✸ hinata hajime.

• hajime can be bashful when it comes to all things romance and sex.

• that’s why he loves to hit it from behind; it’s just so much easier to take control when you’re looking the other way. he doesn’t have to think about maintaining eye contact, or what to do with his hands, or that stupid face he makes when he cums.

• it’s to the point and straightforward. it’s no-nonsense, animalistic, and—when he’s doing it—brutal.

“on your fours.”

hajime’s tone borders on irritation, no doubt the payoff of teasing him all night long (in front of his friends and family no less). you do as he pleases, a little too eager as you climb on the bed and bounce on the bedsheets. something rages inside of him, quietly but surely, when you turn your head to look back expectantly.

in a blur of motion he’s grabbing you by the hips, clothed cock finding purchase between your asscheeks as he pulls up behind you.

“think you’re such a sly little thing, don’t you?” he growls, bucking his hips to the rhythm of mounting frustration. “think you’re so sneaky, with your hands shifting under the dinner table.”

he scoffs when you press back, ass bobbing up and down in anticipation. like you can’t take him seriously. or—and this makes his blood positively boil—more like you just won’t.

“such a textbook whore.”

he pins you in between his knees, pausing only to grimace at the ache in his balls, a nightlong ordeal with but a single remedy. you wiggle as best as you can in his ironclad hold, and though tauntingly or playfully he can’t quite tell, his mind is already set.

“this is gonna hurt.”

✸ nagito komaeda.

• nagito is more shameless in this regard. when he’s really into it, nothing can faze him.

• he’s starved for close intimacy, so he likes his bunny best in a tight mating press. he wants to feel every inch of you when you’re fucking, and that’s just about as close as he can get.

• even better if you can get your legs around his waist—the second he feels you wrapped around him is the second he’s ready to blow his load.

• good god, he could empty his balls inside you right then and there; but he holds out for as long as possible, if only to ride out the high a few moments longer.

he’s literally balls deep inside you.

he does his best to kiss the strain in your legs better, but every squelch of his slick harkens back to the burn in your muscle and the stretch of your walls. everything’s so snug, from the caress of his tongue to the press of his balls against your ass.

the buzz of your breath is his sole reward, mouth-to-mouth moan dampened by the crush of his lips. he savors it, echoes back in return, even, groaning just a little too loud as he slows his pace.

his thrusts are unhurried yet forceful, each push punctuated by the pause he gives to grind against your pelvis. it gives you shivers and him a means to last longer—though outlasting you outright is certainly out of the question.

so he fucks you even harder when he’s on the brink of collapse, bodies melded together as he coats your walls a solid white. his legs are giving out but he pushes his limit still, cause really, you’re not gonna breed yourself.

✸ souda kazuichi.

• souda kazuichi is a certified cock/cuntsucker. and a panty sniffer. and a general, all-around pervert.

• what he wouldn’t give for the chance to slow down and admire your body…

• there’s something about face-sitting in particular that gets him all hot and bothered.

• maybe it’s the act of being pinned down and sat on. maybe it’s the proximity it allows him to your most sensitive parts, all for himself to admire up close and personal.

• the smell of your slick is nothing short of intoxicating; believe me when i say he could spend all day underneath you.

“faster, baby.”

the broad of his tongue is mid-swipe as you grind on his face, shameless in your request for more. kazuichi is quick to oblige, long, languid strokes morphing into tight-knit swirls of desperation, grip on your thighs tightening as he moans in words of agreement.

“so good to me,” you whisper, hips rocking as his lips buzz against you, rumbly with something eager to please and to be pleased. the way your legs clench around his head is reward enough, but then you’re threading his fingers in his hair and calling his name, telling him he’s your sweet baby boy and that he’s doing such a good fucking job and that you’re so, so close.

he kisses you up as you’re creaming, places chaste pecks along your hip bone while you quiver and quake. he’s using his fingers now, pressuring you to and past climax, over the edge and then some.

don’t get him wrong, he loves pressing his face up against your heat—but he’d much rather watch as you gush at the end.

𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐁𝐈𝐍𝐈 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋

fishstyx © 2021 ✸ all content and their rights belong to me. do not repost, reproduce, or modify anywhere.

tch.

he catches your eye as he purses his lips and encircles your clit. his hands iron your thighs into the mattress and you can’t help but whine as your head rolls back, pussy pulsing in pleasure.

“toshiii, i need it inside me…”

he stops immediately, waiting patiently for you to look back up so he can meet you at eye level.

“that’s not how good girls ask, is it?”

“toshi, sir.” you try to swallow your anticipation back, pausing as you deliberate—but it seems like there’s no pretty way to say it. “please, i really need—”

“what you need is a good spanking, young lady,” he suddenly growls, flipping you over like a ragdoll, hauling you over his knee. you struggle, kicking your legs in mock protest, shaking your head furiously all the way until his hand makes contact with your eager, perky ass. you hear that ugly ricochet of a sound before you can even feel it, the blood rushing to your buttcheeks before you can even yelp.

“you’re gonna trust daddy to do what’s best for you?”

you’re quick to push an “mhm” out your throat, at a volume that pales in comparison to mere moments ago, tame and dispirited. a bad answer.

smack!

“can’t hear you,” he says, voice steely. you wince at the pain, the sting doubling as you reconsider, mind struggling with the words to string together.

“i, i trust my daddy to guide me…” you can’t help but pout a little, eyelashes batting for effect. “without him, i’m nothing.”

