misaki✧⁠*

after hours of riling him up, he’s finally got you folded nearly in half, both your legs slung over his shoulders, his thick cock driving into you with a rhythm that’s got the headboard rattling.

“hnngh—fuck!” you whine, hands clutching his wrists as his relentless thrusts shake your core, he’s got one hand fumbling with your tits, squeezing harshly, drawing sharp gasps from your lips.

his hips snap forward, each buck deep, his lower abs slamming against you. “hhhmm, takin me so good, baby..” he purrs, you’re lost in the haze, your body trembling, but your eyes lock onto his face, sharp jaw, flushed cheeks, that fucking smirk.

and the words slip out before you can stop them. “so handsome, baby...” he freezes, just for a heartbeat, his cock still buried deep, hand stalling on your breast.

his eyes widen, eyebrows furrowing. “what’s that?” he asks, voice quieter, you bite your lip, cheeks burning, but he doesn’t give you time to backtrack.

his smirk returns, and he leans closer, your legs slipping higher on his shoulders. “handsome, huh? fuck, you’re gonna regret sayin’ that.” his hips snap forward, hard, rough, the kind of thrust that makes your whole body jolt and a cry rip from your throat.

“satoru!” you gasp, tears pricking your eyes as he pounds into you, faster now, looks like your compliment lit a fire in him.

his hand leaves your tits, gripping your thigh to keep you spread, his cock dragging against your walls. “watch how fucking good your handsome boyfriend fucks you, baby.” he growls, clicking his tounge, a playful smirk forming on the corner of his lips.

he’s already buried inside you by the time you open the jar.

his cock rests deep and heavy, unmoving, your walls soft and warm around him—clenching every so often without meaning to. not riding. not grinding. just sitting, your thighs snug around his hips, chest to chest, full in a way that makes your whole body ache.

nanami’s not even looking at you.

his eyes are closed. head leaned back against the headboard. one hand loose around your thigh, the other resting across his stomach. calm. quiet. pretending this isn’t killing him.

you dip your fingers into the cream.

“look at me.”

his eyes open immediately. obedient, steady, almost bored, except for the muscle twitching at the edge of his jaw.

you smooth a layer of moisturizer across the high slope of his cheekbone. slow and focused. like you’re not straddling him with his cock inside you. like this is just another part of your routine.

“your skin gets dry when you don’t let me do this.”

he exhales through his nose—measured, deliberate—but his cock twitches inside you. a slow, dangerous throb.

“you shifted,” he mutters, not opening his eyes.

“you’re imagining things.”

but you did. only a little. just enough to feel him drag along that tender inner wall. enough to make your breath hitch, to make your core clench helplessly around him again.

you swipe cream down the bridge of his nose, then across his jaw, all while seated deep on his lap. you’ve never felt so full, so stretched without movement. the weight of it. the heat of him. he’s not even hard anymore—not fully—but he hasn’t slipped out. hasn’t let himself soften, not even for a second.

he grunts when you reach for the folded sheet mask on the side table, lifting one hand off his chest for balance. the shift makes you clench again, and his hands tighten around your hips like a warning.

“you like being difficult,” he says flatly.

“you said i could do your skincare.”

“not like this.” kento hisses.

“you didn’t stop me.”

you smooth the cool sheet across his face, gentle and deliberate, pressing it into place with both palms. your fingers linger at the edge of his hairline. you’re sitting so close now your nose brushes his.

“hold still,” you whisper, like he’s the one misbehaving.

his cock pulses inside you again, slow and deep, and you fight the urge to move your hips, to rock on top of him, to take.

he’s so still. so composed. but you know how tight he’s holding onto it.

“ten minutes,” you say.

he doesn’t respond. just closes his eyes again, face beneath the mask unreadable.

you shift your hips to get comfortable, clenching around him as your muscles adjust.

he groans. softly.

but he doesn’t move.

he just presses one large hand flat against the small of your back—fingertips splayed wide, warm against your skin—and pulls you just a fraction deeper onto his cock.

