), m'so so sorry…" Satoru mutters as the hand resting on your back travels up to your hair, gripping with a force that makes you whimper in pain. He doesn't know why he did it, only that he wanted to see you cry more. Satoru lays you down, pushing your legs up to your chest and pulling your pants off to reveal your pink hole to him. He takes his boxers off, cock springing free as he positions himself above you, his thick cockhead nudging your hole.
"C'mon, open up for me…" He grunts, pushing into your unprepared hole—making him gasp softly, and making you sob in pain. Every nerve is set on fire, you feel so so dirty yet feel so so good. Once Satoru's cock is buried deep, the pain melts off your body and molds into pleasure. Every sob of pain turns into a gentle whine of pleasure as Satoru's cock hits your prostate and goes even deeper, making your cock tingle with an impending feeling of release coming soon.
"Gonna… gonna get that shitty guy outta your mind," Satoru grunts in your ear, cradling your head as his thrusts grow more intense and concentrated on your prostate. "You're only gonna think about me, aren't you?" His teeth latch onto the side of your neck, sucking hard and letting a cherry red hickey burst onto your delicate skin. "Y— yes! Only— only you!" You're comparable to a sex doll, letting yourself be used for Satoru's pleasure even though yours isn't far behind. The sounds of skin slapping against skin was your own aphrodisiac, and Satoru's hips still—pelvis flush against your ass as he comes deep without warning. Did he even put a condom on? No matter, your release comes a few seconds after Satoru's, watery cum splattering across your shirt and joining the ice-cream stains.
Did Satoru have any regrets fucking you? None. If he was being honest, he'd do it again and again, no matter if you agreed or not.
$ log - after a bitter breakup, dean winchester finds himself in a mess between a wrong-spell-infused you and the sultry consequences building up quickly after. he ended it on his own terms; his body is still devoted to you!
$ warn --nsfw --dubcon(mild) --dom!afab!reader --witch!reader --sub!dean --devoted!dean --sex-pollen(spell) --teasing --dry-humping --finger-sucking --fingering(vag) --clit-play --praise --worship --begging --p-in-v --positions(missionary) --overstim(implied) --creampie --hair-pulling --pain-play(nails scratching) --mocking --dirty-talk
$ wc -w 4.5k
$ cd masterlist / dean-winchester
$ vi request
# authors-note = can you tell I'm ovulating
Thick, heavy with the scent of dried sage and the bitter tang of resentment, you slammed the pestle into the mortar, the rhythmic thud thud thud echoing the pounding in your chest. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Dean’s smug, grouchy face, and it made your blood boil.
"Fuck you, Dean," you hissed, grinding the herbs with enough force to snap the wood. "Just fucking die or something. Or just stay the hell away from me."
The anger was a physical thing, a hot, liquid weight in your gut. You were feeling more vengeful than sad. You threw the last of the crushed roots into the cauldron, muttering a string of curses aimed directly at his bratty, stubborn ass.
The cauldron hissed, a swirl of violet smoke rising from the brew as you finished the final incantation.
A small, triumphant smirk tugged at your lips. You felt a sense of profound satisfaction, believing you had finally cast the perfect hex to sever the tie and leave him rotting in his own misery.
You leaned back, wiping a smudge of soot from your cheek, feeling a sudden, strange lightness in your chest.
But as the smoke cleared, the satisfaction didn't last. A sudden, sharp jolt of heat shot through your core, spreading like wildfire through your veins. It wasn't the heat of anger anymore; it was something far more primal, a heavy, pulsing ache that settled deep in your hips and made your breath hitch.
The spell hadn't cursed him. Instead, it had turned the vengeance inwards. Suddenly, all you could think about was the exact way Dean felt when he pressed his body against yours.
The cabin was quiet, save for the low hum of the TV and the occasional clink of Dean’s beer bottle against the coffee table. He was slumped in his chair, eyes glazed over as he stared at the screen, trying to drown out the guilt. The breakup had been a mess — all sharp words and slammed doors.
He knew he’d fucked up, leaving things so jagged between you two, but the constant arguing had been wearing him thin.
He caught a movement in his peripheral vision and shifted, expecting to see nothing but shadows. Instead, there you were, leaning against the doorframe. A sly, almost predatory smirk played on your lips, and for a second, his heart skipped. He expected a lecture or a glare, not... this.
His eyes involuntarily drifted downward. His breath hitched in his throat. You were wearing his old leather jacket, but underneath?
Nothing.
Just your underwear, your skin glowing in the dim light of the cabin.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean’s voice came out a low, gravelly rasp, thicker than usual. He gripped his beer bottle a little tighter, his knuckles turning white.
He wanted to look away, to give you the space he thought you needed after the way he'd handled things, but his eyes were traitorous. They kept sliding back to the swell of your chest beneath the open leather, the way the dim light caught the curve of your waist. "You look like you're looking for a fight — or a date. Which one is it?"
You didn't answer with words at first. Instead, you moved, your hips swaying with a heavy, deliberate grace as you crossed the room. The heat in your blood was a pulsing, demanding thing, making every inch of your skin feel hypersensitive to the cool air.
You stepped into the space between his spread knees, the scent of his leather, gunpowder, and cheap beer hit him like a physical wave. You leaned forward, the heat from your body practically radiating against his chest, and looked down at him through heavy, hooded lids.
"Maybe a little of both, Dean," you purred, your voice dropping into a sultry, honeyed register that made his throat go dry.
