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.
rumours spread that targaryen!reader's virtue has been compromised by some lesser lord. it's purely concern for you and your reputation, surely, that akotsk men are compelled to personally check your maidenhead and/or correct your misbehaviour.
charas: valarr, aerion, daeron, dark-ish dunk
4k+ words
cw: fem!reader, targaryen!reader (relation not specified), disclaimer that virginity isn't a thing and virginity tests are bullshit but inspection kink is hot, all chara drabbles involve some degree of manipulation or dub con so don't like don't read, slightly dark-ish valarr but not really, spanking, slut/whore/good girl, degradation, breast play/pain, alcohol, oral, finger sucking, edging, anal, dunk is ooc but it's dark-ish dunk so it's fine
VALARR.
"it's not true," you implore. "i swear it."
some servants had seen you, laughing and a little wine-drunk, steal away from a feast for the darkness of the gardens alongside some minor lord's handsome son.
"did he force you out there?" valarr asks with strained voice. "did he...make you do anything?" his mismatched eyes go to yours, searching, and you can see gentleness battling with protective fury. "if by word or deed he compelled you to anything, or made false promises, it is not your fault. only tell me and i'll see him dead."
valarr wants him dead anyway, for nothing but the implication he might have enjoyed your sweet touch.
you shake your head.
"no. it's all lies. we did nothing but walk in the garden. it's not fair."
valarr laughs but there is no humour in his voice.
fair. what do you know of fair? valarr has lived his entire life to meet the image of the honourable son and heir. no slips. no mistakes. nothing that could tarnish the image of his family. but you, you went traipsing about unchaperoned in the dark and truly believed there would be no consequences. he can't tell if you're innocent enough to not have realized the implications or so spoiled that you thought you'd get away with it.
"it was foolish. reckless. half a dozen servants witnessed it," valarr says, voice low, warning.
"they witnessed naught but my seeking fresh air—"
valarr snaps.
"you are a princess! there cannot be any question of your behaviour. everything reflects back on our house!"
he'd known that since he was a little boy. valarr had never been indulged. never allowed to fall into temptation or disrepute, never to be anything but the perfect prince.
until now.
"take off your dress."
"...what?"
"leave your shift on," he orders. valarr will permit you some modesty.
you stare, too shocked to move.
"must i cut it off of you?" he demands.
you flinch and he regrets being so harsh with you. perhaps it is not your fault that you have been coddled so. it is not your fault if no one has ever kept a firm hand with you. well, he's here now.
"you have to learn your actions have consequences," valarr speaks again, voice softer this time.
he can see you're still confused, and perhaps a little frightened, but you obediently begin unlacing your gown. you trust him. or perhaps you want this, too. perhaps your parted lips, your trembling hands, your little gasp when he first commanded you to undress, was not fear at all, but arousal.
he sits on the edge of his bed as you disrobe for him. valarr doesn't let his gaze drop down as your shift is exposed, no matter that the white fabric is nearly translucent. he needs you to understand this is all for your correction, not his...perversion.
"bend over my lap."
you do as he says. he admires the shape of you, your round ass inviting his touch. he swallows hard.
"you have to learn, one way or another. better this way and let the lesson take, then for you to continue traipsing about, and be sent away to the silent sisters or saddled with an old man for a husband. this is for your own good. you understand this, don't you?"
"yes, my prince," you say, all demure, and the use of his title nearly makes him break. then— "thank you."
that does it for him. valarr doesn't even care if it's genuine sweetness or you once more manipulating everyone around you to get what you want. he gives in.
he lands a hand against your ass, hard, and delights in the way you gasp. he meant to go easy on you after the first strike, but he can't. he can't do it. valarr goes harder and harder with each smack against your flesh.
"your reputation is everything," he lands a blow with each sentence to drive the point home. "our family reputation is everything." smack! "you must be above criticism." smack! "you must be above even the implication of misbehaviour." smack! "you. cannot. go. wandering. about. with. strange. men. in! the! dark!" each word was punctuated with another smach, the last three the hardest as he imagined you in the darkness with some boy who was beneath you.
you try to squirm, but he holds you firm. you will take your spanking.
valarr is precise and careful to land a blow against every inch of your ass and thighs. your shift and small clothes are thin and he can feel you heat beneath his touch. every strike pushes your pliant, soft body down and against his hard cock.