“don’t squirm,” he murmurs, voice low and dangerous. “or you can wait twenty.”

summary. you’ve known Gojo your whole life: you’ve been friends since childhood! but sometimes, he could be just a little too friendly.

contents. ⭑.ᐟ 3.4k words, modern AU, childhood friends 2 lovers, gojo is lowk a creep, eventual smut [MDNI], mention of blowjóbs, couch séx, oral (f! receiving), hair pulling, fíngering, tít play, clít torture, squirting, missionary, size kínk, unprotected séx, pwp (this is stupid), friends w/ benefits

⌕ author's note. *taps mic* hey hi is anybody still here...! sorry for being away for so long (⁠´⁠-⁠﹏⁠-⁠`⁠；⁠). ao3 link; animated dividers by @/cafekitsune; title from a doja cat song :P

You’re barely wearing any clothes: just a half-ironed t-shirt without a bra underneath and shorts short enough to be called underwear, when your doorbell rings ten consecutive times in a row.

It was only two in the morning. Like any normal person, you were supposed to be asleep—you had a doctor’s appointment early the next day (err, well, it was already the next day)—but your brain just kept saying One more episode! so there you were, sitting under the kotatsu with red eyes.

And if the person currently outside your apartment was human, they would just assume you were asleep and leave you be. But soon enough, the ringing of your doorbell turned to obnoxious knocking, and then to aggressive banging, before you were forced to get up and slam open the door.

Obviously, cerulean eyes and a smile bright enough to blind were what greeted you right away.

“Satoru.”

“Yo!”

You stepped aside to let him in.

“What are you doing here—no, actually, why are there sunglasses on your head?” You pinched the space between your brows as the white-haired giant of a man toed off his shoes. “Do you know what time it is?”

Gojo shrugged, arm brushing past yours as he walked over to sit on your couch. “It’s fashionable. Gets the ladies.”

“Yeah, sure. Because anyone would settle for a guy who can’t tell the time.”

“See? You get it.”

Synopsis: You get hit by a weird pollen during a Wanderer fight, Xavier is the only cure.

Warnings: Tummy Bulge, Breeding, Switch!Xav, Smex Pollen.

Authors Note: Here are Zayne’s, Caleb’s, Rafayel’s and Sylus’.

You should’ve been more careful. Your Hunters Watch had alerted you of the powerful and unregulated Wanderer. You charged head first like always, way ahead of Xavier who was still trying to make it to your position.

The Wanderer had faded infront of your eyes, but the strange pollen it left behind would be your undoing.

The infirmary had sent you home with paper work and sleep medication to sleep it off. Xavier was quiet on the way home, but he kept an eye on you, eyebrows crinkling at any odd movements.

He had tucked you in, thinking the rest of the night would go peacefully as you slept off any after effects of the Wanderer.

But then he heard it.

The low, loud whine from your bedroom. He moved from where he was preparing you a snack and nudged the door open with his foot.

That’s when it all began.

“F-fuck feel s’ good Xav! Need you, harder, deeper!” Xavier was pinned down against the bed, mouth open with a line of drool leaking from the corner. His pretty blue eyes were glued to the outline of his cock protruding through the skin of your tummy. You’d jumped his bones the moment he walked through the bedroom door.

The pollen, it made you incredibly insatiable. Juices completely soaked the bed under the both of you like a tsunami.

Normally Xavier would take his time preparing you for his size, but you’d basically hissed at him at the mere thought of him not filling you up that very moment.

“S-Starshine, you are gonna be a-ah-sore!” Xavier would’ve been more convincing if his hands weren’t grasping your waist, throwing you down on his leaking cock over and over again.

“Don’t care-only want your cock-don’t you like being inside?” Your breast bounced with each thrust and Xavier chased your perky nipple with his mouth until he latched around it.

In an instance you were flipped to your back, knees next to your ears. “I’m not sure if I believe this was all the Wanderers fault-“ his cock slides back inside with practiced ease. “You’ve always been a pretty little whore for my cock.”

His pace is brutal, strong legs anchoring to the bed to drive every last inch against your cervix. You felt like your skin might melt off the bone from the heat pooling in your stomach.

Speaking of-

Xavier’s sword calloused hand presses the indention on your tummy, watching you sob at the pure pressure. “If I fill you up here, surely that would calm your desires. Just once, right?”

You acted as if Xavier had murdered your family. “N-no! Need more-n’more-n’more!”

Your pleas fell on his eager ears. He pressed his body weight into your legs, folding you like a fucking lawn chair in the summer. “Then let me heal you, c’mon pretty girl, open up.”

You eagerly open your mouth, tongue splayed out as you struggle to see straight. A glob of his spit lands against your tastebuds and the combination has you creaming around his cock.

