Title: Going Live.
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.
More Posts from Xkoutarou and Others
ྀི︶˚̣̣̣ ⠀manipulative!caleb headcanons ⠀˚̣̣̣︶ ྀི
synopsis: where your big brother shapes your brain as he pleases, because he knows what’s best for you and you always listen like good girls do ( > 〰 < )
tw: stepcest, manipulation, possessive, caleb is aggressive not towards reader, spit kink, mentions of smut, size kink, reader is stupid really, mentions of killing, usage of gege, kidnapping mentions, etc.
manipulative!caleb who made sure to take you to class and pick you up. every. single. day.
manipulative!caleb who woke up an hour before you had to, cooking you breakfast and putting together the outfit he wanted you to wear that day.
manipulative!caleb who kneels next to your bed, caressing your sleeping face so delicately as if you’d brake, staring at you for way too long.
manipulative!caleb who woke you up with wet kisses pressing against the soft of your skin, moving them to your lips when you started to stir awake ( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ
manipulative!caleb who has one of his big palms pressed against your belly (the same way he did when he slowly thrusted into you to feel the bulge in your stomach) and the other one caressing your messy hair, whispering a ‘good morning, doll’.
manipulative!caleb who helps you dress up, taking off your comfy pj’s so he could change your underwear into a fresh pair, keeping the old ones in his pocket.
“stand up for me, doll.” he said in a low tone, watching you from above as you did, noticing how you yawned and rubbed your eyes while being almost completely naked in front of him; nothing new to you two anyway.
“very good girl, now lift your legs.” he commanded again, kneeling so his eyes were directly leveled to your hips, kissing your belly and gaining a happy laugh from you, smiling at the sound.
his long fingers pulled your panties down, rubbing the soft plush of your thighs along the way before dressing you with a new pair, keeping the slightly wet ones inside his pocket, you’ve never really questioned that. he has to have his reasons, right? you know everything he does is for your own good (˶ •́◡•̀ ˶)
manipulative!caleb who’s completely devoted to you, worships you as if you were a mere goddess.
manipulative!caleb who sits you up on the kitchen counter and feeds you himself after brushing your hair and helping you do your make up, stealing kisses from you when your parents weren’t looking.
manipulative!caleb who gets on his knees once again to shoe your feet, kissing them too before doing so.
manipulative!caleb who drops you in front of your uni’s entrance, a wide smile plastered on his lips when he sees you waving at him effusively.
manipulative!caleb who doesn’t move the car an inch before seeing you disappear through the tall doors.
manipulative!caleb who enjoys scaring your friends away, mostly males. but females too. it’s a way to steam off the stress.
“you’re very quiet now, hmm? aren’t you going to whisper in my ear like you did with my sister?” he mocked, watching the man curl in pain against the alleyway dirty floor.
“what? can’t take a little punching?” caleb questioned, squatting next to him now, laughing genuinely when the young man spat blood out of his mouth.
“well, alright, let’s leave this here for now. it’s the second time i have to warn you.” he stood up, cracking his broken knuckles. “i’ll kill you if there’s a third.” he simply said, as if the words he mouthed weren’t serious.
“you wouldn’t be the first one anyway!” he spoke loudly as he walked with calm steps outside the alleyway.
manipulative!caleb who kinda manipulates your parents, too. he doesn’t want anyone suspecting anything.
manipulative!caleb who, to your parents eyes, is a very protective big brother who takes care of you since you were kids, nothing more than that.
manipulative!caleb who’s favorite time of the day is when he has to put you to sleep.
manipulative!caleb who, after showering you, feeding you dinner and tucking with you in bed, gets a little horny.
manipulative!caleb who likes to sit you on his lap in the darkness of your room, loudly kissing your lips and toying with the fat of your ass.
“hmmph, gege!” you yelped when you felt his big hands coming down you butt, holding onto his naked chest as you pouted.
“sorry, pips, I can’t help it.” he lied, he wasn’t sorry at all. “you know i get excited when we play like this, hmm?” caleb whispered against your lips, going for another kiss.
manipulative!caleb who likes to spit in your mouth when he makes you ride him, coaxing you to spit in his by telling you he feels thirsty and that’s the only way you could help him ૮꒰ྀི⊃⸝ ⸝ ⸝⊂꒱ྀིა
manipulative!caleb who likes it nasty, wet and messy, and gets his way by begging you over and over.
manipulative!caleb who whispers weak ‘i love you’s when he cums inside your creamy pussy; always.
manipulative!caleb who has to sleep in his room so your parents don’t question him, jerking off with your panties wrapped around his cock again and again because you’re the only thing he can think about.
manipulative!caleb who’s life orbits around you, everything is about you, you, you.
manipulative!caleb who made up his mind and convinced himself that, when you two move out, will lock you in a room and never let you go.
you don’t need anyone but your gege ໒꒰ྀི ܸ. .ܸ ꒱ྀི১
a/n: in my mind this and the other two caleb writings i have happen in the same universe, so we’ve got possessive and manipulative big brother caleb ૮꒰⸝⸝> <⸝⸝꒱ა
— masterlist.
“it’s not that bad, baby, can’t we just try again?”
virgin!satoru looks up at you from where his chin rests on your stomach, though you aren’t sure you can call him a virgin anymore. he holds your thighs apart, your sore pussy on sweet display for him. he presses a gentle kiss to your clit, which pulls a moan from you, but you stand strong.
“no way,” you shake your head. “absolutely fucking not. you’re… way too big.”
satoru grins, “thank you!”
“i’m not complimenting you, asshole,” you try and shift away from him, but gojo has your hips pressed into the mattress. “it hurts, toru. it’s too much.”
another kiss to your clit. “but she’s so needy for me,” he whines. “cant you see? so fucking wet… she can take me.”
“i can’t. it won’t fit.”
you didn’t think his pretty baby-blues could darken, but they do. satoru, your sweetheart, nips at your clit—only barely, but enough to make you gasp.
“you will,” he says, voice low. “i’ll make it fit.”
you can’t deny it, his tone only makes you even needier. you write under his grip, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips—he’s appraising you, studying his prey before bouncing. and he’s the virgin.
“oh, and after i fuck you, can we go get sushi?”
you blink at him. “what?”
“you know,” he scoots himself up and taps the head of his aching cock against your clit a few times. “to celebrate making it fit.”
𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄!
✧.* Cunnilingus, Consensual Somnophilia, Vulgar language, Orgasm, Overstimulation, Vaginal Penetration, Literal Recorded Porn, Mentions of male masturbation,
༊*·˚How Suna, Atsumu, and Oikawa would record you two fucking.
˗ˏˋFeaturing ´ˎ˗ Suna Rintaro, Atsumu Miya, and Oikawa Tooru
Suna Rintaro...
༉‧₊˚. His videos are clean, erotic but well thought out- think classic twitter porn. He plans to make a movie with you, ensuring everything is set up before he dives in.
