Hi! You can call me Cry (she/they), 23, INFJ, ♈🏳️🌈
I’m a fanfic creator whose main focus is currently Haikyu!! and MHA. I write SFW, NSFW, and sometimes dark content (with limits, of course). That said: minors, please DNI with my NSFW/dark content. Same thing for those who aren't comfortable with my content, please don't follow me if that’s the case 👍🏼
Commissions are open, though depending on how specific they are, I’ll expect payment. I’m also allowed to refuse requests.
Check out my rules for more info. These may change over time, so feel free to come back and give it a look should you be unsure of anything.
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This account is a safe space for LGBTQ+ and BIPOC individuals (and basically anyone from a marginalized group).
He’s watching you through the lens—you’re sure of it.
The model is in his element, posing while keeping his gaze forward. You bite your lip, feeling like his gaze pierces through the camera and directly locks onto yours. A teammate had to nudge your shoulder to snap you out of it. You pretend to focus on adjusting the settings to avoid staring.
Every pose is effortless, keeping all eyes on him. You’re in awe—even during outfit changes, you’re mindlessly fiddling with the camera lens, face warm and thoughts floating aimlessly. Should your teammates notice (they do), they keep it to themselves.
Aside from your emotional fumbles, the shoot went smoothly. While everyone else puts equipment away, you’re checking the photos, zeroed in on each one.
“You’re very talented,” Yukimiya’s voice appears by your ear, making you jump. You whip your head to find him next to you, leaning to peek over your shoulder. He grins sheepishly. “Ah, sorry. Just wanted to see the results.”
You were hugging the camera, you realize. Relaxing your shoulders, you hold the device between you, showing him the photos.
“The photographer did most of the work,” you comment shyly, mentally praying he can’t feel the heat radiating off your face.
The model hums, carrying his gaze to you with a soft smile. “Give yourself some credit. You and the others were on top of everything.”
When you turn to look up, Yukimiya’s already looking at you, his expression kind.
“You’re the assistant photographer, yes?” he asks.
You shake your head, face hot. “I just help with adjusting the lens. I’d like to move up soon, though I’m still working on my credentials and getting my portfolio ready—I don’t even know if I have the right to fully call myself an assistant, let alone photographer…”
It isn’t until your glance in his direction that you realize that you’ve been babbling, and you immediately cut yourself off. Your panic remains internal, as he stops you from apologizing with a simple chuckle.
“Well, for what it’s worth,” he adjusts his glasses, “I don’t mind helping out if you need more photos, even outside of this shoot.”
He speaks with such ease that you almost don’t realize what he’s talking about, like he isn’t offering you a door that’ll lead to better opportunities.
“A-Are you sure?” You stammer, clinging to the camera tighter. How it remains intact, no one knows, but your head department is giving you that look that tells you to get ready to get back to packing.
A slight shift in position and an easy smile from the model are all it takes for you to relax your shoulders and take his outstretched hand.
“I’d be happy to.”
Does this count as getting a cute boy’s number if it’s technically work-related? You’d like to think so. Especially since Yukimiya asked for yours in return, “in case he needs you first.” Think any deeper into it, and steam will float from your ears from your brain melting.
Still, while you were mentally battling with yourself over whether you should text first, your phone decided for you by notifying you of a text you received from a new number.
You’re already lying on your stomach on your bed to read the message, giddy over a mere reintroduction to the handsome model you got paid to ogle the other day. And to think he already wanted to make plans for a shoot with you without you responding with something cringe-worthy!
Well, you’re still working in a team—which is fine! Being alone with someone you shouldn’t have developed such an easy crush on may not be the best of plans. You’re just grateful for the opportunities.
Still, your stomach can’t help itself from dancing whenever Yukimiya would make small talk with you during breaks or compliment you after a long day. He’s polite, professional—you remind yourself that as not to get your hopes up. He knows how to play the game, and you’re honestly surprised an agency hasn’t snagged him yet.
“I know a place.”
You jolt at the sound, whipping your head to find the man who’s consumed your thoughts for the past few months. He offers you one of the coffee cups in his hold and you thank him, blinking in surprise upon the taste reaching your tongue. Either he got lucky, or he’s witnessed you putting too much sugar in your drink.
You hum at his words, peering up at him from the cup’s rim.
“I know an area for another shoot for us to do,” he says, taking a sip from his drink. “It’s quiet and small, but a good start if you wanna take charge.” He returns your gaze with his gentle one, his wavy hair framing his face in a way that makes you want to run your fingers through the strands (though the hair and makeup department would hate you for that). “I meant it when I said I wanted to help you.”
