Hiya! Love your Akechi x readers so here I am to request one! How about Akechi's possible guilty pleasure fantasy of having a yandere? Nothing over your limits, ofc. Just fulfilling all his desires as an unwanted boy, endless love from the yan-reader. I imagine he'd be quite responsive after the initial alarm... but I'm much more interested in your take!
We look like we belong
Goro Akechi x Yandere! Reader
♯ Pretty Little Psycho - Porcelain Black
Synopsis: you grow obsessed over the Ace Detective because you know that he's hiding more than he would ever show. And he's growing obsessed with you because you're the only one showing him that you're willing to sit in the wreckage alongside him.
Genre: suggestive. Semi-headcanons.
Tags: SPOILLLERRRSSS. Toxic relationship. Staaaalkiiiing. Yandere on yandere action. Mentions of murder. Saviour complex on both sides. He is self-destructive. BOTH of you are obsessive freaks. Mentions of drugging. Making out. Sloppy makeout and it's messy. Finger sucking ig idk.
Wc: 7.6k
Goro Akechi always believed that he was never meant for love.
Everyone that he's ever held close to his heart ends up hurting him one way or another--- his father's a deadbeat that left him without a second glance. His mother left him so suddenly, as if it was easy.
He always thought of himself as someone who needs to earn someone's heart. Who needs to try. Do everything that he can.
Akechi stopped trying after a while. After he realised that his mother was never coming back. Long before he met the father that didn't even recognise him.
He thought he was over it. Over his pathetic pleas of someone to care for him as much as he cares for others. Every four leaf clover, every candle on the birthday cake, every wishbone, every shooting star. Would be used to wish for someone that would embrace him with open arms.
Someone with undying love that it was suffocating.
Someone that would rather cut off their own arm than even thinking about leaving him.
Perhaps, someone like you.
Someone so willing to fulfil his most biggest guilty pleasure.
He didn't even bother batting an eye at you the very first time you met. But in your eyes, he became everything you've ever wanted. You could see the imaginary glitter flying across his fae and all around him.
A funny thing you were, having such strong feelings for someone and not bothering to do anything about it.
You spend your days looking at him from a far. Staring at his brown hair from the desk right beside him. Seething at the sight of other girls fawning over him.
It's even worse when you see him entertain his fangirls. When they'd let out shrill giggles when he even spares a glance at them, or when he'd unintentionally say something funny. You glared at your classmates, your seniors, and your juniors. You watch as they all form a pile around him.
You rolled your eyes. Shoving your face into the depths of your long forgotten textbook.
When had you started to feel this way towards him. It's a bit weird if you were to say so yourself. It's quite obvious, yes. He's smart, he's very ridiculously handsome, and he's famous.
It was just another stupid crush. A stupid crush that'll go away soon enough. Maybe a bit longer, but no matter. If you stayed away from him, then you won't need to deal with any of the troubles that'll come with the behaviour that you'll exhibit.
═══════
It wasn't just a stupid crush. It's never a stupid crush. It's always something much more than that. Much deeper. A lot more obsessive than you'd ever want it to be.
But that was Akechi. The Ace Detective. He'd never care about you, he doesn't even know your name. You were just another one of those girls to him.
Still, that didn't stop you from being so utterly obsessed with him. With his demeanour. With the amount of confidence he carried himself with.
He was already ridiculously beautiful on TV, and he's much more gorgeous when you see him up close in real life.
'A crush is just a lack of information.' Was what your mother would repeat to yourself when he heard the stories of the many boys you fancied. And that couldn't have been more true. You knew nothing about Akechi and what goes on in his personal life.
What's making you so attracted to him were the stories that you made up for him in your head.
═══════
It was way past midnight. Probably the first time you've been out late in a while.
You left the convenience store. Grabbing what you bought and stuffing it into your bag, not wanting the crinkling of the plastic to call you out.
You lurked around the corner. Finding that familiar shadow of your favourite boy.
No, you haven't been following him around ever sine school ended. And no, you didn't wait three hours in front of his tutoring place for him. What kind of lunatic would do that...
You werent't sure what your goal was when you started to trace his footsteps. It wasn't like his schedule would follow this exact one every single day. Why did you want to know his schedule anyway. Seems a bit pathetic.
You hid perfectly in the corner, deep in the darkness when you saw how shifty he was acting. Pressing your back against the well as you tried your best to hold your breath. Make yourself as invisible as you could possibly be. One wrong move, and you were done for. Wondering if he knew if you were following him.
Your suspicions were further intensified when you thought you were in the clear. Hearing footsteps come from behind the wall you were hiding in. Moving your head to the side, you peeked. Both eyes inching towards the edge of the wall.
Though, you were met with nothing. No sight of him, at all. No brown hair, not even a glimpse of his perfectly ironed uniform. You started to feel nauseous. Cursing yourself for screwing it up, like you always did. You just had to follow him, didn't you.
You were lost deep in your thoughts. Way too deep. You probably stood there glued to the floor for a while. There wasn't really anywhere for him to go. He was at an open freeway, with no corner to hide in. And you would've known if he ran away, unless he somehow had very quiet footsteps.
You sighed, gripping the straps of you bag, and began walking away.
As you turned your back, you heard something. A whoosh. Much like a strong gust of wind. You flipped your head back after realising the lack of actual wind.
You squinted your eyes. Trying to focus on what was in front of you.
Red dots. Flying around right where you were looking at. Neon and extremely visible. You weren't sure if you were hallucinating, or if those dots were getting bigger. It seemed as if it was forming a portal. You had slap your face once you saw it form a spiral.
Am I just sleep deprived? I knew I shouldn't've stayed up so late.
Your hands slammed against your mouth as you ran back to where you were hiding prior. Eyes widening and closing in on what you saw.
Goro Akechi. Who just appeared out of nowhere. From thin air. He stood there. His back facing you.
You went back to holding your breath. It felt like you were paralysed. You trembled as he looked around, holding your hand to your chest in fear that your heartbeat was so loud he could hear it.
He walked a few feet to the side, before gaining up on his feet and sprinting away.
You stayed there, eyes as wide as it could be, it was nearly bulging out of your skull.
What was he? A ghost? A phantom? A superhero of sorts?
It took you hours before you snapped out of your shocked state. Making your way back home. Even then, you walked in complete dissociation.
You sat you bag on your chair. Sitting on the edge of your bed and placing your hand on your chin.
Do you tell somebody. Do you confront him?
No, no. That's stupid.
You'll just keep quiet for now.
This can be your little secret.
═══════
Your feelings grew stronger as days went by.
For some reason. You felt entitled. Entitled to his secret. At least, you assumed it was a secret. You saw it as something that only the both of you would know about. A dirty little secret.
You watched as he went on and on to his interviewer that he had a humble beginning and he tries his best to stay humble. That he only got lucky and that he was really just an ordinary guy.
You'd stare at that TV screen, at his beautiful face with that soft smile plastered on it. You knew that he was different. You had no idea what that made him, but you knew. You were special.
You'll be different with him.
You felt yourself staring at him with what you could only imagine as heart eyes. Deep stares and perverted thoughts seemed to flood your mind.
He's starting to haunt your dreams, to occupy most of your schedule.
And yet, he still has no idea who you are.
═══════
He's been sensing something.
A strong palace. Much stronger that he's ever sensed before.
Ever since that night he killed the last train conductor.
He returned from the MetaVerse with this intense feeling. He wasn't quite sure how to describe it, he likened it to the colour red; intense, intimate, passionate.
It was behind him, around him. It followed him to school. It stalked him when he'd walk to do chores.
He went to Mementos, trying to find any clues and coming back up empty handed.
He couldn't enter anything into the MetaNav app on his phone because he had no idea who to put in.
It was just something he couldn't place his finger on. It didn't feel like anything malicious, however, he's been killing people who weren't malicious in the first place, so who was he to say. It's just been following him. Only him.
You didn't know how to approach him. You weren't sure what his supernatural powers meant, what he could do to people. Hell, you weren't even sure if what you saw was real or not. Perhaps it was just you mind playing tricks on you.
It's just that.. ever since that day, you felt like you had a duty to take care of him. To protect his secret from the outside world.
═══════
He felt himself get pulled into that other realm much too quickly. Red splotches flooding his vision while he tries not to double over from the nausea. The floor beneath his feet were already shifting.
He noticed the air first. The way there was a scent that he couldn't quite put a finger on. Flooding all the way to his nostrils.
Whose palace was this.
He wasn't in his Loki suit. Which meant that whoever this palace belonged to, they didn't see him as a threat.. yet.
The castle stood tall in front of him. It was made completely out of stone. Polished stone, despite the darkness around him, the walls shined iridescently, catching every glint of his eye. There were golden accents, with giant gates covering the entire perimeter.
He approached it with caution. Hand in front of him in case something were to pop out of the door and attack him.
The gate opened almost instantly when he touched it. It seemed harmless. He should be safe if it were that accepting.
Red banner hung from the top of the giant front doors. Made of oak wood, with the dark, metal handles attached.
Akechi reached for it, holding the handle in his hands and pushing with all his might. It was heavy against his weight. Much like how a real castle would have.
Would the palace ruler see themselves as some sort of emperor? Or perhaps would their ego be so high that it manifested into a place where everyone had to bow down to them. He was still racking his head up on whose head exactly he was in.
The red didn't stop at the front door. It continued along the floor. Extending so far down into a barely-lit hallway that he couldn't see the end of it.
He steadied himself. If he were in danger, then he'd simply take out the ruler, just like how he's been doing for years.
He's a weapon, and a simple selfish person would have nothing against him.
He walked along the hallway. Careful as to not let the heels of his boots land too hard on the carpet. His eyes wandered around. Though, there wasn't much that he could see, given how dark it was.
He could make out paintings. Frames upon frames covering nearly every inch of the walls. He couldn't see what was on them, though. He could only make out a figure. Barely visible.
Akechi reached the end, another big door in front of him. He scoffed. This is ridiculous.
He didn't hesitate to open it, only ajar. Peeking his eye through the gap.
Just as he suspected, there was a throne. And someone sitting lazily on it. So he was right. Another person who sees themselves as royalty. As someone who thinks that they deserve all of the riches in the entire world. Right on their fingertips.
He snarled. Those people disgusted him. Human filth, was what he called them.
It was only when his gaze drifted higher, did he stumble back in surprise.
Because right there, on the golden throne much too big for anyone in the world. Was a splitting image of himself. He was.. the palace ruler?
That can't be right. Quite the opposite, in fact. Akechi was more in touch with what he was feeling more than he'd like to be. He knows that he comes across as extremely condescending. And while that might be on purpose. He also knows that it's to hide the fact that he doesn't believe that he should be condescending in the first place. Not with how little he thought of himself.
How could the depths of his heart view himself as a king.
The false brunette in front of him made his stomach churn. It had a snarl on his face. Looking down on shadows disguising themselves as servants. With their heads grey and their face obstructed. Seeing himself like this reminded him so much of the people that he was working for.
He pulled back, hiding himself by pressing his back against the door. What the fuck.
That... thing couldn't possibly be him. It was for sure just a warped amalgamation created by some twisted idiot.
But then, the light shining through the gap hit one of the pictures on the wall. And he could see it much clearer than ever. A picture of him.
Not a professional one, where he's wearing some sort of formal attire. It was as if it was taken during his daily, mundane routine of life. As if it were taken when he was oblivious, when he was just existing.
That was when he was fully in panic mode. Somebody was following him. Were they seeking to blackmail him? Or rather, was Shido sending somebody to keep eyes on him?
Just as quick, he regained his composure. If Shido did set somebody up for this, or even if he didn't. He needs to think of a strategy fast.
It was obvious that whoever owned this palace didn't see him as a threat. In fact, they view him as somebody of higher power. And factoring in how the palace looks. A castle, to symbolise how influential Akechi was.
He went back to eye whatever was happening inside the other room. And he saw somebody. Somebody at the foot of his shadow self. They were on their knees, holding out a basket of what he could only guess as an assortment of fruits. Offerings, perhaps.
He narrowed his eyes, Their face was blocked by a pillar, made of gold, of course, he was trying to focus on who that person was. He saw how his false self grabbed a handful of grapes from the basket, before it moved to cradle the other person's head in it's palms.
What in the hell was going on.
He had no choice but to sneak inside. As stealthily as he could. He was lucky that there weren't any guards keeping watch. Akechi hid behind said pillar. To which he peeked from behind it.
Finally getting a good view of their face. Realisation dawned before him. It was Y/n... of course..
He blinked right at them, their eyes impossibly larger than a human's normally should be. Glossy and dazed. Who's Y/n?
The thought slowly shoved to the back of his head when he saw how you handed him a strawberry. The widest, and most hopeful smile plastered across your face. Even more so when it reached down to caress the top of your head. This was.. a sick fantasy, nothing more than that.
He's almost flattered, that you think so highly of him to the point of.. this. It was definitely a first.
That euphoric, almost egotistical feeling that this was giving him went away just as quick.
Thi could very well be a ploy.
Planted by god knows who. Maybe Shido, or maybe to the gods that granted him his powers in the first place. Nevertheless, besides your name, he had no idea who you were. And he could only assume that you didn't know anything about him either. How could you be this deeply obsessed over somebody who has never even spared a glance your way? The only reason he knows your name anyways was because he knows everyone's name. He has to, if he wants to build a good social rapport.
He could enjoy this, yes. He could use your devotion to him as leverage to make you the ragdoll to place all the blame on if he gets caught. But some small part of him is convinced that this isn't exactly real. And that perhaps, you were sent.
He decided to leave for the time being. Come up with a plan on how to deal with you and come back some other time. He needed as much information as he could get.
And he knew just what to do.
═══════
"Ah, Y/n."
You knew that voice. Staying up late until past midnight wasn't for nothing if not watching each and every one of his interviews.
You spun around, "uh-- hi- hey, hi." You mentally slapped yourself in the face. Well-- you couldn't really be blamed. Not when Akechi was standing right in front of you, the softest, beautiful smile on his face.
"I was looking for you." He states plainly. As if he were unaware with how insane that sentence made you.
He was looking for you? What for? Did he need your help, or was he just seeking you out, specifically. You, only you. Specifically. You.
He did know what he was doing to you. Not conclusively, but he had a plan. He observed how you presented yourself. So far, your nervousness and pink complexion definitely looks like you have more than an interest in him. But he couldn't confirm anything for sure yet.
"Real- really?" You pointed at yourself, "me?" You swallowed thickly.
"Yes." He nodded. "I was wondering if you would like to accompany me to lunch today?"
Oh dear, you might as well just pass out on the spot. You thanked whichever god to have blessed you with this handsome man to ask you out on a date-- despite it not really being a date, he just asked if you wanted to have lunch with him--- no. It was definitely a date. For sure. He's so in love with you.
"Yes! I'd-- I uh, I would love to." You smiled sheepishly. You felt your face heat up, breaths coming out a lot heavier now.
His head tilted ever so slightly to the side. It was either you were amazing at acting, or you actually decided to be obsessed over a man like him. Ridiculous, this was utterly ridiculous.
"Great, follow me, then." He turned on his heel. Hastily making his way to the stairs, his longer legs made him a lot faster.
You placed a hand over your chest. Pressing hard, as if it was going to slow down your heartbeat, which was, beating impossibly hard it could burst out of your chest.
You followed him to the roof. A very romantic place for a lunch, if you were to say for yourself.
He pointed to the abandoned bleacher seat by the corner. "Please,"
You followed suit mindlessly.
It was only when everything settled did you begin to feel aware about everything around you. Now that the man you were so infatuated with was right in front of you, you had no idea how long you'd last before you'd starts spilling your feelings out to him.
"I would love to get to know you more, Y/n."
And at that moment, you don't know why you didn't ask for more information. To question him, ask why it was you specifically he wanted to get to know more. Or where this even came from in the first place. But this was the first romantic obsession you've had that felt like it was going somewhere.
And the high. Oh god the high.
The feeling when he said that, when he began talking to you in general. It made you giddy. You could compare to if you were to drink a whole bottle of sake and chainsmoke. The high was amazing.
So you nodded. You nodded because if you were to do anything else, you might scare him away. Or if you moved even an inch, you'd wake up from this dream.
You said yes because his approval meant everything to you.
═══════
To you, it was a miracle. The boy you've been eyeing approached you first, and now you're dating (maybe).
To him, it was a very meticulously formulated plan for him to figure out what exactly that palace was.
Neither of you knew each other's true intentions. And you couldn't care less if you did.
Because right now, with you in his apartment, laying down on his bed, with him right next to you. You wonder if this was all a dream.
He didn't know why he let it go this far.
After that first interaction up at the roof. He made it a schedule to bring you along to any chores he had. That didn't include his work, of course.
But he'd invite you to the jazz club. He'd ask if you were free to grab dinner. His treat.
He even let himself invite you over to his house. Claiming that he needed help on his school work. Hiding behind the excuse that he needed you because you were good at the subject (you weren't, but you didn't want to say that, not in the slightest).
Not to mention how overjoyed you were, going to his house. Waiting for an opening for him to leave his room so you could go through his stuff. Opening his drawers once or twice. Having to seriously stop yourself from rummaging in his closet and taking whatever article of clothing you could find back home.
He was trying to get closer to you. And you were somehow none the wiser. Assuming that it was all a coincidence, rather than a heavily orchestrated plan.
And right after you'd have an outing. Akechi would periodically check your palace. Seeing if it would intensify with every interaction he had with you.
And sure enough, it did.
His hypothesis was proven wrong. And you were undoubtedly.. in love with him. It wasn't a set up with any malicious intent. You just.. loved him.
... why?
It wasn't like he didn't get any fans. And he definitely did get some para-social ones. But it was like you were the first one that was.. that loves him. Was this even love? He wonders if you'll get bored after you find out who he truly is.
He also wonders how long he'll be dragging this out. Now that he has his answer. He should just discard you. Maybe kill your shadow self as to erase any prior interactions. He can't bring himself to do that though.
If he kills that part of you that loves him, then he won't have you ogling at him as if he were a god.
Oh, of course. He brings a hand up to his face. It doesn't take him much to realise.
He wants your affection just as much as you're willing to give it.
He scoffs. Since when did he get this weak. Since when did he become so pathetic that someone as simple as you made him crave your touch.
He should kill you. He really should. Or he should spare you and make you forget that you've ever felt this way. But how could he? How could he when you're staring at him like that?
Like you see him as a hero. He's never had that before. Someone looking at him like a miracle, rather than a problem.
He'll keep you around for now.
═══════
He knew it was over when he started to seethe when he saw speaking with that useless loser from the other class. The one that he won't even bother remembering his name.
He knew it was useless to deny his feelings when he wanted you all to himself.
He tried to ignore it, he really did. Realistically speaking, you were a nobody compared to him. In fact, maybe you did belong to that random guy.
But by god, he hated seeing you give your smile so willingly to somebody that wasn't him.
Before he could even think, his legs were already moving to your side. His eyes stern. "Our teacher's calling for you." Akechi glares down at the guy in front of him. Growing much more annoyed when he hesitated to move.
Akechi raised his eyebrows, as if telling him to move along. And of course, he did. Who would dare to defy the prodigy ace detective anyway.
He turned to you, who was trying your best to avoid his eyes. Your heart threatening to lurch out of your chest from how possessive he sounded.
"Is he your friend?" He asked. Trying to bite back how pissed off he felt.
You shook your head almost too quickly. You didn't want him to think that you were being unfaithful to him, would you? "He's a new student, he was asking me where the computer room was."
Akechi's eyes narrowed. "And he didn't think to ask.." his head drifted to right behind him, where a teacher was sitting idly on the hallway's bench. "That teacher? The teacher that's very much right by his view."
You paused, now worried. Maybe you weren't doing a good job in being devoted to him. "I'll stop talking to him." You hastily say. You knew you should've kept your mouth shut when he stumbled back.
"Why." It came out a lot hopeful than he wanted it to be. Happy on how willing you were.
"Because you want me to." You shrugged.
"I never said that." He laughed nervously, though he definitely meant it. Face now incredibly red. "Are you perhaps mocking me, Y/n?" Breaking the awkwardness he was feeling to the best of his abilities.
"I would never." You were dead serious, but you laughed along with him. Sighing out, "I'll kill him if you want me to." You said under your breath, smile still plastered on your face.
"Pardon?" He definitely heard that.
"Oh, it's nothing, don't worry about it." You waved him off, beginning to walk to the vending machine by the hallway. "Want anything? My treat."
He shook his head, "no thank you."