The spell was screaming in your veins now, a frantic, rhythmic throb that demanded he touch you, pull you closer, and strip that jacket off your shoulders.
You didn't care about the argument anymore; you didn't even care about the breakup. All you cared about was the way his eyes were darkening, tracking the movement of your lips.
Dean took a long, desperate swig of his beer, his eyes never leaving yours. He was caught in a tug of war between the man who wanted to apologise for being a bastard and the man who wanted to wrap his hands around your waist and pull you onto his lap.
"You're playing games, sweetheart. You can't just walk in here looking like — like that and expect me to act like we didn't just tear each other apart three days ago." He set the beer bottle down on the table with a heavy thud, his gaze finally snapping from your chest up to your eyes. He looked wrecked, caught between the urge to be a gentleman and the primal instinct to devour you.
"Maybe I want to play games," you whispered, leaning in closer until the heat of his breath fanned over your lips.
The spell was a fever now — a relentless, pulsing ache in your pussy that made you want to grind your hips against his denim clad thighs just to feel the friction.
You reached out, your fingers grazing the stubble on his jaw, your touch light but intentional. "Or maybe I just wanted to see if you were still as grouchy as you were when you walked out."
Dean let out a low, frustrated groan that sounded more like a growl, vibrating deep in his chest. He reached out, his large hands hovering just inches from your waist — hesitating as if he were afraid you were a hallucination born of too much beer and too much regret.
"You're dangerous," he muttered, his eyes finally dropping full to the skin visible around your underwear . "Coming in here, acting like you didn't just spend the last week making my life a living hell. You think you can just — walk in here half naked and make me forget everything?"
You let out a soft, breathy laugh, the sound thick with the magical heat coiling within. You leaned in even closer, the tips of your breasts nearly brushing the front of his flannel shirt, making the friction of the air feel like a caress.
The spell was demanding more; it was a starving, pulsing thing that wanted to bridge the gap between you. You didn't just want him to look; you wanted him to ruin you.
Driven by a sudden, frantic impulse, you hooked your fingers into the waistband of your underwear, a silent, desperate invitation that made Dean’s breath hitch so hard it sounded like a gasp.
"Forget everything?" you breathed, your voice trembling with the sheer weight of the lust coiling in your belly. You leaned down, pressing the heat of your sheer chest against his flannel, feeling the hard, frantic thud of his heart through the fabric. "Then stop talking, Dean. Stop thinking about the fights, and the bullshit, and the way we ended. Just — fucking look at me. Feel me. Ruin me."
Dean’s restraint snapped like a dry twig. The "gentleman" who wanted to apologise was swallowed whole by the man who had been starving for the taste of you.
You leaned in closer, the heat of the spell making your skin feel electric, your eyes locked onto his with a predatory intensity. "You're still mine, aren't you?" you whispered, your voice a low, teasing vibration that seemed to vibrate in his very bones. "Even after all those bratty, stubborn words you threw at me — you're still mine?"
Dean let out a ragged, frustrated breath, his head tilting back against the chair as he looked up at you. He wanted to argue, to bring up the fight, to defend his pride, but his body was already a lost cause.
"You're a goddamn menace," he muttered, his voice cracking. "You can't just say shit like that when we're supposed to be done."
But he didn't pull away; he just nodded, a helpless, hungry movement.
"I want to fuck you, Dean," you said, the words, blunt and heavy with a demand that left no room for debate.
His eyes widened, his pupils blown so wide they nearly swallowed the green of his irises.
"You, what?" he stammered, his brain struggling to catch up with the sheer audacity of the statement. "The hell happened to the woman who was ready to hex my soul into the dirt three days ago? You were ready to kill me, sweetheart. Now you're just —"
"Now I'm here," you interrupted, cutting him off by sinking into his lap. Your weight settled heavily against his thighs as you began to grind, a slow, rhythmic friction that made him let out a choked sound somewhere between a groan and a swear.
"Jesus," Dean breathed, his hands acting on instinct before his mind could even process the confusion. He slid his palms, his skin searing against yours
He fumbled for a second, his fingers grazing the soft swell of your waist before sliding lower, his large hands hooking into the flimsy, lace edge of your underwear.
He was completely lost, his mind spinning in circles trying to reconcile the person who had screamed at him in the driveway with the one currently devouring his mouth.
"Wait, wait — " he gasped against your lips, though he was doing absolutely nothing to stop you. He tried to pull back just an inch, his eyes searching yours with a frantic, bewildered intensity. "You were — you were swearing you didn't want to see my face for a month. You said I was a 'stubborn, grouchy bastard' and that you were over it."
You didn't give him the chance to finish his logic. You crashed your lips against his again, but this wasn't the soft, apologetic kiss of a reconciliation.
It was a desperate, hungry lashing of teeth and tongues that felt more like a conquest than a make up session. You bit his lower lip, hard enough to draw a sharp, startled hiss from his throat. He responded by pulling you even tighter against him, his hands bruising the soft skin of your hips as he tugged at the lace of your underwear.
"You're being aggressive," Dean managed to grunt out, his voice a wrecked, gravelly mess as he broke the kiss to catch his breath. His eyes were wide, searching yours for a hint of the anger that should have been there, but all he found was a terrifying, beautiful hunger.