You turn your body to better face him, the icy breeze for an otherwise muddy autumn biting at your cheeks.
“It’s really fine—”
“I insist,” he copies your movements, his body turned to yours.
You look down at your cup, chest tightening as your thumb grazes the rim. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Your confession is quiet, and you don’t dare look at him. The pavement is a sad, mucky colour, freckled with dead leaves and a couple of cigarette butts. You count all of them, repeating the cycle until your eyes don’t burn with the promise of crying in front of someone you don’t want to let down.
“Let me show you that you do.”
You blink at him, your lips parting as if looking for a rebuttal. Yukimiya’s expression is serious, but not stern. He speaks like a wall refusing to be broken down, and the faith he has in you makes your eyes water. No, you won’t cry to him on your break, but you’ll try to believe him when he’s lending a hand to someone he’s only worked with.
You wipe your eyes with a sniffle before looking back at him, holding your cup out for him. His expression softens with a hint of pride, and he knocks his cup with yours in a silent agreement.
It’s only an hour after that day’s shoot that Yukimiya sends you the who, what, when, where, why, and how. It takes even less time for you two to schedule a time for you two to go along with the plan, your heart steadying for the night as you lie in bed.
It’s only for some headshots, but it’s a start. Yukimiya seems to have a friend of a friend who rents out studios for these kinds of things and managed to snatch a room for free. The time was less than ideal, but you were in no position to complain.
The model lets you in, already in attire plain enough for the focus to be on his face while still doing plenty to make your eyes shine as they follow him. You even brought some makeup for him, biting your lip when he praises you for coming prepared.
The studio is relatively smaller than the ones you’ve worked in with teams, though it seems fitting with tonight’s plans. With a white cloth for the background already set up, your main focus is getting the camera ready while Yukimiya patiently sits a few metres away on a stool, watching you. As much as you enjoy his attention, it does little to help you complete your tasks without looking like a fool.
You almost forget about the makeup application by the time the camera’s ready, and you hastily make your way to him with the products in hand.
This is the closest you’ve ever been to him, you realize. Applying the powder is simple enough, and you’re grateful that you aren’t doing anything editorial for tonight—with how he’s watching you trying not to mess up his perfect skin, perfect cheekbones, perfect smile, you doubt you’d have the focus to do anything properly.
You manage not to fuck up applying gloss to his lips before hastily putting everything away to return to the camera. If he notices your frantic behaviour, he keeps it to himself.
Taking the photos has been the easiest part of this entire process, not only because you get to hide behind the device, but also because your model has the experience to know what to do next. The few times you’d offer directions, you’d force yourself to project your voice, cringing when your voice wavered or cracked.
“Ever thought of being a model?”
You stop with your touch-ups, holding back the brush as you process Yukimiya’s question. His face is only a few inches away from yours, and you’re certain he can feel the heat radiating off your cheeks.
He continues, seemingly unbothered by the proximity. “I just think you’d be fun to take photos of, is all.”
You blink, your heart doing the same as you force yourself to take a step back in embarrassment.
“You’ve been plenty kind to me already,” you mumble, cupping your cheek to cool it down. “You don’t have to keep going.”
“I’m serious,” he insists, his gaze still on you. He isn’t wearing his glasses, and you can’t help but wonder how much he can actually see.
You bite the inside of your cheek. “...It’s crossed my mind, sure.”
“You’re very cute.”
Oh, now you’re about to erupt. You’re hastily put the products away before returning to the camera.
The rest of the session is fairly quiet, and neither of you speak again until it’s time to pack up.
“I mean what I said.” Yukimiya’s voice comes from behind you, making you jump. You shyly peer over your shoulder to face him. “I admire what you do, even if you don’t see it yourself.” After a few more moments of silence, the model’s expression turns sheepish. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable—”
“No!” You blurt out, fully turning to face him. The outburst catches him off-guard, and you clear your throat before stepping back for a moment. “Um, no. Sorry. I meant, you didn’t make me uncomfortable.” Your eyes are about to gaze elsewhere before you force them to meet his. Whether or not you get lost in them is not within your power. “It meant a lot. Thank you.”
Yukimiya’s shoulders relax, and that same kind smile that has your knees buckling returns to his handsome features.
He’s still close, even with your previous step back. You hope the studio’s room tone is loud enough to mask your hammering heart, but with how the model is slowly leaning in, you highly doubt it.
The kiss was soft enough to barely feel it and long enough for you to process it happening. Whether or not you kissed back, you aren’t sure, but your lips definitely followed his once he pulled back.
Your eyes flutter open–when they closed, you don’t recall–and you’re greeted by sunset eyes and curled lips.
“I’m glad.”