He wonders if you truly do want him, if you love him just as bad as he thought you did. And he wonders if he's only entertaining you because he likes that feeling. He likes the attention you give him. He likes it when you look at him with so much adoration (what he can assume to be adoration).
And what if you would kill someone for him. Would it be bad for him to say that he wouldn't mind that. Love it even.
═══════
When was he going to ask you out?
Or rather, when were you going to take him.
Because you decided long ago, that he was going to be yours, whether he wanted to or not.
You would rather drop dead than make the first move. That wasn't really your thing. But.. it's been months now, and it didn't look like he was going to go any further than a few flirtatious quips here and there.
Perhaps you were too over you head. That your mind played tricks on you and repackaged your interactions to emphasise it even further, like it always does.
No matter, you were going to take your chances. You knew what to do if things don't go your way.
You got ready with precision that morning. Not like you didn't every other day, but this was particularly special. If you were going to show your feelings, you'd have to wear the most pride on your face.
"Akechi." You called out, he was waiting for you by the most romantic place you could think of; the botanical garden by the seaside.
He greeted you a good morning. Tone of voice the same as it always was. "What's the occasion?" He pointed to the beautiful scenery that was right in front of the both of you. Rows upon rows of trees with vibrant leaves and pastel flowers. "It's not everyday you go to some place as wonderful as this." He chuckled.
You smiled with him. Hearing your chest pound even louder by your eardrums. You were ridiculously nervous. No, you didn't care if this would change your friendship down the line, or if he'd see you as deranged when you inevitably kidnap-- take him for yourself when he rejects you.
You were worried that the chances of him rejecting you were higher than the opposite. You'd hate it if that were the case. Truly.
"Unless." He gasped in faux surprise. "Don't tell me.. that you invited me out on a date." His hand flies up to hover over his mouth, a chuckle escaping from his throat.
You swallowed thickly, and then took a deep breath. "Well.. yes." You admitted, albeit a little more sheepish than you wanted it to come off.
You carefully observed how he looked at you, the mock expression morphing into a genuine shock.
"I have feelings for you, Akechi." And that was it. The cat was out of the bag, and you just did something irreversible.
He slowly closed his jaw, staring at you only for a split second. Before his lips twitched into a smile-- a grin, nearly.
"Well, I'm flattered." He was a lot more than that. Ecstatic doesn't even begin to describe how he feels. His body was basically buzzing in excitement. "I accept your confession." He gave you a smile, close-lipped and sweet.
Your heart stuttered. Possibly even skipped a beat. “O-oh..” Well, that would probably be thefirst time someone accepted you. “I’m glad.” You nodded. Still partly recovering from how take a back you were.
“Thank you.” You whispered out, barely audible, but he smiled even wider nonetheless.
Now, all you needed to do was make sure that he wouldn’t leave you.
═══════
You’ve been acting strange.
Ever since he told you how he felt, you seemed to be more.. gentle. And hr didn’t know what to do with that.
To be completely honest, it made him a tad bit uncomfortable. Again, he's not used to somebody so gentle. He needs.. aggression. He can't handle nor can he match that pace.
You toned it down. Finding it to be such a miracle that you didn't scare him off, if you could keep him, then you'll keep things at bay.
This wasn't really what he expected ever since he saw his pictures all over the walls of your heart. He expected something a lot more intense, because well.. obviously you should've been.
═══════
You brought your hands up to his face, moving his bangs away from his eyes. Admiring how perfect it matched with the rest of his features. His nose was just so beautiful that you had to fight yourself from biting on it.
He caught you staring, eyebrows raised up expectedly. You held your gaze, still admiring, despite feeling you face heat up once again.
He lets out a noise; something that of a hum and a chuckle. "You picked up quite a habit, have you noticed?" Head tilting, now moving closer to you.
You froze, embarrassed now that he's actually pointing it out. "Uhm, maybe." You laughed awkwardly. Subconsciously pulling yourself further away from him, part of you scared he'd see past your facade.
"I'm curious.." the bottom lids of his eyes curved, as if it were smiling at you, the smugness ever so present. "Do you stare at just anyone like that?" He was teasing, you know he was teasing. But the way he said it felt like there was a right and wrong answer. And if you answered incorrectly, then he wouldn't take it very lightly.
"Absolutely not!" You said defesnively, your soul nearly jumping out of your skin with how offended you felt. Even assuming that is such an insult. Even the mere thought of looking at another man that way, in a way that was only reserved for him, made you feel sick.
Again, he laughed. "Relax, I was kidding." He definitely wasn't.
"Well.." your face was probably melting with how humiliated you were, now he knew how into him you were, amazing. "You were the one talking weirdly." You mumbled. As if you would ever entertain that idea anyway.
"Then I apologise." He brings a hand to his chest, bowing his head down. You settled back into his lap. Scoffing irritatedly. "Though I would like to ask, why do you enjoy staring at me so much."
Was he trying to kill you. You wouldn't mind if he did, but really-- was he trying to kill you?
"You're--" you cut yourself off, sighing. Not believing what you were about to say next. "You're just pretty is all."
Pretty, huh? He's never been called that before. Well, he has, just.. never like that. Never like someone actually meant it. "Thank you."
You only nodded, trying your best to avoid meeting his eyes.
He's really pretty. If you could, you'd spend the remainder of your days looking at him from afar. You just want to tie him up so that you could look at him whenever you can.
Akechi wouldn't want that though. Being tied up. It strips away all his power. If he were to do it to you, on the other hand, then he'd be more than happy.
And you'd love to be bound by him, wouldn't you?
═══════
"Who was that?" It came out a lot more pissed than you wanted it to be. You initially planned to ask oh so unbotheredly. But it seems that your mouth had different plans.
"Ah, that was Nijima-san. I work with her for Tokyo Police." His answer was sweet. Simple and easy enough to understand. And yet you felt something uncomfortable down in your stomach. The familiar jealousy bubbling up.
"Woah, she's like, really hot." That wasn't a lie, she for sure carried herself with confidence, that it was making yours go down, just a bit. You wanted to see if he would agree with you. Looking at him intently, trying to study his face, seeing if he would look back at her and catch a second glimpse.
"Is she, now?" He found it amusing.
"A hundred per cent." You nodded, trying to play it off. "What-- do you not think so?" You might need to do something about her if he did think so.
You were already wondering if you'd have to do something about her. Maybe cause an accident, or a few words of warning that won't be able to be passed on as a threat.
"I think you beat her in terms of appearance." He says casually, thinking that maybe he knew what was going on in your very warped mind of yours. "You're really the only one in my eyes." It was sappy, but it was true.
"Oh, you're just saying that." You say playfully, hands covering your mouth while you blush. A part of you probably did think that he wasn't serious.
"I'm not." He insisted. "Believe me, you're all I need to look at."
"Okay.." unable to fight the smile forming on your face. Nearly turning into a giggly child.
═══════
"Have you ever been like this for anyone else?" Now it was him that was playing with your hair. Running his hands from the front all the way to the back. And then down your shoulders, rubbing soothing lines up and down your arms.
"You mean in love?" You grinned.
"No." He chuckles, "have you ever been this obsessive for anyone else before?"
Obsessive.
Was he only just using that word as emphasis or was he catching on. The both of you were at your own home right now, and you could very easily tamper with the front doors to make it unable to open. You hadn't had time to properly set up your basement because you didn't think you needed to, but if the shoe fits, then you'd have no choice.
"Okay now," you shoved your hand in front of his face to stop him, "I wouldn't say I'm obsessed with you." Exaggerated air quotations on each sides of your head.
"Really?" There was a sly look in his face, like he caught you lying, and is seeing how far this lie could go. Or just how adamant you were to keep on pretending in front of him. "I would."
You only stared at him. The ghost of your smile was what was left on your lips. "How so?" You leaned back on the couch. "Because I like to make you dinner, or because I dream about you?" Trying to play it off like it's a joke.
He looks at you, face inching closer to yours. "It's because you follow me home and keep tabs on me." Said almost too calmly with how severe that sounded.
Your eyes widened. You need to knock him out, fast.
"It's because.." your palace has gotten bigger. Much too big. And every single room was just full of him.
He reached out to grab you wrist, tight. "Because you'd stare at me like I was the only person in the world."
Not knowing what to do, how to respond. You just let your body come up with a nervous laugh. "Is.. is that so." You mumbled weakly.
"Don't think I haven't noticed the daggers you'd glare at any and every person who would come up to me and invite me to converse."
Well, you didn't think you were that obvious.
"Or when you slipped something into my drink so that I wouldn't need to go to work and leave you." Saying those last words like it personally offended him. Scoffing at the mere idea.
You didn't even noticed when you started to hold your breath. Just utterly and completely breaking down now that you were caught. Your jaw was basically open agape.
"That-- that's just...-- that's ridiculous wha--" before you could blink, you felt yourself land back on the couch. Two hands pinning your shoulders down, giving yourself intense whiplash from the sudden movement.
"You're crazy for me, aren't you?" He still had that fucking smile on his face. The one he always has.
With what you knew about his supernatural shit, you wondered what he could really do to you. Now that you (maybe) pissed him off.
"It--" your heart was pounding so loud you were worried he could hear it. Breaths coming out ragged and shaky.
"Just so crazy.. and yet." His face dropped, to something much more amused. Seeing you squirm in fear beneath him. He might be reading too much into this. He might be misunderstanding, and he might be ruining his relationship by how intense he was acting. But he was an ace detective. One of the best detective prince. His judgement's rarely ever wrong.
"Yet how come I still see you with that lowlife from your previous school? Hm?"
That lowlife.. was he talking about..
"I don't-- there's nothing going on with me and him!" You struggled to explain yourself, shrinking down under his gaze.
"And nothing happened when you had to write an apology letter to the girl he liked because you were so enraged with jealousy?" His tone sent a shiver down your spine.
Wait-- "how do you.."
"You're not the only deranged one in this relationship." He laughed, one hand that was previously on your shoulder, now travelled along the junction of your neck. The back of his fingers barely ghosting over the skin.
"If you're so obsessed with me as you try to present yourself as." His grip tightened only a bit. "Then why." His hand's now on your left cheek. His thumb rubbing circles on top of your cheekbone. "Were you with him last week?"
He didn't even let you answer him, immediately cutting you off the moment you tried to open your mouth. Instead, he used his thumb to pry it further open apart. Sliding his finger inside and pressing down on the base of your tongue.
His eyes were glossy and half lidded. And you weren't any better either. You were enjoying the ever living shit out of this. Heat creeping down to in between your legs. Steam could probably be forming on the windows of your home with how deep you were exhaling.
He shushed you, clicking his tongue irritatedly. "Maybe you should stop talking for now." He was so close you could feel his breath on your open mouth. He admires you for a bit. Seeing how torn apart you already were with just his finger. Your hands brought themselves up to grasp his forearm.
In a brief second, he removes his thumb out from your mouth. Now replaced with his own.
He quickly took your tongue in between his lips. Sucking and biting lightly on the wet muscle. The sounds that were let out were obscene. The smacking of both of your saliva circling around the both of you.
The tip of his tongue met yours. Your jaw hinged wide open, moans escaping from the back of your throat. Your thigh squeezing impossibly hard against the other.
Spit escaped your lips, dribbling down from your chin to your chest.
Your lips closed down to meet his, wanting to have the taste of him that you've been craving for so long. Tongues swirling around in a passionate dance, exploring every inch of your mouth in a way to send you a statement. Telling you that he could just do this whenever he wanted to. And that you were going to enjoy it.
You were desperate, incredibly hungry. You wanted as much as you could get with what he decided to give you.
It went on for mere minutes, yet it felt like hours. You didn't pull back, not even when you couldn't breath, you'd be more than happy to pass out via making out with him. It was him that had to break it. A wet string of saliva forming a bridge between the both of you. To which he leaned down and licked it off of your lips.
Biting the bottom of his own in satisfaction.
You wanted more, much, much more.
Yet he was looking at you like you wanted the opposite. That you were about to be disgusted with him.
"Was that what you needed?" His voice came out guttural. "A sloppy makeout that he couldn't give you?"
You tried to gather your thoughts. A wheel was basically forming in your brain with how badly he was affecting you. And how badly he was affected by that guy.
"Have you ever been as dazed as you were just now? He will never make you feel as wanted as I do. He's just a nobody compared to you." His eyebrows twitched in frustration the more he thought about him.
"I.." you started.
"No. Why were you there? Why were you speaking to him when you have me? Or maybe you wanted me to see, maybe you knew that I was coming to see you soon, was it just a funny little game you were playing? Huh?"
"I'll kill him." You said breathlessly. "If.. if you want me to."
He stopped. Staring at you, "pardon?"
"I'll.. kill him, if that would make you feel better."
"You.. and you would do that?"
You nodded. "Without a second thought."
And for some reason. Some stupid, dumb reason, he felt like something was clawing against his chest. Weighing it down.
"No." He shook his head. "You shouldn't have any blood on your hands. I'll deal with him." He landed the bottom half of his body down on yours. Hands now grasping the cushion beneath you.
"I have had more blood on them than you'd think." You whispered. Doe eyes looking up at him desperately. "I don't want you to feel so unwanted again. I'll kill him. I was planning to anyway."
Oh, he felt like he was about to cry. All his life, unwanted was the only thing that he felt. It's incredibly new now that someone wanted the opposite for him. Even willing to go so far for it.
"You're the only person I'll ever want," you brought a shaky hand to the nape of his neck. Bringing him down for another kiss. "And I'll do whatever you want me to, if it means you'll stay."
needy!reiner who is almost always by your side. arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you dangerously close to his muscular, toned chest. He never lets go, not even for a second. there hasn’t been a moment in your relationships where he hasn’t had his hands on you.
needy!reiner who gets so, so emotional when he doesn’t find you next to him in bed. you’re in the bathroom brushing your teeth and you hear soft sobs, and the saddest whimpering you’ve even heard. it’s your sweet reiner, he’s curled up on the sheets, holding a pillow for comfort. all of that trauma from the previous war made him feel so frightened, afraid, desperate for a warm body, like yours, to keep him safe. he calls for you, and you dash out the bathroom like never before. you wrap your soft, delicate arms around him, holding his big body close to you. you whisper to him, ensuring him that all is well, and that you’re here, and there’s nothing here to hurt him.
needy!reiner who is always so desperate to please you. he’s afraid of you leaving someday, so he always tries to be the perfect boy, cleaning the house, doing the dishes, taking out the trash, any chore and he’ll do it, all for your approval.
needy!reiner who suffers from nightmares at night. he thrashes around in bed, whimpering with the somber tone of fright. his eyes dripping with tears. the sounds wake you up, and you turn to your side. your eyes making out the scene of a terrified reiner. you move over to him, hands cupping around the cheeks of face. his eyes flutter awake, darting towards you. “I was so scared..” he moans, he pulls you onto his chest, cupping your head. “it’s okay, baby. I’m here..” you coo, looking into his shimmering, golden brown eyes.
Synopsis. On campus? Choso Kamo’s the sweet, shy nerd you share film class with - the one who can barely meet your eyes without blushing. Online? Choso Kamo is really @cursed(your)wombz—the #1 streamer on C4mBoyfriends with 820k followers to see his…nine inches. And he might just be looking for a partner.
Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, streamer!Choso, (sort of) B́J Alex AU, cámboy!Choso, college AU, he’s a nerd, film nerd!Choso, secret identities, masks, píercings (ears, tóngue, D), tattoos, chat, streaming, you’re a fan, identity reveal, exhíbitíonism, oraI (fem rec.), again PlERCINGS, tongue f, spítting, p sIapping, p talking, letting the viewers choose, fíngering with rings, overstím, dúmbifícation, Jacob’s Ladder, rough s, fiIthy s, he’s sIightly mean, tummy buIges, making it fit, pressing down, talking you through it, cIit pinching, pússydrúnk Choso, matíng presses, chokíng, manhandIing, mocking, sIight níppIe stim, creampíes, chat Iove you, cúmpIay, getting together, Phantom of the Opera references, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 14.9k
A/N. Hehehehehe-
Sunday was the night you’d found him; sprawled out on your bed and thumbing through the Internet. Some glitzy pop song you couldn’t name blasted from your speakers, and the room was saturated in the tingly excitement of having speedy Wi-Fi, no assignments, and the night to yourself. LED lights pink.
You’re checking some of your messages - doling out a few hearts, a few reposts - when that bell-shaped button bursts in blue. A new notification.
@cursed(your)wombz liked your repost.
It was on a photograph of the Sun—big and yellow, seemingly melting over a grey horizon.
Which was perfectly ordinary- this was the Internet, after all. And though your list of followers was modest, of course you’d interact with a stranger here and there.
The problem was in the way the notification disappeared as soon as it came.
An…accident maybe? This person had liked and unliked your repost. And without a second thought, you’re typing their username into the search bar.
And clicking on their profile.
@cursed(your)wombz huh?
He had a pitch-black profile picture and a layout with nothing of note, a banner as equally colorless and unnotable, and a simple bio stating:
I know what you want…
- C.
And beneath that was a link.
It stood out stark against the black background. You don’t click on it, of course- for fear of being something malicious, you’re avoiding it like you’d avoid a minefield.
You’ve already heard one too many horror stories on here about such things. One click and you’d find your address posted somewhere. Instead, your eyes drop to the number of followers he had…and your eyebrows are immediately shooting up.
0 Following.
581k Followers.
Now that makes you blink.
Okay- alright, maybe it wasn’t the most astounding number you’ve ever seen throughout your expansive time on the Internet - but it was still niche celebrity-status. Especially on this app. Especially to be stalking an account like yours…where all you did was repost the stray picture of a pretty landscape or yell into the aether about your missing assignments for your friends to comment on.
Now that was a little strange.
And so you’re scrolling down.
And you never quite know what you’re in for whenever you enter the realm of a person’s account—fanfiction with tags you never knew existed, one part of an argument on social media that really shouldn’t exist, mpreg.
Which was all fine and dandy to be quite honest- you just never expect to be met with the most beautiful man you’ve ever laid eyes on.
The first picture you’re seeing- pinned.
Posted just an hour ago. It’s a mirror selfie taken at a low angle; of a man with his body angled towards the lens and his phone covering his face. In nothing but a towel. With nothing but his chiselled body. His beefy arms flexed as he takes the picture, biceps rippled with a few veins—though still lean and almost smooth to the touch. Pierced nipples. Defined abs. Your eyes linger on the sparse dusting of dark hair leading below, below, below his fluffy white towel…
The picture cuts off just a few inches past his navel. You know because you’re enlarging it.
The photo is almost vampiric in nature.
Somehow.
Dimly-lit. Beautiful—he clearly knew his angles and lighting. It’s slightly blurry and you can’t make out much of the man’s features - nothing more than the slender length of his fingers, silver rings, and the outline of his dark (perhaps brown?) hair. Touching his shoulders. From just above the hem of his towel, the amorphous blur of a tattoo snakes down his left v-line - and no matter how much you’re zooming in, you can’t quite figure out what it is.
Something twists at the pit of your stomach as you’re latching your eyes onto the very obvious bulge he was sporting through the towel - very.
The flash created a shadow of his lengthy cock—oh. Hanging between thick thighs, heavy and needy. And it also illuminated the slight dampness clinging onto his body; perhaps he’d just gotten out of the shower, or was about to take on after a workout.
Whichever scenario it was, both made your thighs clench- fuck.
Fingers slightly shaky, you’re exiting out of the picture and scrolling down for more.
The next post is a video seemingly taken from the very same instance: it was from the point of view of the beautiful man. Facing downwards, as he zoomed the camera in on his bulge and ran one vein-covered, ringed hand down his abs- down his pelvis- down to that throbbing erection and squeezed himself through his towel.
And then through your speakers echoes out the most pornographic moan.
Thank goodness your dorm had thick walls.
And that’s when you decide that you’ve seen enough.
Not enough as in enough enough to block this strange man and move on with your life- of course, not. As quickly as your fingers would possibly let you, you’re exiting out of the video and scrolling up to a bio that seemed to have more to hide than the first time you read through it.
The link stands mockingly stark - almost winking at you - against the dark background. You think you know what it is.
And you click on it.
Suddenly, your laptop screen’s flooding with a gaudy pink color. A loading circle swivels in the middle of it for a few seconds, before you’re met with a logo in swooping, slanted black script: C4mBoyfriends. Better than that boy in your dms.
Rapidly, you’re opening up a new tab and typing in the name.
