We Need To Talk About The Way Atsumu Teases You Over Facetime When He’s Away At An Important Game. 

voicemail i

miya atsumu x fem reader

wc: 650

missed call from: atsumu

the first installment of the voicemail series!! dedicating this one to the wonderful @shoyokuns​ for enabling and inspiring me for this one behehe… love u v much <3

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nsfw, fem reader, noncon, masturbation, stalking, voyeurism

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All For One

TW: nsfw, noncon, yandere, captive reader, mind deterioration

fem reader

All For One has a habit of subjugating you for his own pleasure. 

It’s a game he likes to play—quite like chess, only… you start off with a single pawn, and you don’t know any of the rules. And he’s been world champion ten years in a row. And he plays dirty.

Tonight, he’s dressed you up in a costume. Not any old Halloween costume, but a slutty one. Not a playboy bunny or a maid, nor a schoolgirl—this was worse—a sleazy rendition of your old hero uniform.

You’d barely recognized the faintly familiar design when he first laid it out on the bed for you. Silly and naïve, you thought his games of derision would end when you finally offered your submission, but that was a fool’s thought. What fun were you if not proof of his undying victory—a reminder, a trophy, a relic?

It’s beyond degrading. Tight and revealing. Less than an actual costume, it was more something one would wear in the bedroom, cosplaying for some fantasy starring an overly sexualized you. Only God knows where he’d gotten it from.

Your steel armor, once with the dignity of a knight, had instead been swapped out for a silly silver bikini—the shimmery fabric tacky and cheap, allowing your nipples to peak forth. Covering it was a top and a skirt made up of silver chains, which only further mocked the appearance of chainmail—looking more like the jewelry a stripper might wear.

He’d forgone your helmet, boots, and sword entirely. Truly, if it weren’t for the detailing of the pattern making the fabric vaguely resemble plated armor, it wouldn’t have been much different from any other set of lingerie.

And still, it’s just similar enough to make it sting.

“Look at you...” he jeers, his voice sodden with taunt—carmine stare faded and gleeful, thoroughly enjoying it. “What a sight for sore eyes.”

He stands behind you in the mirror, holding you delicately by the hips, intimately close, dressed in another one of his black suits, fully clothed in devastating contrast to you. His smile curls as he roams your ill-covered body, kissed with the flush of chagrin, leering at you in the reflection—his voice slithering right by your ear.

“Though I can’t say I remember it being quite so revealing, can you?” he jokes, running his hands up and down your waist, fiddling some with the intricacies—metal daintily clinking and clangoring. “No, there’s something else that’s different...”

You feel so humiliated, so small—as if he could hold you up by the scruff of your neck with ease. It isn’t just a feeling—you’re well aware that he most likely could.

“Why yes, of course…” he hums with delayed realization—you know he’s faking for anticipation, chittering while wrapping his thick arms around your tiny midsection, giving you a firm squeeze. “You’ve lost all muscle.”

It’s a painful truth. You don’t know how many months it’s been. Perhaps a year has passed already, maybe even more. He keeps you well aware of his triumph in the outside world, but time still eludes you.

You’d tried maintaining it in the beginning, even after he’d taken your quirk. You’d been vigilant, keeping up your workout regimens just as religiously as before. But you couldn’t pick what you ate, nor when—and he’d only feed you cake. It wasn’t long before all your hard-earned muscles had melted away like popsicle syrup off the stick, licked and lapped right up by the man holding you.

“Mmh, yes…” he murmurs gratingly while swaying you back against him, lips pressing against your ear. “And it’s left you oh-so-soft.”

His bulbous crotch slots against your upper ass, resting there as it grows fatter and warm—a sign of his enjoyment. The weight of him makes you feel all but paper-thin.

His voice rasps now. “If I were to give you your quirk back, I wager you wouldn’t even be able to use it anymore—it would sooner rip your poor limbs apart.”

It’s beyond cruel to suggest—as if disgracing your old costume wasn’t enough torment already. You bite your lip, gnaw it harshly—don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t let him see you cry.

“Isn’t that just fascinating?” He gives your earlobe a gentle bite, and the whimper in your throat springs free like prey out of hiding.

A sniffle shortly followed—along the dribble of the night’s very first tears. Your diminished spirit has made you all too prone to cry as if there’s nothing else for you to do but indulge in the small comfort it gives.

“Oh, sweetie—don’t weep over prowess long since lost. It was never enough to challenge me anyway,” he coos, as if consoling you—swaying your smaller brittle body back against his looming chest, a cage that seemed to swallow you whole.

Steering your jaw, he holds your face still before the mirror, unable to look away as the tears dribble down your sorry cheeks—he smears them further with a kiss.

“The world would chew you up as you are now, fragile like glass.” The grin curling his lips makes you resemble prey caught on a predator’s teeth—you can’t help but shiver at the sight of it. You wish he wouldn’t toy with you like food and just kill you already. “Mark my words, hero—the belly of the beast would not grant you as much comfort as I do.”

His other hand slips down to cup your mound—firmly, with a squeeze that has you curl yourself back against him as he presses two tough fingerpads into your clothed clit, rubbing it tightly enough to make your thighs shake.

“You’re better off like this,” he grunts, snickers at how your weak hands clutch the sleeve of his suit, curling the fabric in your palms until your knuckles whiten—watching the furrow further crease between your cinched brows as you try and bite back your pathetic little sounds even as more tears come tumbling down your swollen cheeks. “Mh, my pretty plaything.”

He makes you continue to look at yourself as he simply slides the panty to the side of your cunt. Encouraging you to place your hands flat against the mirror as he bends you forward, then to step back and stand atop his dress shoes.

“Don’t be shy now,” he makes sure to tell you. “You’re as light and negligible as a feather.”

He parts his feet and yours along with them, spreading your thighs enough to accommodate the fat heat he soon slides between them. Rigid and veiny, it competes with the size of your forearm—so thick that when he slaps it up against your slit, your knees buckle from the impact.

His chuckles rumble across your body like an earthquake. You only realize how much it makes you shake when he encloses your hip in his big hand, steadying you. Holding you still as he drags his engorged cockhead through your lips, catching your clit before resting on your entrance.

You’re so sore from prior nights—countless hours locked in this room with his visits the only thing keeping you company—everything has yet to forgive you for the wreckage those visits leave behind. Your sorry little puss rues and dreads another defeat now as he sinks inside the comfort of your battered walls, one unyielding inch at a time. 

You wince and tense, shoulders bracing, and yet he pushes deeper, sliding you down his shaft until you rest at the hilt of his base, kneading the tip into your gummy womb, giving it a deep kiss that bulges out from your poor belly.

The sight in the mirror is morbid, even more so than the feeling—the way he molds your insides to fit him, to cater and house his length and size. 

“Ah—just perfect, isn’t it, hero?” he purrs, chest resting heavily upon your spine while dwarfing both your hips in a firm grip, chin-stubble scraping along your neck as his voice comes out hot against your ear, “Obedience suits you so well, don’t you agree?”

Your knees buckle once he starts the heavy pace—slowly pounding into you from behind, dragging out and pushing deep in womb-robbing thrusts. You pant from the toll of it, feeling your muscles give—too tired and too broken to continue acting tough. He’s the only reason you’re left upright on your feet—keeping you standing with just his hold on your haunches. It seems like nothing to him, though it feels like the weight of the world to you.

“It’s only a shame it had to come with all these scars.” He clicks his tongue, eyes raking across your body as it takes him, resting on each mark disrupting the otherwise milk-smooth skin. “If only you’d accepted your place sooner.”

The ember burning within you is all but a piece of cooling charcoal now. You feel it diminish every day, leaving you even thinner than before.

“But then again, I quite enjoy you like this—littered with my battle scars from your toes up to your crown. It’s rather intimate, isn’t it?” he hums with a smile. “Proof of all the times I could’ve quashed you beneath my foot like a pitiful bug but decided to spare you. Teach you how to worship like the weak ought to.”

There was a time when you still humored the thought of killing him, even with your quirk taken from you. You thought, in your foolishness, that being this close to him must garner an opportunity, any, however slim, just enough for you to take advantage and finish what you vowed to end so long ago.

Now, you almost don’t care anymore. The world had moved on without you, and there was nothing more you could do about it.

You realize your promise had been as cheap as this outfit.

“The greater the fall, the sweeter the surrender, isn’t that right?” he states. “Doesn’t it feel good to finally accept your place in the world, hero?”

You can only nod your head and agree.

♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

ACCIDENTAL NUDE SEND: the masterlist !

a compiled list of all the accidental nude send fics! all are nsfw.