Your fluttering walls seem to suck him in even further. A frothy white ring forms at the base of his cock and Xavier is sure he’s seen Heaven once again.

“Ohhh Starshine! That’s my good girl, so proud of you, such a good listener.” He watches his own cock disappear between your aching folds one last time. He holds himself inside of you, right down to the base. You struggle at the sudden fullness while he unloads his seed into your womb, but quickly settle when he nuzzles your cheek.

hi bisque😏😏😏😏fancy seeing u around here😏😏😏😏😏😏

a/n: heehesheheh a little dubcon-esque i think, just rough suguru, unprotected p in v, uhh doggy yes mhm thats it i think, 18+ mdni

“how’d it go, sugu?”

you recognize suguru’s footsteps immediately, though this time it’s more of an angry stomp into the room. obviously, something is up with him—his hair is all messy and he’s almost sweating, his brows are knitted together so closely it looks like a permanent scowl.

“those fucking idiots fucked everything up,” suguru says, thrashing around your shared space, grabbing whatever clothes he can before spitting, “i’m going to go take a shower, i just—i’ll be back.”

“are you okay? can i—can i do anything?”

“no. i’ll be back.” he dismisses, walking out the door without even turning to look at you.

your heart and stomach drop. it’s rare for suguru to be upset, so angry over anything, really. his anger is usually quieter, it brews inside of him until he can do something about it—so someone must’ve majorly messed up for him to act like this.

awaiting his return, your eyes flicker up to the door at every creak and scrape, anxiety building up with each minute that passes. finally, he walks back through the door—this time, less heavy, more methodical. shirtless. chest rising and falling with fervor.

still…off.

his eyes are on yours, moving in like a predatory animal, words long forgotten in the back of his head. communication isn’t what he needs right now.

suguru needs you, it’s written all over him.

“sugu,” you breathe, words catching in your throat as he climbs onto the bed, over you, trapping you beneath him. looking into his eyes, you can see his pupils are blown wide, black overtaking the pretty dark brown you were so used to. you try and sink into the bed, away from his face, hoping he will talk to you.

“are—are you okay? you’re being—suguru.”

his name falls of your lips as a moan, his knee pressing in between your thighs, sending a wave of pleasure through you. one arm hooks under your head, bringing your forehead to his lips, a light kiss left as an apology beforehand.

“turn over,” suguru commands, the last bit of his patience thrown out the window long ago. the warmth of his body leaves you, he stands up to rid himself of whatever clothes he has left—and you compliantly roll over and lift your hips a little.

the bed dips under your husband’s weight behind you. suguru’s fingers hook into your bottoms, pulling them down and off your legs in a swift movement. he pulls your hips up—inspecting—and you’re soaked already.

you like this.

suguru smiles for the first time since that morning.

“fucking idiots,” suguru rambles, slipping a finger in you with ease, “can’t believe they kept me away from this all day just to fuck everything up. can you believe that, baby?” he hooks his fingers just right, brushing against that spongey spot and you moan out again.

not the answer he was looking for.

his hand wraps around your throat, not choking, but firm enough to pull your head back. firm enough to answer him.

“can you fucking believe that?” he grits, pulling his fingers out and landing a harsh smack on your ass that’s sure to leave a print.

“no—no!” you sob, the pain blooming from the initial hit.

he’s never rough like this. okay, yes, he’s been less than gentle—but suguru takes his time. never rushes. always thinks before he acts. follows the rules—foreplay, build it up, tease, prep—all before he finally allows himself to feel you.

your cheek rests against the sheets, lungs full of a breath you’re holding. he’s still grumbling, cursing whoever, and—oh.

suguru slides in, one long, thick movement—buried to the hilt.

it’s good, better than good, really. ‘good’ is such a feeble word to describe everything that runs through you at the moment. breathtaking, maybe. you’re not breathing. you forgot.

his hips draw back, sliding out only halfway, and he slams back in. the air held in your lungs is forced to escape. a cry rips from your throat, only to be cut through by suguru’s bruising pace.

there’s no stopping him—this is what he needs.

you better hope no one else walks through the door.

gojo satoru 

oh, he lives for it. you whimper once, and his pupils dilate like he just hit the jackpot. you twitch, squirm, try to close your legs—and he just laughs.

