🏐 "𝑪𝑨𝑳𝑬𝑩 𝑿𝑰𝑨," ◦ ₊ㅤ ﹙ nsfw slapping caleb during sex ꗃ .. smut mdni ꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ mina says this is so self idulgent idc sfsjdh ⁀ ˳ ⟡
"Please," he was begging, hips shallowly thrusting against your plump ass, his large hands gently pinning your legs down against your chest to fold you in half. He was desperate, so down bad, and so fucking hard. Eyebrows furrowed, eyes half lidded, and mouth agape to gasp for little breaths of air, looking on the verge of busting inside of you but edging himself to prolong the pleasure.
“Y-you’re gross..” you gasped out softly, resting back on your forearms, closing one eye and moaning when he thrusted just deep enough to hit that spongey spot. Eyes glazing over his needy face, as you tried to look as annoyed.
His thrusts only got quicker and more shallow, shameless whimpers spilling free from his lips as he nodded. “more… c’mon, insult me, slap me, hit me…” he whined, groaning out when he felt your tight pussy squeeze around him. Walls clamped down around his dick, “f-fuck… fuckfuckfuck…” he moaned quietly, as he bit down on his bottom lip and moved his hips much slower, knowing he was about to cum any second now.
“You’re dumb, a-annoying, arrogant, and you think you own me,” you whined and rattled off, stuttering from his thrusting cock, looking at him with tense eyes. That was before you pouted, and leaned up just a little, moving one of your arms quickly.
SLAP!
His breathing hitched, a red mark blooming on his stinging cheek. The room going quiet after your slap, but you didn’t seem sorry or bothered. Laying back down when you felt his dick twitch inside of you, whining softly. His eyes traced back into your naked body beneath him, gaze darkening and tongue pressing against the inside of the cheek you had slapped. He let out a shameless moan before grabbing your thighs tighter and pushing them apart roughly.
“Fuck. You’re so hot.”
Unable to hold back anymore, he sped up his thrusts, lifting his hips back and slamming against your plump ass fast and hard. Squeezing his eyes shut and furrowing his eyebrows, mouth agape in a silent moan. His hips thrusted erratically, your bedroom filled with the creaking of the bed, your moans, and the sound of his hips going “plap! plap! plap!”
He threw his head back, “a-agh..!” moaning out as his hips stuttered, when he finally came deep inside your pussy. Hot, sticky cum flooding your hole as you whimpered and squirmed, body aching and tired.
His hips began to gently roll when his orgasm subsided, looking down at you lustfully. His left hand moving to your inner thigh and thumb gently rubbing and swirling over your clit.
something something newly divorced professor price insisting on you coming to his 'office hours' at his home so he can bend you over the big leather couch (that his now ex-wife is actively trying to take) and slide his still-ringed finger in and out of your pussy as he shushes your protests of 'we shouldn't be doing this'
"won't be any trouble if you don't make any, sweetheart. nobody's got to know. now relax, need t'open up your tight little cunt a bit more so it doesn't pinch my cock right off."
when they begin to fuck you a little harder because you’re starting to go a little dumb, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you grip their body and breathily say their name
been in need of medical assistance since i envisioned post-time skip semi eita's mouth needing to be surgically removed from your panties in the green room backstage after a concert. he's not even doing it for you, he needs it for his own brain to reset from the adrenaline after being on stage, you can tell by the way his eyes are drooping and he's moaning with it, his calloused fingertips digging into the meat of your thighs. he's not stopping until the cotton is sopping wet and you're entirely overstimulated and tugging at his hair. rat bastard.
Simon Riley likes ponytails. Long or short, curly or straight, braided or loc'd, doesn't matter, so long as it's enough to pull on, to wrap round his wrist and tug, force you back on his cock again and again, face angled to heaven, mouth craned open in pleasure as you bounce your happy ass against his groin, grind your pulsing clit against the wiry hair below his shaft. It's a thing for him, bad enough that just the sight of you putting your hair up, hairband in-between your teeth has him throbbing against his zipper. Desperate enough to leave with nary a word, slamming the stall door shut to fist himself, abuse himself to the thought of you. Choke up tight on his cock til the head turns purple, coming so hard his back caves in.
big soft man who holds you gently yet tightly by the hips because he’s afraid his thrusts might be a little too much for you, and he’s teetering on the fine line of holding composure or making sure it’s not too much for you
Um hello? welcome to my yearly post :) honestly been feeling like getting back into writing, it's been ages since I've written anything tho, so if anyone has any idea, slide right into my inbox, might motivate me :)
Tw: suggestive, fem!reader, age gap if you squint
Wc:300+
Your fingers itch at your sides, feeling nervous as you sense a pair of eyes scanning you from head to toe as if he's inspecting you… and let's be real, he is.