"have you learned your lesson?" he asks, panting, his hand not slowing down. he's almost finished your punishment and these last few strikes need to be the hardest.
"yes!" you cry, and valarr can tell it's as much from pleasure as from pain.
"are you going to behave?"
"yes!"
"are you a princess or a whore?"
you've given into him too completely to even be shocked by his foul words.
"i'm a princess" you keen.
valarr could check. he's resisted this entire time the urge to pull up your shift. reveal your naked flesh to his gaze. see if you're wet. he could push you off his lap and onto the floor. make you kneel and look up at him, so sweet and desperate to please, as you draw his cock from his breeches and push the tip into the wet heat of your mouth—
valarr's cumming before he even realizes it. grips you and pushes you down onto his hardness while he grinds up against your soft stomach. he's panting as he comes down.
valarr doesn't know if you've realized what you've done to him. he doesn't tell you. this is about your correction, after all.
he sends you back to your chambers with the warning to never be so careless again, or he'll put you right back over his lap. and next time, you'll be naked.
AERION.
you can feel the rage radiating from aerion and you know he's heard the rumours. you want to tell him, it's not true, but it isn't as if you can discuss the subject of your virtue publicly. you try to pull him aside, but he coldly shakes you off his arm.
"come to my chambers tonight," he says.
aerion doesn't speak another word to you the rest of the day. he also doesn't leave you alone for a single second. he's a constant presence, always watching out of the corner of his eyes. anytime another man so much as glances in your direction, aerion's hand is at his dagger.
you almost wish he had gripped your wrist and dragged you back to his rooms immediately, no matter the shame it would have brought you to have the entire castle see you handled so. at least then you'd not have had to endure the agony of waiting. but you know aerion and you know the dreadful anticipation is part of his plan.
you knock on his chamber door that night. wordless, he lets you in. you cannot stand his silence and judgement any longer.
"aerion, it's all lies! i'm a maid, i swear—"
"prove it," his voice cuts through you.
you falter. your heart quickens.
"how?"
"strip."
your mouth opens and closes, dumbfounded, as heat burns your cheeks.
"be serious—"
"i am. a question of your virtue is an affront to our family. the idea you would degrade yourself like a bitch in heat is a scandal."
"aerion, you know i would never permit some minor lord to touch me—"
"do i?" aerion asks, and circles you, a hunter with his prey. "you don't feel a heat and ache between your legs? you don't desire to be taken and filled?"
"i..." you falter, panting. "desires do not matter. only duty. to my future husband and my family to preserve my virtue."
"then you should not hesitate to prove your honour," aerion stops behind you. he steps closer, too close, his voice low and deep in your ear. "would you like a maester to confirm your maidenhead is intact? some old lecher fondling you while a dozen witnesses fill the room and try to sneak a glimpse at your sweet cunt? or would you rather i inspect your virtue?"
you don't really have a choice. you nod your consent.
"ask me nicely."
you hate him. you want his hands on you so badly.
"please, aerion. please let me prove to you that i'm a virgin."
he undoes the ties on the back of your dress and strips you bare. his hands cup your breasts.
"what're you doing?" you ask, ignoring the aroused breathiness of your voice.
"being thorough," aerion answers. "i'll need to check every inch of you, just to be certain. see if there's any suspicious bruises that might suggest a man's touch."
it's a flimsy excuse, but you aren't in a position to protest.
he turns you around and lets his eyes run down your body while his hands continue to work over your breasts. his thumb circles your nipples until they harden. he palms you rougher, watching the way your flesh bounces for him. aerion twists your nipples and you whine in pain.
"good girl," he grins, and slaps your right breast.
he walks you over to the bed. he flips you around and pushes down on your lower back, encouraging you to get on all fours on the mattress. you let him angle your body how he wants. your head hangs down in shame. you can pretend your embarrassment is entirely from being 'forced' into this humiliating ritual, but you know the truth, and you expect aerion does too: you're enjoying this in spite of yourself.
he runs his thumb along your slit. you whine and push your hips back against him.