“aww, what’s wrong, babe? thought you said you could handle me.”

he pretends to slow down, to "be nice," but five seconds later his fingers are back, curved just right, tongue lapping at your clit like he’s starving, your thighs clamped around his head—and he's thriving.

and when you're overstimulated to the point of tears? he coos at you like it's the sweetest thing in the world.

“c’mon, one more. you can give me one more, right? be a good girl for me.”

literally feeds on the way your voice breaks mid-moan. will overstim you on purpose just to watch your hips jerk and your body betray you.

fushiguro toji 

toji. you poor thing. the overstimulation with him is so nasty in the best way because he is ruthless. doesn’t matter if you’re shaking, babbling, trying to crawl away—he’ll just pull you right back by the waist with one arm like:

“what’s the matter, baby? you were beggin’ for it five minutes ago.”

he gets this low growl in his throat when you clench around him from overstimulation, like you’re just too much. he's obsessed with your limit and loves finding ways to push past it. that smug smirk only grows when your eyes roll back and your legs are trembling too hard to keep you upright.

“you’re twitchin’ like a fuckin’ mess. that mean you’re close again? thought you were done cryin’.”

his favorite thing is when you go limp in his arms after like the fifth orgasm and he has to hold you up just to keep going. 

nanami kento 

oh, nanami is such a soft dom at first, like—he tries to take it slow. he’s respectful. he asks you what feels good, kisses your neck, lets you ride the high of your first orgasm and praises you so gently...

but then he sees how sensitive you are and it awakens something feral in him. that neat composure starts to crack.

“you’re shaking already, sweetheart? just from my fingers?”

the glasses are off. his tie is undone. he’s got your legs over his shoulders and he’s watching you fall apart, murmuring praise through gritted teeth.

“you can take another. you’re doing so well. so sensitive for me.”

if you’re crying or begging, his tone turns into that firm voice:

“no, don’t shy away now. i want to see all of you.”

bonus: he’ll eat you out through the overstimulation while holding your thighs apart with a death grip.

geto suguru

suguru is the sweet sadist. he’ll talk you through it like he’s teaching a class. you say you’re sensitive? oh baby, you just unlocked his favorite game.

“already? you’re overstimulated already? hm… maybe i need to train that sweet body of yours.”

he's calm, in the most terrifying way. he holds you down gently but firmly, with that honey-smooth voice whispering how pretty you look trembling under him. he's always testing you.

“does this feel too good? or is it just enough to break you?”

overstimulation via toys + his fingers = his favorite combo. he loves seeing your body betray you, even when you’re sobbing and shaking, and his lips are at your ear murmuring,

“there it is. that’s it. just let go, baby. cum again for me.”

will overstim you until you pass out with a smile on his face.

ryomen sukuna 

overstimulating you isn’t even about your pleasure to him at first. it’s about dominance. it's about owning every twitch, every hiccupped gasp, every soaked inch of your overstimmed, ruined body.

he loves when you beg for a break because that’s when he knows he’s winning.

“begging? you think i care if you’re tired, little thing? you’ll take what i give you.”

imagine four hands keeping you pinned. two gripping your wrists above your head. the other two… one on your throat, one between your legs, rubbing your clit even while his cock is still buried inside you, relentless.

you’re squirming, crying, mind blank from cumming too many times and he just laughs.

“look at you. can’t even speak. just a drooling mess and i’ve barely started.”

he feeds on overstimulation. you arch away from him? he pulls you closer. your legs try to close? he forces them open.

“your body’s so honest, pet. you say ‘stop’ but your cunt’s begging for more.”

during spring cleaning, you come across your old high school uniform tucked away in a little, dusty box. the uniform that caleb has very strong feelings for.

because as it so happens, high school was probably the horniest period of caleb's life. it also happens to be the most repressed period of his life because laying a finger on his precious "little sister" would be several degrees immoral.

you probably have no idea how much that goddamn skirt has tormented him in the past, but you can see an excited glimmer in his eyes. yes, that period of his life has passed. his desire, however, has not waned in the slightest.

so of course you spend the following afternoon reenacting every one of his dirty fantasies, dressed in your uniforms.

pushing you down the bed the moment you arrive home after school. sucking down your neck as he fondles your tits over your shirt, humping against your panties. rubbing his cock over your clothed pussy, soaked with how wet you are.