John’s fingers trace over your waist as he circles you, purposely blowing the smoke in your face, making you cough and huff, waving your hand around as to not let the smell of cigar cling on your outfit. It's a nice outfit; a cute shirt, a shade of blue that flatters you, brightens you, and a denim mini skirt ...well for the old man, it's more of a micro skirt, the way it barely covers your ass, exposing your thighs to the world. And he'd be jealous, but you look so good, so pretty and perfect that he'd feel bad and selfish for keeping that sight all for himself.
“Where are you going, sweetheart?” and here is when the real interrogation starts. It’s always like that whenever you go out at night without him, he drowns you in questions and although he gets all his answers, he’ll keep spamming your phone, just making sure you're safe. You're not sure if it's cute or borderline possessive, but you don't argue with him too much, learned that it's easier to answer his questions directly, where, with who, will there be alcohol, when are you coming back, do i need to pick you up? It's a routine now, memorized it by heart.
He hums when he's satisfied with his answer, pulling you closer for a gentle embrace “Be safe, call me if something happens” He murmurs against your hair, pressing tender kisses to your cheeks, a contrast to his rough hands, palming and pawing at your ass. He pulls away slightly, bending down to be eye level with you, his fingers, calloused and harsh against the smooth skin of your thighs, reach under your so called skirt, pulling down your panties before pocketing them “Mini skirts are meant to be worn with nothing beneath, love. Didn't I teach you better?” He straightens up then, landing a soft spank to you ass before tunring away “Have fun, sweetheart.”
older bf!simon riley who has a nasty corruption kink but has to hold himself back around his virgin/inexperienced partner.
He's practically vibrating with need when he steps into your apartment, forcing himself to be gentle with you when he places a kiss on your cheek, not trying to shove his tongue in your throat and lick at your molars.
And now he's lying in your ridiculous bed with you asleep in his big, burly arms, who even needs this many pillows and blankets, are you really that cold? Poor Simon's balls are so tight and heavy from just a little bit of cuddling and kissing, but he'd never wake up his sweet love and ask you for help. No, he has to take it slow with you, let you set the pace and come to him when you want.
Also, he already knows the first time he finally gets his hand on you, it's not gonna last very long, his swollen tip spurting thick ropes of cum inside your warm, wet hole only after sinking in an inch :(
Now Simon has to go to work without cumming after visiting his lovely partner.
His cock is in a permanent semi-chub on base, his balls so fat and heavy with cum that was meant for you. Poor guy is just grunting and growling at everyone, acting like a proper bitch on base, barking out orders and making the rookies run extra laps for even looking at him.
Even poor Soap is walking on eggshells seeing how agitated and cranky Simon is, watching him adjust himself in his jeans.
Simon's gotta take 5 to furiously jerk off in the bathroom, staring at a picture of you he keeps in his wallet :)
He’d been at the hookup-app game for a while now—become as seasoned at it as he is addicted. Learned the trade and made it a way of life. It’s not much different from going grocery shopping. And now that he knows it all like the back of his hand, he can easily tell which grocery stores to steer clear of or what products are cheap or expired.
He’s found that the trick to the game isn't simply browsing the aisle to find the best-looking slut, but to look for the amateurs—the low-marketed homemade ones sold at the cute little wooden stand outside the commercial megastore. The innocents. The newbie above the huntress.
And after finding these off-brand first-timers, you should always wait just a bit before engaging. That’s how you weed out the wolves in sheep's clothing and fish out the actual shy little lambs. Those cuties that don't dare be the first ones to text. Those who would rather sit and wait idly by the phone for hours in such adorable hopeful suspense for him to introduce himself.
And after said introductions, one ought to text them for a while. Ask questions and gauge their worth before even mentioning any interest of your own. Like a doctor’s check-up. See if they’re decent.
And if they truly are decent, nonsexual texting will help in really hooking them, where the wait makes them all twitchy to get to the good stuff. Which in turn makes them less volatile, less prone to running off on him when the time finally comes.
Don't get him wrong, though… He likes sluts.
But there’s a big difference between good-girl sluts and bad-girl sluts.
There are thousands of bad-girl sleazy cum-guzzling nasty sluts, but good-girl yes-daddy of-course-daddy sweet innocent sluts are few and far between. And he values quality over quantity.
And this one. This one was quality.
First-timer, cute, sweet, submissive, a little clueless, a little gullible, a little dumb.
Just perfect on all fronts.
You even texted before knocking on the door. A sweet little message giving him a heads-up.
It betrayed how excited you were. Already blossoming with adrenaline, he bet. That fight, flight, freeze, or fawn instinct prickling beneath your skin. Probably even counting the seconds it took for him to come welcome you inside.
He bet you were that nervous.