"you're wet as a whore," he growls. "maybe the rumours are true."
"noooo," you whine. "no, i'm a maiden, i swear!"
"a maiden who likes being fondled like a slut," aerion says, voice low and dark. "one way to find out."
he shoves two fingers inside without warning. you whine from a mix of pain and pleasure and your hips try to buck, but even you don't know if you're trying to get closer or away. aerion holds you in place with his free hand and makes you take his fingers, harsh and unrelenting in their probing.
"wet like a whore but tight like a maid," he groans.
he has no mercy on you, clearly not inspecting but fucking with his fingers. then, suddenly, he's gone. you keen with the loss until you feel the tip of something much bigger pushing at your entrance.
"don't think you can be trusted with this needy virgin cunt," he grunts, pushing his cock forward to nudge against your clit. "just a little touching and you're making a mess of yourself. practically rutting on me. pathetic. better a dragon tame you now than you play the slut for the next lord, knight, stable boy who looks your way."
"please," you beg, but you've hardly gotten the word out before aerion is pushing inside you, fully seating himself in one thrust. it hurts, but hurts so good. aerion fucks you through it, surprisingly gentle but insistent. he soon forgets to be kind as he picks up speed, clearly intent on his own pleasure and impatient for his release.
you grip the sheets and let him do whatever he wants to you.
only a minute or two passes before he's gripping your hips and spilling inside you.
you whine and push back against him, seeking more.
"aerion," you pout. "not enough..."
he grins.
"who said we were finished?"
DAERON.
it's late as daeron stumbles through the dark halls, a not unusual occurrence. what is unusual is that he finds you in an alcove. you rise quickly and hide something behind your back.
"little late for the little princess to be out," he teases. daeron's always been fond of you. "what's this?"
he tries to reach behind you, and by rights you should easily be able to outmanoeuvre him once he's been drinking, but you sway and falter. daeron grabs the item and takes a look at his prize. a flagon.
he takes a swig and sure enough, it's wine, and not even a good one.
"don't," you say, and sway again, and now daeron recognizes that you're drunk.
"think it's past your bedtime."
"don't want to go to bed."
"think there's only room in a family for one drunk, and i promise, i'm much better at it than you."
"fuck off, daeron!"
that's how he knows something is wrong. and he can guess what. the entire court was whispering that the beloved targaryen princess had besmirched her honour. reputation never meant much to daeron, but you had always played the dutiful one, and he can see that this is hurting you.
"being caught drunk and out of bed isn't going to help the rumours, sweetheart. at least hide in my room."
daeron meant to secretly guide you back to your chambers and leave you there to sleep it off, honestly, but somehow on the way he...forgot...and you both ended up back in his chambers, lying on his bed, sharing a much nicer bottle of wine.
"'s not fair. no one cares if you openly visit every brothel in king's landing. but people so much as think i might have been alone with a man, and i'm an outcast."
daeron resists the temptation to point out you're currently alone with a man.
"someone will come along soon enough and do something far more scandalous. probably me. then everyone will forget about you," he says.
you giggle and lean into his side, taking the bottle from him and drinking straight from it. his eyes follow a droplet that slips past your sweet lips and runs down the curve of your neck, fighting the urge to kiss it.
"and you know what the worst of it is?" you ask. he shakes his head. "i didn't even do anything."
he swallows air and closes his eyes. daeron really should take you back to your rooms.
he feels the mattress shift as you prop yourself up on your elbows beside him.
"you could check, couldn't you?" you ask.
"check what?"
"that i'm a maiden."
daeron jerks up. the movement is too fast and the room spins around him. he runs a hand through his hair and angles his leg to obscure your view of his lap, lest you notice his quickly rising cock.
"if...if it was such a concern...i'm certain a septa could assist..." he stammers.
you shake your head and press yourself against his chest.
"not a septaaaa. youuuu. you'd know, wouldn't you? you must've been with enough women to tell," you're giggling again. "then you can tell everyone else."
the fatal flaw in your logic, which you don't seem to have realized, is that would mean daeron telling everyone he had seen your pussy.
"i don't think—" he tries to speak.