Suna carefully sets his phone up, leaning it against the lamp on your bedside table. He gently slips the sheets and blankets off your naked body before pressing record. Then, careful not to wake you, he parts your thick thighs. He slides onto his stomach, resting your legs on top of his broad shoulders. His movements are slow and methodical, his eyes watching your face for any signs of a reaction. Then, gingerly, he licks a long stripe up your exposed cunt. He groans to himself, the taste of you bursting on his tongue. He can't help but dive in all at once, a sudden burst of desperation hitting him like a semi-truck. His grip on your thighs tightens, then he's lapping at your cunt feverishly. He's so focused, so lost in the taste of you that he doesn't even realize you've woken up until your manicured hands are buried in his hair, tugging on the thick locks of his hair. He groans again, his lust clouded eyes meeting your own while his warm tongue is circling your sensitive clit. You throw your head back, tears clouding your vision when two of his long fingers are suddenly pounding into your gummy cunt. Your orgasm is fast-approaching, pleasure sweeping your entire body. Your back arches off the mattress, eyes rolling back, your mouth hung open in a silent moan as you come undone. A familiar feeling of euphoria knocks you senseless as you twitch in his hold, his soft lips pressing kisses to your thighs in an attempt to ground you.
Atsumu Miya...
༉‧₊˚. His videos are a stark contrast to Suna's. His are a heat-of-the-moment ordeal. He decides halfway through fucking you that he needs to remember this night specifically, so he's got to record it. It's messy, and hot, and so erotic.
You feel like you're out of your own body, exhaustion and pleasure leaving your mind completely blank. Atsumu has your legs swung over his hips, his thick cock pounding into your weeping cunny so passionately it has you seeing stars. Your pretty nails dig into the muscles of his back, clinging to him so desperately. Shiny tears slip down your cheeks, pretty moans of ecstasy spilling from between your swollen lips. " Lookin' so damn pretty Baby-fuck! Hold on Doll." He grunts, his grip slipping from your hips as he reaches for his phone; opening up his camera, he presses the red 'record' button before panning the phone over to you. He holds your hip with one hand, the other holding his phone up to record you in all your glory. "Fuckkk Baby.. You're so fucking sexy Doll." He starts thrusting into you again, focusing the camera on where his fat cock is pounding into your creamy pussy. He groans, sliding the view up to your fucked out face, mascara running down your plump cheeks, mouth hung open in a moan. He's totally gonna jack to this later, when he's away at a game.
Oikawa Tooru...
༉‧₊˚. He likes to video you on special occasions. For example, when you dress up in lacey lingerie for his birthday. Thinks you look so pretty like this, and it makes him feel like he's on top of the world.
Oikawa has his phone propped up against your abandoned wine glass on the bed side table, angled to face the two of you. His phone records as you bounce on his lap, loud squelching sounds and the smell of sex permeating the bedroom. His hands rest on your hips helping you lift yourself on and off his thick cock. The white lingerie you had picked out for this occasion decorated your perfect body, he insisted he fuck you in it. Your head was thrown back in pleasure, your right hand buried in his fluffy locks of hair, the other thrown lazily over his shoulder. His head was buried in your neck, his plump lips leaving hickies all over your neck, collarbones, and chest. He groaned between his love bites, obsessed with every part of you. "You're so pretty f'me Baby. Love you so damn much Baby Girl." Your mind is fuzzy the romantic sex leaving you dizzy and gasping for air. The thought of this all being recorded for his solo rendezvous made you inexplicably turned on. You hope he likes it. <3
𝙽𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝚂𝙷𝙰𝙳𝙴
most girls your age spend their summers hanging out with friends and enjoying the sun. you have a little bit of a different summer experience when you end up needing uncle issei's help. my one of two for the deal with the devil collab,, rhi ily, thank you so much for making this collab because i loved writing it
.wordc. 5.5k+ tw incest, uncle issei, age gap, panty sniffling, a lot of spit, size kink, teeny bit of anal, oral (receiving), organized crime, blood, death mentions
“Not too scary for you, is it?” the tall man in front chuckles, low voice bouncing around the cold, dim room with too much mirth to put you entirely at ease.
Really, it is too scary for you. This place is eerie, making your blood drum through your veins hard and fast with each step. You’re not sure how long you have to work here for the thought of dead bodies not to scare you, but the truth is that this wasn’t your first choice. Or your second, for that matter. Still, you put on a smile as he looks over his shoulder, dark eyes meeting yours with a sort of curiosity that you can sniff out from a mile away.
“I’ll handle,” you just breathe back, speeding up your steps a little to stay right in toe with him as you leave the dungy cellar and walk up the stairs, cringing a little at the sound of his shoes scraping the metal surface. “I’m just not too used to the idea of having so much,” you pause, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth and swallowing, “death— around me.”
Your new boss hums, softly, deep, reaching out a hand to help you up the last step and back into the -now- much more comfortable feeling parlor that you’d been shaking in half an hour prior. Honestly, you could do worse for a boss. You’ve heard of some of the things that girls do to pay off family debts and this— this hardly seems like anything compared to that. This, you can handle. However begrudgingly. You slowly pick some dust from your sweater when he turns to you, avoiding that deep, calculating look just slightly.
You can tell that it’s ringing through his mind, knowing what brought you begging him, and how much of it makes you a good or a bad person. Everyone does when they find out that you’re this short on money, your mom is this far in debt. You’re just wondering what exactly it is that he sees when staring so intently at every twitch of your lips, every brush of your fingers. He finally drops his eyes from you when the ghost of a smile tugs at his mouth corners, picking up a pen and clicking it against the desk a few times as he moves to stand behind it.
“So, you’ve seen the place,” he catches your eye again, before running his long, pretty fingers through his curls. “What do you say? You still want to work here?” A small part of you hesitates. You know what this will entail. You know that when Kyoutani grunted under his breath that you could ask your uncle for a place to ‘work’, well meaning, it wouldn’t be one of the most savory of jobs. That there’d be a certain secrecy you’d be expected to keep. The thought of seeing it still scares you, makes rows of goosebumps break out on your arms, hidden under your flimsy sweater.
But you nod anyway, because this is all you got. And this is about as good as you’ll find the jobs, when it’s your situation. Matsukawa’s thick brow lifts just slightly, before the casual expression slips back on and he just shrugs, signing something onto the stack of papers in front of him. “‘Kay, sign here then. I need your name and your signature here and here.” And though your hand shakes a little writing down your name, the heavy hand on your shoulder is a welcome comfort.
“I won’t- see any- d-,” you clamp your mouth shut again, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks when he takes a breath, cutting in.
“Dead people?”
“You know what I mean,” you huff, looking from your wobbly handwriting on the page back to him, his hand squeezing some of the nerves out of you despite everything. Your mom’s brother is charming, he’s easy to talk to and despite his very, very intimidating appearance, there’s a joy to his expression, making him seem genuine enough. You lean into him a little more as you lower your voice. “You do the same thing Kentaro does, right? I won’t have to… shoot anybody?”