He let out a breathless, incredulous laugh, his thumbs tracing the line of your hip bones with a frantic sort of reverence. "You were ready to hex me into the next century, and now you're — you're practically trying to climb inside my skin."
Despite his confusion, his hands were doing the talking. The moment his fingers brushed the heat of your skin, the last of his hesitation dissolved into pure, unadulterated need. He didn't care if this was a trap, or if you were playing some elaborate game to punish him for being a prick.
All he knew was that the way you were looking at him with that dark, unhinged hunger was making his head spin.
You didn't give him time to finish his thought. You were past the point of talking; the spell was a roaring fire in your veins, demanding a release that only he could provide. You leaned back just enough to look him in the eye, your expression fierce and unyielding.
You weren't just asserting the version of you he knew was a firecracker, but this? This was something primal, something almost predatory. He could see it in the way your eyes didn't blink, the way your skin seemed to hum with an invisible energy.
"Get to work, Dean," you commanded, the words a sultry growl.
You began to grind against him, a slow, agonisingly deliberate movement that targeted the hard length of him through his jeans. You knew exactly how to move, the exact rhythm that used to drive him to the brink of madness, but now you were doing it with a frantic, desperate edge.
Dean let out a strangled groan. "God, what is wrong with you today?" he managed to rasp, his head falling back against the chair. "You're acting like you've been starving for a month, not just a few days."
He was trying to make sense of it, trying to find the logic in how you could go from wanting to hex him to wanting to devour him, but his brain was losing the battle to his senses.
You reached down, your fingers curling around his wrist with a strength that surprised him, and guided his hand toward your mouth.
Before he could ask what the hell you were doing, you pulled his fingers past your lips. You sucked on them with a slow, deliberate intensity, your tongue swirling around the tips, wetting them just enough to make him hiss through his teeth.
The sensation was electric, sending a jolt of pure heat straight to his groin.
"Baby, you're gonna be the death of me," he choked out, his eyes rolling back as he felt the slick, hot friction of your tongue. He was completely unmoored, his mind a frantic mess of why are you doing this? and don't you fucking stop.
As soon as his fingers were sufficiently wet, you didn't wait for permission. You guided his hand downward, sliding his fingers past the thin barrier of your underwear and sinking them deep into your heat.
You let out a sharp, needy moan as he filled you, and then you began to ride his hand instantly, your hips moving in a frantic, demanding rhythm that left him breathless.
"Jesus, you're... you're soaking," Dean gasped, his voice a wrecked, gravelly mess. He watched you, mesmerised and utterly bewildered, as you used him like a goddamn toy.
The uninhibited confidence in your movements was intoxicating. He was a man who prided himself on being in control, on being the hunter, the one who set the pace, but here you were, completely unhinged and utterly dominant.
He felt like he was being swept up in a storm he couldn't predict, a whirlwind of heat and slick, wet friction that made his head swim.
"You're driving me crazy," he groaned, his fingers curling deep inside you, trying to find a rhythm that could match the frantic, desperate pace you were setting.
He watched your head tilt back, your eyes fluttering shut as you let out a low, guttural sound that vibrated through his very core. "Is this some kind of payback? Are you trying to make me lose my goddamn mind?"
He wanted to ask a thousand more questions why you were so hungry, why you were acting like the breakup had never even happened. But the unadulterated heat radiating from your skin made logic feel like a distant, unimportant memory.
"Maybe it is," you gasped, your voice breaking as you arched your back, driving yourself even harder onto his hand. The friction was becoming unbearable, a delicious torture that made your vision blur. "Maybe I just want to see if you can actually handle me when I'm not holding back."
The mattress groaned under the frantic, heavy rhythm of your bodies. Dean was hovering over you in missionary, his muscles corded and straining as he tried to keep up with the relentless, unhinged pace you were setting.
His eyes were wide, dark, and utterly bewildered, darting across your face as if searching for a sign that the woman who had screamed at him in the driveway was still in there.
"Seriously, what the hell is going on in that head of yours?" Dean rasped, his voice a wrecked, gravelly mess. He sounded like he was losing a fight with his own sanity. "One minute you're telling me to go to hell, and now you're looking at me like you want to eat me alive. You're acting like we didn't just tear each other apart."
You didn't answer with logic; you answered with a sharp, needy moan, your fingers digging into his shoulder, deep red gouges. You arched your back, pulling him closer, your voice a sultry, breathless whisper that made his heart hammer against his ribs. "Shut up and just, fuck me, Dean — get on with it."
Dean let out a strangled sound, a mix of a groan and a curse. "You're driving me crazy," he growled, his voice thick with a desperate, confused hunger. "I don't get it. I don't get any of this. You were so goddamn angry at me, and now you're —"
"I'm right here," you interrupted, your voice low and honeyed, a sharp contrast to the violence of your nails in his shoulders. "Right here, baby. Stop thinking. Just feel me."
He tried to keep his eyes on you, trying to find the anger, the spite, the woman who had broken his heart and his pride. But all he saw was a beautiful, terrifying void of pure lust. The woman who wanted to kill him was gone, replaced by this creature of heat and friction that seemed to exist only to consume him.
"God, you're... you're something else," he choked out, his eyes finally losing the battle to close as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.
He let out a long, shuddering groan, his breath hot and frantic against your skin. "I can't — I can't even think when you look at me like that. It's like you're a different person. A much, much more dangerous person."