“C4mBoyfriends is an adult streaming platform that hosts webcam performers that choose to label themselves as male. Here they can stream live video, post photographs, and interact on forums with a wide array of paying viewers—for a range of content catering to specific niches or sexual roleplays. C4mBoyfriends, since its recent launch, has shot up in the industry as one of the most-visited adult sites and the safest for its performers. All cuts go to the performers themselves and the site runs on separate donations from its audience.”
Ah- you’d guessed right.
Excitement burbles at the pit of your stomach for a few seconds. You’re clicking back onto the tab with the pink logo, and finding that it’d stopped loading.
It was in the layout of a streaming device, with static images of ongoing streams on one side of the platform, and different pages listed out on top. But what took up the majority of your screen was the vision of the very same man from before- from the mirror selfie, from the video.
This time, it was a stream.
@cursed(your)wombz is streaming—#1 streamer on C4mBoyfriends [101 week streak]. [Only solo]. Your internet boyfriend <3
0 Subscribed.
820k Subscribers.
455k Currently watching.
This time, he had his towel lifted up and his hands fisted around his fat cock.
Perfectly angled.
Your jaw drops. He was about eight- maybe more inches, though you weren’t in the state to count. Way too entranced by the way his veiny, ring-decorated hands were wrapped around his cock. Large. He was just so loooong and standing tall between wide-spread legs, shiverin’ every time he’s gliding his hand up and down. Up and down.
Again and again.
Getting faster by the second before he arches-
The edge of his thumb’s reaching for his ruby-red crown—then smearing the glistening liquid that just kept on foaming from the top. He lathers it upon his palm and drags it down his hot erection, making every inch gleam underneath the off-camera lighting.
You’re clicking on a button to increase your volume.
And just in time, too, because then he snakes his left hand down and squeezes his heavy balls- letting out a botched groan that leaves your shorts oh-so-wet.
Deep and guttural; there’s a slight quiver in them as he whispers. “F-fuck.” Just so full and sensitive—the man’s head tips backwards and his hips buck off the cushioned chair. Sluttily. As though he was fucking something invisible. It’s creaking ever-so-slightly as he settles back down, composing himself just a little bit before he starts cumming.
Pearly white droplets of cum.
Beading from the very top of his shaft - where he was the most pink n’ angry - shaking as he empties out. Globs of it start to glide down his length, and a few more collect where his silver Prince Albert’s piercing was positioned right beneath his mushroomy tip.
You’re just letting your eyes linger upon that little heap of satiny sap, when the man thumbs upwards and smears that, too. Such a mess.
And you think that might be all- but then he’s reaching his non-dominant hand upwards and pressing down on his frothing cockhead. Stopping himself from cumming - and as he leans to the side, you swear you’re glimpsing the twinkle of even more piercings on the upper side of his shaft. Was that…a Jacob’s ladder?
You’re rendered so damn speechless that you almost don’t register him speaking- “Awwww, did my pretty sluts wanna watch me cum?”
A shiver runs down your spine at the hitched tone of his voice- drunk on lust. He’s slightly slurring. So alluring, you almost catch yourself nodding.
“Well, too bad.” The man meanly snickers, before he’s suddenly reaching out with his non-dominant hand and angling it higher. The screen shifts to display that very same mouth-watering body from the picture—though, this time with the addition of a black-and-white mask that covered his features from forehead to his sharp jawline.
The only opening in it was a concave cutout for his mouth - almost reminiscent of a Phantom of the Opera mask. In the background was a clearly expensive bedroom of a clearly expensive home - far different from your single dorm - an artwork that you couldn’t name on the wall behind him. Something like a photograph or a portrait. Something about it was so precise- so cinematic. Like watching a movie scene. He continues, “Because you know why? You don’t deserve it.”
There’s a flurry of comments on one side of the screen, so fast that you wonder how he reads it.
“Didn’t I tell you to spam me with your nastiest stories in the chat?” He asks, and from beneath his mask you catch the outline of dark eyes shifting down those hurried words. Those needy comments. “None of you are nasty enough, so none of you get to see me cum…”
You’re tearing your eyes off of him to peruse what they were saying.
@girrrrrrrrrrth: nuuuuuu please, curse! i’ll get on my knees!!
@vampzo333: me too ME TOO
@likezmenpregnant: My story about the body pillow wasn’t nasty enough? TT
@CCpervnextdoor: AWWWW I’m begging~
@Curse’swifey: I’LL PAY YOU EXTRA PLEASEEEEEEE
@Curse’swifey donated 500 cherries.
“Tch- what a desperate bunch. Just fucking look at yourselves…” And though his words weren’t in the least bit nice, you couldn’t deny just how badly he made your cunt twinge.
Curse…that’s what his name was, huh?
You’re squeezing your thighs together- your sleep shorts were definitely soaked.
Curse rolls out the kinks in his neck just a little, and stares down at the camera with a crooked grin. “But that’s not gonna be enough. I said to be nasty- so be nasty.” The active chat becomes nothing but a blur once more: pleas, donations, stories half-typed in their urgency. “And in return I’ll moan whatever name you want me to moan when I cum.”
Before you know it, you’re opening up the sign-up page in a new tab.
Keeping Curse’s livestream playing in the background as you zip through your details. You’re picking out a username for yourself: Ietsmakeamovie and hastily going back to the ongoing stream with your newfound handle. Was it too obvious to make it the same username as your other account? The one that he had stalked?
Fuck- you’re too wound up to think of something else at this point. You decide that you’ll change it later…
Luckily, Curse’s stream didn’t have a paying threshold before you could comment. And you’re jittery with excitement as you pull the laptop closer to yourself and start typing out something—hitting send before you could overthink it.
@Ietsmakeamovie: Seeing you is the first time I’ve gotten this wet.
Curse’s eyes drift down the chat, and he seems to latch onto something. Eyes widening just a fraction.
“The first time?”
Fuck.
You’re feeling a jolt at the way he addresses you - never expecting him to pick out that comment amongst tens of thousands of others that were uttering even filthier things. Curse leans in and speaks with his deep tone, “Those other boys didn’t know how to treat a perfect pussy like yours, huh? This is why they call me the Internet boyfriend, baby.”
@Ietsmakeamovie: Yeah.
@Ietsmakeamovie: Fuck, you’re so hot.
@Ietsmakeamovie: I don’t even wanna look away to touch myself.
You feel embarrassed typing it all out - but you console yourself with the notion that no one here knows who you are. And you don’t know anyone here, either.
Curse leans back and starts pumping his cock even harder—taking his left hand off the drivelling top. His milky-white precum is frenzied n’ sticks to his hand like glue, and the chat grows more and more excited as Curse’s actions do the same.
“That’s alright, baby, you don’t have to finger yourself.” He chuckles, eyes locked on the comments. “I’d be doing that for you if I was there.”
@Ietsmakeamovie: Wish you were. You’d reach so much deeper.
@Ietsmakeamovie donated 1000 cherries.
“Fuh-fuck—” He hisses, head throwing back in his chair. You take the time to admire the lines of his prominent Adam’s apple - the way it bobs every time he’s taking a shaky swallow. “No need to donate or anything, baby, just keep- ngh, talking t’me like this and that’s enough…”
@0003h0lesforCurse: holy shit. i’ve never seen him like this.
@CCpervnextdoor: Needy Curse I like it~
@bewbsRlife: KEEP GOING OP KEEP GOING!!
You giggle to yourself.
@Ietsmakeamovie: Enough to make you cum, Curse?
“Greedy, greedy girl…” Through the slightest gaps in his mask you’re catching the way his nose crinkles in amusement. A wolfish smile. “S’that what you all want?”
The chat explodes in agreement.
He cocks his head, “Movie?”
Was that your new nickname now? Hastily, you reply-
@Ietsmakeamovie: Mhm.
“Well then…” He grins, toned body arching off the chair. “Get ready for a show—” Darkened gaze narrowing at the comments, “And you better not take your eyes off of me for a single second- hump your damn pillows if you have to. I don’t care.”
Quickly grabbing your own puffy pillow, you’re stuffing it between your legs.
Right as Curse lets his head loll backwards- and his cum drizzles out of his cock. He’s been edging the poor viewers and overstimulatin’ himself for so fucking long now—all it takes is a few pumps to let the cascade of white coat his hands and his rings. Just the slightest bit of silver peaking through.
Hard and fast.
The man’s cockhead flushes even redder as he drags his high out deliciously. Every burst of dopamine. Every heaving pant. Every pretty moan escaping him.
It seems to be ramming into him in waves- gooey ribbons of seed coat his digits. Getting smeared like a gloss across eeeeevery single inch, ridge, and vein—and since Curse’s pace was something furious, a few globs of cum splatter across the towel and onto his thighs. A mess that he’s seeming to love.
Because in the next few seconds, he’s wrung out just the final bits of pleasure in him- and is raising his cum-coated fingers up to his mouth and sucking. Staring straight into the camera lens as he does so.
You’re watching slack-jawed as those long, lacquered digits disappear between his lips. Finishin’ them off squeaky clean and letting his head tip to the side.
He mouths, “Movie—”
Part of your username.
Though you hadn’t asked for him to moan your name, as he’d promised to do to one of the viewers had they been nasty enough. And this special treatment…
Maybe he did it to every new viewer. Maybe he just liked how much you complimented him- though everyone else did, too. Either way, it’s perhaps what sets off the bursts of electricity between your legs—and soon enough you’re hurtling into a high you hadn’t even realized had been building up and up and up.
Your lashes flutter shut as the orgasm overtakes you.
Hips ruttin’ away into the plushness of your pillow- you wonder just how much better riding him would be…
And that’s setting off a whole new layer of dopamine at your core, your cunt quiverin’ as white-hot pleasure makes your heartbeat throb in your ears. Chest pounding. Breaths heavy.
By the time you’ve finished pushing through your high, you’re coming to find that Curse had somewhat cleaned himself up with the towel and was bantering back n’ forth with the chat. He rests his head on one hand and sweeps his eyes down the usernames, “What happened to dear Movie, huh?” Curse pretends to pout. “The first stream wasn’t too much for her, right?”
@girrrrrrrrrrth: kekekeke you’re too freaky, curse!!
@CCpervnextdoor: So dirty~
@daddytoeknee: Must thank Movie for the show though…
Urgently, you’re gathering yourself and tapping a few buttons on-screen.
@Ietsmakeamovie subscribed to @cursed(your)wombz.
@Ietsmakeamovie donated 2500 cherries.
@Ietsmakeamovie: It’d never be too much.
“Ahhh, there you are.” Such a beautiful smile smears across his face, and Curse’s leaning in to take a closer look at the comments. “And thank you for subscribing, same time tomorrow?”
You’re unsure whether that was directed at you or everyone viewing- but you’re chiming in agreement alongside the rest of the comments. And Curse reads through them, lingering for just a little while longer before he grins.
“Heh- bye, sluts.”
And he covers the camera, the stream cuts off.
Yet your heart still thunders.
Ignoring the time at the bottom of your laptop screen, you’re then clicking on his profile and scrolling through what other videos he had…
.
.
.
It was your fault that you kept dozing off.
Honestly.
You should have known better- and you know that you should’ve known better…but you couldn’t help yourself. After Curse’s initial stream, you spent some time browsing through the numerous photographs and short clips that he’d posted; there were even some saved streams that were each dirtier than the last—each with his attractive mask and his even more attractive voice, his sensual cock getting pumped over and over for the audiences.
And so you’d left a few comments, a few hearts.
Throughout all of them, you made the peculiar discovery that they were all more high-quality than the last. The standard of being the #1 on the site, you guess. But the lighting and angles were all just so perfect…
You’d watched them for just a little while- at least, what you’d thought was a little while. Because by the time you’re realizing that your laptop battery was dying, and your eyes were tired, you’re turning your head in the direction of the dorm windows and- fuck.
Why was the Sun coming up?
And so you’d rushed to get at least half an hour of sleep before you had to get up for your 8AM lecture.
Professor Yaga taught Film 101 as though he was trying to scare everyone off it. Rigorous coursework and never-altered deadlines. Though you yourself wouldn’t consider him an unreasonable man, it was impertinent to be punctual and alert in his classes - and right now, you were feeling neither of those.
By the grace of the universe, you’re somehow managing to stumble into class just two minutes after it starts. It’s not enough to rouse Yaga’s anger - and either way, you had made a name for yourself as one of his most avid students - though it does get you a sternly raised brow as you apologize and take the nearest open seat.
Just-so-happening to be in the very last row.
At the very forgotten corner.
Right beside who you knew to be Yaga’s actually most avid student—Choso Kamo.
Had it been a race between the two of you - perhaps between the entire department - Choso would have finished five times before anyone’s even stepping past the finish line. You would’ve gotten second. And that wasn’t to diminish your abilities in any way - you’d long since proven yourself to be one of the best students this course had even seen - it’s just…Choso was a film nerd through and through.
If there was anyone that could live up to such a title, then it was him.
Choso lived, slept, and breathed film and television. He could name any television show around the world with just a single frame, and most he could recite line-for-line. Oh, that? He learned Korean just to immerse himself in that scene in Parasite. That scene? It was from the 1957 Sri Lankan film Amba Yahaluwo, by the way did you know that Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom was filmed there, too?
Knitted vest. Hair in two messy space buns.
Clunky glasses rested atop his nosebridge, and dark bangs covering most of his vision, you’d often see him tottering around campus with a column of books that was damn-near taller than him. And despite his towering demeanour - from your mental counting, Choso was around 6’2 or more - around most of the student body, he was the type that couldn’t meet your eyes no matter how many classes you shared with him.
Even now, as you seated right next to him and smiled- Choso softly yelps and turns away from.
You don’t take it personally, of course, as he was simply the shy type. And by the flush that rises to his high cheekbones, you know he - at the very least - doesn’t dislike you.
Situating yourself, you’re opening your bag and pulling out your laptop. Opening it- fuck.
The briefest flash of one of Curses’s previous streams—where he had his cock in his hands and his face contorted mid-ecstasy flashes across your screen. And you can’t slam your laptop shut fast enough- cracking it just the slightest bit to exit out of the numerous tabs, fingers nothing but a blur. Thank fuck your volume hadn’t been set on high.
Head ducked, you’re looking out from the corner of your eye to check whether Choso had seen anything.
But if he did, he shows no indication.
Only keeping his back ramrod straight- his gaze ahead- his flush fiery as he listens to whatever Yaga was saying.
And so you think you’re in the clear…for now…
Opening your laptop up once more, you’re logging onto your lecture platforms and attempting to forget about last night. Which was difficult when that smile upon Curse’s face, just beneath his mask - was the only thing running through your mind.
And before you know it, you’d been staring blankly at your screen for a few seconds—before Choso inches in just a centimeter closer. Unwilling to let himself take up even more space. He keeps his eyes trained ahead and his voice - fuck, you’d never heard his voice before but it was just so deep and measured, something you wouldn’t have expected out of him - low.
Whispering to you, “H-he’s on Chapter 18 of Stone Butch Blues, we’re about to write a screenplay for the zoo scene.”
“Ah…” You don’t know whether you’re more surprised at the timbre of his voice or the way he managed a proper sentence out to you. All your previous attempts at conversation throughout the semester had been futile—and you’d long resigned yourself to the idea that he was too nervous to ever talk to you. “Th-thank you.”
He doesn’t answer but nods in shy acknowledgement.
And as you’re opening up your file, you bask in the realization that Choso Kamo was actually hot underneath those glasses. If only you could see his features further…
Maybe you’re being a little delirious. Your eyes feel heavy.
Heavy.
Heavier.
Tap-tap-tap.
A shake.
Tap-tap-tap-tap.
A warm hand on your shoulder, by the time you’re opening your eyes- you’re looking up into even warmer, molten chocolate-colored ones. They were framed by fawny eyelashes and thick glasses that made his shy gaze seem ever-so-slightly amplified.
You think you’re stunned for a few seconds before Choso speaks, “U-um…class is over.”
“Oh.” That makes you dart your head up and look around, noticing that most of the students had filtered in or were in the process of already doing so. “Oh, shit-”
You’d seriously slept through all that?
And Yaga had left you alive?!
No, you weren’t going to question this act of mercy—thank goodness for the last row, because he likely hadn’t been able to see you. Shooting upright, you’re grabbing all your things and hoping you hadn’t snored next to the sweet boy - “Thank you so much for waking me.” You’re turning towards him and saying, earnestness seeping into your tone. “Knowing me, I would’ve slept right through till next class. Might actually have been more convenient.”
He startles into a laugh then raises a hand up to his mouth and quietens himself down, “It’s alright.” You’re staring closely at the little bells of laughter, and he turns his eyes downwards. Bashfully admitting, “Happens to me too, whenever I stay up um- studying. Long night?”
You sigh, “You could say that…” Not a long night studying, but…
And as the conversation quietens down and Choso worries down on his bottom lip, you’re hiking your backpack up on your shoulders and saying. “Well, I guess I should be going then. Catch up on the recordings of the lecture and everything-” Turning, “See you ‘round—and thanks again.”
You make all of five steps before Choso finally gathers up the courage to call out-
“Wait—!”
Confused, you’re facing him once more. “Yes?”
And his hand was out, his fingers were slightly trembling. He was mouthing out the words as though still debating whether to speak them into existence - whether he was capable of. “I…we-” Eventually mustering up the courage once you give a reassuring nod, “When will we meet up?”
That makes you pause.
Was he…
“F-for the assignment.” Choso clarifies, a flush rising to his cheeks as he likely realizes he should’ve led with that. “Professor Yaga’s mid-semester project he always does…”
Ah—you’re clapping a palm on your forehead. How could you have forgotten? Yaga had announced at the start of the semester that about halfway through, the class would be paired up or put into groups to work on a collaborative project that contributed to about 50% of your grade. This semester, it was to write a full-length movie screenplay for a book or musical of your choice. And you’d been excited for it, in fact, but after the…activities of last night it’d completely slipped your mind that he’d be delving more into it this lecture.
And the poor boy stumbles through his explanation, “H-he let everyone choose their partners, and I wanted to wake you up but…you just looked so peaceful.” He fidgets with his fingers and flushes, “I th-thought one of your friends would come up here and choose you but-”
Probing him gently, “But?”
“B-but I’m afraid you ended up paired with me.” Choso just looks so genuinely apologetic- “I’m sorry- no one picked me either. I should’ve woken you up, but we can go talk with Professor Yaga about changing partners if you’d like-”
“Hey—wait.” You’re cutting off his spiel, something in your chest aching at the utterly devastated furrow between his brows. You take a step closer to him, “I would love to do the project with you, Choso. No need to talk to Yaga about anything.”
He looks up at you with wide, disbelieving eyes. “B-but your friends…”
“I don’t really have close friends in this class, anyway.” You smile, “I’d much rather do it with you.”
“Really—?” Breathed. As if he couldn’t believe it.
And it’s after some time - and a deep inhale - that he speaks again. Finally sinking in that someone would choose him of all people—that you would, that he speaks again. “And um- would you like to work on the script at my place?” Before you can answer, his breath hitches and his head shoots up. “N-not that I’m pressuring you into…it’s nothing weird, I promise! We can meet anywhere else you like- the library, your place- wait, no that’s weird, too…”
“Choso- Choso.” You giggle. And if this was anyone else then you would’ve assumed that they were putting the moves on you. “I’m okay with your place.”
.
.
.
The apartment was a fair distance away from the campus dorms.
Which made sense, you suppose, given the fact that less than half the people there would be able to afford the rent on such a place—especially after tuition. The highrise dove into the clouds, its vermicular body scaled in glistening windows and gold-accented furnishings within. You got the distinct feeling of being swallowed whole as you entered through the widely-gaped entrance, with several doormen and security that eyed you up and down, bowed at Choso.
You thanked them and made your way - slightly speechless - through the hallways.
This was everything you could ever dream of, and you’re sure you spot the odd actor or two down in the lobby. As you’re getting into an elevator the size of your entire dorm room, Choso punches in one of the highest floor numbers and turns to you-
Throughout the bus ride here, you’d been the one chattering away. And so it surprises you once he finally speaks, “I-I’m sorry…my place is a bit of a mess.”
“Can’t be as bad as mine. I won’t judge.” Who cares about a mess when he lives in a place like this? You couldn’t wait to go inside…
He pushes his chunky glasses upwards and gives you a shy smile, “Thank you.” Looking down at his polished shoes, “You’re so sweet.”
“Thank you.”
And you rise upwards in silence.
Soon enough, you’re finding yourself being led up to his massive apartment. He’s punching in the numbers of the code and setting his backpack down—telling you to make yourself comfortable. And you shuffle inside awkwardly; past the lavish furnishings and the alien-shaped lamps that all rich places seemed to boast.