A moment of silence passes, before he laughs- really laughs, his shoulders shaking and face splitting into a blinding grin that takes you aback a little, as he continues entirely too long. You even find yourself smiling along, even though it’s mostly out of surprise at his reaction. When he quiets though, he straightens up and towers back over you to place a hand on your head, shaking his head a few times. “I don’t think you could even if you wanted to, little girl.” It’s paired with a slight narrowing of his eyes when you brush his hand off, but he smiles.
“No shooting, no stabbing, no torturing. You have my word. All I ask is that you don’t go downstairs without me. Piece of cake, hm?”
You hum back, and he smiles.
You’d never seen a lot of your mom’s younger brother, having long been shunned out of the family by the time you were old enough to understand that was something that families could do. Banish the apples falling too far from the tree, the inedible bunch. Your mom didn’t talk about him, and your dad never had anything good to say when he did. Most you’d gotten was a flash of his tall, muscular posture on a rainy day in May, his obsidian gaze meeting yours for a split second from the other side of the casket when your mom’s dad— his dad, was about to be put into the ground.
You watched your nieces and nephews, aunts, elders avoid him like the plague, whispering behind clasped palms. About his shady business, his men, a danger. When he’d come up to your parents after the ceremony, ignoring your mother’s displeased glares in favor of being civil, he leaned down to reach a tattooed hand your way with a sad smile and you shook it. “If you ever need anything,” he had mumbled, setting your mom off into a hateful whirlwind of insults, yanking your smaller hand back into hers. Matsukawa vashined from your parents’ conversation entirely after that, right up until they split and the letters kept coming, final notices, extended payments.
But you never forgot, and eventually— who else could you have gone to, if not him?
Turns out that Matsukawa’s word counts enough, to a certain degree. The pay is good, and though receiving a grieving bunch of people every few days isn’t easy, the days without much activity at all. Only sometimes he comes home with a darkness in his expression, mumbling for you to hand him a drink when he walks in, or sometimes grabbing your cheeks and pressing a drink into your hands with a grin, two opposite ends of the spectrum.
You don’t know if it is Mattsun honouring his promise or not, but it only happens twice the first month, where you have to rush to pull the curtains down as a bunch of men carry in an unmoving body from a car. They douse the floors with deep red blood, smelling of metal, sharp and pungent. It’d stain the floors if they weren’t already an ominous reddish brown, leaving you mopping up the evidence with your lip tucked hard between your teeth. Even when he comes back from the cellar and tells you to call him ‘uncle Issei’, he’s gentle with you, and you’re grateful for that too.
“Thanks, kiddo,” he only mumbles as he pats your head with that heavy, large hand that you shook once on a rainy day, and you give a tense smile in return. It doesn’t stay that easy though, and with each time more and more heavily tattooed men pass through the parlor and cast questioning glances your way, you get more and more uneasy about it. Uncle Issei clearly does as well, if the tight line his mouth pulls is anything to go by. The whispers sometimes go into full on talking about you right in front of your face— in front of the boss’ face, and it’s only a split second before that ugly, demanding flash glides over his features when that happens.
You’re just glad he doesn’t take it personally. Each time he comes back, blood splattered on his shirt and sitting stained under his nails, you can’t help but wonder if he ever will. If he’ll ever just turn around and set his eyes on you, hate you the way your mom hated him. If you’ll end up like blood under those nails some day as well. You hope not.
Days turn into months, cleaning up till late after hours, sitting in his office- next to him on the chair with his hand rubbing small circles into your back while he reads over paperwork you filled in. You paint his nails black, hands shaking slightly under his gaze in the small, cramped space of his crappy apartment bathroom. You let him drive you around the city after particularly long days, squeezing your hand in his, eventually daring to link pinkies on the drive back. Anything to pretend like he isn’t your executor as well, with his noose wrapped too tight around your neck.
The cold air breathing up from the cellar through the staircase floats your way, pulling goosebumps from your legs and arms, the echo of nothing. You got used to the soft bangs of the boiler that used to spook you, got used to the dark, damp feeling of the hallway there— of feeling trapped like a bird in a cage with no means of escape. But sometimes the feeling of that cold travelling up your spine without your consent still frightens you a bit, and you ache for the second uncle Issei peeks his head back from under those gates of Hell to soothe you, tell you you can lock up soon.
It hasn’t happened yet, the sun is starting to set. You trust him. You do, so when a nagging sense of curiosity grows heavy, doubt prickles at the back of your mind. You turn to stare at the hallway. You don’t go there. You never go there, not even now— because Issei is the one with his hands wrapped around people’s neck, you’re innocent, oblivious, naive. That’s the deal you made. But with each passing minute on that ticking clock and no sign of life from him, your heart grows heavier— your mind more curious.
Once the sun passes by the horizon and leaves only the faintest shimmer of orangey-red on the walls behind you, dusted over your fingertips and cheeks, you swallow. Thick and heavy, it sits at the back of your mouth as you turn to the hallway, now with trembling hands. “Uncle Issei?” you softly call down, not nearly loud enough to reach the back rooms. Your voice gets stuck in your throat when you stand peering down into the darkness. He probably won’t be happy to have you there, but you’ve never asked for much, right? Just a quick check can’t hurt.
You begin the descent slowly and very unsurely, your responsibilities banging in the back of your skull as you tiptoe down. If someone where to find the parlor abandoned right now, you’d get in trouble. But you don’t think as you still scoot forward more, letting your eyes adjust to the lack of light. Even with the small spots that illuminate the stone staircase, there’s so much darkness that it seems to swallow up any brightness left. You call out for him again, still not receiving an answer.
It’s eerily silent again. You’re freaking yourself out. You know you are— looking at your trembling hands, feeling the hairs standing up on all your limbs, but you really can’t help it. You tap a few buttons on your phone again, but the call goes straight to voicemail. The metal squares hiding some gruesome truths are still all closed, and the chill you feel is the freezers running on full power. Everything is fine. You make it to the back rooms only just, skittish as you yank open the door to them and hide away into it, letting yourself take a few deep breaths.
“Mattsun?” you try one last time, now louder.
Nothing. A pristine room, two empty seats and a few bottles of amber alcohol on a coffee table. No uncle Issei, no screaming, no sign of life. But across the way there’s another door, heavy and metal that you huff at when it doesn’t budge. Deciding none of this is worth the effort, you wipe your hands on your skirt and turn on your heel right when a large figure appears from behind the door.
You jump so hard you slump into the wall with a choked scream, only to drop your shoulders as tears well up in your eyes. The familiar face doing little to keep your heart from slamming against its' bone cage. “I was looking for you,” you choke out, gripping your own fingers with your other hand, swallowing. Uncle Issei is — covered in blood. Head to toe, with blood running down from under his hair over his brow and eye, his shirt and pants drenched in thick, dark blood; his hands, dripping.