Precious little skittish wreck standing at his doorstep. Pondering in those few fleeting moments before he opens the door, whether you ought to change your mind and run off into the night. Send him an apologetic text and delete your profile forever.
Yet, not given enough time to fully process the thought before the door swung open.
“Hi–”
You threw your hand halfway up in greeting, awkwardly waving before stopping yourself, eyes skittering from looking up at him to your shoes. Visibly intimidated by the breath that stuck in your throat like a shudder at the bulky size of him.
You looked tense. About ready to run away. But… amidst the gawky anxiousness, hiding just beneath that delicate air, he could spot it plain as day. The all too kindred lustful curiosity that knows no bounds and no fear. That reckless type that would risk death for a thrill.
He smiled, one corner up slightly more than the other in a small, lazy smirk.
Stark eyes. Much sharper in real life than in the pictures. And where you couldn’t keep your focus on one thing for any longer than a split second, his hadn't left you since he opened the door.
“Shoes and jacket off,” was all he said before turning.
Leaving you to choose whether or not you wanted to take the step inside, giving you one last chance to change your mind and avoid having to explain yourself or give any embarrassing apologies in person.
You appreciated it, but denied it all the same, closing the door behind you. And started popping the buttons on your jacket before shrugging it off. Hanging it up on one of the hooks that seemed mounted a bit farther up the wall than necessary.
You stepped out of your shoes next and placed them neatly along with the other footwear, giving them an inspection. Only to try and spot if you could see any other sizes than that of a grown male. Not aspiring to be any home-wrecker.
Fortunately, yours were the only divergences in the otherwise rack of large-sized boots and sneakers.
You padded through the corridor carefully, peeking around every corner and ajar doors. Not exactly having paid attention to where the burly male had headed off to, needing to guess your way through the strictly white marbled hall.
Deciding to head straight, you came to a clearing, introducing a spacious living room with a view you hadn't known existed outside of the celebrity houses they tease on TV.
“You want a drink or straight to business?” he spoke, making you rip your eyes from the cityscape's stealing outlook, only to find him already with his own glass of whiskey.
“Uhm-” Voice weak as your fingers comforted each other where you fiddled with nothing.
Feet cold despite not being sock-less at the hands of the cool limestone beneath.
“You can decide.”
He grinned at that, downing his glass in one throw. You really were just a little puppet, weren’t you? Plainly made to take orders. Uncomfortable when given a choice.
But then again, when it comes down to it, the luxury of no choice is what you came here for.
“Then strip,” he commanded, his eyes blank and dead-set. Looking at you crookedly with crossed arms as he leaned against the barren white wall behind him.
You blanched and blinked, mild surprise taking you over the sudden demand.
“Here?”
You sheepishly looked around. Aware of the entire city behind the window. Although knowing you were just another blinking city light in a sea of other equally bright yellows and blues, the thought of stripping naked with the entirety of the city as audience had your heart racing.
“Did I stutter?” He cocked a brow, his tone giving no ounce of mercy, voice full of that special type of pressure that feels like a noose around the throat.
“No,” you answered with a bashfully bowed head as your toes curled in on themselves.
“Are you deaf?” he continued, berating, voice no louder than before, though still biting with condescension—tilting his head to the other side, the small gesture fully succeeding in psyching you out.
“No,” you repeated then, more timidly than before, your voice diminishing every time you dared look up into his eyes.
He gave a hum, the sound rumbling like thunder. Purring in your gut and stirring that sticky, needy warmth within you.
Your heart hammered as he pushed himself off the wall behind him.
“Then why aren't you naked already?”
“I’m sorry–” you blurted, your fingers shaking just a bit as you promptly rushed to pull the bow to your belt.
“You’re gonna be if you don't hurry it up.”
You let out a tiny gasp as you quickly removed your clothes. Clumsy in your haste. All cute and flushed and visibly excited like the true little dormant slut he knew you were.
And then you stood there. Naked. Blocking the view of his city.
The bright white moon cast a glow on your silhouette, highlighting the soft peach-fuzz coating your arms, licking every curve of your perfect shape.
You bit your lip under his gaze. Silent as he inspected you. Shifting your weight from one foot to the other as your eyes flickered from looking at the floor to skittering over his size. Growing more and more impatient, lower abdomen buzzing, demanding attention. Especially now, with the nippy air of his living room kissing your bare skin, in contrast to how you were burning under his scrutinizing eyes.
His expression didn't change, didn't falter from its stoic hardness. Making you all but yelp as he bit out the second command. “Come.”
With uneven breath, your mind spiraled over the fact that you were walking behind a fully dressed, six-foot-tall, ripped stranger, completely naked. Having told no one where you would be disappearing to for the night and having completely zero way of making sure you weren’t about to be brutally murdered or fucked until comatose.