"i trust you. i want you."
daeron groans.
if he was a good man, he'd tell you you're drunk, and younger than him, and sad, and angry, and not thinking clearly, and need to go to bed.
daeron knows he is not a good man.
he's trying to settle you down on the bed and prop some pillows around you to make you comfortable, but you're already hiking up your skirts. he blinks and suddenly your cunt is bare in front of him, wet and spread, like he's wanted for so long. daeron half stumbles, half slides down the mattress and eases your leg over his shoulder, one hand clinging to your thigh to desperately try and ground himself, even as his hips are grinding into the bed.
"think i'd be able to check better with my mouth," he pants for it.
"what do you mean?" you ask.
daeron whines.
"sweet girl," he whimpers. "please. please trust me. please, it'll feel so good, i promise."
"please," you breathe, and that's all daeron needs to hear.
he pushes his face into your cunt like a man starved. he's messy and loud with it. you're immediately crying 'oh!' and grabbing his hair to push him closer. daeron's eyes roll back in his head with pleasure.
if it absolves him at all, he does fulfill the task you gave him. his tongue pushes into your hole and he confirms your maidenhead is intact.
daeron just also makes you cum until you're screaming and shaking for him.
he doesn't let up until you're pushing his head away. daeron looks up and his eyes meet your's. there's a new clarity in your gaze. meanwhile, he swears he's drunk on you. he's gripping you tight and silently begging for absolution.
you push him away and he feels sick with the certainty that you must despise him. instead, you crawl down to him and your hand goes to his belt.
"teach me how to make you feel good like that," you pant.
DUNK.
you're certain the sudden 'rumours' of your indiscretion are a political scheme against your family. you need this marriage alliance. even if you don't particularly like your intended.
"ser duncan. you're my personal guard. if you would vouch that no man has entered my chambers unchaperoned, it would do a great deal to squash the malicious gossip against me."
"i'll swear no man has entered under my watch," he answers.
ser duncan was a quiet man and difficult to read.
"i thank you, ser—"
"i can only speak for when i've been on duty, your grace."
you curse. that would mean relying on the word of your other guards, whom you have no love for and do not trust.
"what would it require then, ser, to convince you to vouch for me fully? money? land?"
"your grace," he speaks firmly. "'m an honourable man. i won't be bribed and i won't swear to a thing unless i'm certain of it."
you could slap this giant, you really could! but you need him on your side. and you need this alliance. no matter the cost to your dignity.
"i suppose you know, ser, what a maiden intact looks like?"
"i do."
"very well, then."
you sit at the edge of your bed, determined to get this over with as quickly as possible. you go to hitch up your skirts, but ser duncan stops you with a hand on your shoulder. you look to him, surprised, thinking he will be merciful and not force you to expose yourself to him to prove your virtue. instead, his large thumb dares to run over your bottom lip.
"ought to check you fully, if 'm riskin' my honour for you."
he pushes more insistently at your mouth.
you glare up at him, but part your lips and allow him to push his thumb inside. he prods the warmth of your mouth, gentle. you guess the point of this exercise is to see if you'll choke and sputter like a maid overwhelmed by his size. but you're angry with him for putting you in this position, and though it's petty and short-sighted, you don't immediately fake a struggle to take him. you don't wish to add to his pride.
ser duncan changes his mind about being gentle. he removes his thumb and pushes his index and middle fingers in, as far as they can go, forcing you to gag. he doesn't let up, evidently 'checking' you fully. you sputter from the intensity. fuck. if it's such a struggle just to take his fingers, you can't imagine how it would be to have his cock in your mouth. not that you want to think about his cock in your mouth. obviously.
he pulls his fingers out and you cough.
"lay back now, your grace," he orders, and you hate that he's somehow ended up in control here.
you lean back on the bed and fold your legs up. ser duncan kneels down and pushes your skirts up. you can feel his hot breath on your thighs and you involuntarily shiver.
"somethin' the matter, your grace?" he asks.
"no," you say, defiant, and stare up at the ceiling.
his hand cups your pussy and you gasp. you're entire core fits into his palm so easily. he massages you slowly, easily. it feels good. you bite your lip and focus on keeping still so as not to betray even a hint of pleasure. his index finger trails through your slit. he tuts, something evidently displeasing him. his finger moves upward and presses against your clit.
you gasp in shock and pleasure. how dare he!