↬ miya osamu, part 2

↬ suna rintarō

↬ iwaizumi hajime

↬ yamaguchi tadashi

↬ sakusa kiyoomi 

↬ miya atsumu 

↬ kita shinsuke 

↬ oikawa tōru 

coming soon/in progress: akaashi keiji, matsukawa issei, bokuto kōtarō, kuroo tetsurō, tendō satori, semi eita (possibly more!)

lev with an oral fixation ☝️😩 he can’t sleep unless he’s sucking your tiddies or anything tbh. and when y’all are doing the nasty he’s always sucking on your neck or when your in control he’s sucking on your fingers🏃‍♀️

Lets just say when you and Lev first started to dating you noticed it 

but you didn’t say anything simply because he was always sucking on a lollipop or whatever was in his hand 

It really didn’t take a huge notice until you two started sleeping together 

He seemed to focus more on your tits than anything else and finally you brought it up one night 

“Lev?” You ask twisting your fingers in worry, that maybe mentioning it will end badly 

“Yeah baby?” He asks turning to look at you that stupid candy hanging from his lips 

“Why are you always sucking on my tits and that candy all the time?” The question was a silent one 

The silence that filled the air after that was one that almost made you retract the question 

“Oh…well.” He blushes and laughs nervously while rubbing the back of his neck 

You drop your gaze but you hear the loud sigh and look up seeing the lollipop was gone and a wobbly smile was there instead 

“I…I have an oral kink..or fixation whatever you want to call it and i like having things in my mouth, fuck i can’t even fall asleep without something in my mouth.” He admits 

Yeah…that wasn’t the answer you were expecting and the images and behavior of everything starts to play back in your mind 

“Really?” You ask making him nod and walk over to you towering over you in a domineering kind of way 

He smirks and reaches out his fingers crazy your tits causing your nipples to harden 

“It get’s especially hard at night to control, even more so when you’re next to me at night. It’s so hard not to suck on your tits….god.” He groans and you feel your self clench 

“Bed?” You ask breathless 

His eyes snap up to yours making him nod fast as you both rush to bed clothes being thrown off 

After that he always had your tits in his mouth when he could, whenever they got sore he would switch it off for the lollipops 

Of course, you had a switch dynamic where he would either suck on your tits or when you were in control he would suck on your fingers 

and god if that wasn’t a pretty sight you don’t know what is 

Lev also loved to suck on your neck and leaving marks, it was a sense of pride but he got off at the fact he could remember sucking that mark into your skin 

He was able to control it in public, there was one instance where he couldn’t take it 

you were wearing a tank top and he could see the faint marks on your neck but also the tank top did wonders for your breasts 

he dragged you into an empty bathroom and ripped your top down and went to fucking town 

let’s just say, you didn’t go back for lunch and went straight home 

Lev has this polyrod pictures of your tits and neck with his teeth, tongue and mouth marks all over and those are his comfort pictures 

Don’t ever ask about them if you see them in his wallet he will just smirk and wink 

don’t look too close (m)

stalker!bokuto kōtarō x fem!reader

warnings: tw yandere, tw stalking, tw implied kidnapping, implied voyeurism, mentions of murder, (consensual) nsfw, rough sex

word count: 3.8k

day 2/9 of candy corn

the most beautiful person in the world? the most intelligent, the funniest, the sweetest, the kindest person who hangs the sun and the stars and the moon in the sky, who makes the world spin, who makes the air feel light and refreshing? the one who makes bokuto’s life worth living, the one who permeates his thoughts from the moment he wakes to the moment he’s drifting into sleep?

you.

you’re his soulmate, bokuto knows it. he knew it from his very first day at college when he saw you buying your coffee- an iced vanilla frappucino- and he could feel the rhythmic thumping of his heartbeat change. now it only pounded for you, the love of his life.

he just thinks you’re so sweet, especially when you’re leaving your house every morning and you always stop by the fence, blessing your young, handsome neighbour with your stunning smile as you two chat. bokuto thinks you’re so kind, the way you shyly laugh at the neighbour’s flirtatious lines and that you always lend him sugar and milk when he runs out and you once even baked him a tray of sweet-smelling cookies but it simply won’t do- bokuto is the only one who can love you so protecting you from your grey-haired neighbour was worth it to see you look dejected when your neighbour suddenly loses his job at the local elementary school and has to move back to his hometown, hoping the stain of the anonymous complaint won’t cling to him there too.

you’re also so smart, bokuto observes. he likes hearing your pretty voice explain the writer’s use of symbolism in the play to your classmate, some skinny, scrawny boy with deep green hair and freckles. he looks at you too much like bokuto does though, eyes wide and sparkling which bokuto tries to appreciate- you really are amazing- but you’re his. so it’s a shame but all for the greater good when your classmate suddenly starts to avoid you like the plague, his eyes wide with something akin to fear and stammering a weak excuse when you do try to approach him.

bokuto thinks you’re so goofy when you’re cooking in the kitchen, pop music playing from your speakers as you dance around, the aroma of spices hanging in the air as you use the wooden spoon as a microphone. he thinks you’re so cute how your eyes glaze with tears and you sniffle into your blanket when you’re watching some drama on the television and you always smell so sweet- he isn’t quite sure what the scent is but he’ll remember to look closely at your perfumes the next time he’s in your bedroom- it’ll make a nice birthday present for you in exactly three months time. he thinks you look so mesmerising when you study, a little crease between your brows and hair bundled out of the way as you think hard, you’re just so smart. and he really likes the tidy hairstyle you wear when you're working; with all those pretty locks tied up, you can barely notice the big chunk bokuto just had to take from you to keep in his pocket so he can feel you all day. your hair is so silky and smells sweetly of honey and cinnamon he just had to buy the same shampoo too.

but bokuto’s favourite part of you is when night falls and your room glows with orange candlelight. you look so sensual when you undress yourself, your body so beautiful that he wants to trace his fingers over every inch of you and kiss every part of you. he’s mesmerised when you lie down on your bed, hand disappearing between your legs. you look so pretty, every sinful face you make as you stuff your cunt full of your fingers and fuck yourself till you’re cumming, mouth parted open with a name bokuto imagines is his own. you make him feel so different, so hot and flustered and overcome with need that he always tries to time his own climax with yours, fisting his cock and biting his lip to stifle his deep moans as he releases all over his own hand. sometimes he just wants to remember it forever, remember every part of you forever so that’s why he has his phone camera pointed towards you, no matter what you’re doing.

but most of all, bokuto’s thankful that despite many of your amazing qualities being observant is not one of them. he’s glad you don’t notice his golden eyes peering into your windows, watching you when you’re getting out of the shower and dropping your towel to reveal your wet, glistening body. you don’t notice the constant second shadow trailing after you when you’re walking through empty streets, headphones blasting music and blocking out the world and his footsteps and loud presence behind you. you don’t notice the creaking floorboards when you’re sleeping in your bedroom and brush off the sounds of clattering outside your home as a stray cat, the shadow that switches off the television you’ve kept on and setting an extra alarm to make sure you don’t oversleep, and it’s even better that you’re so unobservant because you don’t notice just how many panties have seemingly gone missing from your laundry basket. you don’t notice that the cctv image of the grey-haired suspect who was last seen by the canal where your ex-boyfriend’s body turns up, battered and bruised, looks eerily similar to the man who sat at the table behind you at the cafe where your ex-boyfriend revealed he was cheating on you, leaving you a sobbing, heartbroken mess. you don’t notice the golden eyes that watch your boss from your part-time job harass you in the empty car park, his groping hands going too far, only he never shows up for work again. his wife begs on the news surrounded by reporters for him to come home.

it’s time now.

the taste of alcohol is fiery on bokuto’s lips but it doesn’t match the warmth in his chest, the electrifying exhilaration he feels when he watches you over the flashing coloured lights from across the crowded room. you’re with a group of friends, smiling and laughing as you sway your hips in tune to the thumping music, looking absolutely delectable in the short, black dress, face painted as a cracked china doll. he doesn’t mind that you’re with friends- after all, he’s made sure they’re suitable to be in your life and just in case they do happen to mess up and hurt you he’s gathered useful information: the tall red haired man has a peanut allergy, the younger blonde girl doesn’t have a fire alarm installed in her apartment and the pretty, black-haired girl with glasses drives a car and a number of things can go innocently wrong with that.

he watches you carefully, waiting for the moment you finally pant something to your friends then you’re walking away, swaying slightly from how many drinks you’ve downed. this is bokuto’s chance, his heart drumming and butterflies fluttering in his stomach as he grins, tossing his drink into some random plant pot as he follows after you into the kitchen. the hallways and rooms are filled with people, the garden overspilling too as the music blares, a heavy stench of alcohol and sweat lingering but that’s halloween college parties and bokuto’s only here for one reason.

“anything good in there?” his voice is bright and cheerful even though his heart is pounding too fast when he steps behind you, admiring the curve of your ass visible under the short hem of your skirt as you bend over to rifle through the fridge.

“barely anything- but what do you expect from a frat house?” your voice is honey and your smile so beautiful and radiant bokuto feels like he’s going to faint when you stand up straight and face him. you look gorgeous, even under the slightly-tangerine lightbulbs, your makeup half-faded and skin greasy with oils, bokuto has never thought you’ve looked any more wonderful and now you’re really here, you’re really here smiling at him and speaking to him. “i’m y/n.” he thinks it’s cute the way you introduce yourself like he doesn’t know you already, like he doesn’t know your birthday, your high school, your parents’ names and where they work and what elementary school your older sister’s kids go to.