"Then stop trying to think," you whimpered, your voice breaking as a fresh wave of magical heat crashed over you. You pulled his head closer, your teeth grazing the sensitive skin of his shoulder, your hips working in a frantic, uncoordinated rhythm that was purely instinctual. "Just be mine.”
The magical heat had reached a fever pitch, a relentless, thrumming roar in your veins that made every nerve ending feel like it was being scorched by liquid gold.
Your clit felt like it was literally on fire, a pulsing, hypersensitive centre of gravity that demanded constant, punishing attention. Your hips bucked wildly, driven by a frantic, uncoordinated need to meet every one of his thrusts.
You reached up, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging hard enough to force his head up. A mocking, breathless laugh escaped your lips, even as your eyes rolled back in a haze of pleasure. "What happened, honey?" you gasped, your voice thick and honeyed with a teasing, crass edge. "Did the breakup mess up your methods? Are you losing your touch?"
Dean let out a low, dangerous growl, his eyes snapping to yours. He didn't even flinch at the jab; he just leaned back, a dark, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He wasn't an idiot. He’d spent enough time around the supernatural to recognise when the air itself felt heavy with a spell, and he knew your body better than he knew his own. This wasn't just the passion of a reconciliation; this was something unhinged, something driven by a magic that was making you crave him with a ferocity that was almost frightening.
"Oh, you think so, do you?" he rasped, his voice dropping into a low, predatory rumble. "You think you can talk to me like that and not get what's coming to you?"
He didn't waste another second on questions. He knew there was a spell in you he could practically taste the ozone and the raw, sexual energy rolling off your skin but he didn't care about the 'why.'
Whether it was a botched hex or a sudden surge of old desire, he wasn't going to play detective while you were looking at him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.
If you needed to be fucked, if you needed to be driven into the mattress until you couldn't remember your own name, he was going to give you exactly that. Dean was devoted to you, even when you were a beautiful, chaotic mess of magic and spite.
He leaned back, his gaze intense and unwavering as he watched your eyes roll back in pure, unadulterated pleasure. He reached down, his hand finding the slick, swollen heat of your clit. With a slow, deliberate motion, he began to trace smooth, punishing circles with his thumb, perfectly timed to the heavy, deep thrusts of his hips against your G spot.
"Is this better, sweetheart?" he growled, his voice a gravelly vibration that seemed to echo the thrumming in your veins
You couldn't even answer him. All that came out was a broken, high pitched keen as his thumb hit the perfect spot, sending a lightning bolt of sensation straight to your brain. The sex pollen was a demanding god, and Dean was its most willing disciple.
"It's better when you beg in my ear," you managed to choke out, a breathless, mocking chuckle vibrating in your throat.
For a split second, the hazy, magical fog of the pollen parted, and a flicker of your old, sharp tongued self returned the woman who knew exactly how to push his buttons and drive him to the edge of insanity.
That spark was all it took.
His eyes darkened to a near black, his large, corded muscles tensing as he hunched over you, framing your body with his sheer mass. The bravado was gone, replaced by a raw, desperate devotion.
As he thrusted into you, his rhythm becoming a frantic, punishing necessity, the words he’d been holding back the guilt, the apologies, the "I'm sorry" he hadn't been able to say in the driveway began to pour out of him in a broken, gravelly stream.
"God, you're so beautiful," he choked out, his voice cracking as he slammed into you, the friction of his skin against yours feeling like a brand. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm so fucking sorry for being such a goddamn idiot. Just — don't go. Don't leave like that again."
The apologies were raw, unpolished, and laced with a vulnerability he only ever showed to you. He was fucking you with a desperate, frantic energy, his hips driving deep to meet your frantic bucking, but he was holding himself back from the edge, fighting the urge to just lose it.
"Please," he groaned, his forehead dropping to rest against yours, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. He sounded like he was pleading for his life. "Let me stay. Let me finish. Let me fill you up, sweetheart. Just one more time. Let me do this right. Please, let me fucking finish inside you."
Dean was still rambling, his voice a low, frantic murmur against your skin as he fought the last of his restraint. He was practically vibrating with the need to finish, his hips twitching instinctively against yours. "I'll do it, sweetheart. I swear. I'll shut the hell up every night, let you take whatever you want, let you drive me crazy... just don't use those damn spells to push me away when you're angry. Don't make me feel like you're a thousand miles away when you're right in my arms. Just please — "
He was begging, his pride completely discarded on the floor of the cabin alongside his clothes. You watched him, a small, triumphant smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth as the last of the pollen's heat surged.
You didn't say a word; you just tightened your legs around his waist, pulling him in deep and guiding him to the finish.
With a final, heavy thrust, you felt him finally break. A guttural sound tore from his throat as he surrendered to the sensation, his entire body stiffening as he filled you, his release so intense it felt like it was vibrating through your very bones.
He collapsed against you, a heavy, warm weight, his breath coming in ragged, exhausted hitches against your neck.
The silence that followed was thick and heavy, filled only with the sound of your synchronised, frantic breathing. You lay there for a moment, the lingering heat of the spell still humming in your veins, feeling the weight of his devotion pressing you into the mattress.
But the sex pollen wasn't done with you yet. The fire in your blood hadn't died down; it had only simmered, waiting for the next spark.
Before he could even fully recover, before he could even mutter another desperate apology or try to find his bearings, you reached up. Your fingers tangled firmly in his hair, your nails digging into his scalp with a sudden, demanding force that jolted him out of his post orgasmic haze.