"i...i do not believe this is entirely necessary, ser!" you scold, even as you grip the sheets.
"need you wetter, your grace, so as not t'hurt you with m'fingers."
you frown, and are about to argue further, but he speeds up his movements and fuck, it feels good, so you'll permit it.
"there ya go. just relax, princess. 'm not gonna hurt you," he breathes.
his large, calloused fingers feel so different to your own when you play with yourself. fuck, it feels good. your eyes close and you begin to allow a few tiny murmurs of pleasure to escape you. his breath tickles your cunt and his other hand runs along one of your legs soothingly. you can feel it building and building inside you, so good, so close, almost, almost...
ser duncan stops.
you cry out in alarm and look down at him.
"why did you—"
"this isn't about pleasin' you, princess."
you hate him. you want him dismissed. you want him sent to the wall. you want his head on a spike.
ser duncan begins rubbing your clit, inching you towards your release, so close...then stops again.
you groan in frustration and throw your head back on the covers.
"just once more, princess. need you plenty wet."
"fine," you say, petulant.
ser duncan doesn't seem to like your tone.
he edges you again, but this time it's harder, rougher, so delicious it almost hurts, and you're screaming towards release, bucking your hips, convinced you can sneak over...but he pulls his hand back at the last second and pushes your hips down on the bed so you can't chase any friction. you have to just lay there and whine and take it as your high fades away. to further it along, ser duncan leans down and blows air against your clit, though it only makes you shiver and buck your hips up harder.
"none of that now. you're a princess and you're meant to be proving your virtue. not that your a wanton little thing who can't handle even a little teasing..."
his fingers trail back along your slit. not seeking to arouse this time, only probing. checking. prodding every inch of you. and your face burns as you can hear just how soaked you are.
his index finger teases your entrance.
"deep breaths, princess. big stretch now."
you roll your eyes, unimpressed, but gasp as soon as he pushes inside you. oh fuck. oh fuck, it feels so good.
"mmm. nice 'n tight." ser duncan hums. "shhh. relax. need t'get a second finger in there."
it burns deliciously. you know he can feel your maidenhead, has even stretched it with his huge fucking fingers, but he doesn't stop and you don't tell him to.
his other hand trails his fingers through your cunt, wetting his fingertips. he angles you to reach deeper inside you. his fingers curve and hit some wonderful, unknown spot in you that has you crying out, "ser duncan!"
"mmm. i know. almost there. been such a good girl. just one more to check."
he's rubbing that secret, inside spot and your clit with one hand as he talks, so you aren't thinking too much about what he's saying. you assume he means another finger inside your cunt, which you would welcome.
you barely register his other hand sliding under your ass and between your cheeks, barely register his wet fingers prodding at your most private place, before he's pushing a finger inside your ass.
you cry out and jolt up, but he pushes you down with his body weight.
"shhh. shh. easy girl. just have to be thorough," he coos.
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.
drugdealer bf! yuma who coerces you into trying a new drug
trigger warning : dead dove, noncon, dubcon, coercion, drugs, drugged sex, first time anal, pain, gaslighting/manipulative. implied somno. you have been warned!! also slight angst.
the both of you are in your dim bedroom, only lit by led lights, sitting on the bed. his spotify playlist playing softly in the background. the smell of marijuana and cigarette smoke lingers in the air, cloying yet intoxicating.
"c'mon babe... trust me, it's mild stuff," he eggs you on. your eyes narrow, and you give him a judging look.
he holds up the small ziploc baggie. there's some japanese words written on it, but you can't read japanese. it's filled with tiny, pink pills. so innocent looking and sweet, like strawberry candy you'd eat when you were a child.
"it's new stuff, straight from japan. can't get it here, you know," he boasts, smirking at you. you catch an evil glint in his eyes.
"but you know i've been trying to stay clean..." you reason with him. he rolls his eyes, blowing vape smoke right in your face. he shakes the baggie infront of your face, taunting you.
"booooring. heard it's popular with girls. you sure you don't wanna try it?" he eggs you on again. that piqued your interest.
"popular with girls? why?" you ask, tilting your head curiously. he shrugs his shoulders.
