#fayewrites

bill dickey ノ

cw : semi-public sex, oral sex (m. receiving), degradation, hair pulling, rough dynamic, possessiveness, light dom/sub tones, choking/gagging, exhibitionistic tension, misogyny, messy power struggle, filthy dialogue, heavy breathplay

✦ Title: College Party

an : #needthat // set post-eltingville, age 19–20 college au (but billl does NOT go to college reader invited him to a party

© dovenskin

He shouldn’t have come to this party. He said that three times already.

Loud music. Shitty beer. Everyone dressed like they thought Hack/Slash was deep. Bill Dickey skulked around the kitchen like he was looking for mold to criticize. He’d shown up for free pizza and ended up cornered by your friends and their mid-tier Buffy takes.

And then you came in wearing that skirt. That tight little nothing riding up your thighs like it owed you money. Dancing to No Doubt with a red cup in hand like you weren’t the same girl who left him on read for two weeks after he said women in horror games were “market-tested masturbation fuel.”

You shouldn’t be grinding on him. Not after the shit he said. Not with everyone ten feet away in the next room.

But there he was—sweating, jaw clenched, flannel open over a black tee like his frame could hide the heat crawling down his spine. You tugged his belt and whispered, “Come here a little closer…”

He choked on air, eyes wide, glasses fogging.

Now?

Now you were on your knees in the kitchen, mouthing at his dick like it was nothing, like the music from the living room would drown out the groans slipping through his gritted teeth. His jeans were around his knees. He was hunched over the counter, hands braced wide, one trembling as it tangled in your hair, the other planted on the laminate for dear life.

He looked like sin incarnate—pale, sweating, flushed to the ears and trying to play it cool even as your lips wrapped around him and dragged a filthy noise from his chest.

“Y-you’re such a goddamn slut,” he hissed, hips jerking when you swallowed deeper. “Fuck, you’re lucky I don’t record this. Put it online. Show everyone what a fake nerd whore you really are—fuck—!”

You sucked harder. His knees nearly buckled.

He clutched your hair tighter, pulling until your eyes watered. The drag of your tongue along the underside of his cock had him shaking, twitching, breath hitching with every thrust. You could feel the panic underneath the pleasure—he liked this too much, needed this too much, and it showed.

You flattened your tongue. Moaned around him.

He slammed a palm against the counter.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he spat, voice cracking as he hunched lower. “You’re gonna—f-fuck—you want me to come down your throat? Huh? That what you want, you attention-starved femoid cunt?”

You looked up at him, mouth full of cock, eyes shining, mascara starting to smudge.

He nearly came on the spot.

Behind him, the party raged on. Laughter, footsteps, the bass pounding from the speakers. Someone yelled “TRUTH OR DARE!” and no one noticed Bill Dickey getting throat-fucked five feet from the microwave.

“God, I hate you,” he grunted, trying to stay upright. “Hate how you do this—how you always fuckin’ win.”

You swallowed around him again, throat tightening.

He sobbed out a curse.

His thrusts grew erratic. You felt him pulsing on your tongue, muscles tensing like a rubber band about to snap. And then—with one brutal tug of your hair and a low, guttural moan that got caught in his throat—he came, hips bucking, chest heaving like he’d just run five miles.

Hot, messy, desperate.

You swallowed it down like the smug bitch he swore he didn’t love.

When he pulled out, your lips were swollen, chin slick. You stood, wiping the corner of your mouth, and he stared at you—red-faced, panting, utterly ruined against the kitchen counter.

You leaned close.

“You finally shut your mouth, huh?” you teased.

Then you walked off, like you didn’t just suck him dry while half the Eltingville community was within earshot.