caleb grabs your ponytail when you give him a blowjob, because that's how you always tied up your hair back then. groans when you rub his cock between your tits, straight out of the stupid porn he used to watch, the tip peeking out your breasts drooling with precum. he binds your wrists together with his tie before he eats you out so you can't resist while he laps at your clit, plunging three fingers inside your cunt, not stopping even when his jaw gets tired until he's made you squirt on his tongue.

he makes you sit on his face, his nose rubbing against your clit, licking up all the cum and slick from your pussy. breathes in your erotic scent as he's trapped between your plump thighs and your skirt, uncaring if he suffocates. he pushes you back to his mouth with his evol each time you try to run away, begging you to squirt on his face again, pleading that he has to taste you.

and after all of that, caleb still hasn't had enough. because there's no end to his desire, bottled up since he could remember. he can't imagine a time he'll ever be satisfied.

he doesn't really take off any part of your uniform, no. he bunches up your shirt to grope at your bare tits, flips up your skirt, pulls your panties to the side so he can thrust his cock to your pussy.

caleb fucks you from behind, pulling out in time before he can cum, just so he could rub his dick and spill his thick load all over your clothed ass. he lets you ride him as you hold up your school skirt, giving him the full view of your cunt swallowing his girthy cock, streams of your wetness gliding down his veins. he watches your face twist in pleasure with unrestrained delight, giving you a little help by pounding at the spot that drives you crazy, and isn't surprised by the spray of squirt that comes out of you for the nth time that day, soaking his shirt and the sheets below.

"fuck, pips," he groans, still fucking up to your cunt as you cum messily all over him. "should i have done this before? huh? would you have enjoyed this back then if i just pushed you down and fucked you like the slut you are?"

"ahn, yes, fuck!" your tongue lolls out of your mouth, eyes rolled back. "i, haah, thought about this too, mmgh, fuuuck... being gege's little slut...!"

"yeah?" caleb pants, pinching your clit. "you wanted to be gege's cumdump? fucked everyday just to please me?"

"ah, ah, yeah, mm, yes, more..." you spread your legs wider, showing him more of your pussy overflowing with cum. "anything for gege...!"

Synopsis: Caleb is obsessed with the way he looks inside of you. (Just a Drabble, I’m ovulating) RAF version here!

Warning: Smut, size difference, bulging, tummy bulge, Caleb likes seeing you cry, use of ‘Gege’.

The first time it happens, it’s almost innocent.

As innocent as the outline of Caleb’s cock bulging in your tummy can be.

You’re already crying from the feeling of being so full, of being stretched so wide. Caleb is slack-jawed when his hips twitch and the bugle moves.

You are a mix of awe and horror, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. “‘S too big Cal! T-take it outtt!” You whine helplessly. Caleb breaks free of his trance and rolls his hips back to pull out but the bulge shifts and you both moan.

It was addicting.

Now it’s Caleb’s favorite thing in the world. You’re a whimpering, slobbering mess when he’s fucking up into your fluttering walls. The outline of his cock presses under your flesh.

“See how big Gege is inside? Yeah? Oh Pretty girl you look so precious cryin’ for me.” He grabs at your waist, pushing his thumbs on either side of his delectable cock and pushes down.

You wail, hips stuttering when the action makes it hard to miss his cock pistoning in and out of your heat.

“G-Gege! S’ mean!” This big crocodile tears you give him don’t work anymore. He knows you want nothing more than to cream around his cock, the frothy ring around the base is testament to that.

“Ohhh I know Pips, Gege is so mean! Are you gonna cry for Gege-“ tears roll down your reddened cheeks as the heel of his palm presses against the bulge- “Aww there we go. Go on baby. Gege always wipes your tears. Tell Gege how mean he is.”

Synopsis: Caleb is obsessed with the way he looks inside of you. (Just a Drabble, I’m ovulating) RAF version here!

Warning: Smut, size difference, bulging, tummy bulge, Caleb likes seeing you cry, use of ‘Gege’.

The first time it happens, it’s almost innocent.

As innocent as the outline of Caleb’s cock bulging in your tummy can be.

You’re already crying from the feeling of being so full, of being stretched so wide. Caleb is slack-jawed when his hips twitch and the bugle moves.

You are a mix of awe and horror, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. “‘S too big Cal! T-take it outtt!” You whine helplessly. Caleb breaks free of his trance and rolls his hips back to pull out but the bulge shifts and you both moan.