“that’s a good girl,” he says, stroking your hair, caressing your chin. he kisses your temple, palm of his hand coming to cradle your red asscheek.

you’re nothing but incoherent babbles, stuffed full of hot cum that may never see the light of day if he keeps bottoming out like this. a skilled hand plays with your sensitive nub, fondles it as you spasm in ecstasy, overloaded with sinful delights.

“now that i’ve felt this pussy raw, i can never go back. need to plug you up, need to make my sweet angel all mine,” he says, groaning when you flutter around him. you’re so taut for him, legs wrapped around his back, pussy walls coaxing another load out of him.

you’ve creamed around his cock twice already, still buried inside you in its entirety, twitching in virile reaction. hajime’s a very visual guy, you see, so when he sees you with your arms all holstered up, abused pussy red and sopping just for him, there’s no way he’s stopping there.

“whose pussy is this?” he asks, stroking your puffy clit up and down, faster and harder the longer you take to respond.

“yours, and only yours,” you manage between shaky, spent breaths, craning your neck as best you can to watch him rub your juices all over your overworked nub.

“that’s right, this pussy is mine,” he says, that last word rising with venom as his tone begins to sour. “and that’s all you’ll ever be, just a warm hole for me to fuck and suck, my personal cumslut to use however i want, understand?”

and with your hands quite literally tied up, there’s nothing you could possibly do to disprove him, no way to defy the way your distended walls milk him dry, crude noises punctuating each thrust forward.

he smirks when you try to stifle your moans, a wedge of your t-shirt tucked in between your teeth, fabric soiled through and through with warm spit and stray whimpers. you can feel the sand below you shifting in your shape as he presses your thighs into your stomach, dry towel the only thing keeping the grain and grit from scoring your skin.

you can’t remember why you ever agreed to this, to haggard breaths and stammering limbs and trembling lips on the unobscured expanse of the public beach, but apparently nagito does.

“to think you’d do this with someone like me, and outdoors at that,” he says, shuddering as he sinks his length inside you, “such an attention whore, aren’t you? a filthy cum dump who just loooves to be put on display.”

your cunt flutters and oh, you’re gripping him for all he’s worth, you must really be a special breed of irredeemable pervert, shameless in the way you chase your high. he gets there first, flooding you with his warmth as he stuffs you full, just like he promised—but really, the night’s just getting started.

“…i miss the cute little noises my favorite plaything makes.”

normally, that would get your stomach swarming with butterflies. normally, that would have your stuffed cunt twitching with desire. but it doesn’t, your tummy swimming in hurt, your walls swollen to their absolute limit, the pain you’re in more than you ever bargained for.

you don’t even notice when he raises his hand.

the sudden impact prompts a sharp crack and a strangled yelp—yours—to do battle with the strange, lewd sounds of your pussy sucking nagito in as he continues to double back out.

it burns, stinging even as he winds his arm back, warmth rushing to the fat of your ass when he strikes down, again and again, your lungs exhausting themselves at his sadistic command.

it’s like music to his ears, the cacophony of indecent noises, and he can’t help but laugh knowing that it’s all of his own orchestration. with clouded eyes he lands another blow, a duller thud that throbs down to your very bone; but all that registers is that feathery snigger, a sign he’s nowhere near done with you.

he’s pulling you back now, hands snaking from your waist and to your chest, fingers loose and flirty as they trace around your unassuming buds. he draws winding trails with skittering touches until they’re pert, twisting and flicking as he coaxes something intangible from you. it comes out a whisper, then a whimper, then a cry, until you’re clenching your thighs together—strange, muffled noises escaping the crook of your elbow. it’s ten in the goddamn morning after all, and even if the white-collar typists can’t hear you from across the pavement, your next door neighbors surely can.

too bad you’re squeezing him so well.

you’re too hopped up on electricity to even notice when he slows the buck of his hips, when he grunts a final time. your legs shake from both the stimulation and exhaustion of it all, and oh, something’s dribbling out from your sopping wet cunt and onto your thighs, and oh, you really hope you get pregnant this time.

that’s why he’s so desperate to take control in the bedroom, so willing to steal away the reins in hopes of catching you off guard and unawares. that’s why it’s so infuriating when you seem to sincerely like it, the feeling that your needy gasps and drowsy sputters inspire something he can only describe as fleeting annoyance.

and then it dawns on him, right at the moment when your toes curl and your breath hitches. you’re rutting your hips into his in an attempt to get off, and he’s sliding himself out when he realizes you’re close, cruel smile tugging at the corner of his lips as you whimper for lack of stimulation.

he likes you better this way.

oh, he’s certain you’re better this way when your lips puff up in a pout, petulant whines bubbling from your throat when he does nothing to abate your acts of protest.

you’ve been robbed of your fluttery feeling, flooded with hypersensitive need as he drags his cock along the edge of your poor, deprived entrance.

“hajime, i was almost there…”

the words tumble out with less composure than you would’ve liked, tone equal parts hurt and disappointment and distress. but he only tuts at your objections, hand coming to caress your cheek as he speaks.

“you only get to cum when i say you can.”

and you’re right where he wants you when he smacks you across the face, the sound like a ricochet as it resounds across the bedroom walls, and it’s almost reward enough for all the torment you’ve put him through—but not quite.

no, he isn’t satisfied until he’s marked you up all across your body, stinging pain down your chest and up your thighs, the rush of adrenaline it stimulates just the extra push you needed to find your release. it fills him with such amusement and mirth when you cream not from his cock but from his authority and discipline. soon enough he’s spilling himself inside you, sucking his breath in as he notices you struggling to catch yours. he pounds you with renewed fervor and thinks to himself that he won’t let you get the chance to.