Bill stayed in the kitchen a full minute longer, gripping the counter, hating himself for how good he felt.

eltingville ep. ノ

cw : nsfw, smut,oral (m & f receiving) , reverse cowgirl, doggy style, unprotected sex,

✦ Title: Fuck The Nerds

an: josh and pete’s are fem, bill and jerry are gen

© dovenskin

BILL DICKEY

you know he's loud. whiny as hell. you're kissing those crusty lips, chin scraping his busted stubble while your hand’s working him through his jeans, slow as hell. too slow. he's bucking up into your palm, groaning into your mouth, trying so fucking hard to get more friction, more pressure, more anything—like he’s not already getting more than he’s ever had in his life.

when he finally shimmies off those ratty jeans—finally—his dick flops out, borderline below average, thick head already leaking like a broken faucet. you glance up, and he's just staring down at you, chest heaving, face red, pupils blown wide like a kicked puppy. eyes begging. you say anything about it and he'd throw a tantrum, but you see it all over him. that silent, twitchy "please touch me" energy.

first few open-mouthed kisses, one lazy tug on his cock, and he's already fucking losing it. squirming. whining. hips jerking up into your hand like he’s trying to chase the high. fingers in your hair, not pulling—just there, like he thinks he's helping. hasn’t even been two minutes and he’s making noises like he’s never been touched before. (he hasn’t.)

and honestly? you weren’t expecting much. guy’s in his twenties and still a virgin, spends more time gatekeeping horror trivia than touching grass. not like most girls would even want to be near him—let alone have their mouth on his cock. but here you are. and he’s already shaking like you’ve ruined him.

your hand’s working his cock now, slow strokes, thumb rubbing over the fat tip just to hear him make that choked little noise again. he’s a mess already—moaning like he doesn’t care who hears, squirming like your touch is too much. hips stuttering, body twitching, hands useless at his sides like he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with himself.

and then, somehow, somehow, this loser finds it in him to talk.

“heh… fuck… knew a bitch like you couldn’t resist me,” he pants, voice shaky but smug, like he really believes it. “figured you’d come crawling the second you got a taste of a real man.”

he’s grinning through it—cocky, sweaty, half-delirious—and it’s almost cute how proud of himself he looks, flushed face all smug, like this is his moment.

and then you sink your mouth over his cock.

just like that. no warning. all warmth and spit and tongue, taking him halfway down in one go, and he fucking chokes.

his cock twitches violently in your mouth, thick head pressing against your tongue, and he lets out the most pathetic whimper you’ve heard all night.

“f-fuckfuckholy shit—”

his hand grabs at your hair but it’s not dominant, not controlled—he’s scrambling, holding on like he’s about to fall apart. his whole body goes stiff, thighs trembling, breath catching like he’s seconds from unraveling.

“nghh—shit, shit, don’t move—” he hisses, voice breaking into a whine, “fuck, i’m gonna—gonna cum already, fuck—”

so much for that cocky attitude.

you pull back just enough to suckle the head, tongue circling, slow and mean, and he fucking loses it. eyes rolled back, mouth hanging open, a high, strangled moan spilling out like you’ve knocked every thought from his greasy little brain.

he’s barely holding it together

JOSH LEVY

he’s already breathless before you even sink down on him. hands gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind, fingers twitching every time your skin shifts under his touch. cock twitching too—he’s so fucking hard it almost hurts. and the moment you start sliding down, the moment your cunt stretches around him, he lets out this wrecked little moan like he’s been waiting his whole life for this exact moment.

“holy fuck… holy shit,” he gasps, head thrown back against the pillow. you’re facing away from him, which just about kills him—he can’t even see your face, can’t kiss you, can’t do anything but watch the way your ass bounces and your back arches while you ride him like he’s nothing but a toy.

he whimpers. he’s fucking whining, trying not to buck up too hard, trying to hold back so he doesn’t cum embarrassingly fast. he’s babbling now—soft, breathless praises like, “so good—feels so good, fuck, you’re amazing—” voice cracked, high, completely overwhelmed.

you lean back just a little, give him a better view, start grinding your hips down with a slow, heavy roll and he loses his goddamn mind.

“fuckfuckfuck—don’t stop, please don’t stop,” and when you look over your shoulder at him, all flushed and trembling and needy, he’s staring like you hung the moon. like he’s never seen anything better in his life.

“you’re taking me so good, josh,” you say, sweet and mean at the same time, and that’s it. his fingers dig into your thighs and his hips twitch helplessly under you.

“yeah?” he gasps. “y-you like it? i’m doing good?” he’s begging for the praise, desperate to be told he’s making you feel good. he’s shaking, barely holding on, hips bucking up like he wants to be deeper even though he’s already buried to the hilt.