“bokuto kōtarō.”

he notices your eyes scanning his face before they slowly rake down his body, taking in his broad shoulders and muscular arms that ripple underneath his short-sleeved t-shirt, his veiny hands and a smirk grows when your eyes widen as they drop down to his crotch, down his thighs. he feels light inside, almost dizzy and giddy.

“have we met before?” you ask shyly, tilting your head as you look back up at his face. your eyes narrow slightly with intrigue. “you feel so familiar, like i’ve seen you around before or met you somewhere possibly?” bokuto quickly shakes his head- he isn’t a complete idiot and his friend kenma, the one who introduced him to all the secret reddit threads and discord servers of how to go about finally getting the love you’ve been pining over, taught him enough of how to go about this. so bokuto smiles gently as he shakes his head, locking his gleaming gold eyes with yours.

“i don’t think we have- i’d have remembered meeting a girl as beautiful as you.”

bokuto knew it would work- after all, akaashi had provided him with plenty of pick up lines- but the thrill of seeing you get so visibly flustered, a shy smile tugging at your lips as you chuckle, is incomparable. he’s never felt so whimsical before but it encourages him more, akaashi and kuroo’s advice ringing in his mind as he steps closer to you, not bearing to tear his gold eyes away from yours.

“do you say that to every girl, bokuto?”

“no, only beautiful girls like you.”

you gaze at bokuto softer now, your eyes growing warm as a gentle smile tugs at your lips.

“stop flattering me.” you suddenly laugh, looking away as you draw your arms around yourself. he can see you’re hurting still, the pain of being cheated on and then the grief of your ex-boyfriend dying, male friends drifting away when they consistently avoid you and no other men being interested in you anymore. but it’s okay, bokuto’s heart wrenches with guilt for you- it really does- but he won’t hurt you like they all would. he loves you more than anyone else. he’s the only one worthy of you.

with a bit of smooth talking, flirtatious compliments, extra shots of cheap tequila that burns the back of his throat and gentle touches, bokuto has you right where he wants you: hanging onto his arm as you accompany him to his apartment. the cold october air is crisp, leaves crunching under your feet and the sound of music from halloween house parties thumping in the distance. house porches are glowing orange as eerie jack-o-lanterns sneer at you walking past, the heavy gusts of wind howling through bare trees like alarms, the darkness of the sky overpowering the silvery glow of the moon as you chatter away to him, laughing at all his sporadic remarks. it makes his heart feel like gold, like he’s special to you.

bokuto’s lips are on yours the moment you both step into his apartment, the door slamming shut behind him with a click of the lock. you taste bitter with alcohol but so sweet nonetheless, it makes his head spin to finally be kissing you, his arms wrapping around and pulling you close. you’re just as hungry, fingers threading through his soft grey locks and he can’t even think- he can smell your sweet scent and touch you freely, things he could only do gently in the dead of the night when you’re fast asleep, sick with anxiety just in case you stir.

“kōtarō,” you sigh against his lips, pressing your forehead against his with his saliva glistening off your lips. you’re pressing yourself into him, tilting your head back to allow him to trace open-mouthed kisses down your neck. your voice is so husky with lust it makes bokuto’s cock so hard, straining against his jeans. the beautiful sounds he’s imagined you’d make, the way your ass would feel in his hands, what it’d feel like to grope your tits and finally be inside you, having you cum on his cock and moan his name- it’s finally coming true for him. he can’t let it go, growling as he bites hard on your delicate skin, making you yelp out. “please fuck me!”

it’s the words he’s always wanted to hear, moaning into your wet, bruised skin as his big hands grip the underside of your thighs.

“jump, baby.” you do as he says, clinging to his neck and pressing hot, needy kisses to his flushed throat as he carries you to his bedroom. he’s desperate, throwing you on the bed and grinning as he climbs over you, kissing you messily with his tongue sliding into your mouth and his fingers yanking at your dress impatiently. you yelp into his mouth at the feeling of his rough fingers tugging your clothes off but you’re still as hungry, hands reaching for the hem of his t-shirt, the kiss only breaking reluctantly when to pull his top off but bokuto tries to prolong it as much as possible, his teeth clinging to your swollen bottom lip.

“you’re so hot.” he moans when you reach for his belt, his eyes fluttering shut when your hands brush his clothed erection. “i’ve been waiting for this for too long.” it’s a good thing you’re too lost in lust to notice anything, your mind cloudy with the wetness dampening your panties. “you don’t know how hard you make me, how much i feel for you.” whilst you’re reaching into the waistband of his boxers for his dick, it feels sweet, romantic even. the past few months had sudden gotten so lonely for you it’s no reason why you sidle closer to bokuto, your eyes wide as you cling to his words.

“oh my-” you lick your lips as you pull out his hard cock, your fingers just about fitting around his thick girth. he’s painfully hard, the head an angry red and precum dribbling from the slit, bokuto hissing when you swipe your thumb across. “you’re massive.” your words make him still, his cock twitching in your fist as he groans.

“you’re too good to me, you’re perfect, just so perfect.” he’s mumbling as he meets his lips again in a messy kiss, moaning as you stroke him whilst his rough fingers delve into your panties, rubbing fast at your clit that you miss the words he sighs into your mouth. “you’re even more perfect that i thought you’d be.”

his fingers grow wet with your slick as he provides you sweet, warm pleasure, his tongue exploring all depths of your mouth as you stroke him, enjoying his deep grunts when you rub at the sensitive cockhead. but you can tell he’s getting impatient when he bucks up into your hand, thrusting his cock into your fist.

“i need to fuck you.” he breaks away from your lips, a thin string of saliva trailing from his tongue to yours as he pushes you down flat on the bed. “please, please, i need to fuck you.”

“kōtarō,” your voice is gentle as you rub his muscular thigh comfortingly, surprised to hear the way he sounds so close to tears. “please do.”

you sigh at the cold air hitting your wet folds when bokuto peels down your lacy panties, hissing at the strings of slick that cling to the dark fabric.

“so beautiful.” he groans, spreading your legs apart and tapping his cock against your swollen clit, making you jerk and whine at the stimulation. “i’m going to treat you so well.” his eyes are fixated with watching his cock disappear into into your dripping hole, your high moans filling the room as your walls squeeze him tight.

“kōtarō-” you choke out, eyes watering. “you’re so- ah- big!”

“you’re too good to me, y/n.” he grunts, wincing at the bittersweet pain of your nails clawing down his back as he presses his chest flush against yours, grinding his pubic bone against your clit. your eyes look so pretty, sparkling as you gaze at bokuto- it’s all he’s wanted, all he’s ever wanted and he can’t have it end. he’ll make this heaven for you.

every thrust is so sweet and delicious to bokuto, your walls hugging his thick cock as he fucks you, your moans a symphony harmonising with his. it feels so good, so fucking good to be kissing you, to be deep inside you and thrusting against your gummy walls and bruising your neck with biting, possessive kisses because you’re his, you’re finally his.

“you feel so good,” he breathes against you, his hips snapping against yours messily over the sound of your sopping cunt squelching. “your pussy’s squeezing me so tight- fuck-”

“kōtarō!” you’re whining his name, hips rising to meet his thrusts as you snake a hand between your bodies, rubbing at your clit and eyes rolling to the back of your head whilst bokuto wraps his lips around your swollen nipples. he sucks hard, nibbling on the sensitive nud to hear you yelp, your other hand clinging to his bicep with your nails piercing into his skin.

“wait, i want to see your pretty, tight pussy take my fat cock.”

bokuto slides out of you, grinning when you whine at the emptiness as he grips you and flips you over, pulling your ankles and pushing your head down into the mattress as you arch your ass up. “that’s it, princess- face down, ass up. look at that pretty cunt. all mine.” his mind is hazy, too focused on sliding his cock back into your quivering hole, mesmerised by the way your tight pussy sucks his glistening cock back in, your slick dripping down your thighs as you whine out into the mattress.

“fuck! make me cum, i want to cum all over your cock.” hungry and desperate, bokuto growls as he fucks you, his balls lewdly slapping against your ass as he fucks you hard, slapping your ass between gripping your hips so hard you’ll be left with bruises.

“i’m going to make you cream all over my cock, i’m going to make you scream my name.” he’s panting through his moans, fucking you even deeper and spanking your ass harder, your skin’s almost welting. he groans as your walls clamp down harder on his twitching cock. “are you going to cum for me? cum for me.” his nails scrape your scalp as his hand clutch your hair, yanking you by it as you cry out. you’re a mess, your nails catching onto bokuto’s hand that grips your hair, tears streaming down your cheeks and drool spilling from your lips that are stretched out with not cries of pleasure falling from you but cries of anguish.