You’ve always had a bit of an obsession with his hands, ever since that first time. Strong and big, wrapping around yours with roughened, thick skin and keeping you close. Tattoos crawling down from his sleeves to his knuckles, covering each stretch of him in swirls or red, black and blue. Hands that wiped your tears on nights where you felt lowest, and ones that you spent too long studying when they were pressed up against your shoulders to steady you. But you’ve never seen them like this, so much blood that it drips down onto the floor, droplets looking more light claws than anything else. Rings glittering red.
Your first instinct is to worry for him, but the second is to worry for you. “Who’s watching upstairs?” he asks with a low hum, rubbing his face into the crook of his elbow. He only lifts a single eyebrow towards you when there’s no answer, shifting on your feet. You bite your lip in shame, sucking it into your mouth, before finally shrugging.
“I w- I thought that y- just wanted to know why you hadn’t come up yet.” He keeps your gaze a few seconds longer, then walks towards you and further, looking out into the rest of the cellar with a tense sigh. “I wasn’t trying to snoop, uncle Issei,” you mumble again, feeling like a scolded child. But he clicks his tongue and leans down to press a kiss at the edge of your hair, affectionately, before he stands up and motions towards the other end.
“Come with me.”
There’s a soft press to the space between your shoulders as he walks behind you, leading you into the next room with a deep breath. There’s no warning offered for what you walk into, but you don’t think there is any that would suffice anyway. You clamp your eyes shut, stopping right in place and staying pressed back to his chest, lip shaking, your heart beating like it’s trying to remember the feeling of life.
“Is this what you wanted to see?” he asks, you feel the swell of his breathing against you and the warmth of his body, but you shake your head. “No?” You shake your head harder, trying to banish the view from your memories. Blood, so much, on the table, the chair, dripped down the sink. And a heap in the chair that must be a person, but you don’t dare open your eyes again to confirm. “You didn’t let the curiosity get the best of you, brat?”
“No, no, I wanna leave,” you beg, reaching behind you to cling to his pant leg, balling up your hand so hard it aches. The fabric is still tacky, it leaves your mouth dry and your touch feeling gross. “Uncle Issei, please, I wanna leave,” your voice is high pitched and squeaky by now, betraying the full range of your distress. You almost collapse from relief as his hands wipe on his own clothing before grabbing your shoulders and leading you back the way you came, following his path until the grip loosens and he lets out a deep breath, one that betrays his frustration.
“We’re cleaning up.” He watches you as your eyes crack open again, narrowed and teary, but his own expression is just as hard. “I’m not asking, come on.” He opens the door into the small bathroom tucked all the way into the far of the room and already starts unbuttoning his shirt to place it onto the sink, paying you little mind as you follow him into the room.
The water drums hard on the surface of his skin as you wait with damp hair until he’s finished, about ready to be done and shimmy into the oversized shirt of his he’d offered under his breath. There was nothing coy about the way he pulled you into the same shower, you with your eyes kept strictly on the ceiling as you scrub the shower gel over your arms and legs and down your belly, hoping he’ll do the same.
Every time you accidentally brush against his skin you shiver, not knowing how to break the silence. You're family, and this should be fine, shouldn't be making your cheeks hot and breathing taste sweeter. It does though. Once he’s clean too, you can feel the darkness of his eyes boring into the planes of your face, brushing some hair back ever so gently.
You wonder if he’ll bring up what he sees on your face- because you're sure he does. You kind of hope he has the good will to leave you pretending. After getting dried off and back into your skirt with a clean shirt of his over top he swallows, and clears his voice. “You’ve known since the start about what you'd see in there, don’t act so shocked.”
“‘M not acting anything,” you instantly whisper back, taking place against the wall of the impeccable office, hoping you’ll sink into the wall and never be seen again. There’s a difference between knowing something bad is happening behind your back, and actually facing it. A minuscule change maybe, but enough to have your lip shake as you suckle it. “I don’t think I can do this anymore, that’s all. I don’t want to.”
A tick in his brow is all that shows his agitation, but you still feel bad. Maybe for the distance you suddenly feel between the two of you, so close yet miles and miles of distance. You never had to wonder what made Mattsun a bad person, blocked it out in your mind like it was barely an issue. “Why?” he asks, slow and deep and raising goosebumps all over your skin when his large, imposing form gets closer and closer.
You stare at him, blinking away something deep inside. There’s no way the thing you’re feeling is heartbreak, so then why do you feel so damn heavy? “I didn’t know this is- I didn’t want to see it, Issei. I could have gone my whole life not thinking about it, and I don’t wanna end up like that too.”
With just two steps he’s before you, looking down as you flinch when he raises a hand, his lips pulling into a tight line. He hovers for a second, then slowly— so slow you swear the wait almost feels unending, his fingertips brush along your cheek, face nearing. “You really think I’d ever hurt you? Me hurting you?” It’s in the way he breathes, eyebrows stitching together into a sort of confusion that you’ve never seen on him. For once, he looks lost, and you can’t help but feel like crying when he presses even closer. “I would never think about hurting you.”
“Have you just been thinking this the whole time? About when I’d lay my hands on you and squeeze,” he grunts, narrowing on your expression as you instinctively follow his hands to your throat to cling to them. Your palms are clammy as you watch him take you in, your mouth slightly cracked and glistening, still swollen and puffy from biting your lips so much. He’s so much bigger than you, biceps bulging as he keeps you trapped in place, lungs emptying into the feeble space between you two. “Is that what you think of me? Just when I was starting to think someone actually cared, accepted me.”
The way his body is pressed to yours is overwhelming, face so close you can feel the breath of him along your cheeks, the warmth of his hands as he trails a hand down your spine. It’s intoxicating, more than anything, even though it doesn’t escape you how distinctly wrong your thoughts are. Because no, you don’t, you should and you don’t and it’s messing up your mind as you try to blink through your thoughts. “And if I did, what then?” he mumbles under his breath, pressing you further up against the cold wall. “Who would help you if I wanted to? Your mom? You think Kyoutani will go against me? Who helped you more than I did?”
Your hands shake against his chest as you keep them there, looking up at him like a god in the flesh. Because that’s really what it feels like right about now, the deep darkness of his blown out pupils, the electric touch of his hands along you, like the heavy metal rings make the soft surface magnetic. “No one, uncle Issei. I wouldn’t ask anyone else.” You keep his eyes as he hums, then seems to cage you to him between his thick thighs, the smell of his cologne and just his manly scent filling you up and spitting you out disgarted. “Only you, I promised. I- I trust you.”
His lips pull into a tighter line, before he smiles tightly, looking aside. “Such a sweet thing you are, hm? Always have been too loyal for your own good.” The praise makes you feel floaty, cheeks warming as you search for words, struggling to answer anything of use. “Almost makes me believe you feel the same, kiddo. Don’t do that to me.” He breathes out a tense laugh as he makes you meet his eyes, probably at the wide, teary-eyed way you don’t dare look anywhere else. You feel like you’re drowning.