“you’re doing perfect, baby,” you coo, grinding down hard and circling your hips just to watch him fall apart. “your cock feels so good—stretching me out so nice, you’re making me cum so hard, josh.”

he whines, like it physically hurts how much he likes hearing that, how bad he wants to be good for you.

and when you start bouncing again, picking up the pace, ass slapping against his thighs while you fuck yourself stupid on him—he starts panting like a dog, sweat beading at his forehead, mouth hanging open, voice shaking.

“fuckfuck i’m gonna cum—i can’t—i can’t—y-you’re so—i’m—” and he’s gone.

his hips jerk up into you once, twice—and then he spills, thick and messy inside you, crying out like he just saw heaven.

and even through it, he’s still moaning out broken little compliments: “s-so good… fuck, you’re perfect… never felt anything like this…”

you don’t stop until he’s twitching under you, eyes rolled back, mouth slack—wrecked. and you just smile, still grinding slow and deep, like you knew he’d break this easy.

PETE DINUNZIO

pete’s obsessed with your reactions. doesn’t even care about getting off himself — not when he’s got your thighs trembling and your pussy dripping all over his face. he’s eating like a man possessed, tongue deep, nose buried, goatee slick with spit and slick. he’s not gentle. not careful. he’s messy.

and when you cum the first time, crying out, thighs clamping around his ears? he doesn’t slow down. doesn’t stop. he leans in. doubles down.

“yeahhh, there it is,” he groans, mouth still on your clit, voice dripping with that filthy Staten Island accent. “that’s it, baby. lemme hear you. fuckin’ sing for me.”

you’re whining, overstimmed, hips twitching — but pete’s not done. his fingers are inside you now, thick and calloused, pumping deep and curling up just right. and his mouth? oh, he’s still there, lips wrapped around your clit, tongue working tight little circles. and then—

teeth.

he grazes the tip of one sharp canine right against your clit — just enough to make you gasp, your whole body jolting. he doesn’t bite, not really. just brushes it. flirts with that edge between pain and pleasure.

“oh? that gotcha?” he grins, voice cocky, lips shiny, chin wet. “fuckin’ love that. could make ya jump just like that again. real easy.”

and then he does it again, a soft nip to your inner thigh — not enough to draw blood, just enough to make you squeal. he groans when he hears it. tongue flicking fast, fingers picking up pace, curling inside you while you writhe, barely able to form words.

“nah-uh,” he teases, voice low, almost a growl. “you don’t get to cum again til you ask nice. c’mon, sweetheart. lemme hear it. beg for it. tell me how fuckin’ good i make you feel.”

you’re panting, desperate, squirming under his mouth, right there, and he pulls his fingers out just enough to keep you aching for it — still playing with your clit, licking so slow it’s unbearable.

“nuh-uh,” he smirks, “not good enough. say it right. beg for my fuckin’ tongue. tell me how much you need me.”

and when you finally break — voice cracked, sobbing, pleading — “please, pete, please, it feels so good, i need it, i need you to make me cum again—”

that’s when he gives it to you.

hard.

fingers slam back into you, fast, deep, soaking wet, and his mouth devours your clit. he nips, sucks, tongues it like he wants to ruin you — and he does.

you cum so hard your vision whites out. you’re screaming, shaking, thighs clenching, body twitching like you’re short-circuiting. pete’s groaning into you like he’s getting off just from the way you taste.

“that’s fuckin’ right,” he growls, voice ragged, still mouthing your clit while you twitch. “good girl. good fuckin’ girl. look at this pretty pussy fallin’ apart for me…”

and you think he might stop now — but he’s still going. fingers still moving, tongue still teasing. and those teeth? right back where they started — gentle, dangerous, fucking addictive.

“think we’re done?” he mutters, lips hot against your slick, “we ain’t stoppin’ till i’ve got my fill.”

JERRY STOKES JR

when he finally gets the tip inside, he goes still, chest heaving. you’re so warm, so wet, and he can feel everything. his voice shakes when he speaks:

“you okay, angel? you—you good?”

you nod, maybe whisper something like yeah, jerry, please — and his whole body just shudders.

“fuck. okay. okay…” he breathes, barely getting the words out. “jesus christ, you feel s-so fuckin’ good…”

the pet names slip out without him even thinking. baby, babe, angel — like they’ve been sitting on his tongue for years, and now they’re finally pouring out with every breathless moan.

he starts moving, slow at first — hips rolling into you in soft, shallow thrusts, his fingers gripping your waist like it’s the only thing grounding him.