“stop, it hurts!” you cry but bokuto can’t stop, silencing you by slobbering wet kisses over your cheek and jaw. “you’re too deep- it’s too much- stop!”

“cum for me first.” he growls. it can’t end yet. he’s finally fucking you, the love of his life and even though you’re trembling and sobbing, he can’t stop yet. “cream all over my cock and become all mine first. fuck- cum now!” you can’t hold back any longer, sobbing and almost screaming when your sore, abused walls convulse around bokuto’s throbbing length and you’re gushing all over him, your wetness dripping down his cock and your thighs as he fucks you through your high, groaning when your tight cunny pulls an orgasm from him, his hot seed filling you.

the moment he lets go of you, you collapse onto the bed, gasping for air as you stare out at the wall ahead of you, dizzy and dazed. the photographs strung up with the yellow orbs of fairylights are a blur- but they remind you of your own home, your own bedroom which you just crave so bad. you don’t want to be here. not anymore. bokuto’s cum drips out of you slowly, his heavy pants too loud for you as you shake, tears slowly streaming down your cheeks, your body aching. you can’t even bear to look at him, instead staring at the photographs on the wall as your teary vision begins to sharpen.

“kōtarō, you should’ve stopped-” you freeze, your heart stopping. the rush of hormones fades and the cloudiness in your mind dissipates as you quickly sit up, edging closer to the headboard against the wall.

“y/n?” bokuto sounds confused behind you as you press your hands against the wall, your face falling with horror.

photographs. all of you. your face smiling when you’re enjoying an iced coffee with your friend. your face contorted into a studious frown as you study in the library. your face when you’re doing grocery shopping, when you’re cooking, when you’re in the bath, when you’re pleasuring yourself, when you’re sleeping.

“you psycho!” it’s a high shriek, your voice shaking as you scramble to get away from him, eyes wide with fear. bokuto looks confused, sat at the end of the bed naked as he gazes at you. was that hurt in his eyes? it makes you feel sick, your body feeling dirty as you hug yourself and scramble to find your clothes. but as you look around his bedroom, too much becomes clear. too much becomes familiar: your pink panties sitting on the pile of laundry on the chair; your hairbrush you misplaced on his dresser; the shampoo and perfume you wear there too and...was that your childhood teddy bear you thought you lost in one of the storage boxes when moving on his shelf? “what the fuck is wrong with you? you creep, you fucking creep!” your throat hurts as you shrink in on yourself at the opposite end of his bed, hugging yourself as bokuto stares at you, a little pout on his lips.

“y/n,” he says again. this time it’s slower, deeper. almost threatening. “don’t upset me. please.” his jaw clenches when your eyes flicker to his bedroom door, your heart hammering against your chest as you gasp for air. “it’ll make things harder for us. don’t make me sad.”

“h-harder for us? are you crazy?”

“i’m not crazy!” he yells it, his voice mixed with rage and sadness and his golden eyes don’t seem so warm anymore, not when his large hands are curled into fists and his teeth are bared.

“l-let me go. please.” it’s a futile last attempt but bokuto just exhales heavily, crawling up closer towards you with a cold grin stretching across his face.

“you’re mine now. everything i did was for you...how can i let you go when i love you?”

this was hades, not heaven.

it would’ve been better to have stayed blind.

When he can do both

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。WINTER — ITOSHI SAE.

you love that sae gets to play soccer, that he’s happy doing what he does best—that much is true. what you don’t love, however, is when he leaves to play soccer. you watch with sulky pouts and sullen expressions every time as he packs his bags for a game away, huffing as he takes that hoodie you like instead of leaving it for you.

i like that one, you’ll always say bitterly. it’s a different hoodie every time, and you know he knows you say that just to be whiny—but he never says as much, and a small part of you appreciates it.

you like all of them, he always says blankly, and then you sit and mourn that one hoodie you can’t have from him—even as he leaves you the rest of them at your disposal.

this time is no different. sae leaves the first day of winter, the frigid air kissing your skin as you shiver at the front door, standing with a pout on your face as he turns to you.

“see you in three weeks,” he says, an arm looping around you to give you a brief hug. you sniffle—and you feel silly, you feel like you must seem pathetic every time. it’s three weeks not three decades.

but the bed is colder without sae to keep you warm in the harshness of winter nights, and breakfast is lonely without someone to listen to you babble away, and tv is boring when you can’t share snacks and make fun of the poor choices of blandly written main characters.

you’re silly and a bit childish to cry like this every time—but you can’t help it. you’re happy that sae gets to play soccer, you just can’t ever get used when he’s away.

“i’ll miss you,” you croak, “don’t forget about me, okay? i’ll die.”

“so dramatic,” he rolls his eyes, but his voice is soft and his hand rubs those soothing circles into the small of your back, and you think maybe you’re not so annoying if he treats you so softly, so gentle and sweet even if it’s a bit stiff and blunt like him.

it’s cold—it’s dry and the wind is harsh and sae should really get going if he wants to make it to the airport on time, but you’re sniffling into his shoulder. perhaps there are more pressing things to worry about for now.

“are you gonna miss me too?” you ask, poking his shoulder a few times, “you will right? you’ll be so lonely without me right? so super sad?”

“you’re too much,” he grunts, but his grip tightens around you anyway—as if to say, yes. as if to say i’ll miss you every day, and i’ll keep missing you even when i’m back. “it’s three weeks,” he says flatly, “you’ll live.”

“what if i die? would you come back for my funeral even if you’d miss your game? you would right? don’t let them pick a bad picture of me.”

“i’ll pick the ugliest one i can find,” he grumbles, making you slap his shoulder with a gasp.

“i hope you get stuck sitting next to a crying baby on your flight,” you sulk.

“i’m stuck with a crying baby at home too,” he mutters, “what’s the difference?” you can almost feel him smile even if you can’t see it.

sae doesn’t smile too often—that’s what everyone else will say, anyway. you tell them differently though, that he smiles often, that he’s pretty and soft and innocent under the dim lights of your living room or the gentle rays of sun under the morning sheets. and it’s always small, the way his lips stretch—it’s barely noticeable and all too brief. but his muscles move before his brain thinks, and just a quick glance at you is enough to make his eyes soften and his mouth twitch.

itoshi sae leaves you alone at home on the first day of winter, and he realizes he falls in love with you a little more every season. he loves you through the gentle breeze of summer and the vibrant petals of spring, he sees pieces of you in the warm hues of autumn everywhere he goes—and when winter comes and the harsh chill settles under his bones, he realizes it’s your body he wants against his to ease the ache of the brittle cold.

“you’re rude.”

“i gotta go,” is all he says. “i’ll see you in three weeks?”

and he always does that—always asks if he’ll see you like he has to make sure you’ll be here, waiting with warm arms and a soft smile and those kind eyes of yours that he doesn’t deserve but can’t possibly forget.

“yeah,” you mumble softly, “yeah. see you in three weeks sae. be safe,” you mumble against his shoulder.

this is the hard part.

if you had to pick, the hardest part is where you let go—the part where your body screams for the heated press of his as it pulls away. it’s always easier for sae than it is for you, always simpler for him to reason it’s only three weeks and walk away. because he’ll come back—he always does, and you don’t think he’ll ever stop. but it’s the hardest part anyway, and you hate it. and you wish, selfishly deep down, that it’d be just a bit hard for him too.

“i’ll see you in three weeks,” he repeats again, as if to reassure you.

but this time, he still doesn’t let go. he doesn’t make a move to leave like usual. then it hits you all at once—you realize maybe it’s not just you he says it for, that maybe sae, under his blank stare and blunt words, doesn’t think it’s any easier than you do when he walks away.

so you nod slowly, “three weeks. shouldn’t be too bad,” you whisper.

“no,” he says quietly, “you’ll live.”

and then his arms squeeze you tighter, and his breath exhales slowly, and he presses a kiss to your forehead that can’t be anything other than stalling—and suddenly, you realize maybe it’s never been as easy for sae as you think it has.

“i’ll live,” you agree softly, “i’ll have to since i can’t let someone get away with picking an ugly picture for my funeral.”

he chuckles at that—it’s a sound he doesn’t really make that often, but somehow, it’s one that bleeds into every moment with you. so you turn your head and kiss his hair, squeeze around his waist and keep him warm outside your door as the cold wind of winter grazes your skin. 

“don’t die,” he says, “i’ll be back.”

“i won’t,” you giggle, “bye, baby. i love you. see you in three weeks.”

“yeah,” he hums. and finally, he pulls away. your body’s gone and so is your warmth, but sae’s not cold—doesn’t think he can be when his heart burns like that in his chest. “love you too,” he mumbles, flicking your forehead before he turns around and walks out the door, “and don’t forget to watch me win.”

idk i just think sae w a dramatic lover is a dynamic we need — aka me projecting LMAO.

Title: Going Live.