It was addicting.

Now it’s Caleb’s favorite thing in the world. You’re a whimpering, slobbering mess when he’s fucking up into your fluttering walls. The outline of his cock presses under your flesh.

“See how big Gege is inside? Yeah? Oh Pretty girl you look so precious cryin’ for me.” He grabs at your waist, pushing his thumbs on either side of his delectable cock and pushes down.

You wail, hips stuttering when the action makes it hard to miss his cock pistoning in and out of your heat.

“G-Gege! S’ mean!” This big crocodile tears you give him don’t work anymore. He knows you want nothing more than to cream around his cock, the frothy ring around the base is testament to that.

“Ohhh I know Pips, Gege is so mean! Are you gonna cry for Gege-“ tears roll down your reddened cheeks as the heel of his palm presses against the bulge- “Aww there we go. Go on baby. Gege always wipes your tears. Tell Gege how mean he is.”

Synopsis: The story in which Zayne wants to be the one and only to make you squirt.

Warnings: Overstimulation, crying, squirting, Brat taming, soft!dom.

When the subject was brought up, it was said in a fleeing joke you mentioned over dessert one night.

“Squirting isn’t even real, I swear porn actress’ just piss themselves.”

Zayne ignored the vulgar comment with an arched brow.

That’s how he became engrossed in the mere thought of making you squirt.

He had done his research as a man of science. He knew it was entirely possible.

You didn’t think much of it when he had you guzzling water. He hid it under the excuse that you were dehydrated. He was a doctor and your lover, so again, you chugged the water without a second thought.

Sex with Zayne was reverent. He worshipped you with not only words, but the way he handled your body like the finest piece of art. His fingers parted the folds of your flower, middle digit rolling your clit against the pad of his finger.

“I wish to try something. Will you humor me?” He whispered against your collarbone. Experimenting in your sex-life was common so you nodded breathlessly. “I need a verbal respond, My Dear.”

“Y-yes-“

Zayne smirked and nipped at your neck. “Good girl.”

Two fingers slid into your aching hole. Zayne knew he had brought you to the cusp of his mission many times, but a mental hold stopped you from obtaining the orgasm he wanted to pull from your very essence.

Your moan slipped from your lips and your back bowed beautifully under him. But Zayne pressed the heel of his palm against your lower belly, effectively pinning you against the mattress. “Z-Zayne?”

He hushed you, nuzzling your abdomen. “Do you trust me?”

The phrase seemed crazy to you. Of course you trusted him. Every time he was wrist deep in your chest cavity, you trusted him. “Of course.”

“Then let me work.”

His thumb pressed firmly against your clit as he dragged his finger in a curved motion in and out of your gummy walls. That stubborn hand on your stomach stopped you from squirming around despite the growing pit in your stomach.

“Legs up, hold them for me.” His voice was cool and calculating. Your peeled open your eyes with a wild pant of confusion.

“W-“

“Are you going to argue with me? Or allow me to make you feel good?” His eyes narrowed behind the glasses slowly sliding down the bridge of his nose. You swallowed the lump in your throat and hooked your hands under your knees. “Good, further back.”

When you lifted your legs the pressure-

“I-I can’t-“

“You can, and you will.” The pressure in your abdomen intensified. His pace quickened, each adult pull out of his fingers sent a slick sound into the air. Zayne watched you with the corner of his mouth twisting up into a smile.

“Look at you, so pretty.” He praises, despite the lewd noises he’s making between your thighs. The heel of his palm plaps against your twitching clit. He’s gazing between your legs as if just examining another patient in need of his healing. “Pretty, Pretty Girl. You’re dripping down my wrist. Don’t hold back.”

Your head is thrown back into the pillows. The hold on your legs is slipping, a thin sheen of sweat on your thighs. “Zayne-feels like-“

Zayne chuckles and leans over your drilling cunt. A trickle of spit lands on your clit and your eyes go into the back of your skull.

“You won’t urinate. You can do it, let go for me.”

He presses down on your tummy as he hooks his fingers over and over against the spot that makes you see stars. “P-please I can’t-I don’t wanna-“

“I don’t want to hear it.” He reprimands you in a cold voice that sends a chill up your spine. “Bare down-there we go. Let it go Darling.”

And you do.

Oh you do.