Your mom once said that you’d be wise not to trust men like him, for your own good, that you weren’t old enough yet to really understand what people’s promises held. Maybe now for the first time, you get what she means. Because looking at him licking his lips so close to you, with his hand wrapped around your throat and your breathing constricted by the proximity of his own face; you wonder what exactly he promised you. And how much you’d do to give into him anyway.
“You’d forgive me if I did something stupid, right?” he whispers, and when you blink your lashes almost brush his, your wrists gripped so tight in his hand. You don’t get the chance to agree before he dips down his lips to peck you, stealing a second kiss and a third too, before he groans and gets to his knees. “I want you to be mine,” he confesses, too easily. Your cheeks, if they weren’t already burning hard and bright, flare up with all the embarrassment in your body until you choke on your words when uncle Issei pushes his face between your legs, nudging up your skirt with his nose.
“Fu—ck, princess, ugh- you’re so pretty. Drive my fucking stupid for you.” The noise he makes is loud and rumbly, hands gripping your thighs tight and kneading the tender skin between strong fingers. He sniffs under your skirt again, pressing his mouth to the heat between your legs and placing open mouth kisses, as you rest your hand in his hair and cling to him.
“Uncle Issei, w-what are you—” your thigh trembles as he hooks it over your shoulder, mouthing at your pussy through the thin covering, obnoxious kissing noises filling you with misplaced pride. He groans as he noses at your clit and licks a long stripe up, then pulls the fabric to the side to tuck it aside. “Why?” you breathe, throwing your head back against the wall and cling tighter to his wild curls, and he hums.
“Want me to stop?” You know what you should say. Looking back down as the heat of his mouth leaves and he meets your gaze head on, he raises an eyebrow, and you almost say yes. But the way he traces his fingers along your slit, long, thick fingertips prodding where your body lets out so much heat, getting wetter by the breath- it’s too much. You slowly shake your head side to side, pouting along when he coaches a noise out of you with the incessant press. “No? You want me to keep going?”
“Please.” That’s all he asks for before burying his face back between your legs with a sigh, repeating the long lick top to bottom on bare skin now, and you shudder when he slips two fingers ever so slowly inside. It instantly feels overwhelming.
“Mhm, s’all you had to say.” He grins into your thighs and hums, then flicks his tongue hard and slow. “Though I’d like to hear you beg.” Maybe it’s the idea of how wrong it is, how wrong he is for you, but the way he pushes his tongue between your bottom lips and sucks hard and messy, taking all of you and lapping you up like he’s been starved for weeks, it feels heavenly. “Y’taste so fucking good, holy fuck.”
You can’t help yourself. His tongue is doing miracles, feeling better than anything anyone’s ever done to you. Your hands shake as you alternate between keeping him close and tugging him back to allow a breath. “Uncle Issei,” you squeak when his fingers push past the ring of muscles a few times, curling into your softness and licking at the pussy nub at the top of your slit. “U-uncle Issei, please.” He moans your name back into your pussy as he seems to press even closer, not that he can, and pushes his tongue along into the clenching hole.
You mewl again, trying not to wrap your leg around him to keep him there, the perfect pressure on your clit, stubble on your most sensitive parts. He licks you clean until you can’t open your eyes without tearing up, before he finally pulls back for breath and drops your leg back to the floor, pulling at your skirt to rid you of it completely. You sink down without his support, sitting flat and panting, wet pussy dripping as you watch him unbutton his shirt much too slow for your taste. When he finishes, you start pushing it off his shoulders and crawl into his lap, aching for more closeness, and Issei smiles.
“My pretty girl needs more, hm?” He grabs your jaw and lays a soft kiss at the edge of your lips before pushing his wet fingers up to your mouth, letting you wrap your lips around them with a soft noise of displeasure. But it doesn’t last for long when you suck on the digits and let him push far back, gagging you. Spit drips down his fingers and hand as he watches you, breathes you in and lets you roll your pussy on the bump of his crotch until you get tired. Then he circles your lips with his fingertips, and nudges them apart. “Open up. Got a present to give you.”
You do, listen so well as you drop your mouth open and let your tongue lul out, barely reacting when he tugs it and more spit leaks down your tongue, your chin and his fingers. It doesn’t have the time to cool before he swipes it up and licks it off his own fingers, then hovering his mouth over yours. “So pretty, my pretty, little niece. Who would’ve expected the little angel of the family to end up grinding herself on her uncle’s cock like a whore, hm?” The grin on his lips glitters in this light, looking endlessly perfect to you.
“Y’like that?” he coos, still pinching your tongue and having drool mess up your face, run down his wrist. You nod, can’t help it. You try to mumble his name with your tongue out of your mouth, grinding yourself on him harder, pushing the fold of the fabric to push against your clit. And he chuckles softly at your eagerness, letting a softer look pass over his face before he hums back, helping your hips along his hardening cock. “Open wider,” he says when he leans in, you do.
Only a moment you think he’ll kiss you, but then something warm and wet lands on your tongue. Spit— his spit pools on the wet surface of your tongue and runs down, and Issei raises an eyebrow. The idea alone that he spit on your tongue, degrading you with no filter whatsoever shouldn’t turn you on, it shouldn’t have you trembling in his lap with your pussy spilling more slick onto the crotch of his jeans. But you can’t help it, you mewl as you let him push the wetness around on your tongue. “Drop it and I’ll give you something worse to drink. Now be good and swallow my fucking spit before I fuck that pretty pussy of yours.”
You aren’t allowed to close your mouth as he plays his fingers in your mouth like it’s nothing, pressing against the back of your throat as you swallow around them, unable to hold the wet sounds of your mouth and your cunny at this point. It’s filthy, and uncle Issei looks so pleased. You can’t look away. This time when he pulls his fingers out of your mouth, he’s not gentle. He’s not patient. He just pushes you over onto your hands and knees and pulls your underwear down in one smooth pull, nudging your thighs apart. The sound of the zipper between your breaths is loud and makes your hole clench in anticipation, winking as he rubs a rough thumb over it again and again to spread around the wetness dripping down your cunt.
“Been thinking of you for so long, princess,” he leans down to kiss a line down the small of your back, before shuffling in between your legs as he shoves his pants and boxers down and lets you feel the thick, heavy press between your legs. So big, so heavy that you hold your breath, dropping your chin to your chest to look under your body at his cock. Swollen and flushes, it twitches against you, and you reach a hand below you to grip at him between your legs. He’s so hot and thick and heavy in your hand, feeling his heartbeat as you squeeze around the shaft, before moaning along with him.
“Holy fuck, uncle Issei, you’re so big. I- I don’t know if,” you choke, pushing yourself to rub your pussy along the top of him.
He snorts, though it’s lost in his groan when you rub your clit along his flared head, gripping your hips tighter. You don’t have much faith when he thrusts forward against you and his hips level with yours, only showing off how deep he’ll be. “You can. You can,” he whispers, letting you rub yourself along him until your slick and his precum is one wet mess between your legs. “That’s it, pretty girl. Gonna take your uncle’s cock so well, hm? Want it inside?”