Pairing: Yandere!Nanami x Reader (JJK)

Word Count: 7.6k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Camgirl!Reader, Kidnapping, Physical Intimidation, Long-Term Stalking, Obsessive Behavior, Delusional Behavior, Slight Exhibitionism, and Panic Attacks + Disassociation. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You were a lot of things to Nanami Kento – his world, his light, his love – but above all else, you were the reason he looked forward to getting home.

Calling it ‘infatuation’ would’ve been a disservice to the depth of his feelings for you. It’d been love at first sight; instant and wholehearted, a shackle snapped shut around his neck that he had no will or desire to escape. His eyes were on his watch as soon as he crossed the threshold, his coat shrugged off and abandoned along with his tie in the doorway. He didn’t bother turning on lights or taking off his shoes, doing anything to make his empty apartment seem more lived-in, his focus solely dedicated to reaching his home office with as few disruptions as was possible, with Gojo and the higher-ups still attempting to contact him about the curse he’d finished exorcising less than an hour prior. They could wait. You wouldn’t.

He was smiling by the time he collapsed into the leather-cushioned chair, his laptop still on his desk from the night before – the last time he got to see you. The motions were automatic, practiced to the point of reflexivity. One hand glided over the keyboard while the other found his phone, silencing it in the same motion as he tossed it haphazardly onto the desk, out of his view. He checked his watch one more time; 6:59. Good. He was early.

His grin brightened, as did his laptop. Your stream flickered to life a second later and with it, your smiling face. The relief was instant, pure warmth accompanying it. The bittersweet tinge – as subtle as it was prodding – came only a moment later, but Nanami did his best to ignore it.

You were the sole reason Nanami Kento looked forward to getting home. The center of his world, the sole light in his otherwise bleak life. The person he loved more than anything, more than everything.

It was only a shame, then, that you had no idea he existed.

One of his favorite things about you had always been your meticulousness. For tonight’s show, you were splayed out across the foot of a queen-sized bed, surrounded by pastel pink satin sheets and a fleece comforter of the same shade, a matching dormant hitachi vibrator (Nanami’s favorite and, guessing from how often it made an appearance in your shows, yours too) nestled between your thighs. Your outfit was aesthetically pleasing – a set of lacey, baby blue lingerie with white, knee socks – but paired with your set up, casual enough to give the impression that you hadn’t realized the camera you were posing in front of was actually on, as if you weren’t entirely prepared to be seen by a thousand or so strangers just yet. The fact that you didn’t start talking right away, only humming as you idly toyed with your hair, only added to the nonchalance of it all. You would make a good actress, if you ever decided to pursue something more, for lack of a more applicable phrase, legitimate.

Nanami’s attention drifted from you to your chat, slowly starting to fill with impatient viewers. Despite himself, he felt his absentminded smile waver, an irk of irritation momentarily tainting his bliss. He knew you weren’t entirely real, that he didn’t have any right to be possessive over a performer, but he loved you. It would’ve been difficult for anyone to watch someone they loved be exposed to so many prying eyes.

user34333: fuck she’s hot

hotbox420: looking good y/n!!!

lostandconfused: why does she still have her clothes on?

 The only silver lining was how oblivious you seemed to it. Another minute passed before you straightened, yawning slightly as you pushed yourself up, legs hanging over the foot of your bed. “Welcome home,” you started, with a quick stretch and a playful wave towards the camera. “Everyone’s already put the kids to bed, right? I’ve got a very special surprise I want to bring out a little later, so nobody’s allowed to leave early.”

Your tone was light, melodic, saccharine. Already, Nanami could feel his cock beginning to harden against his thigh, straining at the material of his pants. You were always mobile during your shows, prone to flitting from one position to another, but tonight, you almost seemed antsy as you pulled your legs back onto the mattress, tucking your knees underneath you and bowing your head, your neutral smile taking on a shy undertone. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” you admitted, speaking quickly enough for the words to blend together. Then, with more composure, “Who wants to get us started?”

Nanami’s hand was already on his keyboard, waiting for your cue. Somehow, he was still too late.

blueeyeswhitedragon sent 150 credits!

blueeyeswhitedragon: Bra first, pretty please.

You giggled as you raised your hands, leaning forward to give the camera a better view of your chest as you undid the clasp at the nape of your neck. Nanami’s breath hitched as the thin fabric fell away, revealing the soft curves of your breasts and your pretty, perfect nipples – already hard, already enough to make saliva pool underneath his tongue. The lower clasp was next, undone with more effort and more bouncing than what seemed absolutely necessary, but Nanami couldn’t complain, not when he was struggling to undo the fly of his dress pants without ever looking away from you. There was another giggle as the article fell away entirely, then a third as you cupped your chest with both hands, groping gently. “I used to be so shy about taking my top off on camera…” You trailed off, batting your eyes. “But, you guys think I’m pretty, right?”

Your requested affirmations flooded the chat in an instant. Nanami grinned, slumping back in his chair. He could compliment any part of you earnestly, but aside from donations, he rarely let himself participate in your chat. Speaking to you so openly, being one of a dozen people whose username you’d glance over in a second – that wasn’t what he wanted. Anonymous adoration wasn’t the shape his affection took.

Eventually, you collapsed back onto your bed. “Okay, okay, that’s enough,” you went on, as Nanami wrapped a fist around the base of his cock. “What next?”

There was another offer – 300 credits for your panties, 400 if you took them off with your back to the camera. You obliged, bent at the waist, inching the silken fabric down your thighs at an almost sadistic pace. After you finished, you seemed ready to move onto the main show, but another donation cropped up in your chat.

user34232 sent 75 credits!

user34232: for the socks pls

That, as far as Nanami could tell, seemed to catch you genuinely off-guard. He could see you blushing as you leaned towards the camera – or, he supposed, the laptop you had positioned underneath it, as if you’d misread something. “…my socks?”

Nanami stifled a grown, tightening his hold. With his free hand, he reached for the keyboard,

n. kento sent 200 credits!

n. kento: Don’t take them off.

You played your part perfectly, sighing as you let your head lull to the side. All it took was you batting your eye lashes while letting out the sweetest murmur of “Well, I don’t know if that’s fair, but…” for your chat to dissolve into a bidding war, donations ranging from five credits to five hundred. If you were making any earnest attempt to keep track of which side was winning, you clearly had no motivation to call it too early on – pulling your legs onto your bed and kicking your feet out playfully towards the camera. “Some of you guys ask for such weird stuff,” you went on, rolling your left ankle. “If someone doesn’t tell me what to do soon, I think I’m just going to have to change into another outfit.”

Nanami let out a breath of a chuckle, only half aware he was typing.

n. kento sent 1,750 credits!

n. kento: You look beautiful. Keep them on.

You laughed, and this time, Nanami chose to believe it was sincere. “I get it! We’ll move on.” You were already leaning back, rolling onto your stomach, giving your viewers a perfect view of your ass as you reached for something off-screen. “Normally I’d ask for a suggestion,” you said, as you brought what you’d retrieved back into frame – a pale pink rabbit vibrator, the penetrative half of the forked wand ribbed. “But I have something I’m kind of looking forward to. I promise, I’ll try to get past the boring stuff quickly.”

You thought too little of yourself. Arousal drooled from Nanami’s flushed tip as you positioned yourself on the edge of the mattress, legs spread wide and slick, glistening pussy fully on display. You were already wet, but he knew you would be. It was something you joked about often – how sensitive you were, how something as minor as a wet dream would have you soaking through your panties. Normally, he would’ve figured you were just playing it up for the sake of your viewers, but it was hard to deny the evidence in front of him.

A whimper slipped past your parted lips as you eased the head of the toy past your entrance, stretching yourself out on its bulbed tip. Now, now, he started to move his hand, pumping his fist over the length of his shaft in short, slow strokes, matching your tempo as you rocked your toy into your pussy. A dull hum fills the room as your thumb finds the switch built into the handle’s underside, and your expression immediately goes from dazed to pained, your tongue peaking out from between your lips and your eyes fluttering shut as your hips bucked against the vibrator. “It—It feels—” Your thighs threaten to twitch shut, but you hold them open, determined to give your audience the best possible view of your pussy clenching around your toy. “I really—I wanna get some bondage gear soon, so that I can—”

Whatever you might’ve said was replaced by a bubbling moan, and just like that, Nanami was fucking his fist without restraint. He knew how pathetic it was, but it would’ve been impossible not to imagine it was his cock sinking into your dripping cunt rather than an inanimate toy, not to wish it was your pussy clamping down around his length rather than his own fist. He wondered what you smelled like, if you wore perfume, what it would be like to have his face buried between your thighs. He was aware, vaguely, that your chat was the most active it’d been all night, people trying to catch your attention with donations and tips and compliments, but they didn’t matter. They weren’t watching you, not really, not the same way Nanami was. He knew you, well enough to know that you couldn’t think once something had been stuffed inside of your cunt. He loved you, enough to wish he was the one making your mind go so euphorically blank.