The first gush is barely noticeable amoungst the wetness on his hand. But the second and third gush from you right as he pulls his fingers out, just to press them back into your sopping hole. The bedsheets are stained with wetness.

You’re crying, a different type of Waterworks.

Zayne gently eases his fingers from you, grabbing the nearby towel to clean his digits off as he kneels by your head. “Shh, I’m so proud of you. Doesn’t that feel better?”

You drop your trembling thighs, lower lip quaking as you try to breathe through your tears of pleasure.

“I-I made a mess…” you hiccup. Zayne nuzzles your cheek and pats your dripping folds.

“I know. Let’s make another one, hm?”

bokuto x f!reader. mutual masturbation.

mewls echoed through the locker bathroom, faint cheering and the sounds of other post-game celebrations still echoing somewhere down the hall. bokuto's low groans mingled there too, sounds slipping from him, part laugh and part something so incredibly needy as his fist wrapped the lace of your panties around his heated cock.

"did you see that cross?" he asked, breathless, his hand squeezing, "i-in the third set, with the fake-out — did you see it, baby? did you?"

the bath was already full when you stepped inside—hot, slow-rippling, and rich with the scent of sea salt, moon orchids, and something deeper. something magical.

rafayel was already in the water, sunk low with his arms spread along the stone edges like he ruled this entire private onsen—and maybe he did. the marble shimmered with hints of opal and mother-of-pearl. floating candles hovered just above the water’s surface. it was the kind of place you’d expect to find a deity.

and he looked the part. loose, water-damp purple curls framing his smugly gorgeous face, magenta eyes shining like twin moons. his bare chest glistened in the steam, defined and glowing faintly with lines of luminescence trailing down, disappearing under the surface. you couldn't see what was below.

but you felt it.

something brushed your ankle.

you yelped, nearly slipping as you stepped into the water, and rafayel just grinned—sharp, boyish, amused. “careful, darling,” he purred. “wouldn’t want to fall too fast.”

“i already fell,” you mumbled, heart pounding as another soft, slick sensation circled your thigh under the water. “and you didn’t tell me you could do this.”

“do what?” he said innocently, as a translucent blue-black tendril slithered from the water and curled around your wrist, gentle but firm. “show you what i’m really capable of?”

you stared at it, breath catching. “that’s… you?”

rafayel’s grin widened. “all me.”

you swallowed. you were so not prepared for this.

you were also so, so intrigued.

you’d barely gotten comfortable in the deep water when the teasing started. a tentacle curled loosely around your waist, tugging you into rafayel’s lap with zero resistance. another coiled around your thigh again, but higher this time—slick and warm and deliberate.

he kissed you like he had all the time in the world. slow. wet. worshipful.

meanwhile, the tendril between your legs dipped a little lower. you gasped into his mouth.

“sensitive?” he teased, voice velvet-sweet. “i haven’t even started yet.”

“i didn’t say stop,” you shot back, breathless.

rafayel’s eyes sparkled. “oh, little pearl. you really shouldn’t have said that.”

the tentacle didn’t just plunge in. no, that’s not how rafayel’s ocean works.

it started by brushing against your folds—soft, slick, and impossibly warm—like the tide just gently licking the shore. you shivered, hips instinctively parting as it traced a slow, deliberate line down your slit, circling your clit with a pulsing rhythm that sent jolts straight to your core.

your breath hitched.

the wet tip pressed firmly at your entrance, not pushing… just holding, testing. you whimpered, nerves firing in delicious confusion, every inch of your body trembling with anticipation.

it pulsed again, a teasing heartbeat, as if savoring the taste of you, coaxing you to open wider.

your fingers dug into the bath’s edge, voice shaky, “rafayel…”

no answer, just the tentacle pressing harder—slowly, inch by inch—stretching you, filling you with a slick, heavy pressure that made your hips jerk involuntarily. it was neither cruel nor gentle, just… inevitable.

you swallowed a moan, a mix of discomfort and longing swirling in your chest as your body surrendered to the slow invasion.

and then it was inside, the full length of that thick, veined limb coiling inside your wet heat, holding you captive to the ocean’s dark pulse.

now you’re getting split open by two thick tentacles that pulse like they have hearts of their own—moving in perfect, punishing rhythm as you writhe in the steaming bath, every inch of your body wet, sensitive, and trembling.

they weren’t slim like you’d imagined. not really.

the one inside your pussy was as thick as three fingers at the tip and only grew from there. smooth at first, then textured—veiny and ridged, dragging along every fluttering nerve with each withdrawal, then slamming back in deep, filling you to the point of dizzy.

and he was watching. rafayel, your sea-god lover, was sitting pretty against the edge of the enormous sunken bath, not even touching you.

just smirking. like the image of you—eyes rolled back, drool slipping past your swollen lips, water sloshing around your hips as tentacles ruined you—was all he needed.