But, in the moment, you couldn't bring yourself to care. The fear and the unknowing only fueled the thrill deep within your gut, making it scream with anticipation.
Mind blanketed by the musky scent that trailed after the broad-shouldered male, and the sight of his black muscle-shirt clinging to his frame, paired with a pair of baggy sweatpants with his feet left in the same state as yours, bare against the cool stone flooring. But, where you timidly padded behind him, he walked with authority, each step slapping against the tiles with both echo and earthquake, all making you feel feral like some bitch in heat, mouth watering, bordering on drooling as you swallowed thickly in building desperation, imagining tonight’s events and nearly celebrating prematurely, feeling the slick start to tickle between your legs, pooling, soon to be dripping.
“Safe word?”
You had to shake your head, snap out of the spiral you’d set off on like Alice down the rabbit hole, and recollect your thoughts in order to form an answer.
“Uhm–” you wavered, looking up to view his back again as you continued down the corridor, watching how his muscles flexed beneath the tight-fitted fabric, how he seemed to sway as he walked, one fist always in front.
“Well?” The bark in his voice thrust you out of your daydreaming yet again. “I won't stop if you scream,” he informed, and you swore you nearly moaned by the threat playing in his tone. “But I won't start until you-”
“Traffic lights. Green means go. Yellow means–” you explained, but he did you the same justice of interrupting.
“I know the rest.” He opened a door, paying you no spare attention aside from cutting you off.
Placing himself sideways in the doorway, leaving you no option but to slip past him on your way inside. Still so vulnerably naked beneath his eyes, feeling the toothsome power imbalance hang in the air between your little naked self and his fully clothed, thick-muscled build.
Feeling it especially once his strong hand wrapped tightly around your neck in the next split second.
You gasped, made to stop in your tracks, feeling his strong grip tighten around your throat, knowing if he’d just squeeze a bit, you would likely give out like a tiny flower caught under a stampede.
“Don’t interrupt me again,” he warned darkly, his breath hot as it hit against your cheek with how close he’d leaned in.
“I’m sorry,” you squeaked back, withholding giggling in mad thrill, though not able to hide it completely, with a blissful little twitch escaping to the corners of your lips, clear enough for his keen stare to catch it before it disappears.
He gave a curt hum as those appraising you, smiling back before shoving you forward to the large double king-sized bed placed in the middle of the room.
You could both tell it was going to be a fun night.
SYNOPSIS ⸝⸝⸝ when the bottle ends up between you and atsumu, suna enforces a change of rules where seven minutes in heaven must be done in a toilet stall.
TAGS ⸝⸝⸝ oral sex (m. receiving), unprotected sex, quickie, dirty talk, praise, degradation, extreme sexual tension, both suna and atsumu are menaces, very messy sex, slight voyeurism, creampie
CHLO'S NOTE ⸝⸝⸝ suna is kinda ooc i just knowww he dgaf
WORD COUNT ⸝⸝⸝ 4.2k
Seven minutes in heaven should be renamed seven minutes in hell.
At first it was spin the bottle, the game barely broke a sweat, lackluster dares and no-show truths that just ruled to free alcohol shots. A few drubbing losses ended up with a punishment of seven minutes in heaven; any established couple that surrounded the circle easily had their feat and the game swung by with deliberate ease, much to the rest’s dismay.
“This is getting boringgg.” A drunk Aran slurs, shoving his fist up in the air. “More dareesss!” Everyone conjoined in raucous laughter and assented in suit of the idea. You could beg to differ, it wasn’t as absurd as any of the frat parties you’ve ever partaken in but it wasn’t anything short of boring either.
Suna, however, had different plans in mind; although he wasn’t the shit-starter, he was undoubtedly the stirrer through it all. Which is ultimately why when the barren soju bottle defies gravity and lands between you and Atsumu Miya, he stoops to depths opposite of what the game implies.
The first non-couple to be matched for the night leads to a roar of oohs and oh’s to fill the room, and Suna succeeds at a chance of making things more dire than it should be.
Both you and Atsumu had almost hooked up once, almost. From what you could think back to, it was the aftermath of a late-night party that had panned out with both your lips smashing against each other like animals. Though cut short from Kita being the cockblocker he is.
Ever since then, there's been nothing but unrelenting silence and strain between the two of you. More so, itching words being left unspoken, still at the tip of your tongues. Atsumu had fought tooth and nail to speak to you privately, but nothing ever worked to his plea. Just brief glances and light conversation, but it had never gone past that for a while.
So that stillness shatters once you’re both face to face, playing in the hands of an alcohol bottle and Suna Rintarou’s enormity.
It can't be that bad, right?