He let out a startled, breathless grunt, his eyes fluttering open to find yours dark, hungry, and entirely unyielding.
"Fuck, let's go again," you commanded, your voice a low, sultry rasp that left no room for protest. The magic in your veins was screaming for more, the pollen demanding a second round before the first had even fully settled.
Dean stared at you, his mouth slightly agape, his chest still heaving as he tried to process the sheer audacity of your demand. "Again?" he wheezed, a delirious, incredulous laugh bubbling up in his throat. "Sweetheart, you're gonna kill me. You're gonna actually fucking kill me."
But even as he complained, his body was already responding to the command. The unadulterated hunger was already reigniting in his eyes.
The exhaustion was there, written in the heavy slump of his shoulders and the way his lungs struggled to catch up, but the moment your nails grazed his scalp, the Winchester grit took over.
He wasn't a man who could say no to you — not when you looked at him with that terrifying, beautiful desperation.
"You're a goddamn demon, you know that?" he growled, though the sound was thick with a sudden, renewed heat.
He shifted his weight, his hands sliding back down to your hips, gripping you with a bruising intensity that signalled he was more than ready to dive back into the storm. "Fine. You want it? You got it. Just don't blame me when you can't walk tomorrow."
He leaned down, his mouth crashing against yours in a kiss that was less of a reconciliation and more of a declaration of war. The friction, the heat, and the sheer, unadulterated madness of the moment surged back to the forefront.
There was no trace of the fight from a week ago, no lingering bitterness from the breakup, and no space for the logic of a "clean slate."
In this bed, under the influence of your magic and his unwavering devotion, the past was simply being burned away by the intensity of the present.
It was as if the fight had never happened at all. Nor, your spiteful spell.
$ tag @twentytomidnight @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger
Imagine coming back to your dormitory, tired and ready to retire for the night only to find an omega in your bed.
Imagine catching poor little omega!Satoru in heat, rubbing his pussy raw, teary eyed from self-inflicted overstimulation. You would almost coo at his pretty trembling pout if you weren't hit with yet another surprise- Your sweaty boxers which you used during workout, clutched in Satoru's grip.
Imagine him huffing cutely as he holds your musky boxers close while trying to make himself cum (spoiler: it's not working).
Imagine the audacity of the omega to be surprised when you mount him and breed his tummy full of babies right there.
(Imagine him coming back every weekend-)
- I luv ur works!!
needy whiny horny omega satoru in his heat rubbing his clit writhing on your bed drowning in your hoodie clutching your dirty boxers moaning inhaling that ridiculous alpha musk whimpering your name having filthy fantasies about you knotting his cute little tummy and breeding his virgin pussy and filling his fluttery hole to the brim with hot thick cum until he’s leaking, belly plump and pregnant with child is perfect.
he doesn’t even know he’s presenting to you until he is, arms folded with his chest pressed neatly onto the mattress, back bending into the perfect arch, ass raised into the air and slick-soaked pussy facing you. and you’re just another alpha, after all. how could you ever resist him?
A Bakugou Birthday collab read the intro on the ML first!
A notification pulls your attention in your tipsy stupor as you collapse half dressed in your bed. Another successful night out with your girlfriends when your favorite pro hero posts a picture.
A thirst trap no less making you pop up in bed, the room spins delightfully as you stare down at the picture, screen shooting it without a care that he may get a notification for it but you were sure that you wouldn't be the only one.
Bakugou Katsuki, THE Dynamight with his shirt up exposing his abs, his Adonis belt and the vein that leads down to what has to be his fat cock.
You salivate over the thought of it and the several shots of tequila have you feeling bold, although your friends would argue you'd have been this bold sober simply because of how much you spoke about him even if most of the public thought he was an asshole you claimed that's what made him so fucking hot.
Pushing up your tits and angling your phone just right before you snap a photo and attach it to a very public reply before you slip into his dms to send a little something extra.
Bakugou's phone becomes nuclear to say the least, blown up from how many replies and notifications has gotten in such a short time. Each and every woman and the few male prospects are more than attractive and yet none make his cock jump to life, not fully anyway.
Until he sees you, tapping on the picture to make it full screen.
Soft fat tits pressed together, skin aglow in the ambient low light of warm string lights. Tongue lolling past pretty lips, wet muscle most likely fluttering before you took the picture. Obvious that you waited long enough for drool to drip from the tip in a silvery string as some droplets collected on those perfect tits. Pinching his screen to zoom in on your sexy mouth he imagines pressing his angry cock head against before he shoved his length until you gagged around him.
He groans at the thought, zooming out to take in all of you before he finally reads the caption..
Cum here.
“Fuck.” He growls, clicking on your profile, going to privately message you in hopes of more pictures. Palm moving to free his cock from his boxers when he sees you messaged him first.
Sharing your location with the pro hero like a fucking idiot. What if Bakugou had been hacked?
And here you were offering yourself up on a silver platter.
Cum here echoes in his head as he backs out to your selfie and before he can talk himself out of it he's jumping back into the tight black denim that never made it past his thighs.
You lock your phone falling back into your bed after you've seen that he's read your messages. Sighing as you hadn't expected much else, especially since it was his birthday and half of the feed were thirst traps of others tagging Dynamight in hopes of getting his attention. He ignored every single one of them, even from well known models and porn stars, so what chance did you really have?
Still, it was fun to be a little delusional every now and again.