There was more moaning, more failed attempts to speak, but you didn’t let yourself cum. You were visibly trembling by the time you switched the toy off, and it took agonizing seconds to ease the wand out of your disappointed pussy – seconds Nanami watched with rapt devotion. More out of sympathy than anything else, he lets go of his cock entirely, gritting his teeth and attempting to ignore the pulsing ache forming in the pit of his stomach. What was next was better. What was next was worth waiting for.

You took a few panting breaths, your voice still airy by the time you managed to speak. “I have a—” You paused, grinned. Nanami smiled too. “I have a surprise for all of you, tonight. I think I mentioned that already, but— oh, right.” You perked up, playing excited. “We have to move to the floor, for this next part.”

You slipped off-screen, and a second later, the camera shifted to follow you – falling onto a corner of your room less staged than your bed, but just as pristine. Abstract, pastel tapestries obscured the walls, but the dark floorboards were left bare. On one side, most of a dog kennel was visible, decorated with string lights and clearly meant for one of your more niche shows, and on the other, he could make out the bottom corner of a poster – not for anything kinky, or sensual, or in any way suggestive, but an underground band, a local band. You probably hadn’t realized it was in the shot, let alone meant for it to be. You were usually more careful about giving away anything even remotely personal, but Nanami couldn’t be mad.

After all, it’d been that poster that’d let him find you.

He could still remember the first time he ever saw you – actually saw you, not through a screen, but in person. After he knew that you lived in the same city as him (the same district, even), it’d only taken a few more days to find your name, your age, your address. Still, he put off visiting you for weeks, telling himself that it didn’t matter, that you wouldn’t recognize him, that you wouldn’t want to see him. And, in the end, you hadn’t seen him at all – you hadn’t needed to.

That night, he’d watched your show from the rooftop of the building opposite of yours, straining to see you through a bedroom window left carelessly open. Even now, the guilt was almost tangibly agonizing, the shame practically unbearable.

Almost as unbearable as the temptation to go back.

But, that part would come soon enough. You were on screen, again, holding something he recognized.

“I have some exciting news,” you chirped, as you kneeled on the floor, holding a pitch-black dildo, a suction cup attached to the base. Despite its color, Nanami could make out defined veins running down the silicone shaft, a noticeable girth to the base. A perfect mirror of the cock currently pulsing for attention in his lap.

He felt himself grinning, as you went on. “I got my first real fan gift!” You held up the toy to your cheek, like a child showing off their first stuffed animal, before planting it on the floor between your thighs. “It’s so big, too,” you said, showing off its size, where the blunt tip rested well above your navel. “Everyone say thank you, Daddy Kento!”

Your chat was instantly flooded with predictable responses, but Nanami couldn’t look away from you. You were enjoying yourself, clearly. You must’ve thought you were so smart, renting out a P. O. box, going on and on about how grateful you were to your dedicated fans when he reached out to ask if you accepted physical donations, and you were smart. It was only a shame that Nanami loved you enough to look past all of your attempts to keep him away.

As you began to move onto your knees, he allowed himself one more intervention.

n. kento sent 3,000 credits!

n. kento: Take it to the hilt.

It was cruder than he usually cared to be, but as your eyes flickered towards your monitor, your lips quirked into a slight smile. You didn’t respond verbally, but you nodded, and sunk down onto his cock.

Immediately, his hand wasn’t enough, but he tried to make do – matching your agonizingly slow pace, imagining what it would feel like to have you lower yourself down onto his real cock, rather than a cheap imitation. Trails of iridescent slick dripped down the dark silicone, your camera positioned strategically to catch every bounce of your breasts as your breathing hitched, to provide the optimal view of your pussy stretching around the tip, then the head, then the shaft as you lowered yourself slowly. “It—It’s so big,” you repeated, bringing a hand up to your stomach while the other remained on the floor, keeping you stable. “I mean, I knew it would be, but—fuck—” Another inch, Nanami’s fist moving over the same part of his cock. You let out an airy laugh. “Just be thankful I’m so tough.”

“I am,” Nanami muttered, his voice echoing off the bare walls of his office. “You’re perfect.”

“I really wanna cum on this one, too – to, like, christen it, or something. Been keeping myself pent up all day for it.” With a pitchy keen, you brought yourself a few inches higher, then dropped. Your free hand shot away from your stomach and back to the floor as you continued to bounce on the toy’s length, getting just a little deeper each time. “Welcome it to family, y’know? Maybe make it a regular, for you sadists out there.”

Nanami stiffened at the thought of you fucking yourself on a replica of his cock in front of thousands of people twice a week; drooling and panting as you told your viewers how big he was, how good he felt inside of you. With his restraint brought to its limits, he fucked his fist carelessly, his attention fixed on the steady movements of your hips as you rode his toy. Your eyes didn’t flutter closed, this time – they clenched shut, and you couldn’t seem to keep your voice under control, little mewls and half-conscious whines bubbling up from your chest as you struggled to take that much more of him with every thrust. When you did manage to speak, your voice was uneven, whiney, so sweet it made him want to dig his teeth into something and tear. “I’m so close,” and then, as you brought yourself back down, so close to bottoming out, “I wanna cum!”

“You will,” Nanami whispered. He knew you couldn’t hear him, but it was true – you would, and if he’d been able to, he would’ve made you. He would’ve let you fuck yourself on his cock whenever you asked, would’ve woken you up every morning coming undone on his tongue and made sure you fell asleep with his cock buried inside of you. If you were with him, you’d never have to think again, never have to feel anything but pleasure – any time you wanted it, every time you wanted it. He’d make sure—

You didn’t moan as you reached the toy’s base, you screamed. One of your hands moved to the space between your thighs, two fingers rubbing quick circles into your clit as you nursed yourself through your orgasm. Nanami didn’t stand a chance, still chasing his fantasies as he spilled over his hand; searing hot cum pooling on his lap, soaking into the material of his shirt, spilling onto his desk. He didn’t stop moving his hand, though, not until you went limp – bending at the waist, bracing yourself on the floor. Finally, you managed to raise your head, flashing that brilliant smile towards the camera. Of course, Nanami smiled back.

In a daze, he watched you ease yourself off of the toy and wrap up your stream, so familiar from your script that he would’ve been able to recite it with confidence. Even after you signed off, the screen going black, he didn’t move, only letting his head roll to the side with a shallow sigh.

It was pathetic, just how much he loved you. It was painful, being so far from someone who made him feel so irrationally happy.

He could only count the days until he wouldn’t have to limit himself to only watching from a distance any longer.

~

There was a man in your apartment.

A man you didn’t want to be in your apartment, just to be clear. You’d heard the front door open, seen a bulky silhouette moving through your living room, and now, you were listening to him riffle through your bedroom as you hid in the en suite bathroom – crouched in the smallest corner you could find with both hands locked over your mouth, trying to stifle the sound of your own breathing. The door was locked, but that didn’t matter. You didn’t want to find out how much a thin sheet of wood would do to protect you. You didn’t want to give him a reason to acknowledge you at all.

As far as you could tell, there was only one intruder. You could only hear one pair of muffled footsteps, with second-long gaps between every little movement. The air caught in your throat as you heard him edge closer, closer, then pause. There was a dull clack, the sound of metal clashing against plastic, and you relaxed, sighing into your palms. Your filming equipment. It was expensive, but nothing you couldn’t replace. If you were lucky, he’d take what he could carry and leave.

And that was what he seemed to be doing, too – more rustling interrupted every so often by a few moments of heart-wrenching silence. Soon enough, you heard the intruder start to move again, his footsteps edging closer to the bathroom door as he moved to leave your bedroom entirely, and—

“(Y/n)?”

Fuck.

You didn’t say anything, holding your breath and digging your nails into your cheeks, willing yourself not to move, not to think. You didn’t make a sound, you couldn’t have, and yet he kept talking.

“I know you’re in there. Please, come out.”

He couldn’t know. He couldn’t know. You’d kept the lights off, and you hadn’t moved in minutes, and—

He tried the knob, and something cracked deep inside of your chest. There was an airy sigh, then a dull thud, like he was leaning against the door frame. “Please,” he repeated, sounding more exasperated than angry. “I don’t want to scare you.”

“Y-you can take whatever you want,” you stuttered, your voice unsteady, just a touch louder than it really had to be. That was fine. You didn’t have to pretend to be brave, so long as you made it out of this alive and uninjured. “I won’t call the police – I can’t call the police, I left my phone in the kitchen. You can take it, too. I… I don’t have a lot of cash, but my camera, it should be worth—”

“I don’t want your camera, love.” If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve thought he sounded wistful. “Come out, or I’ll break down the door.”

Honestly, it hadn’t occurred to you that he could.

It took a second to pry your hands off of your face, and another to push yourself to your feet – your legs shaking as you struggled to stand. Almost mechanically, you moved towards the door; unlocking it in the same motion as you pulled it open. Light from your bedroom spilled into the entryway, revealing—

God.