“Yes, yes yes yes,” you whimper, letting go of him to stuff your own fingers into your mouth and taste your mixture of wet, taste him too. “Wan’it so bad. I wanna feel you.” Every touch to your clit makes you shiver on your knees, forgetting all about the hurt when he finally lines up and the fat head pushes against your hole, his one hand clamping down hard on your hips. “Ahgn- ‘ncle ‘Ssei, please. Feels so good.”
The press of his thick cock against you instantly stretches your walls, sinking down to rest your head on your arms and rolling your hips back against him. Tears leak out of your eyes when he pushes in more, and your voice gets even more tight and whimpery when his thumb pushes up to your puckered hole along with a shallow thrust. “Fuck, fu-baby, so fucking tight. God, you’re squeezing me so tight.” He thrusts deeper, spreading you open inch by inch as you shiver. It hurts, yet feels so good that you can’t think of anything other than his cock fucking into you, frow slow, shallow thrusts to deeper and harder, curling his thumb inside you for more pressure.
By the time he’s able to comfortably roll his hips into you, you’re a drooling, wet mess under him, pussy so full you feel him press up against your cervix and leave your legs barely supporting your weight. Your cunt and clit twitch for him each time his hips meet yours, bumping so deep into your walls you can’t even keep your eyes open. “Uncle Issei, ‘m gonna cum. Gonna cum, gonna cum, ah- ahng.”
“Yeah? Wanna cream all over my cock, pretty girl? Make even more of a mess?” You don’t get the chance to respond before he pinches your clit and sends you straight over the edge, vision going black as the wave of pleasure clashes down on you and he fucks you through it, pushing his cock so far inside you it should hurt. “That’s it, that’s it, cum for me.”
But it’s just amazing, a rush of pleasure as he fucks you open through your orgasm, walls clenching desperately around him. You feel him pull out to let some of your cum spill out and down your legs, before wrapping an arm under your body and pulling you up against his chest, pressing kisses along your neck.
“There you go, baby, so good for me.” He breathes deeply into your skin, before sliding his cock back into the mess between your legs, humming. “You’re warmed up now, right? I think it’s my turn.”
☆ — ft. atsumu miya + getting leaked
warnings: 18+, tsumu being nasty
a/n: a little thought of mine, i can totally imagine msby being up in arms because there’s an “alleged” video out.
atsumu is a nightmare for msby’s pr team.
at this point no one is even surprised when there’s a new viral vid on twitter of him fucking you from behind or stuffing his face in your ass. the lewd photography the two of you take may never have your faces in them but, it’s definitely you two, everyones knows that.
he has no shame, and neither do his teammates. the most recent scandal was a video of him fucking you in the new pair of handcuffs that seemed to get everyone’s attention.
it was another ordinary day for him as he walked in the locker room to see everyone on their phones after practice. the air was tense and everyone was thinking the same thing, he knew that they’d seen it and they were wondering why he didn’t care.
kiyoomi was the first to break the silence, as expected.
“so….miya”
atsumu flips his towel over his shoulder not even sparing his friend a glance. “how many times did you cum from watching it?” he cockily chuckled leaving the rest of the locker room in awe.
“SO IT IS YOU” bokuto exclaimed before starting to laugh along side hinata.
“i have no idea what you’re talkin’ about bo-kun”
the devil was a liar, and so was atsumu miya.
despite lying to his team claiming that the video wasn’t his, he enjoyed toying with the curiosity of others.
sakusa muttered a small “tch” under his breath as he reached into his pocket for his phone.
the video started playing.
atsumu’s lips curl into a smile as he finally turns to face the rest of the locker room as sakusa holds his phone to the blondes face. “that’s literally your girlfriend, miya.”
experiencing it was one thing but watching it was something else. the 20 second video played over and over again of your face stuffed into the sheets as atsumu fucked you full of his cum, your muffled whining echoed throughout the room until sakusa finally turned his phone off.
“she sounds pretty doesn’t she?” he smirked.
everyone was guilty to getting off to you, and atsumu knew that, it simply boosted his pride.
grabbing his bag his walks to the door, but doesn’t leave until spewing condescending words just to keep his friends on their toes.
“knock yourselves out.”
the door closes behind him meanwhile everyone looks at each other confused before receiving a collective notification, to a google drive with all of your porn on it.
© — SLUTTSUMU 2023
Those scenarios of the boys getting their friends with benefits pregnant were really cute! 💖 Can I request the same thing but with Tendou, Osamu and Kuroo please?
He just looked you up and down and then turned his head back to the TV
blinking slowly you grab a pillow and slam it right in his face
“OW! WHAT THE FUCK?” he yells in shock while you go for another hit
“Are you KIDDING ME!? You knock me up and all you do is go back to the TV!!!! I should KILL YOU!” You roar
His eyes widen as he thought you were messing with him, but you weren't
“Oh….holy fuck….i thought you were joking.” He gasps covering his mouth in shock
“jOKING? i FUCKING WISH!” You snarl and slam the pillow into his face yet again
“Dammit Y/N, stop hitting me okay. I got it…you’re…….pregnant with my..our child.” He whispers
But that stupid smile breaks across his face which has you calming down
“We’re having a baby.” He whispers and moves hugging your stomach
“Hi little bean….i hope you get mommy’s looks.” He whispers and laughs happily
Utter disgust not at you or anything but at the fact he was the one to get someone pregnant before Atsumu
“Are you sure? Maybe you slept with Atsumu.” He says and you don’t even think twice
you slap the shit out of him
“What? I’m serious, it couldn’t have been me, no way I knock someone up before Atsumu!” He huffs and starts dialing his brothers number
“Osamu…I’m pregnant with your damn baby and you’re more worried about the fact you fucked up before Atsumu?” You ask
Osamu freezes and finally takes in your appearance
you were a wreck, hair messy and eyes swollen ad red from crying
“oh…baby I’m…god i’m sorry.” he whispers and moves hugging you
you didn’t care if you were being ridiculous but you started to cry all over again
“We’ll figure this alright, and whatever you choose to do I’ll support you a 100%. Don’t feel pressured into having the baby it’s your choose okay.” he whispers into your hair and holds you while you cry
This mfer was ecstatic
He was smiling so damn hard you thought his cheeks were going to fall off
“Really? I’m going to be a daddy? I mean I already am, but now an official one?” he asks laughing loudly
You grumble and move grabbing the ultrasound and handing it too him and he freezes
not one, but two tiny blobs labeled baby A and Baby B
“twins?” he asks and looks up at you while you swallow your worry ad nod
he stares at the ultrasound and then you notice small wet spots on it
“Kuroo?” You ask touching his face and making him look up
tears laced his eye which has you swallow thickly and move pulling him into a hug
“Thank you…thank you…thank you.” He sobs softly as he was finally getting what he’s always wanted
A family
— 𝕤𝕒𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕖
1.1k words | smut | sex under the influence, alcohol, porn without plot, creampie, minor daddy kink because i said so, one (1) french word | akaashi keiji
“those who restrain desire do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained.” ― william blake, the marriage of heaven and hell
a.n. shorter than usual. i blacked out when i wrote this; pls be gentle.