“Atsumu, Y/N, truth or dare?” Suna’s tone grips a beat higher when he asks the question, almost like he's excited that there's some sort of intent to it. “If one person can’t answer a question, both of you have to do the punishment together anyway.”
That’s totally great, either way— you were fucked. You just had to hope Atsumu was smart enough to handle his friend’s shenanigans, even though in most ways, he was definitely worse in terms of attitude. The world was not working in your favor.
The blonde twin gives you a stare before Suna ultimately gives a countdown to his previous question. Three, two, one;
“Truth.”
It’s almost in unison, the way both of you speak the word into existence with an awful amount of sternum. Suna scoffs and decides to attack Atsumu first, and you can only imagine the most jarring question possible.
“So, Tsumu,” He gives a long pause before he decides to ask, like adding suspension would do anything. “Have you and Y/N ever fucked?”
As right as you were, he still never fails to baffle you. There's no change in Atsumu’s face nor does anyone in the circle seem too pushy about it; he directly answers without a second thought, almost as if this was something he’d thought about multiple times. “Nah,”
“Wish we had though.”
The rest of the circle resumed their rustling and cheers at Atsumu’s reply, and some people were nudging your shoulder. Suna nods to his words, amused by the additional line, and right before you know it, his serpent pupils immediately look straight into yours.
“Do you like Atsumu, Y/N?”
Ah.
You had no idea how to answer this without a certain consequence. A part of you liked him, for sure. Though you can’t affirm a yes or no, it probably veered to a maybe? You didn’t know.
It was a simple question from a simpleton like Suna.
But why the fuck were you not answering?
Atsumu is staring at you intensely, as if waiting for a given answer of some kind. Everyone's deferring for your retort in hopes of a reciprocal or maybe harsh rejection pertaining to Atsumu, anything that could get their day going as if it mattered to them.
Suna, being the asshole he is, raises the stakes and coerces you down with a count. And even then, you still had no answer. Sometimes you wonder, why do you put yourself in these situations? “Aww, no answer. Guess you’re going to have to deal with each other now, huh?”
Atsumu notices the look on your face; of course, he notices. The moment you’d failed to answer Suna’s question, his gaze whetted, as if attempting to read every bit of your lips that twitched, or how your eyes narrowed. Suna is basking in the silence, clapping his hands together to declare the punishment, which you had totally forgotten about minutes after being inundated with a stupid question.
You feel the weight of Atsumu’s stare, and you can’t tell if he’s upset or if he’s ready to show you otherwise. Knowing him, it’s very possibly the latter.
“Well, unfortunately so,” Suna delightfully says, drawing out each word like a taunt, “it’s going to be seven minutes in heaven. With a twist, of course.” The circle erupted with grunts and cheers that bounced off the walls, the whole room rippling with racket at Suna’s theatrics.
“Instead of the closet,” he savors, he really likes prolonging his sentences. “It’s gotta be in a toilet. Handicap, regular stall, it’s up to you guys.” You could’ve strangled him with your bare hands. A toilet? God, if Sakusa or Kita were here, you’d rather let their presence make Suna second-guess his drunk antics. You’d rather hear a stupid ramble about hygiene or cleanliness if it weren’t for all of this.
He seems far too pleased with himself.
“Though, personally,” he added, stretching while gesturing at the others, “I vote the men’s stall. It’s smaller and riskier, even dirtier. What do we think?”
You had to hand it to the construction workers—at least your college bathrooms were actually decent. Clean stalls, working locks, barely any smell on a bad day. Small mercies. You couldn’t say the same for the men’s, though. God knows what kind of biohazards lurked in there.
Your friends leapt at the chance; a few said handicapped because it offered privacy, the rest chanting for the stall just for the thrill of it.
And then Atsumu completely cuts through. “I prefer a stall.”
Somehow, the ease in his tone burned worse than if he’d shouted. He leaned back, elbow braced against his knee, posture all easy, though his eyes were anything but. “What do ya think, Y/N?”
And you were supposed to answer, like your pulse wasn’t pounding in your throat so hard it ached.
Seven minutes in heaven, or hell, that night ended up with you and Atsumu in the confines of the men’s toilet stall. You can hear the sounds of muffled laughter and voices bleeding through the tiled walls. Atsumu leaned back against the door, arms braced.
“Why didn’t ya answer Suna’s question?”
You gave him a look, folding your arms. “It’s none of your business.”
He pushed off the door in an instant, closing the already small gap between you. One arm shot up beside your head, caging you in. “None of my business? Pretty sure it is, considerin’ the question was about me.”
Your pulse jumped. You hated the way it crossed you, hated how close he was, how his scent clung to your skin. He smelled just as good as the last time he’d been so all up in your space like this. “You’re reading too much into it.”