It’s been like this for a few more months, where Yukimiya would help you with your portfolio while occasionally stealing a kiss or two per session. You’re giddy, more confident in your skills, and even offering to teach him how to work your camera. (Whether or not it’s an excuse to have him near again, you won’t say.)
You figured it–whatever “it” was–would remain stagnant until he invited you over to his place for dinner.
You spent more time trying to figure out what to wear than the actual commute to his place. Not that it matters, since the sight before you after knocking on his door already made you feel underdressed.
Yukimiya's still sporting his usual smile when greeting you, a simple button-up and slacks doing plenty to accentuate his beauty. He even takes your coat for you, ever the gentleman. This is normal, right?
Of course, it is. You have to remind yourself to relax as you sit at the dinner table, twiddling your thumbs on your lap as he makes tea for you both. But that's easier said than done.
Not even five minutes in his home and you're meekly asking for directions to the bathroom, trying not to stumble down the hallway he kindly directed you to.
A mental pep talk did little to calm you down, but the cool water seemed to stop your hands from shaking. That's something, you guess.
He really has the patience of a saint, doesn't he? Months of knowing him and you still can't seem to behave like a functioning adult. He smiles through it all—it's like the ones customer service workers offer when they want nothing more than to clock out. He's just a hundred times prettier.
Your thoughts are still spiraling when you exit the bathroom and make the wrong turn. Had you been more aware, you would have continued your internal anxiety monologue back at the dinner table while drinking tea and not knowing what to say to him.
Instead, you find yourself in a bedroom far too tidy to belong to a young man. Though you suppose Yukimiya’s the exception once more as the freshness of a recently-opened window purifies the room, the sheets neatly made and the closest thing to a mess being an open journal on his desk.
The proximity to him just by being at his door seems to lure you in, your feet moving on their own as you relish in a room even cleaner than yours. Your guilt seems to take its time approaching your conscious as your gaze brushes the journal, his handwriting clear and his. Perfect. Precise. Practiced.
She'll be over tonight. Poor thing couldn't even look me in the eye when she said yes—it makes my heart soar every time.
Your fingers graze the page as you bite your bottom lip, your stomach doing somersaults for different reasons now.
I wished she’d let me pick her up, but she seemed insistent that she came here herself. I'm thinking of making her favourite as an apology. It's the least I can do to make an even better impression. I'm sure lighting a candle or two will set the mood, but I just want a better look at her pretty face.
You should stop. It’s doing wonders to your confidence, but you’re still going through something that doesn’t belong to you.
She’s too cute for her own good. I could feel her lips quiver every time I’d kiss her—it only made me want to kiss her more. Hold her closer, though I wouldn’t want to scare her away. She’d probably be just as cute like that, too, like a little deer taking her first steps.
I can’t stop staring at her lips. I’m lucky enough that she can barely look me in the eye. I can wait, but I can’t stop myself from just imagining. She makes the cutest sounds when I get near.
I need to taste her.
Your gaze remains on those five words, as if refraining themselves from going any further.
In every sense. I need to know what sounds she makes so I can swallow it all up or make them even louder. I need to feel her skin on mine, see with my own two eyes what she’d look like beneath me, panting and crying. I need her to see me the way I see her until she refuses to look anywhere else.
Despite the churn in your chest and stomach, your eyes don’t stop.
I can’t stop touching myself. I used to have better self-control, and maybe it’s still there and I’m just refusing to try anymore. A whiff of her perfume when she walks by is enough for my pants to grow tighter. I feel like some pathetic teenager. The worst part is, I don’t hate it. I chase it, chase her. And I don’t even know if I’d be able to do anything besides that tonight.
“Never took you for someone so nosy.”
You whip your head around to find Yukimiya standing at his dressing room door, two mugs in his hand. Despite his words, his tone carries no disappointment, nor does his expression. If anything, he appears pleased, and he walks in to place the cups down on his desk. You freeze, stumbling back when his shoulder brushes yours. Words fail you, your body shrinking in shame of being caught, while your brain almost forgets everything it saw.
Even with your eyes on him, you don’t fully register him stepping towards you, his aura eerily calm. The back of your knees hit the edge of his bed, forcing you to a halt as you scramble to find something to say.
The model beats you to it. “I can’t say I wasn’t completely counting on it, though.”
You don’t process him having thrown you over his lap until he flips your skirt up to reveal your sage green panties. But you finally react when his hand swings down to smack the apex of your thigh.
“I can’t just let you get away with this, you know,” Yukimiya chides, rubbing at the stinging area. “You understand, don’t you, dear?”
Your eyes burn as tears peek from your waterline, and you sniffle. The athlete hums, then grabs the back of your underwear and tugs. You cry out, the cotton pressing between your folds and brushing your clit.