“kaashi-“ you murmur as his drunken lips graze yours, “kaashi, we shouldn’t.”
the party around you is still in full swing. purple and blue lights glow dimly in the crowded living room as the patterns on the walls slip and slide out of focus. akaashi swears he isn’t that drunk- swears that it’s just because of the lights and the music and the taste of your lips on his that he’s rendered into a puddle of lust coated desire, desperate for every ounce of your touch.
“my room,” he breathes lowly, drawing you into another heated kiss, “i wanna ravish you, pretty girl.”
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Inexorable ♕
My birthday present for my beloved wife @iwaasfairy and my contribution to her birthday bash collab you can find here. I love you, you’re incredible and I hope you like this i even wrote smut for you smh
Iwaizumi Hajime x female reader
tw: dub-con, stalking, unhealthy relationships, very questionable decision making, smut, nsfw, um… implied murder?
He’s sitting on the steps outside your apartment when you get home from work, a lit cigarette dangling between long fingers. He brings it to his lips, the bright cherry red tip glowing as he takes a nice, slow drag and you scurry on past.
Not a word passes between the two of you, but olive eyes follow you up the stairs regardless, just like always. His name is Iwaizumi – Iwa – but you only know that because you’ve heard his friends yelling it down the hallway. In the three months since you’ve moved in, you haven’t so much as introduced yourself to the guy, but like most strangers crammed into the same shitty place there’s some kind of a routine between the two of you.
Why he religiously chooses this time of night to take his smoke break is beyond you, but like clockwork you’ll arrive home, having walked back from the bus stop and Iwaizumi’ll be there waiting for you, cigarette in hand.
Well, not waiting, just… there. Black leather jacket with a hoodie underneath, there’s a cut above his eyebrow tonight that he hasn’t bothered to clean, a purpling bruise colouring his jaw. Whatever dealings Iwaizumi’s tangled up in, you don’t like to think about too much, but you know it can’t be anything good. His friends dress like him, all have the same ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe. You’ve seen their scrapes and bruises too – the weapons that stick out from the waistband of their pants – though you’re always quick to avert your eyes when they catch you staring.
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atsumu’s not going to college.
it’s not what he wants, and it’s not a requirement for his plans for the future. he has a one track road set for going pro in the volleyball industry, and he has no plans for detours slowing him down.
that was always “the plan”, and you were not part of it — you were always going to college, and you were going to spend the full time there making sure your future’s on the right track.
that’s why he broke up with you.
the two years he spent with you throughout high school gone down the drain the second he decided this would be better for him — and he feels like he’s wrong, because he still checks on you when you’re not looking — but atsumu’s dead set on the fact that he’ll only slow you down if he kept you with him.
or so, until now.
“atsumu, it’s two in the morning.” you tell him, your yawns coming in a drip drop motion as you try to understand what he’s doing in front of you right now.
it’s been two weeks since you last saw him — two weeks since the breakup — two weeks of no calls, texts or even acknowledgements from in between classes or study halls.
but now he’s here, standing on your doorstep, and you’re not really sure if you want him to be.
atsumu tells you, “i have a solution.”
“it’s two in the morning.” you remind him again.
and he only repeats, “i have a solution.”
your eyebrows furrow, “do you want to come inside?”
“no,” he shakes his head, his nose red from the cold, and he tells you, “you have to listen to me.”
you bring your arms up to your chest, not feeling so warm yourself, and you hate that he chose to do on the coldest night of the month.
you tell him, “i can listen to you inside.”
and he only replies, “i have a solution.
and you frown, “so we’re not going inside.”
you have no idea what he’s talking about, all you know is that you’re still upset with him for ghosting you right after breaking up with you, and you’re not sure if you’re ready to forgive him for that yet.
you sigh, “why are you here?”
and he nods, “because i can get a job — i’ll work on the volleyball thing most hours of the day — but whenever i’m free, i can take shifts in the local café near your campus.”
you cut him off, “wait — my campus?”
“yeah,” atsumu nods, “i checked, and they have an opening and i can totally get a job there.”
atsumu? with a job? at a cafe? you can’t even put it to words, but you’re unsure when he visited your campus, unsure why he’s even doing all this in the first place.
“a job?” you raise a brow, “why do you need a job?”
atsumu ignores your question, shivering as the cold hits him, his breath turning white as it leaves his mouth, and he continues, in a frantic fit, “i have a car, it’s for my 20th birthday but my dad agreed he can give it to me early — and i have a lot saved up so there’s that for an apartment too.”
you’ve never seen atsumu be so nervous, you’ve seen him before his games and after his losses, but he’s never looked like this — never looked so worried.
“slow down.” you break through his endless string of sentences, your eyebrows furrowing as you’re still so confused and lost of what’s going on, and you say, “it’s two am.”
atsumu doesn’t respond.
you touch his arm, “have you slept?”
he feels silly — this is the first time you’ve seen him in two weeks and he must look insane to you already. he doesn’t care, he’s tired, he misses you, he’s been missing you for two weeks, and he hasn’t stopped.
atsumu looks at you, “i don’t want to break up with you.”
you stare back at him, blinking profusely as if trying to make of the situation, and your heart softens as easily as it leaps — because you didn’t want to break up with him either.
he still looks frantic, like he’s a second away to pull his hair out, and you’d offer to let him inside the house one more time, but you’ve got a strong feeling that he’d just say no again.
“i have the place, the car, the job — you have college and i’ll have my volleyball — and i know this isn’t what we planned, but i have the solution and i really think we can make this work.” atsumu tells you all of this, a straight (frantic) tone coming through his words, he catches his breath, and he’s ready to talk to you again.
but your eyes are gentle, “what are you talking about?”
he looks at you, like he’s nervous to be looking at you, a huge lump in his throat the he needs to be swallowing down soon since he’s gone too long without speaking — and he’s nervous, because this situation earns him every right to be nervous.
he’s only 20, unsure of every decision he’s making towards his future, but he’s just spent the last two weeks without you, and the first real thing he’s realized is that there’d be nothing worse than that.
the night is cold.
atsumu stares, “will you marry me?”
𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟑, 𝐌𝐢𝐲𝐚 𝐀𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐮
KITA VERSION HERE
pairing: miya atsumu x reader (strangers to lovers—fake dating)
genre: fluff
word count: 1.4k
summary: number 13, miya atsumu seems like a nice man, but his little dilemma he ropes you into seems to show you he’s much more than that
“Hey, you’re Miya’s date, right?” Turning, you frown, staring at the MSBY player before you with furrowed eyebrows. Atsumu had mentioned his name to you before, but you can’t seem to recall it, having been a part of a list of far too many names to remember only fifteen minutes before reaching the gym.