He leads you in the direction of the master bedroom - where Choso said that his film collection was vast and likely to reveal techniques that the two of you would be able to incorporate into your own script.
“I even have a copy of Momijigari- it’s one of my most prized possessions.” He shoots you such a charming smile, eyes twinkling behind his glasses, over his shoulder. Heading inside.
And you can’t help but follow.
A single step inside his not-so-humble abode and you’re feeling a sudden sense of déjà vu wash over you, rendering you unsteady on your feet. Not quite sure why, you’re sweeping your eyes around the space: the high-quality camera equipment in one corner (not unusual to see for a film student), the chic furnishings, and then over to the empty wall space above the king-sized bed, something in you remained dissatisfied as they find nothing there but white plaster.
Choso notices that you’ve stalled behind and looks over at you curiously—he was taking a seat on the carpet, laptop opened up on top of the coffee table. “Something wrong? I’m sorry, I know it’s really messy but-”
“No, you’re good.” You shake your head, “It’s actually not messy enough.”
He smiles.
That night, you went home and wondered why Choso’s smile looked so familiar.
.
.
.
The musical that you’d chosen for your ‘adaptation’ was The Phantom of the Opera, suggested by you, of course.
And if there had been any connection to the masked man you’d been watching the night prior, then you were just glad that Choso had no idea.
It was far easier, given the fact that it’d already been adapted from the initial novel—though that only meant that Yaga would be critiquing yours even harder.
So you had to strive to be more cinematic, than the others in your class, stronger in ways than the ones before you - and though you doubt you’d ever match up to Schumacher’s visuals, there was little doubt as to whether you’d be the best amongst the students. This was a screenplay made to impress, and in the week since you’d pored over it—and Choso Kamo’s mahogany coffee table typing away at it, you only grew more determined in the fact. And throughout the week, you’ve been flitting in and out of that very apartment of his.
Choso had been a lovely partner for the project - the best you could’ve ever asked for - and you’re coming to find that he was actually far more funny than anyone ever gave him credit for. Far more open. Far more active when it came to something he was passionate about.
And of course, you knew that he’d be sweet.
Despite his initial insistence that he could do the project himself, you’d taken up half the work. And you’d joined him in browsing through his massive catalogue of movies, in searching up screenplays to read, and in annotating them for techniques when starting to write yours.
You’ve come to make friends with one of the doormen by now.
Just today you’d watched the 2004 Phantom of the Opera adaptation. And after a few hours of occupying his space and getting to know the nerdy boy a little better, you’d go straight back home to…Curse.
Whenever Choso made you feel tingly with his sweetness, Curse would amplify that heat to right between your legs.
It’s been a week of getting to know Choso Kamo, and a week of having Curse splashed across your laptop screen—cock furiously hard n’ his moans echoing. He’d smile and utter your username whilst wearing his iconic mask and it’d be a high strong enough to follow into the day after. And often Choso would ask you what you’re so happy about.
Today, in particular, Curse had just finished one of his streams - cumming aaaaaall over the desk this time - when he’d settled himself back down and started chatting with the comments. Responding to one or two of yours.
You’re just about to joke about why he was sticking so long after his orgasm when he speaks once more-
Voice somewhat serious, “Alright, now…settle down, settle down.” Curse waves his hand airily at the camera, throwing a middle finger up when the chat only gets more frenzied. “Tch- what brats you all are, would you wanna roleplay that someday?”
@vampzo333: YES PLEASE.
@likezmenpregnant: How about you be the brat…?
@Ietsmakeamovie: I would like that.
@sixeyesorsixh0les: ^^
@0003h0lesforCurse: ^
“Fine fine…” Underneath the mask, he rolls his eyes fondly. “But I really do have something to announce-”
@likezmenpregnant: You’re pregnant.
@Ietsmakeamovie: I’m the father-
@Curse’swifey: NO MEEEEEEEEEEE!!
“I’m thinking of getting a partner for these streams.” He finally admits, rubbing his chin as though still in thought. And your heart stops-
@bipplruletheworld: so down.
@Cursenoticeme44: Omg yeeeeeeeeees!!
@daddytoeknee: YESYESYES.
The chat practically explodes, and you’re unsure what to feel about it—after all, you don’t know Curse and it’d be strange to feel a little possessive over his solo streams, however, you did have your preferences. But then again, you can’t help but imagine just how much hotter it would be to have two people- perhaps to see him make expressions he never has before…
Ultimately, you’re quiet as Curse leans in and scans the chat. His brows furrow just a little as he sweeps through the blurring usernames, “I dunno…I’m still thinking about it- I haven’t even asked this person, to be honest. I just wanted to know what you guys thought.” Nodding his head along or huffing out laughter at some of the comments, “Movie?”
You jolt—at being called out.
He wanted your opinion specifically? You suppose you did contribute to about half his comment section most streams.
But you stall as your fingers reach for the keyboard.
Biting down on your lip and contemplating for a little while. Though he waits as patiently as ever-
@Ietsmakeamovie: I don’t mind!!
Something seems to wash over him as he reads your comment, nodding. “I see.”
He moves onto something else and his expression was indiscernible.
You’re flickering your eyes to the artwork behind him, the small corner of it peaking into the frame, and it suddenly hits you that it’s the theatrical poster of The Phantom of the Opera (2004).
.
.
.
It can’t be.
It can’t be.
It can’t be.
There’s something your brain was telling you that you’re absolutely refusing to believe—after all, how many people in the world loved The Phantom of the Opera? Hell, how many people in the world have watched The Phantom of the Opera?
That didn’t mean that everyone you came across had a secret identity as one of the hottest streamers on C4mBoyfriends.
You were being paranoid, you told yourself. You were being utterly silly- and the next time you’re going over to Choso’s apartment was the very next day. Which wasn’t entirely ideal, given how much you’d tossed and turned after Curse’s last stream conjuring up all the possibilities…but Yaga wouldn’t accept a request for an extension even if you were set on fire in front of him. And so you went.
The pit of your stomach twists as Choso swings the lavish wooden door open and gives you a beaming smile. So innocent. So sweet.
He shakily pushes his glasses up as he welcomes you in. “Come in—s-sorry if I took a while to get to the door, I’ve been doing some decorating recently.”
His nervous smile is what makes you find your voice. And you’re dubiously looking around the luxurious apartment, “You need to do some decorating?”
“Believe it or not, yes.” Choso huffs. “Would you like something to drink? Or maybe to eat? I checked out that bakery you recommended last time and you’re right- they have the best Danish pastries.”
“Actually, Choso…” You’re shaking your head, shooting him a grateful smile. “I’m good. I’d think I’d prefer to start right away, if that’s alright? I really wanna get to Act 2 today.”
“O-oh, of course—!”
And he’s sweetly guiding you inside, whilst you attempt not to look like you’re taking two steps at a time. Back to that familiar room. Back to that familiar desk. Back to that (somewhat) familiar bed which most certainly did not have an artwork from The Phantom of the Opera on it—
You open the door and the first thing you’re seeing is the familiar plane of that white mask. The Phantom.
Choso follows behind you and catches you staring at the poster. Gravelly tone echoing from behind, “I told you I did some decorating.”
And you jump-
Swivelling around to find him bearing you a sheepish smile, “Sorry if I startled you.” He pushes those chunky glasses up, “Tea?”
“S-sure…” You breathe, if anything for a thing to occupy your mouth with. Wait- not like that—!
And as Choso disappears down the hall, you’re taking a seat on the bed you’ve sat on countless, countless times before without a single care in the world. Now you’re sinking into the very - the very - edge as though it’d swallow you whole.
Body just resting on the plush comforter before-
“Hey, so I also have coffee if you would prefer?” Comes Choso’s sudden voice.
And you’re startling once more- “Just tea is fine, thanks.” Barely managing to get that through your lips, you’re watching as he disappears…as the sound of his footsteps echo…
Before darting off the bed and now heading towards the camera equipment you’d noticed in the corner the first time you’d been here. What you’d assumed to be part of another one of his classes or personal projects. Now, you’re leaning in and wondering with just which camera he showed his pretty cock off to millions, at just what height of his tripod he made your cunt so heated.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck this was real.
Now, you’re noticing things in the room that you’d never noticed before. Like the ring light kept underneath his bed, and the dresser in the corner with numerous rings- those weren’t costume props or anything. They were pure silver.
Heavy.
Heavy, like the pit in your stomach—excited and swirling. Just trembling at the tips of your fingers - ever-so-slightly - you’re reaching out as though to touch it, as though to feel the alternate version of Choso that you knew longer than you knew Choso-
“Ah, so you’ve realized.”
And then his voice permeates the room.
The room that suddenly seems smaller, the room that suddenly seems to rise ten degrees in temperature - though goosebumps skitter across your skin. And almost as though in a horror movie, you’re turning in slow motion to face the bespectacled man who was now holding up a tray of steaming hot tea.
He walks over soundlessly and sets it on the coffee table with a slight click! And besides that, Choso walks over to the dressing table and puts his silver rings on.
One by one.
His eyes hold court with yours through the mirror, “How long?” Voice a deep timbre.
You’re taking a step closer without even realizing, “Um…just last night. Just now- actually.”
He chuckles and you realize he’s asking how long you’ve known about Curse.
“I-I found you by chance. About a week ago, actually…” And then you say what’s been on your mind ever since you had, “Ever since you liked and unliked my repost.”
“Ah, a rookie mistake.” Choso comments. “I should have known better than to stalk using my public account.” And with all rings now put on and glinting in the lighting of his bedroom, Choso shuffles through his jewellery tray to pluck his earrings in and one eyebrow piercing. And then…one lip piercing—a lip ring that twinkles mischievously as he smiles.
He rises and you think you’ve never quite appreciated his built frame.
His deep eyes as they’re locking in on you. Echoing out, “Though…you really can’t say much- can you, Movie?”
And though you knew that he knew- you can’t stop the zaps of electricity running through your body.
Sputtering out, “Yeah-” Your fists clench and you’re looking up at the object of both your fantasies and your secret interest these past few days - melded into one. “Yeah, I really can’t. Choso you’re so…”
“Different?” He fixes his glasses, “Though I really am shy, I can’t deny that- especially around you. But it helps to be a little more antisocial when I’m around idiots.”
He leans in closer- so close that his scorchin’ hot breath wafts across your features. You have no idea how you’d diminished such a distance so soon…
“And if my memory serves me right-” Choso taps on the edge of his chin, in mocking thought. “-I seem to remember that Movie agreed to have a partner on my stream.” You shiver. And he looks at you adoringly, “So how about it? Wanna make a movie, baby?”
You step a little closer.
“Only if I get to match wardrobes.”
He chuckles and picks you up to spin you around-
And then it’s getting to work. And then it’s shuffling through his closet to find a mask that matches his own.
He stretches on the rubber a bit and brings it to you—“I bought this one when I first started, but it ended up being too tight- I think it’d be just the one for you.”
It was. It fit perfectly.
And then he paces around the room and starts to set up- before Choso’s gaze catches you hovering around the bed, and then he’s clicking his tongue and forgoing the tripods altogether. With just the professional lights and the high-quality camera, Choso places the camera on top of the coffee table. Facing the foot of the bed - everything and anything could be seen.
Just with a few clicks he’s started the stream.
And with just a little nudge he’s urging you to sit next to him.
“Hello, my little sluts—” Choso- or should you say Curse croons towards the camera. On one of his monitors you can see him being projected there - waving, in his knitted vest that clashed with his mask. You stand off awkwardly out of sight from the camera. He smiles. “As you can see, things are a little different today…”
@girrrrrrrrrrth: uuuuuu change of angle!! change of angle!!
@bewbsRlife: ARE WE GETTING A SURPRISEEEEEEE??
@likezmenpregnant: Pls be pregnant, Curse <3
“No- no, I’m not pregnant.” He laughs, “But I have been thinking about what we talked about last night.”
@bipplruletheworld: omg this can’t be…
“And guess what? I did what you guys told me about- and I talked to her.”
@bipplruletheworld: yessssssss
@yoyoyoureinmypuss: I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE^^
@bewbsRlife: WOOOOOO-
@daddytoeknee: Omg where’s Movie, Ik she’d love this- heh. Imagine this WAS Movie though…
“So, my little sluts…” Choso announces, “I’d like to introduce you all to my new partner—” And he’s reaching out and clasping your wrist, looking up to check for reassurance before continuing. Miming whispering to the camera, “And this is her first time on stream, so be nice…”
You’re sheepishly walking into their view.
Slightly bowing your intrusion into the stream, “Th-thanks for having me?”
“Isn’t she cuuuuute?” He asks the commenters, and there’s a flurry of agreements. You’re even spotting a few questions about your name n’ interests, even kinks, amongst those - all of which Choso waves off with a laugh. “Now now—we can have the Q&A later. For now, let’s get to the fun part…”
@Curse’swifey: FUCK THAT’S MY FAV PART-
@2coolforcond0ms(i’mavirgin): Movie you’re missing out on a historic moment uwu
And the fun part consisted of clamoring onto the bed as fast as lightning. Letting the mattress dip n’ creak its protests out as Choso sits on it with his back turned to the camera, then lovingly pats his manspread thighs as a signal for you to climb on. Meaty muscles. Thick enough for you to want to sink your teeth into- how could you never have noticed?
Perhaps because this was the polar opposite of how he acted when he was on campus - always keeping to himself, never taking up too much space. Now he was practically vacuuming it all up so you had nowhere else to sit.
And you were more than happy to climb onto Choso Kamo’s lap.
Sitting your ass down on his readily-awaiting seat. From under your skirt you feel something hot—and throbbing between his legs. Cylindrically shaped and curved to the left.
Just the slightest movement makes his rock-hard erection twitch underneath- and you’re whimpering at the lewd sensation. At the way he drips out a hefty dollop of precum that seeps through his trousers and sticks to the front of your panties, making you gasp—“Ch-Cho-”
“Shhhh.” Choso wraps a hand ‘round your throat and cuts you off.
And before you know it, he’s bouncing his knees to get you to slide your drippin’ pussy up and down his bulge. Up and down. Turning towards the camera, “Ya hear that?” Up and down. “My girl’s so needy- she’s already begging for it. But I dunno if she deserves it, huh?”
@bewbsRlife: I MEANNNN
@theh0rniestsoldier: i’m feeling mean today…
@daddytoeknee: Give her your mouth!!
“Mouth? I love that idea.” Choso titters.
And then he’s giving a teasing slap on the side of your ass cheeks—smack!
“Please-”
“Sit on my face now, baby.” He purrs, eyes flickerin’ with pure need underneath his mask. Then leaning in to whisper in a loooow tone for only you to hear. “You know Choso, but let’s see if you can handle Curse.”
Then he leans back on the bed - his head pointing in the direction of the camera.
And you’re shuffling up Choso’s toned, brick-hard body—straddling your knees upon either side of his head, veerin’ your hips right atop that pretty face. You’re sitting - right in front of the camera. Though nothing was revealed…yet.
And Choso’s digging his tongue up to you instantly- he isn’t even making it past the fabric of your panties. But that doesn’t stop him from lettin’ his tastebuds take a looooong, luxurious lick of your swollen pussy.
Right down your sopping wet slit.
Suddenly, the room echoes with one of his pornographic moans- the very same ones you’d listened to night after night through your laptop speakers. Now they’re even louder, and somehow even sexier, sending electricity shooting straight up, up, up from your core.
And even more treacherous was the way you’re feeling something cold…and metallic at the very middle of Choso’s tongue. Rock-hard. It takes whatever’s left of your rationality to realize that it’s a silvery tongue piercing smack-dab where his tastebuds kissed your pussy. Scraping alongside where you were most sensitive.
Instantly; your head tips back and saliva starts bubbling at the sides of your lips. “Fuh-fuck…” And before you know it—you’re starting to drag your throbbing pussy up n’ down his features.
Short, barely-there jerks of your shy, shy hips.
And Choso chuckles huskily to himself at the cute way you were yearnin’ for his mouth. But what you didn’t expect was for him to reach one ringed hand up and squeeze the left side of your hips.
Your only warning.
Before he’s suddenly tightening his hold on you and reaching one more hand up- snaking it beneath your skirt like some pervert. Choso edges towards your throbbing cunt and places one good slap—
It’s the resounding smack! of skin-on-skin that makes you halt more than anything.
Jaw-dropped. Thighs quivering. The white-hot pleasure runs through your spine and leaves you barely hearing his roughened words, a tone lower than you knew his voice to be- as though drunk on the delicious taste of your pussy already. “Greedy, greedy girl…” Choso tuts, “Don’t tell me you’re trying to enjoy yourself without letting our dear audience in on the fun?”
Oh, shit.
You’re letting your head snap to where the camera was positioned and blinking its one gluttonous eye. Comments flooding the screen of the monitor so fast that you couldn’t read them-
You’d completely forgotten about the stream for a second.
“I—oh, I um.”
Yet another harsh smack! “Forgot, huh?” Amusement seeps into Choso’s words, as though he’d already guessed the situation.
You admit, “M-maybe…”
“I’m afraid I can’t blame you, baby.” Smack! “Curse’s mouth is too good, huh?” He yammers on and on, his tongue nudging deeper, his rippling tastebuds skidding into every ridge- as if trying to fuck you through your damn panties. “This pussy’s too good–she’s purring f’me already. Hear her?”
And you’re not sure why- but you’re nodding to whatever he says. “Y-yes—fuck.”
“Mhm. So why don’t we let our lovely audience hear, too, huh?” You’re barely given the time to register his suggestion, before Choso husks out a command. “Lift your skirt up, baby.”
Your thighs squeeze around his head at the notion-
And your fingertips touch the short hemline of your skirt.
@Cursenoticeme44: Holy shit.
@theh0rniestsoldier: i’ve been waiting for thisssssssssss-
@daddytoeknee: WOW.
@girrrrrrrrrrth: bby’s so needy!!
@R€4leater: munch Curse #canon
The chat explodes as you let them bear witness to Choso’s face stuffed between your pretty legs- he’s redly-flushed and ravenous. They could see the slightest glimpse of his nose n’ the way he’s driving it between your sodden pussylips, diving and diving, they could see the glossy layers coating your cunt—and the way Choso’s pink lips come up to suck on it.
Those handsome cheeks of his hollow out, as he’s makin’ out with your pussy through your panties.
Like a man starved.
Long canines slightly nippin’ at your folds- almost wolfish in mannerisms.
“Oh p-please…” You’re quivering atop him. You don’t even know what you’re begging for—just that it feels so good to have him veering his tongue hungrily against your cunt like this. And you wanted more.
More, more, and more.
Choso’s holding onto your restless hips with a clammy hand- he’s stuck to you almost like adhesive. And he guides your hips - he fucking slows them down - whilst you continue moanin’ and shaking atop his raw mouth. Glistening wet tongue extending even more than its usual length to slide-slide-sliiiiide your panties to the side-
And you’re gasping at the sudden whiff of cold bedroom air against your naked pussy. “Ch-” A spank. “I mean- fuck, Curse?”
“Mhm, m’here, baby.” He drawls out. Slightly slurring with all the extra globs of your pussy juices - pooling straight into your mouth, n’ Choso reaches up and smooches your soft swollen folds to smear it all around. Like some gloss. “M’here aaaaaand- so are 820k sluts that wanna watch you break.”
“B-break?” You’re gaping, “I thought you were just gonna- ngh, eat me out…?”
“Baby, Curse never ‘just’ does anything.” And you’re shocked to find him sliding his tongue out, tipping his head back to refer to the camera on the coffee table. “Isn’t that right, fuckin’ pervs?”
@daddytoeknee: Hell yeah.
@0003h0lesforCurse: duhhhhhhhhh
@yoyoyoureinmypuss: YOU’RE THE BEST CURSE
@Fishygurodad: Fuck, her pussy’s divine.
“Heh…” Choso smiles into your cunt, “And so whaddaya say? How many slaps before I stick my tongue in her?”
@vampzo333: 3
@bbynohuuuuzz: 14
@Ilikepr1menumbers: 29
“Since m’feeling nice- read your favorite one out, baby.” He murmurs.
To which you’re unable to do anything but- you tilt your upper half just the slightest bit closer to the monitor and pick out the first one you can read through the blur of words and numbers:
@Fishygurodad: Until she cries.
Oh.
Your blood runs cold.
Your cunt grows heated.
And before you can either rectify your recitation or beg for mercy—Choso doesn’t hesitate before fixing the rings on his fingers to be slightly higher than before. Making sure they’re in line of him planting one- two- three good, loud spanks on your sobbin’ cunt. “O-oh my god- fuck, mmm, oh my god.”