You whimper. “Yes… I’m sorry.”
He coos, letting go of the garment. It snaps back onto your behind, and he resumes massaging the area he previously hit.
“I know you are,” he comforts. You sniffle again, the tears finally falling as you struggle to press your thighs together. It doesn’t take long for Yukimiya to notice the wet patch on the crotch of your underwear, and his voice remains gentle as he smiles thoughtfully. His fingers reach to graze against the area, and you suck in a large breath. “Look at you…”
SMACK!
Another slap against your skin, this time on your rear. You shriek, your body jolting against his lap. More follow seconds after, alternating between each cheek while occasionally rubbing the raw flesh.
“As much as it pains me to do this,” the model sighs, though you don’t hear any remorse in his tone, “I can’t have you just doing whatever you want. Where did my good girl go?”
You can’t respond, the sobs and hiccups clawing out from your sore throat. Your grip on the sheets tightens as he gives you the final few strikes, and you can finally exhale properly. Yukimiya palms the stinging areas, shushing you like he was putting a child to sleep.
“You did so well for me, angel,” he coos before leaning closer to your ear. “Next time, I’ll make you count each hit.”
You flinch, whimpering as he helps you sit up, but it hurts too much to do so. Still, not wanting to upset him any further, you ignore the throbbing that bleeds throughout your rear.
Yukimiya’s hands are warm against your cheeks as he cups your face, his thumbs lightly wiping away any stray tears. Your vision is glassy enough not to recognize him.
“You’re so cute,” he sighs, kissing the tip of your nose. Then your temple, down your cheek and to your jaw. He starts unbuttoning your blouse when his lips meet your neck, and he continues his journey down your body as he shrugs the article of clothing off your shoulders. His teeth gently graze your collarbone, and you shiver when you feel his warm breath on your skin. You almost miss his hands when they reach your thighs, caressing them through your skirt before reaching for its hem. “Take these off for me, will you, angel?”
You almost don’t hear him, a light ringing in your left ear as you feel him rise from the bed, taking your hands and pulling you up to do the same. Your tears are long gone, their dried paths across your face the only evidence of their existence. When you look up at the model, he’s already got his gaze on you, soft and adoring.
You finally speak. “Yukki…”
“Kenyu,” he corrects, his smile growing wider. “No need to be so formal.”
He trails off, taking your hands and leading them to the waistband of your skirt. And with how he’s looking at you–like he’s witnessing sakura petals raining from their trees–your hands move on their own. The article of clothing drops at your feet, leaving you in a cotton matching set. You try to refrain from hugging your waist and curling into yourself, but your gaze can’t help but trail elsewhere, anywhere.
“There she is,” he croons, stepping closer to cup your face. His eyelids droop, pensive, and the sunset you’d admire in his irises has passed the horizon—it makes you want to cry again. “There’s so much I want to do with you.”
Despite the warmth from his hands, his gaze makes you shudder. Yukimiya lightly presses his lips against yours before leading you back onto the bed, with him leaning against the headboard and you, with your back to his chest. His body heat makes you shiver again, goosebumps decorating your arms.
“Just follow my lead,” he instructs softly, leaning his chin on your shoulder. You subconsciously suck in a large breath when his arms slither around your waist, but it doesn’t stop the athlete from pulling you even closer.
Plump lips shadow above your skin, and you can feel his warm breath tickling your neck. A quiet mewl squeaks from your throat, your eyes screwed shut as Yukimiya’s hands explore your torso.
“Such a pretty colour,” he mumbles against your shoulder before kissing back up your neck. You feel his fingertips ghost over the cup of your bra while his other hand swirls the waistband of your panties around his index finger. “Did you wear this knowing what would happen?”
You can only whine in response, and he takes it as a sign to slip his hand into your underwear, his digits brushing against short, coarse hair before he feels the stickiness he got a peek of earlier. He hums; a discovery.
“You’re like a little doll,” Yukimiya continues, brushing against your clit while sneaking the other hand under your bra. “I get a lot of clothes from modelling gigs—I can get you some of the prettiest outfits.” Your breathing stutters when his middle finger drags across your slit, and you feel his smile on your neck. “Anything you want; you’d always look amazing, anyway. It’s like playing dress-up—oh! And we can match, too! Wouldn’t you like that?”
He plunges his finger into your hole before you can even think of a response. You gasp, head thrown back onto his shoulder.
“Yu—Ken…” you finally try to speak, and the model rewards you by flicking your nipple from under your bra, his hand sinking into your breast.