"dunno. maybe because it's pink or something, i guess". you hum in thought. hmm.... work has indeed been tough recently... a little bit won't hurt, right? you roll your eyes, huffing. he watches you reconsider your decision.
"hey, not forcing you. like i said, it's a popular drug with girls. if you don't want it, i can find a buyer for it," he smirks mischievously. he knows mentioning other girls will piss you off, purposefully riling you up. you felt your heart drop to your stomach. you glare at him, feeling challenged.
"f-fine! give me one!" you put your palm out towards him, defiantly. caught you. he smirks as you fell right into his trap, opening the ziploc and placing two in your palm.
"that's more like it. you're supposed to take two. i know you've been stressed by work," he says thoughtfully. you give him a questioning look.
"are you gonna take it?" you frown at him. he shrugs.
"already did when you were taking a shower," a blatant lie. you don't know that, though. you didn't question it, trusting him, like you always do. you think about your job, how much work has been piling up recently. you think about the deadlines, the stress, and how your bones feel heavy. you're warm and safe here with yuma..... right? you always trust him. you place the pink pills in your mouth as he watches you with narrow, impatient eyes.
"good girl," he whispers to you. you let the pill sit on your tongue for a few seconds. your saliva slightly dissolves the top layer, tasting the sweet, artificial candy flavour for a second, and then that synthetic, chemical taste that you're familiar with. it takes over your tastebuds. you quickly swallow it down. bleh. you always hated that bitter after taste.
he leans in to kiss your lips, his saliva mixing in with the bitter, chemical aftertaste. he tastes nice, as always. his hands already in your hair. he strokes your hair lovingly, already pulling you closer to him on the bed. the drugs haven't hit yet.
"not bad, right? told you they were mild," he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. you nod, observing how the led lights paint his face blue one second, then purple. then, all of a sudden, it hits you like a truck. you can feel the drugs taking effect, starting from your gut, spreading like pins and needles to your arms, your legs, your throat.
"feels weird, yuma.. hate it..." you try to retaliate, but your words come out weak and slurred. he just laughs, manhandling you around on the bed, pushing you underneath him and putting all of his weight on you. you can feel it, the all too familiar feeling of a bad trip. you try to hit at him.
"you liar-..!" you try to scold him, looking at how unaffected and sober he is. the words came out less threatening than you'd wanted, sounding more like a light complaint. you realize that he probably didn't take it like he said he did. he laughs mockingly.
he roughly pulls off your soft cotton sleep shorts and your underwear, whistling when he sees how aroused you already are thanks to the drug's aphrodisiac effect. "someone's excited, huh?" his teasing voice mocks you, that infuriating smirk adorning his face like as if it's permanently stuck on his face.
"you know, there's something i wanna do, but you always say, no, yuma, i'm not ready~," he mocks your words in a fake high pitched, girly voice. your head spins and your skin burns. what is he talking about?
"it's popular with girls? well... i might have lied," he gathers the slick and wetness seeping out of you. god, you were so wet. you didn't know why though, you weren't expecting this. it was like as though your body was making decisions on it's own. you try to swat his hand away, annoyed, but you find yourself unable to move.
"the buyers are guys, but the users are girls.. pretty girls like you," he pushes a slick finger into your hole. a sharp pain shot up your spine. oh. oh. so this is what this is all about. ever since the start of your relationship, he's been asking you to do anal, but every time, you push him away. you rejected him many times, sometimes shyly, playfully pushing him away, your hands lightly pushing his chest away. bashful, embarrassed, pink cheeks. sometimes rolling your eyes, annoyed for being asked so many times. he'll pout and give you a dejected look, trying to convince you. you feel guilty, but you're afraid, you've never done it before. you've tried on your own with your fingers, but could never get past the painful first stretch.
his fingers don't stop moving, roughly seeking out the spot deep inside of you that he knows you're gonna love. "makes them all weak and soft, and so fuckin' desperate..." against their will, he leaves that point out conveniently. he punctuates each word with a flick of his wrist, painfully stabbing and stretching the walls inside of you with this bony fingers. he almost sounds annoyed, angry even. you'd be afraid if it weren't for the fact that you're so out of your mind. tears started to flow at the painful stretch, more painful than you had ever felt before.