Until the skin of his fingertips seems to redden, and your pussylips feel raw - “How about that?” He asks- not from you, but from the viewers.
@daddytoeknee: I don’t see her crying yet…also idkkkkk I’m getting Movie vibes.
@girrrrrrrrrrth: movie would’ve loved this-
And then it’s one after the other. Again and again, Choso’s emblazoning the rude outlines of his rings against yours - until you’ve fucking memorized the ridges n’ patterns of the one ring on his middle finger with the carving of an octopus.
Tentacles flared out.
“Shit, not that damn ring again.”
And as he’s doing so he can’t help himself- fuck, he can’t heeeeelp himself. His canines dig into the sticky fabric of your underwear like a damn dog - and throughout the duration of what his hands were doing, you’re hearing the sharp riiiiip of fabric tearing—!
Soon enough, your panties are tattered and ruined in Choso’s maw- just from his mouth. He spits it out and continues swerving his thickened tips inwards to give a loving pinch on your clit—and you can’t help but burst into peals of shrill, needy cries. Both pain and pleasure mixing as he doles out a final swat-
Before Choso swipes your pussylips apart and spits- the glutinous glob of his saliva landing directly on your hole. He doesn’t give it the time to seep back out—instead, he’s surging up and shoving his face between your legs.
This time, without the barrier of your panties in the way.
@CCpervnextdoor: HE FUCKING RIPPED IT OFF WITH HIS MOUTH??
@bewbsRlife: HOLY SHIT CURSE-
@Fishygurodad: Shiiiiit, I’d do the same ngl.
And then Choso’s shoving his tongue inside and slurpin’ all around your wet hole like a damn animal…
In and out.
In and out.
Probin’ into slippery sweet spots.
Chin hitting the back of your slit. Plastic mask rubbing against your clit.
Choso’s pierced tongue was going absolutely fucking wild inside of you. He wastes no time before gripping either side of your cute hips and slammin’ your pussy down onto his mouth- hard and fast. The perverted nerd is slashing his tongue inwards, smearin’ apart your glue-covered folds. As deep as he could go. He doesn’t care if it hurts, he just needs to make sure that loooong slick muscle of his tastebuds were scrapin’ every inch of your walls.
With the curved tip of it, he flexes it against a sweet bundle of nerves. Making you buck with a pitchy moan of his name—“Ch-Cuuuurse—!” And the sensation was made even more delicious with the way his orb tongue piercing presses in contrast against your hot cunt. “It feels so good, Curse.”
“I already know.” Choso pipes up- cocky in all the ways you never knew he could be. “I already know- but what about those fuckers watching, huh?”
“W-well…” Spit drivels down your chin, and you’re struggling to keep your eyes focused to read the urgent chat.
@bipplruletheworld: they’re so HOT!!
@NERDSAREMYBABYGIRLZ: OHHHH WHAT A MUNCH
@daddytoeknee: Me next <3
And it was clear that they were seeing the effect he had on you- how could they not?
Your eyes were dazed and teary, your thighs were shaking like leaves in the wind, Choso was making your body twitch—just from the way he’s reeling his entire tongue out. And breathing out steadily and slowly against your twitchin’ pussylips, freezing cold air that leaves you even wetter on top of him.
He’s unfastening his mouth - leaving it wiiiiide open for all the satiny ribbons of your slick to enter his gullet. And once you’re done- that isn’t enough riling you up.
Choso leaves a good slap on your folds and asks, “So…what about it?” Muffled through his mouthfuls.
“They agree- they agree—” You’re keening out. Star-struck, seeing pleasure burst behind your shuttered eyelids at the sudden stinging. “Fuck- you’re the hck! best I’ve ever had, Curse.”
“I agree.” He hums. And as if this entire ordeal wasn’t sinful enough, Choso’s swashing around the silky-smooth sap he’d collected from your leaking pussy. Letting the flavor seep into his tastebuds, before he’s then spitting again on your pussy. A semi-opaque layer of lewdness that coats your inner thighs in a sheen that catches the lighting.
Perfect on camera.
You’re squeezing your wettened thighs together and creating an audible squelch!
“Awwww, look- this pussy agrees, too.”
The gooey addition startles you- and you rut.
Only straight down onto his awaiting fingers.
@girrrrrrrrrrth: oh, shit is he…
@legsopenforcurses: With the rings on, too!!
@likezmenpregnant: My show is onnnnn
It’s such a fucking mess for him to navigate- even with his own fingers. Soon enough, you’re arching your back as you feel him intrude a single ringed digit between those utterly swollen pussylips of yours—almost difficult to find your snug hole between them. You’re damn lucky that Choso’s fingers were slender as well as incredibly lengthy.
Because he’s circlin’ your tight orifice a few times - only a few times - before inserting the sections of his finger. Quirking just right and hitting the exact bundle of your nerves.
That infamous g-spot that made you yelp once he starts and keeps on hitting.
And his rings- oh, fuck, his rings.
Just so chunky and textured. They were the perfect designs to press up against your walls and massage them stupid- every drag meant that you’re feeling them dig into ridges n’ crevices you hadn’t even known existed.
Hitting and hitting. Curling his dexterous finger and scraping- “Fuuuuck, oh my god.” The doughy tip of his finger soon becomes damn-near molded to the area where it was, and your eyes flicker to the back of your head as you continue anglin’ your hips so he could hit it perfectly. “Right there, Curse- r-right there.”
“I know.” Choso rolls his eyes - at least what seems like it underneath his mask. “That’s why I’m hitting it. Honestly…is my girl dickmatized?” He utters as he sucks on your clit—ultimately erupting a sobbing slurp! that makes him nod. “Mhm, I think my girl’s dickmatized.”
Tipping his head back before you can refute his claims. He then addresses the audience-
“Whaddaya think, my little pervs? Dickmatized already…maybe I should go easy on her, huh?”
@olderandR4w: nooooooooooo
@yoyoyoureinmypuss: NEVER.
@Fishygurodad: Go even harder.
“Tough crowd.” And with that said, Choso’s stuffin’ in just a few more fingers. Each with their own numerous rings and sopping wet sounds accompanying them—slurp!
One.
Two.
You’re counting about three of his prolonged digits pushin’ your tight walls to their limits, rubbing your sweet spots raw with his constant bashing rhythm, before lustful fogginess coils around your brain. And it’s around here that Choso catches onto the glazed look in your eyes and chuckles—
“Ohhhh, you really are dickmatized.” He hums to himself, though you’re sure the professional mic picks it up either way. “And so soon, too. Probably hasn’t had a good finger-”
A fourth being added so that he can scissor apart your velvety channel whilst still multi-tasking with his other fingers to ram into your g-spot.
“-or even a good mouth on ‘er…” To emphasize his point, he presses a dramatically loud kiss upon your clit. One that’s making you bounce n’ bounce your hips atop his clammy face, and grind your throbbing nub down on his pointed nose. The addition of his mask just makes that cool touch even more lecherous. “My poor girl.” Choso still mutters out despite the way he’s gluing your cunt to his mouth. He pulls away from your clit with a loud pop! “What do you think, my slutty audience?”
At the slurring question you’re letting your head down to watch him. “Ch…Curse, what’ve you got on your mind-”
“M’just asking what else you deserve, baby.” He coos. And questions them once more, “How about a little quiz? Which parts of Curse are going to make my poor, poor girl feel the best? A). My fingers. B). My mouth. Or…”
And he pretends to listen to your noisy wet pussy once more.
“Or C…” You could practically feel the grin plastering against your needy pussy. The way his eyes narrow in sinful amusement beneath his mask- you didn’t have to see his full face to know that Choso was enjoying this perhaps way more than he should. “—all of the above.”
And it was futile to think that they would answer anything else.
C floods your vision.
You’re letting your mouth droop, and your gaze meet Choso’s own between your legs- but you’re finding that you don’t have to say a thing for him to already know the answer.
And as expected, he gives a final roll of his tongue atop your clit - before munchin’ on your aching cunt once more. This time, he’s tunneling his fingers deep into your cavern whilst still licking inside with his prolonged tongue—when stretched out, Choso’s tongue could reach almost as deep as his fingers could.
Your cunt was being stretched-out to lengths you never thought about before.
Not only were Choso’s fingers thicker than yours, but his tongue was something ravenous- no matter how much you’re flinching in sensitivity, he isn’t slowing down. “Mmm-” He groans, barely breathing through even his flared nostrils. You’re hit with the distinct feeling that he thinks he doesn’t even have to breathe as long as he had you on him like this - “Mmm, hold still.”
Taking advantage of the fact to lavish your sensitive inches with kiss upon kiss. To grind his nose down purposefully on your clit. To glide his metallic piercing across those hidden spots. To bash your poor g-spot in again and agaaaain with his fingers before his tongue’s coming to the rescue to soothe the slightly raw sting-
So it’s not long before you’re throwing your head back and cumming.
Perhaps the strongest you’ve ever felt when you’re in the throes of your high.
You barter your hips forwards and keep up a steady pace - one that’s making Choso hit the exact spots you wanted him to during the peaks of your high. The utmost peaks. “Shit—shit, just like that.” Breathless. “K-keep going, baby, it feels so good.”
And he doesn’t even answer - too caught up in fucking you through your orgasm.
In the way you shudder above him. In the way you’re only getting even sweeter by the second-
Bodyheat raising a few degrees in temperature; your heart sings and the bed creaks with how much you’re jostling from above. This was even better than touching yourself to videos of him, there were so many thrills of bliss that he’s wringing out of you- like he’d wring out of himself during his solo videos.
With both his fingers and his tongue, slurpin’ and sliding. Those doe-like eyes of his are edging straight to the back of his skull as he feels your drenched walls cleeeeench around his pierced tongue, as though it’s the best thing he’s ever fucking felt. And you’re acting on impulse - you really are - because the coffee table was positioned right beside the foot of the bed.
And all you had to do was reach your arm out to grab the simple camera there. Turning it into your point of view as Choso’s sweaty brown bangs stick to his forehead, as sweat trickles down his temple, as he lets out soft yet unyielding moans whenever you’re squeezing your thighs around his head.
@cockycockowner: no homo but that’s the most beautiful man i’ve ever seen.
@theh0rniestsoldier: woah he’s PUSSYDRUNK
@Fishygurodad: Show me his POV.
@daddytoeknee: Don’t you know that she’s his girl now smh?^^
@daddytoeknee: Movie-core- wya ml??
Choso cocks his head and keeps making out with your pussy in all the ways that make your toes curl—pleasure elongating from your orgasm and spreading into every part of you. Your vessels, your cells, your atoms.
They’re all buzzing with pleasure and still aching for more once Choso finally pulls away with a loud pop! of his lips releasing.
When they do, you’re sneaking a look down at him and noticing just how red n’ swollen they were. Even the skin around his jaw was flushed with the constant ramming contact. And the viewers are just gobbling it up - subscribing bells keep dinging here and there, and everywhere.
Just a single look at his stats on-screen reveal that Choso’s climbed up to 870k just since you’d started this stream.
And it’s after a little while - after he’s had his fill - that the dark-haired man finally taps at the side of your thigh to gesture for you to get up. Though, even then, he’s tightening his grip on your body—going against his own fucking instruction to press a final few open-mouthed kisses before he’s done.
He chases after your pussy with his maw for a little- before he’s finally sitting up.
And it’s only then that he seems to notice the camera in your hand, blinking his glazed eyes a few times to make sure he isn’t dreaming things up. Once it finally registers, the most attractive grin spreads across his face. “You changed POVs?”
“Had to.” You admit, “I wanted them to see how pretty you are…”
“Guess you finally learned about sharing, hm? Greedy girl.” He chuckles darkly to himself. And then he starts looming closer, “But you realize that the show’s not done yet, right?”
You gulp.
@Fishygurodad: Fuck her already, damn!! I’m only here for her.
@2coolforcond0ms(i’mavirgin): Hate to admit it, but he’s lowk right. I think I’ve discovered I’m bi…
@vampzo333: ^^
@girrrrrrrrrrth: ^^
“So impatient.” He looks at the monitor, reading the chat and tuts. “Honestly- so ungrateful. I should end the stream right here and fuck her on my own terms.”
There’s a frenzied flurry of comments- all of which you were sure were begging for Choso not to stop and bashing that one commenter for attempting to start a revolution. To which you’re only giggling and handing over the camera to him.
Choso - as the expert - then positions it somewhere by the edge of the fluffy pillows: where they’d be able to see the expanse of both your bodies and where you’d soon be connected…
And then you’re shedding your clothes in a hurry- making it to your smart blouse before he’s reaching a hand up and tearing through it. The buttons hit the floor, and at your noise of displeasure Choso merely lets out a half-delirious giggle.
He leans in and whispers, “I-I have a Phantom of the Opera t-shirt I’d love for you to wear.”
The change in demeanour gives you utter whiplash, and you can’t help but stare at him open-mouthed.
“What?” Choso asks, next moving on to shrugging off his own fabrics. They’re landing on a heap beside the bed, and your lips slightly part at the display of his red-hot erection—it’s just as large and sensual as all those streams had proven him to be. Polished strawberry top. Slender veins along the middle.
A happy trail of dark brown - nearly black - glistened with the splattered remnant of his precum. Just like the gleaming mess across his chin, mouth, and cheekbones that Choso wore like a medal.
He was slightly longer than even on camera- and even prettier up-close. Way up close- he shuffles his body up yours n’ fucks your tits a few times to dollop out glistening translucent precum across yours tits.
“Lighting’s not the best here.” Choso explains- or at least attempts to pin an explanation onto that. Onto something he’s clearly been wanting to do for so long. “Had to highlight ‘em, baby.”
You scoff, “It’s just…” Throwing a cautious glance at the camera, you lower your voice. “You’re so different from how you are in real life.”
“Oh? And how did you expect me to be, huh?” He positions himself between your legs - wrapping both of them around his waist. Before then thinking better of it and throwing them even more lewdly around his neck instead—his plush priggish tip kisses your entrance. “Did you expect me to be like…”
He trails off.
He doesn’t need to complete the rest of his sentence- and you don’t think you’d have heard him even if he tried.
Because in that very moment, Choso’s jerking his pale hips back a mere few inches—then plopping his globular tip between your pussylips and push-push-puuuuuushing. Fucking past the initial restraint of your first ring of muscle, he’s funneling in some thick inches that make your heels bang against the muscles of his back.
And he doesn’t even seem to notice.
He doesn’t even seem to breathe as he’s letting his cock swerve inside. Get suctioned inside. Get his Prince Albert’s piercing crept down your sensitive innards. Get gobbled up between your greedy legs-
You clench ‘round him and Choso throws his head back with a low, broken moan.
“Oh p-please—” He’s babbling out through unsteady pink lips, a lazy line of dribble starting up from one corner of his mouth. Those long lashes of his flutter as he’s reaching one bulky hand up to grip the headboard, and placing his right one on your hips- keeping you steady.
Fingers trembling. Muscles rippling.
@likezmenpregnant: Woah…make him do that again…
@sixeyesorsixh0les: SUBBY CURSE HELLO??
@whimperwhiteboywhimper: oh I am SO here for this
@Fishygurodad: Whatever…
Your eyes bulge once his throat cracks with what sounds like a whimper—“Please it feels so good.” And though you couldn’t quite make it out, even the chat seemed stunned as Choso punctures out a broken stutter of his hips. Delving a few inches into your goopy insides- though not enough to bottom out completely, as you’re still too wound-up for him to fit completely. And you’re able to pinpoint exactly where he’s using the orbed metal of his first piering. With more to come…“Ngh- oh.” Broken noises emanating into your eardrums and the mic. “It f-feels shooooo good, baby.”
Choso’s head drops into the crook of your neck, and there - and there - you’re feeling his cheeky grin.
And suddenly you’re understanding.
Oh—he was toying with you.
And he was doing it in a way that’d completely fooled you- and perhaps all of his viewers, too.
But before you’re able to open your mouth to bite back something at him, Choso staggers his hips back and gives you a vicious jackhammer with his cock, “O-ohhhhh, my god—” Your toes curl atop his shoulders, slippery with sweat. He hadn’t even rammed all the way inside yet, and yet the slightly left-leaning angle of his shaft was driving you wild.
Big and thick.
Running the slick globe of his tip down your walls, Choso probes a direct hit to that spot you loved so much. And he knew you loved it so much—he’d mapped out your entire pussy earlier, of course.
And yet, he’s still gasping as though the pearls gates of heaven had descended right here and there. He’s letting his sweet caramel eyes widen convincingly as he peers down at you, “I-is that…the spot, baby?”
@Curse’swifey: HE sounds SO NGH.
@daddytoeknee: Daddy likey…
@daddytoeknee: Also Movie would’ve really LOVED this, huh?
You hiss, “Curse, you should already know-”
“But how could I know—?” He exclaims. “This is my first time, after all…” Then Choso’s plastering his clammy tattooed hips - with a snake on the side - to yours, as though the two were connected by the force of the world’s strongest magnets: pulling and pushing, pulling and pushing. Every single battering ram of his mazing cocktip ends up lodged against your sweetly bruised g-spot, marking his circumference out with the sheer pace at which he was hitting it.
“Shit—” Your nails clench on the sheets, and feeling jealous- Choso guides them to fist his hair instead. “Shit, right there. It f-feels so good-”
“There?” The once-nerdy man breathes out in awe. Disbelief every single time - or at least the mocking imitation of one. Swipin’ a line of precum down your nervy spot once more, “Th-there, baby—?”
Something breathy- octaves higher in his tone. “Yes- yes there-”
“There-” Choked up and ruined. Husky grunts hatching in the back of his throat. There was something there in his words that you couldn’t quite pinpoint—a sort of undertone of primal need, primal amusement as he ruined your pussy with his speedily pap-papping hips, but acted as though he had no idea what he was doing. Every single syllable uttered was met with a thorough whack of his curved cockhead against your particular spot- “There there there there- there-”
“Fuh-fuuuck-”
“So this g-spot’s really m-mine now, baby?” Choso asks.
You whine, back arching off the mattress. “Yes-”
“Does she really have my mark on it now?”
“Yes…?” Eyes shooting open as you’re half-registering his question in your hazed brain. He bores his dark eyes down at you intensely. And as though to emphasize his point, you’re feeling his perfectly round tip squeezing into your throat by the next few thrusts. Deeper and deeper.
His Jacob’s Ladder starting to ease its frigid way past your entrance and glide across the roof of your cunt. It was a sensation like nothing you’ve ever felt before.
Choso probes even more, “I-is she really shaped to the shape of my cock now?”
“Cho—ngh.” Quickly shutting your cockdrunken self up. Quickly reaching a ringed hand up to squeeze your throat- before he’s languidly snaking his way up to squeezing your pretty cheeks together.
Smushing your face in a way that was almost disrespectful- though, not that you were in any state of mind to call him out on it. And there’s a mean inkling in Choso’s tone as he coos, “Awww, b-baby, why aren’t you answering me?” Another rude slap! of his hips make your own sear in flames- that damn strength of his. Those damn piercings of his. “Is your poor, poor Curse not good enough?”
Before you can answer, he’s looking at the blinking camera.
“My babies, my girl doesn’t love my cock anymore…”
“I do—I do-”
Squeezing his doughy-soft restraints - those contrastingly mean fingers of his - around your cheeks. He’s managing to smush your mouth shut and make you echo out the most pathetically pleading whines—as he fucks you. Determined and targeted.
The glossy rotund edge of his tip presses against your g-spot a few more times before you’re managing to make yourself take a peek at the comments on the monitor.
Almost too far away- almost too blurry with the tears in your eyes.
@Curse’snewestharem: Awwwww poor bby </33
@CCpervnextdoor: I would LOVE your cock, Curse!!
@girrrrrrrrrrth: is it just me or is he teasing us?
@Fishygurodad: ^^Yeah, he’s totally a fraud.
@Curseswombmommy: ^^girl shut up
“Th-they really think you’re oh-so-innocent…” You’re whispering up at him. Overstimulated tears in your eyes.
Breath hitching every time he’s surging his tattooed hips forwards and hitting that one spot particularly hard. Though there was never such a thing as too hard…
And Choso’s shooting you a secret smile - one just between the two of you - before morphing his expression into that of picture-perfect innocence. Roleplaying the demeanor of his nerdy self on campus, mixed with the utterly sultry—sexual way he was draaaaagging his lengthy cock in and out of your cunt.
Eventually, Choso’s emptying his inches out n’ bruising the bottom of your pussy. All of his nine - you seriously felt nine throbbing inches - inches shaping out the in-betweens of your legs. All of the beaded barbells of his Jacob’s Ladder massaging inside- the slitherin’ feeling of them making themselves at home. Zig-zagging and slithering.