“oh my god,” he gasps. “oh my god, this is—this is insane…”

your pussy squeezes around him and his knees buckle. he leans forward, chest brushing your back, panting into your shoulder, whining into your skin.

“uugh—fuck, i’m not gonna last, you feel too good, i c-can’t—”

and then it hits him — that he’s really inside you, that you want this, that you want him. the way your back arches, the little moans you let out, the way your body responds to every stuttering thrust — it’s all too much.

he snaps.

hips start slamming into you, rougher now, messy, his rhythm totally undone. he’s rutting, desperate, whimpering with every thrust, his forehead buried against your spine.

“fuck, angel, fuck—please—lemme, lemme keep going, i c-can’t stop—”

he’s not even trying to be cool anymore. his voice is high, needy, wrecked, cracking every time you clench around him or moan his name.

“s-sound so pretty, baby, makin’ those little noises, lettin’ me—oh fuck, lettin’ me f-fuck you like this, jesus—”

you can feel how much he’s shaking — his whole body’s trembling, hands tight on your hips, breath hot against your shoulder, and his cock is throbbing inside you, every thrust sending shivers up his spine.

“d-don’t wanna cum yet,” he whines, “but you’re s-so tight, angelp, so wet, fuck, i c-can’t—I can’t—”

and when you moan his name again, tell him to keep going, maybe even beg a little?

he breaks.

cums with a loud, needy cry, hips jerking hard as he spills inside you, body spasming, nails digging into your skin just to anchor himself.

he stays buried in you after, panting, overwhelmed, whispering breathless, adoring things like:

“angel… i can’t believe you let me—i didn’t mean to—fuck, i’ll be better next time, i swear, just—jesus, you’re perfect.”

yamato ノ

✦ Title: Tied Up

cw : explicit content, dom!reader, restraint, edging, light humiliation, begging

© dovenskin

You had no idea how good he’d look tied up.

Yamato looked calm. That infuriating, ANBU-calculated calm. Even now—naked, wrists bound to the headboard, chest rising slowly like he was meditating through the tension—you could see the effort it took him to maintain it.

“I know what you’re doing,” you murmured, dragging your nails down the flat of his stomach. His abs twitched under your touch. “You’re trying not to react.”

He didn’t answer—just stared up at you, jaw tight, eyes flickering somewhere between challenge and desperation. You liked that. That balance.

His cock gave him away—hard, flushed, the tip already slick, resting against his stomach. No matter how neutral his expression stayed, his body was honest. His hips twitched when you pressed your thigh against him. His breath hitched when you kissed just under his ribs, slow and wet.

“I want to see you fall apart, Yamato,” you whispered against his skin. “Not play soldier. Don’t suppress it. Just feel.”

His eyes fluttered shut at your words. He let out a quiet, measured breath—controlled, even now. You moved lower, hands gliding down his sides. He flinched when your nails scraped lightly.

You kissed the top of his thigh, then the crease where it met his hip. His abs jumped. His fists clenched uselessly in the ropes.

“You’ve been so patient,” you whispered, licking slowly up the side of his shaft. “So good. I think you deserve a little reward.”

You didn’t warn him. You just leaned in and kissed the head of his cock—soft, wet, slow.

His whole body tensed, like a trap snapping shut. You sucked the tip into your mouth, lips tight, tongue swirling beneath it as you sank a little deeper, letting him feel the heat of your mouth.

Yamato arched subtly, barely, but it was there.

He made a low, guttural sound and turned his face away, like not looking at you would make it easier to endure. But you didn’t let up. You pulled back, licking a long stripe up the underside of his cock, letting the spit trail slowly down.

“Still not gonna say anything?”

He didn’t answer.

So you wrapped your hand around the base and took him deeper—slow, unrelenting, letting him feel every inch of your mouth, every warm breath and flick of your tongue.

His thighs trembled beneath you.

You glanced up—his jaw clenched, brows drawn tight. That mask of control was slipping.

You pulled off with a soft, wet pop, thumb circling the head of his cock. “Tell me what you want.”

“…Don’t stop,” he said hoarsely. “Please.”

You smiled. “Getting there.”

You dipped back down—faster this time. Your hand twisted at the base while your mouth worked him over in slow, sucking rhythm. You pulled off between breaths to press slow, teasing kisses along his shaft, watching him twitch every time.