Fireworks echo in the distance and you're surprised the spring festival was going this late into the night. Never one to miss a good show you rise from your bed, topless and half drunk to watch the last of the fireworks before you'd pass out, sleep well past noon before ordering a fat order or take out.
Leaving the sliding glass door open when the cool night air makes you shiver and regret foregoing a shirt. Eyes adjusting to the dark easily but your eyebrow furrows up in confusion. You hear the fireworks but you can't see them.
At least not well, a small orange burst that makes you wonder if maybe they aren't fireworks at all, that maybe it was just a villain making their grand escape.
Scoffing you turn, closing the sliding glass door only for it to be stopped in its tracks. Looking up for see a hulking shirtless man shrouded in darkness on your balcony. Smoke, caramel and whisky envelope your senses as the man breathes evenly behind you. You blink once, twice before you register his eye color.
Toxic, crystalline bromine.
"Dynamight?”
“In the flesh, Sweetheart.” He removes his hand from the frame of the door, takes a step towards you and you step back.
Stalking forward until you're both fully in the room and he delights in the mixture of emotions in your eyes. Fear, excitement, arousal.
“Haaah, what's wrong? Little kitty is acting more like a cornered bunny. Ya scared?” He leers over you, crowding your space, “Shouldn't be. Yer the one who invited the big bad wolf.”
Grabbing onto your chin to turn your pretty face this way and that, he doesn't even need to force his eyes away from your chest, your face captivates him that much. He runs his tongue across his teeth before he smirks.
“Now where am I supposed to cum again?” His large thumb swipes over your plush lips before he shoves it between them, forcing your mouth open.
He tries to recreate the picture you sent him, watches the wet muscle flutter and it makes him salivate. Makes him gather it in his mouth before he's pushing it the tip of his tongue letting his spit hit your tongue.
“Right here wasn't it?” He mixes his spit with yours with his thumb, pressing down on your tongue harshly. He watches your eyes widen before they narrow, into that hungry cat gaze that was in your photo.
Eyes that devour him whole as you hollow your cheeks to suck on his thumb. Swirling it around the digit before you pop off of him, the lewd sound echoing around the two of you.
You're fast, faster than Bakugou, especially drunk, expects. Jumping onto him and wrapping your legs around his waist, bucking your hips to make him fall onto the bed with a grunt as your tongue slides into his mouth. He paws at you heavily, grabbing at all your delicious softness as he growls into your mouth, calloused hands still warm from his journey here. Launching himself into the air that did little to sober him after he stalked your profile enough to get your apartment floor and balcony right.
Your claws dig into the nape of his neck as you bring him into a sitting position parting the kiss slowly, letting the silvery string that connects the two of you snap on its own.
“Gonna let me take care of the birthday boy and his special request?” You practically purr, crawling down his body as your fingers hook into the waistband of his boxers and jeans. All but ripping them from his body even when he lifts his hips to help you free his cock while he grunts out a “‘Course.”
It stands at attention, jumping as your eyes fixate on the one thing you've fucked yourself to the thought of hundreds of times. Drunk all over again, eyes falling to half mast as your hand grips him firmly, listening to him hiss over the contact before you give him a few languid pumps.
Hovering over him for a moment before you look up, watching his pupils blown wide, wider than what they were at the door. Soft almost unnoticeable red tint to his cheeks as he tries to control his breath.
“Try not to fall in love.” You giggle, lolling your tongue out to swipe over the leaking slit in a quick stripe.
“Ya wish, Sweetheart.” But already his head is falling back, hands reaching to grab at your hair before you swipe him away.
Slowly taking him into your mouth, hand gripping what you can't fit into your mouth, letting his fat cock head gag so that your throat contacts the same way your cunt would. Saliva pooling past your lips to coat his shaft, gagging again when you hear him groan before you start a steady pace.
Bobbing your head, alternating hollowing your cheeks and letting him ram into the back of your throat. Giggling when you push his head into the pocket of your cheek, holding eye contact and he reaches down to pull his balls harshly.
He's never been this close to cumming with such little effort.
You let your molars graze him lightly before straightening him in your mouth again. Sure to hit your gag reflex purposefully so that his pre and your spit soak his neatly trimmed pubic hair that's starting to slick to his skin.
If you're lucky he'll stay long enough for your pussy to do that to him too. Cunt neglected as it soaks your underwear as you adjust your weight on your knees for some sort of friction.
Moaning around him when he groans loudly, at his hisses and growls of sugared curses that do nothing but encourage your sinful movements.
Katsuki is panting, the man with all the endurance in the world is fighting the building coil in his lower abdomen and losing.
Bakugou Katsuki never loses but tonight he just might.
Letting his fingers card through your hair before he's pulling harshly, still you don't budge. Lost in your mission to make this last as long as possible by changing from a speed that's bound to make his cum flood your mouth to a slow bob that has you gagging around his sensitive head every time.
Letting your eyes flicker to look up at him and his debauched face, throughly fucked out as his chest heaves eyes fixated on you even as he struggles to hold his head up as if he couldn't bare to look away from.the things you do to him.
The sight is enough to make your eyes flutter, to make you moan around him and the vibrations make his sac tighten, moving your hand so you can shove all of him deep into your tight throat, tears in your eyes that stick in long lashes and fall in fat droplets as you bob on his entire length, once, twice.
And he can't take it, the sight, your eyes all but begging him to cum as you choke yourself on him, as if his pleasure was more important than air.