"i had to do this, you wouldn't let me otherwise.." he pulls out his fingers, impatiently pulling down his pants and boxers. panicking, you tried to kick him away. but you couldn't lift a single muscle. you couldn't control yourself, it no longer felt like you were in your own body. you lay limply on his bed, like a doll.
he slicks himself up with the arousal dripping out of you and buries himself fully, ripping you apart. he groans at the way your virgin hole is clenching so desperately around him. it feels like your first time all over again. finally. he thinks.
"so fuckin' tight...." he thrusts in deeply, tightly gripping your hips to the point of leaving bruises. you tried to scream, but the sound comes out weak, more like a desperate whimper, burning your throat. you feel like you're being torn apart at the seams. you look up at him. your eyes are glassy and your mind is unable to think, slipping in and out of consciousness. your eyes focus on his bleached blonde hair... the piercings on his ear glinting in the dim light... the mole underneath his left eye... the way the led light is changing in the background... the room feels like it's spinning.
"hey, wake up. don't pass out on me," you feel his rough hand tapping your cheek painfully. your head lolls weakly, saliva dripping onto the pillow below you. he laughs, speeding up his thrusts, fucking in and out rapidly and brutally. your heart is palpating painfully and you're on the brink of passing out. the pain had spread out throughout your whole body to the point of turning you numb all over. your body feels like tv static. eventually, you closed your eyes, the drugs taking over your mind and body fully.
"baby, i'm coming.." yuma couldn't hold on longer. you felt too good, much better than usual. tighter, wetter, warmer than usual. he was too absorbed in his pleasure, that he didn't notice you had passed out, much less notice the fact that you didn't finish. he finishes inside of your ass, letting out a groan of relief. phew. after coming down from the high of his orgasm, he notices that you're passed out. he puts a finger on your neck to check your pulse. you're fine, you're still alive. luckily. he pulls out, mesmerised by his thick cum trickling down. an evil thought pops in his head.
a few more rounds wouldn't hurt, right?
-
you wake up the next morning with a splitting headache. the lower half of your body felt like it was on fire, aching and painful. you looked down. at least he had the decency to clean you up and put on your clothes. your head turns to the night stand and you see the tiny ziploc bag of the pink pills. it looks harmless, innocent and sweet. レイプドラック. those japanese words you didn't know before, but you can probably guess what it means now. mocking you. you suddenly have the urge to throw up, snatching the ziploc bag and tossing it across the room, not caring where it lands. you don't want to even look at it.
you dragged yourself out of the bed, feeling a pain spread throughout your lower half. you wince, holding onto the wall for support, slowly walking out of the bedroom. you don't even want to look at yourself as you walk past the full length mirror by the door.
he's in the kitchen, holding a kettle and brewing coffee grounds. he's wearing that soft, slightly oversized gray tee shirt that you bought for him last year. the bigger fit makes him look cute, younger, like the teenager you remember when you had first met him, instead of the man you remember from last night, the man who had....
"coffee?" his voice interrupts your thoughts. you don't say anything, just nodding numbly, like a puppet. you slowly walk to the table with trembling, shaking feet and a throbbing pain in your abdomen. you wince as you feel his cum leak out of you with every shaky step you take towards him. he smiles, handing you the warm mug. your soft hands brush against his.
he doesn't say anything, doesn't bring up last night. he doesn't offer an apology. he smiles like everything is normal.
"i love you," he says.
i love you too. you don't say it back. you nod, taking a slow sip of your coffee with trembling hands. tastes sweet, just the way you like it. just like the pink pills from last night.
last night wasn't too bad. you tell yourself. he's not a monster. he's just... he's still, yuma. yuma who kisses you goodbye every morning, wishes you a good day at work, picks you up without fail, waiting in the parking lot without a complaint. yuma who knows your exact coffee order and the way you like your ramen. who curls up next to you every night like a cat, warm and soft and refusing to let you go. you look at his face, the way the sunlight filtering through the window shines on his handsome face, his blonde hair that you helped to bleach, the way the corner of his eyes crinkled in happiness as he looks at you. your heart clenched painfully in your chest, teetering between that line of love and betrayal. every single happy memory you had with him flashes in your head, dulling out the burning pain in your body from last night. he loves you. you tell yourself.
so you tell yourself that you'll trust him this time. and the next, and the next.
thank you for all the follows, as well likes and messages from my previous fic ^_^ i was a little bit nervous since it was my first time posting a fic on tumblr. i was watching euphoria recently and had the inspiration to write drug dealer boyfr...
i am working on a few more fics.. stepbro!fuma.. also a few ideas i wanna write colleague/neighbour/host club/gun play but idk who yet :3 also i'm pretty bad at titles so i'll leave my works untitled for now ...