Then you started again—more pressure. More spit. More noise.

“Fuck,” he gasped, hips jerking upward before he caught himself. “Sorry—ah—”

You pulled off again, deliberately. “Did I say you could move?”

Yamato groaned, deep and rough. His wrists flexed in the bindings like he wanted to grab you, bury himself deep, but he didn’t. He stayed still. Obedient. And it made you ache.

“You’re so good when you listen,” you purred, stroking him lazily. “You want to come, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “Please.”

“Beg.”

He exhaled shakily, turning his face into the crook of his arm like he could hide the flush creeping down his chest.

“Please… let me come. I need it,” he choked out. “Please, don’t stop—I can’t—fuck—I need your mouth again.”

The desperation in his voice lit something low and hot in your stomach.

So you gave him what he asked for.

You took him in again—fast, deep, messy—moaning softly around him so he could feel it. Spit dripped from your lips, your hand moving in time with your mouth, twisting at the base.

And Yamato broke.

He came with a rough, bitten-off cry, back arching, wrists pulling at the ropes as his cock twitched on your tongue—hot and thick, spilling down your throat. You swallowed around him, sucking him through it while he gasped and trembled, completely undone.

You crawled up over him slowly, settling on his hips. He didn’t open his eyes at first—just lay there, wrists still tied, chest heaving, lips parted, flushed and wrecked.

And then, finally, he looked at you—eyes glazed, lashes damp. Shattered.

You leaned down and kissed his throat, voice low and warm.

“Told you I’d make you fall apart.”

bill dickey ノ

cw : just fluff , hamster bill, greedy/greasy little hamster bill

✦ Title: Hamster Bill

an : idk i got the idea from looking at bill eat a hamburger in the comics, he just … looked like a hamster… (this might become a series)

© dovenskin visual

Bill had been a hamster for approximately twenty-four hours, and you were already losing your mind.

He hadn’t taken to it gracefully.

No, Bill Dickey, former self-appointed president of the Eltingville Club and walking incel manifesto, had become the angriest, chubbiest puffball you’d ever seen. Still somehow managed to look smug while chewing on cardboard. Still somehow full of hatred.

He squeaked in your direction from the corner of his plastic cage, standing on his back legs like he was about to challenge you to a Yu-Gi-Oh duel.

You cooed softly, unable to help yourself. “Aww. Look at you. You’re so mad.”

You reached down to pet his fuzzy little head. Big mistake.

His tiny teeth sunk immediately into your fingertip.

“OW—motherfucker!” you yelped, stumbling back, clutching your bleeding hand to your chest. “He bit me! He actually bit me!”

Bill just sat there, beady eyes narrowed, little hamster chest heaving with rage. There were shredded tissues all over the floor of his enclosure. One of the wheels had already been broken.

You opened the cage with one hand and grabbed him with the other, ignoring his furious chirps and flailing limbs. He was round and squishy and still trying to bite you.

You squeezed him gently—just enough to assert dominance—and hissed:

“Listen, motherfucker. I could pop you open RIGHT NOW. DO NOT bite me again.”

He froze in your grip, legs dangling. You could practically hear his pride cracking under the weight of your fingers.

Later, you placed him on the couch with a stolen fast-food cheeseburger nearly the size of his entire body. He immediately launched himself face-first into it, rage-chewing like a little demon. Crumbs smeared across his fat cheeks. His tiny paws kneaded the bread like he could actually grab it. His belly had already rounded out and he hadn’t even made it halfway through.

Jerry walked in, saw the scene—Bill, plump and pissed, buried in lettuce—and blinked.

“Uh. What’s … happening?”

You didn’t even look away from the carnage.

“His greed sickens me.”

Bill squeaked angrily, mouth full of meat.

You tossed a napkin on his head like it was a crown and sighed.

“You’re lucky I like pathetic little rodents.”

He squeaked again.

You didn’t check if it was a thank-you.

—-

Bill had gorged himself into a food coma.

He was sprawled across a chewed-up napkin on your bed like a little round corpse, stomach heaving gently, crumb trails up his snout. His fur was slightly greasy from burger oils, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. He looked like a cursed Furby mid-reboot.

You watched him from your pillow, head propped up on your elbow.