He was taller than you’d expected him to be.

Six feet at least, with a build to match. The sleeves of his dress-shirt were rolled up to his elbow, showing off arms so muscular, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d planned to tear your door off its hinges with his bare hands. He had a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, visibly full, but you could still see your equipment standing untouched behind him, and you couldn’t imagine anything else he would’ve wanted to take. His blonde hair was swept back, out of his eyes, and he was holding a butcher’s knife in his right hand, the blade wrapped in leopard-spotted fabric. Surprisingly, though, his weapon wasn’t what concerned you the most.

He was smiling. No, actually, that wasn’t right.

He was beaming.

“(Y/n),” he said, again. You didn’t let yourself wonder why he knew your name. “I—I’m sorry, I should’ve introduced myself earlier. I might’ve gotten a little carried away – I’m sorry if I frightened you.”

“…it’s okay,” you managed, your voice barely audible. “Are you going to kill me?”

His expression dropped. “No. Of course not.” And then, after a brief lapse, “I’d never hurt you. I…” You saw his right hand flex around the grip of his knife, and thought you might black out. “I’m a fan.”

Instantly, you felt the blood freeze in your veins.

Fuck. Fuck.

You knew you should’ve gone into accounting.

“I… You’re a fan?” You tried to smile, but it might’ve come across more pained than relieved. “I’m sorry, I’m not used to meeting people who’ve caught my stream. Should I know what to call you?”

And just like that, his grin was back, any momentary tension assayed. You wished he would’ve put down the knife, too, but beggars can’t be choosers. “Kento,” he said, and for the first time, you noticed the pink hue creeping over his cheeks. “Nanami Kento.”

You grit your teeth as you struggled to place him. After a second, it came to you.

Kento. Right. The dildo guy.

Somehow, knowledge provided little comfort. Still, you soldiered on. “It’s really nice to meet you, Nanami.” You clasped your hands behind your back, rocking gently on your heels. “I—I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting any guests. If you want to step out for a couple minutes, I can change into something more comfortable, and show you how appreciative I am for your—”

“I’m not an idiot.” He cut you off, still grinning. “You’re coming with me.”

You didn’t let your smile waver, either. “And, if I didn’t want to go with you…?”

 “I’m afraid this isn’t about what you want, anymore.”

You meant to say something – opened your mouth and everything – but nothing came out. Your heart tightened in your chest, a not inconsiderable portion of your mind screaming for you to run, run, run. And yet, when he took you by the wrist in a feather-light hold, leading you through your own apartment and out into the hall, it was all you could do to smile and follow after him.

~

The first thirty minutes of the car ride passed in silence. Nanami – because you couldn’t stand to keep thinking of him as ‘that guy who bought you a dildo shaped like his own dick and paid you thousands of dollars to ride it live on stream’ – kept his knife in his lap, his hand falling away from the wheel and onto its hilt whenever you so much as took a deep breath. Eventually, your eyes fell to the clock built into his dashboard, and you broke through your paralysis with a nervous laugh.

“It’s a little funny,” you started, for lack of anything else to do. “I’d actually normally be getting ready for my stream, around now.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him swallow, his jaw tensing. “I know.”

Great. Okay. Whatever. “I don’t mind, y’know,” you managed, before you could let yourself fully consider what you were going to say. “If it means we don’t have to go through with the whole kidnapping thing, I really wouldn’t mind sleeping with you – you can even take pictures, if you’d like that, or record, whichever you’d prefer.”

“That’s not what I—”

“I haven’t tried a lot of hardcore stuff, but I wouldn’t mind if that’s what you’re into. We don’t even have to go back to my apartment, you could just pull over, and—”

“That’s not what I’m interested in.” He didn’t raise his voice, but his tone left no room for protest. “I’m not going to… I’m not going to just fuck you once and leave you by the side of the road. I’m doing this for your sake.”

As if you’d willingly climbed into a maniac’s car. “I… I’m not following, Kento.”

“It’s for your own protection. Once I thought to look, it took me hours to find out everything about you.” He spared you a quick glance, that same uncanny smile. One of his hands left the wheel and, rather than moving to his knife, found your knee, squeezing gently. It took everything you had not to scream. “Imagine what someone could do with that kind of information. They could blackmail you, if they found your full name, or track you down if they pieced together your address. It’d be a miracle if they were only a stalker. It just wasn’t safe to let you keep going on that way.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to him. “They could even break into my apartment and abduct me at knifepoint.”

His gaze narrowed, but his smile only softened. Neither of you spoke for the rest of the journey.

After far too long and not nearly long enough, you reached your destination: a housing complex, leagues nicer (and more expensive) than your own rundown building. Calling them apartments would’ve been a disservice; they were more similar to free-standing condos, or miniature villas slotted just outside of the city’s more metropolitan districts. Without a word, you let him guide you into a relatively generic home, its only notable feature being the absolute lack of evidence of meaningful life within it. You wouldn’t have been surprised if it was a rental, leased exclusively to give him someplace to do… well, whatever he planned to do to you. It’d be more off-putting to know that someone actually lived someplace so vacant.

He led you through the empty halls and up a flight of stairs, keeping you in front of him and in his line of sight at all times. Finally, you reached the door he seemed to be looking for and, with a nod by way of instruction, let yourself inside.

Before you stood, puzzlingly, your own bedroom.

Or – the parts of it you could make out on camera, at least. The bed was the same size, the same model, made with the same sheets and littered with the same pillows, but the floor was covered in a harsh white carpeting, the surrounding walls soundproofed with suffocating black foam. Camera equipment identical to your own had been set-up at the foot of your bed, but an unfamiliar silver laptop replaced your own sticker-covered monstrosity. You didn’t see any chains, whips, or shock collars, which was good. You still didn’t know what the fuck was going on, which was bad.

Confused, you turned to Nanami as he crossed the threshold and rather conservatively, shut and locked the door. “There are clothes on the bed,” he explained, with a tone that made it difficult to tell whether or not he knew how weird this was. “A script, too. Memorize as much as you can.”

So he still expected you to stream. Or, that was what you hoped, at least – considering the only alternative was that he was planning to make an extremely elaborate snuff film. “I’m not used to using scripts.”

“You’ll manage.”

You didn’t bother trying to argue, only moving towards the bed and attempting to forget he was there entirely.

The ‘clothes’ he’d left for you turned out to be lingerie – the nice stuff, too, white and lacey and bridal with a babydoll cut. You glanced over his script (which, disturbingly, didn’t exactly not sound like you) as you got dressed and fixed your hair, doing the best you could without any of your usual supplies. You wouldn’t be able to reapply your make-up, but you’d put some on earlier, and—

You almost laughed at yourself, stifling a chuckle.

You’d been kidnapped, and you were worried about your make-up. If you got out of this alive, you swore, you’d never touch foundation or a ring light or a camera ever again.

He didn’t have to tell you when it was time – you would’ve known by instinct alone. With Namami watching from an armchair pushed against the opposite wall, you clambered onto the bed and took your usual position, kneeling in center frame. He’d never asked for your credentials, and yet, when you glanced towards the laptop positioned just underneath the main camera, you found that your own profile was already pulled up, a miniature timer in the corner of the screen counting down the seconds until you went live.

As it reached thirty seconds ‘till, it occurred to you that you were in a soundproof room alone with the man who’d kidnapped you and was currently holding you hostage, and that no one could’ve possibly known where you were or, more importantly, who you’d been taken by.

As it reached fifteen, you realized you were being held captive and being forced to wear bridal lingerie that your kidnapped must’ve picked out with the occasion in mind.

As it reached five, for the first time that day, you thought you might actually start to cry.

And, as it reached zero, you put on your biggest, brightest smile and hoped beyond hope that you’d stop thinking entirely, eventually.

“Welcome home!” Skipping over your normal grace period only felt right. You didn’t think you’d be able to survive sitting in silent, motionless suspension for another second, let alone a full minute. “Sorry if I seem a little nervous tonight – to tell the truth, I kind of am. I’ve got a major announcement, and I just can’t put it off any longer.”

Reflexively, your attention drifted first to your own feed – you looked perfect, as always – then to your chat, moving quickly despite your sudden start. You caught a few of the longer messages in your peripheral.

secretary.lover: Is it just me, or does she seem kind scared lmao?

blueeyeswhitedragon: yeahhh i thought her room looked kinda weird too lol

justheretowatch: fuck ur pretty

rapidfire: let me guess, another fake dick?

“I know I probably should’ve given you guys more of a warning,” you went on, fighting the temptation to break, to yell for them to call the police, to give up entirely and make a run for it. “But…”  

You forced yourself to laugh, to beam, to clap your hands together in front of your chest like a schoolgirl – excited to tell her friends that she’d gone through with her first ever confession. “I’m getting married!”