$ 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
I need all the horny thoughts you have about RDR2 RIGHT NOW!!!
with love,
snail
TW: dub-con below cut <3
i’m having SO MANY horny thoughts you have no idea. mainly about dhdijssojdeoej dutch 💕
there’s just something about him that SCREAMS yandere to me. the charisma, the need for control, the silver tongue. he manipulates people so easily. there’s a reason he’s had a roster of women before (and after) molly. he knows how to talk his way into what he wants.
and that kind of character is so interesting for yandere. the type of person who can truly make you believe that they have your best interests at heart, meanwhile they’re using you for their own gain. dutch plucks people up from situations where they have nothing and believes in them in exchange for them furthering his cause.
i think he'd LOVE a reader who was illiterate. makes him feel smarter then you. I can just imagine him sneaking into your tent at night and sitting you on his lap with a playful little twinkle in his eye, one you've learned to dread. He calls his little visits reading lessons, says it's his responsibility as a the gang leader to make sure you're well educated, but the books he puts in front of you are always just a little beyond your reading level, and the way he touches you as you read to him doesn't exactly help your concentration.
"That word," he points to the paper in front of you, voice low and heady in your ear, "read it again for me."
Your face burns. You shift on his lap, causing the heavy arm keeping your back pulled snug against his muscled chest to press tighter into your tummy. The cool metal of his rings brush against your inner labia as he twists his fingers in your core. They've been nestled there for the better part of an hour now. Stroking and fingering you tortuously slow, bringing you right to the edge and pulling you back over and over as you butcher whatever article is headlining the weekly newspaper. Its become a weekly ritual, him sneaking into your tent like this, pulling you onto his lap and touching you in ways you know ain't proper for a man twenty years your senior. But Dutch has never seemed to care about the propriety of... whatever this is, and you don't have the courage to bring it up. Whatever Dutch says goes, everyone in camp knows that. Even this.
An embarrassing, pitchy sound slips past your lips as his fingers graze a sensitive spot inside of you. "Mnngh... D-dutch please. The other girls are all asleep. I-I wanna be done-" you plea.
It's true. Karen and Marybeth and Tilly all went to bed long ago. You wonder if they stayed up waiting for you. Karen had promised she would tell you all about how the robbery in the last town went from her point of view, but you doubt they'd have waited this long.
"You'll be done when I say you're done. Not too much longer now." his thumb strokes your inner thigh in a manner you suppose is meant to be comforting. "Now go on."
You bite your lip and squint, struggling to make out the letters through the dim lamp light above and the tears spilling from your eyes. "Ca... Cacacop-"
"Cacophony." he interrupts, twisting his fingers deep, sending a wave of heat to your tummy that makes your toes curl. "Say it with me now. Cacophony."
You do as you're told, choking the word out as you watch a new droplet roll down his knuckle into the crevices of his rings. You wonder if he'll make you get on your knees once you're done to suck them clean like last time.
"Good girl." he praises, eyes fixed between your legs, entranced by the way your juices glint on his fingers. You think you hear him mumble something like 'Messy' under his breath and the tears of humiliation come on their own.
That doesn't stop him though. You still feel him hard as a rock underneath his pants.
"Oh sweet thing." he coos, brushing the tears from your eyes with a gentle smile. "My poor, poor dear. Tell you what, let's take a snack break, ok?"
You nearly leap for joy as his fingers slide out of your cunt. It might not be freedom, but any respite from Dutch's torture was near unheard of. You open your mouth to thank him, until you hear the clink of his belt buckle.
His eyes grow a shade darker, "Why don't you get on your knees and let me feed you?"
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?