“…You’re disgusting,” you murmured fondly.

He didn’t respond. Just let out a soft, snorting breath through his stupid twitchy nose. His cheeks puffed in and out. His belly rose like a mini beanbag on the brink of bursting.

You reached out with one finger and gently poked his side.

Bill jolted.

He gave a short, sharp hiss—yes, a hiss—before snapping upright like a sleep-deprived cryptid. Beady eyes glassy with rage. His little fists clenched like he wanted to duel you in Magic: The Gathering right now.

You recoiled, laughing.

“I didn’t know hamsters could hiss!”

He puffed up like a microwaved marshmallow, baring his weird little rice-sized teeth and vibrating with hatred.

“Oh my god, do it again.”

You poked him.

Another hiss. A squeaky, wheezing one this time—like a teapot full of resentment.

“Bill,” you snorted, “are you broken? Is that your only line of defense now?”

He lunged for your finger, missed, and fell sideways onto his back, kicking his legs like a flipped Roomba. You nearly cried laughing.

Still giggling, you poked his soft belly.

HISSSS!!

“Stop! I can’t breathe—oh my god, you sound like an angry balloon animal!”

He flopped dramatically onto his side, face buried in the napkin, making an annoyed clicking sound like some combination of “fuck you” and “I’m too full to deal with this.”

You finally gave him a break, scooping his little blob of a body into your hoodie pocket.

“There,” you said, patting his lumpy form. “Sleep it off, Rodent Dickey. I swear to god if you bite my chest in your sleep, I’m duct taping you to a Roomba tomorrow.”

From inside the pocket, he let out a groggy, muffled squeak.

You just smirked.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

—

You eventually took pity on the gremlin.

After stuffing himself with half a burger, throwing a tantrum over the napkin being "too scratchy," and hissing at you like a demonic guinea pig, Bill finally passed out again—this time face-first in your hoodie pocket, little back legs dangling out like a half-flushed turd.

You sighed.

"God, you're exhausting."

Carefully, you reached in and scooped him out—he twitched slightly, but didn’t wake. Just let out a sleepy little huhhnk and curled tighter into himself like a damp dinner roll.

You set to work.

An old shoebox. Two socks folded into a lumpy mattress. A square of tissue you half-heartedly fluffed up like a throw pillow. You even tucked a corner of a comic book page in there, like he needed some cursed talisman to sleep near.

Once it was done, you placed him inside gently.

He snored immediately. Loud little snorts from a too-small nose. Belly rising and falling like a bloated little balloon. His fat cheeks were still stained with ketchup.

You stared at him for a moment, elbow on the desk, chin in your hand.

“…Sigh. You’re so ugly, Bill.”

It came out more fond than it should have.

He made a soft chirp in his sleep and rolled over, kicking one stubby foot like he was trying to slap you in a dream.

You shook your head, watching his stupid fur fluff with every snore.

"Ugly little bastard," you murmured again, tucking the sock corner over his hip like a makeshift blanket. “You’re VERY lucky I have a thing for weird, mean rodents.”

jiraiya ノ

✦ Title: Heatwaves

cw : nsfw/ explicit , dom/sub , degrading/pet names , size kink , sweat/scent kink , creampie (implied)/external ejaculation , rough sex / light manhandling , light humiliation , exhibitionism theme, fem reader

© dovenskin

The heat had swallowed Konoha whole.

The air was syrup-thick with humidity, sweat slicking every inch of exposed skin. You’d escaped with Jiraiya to the coast — a lazy plan to “cool off” that turned into a private getaway after he suggested a less crowded stretch of sand, far from the usual foot traffic.

You should’ve known better.

Now you were half-buried in the golden sand, the sun baking your skin, the ocean glimmering a few feet away — and Jiraiya kneeling behind you, eyes shamelessly glued to your barely-there bikini.

“You know,” he drawled, voice deep and rough with amusement, “you might be the cruelest woman I’ve ever met.”

You turned your head, smirking. “Because I’m not letting you write this into your next book?”

“No,” he said, hands bracing on either side of your hips. “Because you look like that—” his palm ghosted up the back of your thigh, thumb brushing under the curve of your ass “—and expect me to behave.”

The contact made your breath catch. Sweat already clung to your skin, but his touch left a hotter trail in its wake. You shifted your hips just slightly, teasing him, watching his pupils dilate.