That grin of his faltered, his jaw flexing as he tilted his head. “Funny,” he murmured, voice dipping, “’cause I remember a night you didn’t seem so against the idea.”
You knew exactly what night he meant; it’s the same night where the party happened, the dizzy press of his lips on yours, the morsel of alcohol and heat, the way his hands had gripped at your waist like he’d promised to never let go.
“That was different,” you fired back, a little too fast.
“Different how?” His eyes narrowed, gold catching the dim light of the toilet. “Ya wanted me then. Don’t tell me ya don’t now.”
Your chest felt tight. His closeness was suffocating, the warmth of his body is fervent and you feel it radiate, but you still forced the words out. “We’re not doing this. Time is ticking, Miya. Is this all we’re going to do in here? Argue?” You crossed your arms, more to hold yourself together than anything.
He scoffed, and before you could move, his other hand slid down to your hip, fingers curling in. He leaned in so close that his mouth brushed your ear when he spoke.
“Oh, princess. We’re gonna continue where we left off.”
Your body betrays you again, a shudder reverberating through you that only made his grin widen. You tilted your chin up, refusing to let him see you fold. A smirk tugged at your lips. “Bring it on.”
He didn’t need another invitation. His mouth immediately crashed roughly against yours, stealing your breath before you could even gasp. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb pressing into your cheek as if to hold you in place, while the other dragged you flush against him.
The kiss was messy, all teeth and desperation, like he’d been holding back for months and had finally snapped. You pushed against his chest, meaning to shove him away, but your fists just curled into his shirt, yanking him closer.
“Fuck—” he groaned against your lips, biting down on your bottom lip hard enough to make your knees weak. “Knew ya tasted this good.” His thigh nudged between yours, pressing up until your breath stuttered, and his hand on your hip slid lower, his daring fingers brushing the hem of your skirt.
You broke the kiss with a gasp, chest heaving, lips swollen. “We’re in a public bathroom,” you hissed, though your voice jerked with something that wasn’t just indignation. He sneered, lips hovering a whisper from yours. “So? Ain’t stoppin’ ya from kissin’ me back.”
God help you, he was right.
His mouth was everywhere, kissing you like he was trying to make up for all the silence between you. Your back hit the cold stall wall, his body pinning yours there, chest to chest, heat searing so hot it can burn both of your bodies. His hand slid along your waist, fingers digging in like he had to feel every inch of you, while the other tangled in your hair, angling your face so he could devour your mouth deeper.
It was blurring between the lines on how familiar it felt. The same taste of alcohol, the same reckless warmth that seethed through that night months ago. Your head spun with the memory of being pressed against another wall, his lips just as desperate, his hands just as greedy.
He groaned into the kiss, pulling back only enough to rasp against your lips, “God, I fuckin’ missed yer lips, princess.”
The nickname curled heat low in your stomach. Thumb brushing across your bottom lip, swollen from his teeth, like he was admiring his work before claiming your mouth again.
You tried to speak, to get a word in, but his hand trailed lower, skimming the curve of your thigh. He pressed closer, thigh wedging between your clothed clit, and your breath broke against his mouth. His grin told you he’d felt it, too.
How wet you were.
“Ya remember, don’t ya?” he murmured, kissing along your jaw, down the edge of your throat. “Ya tasted just like this. Felt just like this. Drove me fuckin’ crazy stoppin’ halfway.” His teeth scraped your skin, and your knees nearly buckled.
Your hands fisted in his shirt, the cotton stretched tight across his chest, and you hated yourself for how badly you wanted more.
He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, pupils blown wide. “Ain’t stoppin’ this time.”
The promise in his voice sent a shiver straight down your spine. His hand slid daringly to the waistband of your skirt, fingers hooking there, tugging like he was testing how far he could push. The stall creaked with the shift of weight, the sound loud in the quiet hum of distant party noise.
His grin turned slow, wicked. “Ya look so good down here, princess. Bet you’d look even better on your knees.” Your breath seized, heat saturating your face. The words slumped thick in the air, suggestion heavy and deliberate, leaving no doubt where this was headed.
And the worst part? You didn’t want to stop him.
You encounter his gaze, licking your lips slowly. "Is that a challenge, Atsumu? Because you know I never back down from a challenge."
"Prove it then. Show me what that pretty mouth can do."
With a defiant toss of your hair, you drop to your knees before him. Your hands make quick work of his belt that wove his waist, unbuckling it with practiced ease. You drag down his zipper, maintaining raw eye contact.
Atsumu's cock springs free, already hard as a rock. You’re advancing further than the last time, and you wouldn’t have expected to be on your knees two minutes into the game. He’s… thick for sure. Actually, that’d be an understatement from the sheer width of it. It’s heavy in your hands, and he’s already leaking in beads of pre-cum, lots of it.