“Oh fuck princess, just like that.” He groans, cupping the back of your skull as he presses enough to make you gag one last time before he bucks his hips up into you. Starving you of air as your nose is pressed to his pelvic bone while he paints your pretty throat in sticky white cum, your claws digging into the thick meat of his thighs deliciously.
Finally he lets you up and you gasp desperately for air even if you found his aggression as he chased his high undeniably hot. You expect him to smirk, expect him to laugh or to leave pulling up his pants in a hurry but he doesn't.
Instead his large hand grips your chin, pulling you to him as his free hand comes to wrap around your sensitive ribs. Closing the space so that he can kiss you, swiping his tongue over yours shamefully groaning into your mouth as he tastes himself mixed with your spit.
“Fuck.” He pulls you onto the bed, flipping the two of you so he can pin you to the mattress chasing your lips desperately. His other hand has a mind of its own as it rips your panties from your hot core, fingers quick to press and spread your glistening folds. Cruelly avoiding your clit before he shoves two thick digits knuckle deep into your drooling cunt.
Forcing you to arch off the bed, pumping into you with a harsh pace, fingers perfectly positioned to bully that spongy spot that has you seeing stars before he times it perfectly.
Pulling away enough to look you in your eyes before he slowly, roughly, swipes his thumb over your clit and makes you cum in a matter of seconds, faster than any toy. You arch off the bed with a moan so loud you're sure the neighbors know his name now, little do you know what else he has in store.
Removing his middle and ring finger from your fluttering cunt reluctantly, quick to press the digits to his tongue harshly. Smoky caramel fills your senses as his palm heats against the fabric by your head. Leaning over you again to swipe his tongue against yours to taste the two of you melded together in your hot, hungry mouth. He pulls away, hand gently cupping your throat as he holds your gaze, cock heavy and hard again as he aligns it with your still convulsing entrance.
“Sorry Sweetheart, guess I fell in love.” He bullies himself into you in one harsh thrust and you're seeing stars again.
18+ mdni. modulo yuji itadori finger fucks you at family dinner
c.w. dubcon, unaware exhibitionism, fingering, squirting, pussy slapping, oblivious parents, age gap, yuji is 80+, reader is 20.
read disclaimer before interacting.
"So, how old are you again, son?" your father asked, his voice warm and casual as he took another bite of the meal your parents had so lovingly prepared.
"25, sir," Yuji lied. His voice was calm and steady, completely betraying the predatory rhythm he was maintaining beneath the table.
"Oh...five years older than our little girl?" your mother chimed in, her eyes crinkling with a maternal, teasing warmth.
"Can't say it doesn't bother me, but she seems to like you very much! HAHAHA!"
"Dad!" you gasped, the protest catching in your throat as a strangled, desperate moan nearly tore itself from your lips.
You clamped your mouth shut, your face flushing a violent crimson, your eyes watering from the unadulterated ecstasy of him.
Yuji offered a faint, polite smirk, passing it off as a charming, modest smile to your parents. But his eyes, those heavy, ancient eyes, remained dark.
This dinner to meet your parents had been proceeding with the exact kind of suffocating boredom he had expected. Your parents were loud, bright, and vibrantly alive, a painful reminder of the version of himself he had buried decades ago.
But unlike them, they were blissfully ignorant.
They didn't know about the existence of curses.
They didn't know that the man sitting at their table was older than the two of them combined.
And they certainly didn't know that their precious, well-behaved daughter had her pussy stuffed full of his thick scarred fingers, being ruthlessly fucked right under their noses.
The clink of your father’s fork against his plate sounded like a gunshot in your ears.
Every time the metal hit the ceramic, a jolt of electricity shot straight from your core to your brain.
You were hyper aware of everything.
The warmth of the dining room, the smell of the roasted meat, and the terrifying squelch! of his fingers working inside you.
Yuji wasn't playing around. He had already abandoned the slow ministrations. His hand was heavy, a punishing weight between your thighs, his thick fingers buried deep, stretching you until you felt like you might split open.
He was curling his knuckles upward, hooking into your most sensitive depths with a brutal, repetitive motion that made your hips twitch involuntarily.
"Pass the salt, would you, honey?" your mother asked.
You froze.
You could feel the slickness of your own arousal coating his hand, the hot, messy, filthy lubricant that made every thrust feel even more intense.
You reached for the shaker, your hand trembling so violently the salt rattled against the glass. You were terrified that if you moved too fast, the sound of your wet pussy would be the only thing they heard.
Under the table, Yuji’s thumb found your clit, pinning it down and grinding in a merciless circle.
The sensation was so sudden and so sharp that you had to bite your lip hard enough to draw blood just to keep from screaming.
He leaned forward, ostensibly to reach for his water, and used the movement to drive his fingers even deeper, stretching you wider.
You could feel the heat of his palm against your clit, the sheer size of his hand making you feel small and utterly conquered.
You sat there, forced to smile and nod at your mother’s mindless chatter, while your body was being filthily unraveled right in front of them.
As the last of the food was cleared, you tried to stand, your legs feeling unnervingly heavy.
"Let me help with the dishes," you managed to say, though your voice sounded far too breathless to be normal.
"Oh, don't be silly, sweetheart!" your mother insisted, giving you a bright smile. "Your father and I can handle it. You just sit and relax."
You watched them stand and exit the dining room, the sound of their footsteps retreating down the hallway.