He feels the sponginess of your cervix and presses a hand down on your abdomen just to make sure, before changing that excitement into one of almost-genuine bafflement- “I-I really bottomed out?” Choso’s pinkish bottom lip juts out and quivers dramatically.
“Of course, you did.” You’re ready to scoff-
But whatever sarcastic sound was in the back of your throat gets quickly dissolved at the sight of Choso with genuine tears in his eyes. Glistening. “But I never- ngh, never thought I’d be able to.” He puts some more merciless pressure on your stomach that makes you buck—
And the only thing you can do is let your head tip back into the pillows.
The only thing you can do is let out a few mottled moans as he rubs over the small tummy bulge he was fucking into you. Pushing his palm down so that he could feel it.
Whispering out, “I-I never thought this pussy would claim my cock as- ngh, hers, hm?” And for the moment there, you’re completely sure that he isn’t talking to you. Rather, your pussy that was sobbing out squelches after every one of his jackhemmerin’ thrusts. “And it’s not too big, right?”
“N-never—”
“Because m’just a nerd with a- hngh, biiiiiig fuckin’ cock.” How pitiful, right? He’s letting his long, dark lashes flutter as Choso avoids meeting your eyes—as though in shyness. He drills his hips even deeper - one unforgettable strike after the other following every word he spoke. “Just a big- fat- fucking- cock-”
“Please—!” Eventually, your arms reach upwards and you’re grabbing ahold of whatever part of him it is you could reach first. Which just-so-happened to be his bulky deltoids.
Choso’s brows genuinely seem to furrow at the lewdness of you digging your nails into his muscles, leaving your marks for everyone and anyone to see even after this stream has ended. And so he continues in his faux-innocent tone, “Oh? Did that feel good, baby?”
Purposefully slidin’ his cock across your g-spot so that you’d have to cry out. “Y-yeeees—”
“I didn’t even know, baby.” His mouth hangs open, and the most lustrous squelches! echo between your two connected bodies. Your cunt n’ his precum were making such messes…“I had no idea…”
His Jacob’s Ladder leaves your channel feeling raw n’ overstimulated- you feel raw and overstimulated.
And you’re laid-out on the bed dazed and feeling so fucking good as Choso’s picking his pace up even more, you notice for a split-second that his hands have moved. No longer was he holding onto your cheeks n’ watching you squirm—now, the nerdy man hooks both hands around your sweaty thighs and pins them close to his body.
Holding them in place as he leans down, down, dooooooown until the caps of your knees hit your tits.
You’re keening at the stretch, and a searing burn spreads from between your pussy and along your hamstrings. How did he even hide such strength underneath those soft knitted vest? Such a body?
Before you know it, you’re being pressed into your first-ever mating press.
And Choso gapes as though he was just as bewildered as you, “O-oh…did I do that?” He’s fucking asking you—however, when your stunned expression bears no answer, he turns and asks the same question from the camera. The bursts of replies obviously agree n’ tease him. And he’s shaking his head ever-so-slightly, “Did I really bend you in- heh-” A slight chuckle escapes him. “—half, baby?”
And what else can you do but nod and nod and nod—?
“I think this is called a…breeding press?” He cocks his head ever-so-slightly, before shaking his head. “No wait- a mating press.”
“A m-mating press.” You’re repeating lamely.
“I c-can’t believe I’ve folded you into a mating press, baby.” Choso nearly snarls at himself, his hips accelerating until that rouge-tipped cock of his was almost nothing but a blur. “Can’t believe—s’like my body is moving before my mind, ngh. My fat cock’s not hittin’ you too deep, right, my girl?”
“Not in the l-least…”
And he really was long enough to make each and every probe feel as though it was slam-slam-slamming into your throat- the capped crown of his shaft was entering crevices n’ crannies you hadn’t even known you possessed. All marked out precisely by the silvery orb of his Prince Albert’s.
Just then, after your answer, Choso reaches his left hand up to wrap ‘round your throat - and then hauls you back down to meet his slapping hips.
A thrust even harder than the ones before it.
Your breath gets snatched out of your lungs, dissipating into the heady air filled with the contact-riddled sounds of sex. Hard and fast. Only getting harder the longer you have your ankles looped ‘round his neck—“Not too hard, is it, baby?” Chosos asks you once more.
And you don’t have anything to spit out besides, “Oh f-fuck off.”
He gasps dramatically-
Well, not exactly dramatically. But in a way you knew was fake, and in a way that sends the chat exploding into comments.
The nerd pouts cutely, “Well, that’s not very nice…”
You’re rolling your eyes—right before Choso’s genuinely sending them rolling with his two fingers clamped around your clit. Using the silvery edges of his rings, he runs a few massages that end up with you sobbing and blabbering out your pleasure.
@Curse’swifey: FUCKKKKKKKKKK they’re both so hot. THEY’RE BOTH SO RUINED.
@peepeesarebetterfictional: they both look like they’re gonna cum soon hehe
@bewbsRlife: CUM CUM CUM CUM CUM
Biting back. “I would argue th-that that’s not very nice, either.”
“But m’just trying to make my gorgeous girl cum…” And from where he’d been looming his pretty face above yours, Choso then lets his head droop down between your tits. During his ravenous pace, he’s roverin’ his mouth all over to kiss and suck at your tits, your nipples.
His cold lip ring drags across your left areola- and he catches onto the way you’re shivering. Before Choso then grabs your nipple between his lips n’ hollows his cheeks out sucking—“Promise m’just trying to make you feel- hah, good.” He mutters, slightly muffled. “Promise I just wanna fuck my cock raw if it means making my lifelong crush feel good…”
“Cho- Curse, are you…?” Your eyes widen.
And his own flap droopily a few times, “Hmmm?”
And that proved it.
That proved it.
Because Choso Kamo could be pretending to be a stuttering, panting, blushing mess on your heavenly cunt all he wanted- he could pretend to be pussydrunk out of his mind. But at the end of the day, it was impossible to hide when pretend turned into something…more.
When the cocksure streamer that’d been driving you wild all this time morphs into the contentedly pussy-whipped nerd you expected him to be deep down inside.
His eyes genuinely glazed and blinking longingly.
His hair drenched in sweat.
His skin flushed with need- and only flushing even more fiercely the longer he kept his eyes on you.
Without much ado, you’re throwing your hands around his neck and tuggin’ him as far as he could crane his neck when his entire body feels like collapsing onto you and into your maddening pussy.
Choso pistons his hips slightly upwards to hear the slurp of his Jacob’s Ladder sliding across your walls, and he grooooans—
“Curse, baby…” You hum.
“Mhmmmm?” He replies with half-lidded eyes. Barely focused.
This was the big, bad #1 streamer on C4mBoyfriends? As though sensing your thoughts, Choso’s fingers grow a little more frenzied on your clit. “I need you to cum inside, okay?”
He jolts at the idea- that sinful, sinful idea. Before chuckling, “Never had any other plan, baby.” And then he turns to the camera, “What do you think, fuckers? Think my girl deserves to cum?”
@Fishygurodad: Yes.
@Curse’swifey: YES.
@likezmenpregnant: Yesssss~
@girrrrrrrrrrth: yesyesyes.
@daddytoeknee: Hell yeah-
He’s holding out a little longer to make sure there wasn’t a single ‘no’ in there - and had there been one, you’re sure that Choso would have stopped and edged your incoming orgasm until it was a wave of complete agreement.
Luckily for you, they liked you.
And all he does now is press down harder on your g-spot from inside, lingering, and massage a pretty heart on your clit once more, lingering—before a final, thorough stroke is all it takes for you to hurtle into your second high of the night.
For you to arch your body into his chest, and shutter your eyes. “Ch-Cho…”
Barely a whisper. He’s crashing his mouth into yours to make sure that secret between you two isn’t revealed. And you’re moaning deeply into Choso’s mouth as you cum—“Feels so- oh. It feels so…”
“Mhmmmm.”
Unable to even find the words.
The only thing you can do is riiiiiide out the massive wave of your high. It’s torrential; pure bliss floods your system from head-to-toe, and no matter how much you’re squirming your overstimulated hips, Choso only succeeds in batterin’ away his pierced cock into eeeevery single hidden sweet spot inside of you. The ones that prolonged your bliss and left spikes of euphoria leading up to your brain.
Your cunt clenched so tightly around his cock- almost as though you didn’t want him to even pull out. And Choso’s sweaty head drops once more into the crook of your neck as he cums with a shudder.
The knot between his brows deepening, the bedsheet around his knees bunching up as he surges his body upwards. Almost animalistically.
Choso bottoms out his furious, twitching cock and keeps it there- “Oh, fuck…” It didn’t sound like he was acting once his bawling red divot starts splatterin’ out more milky white wads. Deeep in the back of your pussy, right where your womb was, Choso puddles out his ecstasy in long ribbons. “Oh fuck fuck fuck—fuck. Always knew it’d feel this good.”
Wave upon wave.
Toes curling. Eyes scrunching shut.
If you thought his moans were sensual before, then you weren’t prepared for the ones your pussy was able to drag out of him - ragged and hollow utterances of your name. Over and over like a broken record, like a mantra.
He’s fucking into you to milk them out of his hefty balls- then fucking you again just to pump those webbed wads right back in. From the top of his rotund tip and dooooooown to the tufts of hairs at his base. All nine inches of him being used to stuff you till the brim—
You’re sure your insides look like an utter fuckin’ mess by the time he’s slowing his tattooed hips down ever-so-slightly—still shaking from the aftermath of his orgasm. This was far stronger than anything he’s ever experienced before.
Drunkenly, you’re blinking your eyes up at him. “Always?”
He smiles, “Ever since our first lesson of Film 101.” Admitting, he lovingly wipes off a bit of his cum you were foaming between your pussylips. “You referenced Pride and Prejudice when talking about the best lines of dialogue of all time, and I-I’d been a goner since then.”
“Corny…” You snort. Though you can’t help the flutter of your heart.
“So um- coffee after this?”
“It better be dinner.”
He laughs in agreement. “Also I bought a vibrating piercing the other day and have been dying to try it…”
Your eyes widen.
And once you’re helping him pull out- Choso reaches for the camera and gets a good shot of the cum leaking between your legs. Before you’re both waving at it, “Thank you for joining us, today—this was the most fun I’ve had on stream yet- heh.”
You’re shooting the camera a pretty smile, too.
And Choso kisses the corner of your cheeks, “Until next time. This has been Curse and Movie.”
@girrrrrrrrrrth: holy fuck??
@Curse’swifey: WAIT WHAAAAAAAAAAAAT NO WAY-
@bewbsRlife: HOLD ON-
@CCpervnextdoor: SAY SIKE RN?
@bipplruletheworld: oh my god that’s amazing.
@likezmenpregnant: Oh, a love story for the ages~
@yoyoyoureinmypuss: YOU TWO LOOKING FOR A THIRD??
@Fishygurodad: Damn.
@Fishygurodad: Hmu when he messes up.
@daddytoeknee: Stfu he won’t.
@daddytoeknee: Also I totally called it <3
A/N. I did NOT plan to have me inserted and beefing with Toji Fushiguro but here we are-
SUMMARY: you know spending money on the internet is a bad idea, especially money on a pornstar out of all things... but this redhead that's on your screen is too hot not to spend a little money on!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: day eight, the speedster himself! slightly inspired by an old jj maybank camboy au because in my humble opinion? camboy au > camgirl au. anyway, hope u enjoyyyyy!
the laptop in front of you glowed as you scrolled through the website.
were you ashamed that you had no physical relief for your pussy? a little, but were you going to go to sleep high, dry, and in a needy head space that you couldn’t go back to sleep with? hell no. you were going to figure this out, find a quick video to relieve your needy pussy with, and go to sleep… but damn this website’s content is ass.
it’s all the run of the mill porn videos with stereotypes upon stereotypes and common tropes that are overdone so much. you’re not so sure why you’re so critical of porn videos but like, c’mon, make something at least half way decent.
it’s gotten so bad that you go to the ‘livestreams!’ tab, your fingers clicking the mouse on the laptop as your cursor hovered over it.
spiking for a few seconds, all the pages loaded up with all sorts of damn names on there with pictures of shirtless men and topless women, some with their cocks or boobs in hands, others with a simple selfie. some of them had a little too close to their real names, others had over the top names. you groan as you look at the page, your mind trying to guess how each of them would be based off of their appearance.
dale_cummings2005? “you look way too young to be on this platform.” you whisper to the screen as you look at dale’s page. he definitely didn’t look of age, it grossed you out. “but some people do have babyfaces.” you tell yourself as you keep scrolling.
mila_mommy? “probably going to be dudes cumming at a woman being mean to them.” you groan under your breath as you lazily move your fingers downwards, watching the page disappear and a new one appear.
longjohnlarry? “jesus christ, talk ‘bout originality.” your words fill the empty room as you moan, defeated, it seems like you’re going to have to finger yourself to some weird ass shit. not even your favorite can get yourself off tonight-- it’s annoying and it’s pathetic in a way.
it’s not until your cursor lands on one… a specific one… a boy with red hair and green eyes and a grin that just… lures you in.
speed_stroker69. jesus. christ.
with a chuckle that nearly breaks off into a moan… your fingers act before your mind (which has been fogged with need ever since your three knuckles deep session failed). you can’t stop yourself, your fingers were already in your panties, your tongue was subconsciously licking your bottom lip as you pressed the livestream.
it took a few seconds for it to fully load, but it did eventually. your eyes adjusted to the sight… he looked exactly the same as the photo; red hair that tickled into a mullet with shaved sides that are clearly growing back, green eyes that had a glint in them that was too sexy for their own good, and some more… additional features. like his abs, he wasn’t the most muscular of guys but he sure wasn’t skinny (there was something about his collarbones that made you want to take a chunk out of them), his v-line was curved just right as he laid on his back, head against the headboard.
then, his cock.
his right hand was stroking it lazily, his thumb rubbing the tip of it as the large vein on the side view of his cock was prominent. the skin stretched and pulled as his hands made methodically moves up and down, his balls sat heavy. you noticed the happy trail, it was messy, but not out of control, it was in line but the curls were going and rubbing up against each other. he wasn’t small by any means… but he was long. he had a good chunk of thickness to his dick, but it was clear that inches mattered more than width.
he didn’t have too large of an audience, 175 live viewers in the twenty minutes he’s been recording, compared to some of the other ones with 2,000-6,000, hell someone had over 10k. trying to imagine 10,000 people watching you intimately ruin yourself for a $30 tip still shocks you… but are you any better to participate in it?
the guy speaks, his voice light and seductive, yet full of charisma and energy. “well since we got a few new viewers coming in, ‘lemme just say welcome, you can call me wally, full name i will not disclose unless you pay enough.” he jokes, putting his head in his right hand as he stares into his own laptop, watching as it records his every move.
you swallow a breath, your fingers brushing against your own folds as you watch him. the way his hand strokes his own cock is too damn good. you’re already wet, your finger picking up some of said wetness.
wally smiles towards the camera. he knows that porn was definitely not the first option barry suggested when he told the youngster to go get a job (and his parents ten thousand times before) but no one would find out… hopefully no one important. no one has figured it out yet and he’s been doing this stuff for nearly nine months now. he chose a popular yet discreet site for a reason-- more bang for his buck all while keeping himself on the down low.
it’s not like he’s filming his face in his actual jerk off videos, that he keeps his face hidden, but he only shows his face for live streams-- because turns out? his face is a money winner. (girls apparently just really like seeing his eyes roll back when he cums)
the job is the job, and no one has found him out yet-- or that he knows of, he hasn’t seen anything on the internet about this so he thinks he’s in the clear, for now.
“so… if there is a certain thing you want me to do for you, tip me and i will do whatever you ask of me.” wally says, hand still stroking from top to bottom. he adds on. “it doesn’t matter; one dollar, five dollars, ten dollars…”
you think for a second, and before your hand can even stop itself, you’re tapping the ‘requests!’ button on the right corner of his stream. a box suddenly appears on the screen, and you type in faster than you think.
name: ur favorite
amount: $5 dollars
request: can you say mommy as you jerk urself off???
sent!
the message takes a little bit for wally to get, but when he does, it appears on his side of the stream. a grin appears on his face as he speaks. “thank you for the five dollars… you want me to feed into your mommy kink? i can do that… just for you.”
his tone is sly, his voice is slow and it makes your pussy flutter as your fingers begin to rub tight circles, your wrist slow as you keep your eyes on him. you’re not so sure why you’re so fucking horny that you’re willing to pay for sex… but you need it so damn bad.
his hand begins to go faster, a smirk on his face as his left hand sits behind his head. “oh yeah… love your hand, mommy… love you stroking me.” he moans out, imagining it was another woman’s hand on his cock, his most desired woman in his mind. he closes his eyes, leaning his head back.
you moan at his words, it’s exactly what you wanted. your fingers seemingly go faster on your pussy as he continues to stroke, his words falling in the background as your fingers work in your folds. you couldn’t help yourself from separating your fingers and allow your middle finger to push into your pussy.
you moan under your breath, biting your lip as you keep your eyes on the screen, watching wally stroke his cock, murmuring ‘mommy’ as his hand continues to work on himself. you can feel tears prick from how good everything feels.
then, your free hand reaches to the laptop again, fingers sprawling across the keypad again, ignoring how shitty some of your spelling is and definitely committing several grammar mistakes. you had enough money, why not spend it a little.
name: ur favorite
amount: $7 dollars
request: can youu dirty talk up a storm? like u don’t shut up. i like thatt kind of shit.
sent!
once again, like previous, the message takes a little bit to transfer over from your screen to his, the hand working on his cock continuing as his groans fill your laptop’s speakers. when the message and the donation appears on the screen for wally, a panted grin fills his face. “my favorite, again… you want me to dirty talk you? mhm? want me to talk you through it? cause i certainly can…”
you can’t respond, your only type of response is a moan, louder than the other ones. your finger continues to push in and out of your cunt, taking a few moments to curl it as wally begins to speak, his voice pushing through your laptop speaker.
“you’re so good for me, mommy… love your gorgeous face and your good hand on my dick… mhm…” he moans, his left hand continuing to stroke himself, imagining a woman straddling him, ready for his dick. “ride me please, mommy, i’ll suck your tits, let you pull my hair, i’ll do anything you want, baby… as long as you keep your beautiful pussy on me.”
his words enter your mind, it’s downright pathetic how much of an affect he has on you, and he doesn’t even know you exist. you move another finger down, pushing it in alongside the other finger, beginning to push two fingers in and out of your sobbing cunt as your teeth bite down on your other hand’s knuckles.
your head leans back, a moan of wally’s name leaving your mouth as you find yourself closer and closer to the edge of your orgasm. your eyes remained on the screen, watching in awe and slight jealousy that you aren’t there with him to jerk him off, he looks so handsome with his orange hair and matching orange happy trail, his veiny hands and his thicker thighs.
teeth marks appear on your knuckles as you stop biting down on them, putting your fingers back on the keyboard and sloppily pressing down on them.
name: ur favvoritee/
amount: $10 dollars
request: tell me ti cuum pleasse
sent!
you don’t even care for the spelling mistakes or just the amount of shame you should have for asking a guy you don’t even know, who you’re paying to make you cum, but you could care less. he’s the camboy here, he’s the one who’s supposed to be following orders so you didn’t even care to have the tiniest bit of shame here.
the message is sent, and it appears on wally’s screen in a matter of seconds, and when he reads it, his smile widens. he loves that not only are you consistent-- which turns him on, the idea that someone wants him this bad, but also the requests are so hot to him, and your misspellings are hinting at him that you’re possibly masturbating to him… and that’s even hotter to him than any other thing.
“oh, princess…” he moans out, imagining the sight of you rubbing yourself in front of him. “you’re going to cum? going to cum for me, mommy? cum for me, baby, do it, you’re just so fucking gorgeous.” his words are encouraged, his own hand going faster as his words continue to flow through your speaker.
you can’t stop pumping your fingers faster and faster as you bring yourself over the edge, hitting your orgasm as his words continue to flow through your mind.
“cum all over yourself, mommy, do it f’me.”
“such a good girl for me, princess, love making mommy cum.”