“And what happens,” you murmured, “if I don’t expect you to behave?”

Jiraiya’s grin was feral.

He leaned forward, pressing his chest to your back, breath hot against your ear as his fingers slipped under the thin string of your bikini bottoms.

“Oh, then I’d say you’re a very smart girl.”

The next second, the fabric was shoved aside, and his fingers were between your legs — hot, thick, and already slick from the sweat and arousal he’d been coaxing all damn day. The sounds of the ocean weren’t loud enough to mask the wet slide of his fingers as he parted you and dragged them slowly up your folds.

“You’ve been wet for hours,” he groaned, licking the sweat off your shoulder. “You wanted this since before we left the village.”

You shivered, head tilting back against his shoulder. “You’re the one who packed all the sunscreen and none of the self-control.”

His answer was another thick finger pushed inside you, curling, making you gasp. He worked you open slowly, purposefully, while his other hand shoved your top up over your breasts and palmed them greedily. Your nipples were already hard from the breeze and sun, but his rough hand on them made you keen.

“Can’t believe you let me bring you here,” he murmured, mouth on your jaw now. “All that sass, and now you’re dripping for me like you want to be fucked in the sand.”

You clenched around his fingers involuntarily. “Jiraiya—”

“You like the risk, huh?” he growled. “Someone walking down the trail. Seeing the famous pervert sage rutting into his pretty girl like an animal.”

He pulled his fingers free and shoved your hips forward roughly, until your face was buried in your towel and your ass was in the air, glistening with sweat and arousal. You heard the rustle of cloth — then the hot, heavy weight of his cock pressing between your cheeks.

He was big. Even after all the times he’d had you, the blunt head of his cock still made your breath stutter. He was already leaking, smearing warmth against your inner thighs. He gripped his base with one hand, sliding the tip slowly between your folds before nudging it against your entrance and holding it there, just teasing.

“You’re so tight,” he rasped, almost to himself. “Every time. Fuck.”

He eased in, stretching you inch by inch, groaning like a man being saved and ruined all at once.

You gasped, hips jerking as he pushed deeper, the stretch just shy of overwhelming.

“That’s it,” he murmured, savoring every squeeze around him. “Take me. Let me feel all of it.”

When he bottomed out, you felt impossibly full, the weight of him buried so deep inside you it made your knees weak. Jiraiya held still for a beat, grinding his hips against yours slowly, relishing the way you clenched around him.

“You don’t even realize how good you feel,” he murmured, voice low and reverent. “Gripping me like that… fuck.”

Then he started to move — rough and fast from the start, his balls slapping wetly against your thighs. Your hands dug into the towel, sand kicking up around you, every thrust punching a breath out of you.

“You gonna come for me out here, huh?” he grunted. “All spread out, fucked dumb in the sun like a good little beach bunny?”

“Jiraiya—f-fuck—” Your whole body trembled as he slammed into you harder, faster, his pace brutal, sweat dripping from both of you. The sun made your skin hot, but it was nothing compared to the burn building in your belly.

He reached around and started rubbing your clit in fast, messy circles. “Come for me. Soak my cock.”

But you were already close. The stretch, the heat, the weight of him grinding your walls into something raw and needy — it sent you over fast. You came hard, biting down on the towel as your thighs shook and your pussy spasmed around him.

Jiraiya swore loud and filthy as you clenched around him, drawing out the moment. He didn’t pull out yet — he stayed buried to the hilt, grinding into you through your orgasm like he couldn’t bear to let it end.

“God, you’re perfect like this,” he groaned, voice ragged. “Just like that.”

And then, finally, he pulled out just enough to slam back in with one last deep thrust and came—hot and heavy across your ass, ropes of it streaking your slick skin as he panted like he’d been running laps.

For a long moment, all either of you could do was breathe — him crouched behind you, hand stroking the sweat-damp curve of your spine, you slumped against your towel, dazed and still twitching.

Finally, he leaned over, kissing the top of your back.

“Think I’ll call this chapter The Taming of the Shrew,” he whispered. “Chapter fourteen.”

You groaned. “If you publish that, i’ll burn you into the ground.”