“Sorry, princess.. Yer really makin’ me look pathetic.” He coos, grabbing your hands to smother it on his length, making him hitch at the sensation. “Gonna help clean up the mess ya made?” He tilts his head, pouting.
“Mmh, shut up.” You roll your eyes, your soft hands engulfing what you can fit, barely cupping the thickness of his cock. It’s wet, and he’s beyond saving. He groans, head falling back against the stall wall, which lands a light thud that slightly echoes across the toilet.
"Wanna–ahh.. put my cock in ya," he rasps, tangling a hand in your hair.
You slowly lean in, dragging your tongue along the underside of his cock from base to tip. His salty musk floods your senses, making your core clench as the mere hormones that're swelling. You stir your tongue around the tip, teasing the sensitive flesh.
Atsumu swears, fingers tightening in your hair. "Ya gonna tease me all night, or are ya going to suck my dick like ya mean it?"
You flash him a grin before parting your lips and taking him into your mouth. You sink down gradually, relishing the feel of him heavy on your tongue.
Your hand works what you can't fit, pumping in time with your mouth. Atsumu thinks he could die a happy man when he has you between his thighs, slick sounds like music to his ears as you bob your head up and down on his cock; spit collecting in your mouth and streams of saliva steadily around him, even dribbling down to his balls and the way you swirl your tongue over his cockhead has him groaning so loud, his eyes squeeze shut.
His grip on strands of your hair tightens, and you feel a firm push at the back of your head, suddenly feeling your throat close as you feel his tip impel deeper into your trachea. You almost choke at his length, the buck of his hips making you deepthroat every inch of his cock.
You peer up at him through wet lashes, tears collecting in your eyes from the sheer push and pull. He’s fucked over, watching his head thrown back from the mere pleasure of your mouth, the veins in his throat prominent with every loud groan and grunt he lets out for you, his abdomen tightening, both of his hands are pushing your head, causing his bicep to flex, and the sight makes you moan.
Atsumu feels the vibrations around every inch of his thick cock, and he’s propelling your every mouth. You stopped gagging seconds ago, becoming used to his thick cock, or more so, the pleasures just surges over you like a tide. You could devour all of him.
Your mind is completely empty, body going limp as he fucks into your mouth like a pocket pussy, chanting breathy fuck, fuck, fuck’s. It's been three minutes in, and he’s thrusting into your mouth really fast, violating your poor throat.
"That's it. All of it." He starts to fuck your face in earnest, holding your head still as he pumps into your mouth. Tears start to prick at the corners of your eyes from the force of it, but you don't resist. You want this, want to make him lose control.
"Fuck, I could cum down your throat," Atsumu grunts, his rhythm faltering. "But I'm not gonna waste a single drop inside this little mouth. I've got better plans for it." With a sharp tug on your hair, he pulls you off his cock. You gasp for air, twines of saliva, and precum connecting your lips to his dick. Atsumu uses his grip on your hair to haul you to your feet.
"Turn around," he commands, spinning you to face the stall wall. "Hands on the wall."
In the fourth minute, you had exactly 180 seconds.
Atsumu wastes no time shoving your skirt down to your knees.
He runs a hand over the globes of your ass, fingers digging into the flesh possessively. "Bet yer drippin’ for me already, aren't ya, princess?" To demonstrate his point, he slides a hand between your legs, cupping your sex through your panties. You're right, they're already soaked through. He chuckles at the sight of your imminent arousal.
"Fuckin’ soaked," he murmurs, rubbing your clothed slit. "Ya want my cock that bad, don't ya?"
You press back against his hand, seeking more pressure. "Y-yes," you moan shamelessly. "Please, Tsumu—need you, inside me." He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and drags them down your legs. The nippy air of the stall kisses your heated flesh, making you shiver.
"Beg for it," Atsumu demands, slipping a finger between your supple folds to taunt your core. "Beg me to fuck this pretty pussy."
"Tsumu," you whimper, trying to push back onto his finger. "Need you s’bad—please, just– fuck me—"
"That's a good girl," he purrs, adding a second finger and pumping them in and out. "So desperate for it." You're practically vibrating with need at this point, hips rolling shamelessly to meet each thrust of his fingers. He curls them just right to hit that spot inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids.
"Fuck—!" you cry out, clutching at the stall wall for support.
"That's it," Atsumu coaxes, scissoring his fingers to stretch you. "Are ya ready, princess?" Just when you think you can't take any more, he withdraws his fingers completely. You make a sound of protest, only to have it cut off by the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance.
"Brace yerself, m’not gonna hold back—!" Atsumu warns, a groan leaving his lips at the last sentence, a split second before he slams forward into your pussy, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. You scream at the sudden invasion, back arching sharply. He doesn't give you any time to adjust, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back in again.