“you taste so good, i just know you do.”
his words only push you further and further into stimulation, into the pleasure that your own fingers brought to you, but mainly wally’s words of encouragement. your toes curl in the bedsheets, your back arches as your wrist yanking your own fingers upwards in your walls to extend your orgasm, moaning out wally’s name.
your head falls back, your fingers stop themselves as your mind becomes fuzzy, your back coming back to the bed and your arms feel numb. you lift your right hand up and clean up the drool that fell from your chin…
your eyes don’t notice the notifications on your screen until you pull out your fingers, feeling the squelching of your pussy while your free hand grabs a random piece of clothing off the floor and wipes the wetness and cum off your fingers.
moving your head to close the tab and laptop, seeing the notifications on the screen…
new message!
speed_stroker69: heyyyyy
speed_stroker69: so… i guess ur my favorite
speed_stroker69: i’m glad, hope to know u better <3
main masterlist | kinktober masterlist
my goddddd, he's so fucking fine, I need him asap. honestly, camboy! wally might become a full au because I luv writing his pathetic ass.
warnings: matriarchal society, lots of made up ceremonial customs, mentions of clan abuse, smut, neji saying no like an anime girl (because he doesn’t know its an orgasm and thinks its peepee, but then asks you to continue), penetration (neji receives obviously), mentions of male pregnancy, some sprinkled hurt/comfort.
wc: 6.3K
AO3
a/n: this took me foreverrrrr to write (I CANT HELP IT I NEEDED TO EXPAND ON EVERYTHING IM SORRY), but its finally here. I put my HEART, MIND, and PUSSY in this shit so y'all better leave me some love 🔪 🖤
— two volleyball boys start a “harmless” podcast about winning you over, and end up running a cult of your admirers.
kuroo tersurō x f!reader x kozume kenma
c: fluff!!
save me pls
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
there’s something deliciously unhinged about two guys in a cramped bedroom studio whispering like conspirators over cheap microphones. the red “recording” light glows like an altar candle. it hums, casting soft halos over messy wires and empty ramen cups. on one side, kuroo tetsurō leans in like a villain out of a saturday morning cartoon, wild hair defying gravity, a grin sharp enough to cut glass. across from him sits kenma, hunched over his laptop, thumbs moving in lazy arcs, eyes half-lidded but deadly focused. the podcast is supposed to be a joke — a silly little strategy session called “y/n will be ours eventually”.
supposed to be.
except now it’s episode nineteen, and they’re trending number one on spotify. their intro song is a distorted volleyball whistle. there’s fanart. there’s merch. and there’s a hashtag trending on twitter: #iwanty/n.
the comments pour in:
@ inlovewu : bro, i don’t even know her but i think i’m in love.
@ gojo: move over kuroo & kenma. y/n’s mine now.
@ killmpls: if y/n likes cats i’ll become a cat.
and it’s driving kuroo insane. in his head, you’re not a trending topic. you’re a cathedral. a soft thing he wants to hold between his palms like a secret. kenma’s no better; he pretends to scroll, but he’s reading every single message about you and screenshotting them for a folder named “evidence of unworthy peasants.”
“our listeners are getting brave,” kuroo mutters into the mic, voice dark honey. “too brave. like moths to a flame.”
kenma doesn’t look up from his switch. “we’re the flame.”
kuroo smirks. “nah. we’re the sun. and she’s—”
“—the galaxy.” kenma’s voice is flat but it lands like a confession.
their audience eats it up. thousands of strangers listening in as two boys dissect every small detail about you like cartographers of a sacred land. they whisper about your favorite snacks, the way your laugh tilts at the end, the exact shade of your sweater last tuesday. kuroo’s metaphors get weirder every week: “she’s the final boss, kenma, but she’s also the rare loot drop.” kenma just nods and says, “i already got her in my party.”
it’s unholy and adorable. their listeners call it “romantic,” like a slow-burn audio drama, not realizing the boys are deadly serious.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
you stumble upon the podcast by accident. at first you think it’s some random fan thing. you’re lying in bed, scrolling, and someone tags you in a clip. you press play.
“episode sixteen: fortifying our defenses.”
kuroo’s voice rolls out of your speaker like warm smoke. “we need new tactics, kenma. she smiled at that guy at the konbini today.”
kenma’s deadpan. “that guy was ninety.”
“exactly. even the elderly are a threat.”
you choke on your tea.
the comments are full of people making heart emojis. someone’s edited kenma’s face onto a medieval knight holding a sword labeled “y/n’s honor.”
“they’re ridiculous,” you murmur, cheeks warm. but you don’t close the app.
the next clip shows kuroo practically hissing. “listeners, we know you’re out there. stop flirting with her. i will bench press a building. i will fold you like laundry.”
kenma adds softly, “i can hack you.”
and the worst part? they sound… sincere.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the next time you see them in person, it’s at nekoma’s practice. kuroo’s in his captain hoodie, sweat dripping down his neck. kenma’s sitting cross-legged on the bench, headphones on, fingers twitching on a controller. they look normal. they look like boys you’ve known for years. but now you can’t un-hear their voices echoing through your phone speakers at midnight.
kuroo notices you first. his grin is blinding. “hey, kitten.”
kenma lifts his eyes just enough. “hi.”
your heart does a weird flutter. “hi…”
they’re both a little too close when they talk. kuroo leans down until his hair shadows your face. kenma angles his screen so you can see a pixel art character that suspiciously looks like you, complete with your favorite hoodie.
“cute, right?” kenma mumbles.
“uh…” you swallow. “very.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
back in the “studio,” kuroo’s pacing. “she heard it,” he mutters, dragging his hands through his hair. “she definitely heard it.”
kenma shrugs. “good.”
“good?”
kenma sets his controller down, looks at kuroo with that lazy cat-gaze. “yeah. maybe she’ll finally realize.”
kuroo stops pacing. “realize what?”
“that we’re not playing.”
kuroo’s grin creeps back. “you’re scary, kenma.”
kenma yawns. “you’re worse.”
they both laugh, low and conspiratorial, like villains in a fairytale who’ve been waiting centuries for the heroine to wander into their forest.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the turning point happens one rainy evening. you’re scrolling again and see a new episode notification:
“special episode: confession rehearsal”
you shouldn’t press play. you do anyway.
kuroo’s voice is softer than usual. “this isn’t a game anymore, kenma.”
“wasn’t a game to begin with,” kenma replies.
“she deserves everything,” kuroo says. “if she asked for the moon, i’d…” he trails off.
kenma finishes: “steal it for her.”
and then there’s a beat of silence, like they’re both looking at something you can’t see.
you’re blushing so hard it feels like a fever.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the next day, you march straight to their “studio” (kuroo’s bedroom, really). you don’t knock. you push the door open and find them mid-recording, kuroo gesturing wildly, kenma tapping notes into his laptop. the red recording light glows.
“hi,” you say, breathless.
they both freeze. kuroo’s eyes go wide. kenma blinks like a cat caught in the sun.
“y/n—” kuroo starts.
you cut him off by walking straight up to them. “i’ve been listening.”
kenma’s hands still on his keyboard. “oh.”
“‘oh’? that’s all you have to say?” your voice wavers. “you two have been—i don’t even know—broadcasting your crush like it’s a sports commentary. and now there’s a whole army of strangers flirting with me because of it!”
kuroo runs a hand over his face, grinning sheepish. “yeah… about that—”
“no. listen.” you step closer, so close you can see the freckles on kuroo’s nose, the soft flicker of kenma’s lashes. “it’s ridiculous. it’s over the top. it’s… kind of…”
“kind of?” kuroo prompts, eyes hopeful.
“kind of really sweet,” you whisper.
kenma’s mouth actually parts.
“you two are idiots,” you continue, cheeks flaming. “but you’re my idiots.”
before either of them can react, you lean forward and kiss kuroo first — quick, warm, your hands sliding up his hoodie to the back of his neck. his gasp vibrates against your lips. when you pull back, his grin is shattered, breathless, eyes wide like he’s been hit by lightning.
then you turn to kenma. he looks stunned, frozen in place. you cup his cheek with your hand, thumb brushing over his skin, and kiss him too — slower, softer, like a secret. he tastes like sweet tea. when you pull away, his pupils are blown, lips parted, a faint pink creeping over his pale face.
the room is silent except for the hum of the mic.
kuroo’s voice cracks when he finally speaks. “kitten…”
kenma swallows hard. “you’re going to kill us.”
“maybe,” you murmur, smiling. “but at least you’ll die happy.”
kuroo laughs, low and shaky, and pulls you into his arms. kenma hesitates a second, then joins, his head pressing into your shoulder. it’s warm. it smells like shampoo and rain.
the recording light stays on. the microphones catch it all — the laughter, the quiet “we love you”s, the soft noises of three hearts colliding in a messy bedroom that’s suddenly holy ground.
and somewhere out there, thousands of listeners hear it and go feral. yes, they posted it, like some freaks. but you don’t care. not anymore.
right now, it’s just you and them, tangled up, a galaxy in a room too small for it, burning and blooming at the same time.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
a: i finished this minutes ago but i rlly couldn’t be bothered to write the tags. i’m still in class 🤑
TAGS: Non-traditional Omegaverse; Omega! Reader; Omega! Hinata; First Kiss; Suggestive; Second Person POV; Gender Neutral Reader
NOTES: My first time writing omegaverse because I’ve read so much I want to try it. There are suggestive thoughts but nothing nsfw happens. No pronouns used in this so I’m classifying it as gender neutral reader.
The summer sun is hot against your skin, but you barely notice it with Hinata in front of you.
He’s leading you through the peach orchard, finding which trees are in the best shape. You hear his voice, but you can’t process his words. All you can do is admire his ginger hair looking like fire in the sun.
“Oh!” he says before hurrying off without you. You quicken your steps without running, because you’ll catch up eventually. There aren’t too many places to hide here. “I found it!”
The tree looks like every other tree, but he excitedly reaches to pick a peach. It’s bigger than most peaches and looks perfectly ripe and ready to eat.
“This tree always has the best peaches,” Hinata says before taking a bite of it.
It’s juicy, running down his chin and onto his hand and wrist. You chuckle at the mess until he quickly licks the juice off his wrist and hand. He slurps at it, trying to not waste a single drop of the peach. Your mind clouds with thoughts you’d never say aloud.
He licks his lips, a feral grin on his face. You can’t breathe as you follow his tongue and his sharp canines. You wonder what they’d feel like on your neck while your body runs hot, wanting more and more and more.
These aren’t thoughts you should have, especially when you’re just someone visiting for the summer. Although it’s not unheard of for friends to share heats together, you don’t know Hinata well enough to even suggest that. There’s not a chance to suggest it with your heat never falling during the summer, but right now, you wish it did.
He takes another deep bite of the peach, and the juice cascades down his chin and hand again. It’s everywhere, and it’s starting to look more like slick than peach juice. Your head is reeling, feeling ready to pass out.
You’ve never been someone to get caught up in these thoughts. They’re normally fleeting, but this is Hinata—the man who knocked on your rental cottage door to see if you wanted a tour guide of the small country town for the summer. He’s gorgeous with warm eyes and bright hair that’s unruly, making you want to tangle your fingers in it. He’s the man who makes your chest warm and fills your days with laughter and adventure.
Then there’s his scent—freshly baked bread. It filled your cottage when he showered one day, having to strip his scent blockers. It made your mouth water and heat course through you, even though you’re both omegas. The thought of you both being omegas hadn’t bothered you though.
And maybe Hinata isn’t a fleeting thought, even if you may only be here for the summer. The plan had been to finish your manuscript and leave, but the plan changed because how do you leave when your heart grows attached to someone?
“Hinata,” you say, your voice tight. He looks at you, away from the mess all over his skin. “I’m going to kiss you if that’s alright.”
He freezes for a moment before slowly nodding. “Okay.”
It’s only a couple of strides before you’re pulling him in by the back of his neck. It’s not coordinated, especially with how Hinata continues to hold on to the peach. That doesn’t matter, though, because you lose yourself in the kiss with how sweet he tastes. You know it’s just because of the peach he was eating, but you imagine the taste of baked bread too. It has your head reeling even more than before.
Then hands are on your neck as yours move to his waist. His hands are sticky from the peach juice, staining your skin and pulling at your hair. You don’t care about the mess, especially since his hands light a fire on your skin. You need him so badly, and you deepen the kiss as you tilt his head back.
The little noises he lets out make heat course through your veins, and you need more. You’ve never been with another omega before, always going to alphas like everyone says to do, but you’re not sure if you can go back. Especially with the softness of Hinata beneath your fingers, the grip he has on your hair, and how you stand just a little taller than him.
You pull away for a moment, and he whimpers your name. All your self-control is crumbling, and you worry you’ll do something you regret in this orchard.
“Let’s go to my cottage,” you say instead of going back in. “Let me have you all to myself.”
When you open your eyes, Hinata is already looking at you. He nods, and you realize he may want that more than you do, even if that’s a crazy thought.
“Please,” he says, and then you’re hurrying through this orchard you’ll want to see again. Next time you’ll try to sweetness of the fruit firsthand instead of through Hinata’s lips.
im so serious is anybody a witch. can somebody cast a spell on this white boy i #need. no like im not joking i need affirmations, i need spells, i need... whatever yall got. im posting this on main not even my spam thats how serious this is i need traction.
this is a good spell btw i need him in love with me by tonight. maybe by the end of the week ill give yall that....
but im deadass i dont think ive ever been so locked in and serious about needing something. this is TUMBLR i know yall witchy bitches are out there HELP A GIRL OUT PLEASE! no like deadass comment or dm me ik yall are here
18+ men who cry when they eat you out!! - tw dacryphilia
He’s on his knees between your thighs, shoulders trembling before his mouth even touches you. The first long, slow lick makes his breath hitch—sharp, almost pained, and when he presses his tongue flat against your clit, a low, broken sound escapes him. Not a moan. A sob. Muffled against your wet heat, shoulders shaking harder as he laps at you like a man starved and grieving at the same time.
Tears slip down his cheeks, warm and silent, mixing with your slick on his jaw. He doesn’t stop. Can’t stop. His hands clutch your hips like they’re the only thing keeping him grounded while he cries into your pussy; soft, ragged whimpers vibrating through your core every time he sucks your clit between his lips.
You thread your fingers through his hair, gentle, and he shudders harder, another quiet sob muffled right against your entrance as his tongue pushes inside. He’s messy, desperate, cheeks streaked and shining, eyes squeezed shut like the taste of you is too much and not enough all at once. “Fuck,” he chokes out against you, voice wrecked and wet, “you taste so good—please—please don’t stop me—”
He’s crying openly now, tears dripping onto your thighs as he buries his face deeper, tongue working frantically, nose pressed to your clit. Every sob makes his whole body jerk, but he never pulls away. If anything, he presses closer, like he’s trying to crawl inside you, like the only place he belongs is here, drowning in you. When you come, hard, thighs clamping around his ears, he breaks. A full, helpless sob tears out of him as he licks you through it, drinking every pulse, every gush, crying harder with gratitude or overwhelm or both.
His face is a mess, red-rimmed eyes, tear tracks, your slick smeared across his lips and chin, but he looks up at you like you’ve just given him salvation. He doesn’t speak right away. Just rests his wet cheek on your inner thigh, breathing shakily, still sniffling while his hands stroke your sides in slow, reverent circles. Eventually, he whispers, hoarse and thick, “Thank you,” against your skin, like you’ve done something holy by letting him fall apart on his knees for you.
Summary: A Gotham journalist becomes obsessed with uncovering Batman’s identity. She gets close to Bruce Wayne for answers… and instead finds a man who feels more lonely than mysterious. A slow-burn between suspicion and vulnerability.
requests are open
dividers by @cafekitsune
The bruise on Bruce Wayne's jaw was almost imperceptible under the carefully applied foundation, but you'd been studying him long enough to notice.
Three weeks. That's how long you'd been cataloging every public appearance, every injury explanation, every convenient absence that coincided with Batman sightings. The evidence was circumstantial at best, conspiracy-theorist crazy at worst, but your gut, honed by ten years of investigative journalism, told you there was something there.
"Ms. Cross," Bruce Wayne's assistant called from across the Wayne Enterprises lobby. "Mr. Wayne will see you now."
You'd pitched the story as a puff piece, Gotham's most eligible bachelor, the charity work, the rebuild efforts. Your editor at the Gotham Gazette had jumped at it, probably hoping for some scandalous party photos or a hint about Wayne's love life.
But you were after something much bigger.
Bruce Wayne's office was exactly what you'd expected: floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, expensive minimalist furniture, and abstract art that probably cost more than your apartment. What you hadn't expected was the man himself, standing at the window with his hands in his pockets, looking more tired than any playboy billionaire had a right to be.
"Ms. Cross," he said, turning with that practiced smile that never quite reached his eyes. "Thank you for coming."
"Thank you for agreeing to the interview," you replied, settling into the offered chair and pulling out your recorder. "I know your time is valuable."
"Not as valuable as you might think." He sat across from you, and you noticed the way he moved, careful, controlled, like someone whose body hurt more than he'd admit. "What would you like to know?"
You started with the softballs. His childhood, his parents' legacy, his vision for Wayne Enterprises. Bruce answered with the smooth polish of someone who'd given these responses a thousand times, but you watched his body language, looking for cracks.
"You were gone for several years," you said, veering slightly off script. "After your parents' death. Where did you go?"
Something flickered in his eyes, brief, but there. "Traveling. Trying to find myself, as cliché as that sounds."
"And did you? Find yourself?"
Bruce was quiet for a moment, studying you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. "I found... purpose," he said finally. "A way to honor what my parents stood for."
"Through charity work."
"Among other things."
The bruise on his jaw caught the light as he turned his head, and you made a note in your pad. "That looks like it hurts," you said casually. "Rough night?"
Bruce's hand moved to his jaw automatically, then dropped. "Sparring accident. I've been trying to get back into boxing."
"At night?"
His eyes narrowed slightly. "I keep odd hours."
"So I've noticed." You flipped through your notes. "You missed the Mayor's gala last Thursday. Your office said you were ill."
"I was."
"But you were seen at the docks that same night. Or rather, your car was."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Bruce leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "Are we still talking about charity work, Ms. Cross?"
"I'm just trying to get a complete picture of who Bruce Wayne is."
"And who do you think I am?"
You met his gaze steadily. "I think you're someone with secrets."
"Everyone has secrets." Bruce stood, moving back to the window. "The question is whether they're interesting enough to print."
You should have left it there. Should have packed up your recorder, thanked him for his time, and gone back to the drawing board. Instead, you heard yourself say:
"Tell me about Batman."
Bruce went very still. "What about him?"
"You've donated millions to rebuild areas he's damaged in fights. You've publicly defended him when the GCPD calls him a vigilante. You seem to have a vested interest in his... activities."
"Batman saves lives." Bruce's voice was carefully neutral. "I think that's worth supporting."
"Even when he operates outside the law?"
"Sometimes the law isn't enough." He turned to face you, and there was something raw in his expression. "Sometimes someone has to be willing to do what others won't."
You stood, moving closer. "Is that what you do, Mr. Wayne? What others won't?"
"I write checks," he said flatly. "I sit in board meetings. I smile for the cameras. Nothing more interesting than that, I'm afraid."
"I don't believe you."
"Then you're writing the wrong story."
The silence stretched between you, loaded with unspoken accusations and denials. Finally, Bruce sighed.
"This interview is over, Ms. Cross."
"But we've barely... "
"I'll have my assistant show you out."
You'd been dismissed, but as you gathered your things, Bruce spoke again, his voice softer:
"A word of advice? Some stones are better left unturned. For your own safety."
You paused at the door. "Is that a threat?"
"It's a warning." His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw something there, not anger, but concern. "Gotham is a dangerous city for people who ask too many questions."
"I'll take my chances."
That night, you spread every note, every photograph, every piece of evidence across your apartment floor. Bruce Wayne and Batman, side by side in a conspiracy web that would have made your journalism professors proud, or worried.
Similar builds. Similar heights. The injuries matched up more often than not. Wayne's "trips abroad" coincided with Batman's absences. And then there were the gadgets. Wayne Enterprises had the technology, the resources, the means.
But it was more than that. It was the way Bruce Wayne had looked at you when you mentioned Batman, like you were seeing something you weren't supposed to see. The way he'd warned you off, not as a threat but as genuine concern.
Who was Bruce Wayne trying to protect, himself or you?
Your phone buzzed. An unknown number.
You're looking into things you don't understand. Stop.
Your heart rate kicked up. You typed back: Who is this?
Someone trying to keep you alive.
Batman?
No response.
You stared at your phone, then at the evidence scattered around you, and made a decision that would either make your career or end it: you were going to get closer to Bruce Wayne.
Much closer.
The Wayne Gala was in two weeks, an annual charity event, black tie, Gotham's elite. Your press credentials would get you in, but you needed more than that. You needed access, proximity, a reason for Bruce Wayne to let his guard down.