You didn’t have a ring to show off, but you tried your best to preen regardless, to not let any amount of fear or discomfort or hesitation show on your shining expression. After a show delay, congratulations and well-wishes filled your chat (some genuine, others more reluctant), and you did your best to go on without letting the sizable knot slowly gaining mass in the back of your throat smother your voice entirely. “This is going to be my last stream – for a while, at least, until we get settled in. And…”

You tried to remember what’d been listed next in Nanami’s script, but your conscious mind was bogged down by a thick layer of buzzing static, your sense of improvisation dulled by a heavy dose of anxiety. Your eyes flickered to where Nanami was sitting behind your equipment, only to find that the chair he’d formerly occupied empty. You didn’t have time to panic before the edge of the mattress dipped under a new weight, and you remembered what you were supposed to say. “My husband actually wanted to cameo on my send-off show. I was a little hesitant—” Another dip in the mattress, this one much closer than the last. “—but he insisted. I thought you all deserved a chance to meet him, too.”

As soon as you finished, you felt a large hand on your shoulder, a sudden presence at your back. Your gaze fell back to your feed, your own image now accompanied by that of your captor – on his knees behind you, one hand on your shoulder and the other on your hip, the framing positioned so that his head was cut off just above the mouth. The lower half of his face was covered with a black surgical mask, and you had to stop yourself from frowning. You hadn’t expected him to be stupid enough to show his face on camera, but still.

Your heart dropped into your stomach as you felt his hand fall away from your shoulder, slipping underneath the lace camisole of your babydoll. You tried not to move, not to flinch, but you couldn’t stop yourself from jerking forward as you felt his hand slip under your bralette, the angular ridges of his knuckles visible through the thin silk. Despite everything he’d said about not hurting you, about doing this for your protection, he made no attempt to be gentle – the calloused pads of his fingers pressing into the curve of your breast with enough force to bruise. You bit back a whimper, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sincere reaction. If you wanted to go home, you had to put up with this. He’d never said anything about pretending to enjoy it.

(In the back of your mind, you knew he hadn’t said anything about letting you go home, either. Still, you didn’t let yourself dwell on such discontinuities).

 You should’ve known better than to think he’d attempt to follow the normal flow of your stream, and yet, it still caught you off-guard when his unoccupied hand found its way to the waistband of your panties, then to your clothed sex. You weren’t overly sensitive, despite how you might’ve acted in front of your viewers, but you were still on edge, still panicked, and while the adrenaline being held at knifepoint might’ve sparked was beginning to fade, having your kidnapper grope you on camera was enough to bring on a fresh wave. Reflexively, you pressed your back into his broad chest as his thumb traced over the length of your slit, pausing only momentarily to press into your clit with a dull, oppressive sort of pressure, biting down on your bottom lips to stop anything vulnerable and pathetic from escaping. If Nanami was affected by your stoicism, it wasn’t enough to stop him from pulling the flimsy material to the side entirely and slipping two fingers into you, your now-slick cunt providing humiliatingly easy access. In the same motion, the heel of his palm pressed into your clit, the friction immediately too harsh, too much. It would’ve been too much if he wasn’t touching you at all. It would’ve been too much if he was still sitting alone in his dark, empty house – getting off to the idea of degrading someone he claimed to care about so publicly.

It didn’t help that you were wet. Not dripping, sure, but wet enough for there to be an audible, slick clicking-type noise as he pumped his digits into you, never taking the pressure off of your clit. You could feel his cock pressed into your ass, already hard, already too familiar not to be nauseating, but he didn’t seem to be in a rush to move past your exhibition; his pace measured and experimental, his fingers prone to spreading apart and curling inside of you. To distract yourself, you moved your attention back to your chat, trying to pick out the longer messages between donation notifications.

user84343: girl i call dibs when you’re done with him

hotbox420: no seriously y/n are you okay???

bunnygirl69: still can’t believe you’re leaving us for him </3 can’t say i don’t see why tho ToT

absolutely.soaked: Blink twice if you’re in danger lmaoooo

“G-guys, I’m totally—” Your breath hitched as he forced another finger into you, the stretch now a touch past ignorable. His other hand kneaded at your chest, blunt nails scraping against tender flesh, and momentarily, you wondered if it really would’ve been so bad to take your chances and let him kill you right away. “I’m totally fine, I’m just—” His nails bit into your skin by way of warning, and you allowed yourself a single, stilted moan. “I’m just so happy that I finally get to—to—”

You didn’t know what you were supposed to say, but it didn’t matter. Nanami’s hand dropped from your chest to your side, his arm locking over your midriff and hauling you that much closer. You couldn’t stop yourself this time – whimpering as the tempo of his fingers sped up, as tears started to prick at the corners of your eyes. You glanced around the bedroom, searching for anything familiar, anything you could use to stabilize yourself, anything that you could start to find comforting. Instead, your eyes landed on the duffle bag he’d carried out of your apartment, the zipper now partially undone. You couldn’t see much, but you could make out the handle of a pink hitachi. It wasn’t difficult to guess what the rest of the bag’s contents looked like, what he’d spent so long riffling through your possessions to find.

It wouldn’t been pointless to try and hold back the crooked, ebbing sob that leaked past your lips. This time, when you turned to face your camera, it was with tears just beginning to spill and absolute terror written across your expression. “Call the police,” you managed to spit out, making no attempt to be subtle. “I—I don’t actually know this man, and this isn’t my apartment, and—“

It happened too quickly – like he’d been expecting you to do something so obviously short-sighted. You processed that he was pulling out of your cunt as you felt his fingers entangle themselves in your hair, and then your face was being shoved against the mattress, your body folding over itself as he forced you down. You tried to yell, tried to scream, but your voice was muffled by your own fucking comforter as you heard fabric shifting behind you, as you felt something warm and stiff and leaking align with your entrance. You refused to put a name to it, but that didn’t help. Nothing would’ve helped.

His palm pressed into the back of your head, his body slotting against yours as he leaned down, lowering his head so that he could speak directly into your ear. “I’m doing this for your own good,” he whispered, his voice muffled but still painfully audible. “I’m doing this because I love you.”

You didn’t have a chance to response. He was already inside of you – his cock filling you to your breaking point.

You weren’t sure if your viewers could hear you, but you hoped they could. It would’ve been a pity to sob so loudly for the sole entertainment of the sick, sick man currently rutting into you, grinding into your cunt from behind with a kind of animalistic desperation – all desire and no control. It was a struggle to stay on your knees, not to go entirely limp underneath him, but you doubted it would’ve made a difference if you hadn’t, that he wouldn’t have fucked your limp body just as enthusiastically. Out of the corner of your eyes, you could just barely see the monitor – the miniature image of Nanami’s body moving on top of yours, his blond hair still obscuring the other half of his face, and then next to it, your chat. If you’d been thinking more clearly, you wouldn’t have let yourself look, wouldn’t have let yourself fully acknowledge that there were still thousands of people watching you, but you weren’t thinking at all, and you would’ve given anything for someone to say something that made you forget where you were, just for a second.

sniper727: so the bitch likes it rough? hot

callmeanonymous: FINALLY!!! I’ve been waiting for some cnc rp for actual years.

blueeyeswhitedragon: hey i think i might work with that guy

hotbox420: yeah no i’m calling the cops.

Predictably, your efforts were grotesquely unsuccessful.

Nanami didn’t seem as bothered. The weight on the back of your head disappeared as his hands found your hips, pulling up as he straightened his back. For anyone else, it might’ve been an awkward position – holding up your uncooperative form while bouncing you on his cock  – but no amount of unpleasant technicalities could’ve stopped him from burying himself to hilt with every stroke, keeping you in a constant state of mind-numbing fullness. You tried to talk, again, to call for help, but fractured mewls and pathetic whines drowned out whatever you might’ve said, and even those were put to an end as Nanami took you by the jaw, turning you to face him as his lips crashed into your – his mask either pulled down or discarded entirely, you couldn’t be bothered to check. The kiss itself was messy, rough, brutal, his tongue raking over yours as you sobbed unabashedly into his mouth – your connection only growing more chaotic as his hand once again found your clit and ground two fingers into the sensitive bundle of nerves. You knew what he wanted. You knew what he was trying to do.

And you couldn’t do anything to stop him.

With a ragged sob, you came undone around his cock, any strength you might’ve once had flooding out of your body and dripping down his shaft. Nanami groaned into your mouth, drawing back just far enough to bury his face in your neck and mouth meaningless nothings into your throat as he chased his own climax. He thrusted into you again once, twice, and then you felt pure heat pour into you – a new kind of torture that rendered you entirely senseless. You didn’t try to scream, again.

You were distantly aware of him moving, shifting, pulling something out of his pocket as he muttered a mix of ‘you did so well’s and ‘I love you’s into your skin. When you did finally manage to raise your head, you didn’t think to look toward the remote in his hand or your tattered lingerie or the cum slowly leaking out of your entrance. Rather, your attention landed on the same thing it always did during your streams – your monitor.

You’d never know why, but for whatever reason, you could feel your heart break in your chest as you realized that the screen had already gone black.