The second they were out of earshot, the tension in your chest snapped. A quiet, desperate moan slipped past your lips, and you reached out to grab his forearm, your voice a frantic, trembling whisper.
"Yuji... please, not here...not yet..."
But Yuji didn't pull back. He just hummed, a low, vibrating sound that seemed to settle deep in your bones.
"C'mon, don't be like that," he murmured, his voice dropping into a casual rasp.
He gripped the sides of your chair and dragged it flush against his. The sudden closeness made your heart hammer against your ribs.
Without warning, his hand surged back between your thighs, his fingers accelerating into a frantic rhythm.
He was definitely not just teasing you anymore. You felt the heavy friction of his knuckles while his fingers buried themselves deep inside you, stretching you wide with every loud thrust.
The sound was unmistakable, the rhythmic squelch! squelch! squelch! of his hand sliding in and out of your soaking heat.
He leaned down, his face hovering just inches from yours, his eyes dark and predatory.
"Look at you," he hissed, the words dripping with a dark, teasing filth.
"Acting all innocent for 'em, but you're such a filthy little slut, y'know? So young to be a little whore, creaming my fingers in front of 'em."
He didn't stop the movement for a second. Instead, he hooked his fingers even deeper, curling them upward to find that maddening, sensitive spot inside you mercilessly now, his palm grinding hard against your swollen nub.
Your head was thrown back, your eyes fluttering shut as the tension rose in your cunt.
He didn't give you a second to breathe. His mouth descended on the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin before he began to suck hard, marking you with bruising intensity.
The sensation was so sharp it made your toes curl against the floor, but his voice that whispered against your skin was what truly sent you over the edge.
"Shh, c'mon, keep it down," he murmured, his tone dropping low.
"I can hear 'em. They're comin' back. You better come now, or I'm not touchin' you for a whole month."
The ultimatum hit you like a physical blow. The desperation to please him, combined with the sheer, terrifying proximity of your parents, pushed you into a panicked state of arousal.
You felt your muscles coil, tightening around his fingers as the pressure built to an unbearable, screaming peak.
You let out a sharp, high pitched cry of release, but before the sound could echo through the house, Yuji’s massive, scarred hand clamped over your mouth, swallowing your scream whole.
As you hit the peak, your body buckled.
You felt your release as you squirted, your juices spraying hot and heavy against his palm and the underside of the table.
Just as the waves of pleasure peaked, he started delivering harsh, stinging slaps to your swollen pussy, your juices only spraying harder at the impact.
It was brutal, a sharp shock of pain that collided with the overwhelming sensation of your climax, making your vision go white as you shuddered violently in his grip.
He was efficient, almost terrifyingly so.
While you were still gasping for air, your body twitching with the aftershocks of your orgasm, he grabbed a handful of paper napkins from the table.
With a steady hand, he wiped his fingers clean of your slick and then without a hint of hesitation used the same, stained napkin to dab the sweat and tears from your flushed face.
The sound of footsteps returned. The dining room door swung open, and your parents walked back in, their voices bright and oblivious.
"Everything alright, honey? You look a little flushed," your mother remarked, setting a fresh pitcher of water on the table.
You couldn't answer.
You sat there in a daze, your insides feeling heavy and hollow, your skin still tingling from the slap and the heat.
You could feel the lingering sting between your legs, feeling utterly pathetic and exposed.
You kept your head bowed, staring intensely at the tablecloth, too ashamed to meet their eyes, terrified they might see the filth written all over your face.
snippet for the scenario of daeron x inexperienced targaryen!reader where he finally relents to her begging and sneaks her out of the red keep to see flea bottom, only to end up with more than he bargained for. aka he realizes his sweet little cousin is horny af.
daeron's larger frame cages around you, keeps you pressed against the dark alley wall as he kisses you, but there can be no doubt that you're the one in control. one of your hands is knotted in his hair and pulling him down to your level. the other hand roams over his chest, back, arms, anywhere you can reach, like you're starving for him.
daeron somehow finds the willpower to pull away from your sweet lips.
"sweetheart," he pants. "let me take you back to your room—"
you shake your head.
"you'll be more comfortable in your own bed," he says.
"no."
"then i'll get us a room. i know a tavern near here where they won't ask questions—"
"no, daeron. don't wanna wait," you whine.
you don't want to make the journey back to the red keep or even to a nearby inn, not when it meant going in disguise again and being worried the entire time about being discovered. and maybe in the time it took you to reach the nearest decent bed, daeron would have reconsidered the wisdom of taking his little cousin's maidenhead.
"want you now," you demand.
"we can't stay here."
"yes we can."
daeron falls forward, further pressing you against the wall, as if physically blown over by the realization of what you meant.
"i can't...i can't..." he's breathing heavy. "i can't take you against an alley wall." the two of you are alone, for now, but someone could still come along at any moment. and sex against a wall, or outside, or a wall outside, was fun, but not necessarily the most comfortable. "not for your first time. it isn't right. you deserve better."
you cup his face with both hands. you're so needy, even feeling the rub of his stubble against your palms has you fighting back a moan.
"i want you," you speak, your thumb running over his cheek. "i want this." one of your hands runs down his chest. "and i want it now." the same hand tugs at his belt.
daeron has never been strong enough to resist any temptation, and you in the moonlight, hand so close to his cock, tugging on his trousers, and looking at him like that, you are temptation itself.