Jiraiya chuckled, already reaching for the sunscreen again.

deidaraノ

cw : cunnilingus (hand-mouth) + fingering , captive , restraint , power play , small biting , teasing, dubcon, yandere

✦ Title: Consistency

an: consistency is a foreign word to me 🎋 itachi is NOT safe

© dovenskin

You didn’t know how long you’d been down there—days, probably. Maybe a week. Time slipped in strange ways inside the base. No windows. No clocks. Just shadows, stone, and the sound of your own breathing whenever no one came to bother you.

But tonight, someone had.

You were pulled into a different room. Bigger. Cleaner. Colder.

And Deidara was already waiting, perched on a low wooden bench with one leg draped over the other, like this was something casual. Like he did this all the time. You didn’t say a word. Neither did he—not at first. Just watched you with that pale, pointed face and slow, lazy smirk.

“Sit,” he said eventually, patting his lap.

You hesitated. His eyes narrowed.

So you obeyed, hands still tied behind your back. Rope, tight. Not painful, but enough to keep you still, keep you obedient. Deidara liked control. He liked reactions. You could already tell.

“Good girl,” he muttered, shifting you until your thighs were spread across his lap, knees bent on either side of his hips. “Now. Don’t move. I want to try something.”

That should’ve scared you more than it did.

His hand—only one—came to rest on your inner thigh, fingers splayed. His thumb brushed absentminded circles over your skin, soft and slow. You tensed, already feeling the unnatural heat building in his palm.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” he murmured, mouth close to your ear. “About how it’d feel. What kind of sounds you’d make. What you’d do when it starts licking you.”

And then, it did.

You sucked in a breath as his palm moved higher, spreading your thighs further apart with firm pressure. His fingers stayed in place to guide you, but the mouth on his palm opened wide, tongue wet and slick as it pressed a slow, greedy lick up your folds.

You gasped, instinctively trying to pull back, but his arm curled around your waist, holding you steady.

“Uh-uh. Stay still,” he said, voice low and teasing. “You don’t want me to miss, do you?”

The tongue dragged again—wet and heavy, saliva mixing with your own slick, every stroke slow and measured. He let the tongue circle your clit without touching it, close enough to tease, close enough to make your thighs twitch. Your head dropped forward, a soft sound escaping you. You couldn’t stop it.

He grinned.

“There we go,” he muttered. “Knew you’d sound pretty. Keep making that noise.”

The mouth worked with more purpose now, tongue flicking just a little faster. Still slow. Still maddening. He moved his fingers slightly, parting you with a practiced kind of curiosity, like he was studying how you responded.

Then, something sharp grazed your skin.

You gasped again—a small, sudden bite. The lips of the hand-mouth had closed around your clit, not to suck this time, but to give the tiniest nibble, just enough pressure to sting.

“Sensitive?” he asked, not bothering to hide his amusement. “It bites when it likes the taste.”

Before you could answer, two of his fingers slipped down and slid inside you in one slow, fluid push. Your whole body jerked.

“Fuck—so warm.”

He groaned against your jaw, mouth brushing your skin as his hand tilted, tongue lapping fast at your clit while his fingers curled deep inside you. His palm kept your hips pinned while he worked you open—the tongue circling your clit, the lips sucking, biting, licking, while his fingers thrust slow and deep, knuckles slick, stretching you more with every pump.

“You’re clenching so hard,” he said, breath catching slightly. “Like your body doesn’t know what to focus on. Poor thing.”

The tongue gave another swipe, then the mouth bit again, a little firmer this time—not enough to hurt, but enough to make you cry out, the sharp edge pushing you closer to the edge with no way to brace yourself.

His fingers curled just right. The tongue sped up. The mouth stayed latched, suckling your clit with a filthy, greedy sound that echoed in the room.

You couldn’t hold back. Couldn’t even pretend.

Your orgasm hit hard and fast, body jerking, mouth open in a wordless moan as everything locked up at once—hips bucking forward, arms straining behind you, thighs trembling uncontrollably.

Deidara just held you through it, one arm around your waist, the other working you ruthlessly until you were shaking.

The tongue finally slowed. The mouth let go with a wet, satisfied sigh. His fingers slipped free, soaked.

You collapsed against him, chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths.

He brought his hand up to inspect the mess, mouth still lazily open in his palm, tongue flicking at nothing.

“You came all over it,” he said, pleased. “Guess I’ll have to do this again. For the sake of consistency.”