Which is how you found yourself "accidentally" running into him at a coffee shop in Old Gotham three days later.
"Ms. Cross," Bruce said, surprised as you collided with him, sending his coffee splashing across both your coats. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking... "
"No, that was totally my fault," you said, dabbing uselessly at his expensive wool coat. "I'm always walking and reading at the same time. My editor says it's going to get me killed one day."
Something flickered in Bruce's expression at the word "killed," but he smoothed it away. "At least let me buy you another coffee. It's the least I can do."
"You don't have to... "
"I insist."
Ten minutes later, you were sitting across from Bruce Wayne in a corner booth, two fresh coffees between you and an awkwardness that felt almost normal.
"I apologize for how our interview ended," Bruce said, stirring sugar into his cup with mechanical precision. "I was... abrupt."
"You were protecting something," you replied. "I'm just not sure what."
Bruce looked at you over the rim of his cup, and you saw that exhaustion again, bone-deep, soul-tired exhaustion that no amount of money could fix. "What is it you really want, Ms. Cross?"
"The truth."
"The truth about what?"
"About who you are. About what you do when the cameras aren't watching. About why a man with everything looks like he has nothing."
Bruce set down his cup carefully. "That's quite an accusation."
"It's an observation."
He was quiet for a long moment, studying you with those sharp, analytical eyes. "You're very perceptive."
"It's my job."
"And dangerous."
"Also, my job."
Bruce almost smiled at that. "Tell me, Ms. Cross... "
"You can call me by my first name. I think we're past formalities."
"Tell me," Bruce continued, "what made you become a journalist?"
The subject change was obvious, but you allowed it. "My father. He was a cop, not a great one, but he tried. He died in the line of duty when I was sixteen. The official report said it was a robbery gone wrong, but I found evidence that it was dirty cops, a cover-up. No one wanted to hear it. No one cared."
"But you did."
"Someone had to." You met his eyes. "Someone has to care about the truth, even when it's inconvenient. Even when it's dangerous."
Bruce nodded slowly, something shifting in his expression, respect, maybe, or recognition. "Your father would be proud."
"I'd rather he be alive."
"I understand that feeling."
And there it was, the connection, the crack in the armor. You'd both lost parents to Gotham's violence. You'd both dedicated your lives to fighting back in your own ways.
"Bruce," you said softly, "why do you really do this? The charity, the public image, all of it. What are you trying to prove?"
He looked at you for a long moment, and you saw him weighing how much truth to offer. "That Gotham can be saved," he said finally. "That my parents' deaths meant something. That maybe, if I work hard enough, sacrifice enough, I can make this city into what they believed it could be."
"And Batman? What does he have to do with it?"
Bruce's expression shuttered immediately. "I told you... "
"I know what you told me. I'm asking what's true."
"Why does it matter to you so much?"
"Because," you said, frustrated, "I've spent three weeks trying to expose you, trying to prove you're living a lie, and instead I keep finding... " You stopped, unsure how to finish.
"Finding what?"
"Someone who cares," you said quietly. "Someone who's trying to save this city just like I am. Someone who's so goddamn lonely it physically hurts to watch."
Bruce's composure cracked, just for a second, and what you saw underneath was raw and real and heartbreaking. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" You leaned forward. "I've watched you at galas, surrounded by people, looking like you're miles away. I've seen you leave events early with convenient excuses. I've tracked your injuries, your absences, your patterns. And you know what I've learned?"
"What?"
"That Bruce Wayne is just as much a mask as Batman's cowl."
The words hung between you like a confession, and Bruce looked at you with something that might have been relief or terror or both.
"If that were true," he said carefully, "if I were Batman, hypothetically, what would you do? Publish it? Expose me? Destroy everything I've built?"
You'd asked yourself that question a hundred times over the past three weeks. The story would be huge, career-making, Pulitzer-worthy. But sitting here, looking at the exhaustion in Bruce's eyes, the loneliness he wore like a second skin, you realized the answer had changed.
"I don't know," you admitted. "A month ago, I would have said yes without hesitation. Now..."
"Now?"
"Now I think maybe some secrets exist for a reason. Maybe some people need masks to do what needs to be done."
Bruce was very still. "And if those masks slip? If someone sees beneath them?"
"Then maybe," you said softly, "they're not as alone as they thought."
Something shifted in Bruce's expression, hope, maybe, or fear, or the dangerous combination of both. "This conversation is veering into territory that could be dangerous for both of us."
"I'm not afraid of dangerous."
"You should be." But he didn't move away, didn't shut down. Instead, he asked, "What do you want from me?"
It was a loaded question with a dozen answers. The truth. The story. Batman's identity. But looking at him now, you realized what you actually wanted was much simpler and infinitely more complicated.
"I want to understand," you said. "I want to know the man underneath all the layers. Not for a story, not for exposure, just... because."
"Because why?"
"Because I think you need someone to know. Really know. And I think that terrifies you more than any villain ever could."
Bruce exhaled slowly, and when he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "If I let you in, if I show you who I really am, there's no going back. For either of us."
"I know."
"The things I've done, the person I become at night... It's not what you think. It's not noble or heroic. It's dark and violent and... "
"Necessary," you finished. "I've been investigating Batman for three years, Bruce. I know what he does. I know what he's capable of. And I'm still sitting here asking you to trust me."
Bruce looked at you like you were a puzzle he couldn't solve, something precious and dangerous all at once. "Why?"
"Because I think we're the same," you said simply. "Both chasing truth in a city built on lies. Both are trying to make something good come from something terrible. Both so focused on the mission that we've forgotten what it's like to just... be human."
"I am human," Bruce said, but he sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
"Then prove it. Let someone see it."
The silence stretched between you, loaded with possibility and peril. Finally, Bruce pulled out his phone and typed something, then looked back at you.
"The gala," he said. "Come as my date. Not as a journalist, not to investigate, just... as someone I want to spend time with."
Your heart stuttered. "Bruce... "
"After that, if you still want the story, if you still want to expose everything, I won't stop you. But give me one night. Let me show you who Bruce Wayne actually is when he's not performing."
It was a terrible idea professionally. It crossed every ethical line your journalism professors had drilled into you. It was exactly the kind of thing that could destroy your credibility.
"Okay," you heard yourself say. "One night."
Bruce smiled then, small, genuine, and devastating. "One night," he agreed.
And as you left the coffee shop, evidence folder burning in your bag, you realized you'd just made either the best or worst decision of your career.
Possibly both.
The two weeks leading up to the gala were a study in cognitive dissonance. By day, you continued investigating, adding pieces to your Batman puzzle. By night, Bruce would call, never texting, always his voice, and you'd talk about everything except the obvious.
He told you about Alfred, the man who'd raised him after his parents died. About the weight of the Wayne legacy and the impossibility of living up to what they'd built. About traveling the world and learning that injustice wasn't unique to Gotham, but that Gotham was still home.
You told him about growing up in Crime Alley before your mother scraped together enough for an apartment in Old Gotham. About watching your father try to be a good cop in a corrupt system. About the journalism scholarship that had saved your life and the professors who'd taught you that truth mattered.
Never once did he confirm your suspicions about Batman. Never once did you directly ask.
But the truth hung between every word, unspoken but understood.
"Are you nervous?" Robin asked the night of the gala. Your roommate had insisted on helping you get ready, which mostly involved her making increasingly inappropriate suggestions about what might happen after the event.
"Terrified," you admitted, studying yourself in the mirror. The dress was simple but elegant, a dark green silk that Robin swore brought out your eyes. "I'm going to a charity gala with Bruce Wayne."
"You're going on a date with Batman," Robin corrected. "Which is objectively cooler?"
"We don't know that he's... "
"Babe. We know. The question is what you're going to do about it."
That was the question, wasn't it? You'd built your career on exposing truth, on dragging secrets into the light, no matter who it hurt. But this secret, Bruce's secret, felt different.
Or maybe you just felt different about the person keeping it.
The car Bruce sent was exactly as understated and expensive as you'd expected. What you hadn't expected was Bruce himself answering the door when you arrived at Wayne Manor, looking devastating in a perfectly tailored tux and still managing to look slightly nervous.
"Hi," he said, and the awkwardness was so normal, so human, that you felt something loosen in your chest.
"Hi yourself," you replied. "You clean up nice."
"So do you." His eyes traveled over you, not leering but appreciative, and you felt your cheeks warm. "Before we go, there's something I want to show you."
He led you through the manor, past priceless art and family portraits, down a hallway you'd bet most guests never saw. At the end was a grandfather clock, old and ornate and completely out of place.
Bruce's hand moved to the clock face, adjusting the time to 10:47, and the clock swung open to reveal a passage leading down.
Your heart stopped. "Bruce... "
"You wanted truth," he said quietly, turning to face you. "This is it. This is who I am. And I need you to see it before..." He trailed off, but you understood.
Before things went any further. Before you got more involved. Before the lies became too tangled with truth.
"I could expose you," you said, though your voice lacked conviction. "I could destroy everything."
"I know." He met your eyes steadily. "I'm trusting you not to."
It was the trust that did it, the fact that Bruce Wayne, Batman, the man who trusted no one, was offering you this. Not because he had to, but because he wanted you to really see him.
You followed him down into the cave.
The Batcave was exactly what you'd imagined and nothing like you'd expected. Yes, there was the car, the suit, the arsenal of equipment. But there were also medical supplies scattered on a metal table, old coffee cups, and a case of evidence that looked like it had been analyzed and re-analyzed a dozen times.
It looked less like a superhero lair and more like someone's obsessive workspace. It looked lonely.
"This is where it happens," Bruce said, his voice echoing slightly in the vast space. "Where I become what Gotham needs."
You walked slowly through the space, taking it all in. Your fingers trailed over the suit, Kevlar and armor, designed to protect and intimidate. Up close, you could see the repairs, the places where claws or knives or bullets had left their mark.
"How long?" you asked.
"Ten years. Give or take."
"And you do this alone?"
"Alfred helps. Recently I've had... partners. But mostly yes. Alone."
You turned to face him, this man who'd let you see his greatest secret. "Why?"
"Why alone or why at all?"
"Both."
Bruce was quiet for a long moment, his gaze distant. "After my parents died, I was angry. So angry I could barely breathe. I traveled the world trying to understand criminals, trying to understand fear, trying to become something that could fight back. And when I came home, I realized Gotham needed more than Bruce Wayne's money. It needed a symbol. Something to make criminals afraid for once."
"So you became Batman."
"I became what Gotham needed," he corrected. "Bruce Wayne is just... what's left over."
And there it was, the loneliness you'd sensed, the hollowness. Bruce Wayne had given so much of himself to Batman that he'd forgotten how to be just a man.
"What if," you said carefully, moving closer, "Gotham needs Bruce Wayne, too? Not the playboy, not the billionaire, but the person underneath?"
Bruce looked at you like you'd suggested something impossible. "That person died with his parents."
"I don't believe that."
"Why not?"
"Because," you reached up, touching his face gently, "that person called me every night for two weeks. That person bought me coffee and asked about my father and showed me this place, even though it could destroy him. That person is standing right here, terrified I'll see too much and leave."
Bruce's hand came up to cover yours, and you could feel the calluses, the evidence of his double life written on his skin. "What if you do? See too much."
"Then I'll see all of you." You smiled slightly. "I'm an investigative journalist, Bruce. I'm good at finding the truth. Even when people hide it."
"And when you find it? When you see all the darkness, all the violence, all the things I've done as Batman?"
"Then I'll understand who you are. Not just the mask or the man, but both."
Bruce kissed you then, soft and almost desperate, like he was testing whether this could be real. You kissed him back, threading your fingers through his hair, tasting expensive bourbon and something darker underneath.
When you broke apart, you were both breathing hard.
"We're going to be late to the gala," Bruce said, his forehead resting against yours.
"We could skip it," you suggested. "Stay here, talk, figure this out."
"I've already skipped too many public events." But he smiled slightly. "Though staying here is tempting."
"Rain check then."
"Rain check," he agreed.
The gala was exactly as pretentious as you'd feared, Gotham's elite congratulating themselves on charity work while ignoring the crime happening blocks away. But with Bruce's hand at the small of your back, his attention focused on you rather than his usual performance, it almost felt bearable.
"Bruce Wayne, hiding in a corner?" you teased as he guided you away from the main crowd. "What will the gossip columns say?"
"That I'm finally showing good sense." His thumb traced patterns on your hip, casual and intimate. "Most of these people only care about appearances."
"And you don't?"
"I stopped caring about what people think a long time ago."
"Is that why you became Batman? Because you didn't care what people thought?"
Bruce's expression turned serious. "I became Batman because someone had to. Because Gotham was eating itself from the inside and no one was willing to do what was necessary to stop it."
"Even if it costs you everything?"
"Especially then." He paused, then added quietly, "Until recently, I didn't think I had anything left to lose."
The implication hung between you, and you felt your breath catch. "Bruce... "
"Mr. Wayne!" A politician you vaguely recognized interrupted, all fake smiles and backslapping. "We need to discuss the zoning proposal... "
Bruce's expression smoothly shifted to his public persona, charming, engaged, harmlessly rich. You watched the transformation with fascination and a little sadness. This was the mask he wore in daylight, just as carefully constructed as Batman's cowl.
The evening continued in fits and starts, moments of genuine connection interrupted by Bruce's obligations. You watched him work the room, noticed how he maneuvered conversations toward actual policy, how he used his wealth and influence not just for show but for change.
Bruce Wayne and Batman weren't as separate as he seemed to think. They were both fighting for Gotham, just using different weapons.
It was nearly midnight when Bruce found you on the balcony, escaping the stuffiness inside.
"Tired of the party?" he asked, joining you at the railing.
"Tired of pretending all of this matters more than what's happening out there." You gestured toward the city spread below, lights and shadows in equal measure.
Bruce followed your gaze, and you saw it again, that bone-deep exhaustion. "Sometimes I wonder if any of it makes a difference. The charity, the galas, the money. It feels like trying to bail out the ocean with a teaspoon."
"And Batman?"
"A slightly bigger teaspoon." He smiled without humor. "But still not enough."
"Nothing's ever enough for you, is it?" You turned to face him fully. "You could save a thousand lives and only remember the one you couldn't save."
Bruce's jaw tightened. "How did you... "
"Because I do the same thing. Every story I can't break, every corruption I can't expose, every injustice that gets buried, I carry them all. It's exhausting and necessary, and it never stops."
"Then why do you keep doing it?"
"Because someone has to. Same reason as you."
Bruce looked at you with something like wonder. "You really do understand."
"I told you we were the same."
He kissed you again, deeper this time, and you could taste the desperation in it, the loneliness of someone who'd been fighting alone for so long he'd forgotten what it felt like to have an ally.
When you broke apart, breathless, Bruce asked, "Come back to the manor. Let me show you everything."
"Everything?"
"All of it. The case files, the tech, the truth. All the things I've never shown anyone."
It was a massive risk for him, and you both knew it. Every file, every piece of evidence you saw was ammunition you could use to expose him.
"Okay," you said. "Show me."
The next few hours were a blur of information. Bruce walked you through years of cases, explained his methods, and showed you the network he'd built. Oracle, his information specialist (whom you'd heard whispers about but never confirmed). Robin, his partner (partners, plural, apparently there had been several). The Justice League (which seemed like something out of a fantasy novel, but Bruce had the proof).
"Why are you showing me this?" you asked finally, overwhelmed by the scope of what he'd built. "I'm a journalist. This is, Bruce, this is everything. I could destroy you."
"I know." He met your eyes steadily. "But I'm tired of hiding. Not from everyone," he added quickly. "I can't go public; too many people depend on Batman's mystique. But from you... I don't want to hide from you."
"Why me?"
Bruce was quiet for a long moment, choosing his words carefully. "Because you see me. Not Bruce Wayne, the playboy or Batman the vigilante, but the person trying to exist between those two identities. And because for the first time in ten years, I don't feel completely alone."
Your heart clenched. "Bruce..."
"I'm not asking for anything," he continued. "I know your career, your integrity, your commitment to truth. I wouldn't ask you to compromise any of that. But I needed you to know. I needed someone to really know me."
You stood there, surrounded by evidence of Bruce's secret war, and made a decision that would define both your lives.
"I'm not publishing this," you said finally.
Bruce's expression flickered with surprise and relief. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure." You moved closer, taking his hands. "Not because I'm compromised or because I've fallen for you, though, for the record, I'm definitely falling, but because this isn't my story to tell. Batman needs to exist. Gotham needs him to exist. And Bruce Wayne needs one person in his life who knows everything and loves him anyway."
"Loves?" Bruce's voice was barely a whisper.
"Getting there," you amended, but you both knew it was a lie. You were already there, had probably been there since that coffee shop when you'd seen the loneliness he wore like armor.
Bruce pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you like you were something precious. "I don't know how to do this," he admitted. "The relationship thing. Especially with someone who knows everything."
"We'll figure it out. Together." You pulled back to look at him. "But I do have one condition."
"What's that?"
"You let me help, not as a journalist, but as a partner. I have resources, contacts, and investigation skills. Let me use them."
Bruce looked torn between hope and concern. "It's dangerous."
"So is everything worth doing."
"You sound like someone I know," Bruce said with a slight smile.
"Wonder who that could be."
He kissed you then, soft and sweet and full of promise. When you broke apart, the sun was starting to rise over Gotham, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold.
"I should get you home," Bruce said reluctantly. "Alfred will be up soon, and he'll have questions."
"Questions like 'why is there a journalist in the Batcave'?"
"Something like that."
As Bruce drove you home through the quiet morning streets, you felt something shift between you, an understanding, a partnership, a future neither of you had expected to find.
"What are you going to tell your editor?" Bruce asked as he pulled up to your building. "About the story?"
"The truth," you said. "That Bruce Wayne is exactly who he appears to be, a man trying to make Gotham better through charity and civic engagement. Nothing more interesting than that."
"And the rest?"
"The rest is ours," you said firmly. "Not for public consumption."
Bruce caught your hand as you moved to exit the car, pulling you back for one more kiss. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For seeing me. For understanding."
"Thank you for letting me in."
As you watched him drive away, evidence folder still in your bag but your mind already composing a very different article than you'd planned, you realized something: you'd come to Gotham looking to unmask Batman, and instead you'd found something much more valuable.
You'd found Bruce Wayne, lonely, dedicated, profoundly human beneath all his masks. And in showing you his darkness, he'd somehow brought light into both your lives.
Some stories weren't meant to be published. Some truths were too important to expose.
And some secrets were worth keeping, especially when they came with dark knights and the promise of something real in a city built on lies.
Your article hit the Gazette two weeks later: "Bruce Wayne: More Than Just A Playboy." It was good journalism, if you said so yourself, highlighting his genuine charity work, his vision for Gotham, his parents' legacy. The public ate it up, your editor loved it, and Bruce called that night laughing about how you'd made him sound "almost respectable."
"I just reported the facts," you said innocently.
"Selective facts."
"The best kind."
And if sometimes you showed up at Wayne Manor late at night, if sometimes Bruce called you for advice on cases, if sometimes you found yourself in the cave trading information and kisses in equal measure, well, that was nobody's business but yours.
Some masks, you'd learned, were meant to protect the vulnerable parts underneath. And some people were worth protecting, even from the truth.
Especially from the truth.
Because Bruce Wayne needed Batman to save Gotham, but he needed to be just Bruce, complex, lonely, deeply good Bruce, to save himself.
And you were honored to be the one person who got to see both.
People will get on here and write graphic “smut” of a character raping their daughter y/n and say it’s “dark content”. Then get bothered by people thinking they’re gross or weird. “We’re allowed to write what we want!” You’re allowed to write your rape, incest and pedophilia fics and I’m allowed to rant about how disgusting you are. And this is always the only time you people wanna have a conversation about censoring or rise in conservatism. As if we need to protect bitches writing about a step father raping his barely legal daughter.
“This will lead to the censoring of the LGBT!” No, YOU think this because YOU associate these topics with the lgbt. The lgbt is already being censored. Catch up.
I really don’t understand why you people call your fics dubcon/noncon. Why not call them what it is? It’s rape. Y’all can write out graphic fics of rape but won’t call it that? Be real about your rape fetish.
And no, you being a victim doesn’t excuse sexualizing rape and pedophilia.
not something I usually repost about but omg this person is so fucking right the amount of fics I see like how the post describes is fucking sickening to me
vaporwave
turnnoffyourmind
titsay
jacobvanloon
germansingergirl
discoholicmusic
gummygunk