He puts a palm to your mouth, fingers digging into your waist as it bleeds purple. His breath catches the shell of your ear, and he’s fucking like a jackrabbit; you can feel the curve of him slide your flesh walls, and his thick cock stretches your mounds. “Take it good for me, will ya? Gotta make use of our time, ma.”
The stall fills with the wet sounds of skin smacking against skin and your ecstatic moans of pleasure. Atsumu sets a relentless pace, pounding into you with abandon. Each thrust drives you higher and higher; your pleasure is building to a fever pitch.
"Oh fuck, ya feel so fuckin’ amazing," Atsumu pants behind you, he’s so fast that you’re almost losing balance— feeling all of him so fast, so quick, you’re about to cum. "So fuckin’ wet." You can only moan in response, too lost in sensation to form coherent words. All you can do is take what he's giving you, your body singing with ecstasy.
He reaches around to rub tight circles over your clit, pushing you closer to the edge. "Three minutes to spare," he rumbles, breath hot against your neck. "Look at ya, can’t even speak right." His words send a thrill through you, stoking the fire in your abdomen. You clench around him rhythmically, milking his cock with your greedy walls.
"Come on, baby," Atsumu urges, fingers moving faster over your clit. "Come all over my cock." He can sense that your orgasm was awashing near, feeling your pussy tug at his cock as your supple mounds start to retract.
His command sends you hurtling over the precipice, your orgasm crashing through you. You scream his name as you come undone, his name is muffled through the palms of his hand, pleasure whites hot and blinding.
Though he’s not quite done yet.
He picks up your thigh to ease his pace and structure, thrusting into you faster. “Oh, fuck, fuck—” He’s no longer forming words himself, getting lost in your pussy as he fucks into you senseless. You lose all brain and still rut under the embrace of his cock, continuously ramming into your walls.
You don’t even realize how loud you moan, Atsumu himself is unaware of his own.
“Hey, time's up.”
Suna’s voice breaks through, and it had been past 8 minutes to your knowledge. Though neither you nor Atsumu had cared anymore. You’re still whimpering, the slap of your skins mingling still courses through the tiled walls, and the door rattles, a barrier between Suna and the two of you.
“Give me a few seconds.” Atsumu groans, brutally forcing his thrusts. His tip isn’t just peppering kisses anymore; they’re helplessly bruising your cervix.
But fuck, does he feel like heaven in your clit.
You both are lost in your senses, and Suna is tapping impatiently at his feet. “Enjoying yourselves way too much, man. My ears are boutta go deaf.” Though no reply is given from either of you, both persist in going at it as if Suna didn’t exist on the other side of the door.
“Make it quick, love birds.” You hear the door outside closed shut, and Atsumu’s orgasm is at its peak. You feel him swell inside you, his thrusts growing erratic as he nearly feels his climax wash over him. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he grunts, reaching around to rub tight circles over your clit. Your walls clamp down around him, milking his release from his body. “Gonna fill ya full of my cum, princess.”
Atsumu comes with a sharp whimper, his hips stuttering as he spills himself inside you. You can feel his hot seed flooding your channel, painting your insides with his essence. He collapses against your back, both of you panting for breath in the aftermath. His softening cock slips out of you slowly, followed by a trickle of his semen.
Atsumu presses a kiss to your sweat-slicked shoulder before stepping back. He tucks himself away and rights his clothing, helping clean your folds afterwards as he smirks down at you.
The stall was quiet except for the sound of your heavy breathing, the faint thump of bass from the party bleeding through the walls. Your legs were still shaky, your shirt wrinkled from his grip, and Atsumu hadn’t let go of you once.
He was kissing your face slowly, savoring every second left before someone banged on the door to drag you out. His lips were swollen, his hair a mess, and he tasted something you knew you wouldn’t forget anytime soon. His thumb stroked across your cheekbone, a strangely gentle touch for how rough he’d just been.
“God,” he panted, “Ya have no idea how long I’ve wanted that.” You tried to catch your breath, rolling your eyes half-heartedly, but he caught your chin and kissed you again, lingering; he wasn’t finished yet.
He broke away with a grin, cocky even when he was wrecked. “That was just a taste, princess.” His mouth brushed against yours with every word. “Next time, I’m takin’ my time with ya. Gonna fuck ya proper.”
The promise sent another shudder down your crest. He grimaced at the way your eyes flickered, like he knew exactly what effect he had on you.
The sound of someone laughing outside snapped you both back to reality. He gave one last kiss before straightening up and fixing his shirt with a chuckle. “Guess we better not keep ‘em waitin’.”
He glanced down at you one more time, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t worry, princess. Seven minutes ain’t enough for me.”
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