“look at you,” he purred, voice low and hot in your ear. “barely forming words. don’t even know what to beg for anymore, do you?”

you whimpered, choking on a sob as a third tendril slithered up from behind and curled under your ass, lifting your hips just a little more to give the others better access. you were floating, grinding, babbling now.

“s-so full, raf… nghh—fuck—m’gonna—!”

he grabbed your chin, forcing your watery gaze to his as your orgasm rolled over you. “you asked for this, little pearl. don’t you dare tap out on me now.”

the tendril on your clit was relentless.

it circled in maddening, wet spirals—alternating suction and swirl until your thighs were twitching and locking around it. your second orgasm hit quicker and sharp, high-pitched, your cunt spasming around the two still-pistoning tentacles inside you.

but instead of stopping… more joined.

one wrapped tight around your midriff, slick and pulsing, holding you in place while your body convulsed.

another coiled between your tits, pressing them together like a worship altar, wetly suckling at your nipples.

and one—fuck—one tapped against your bottom lip, nudging its way into your open mouth with teasing little bobs, fucking your throat light and shallow like it knew you’d choke on anything deeper. which you did. eagerly.

rafayel moaned softly, stroking your cheek like you weren’t stuffed with five limbs of his divine self. “so fucking perfect for me. look at you. gushing, gagging, glowing.”

the bathwater was soaked in your slick now, cloudy with cum and magic and arousal. you’d lost count of how many times you’d come.

when he finally pulled the ones inside you out, it was with obscene wet noises—shluck, squelch, squirt—as your stretched, fluttering pussy leaked a thick mess into the water. your inner thighs ached. your lips were numb.

you slumped forward against his chest, arms barely able to cling to him.

you were empty.

you were ruined.

and just when you were drifting off into floaty post-orgasm bliss…

you felt it.

something hot. solid. pressing against your hip.

you blinked, head lolling up, meeting his eyes.

“…you’re hard?”

rafayel gave you a sheepish, unbearably smug grin. “unfortunately,” he drawled, guiding your hand down under the water to feel the very real, very heavy cock still untouched between his thighs, “the tentacles don’t… sync. with this.”

you stared. slack-jawed. spit drying on your cheek.

“you’ve been—this whole time—?”

“mmhm.” he kissed your temple. “so. you gonna help me out?”

mdni

sometimes, when you’re on top- which satoru loves, because he gets to be lazy- he’ll do finger guns at you. full on pew pew, while you’re riding him like you have some dignity left.

"look at you go, yeehaw! my little cowgirl-"

“stop talking.”

but he does not stop. he starts to make horse noises instead. he neighs. you vow to break up with him on the spot- but he flips you under him halfway through and makes you forget.

and god help you if you make an embarrassing noise. he will repeat it back to you- but so exaggerated. high pitched and mocking, giggling through it all.

“did you just go ‘mngh- ahh!’? do it again, do it again- c’mon-"

you tell him you hate him. he kisses the tip or your nose in response.

“you love me. my little dolphin, ee-ee-ee!”

and the worst part? he refuses to stop. he'll keep the bit going way after. you'll be in the shower trying to scrub the shame off, and he’ll lean on the doorframe, towel around his hips, "ahhh~ toru, so big~!" then cackle like a gremlin while you throw the shampoo bottle at him.

he'll do it in front of nanami, too. just to watch his soul leave his body. you'll call him on speaker to ask if he wants anything from the store- “yeah, get more milk, we used it all. you know, when you were all- ‘ah, ah, ahhh!" and nanami just… sighs. loudly. contemplates calling hr even though there is no hr.

sometimes he doesn’t even do the voice. he’ll just look at you across a restaurant table and mouth your moans back at you. the smirk is unbearable, annoying- but so him. he knows you know exactly what he’s referencing, and he lives for that split second of horror on your face before you kick him hard under the table.

you swear he’s the only man alive who could ruin the mood and make it ten times better.