“Um, n—yes! Yes, absolutely. I am,” you catch yourself at the last second, nodding furiously with a large (probably more than necessary) smile. He stares at you for a moment before nodding slowly, awkwardly smiling back.
You’re not sure if he’s completely convinced.
“Oh, okay. Well, uh…see you after the game, then,” he offers before quickly walking away.
Number 13, Miya Atsumu. He’s a nice man—from what you can tell at least. He’s helped you carry groceries to your car before—somehow always managing to be at the store at the same time as you. He’s paid for your drink at the local coffee shop that one morning—you’d forgotten your wallet in the car—and his smile seemed genuine enough. It was a little cocky for your taste, but his eyes were sincere, the saccharine honey of his orbs seeping with warmth when you looked into them.
And when he approached you, hands stuffed in his pockets and eyes downcast as he kicked a few pebbles around, claiming he’d needed a favor, you couldn’t find it in you to say no.
“I had a one night stand and a few photos got out to the press o’ me walkin’ out. Told ma manager I was datin’ someone so she wouldn’t get onta me,” he’d mumbled sheepishly, and though it seemed like a lot of trouble, you’d still agreed to be his date.
And here you were. His date, with him nowhere to be found.
The sudden poke to your hip makes you jolt, turning to face the source of your scare, hand unconsciously ready to shove it away when a smooth chuckle and a warm, callused hand on your wrist makes you pause.
“Woah, there,” Atsumu flashes you a grin, tugging you flush against his chest. The proximity makes you swallow, looking up at his face with wide eyes. He smirks slightly. “Yer here as ma date, wouldn’t look too believable if ya shoved me two seconds in, would it?”
Your voice seems to find itself as you frown, huffing before you look him in the eye more determined this time. His smirk only widens.
“You shouldn’t scare your date on the first one, it’s not very gentlemanly of you.” He offers you a sly grin, hand wandering down lower till it reaches the small of your back. Your breath hitches at the way he starts rubbing small circles into it.
“Well, I s’pose ya gotta point,” he mumbles, head dipping down lower till his breath is fanning lightly against your face. He smells faintly of cologne, cool yet spicy, but definitely expensive. “Can’t let people get the wrong idea, can we? Come on, angel, we gotta convince em.”
Eyes widening as you realize what he means, you press your palm against his chest, a futile attempt to push him away, really—the sturdiness of his muscled chest was enough to distract you instantly.
“I…y-you…here? You want to—here? In front of all these people?”
And he chuckles once more, making you start to wonder how the smooth and adorably sweet guy from the grocery store and coffee shop had become so smug.
“‘S just a kiss. Never had a kiss before?” You scowl, finally shoving at his chest this time, but his grip only tightens.
“Of course I have, you moron. Just not with a star athlete in front of all his fans,” you mutter.
“Ya keep up with me on the media?” Scoffing, you turn your head away to the side, not willing to admit that perhaps you’d searched his name in google once or twice. It was strictly informational.
“As if,” you huff. “This is not a very great first date, you know.”
“‘S not real, thought we went over that. Don’t tell me yer attached already?”
Number 13, Miya Atsumu seemed more a handful than you’d initially anticipated. With pursed lips and narrowed eyes, you glare daggers at him, making his eyes sparkle with amusement.
“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m the one doing you the favor here. Be a little grateful.”
“Well ya gotta play yer part for me ta be grateful, angel. Gotta give em a show. Kiss me,” he puckers his lips slightly. “I’ll be grateful.”
You shove his face away when he leans down, making his lips curl into a pout. Staring at him in disbelief, you look around to see if anyone is staring at the show Atsumu is so hellbent on giving. To your dismay, it seems the entirety of the stands has their eyes cast specifically on you, making you sag into his hold.
For the millionth time, Atsumu’s snicker rings in your ears.
“Atsu—Miya, I’m not kissing you here in front of—”
“Ya can’t call yer boyfriend by his last name!”
“Fake boyfriend. Fake.”
“But they don’t know that,” he grins. Groaning, you sigh in defeat, glancing around the gym a few more times before ultimately caving. Atsumu’s grin couldn’t be any wider, and if it was, you’d have half a mind to smack it gone.
Perhaps your good deed was a bite that was much more than you could chew at the moment.
“Fine, if I give you a quick peck on the lips, will you be satisfied?”
“Oh, I’d be ecstatic,” he smirks. So, with an exasperated sigh, you usher him closer—to which he obliges much to quickly, and much too happily.
“Okay, but remember, it’s just a quick peck, okay? Don’t—” he cuts you off before you can finish your sentence.
And it most certainly isn’t a quick peck.
Atsumu presses his lips firmly against yours, molding against you so perfectly, you can’t help but close your eyes shut. His arms tighten their grip around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, and the scent of his cologne wafts through your nose once again, much stronger this time. And he swallows the strangled noise you let out, only kissing you deeper. The hand that lay flat on his chest a moment ago grips his shirt tightly, and your other hand subconsciously wanders past his shoulders to play with the hair at the base of his neck. He smirks against your lips.
Pulling away, he places one delicate, tiny, quick peck to your slightly swollen lips, huffing out yet another chuckle at the dazed expression on your face.
Except this time, it’s not cocky or smug. It’s purely one of glee, and it matches his expression. He looks almost as giddy as a child at an ice cream shop.
“A quick peck, as promised,” he winks.
“Atsumu! Everyone’s watched that! What’re they gonna say? It’ll be all over the media if we’re never seen together after a kiss like that! And—”
“Then I guess we’ll just have to be seen together after that, angel,” he cuts you off. Sputtering, you do a double take at his words, watching as he all but rolls on the balls of his feet in excitement.
And it clicks in your head, finally, that this was just number 13, Miya Atsumu, MSBY’s star setter and your resident smooth talker’s elaborate plan to set you both up to see each other over and over again.
You roll your eyes as you mumble “you could’ve just asked me on a real date like a normal person.”
“Well, I did actually tell ma manager I was datin’ someone,” he mumbles sheepishly, and you catch a small glimpse of the same shyness you’d seen when he first approached you with his dilemma. “But I thought it was a good opportunity ta dazzle ya,” he offers a toothy grin. Your heart does a 360 in your chest at the sight.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And yer unbelievably cute when yer flustered.” The whistle blows, and his attention turns to his coach who’s ushering him over sternly, making him turn to you with a smile. “I’ll see ya after the game, kay, babe? Cheer for me real loud.”
And with another stolen peck on the lips, Atsumu jogs to where his team is waiting, glancing over his shoulder and winking over at you. You cover your mouth with your hand and stifle a chuckle when he stumbles slightly, ramming into a raven and curly haired man who scowls and shrugs him off.
Number 13, Miya Atsumu seemed quite the handful, but you think you can manage to deal with him somehow.
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