“There she is,” he praises, taking his time pumping his digit inside you; memorizing you from the inside out. “You’re so,” he pauses, then chuckles to himself, “Sorry, I keep calling you cute. I can’t help it if it’s true. I just want to squeeze you tight and never let you go. Though I’m sure you know that by now.”
A second finger joins the middle one, stretching you out in a way foreign to you. It stings, and you hiss. Yukimiya whispers sweet nothings in your ear, easing you into the unfamiliar.
“I can’t move if you keep squeezing me like that, darling,” he chides jokingly while shimmying your bra above your breasts. He’s quick to knead them, easier for him to alternate between the two and grip them tighter. You yelp, and he snickers at your reaction before his voice drops to a more serious tone. “You’ve never done this to yourself before?”
Too flustered to respond, you can only offer a pathetic whine while digging your nails into his forearms. Yukimiya chuckles upon seeing your hips buck involuntarily and rewards you by picking up the pace, curling his fingers just right. You throw your head back onto his shoulder with a cry, and he takes the opportunity to kiss you deeply. He’s everywhere: his warm chest against your back, his fingers squeezing your breasts and caressing your walls, his erection poking at your lower back through his slacks, his tongue swirling around yours—he’s even found his way into your lungs, bleeding into your insides and becoming your oxygen.
The athlete eventually pulls back, a string of saliva connecting you two by your lips. Your panting synchronizes, his warm breath tickling your skin as your eyes grow glassy. Yet, even through your hazy vision, you can’t miss the pure adoration as he looks at you. A look so soft, you almost forget his touch’s juxtaposition.
“K-Kenyu…” you say his name like you had something to say—what it is, you aren’t sure. He supposedly did, though, and he peppers light kisses along your jaw.
“Are you close, beautiful?” he hums, his voice buzzing against your skin. You nod rapidly, and that was more than enough for him to reach deeper, his palm hitting your clit. The heat pooling in your belly spreads, your legs instinctively snapping closed. Yukimiya tuts, his voice gentle yet scolding. “No, no. None of that, now.”
With how he carries himself–all gentle smiles and a graceful posture–you forget the absolute strength that comes with him. You forget until he hooks his legs over yours, separating them and keeping you open for him.
“I’m sorry…” You hiccup, bottom lip wobbling. What you’re apologizing for, you can’t quite put your finger on it.
“I know, angel,” Yukimiya sighs, slipping his fingers out of your pussy momentarily to spank your inner thigh a few times, making you jolt with a squeak. His digits return inside you as fast as they left, and his pace and force increase tenfold. Your shallow breaths quicken, chest heaving and hammering heart beats that you’re certain he can feel through his rough grip on your breast.
And just when that coil is about to snap, he pulls out again.
The sob you let out even surprised you, his hand leaving your chest being replaced with heaviness in your diaphragm and ribs that are just barely holding on.
The model’s hold on you loosens ever so slightly, if not to let you catch your breath. He brings his fingers to his mouth, licking your taste with a satisfied hum. You witness this with a tearful gaze, and the act only fuels the emptiness he’s left behind.
“Y-You,” you croak, inhaling sharply while gripping onto his forearms, “w-why did—”
“I couldn’t let you think you were completely off the hook,” is Yukimiya’s answer, his clean hand rubbing soothing circles on your stomach. “Consider it a warning for the next time you decide to misbehave, yeah? You’ve been so good to me before.”
He speaks like he’s discussing the weather, and he finally lets you go, carefully laying you before dismounting the bed. Your legs immediately go to press together, desperate to soothe the ache he caused. The sound of faint ruffling reaches your ears through your pathetic sobs, but it isn’t until you feel the mattress dip next to you that you see the brunet left in nothing but his boxers. He smiles, slowly crawling between your legs.
“You taste even better than I imagined,” he says, spreading your legs before shifting closer, “if I didn’t stop now, I probably never would.” He tugs his waistband low enough to reveal his cock; hard, pale, and pretty. You catch sight of a beauty mark near the apex of his thigh before he starts stroking himself, his expression relaxing. “But that’s okay,” he aims his pink tip at your entrance, brushing against your clit, “we have all the time in the world to try everything we want to.”
The initial stretch makes you choke, his tip barely passing through before you clench tightly at the foreign feeling.
“I can’t,” you shake your head frantically, your nails digging into his biceps. “I-I can’t I can’t—”
Yukimiya’s lips silence your cries, his tongue practically licking the inside of your mouth and making your eyes roll back. He only pulls back once your cries retreat to whimpers, and you find yourself subconsciously chasing after his kiss.
“Sure, you can,” he responds, adoration glimmering in his gaze. “You just need to relax for me. You can do that, can’t you?”
His soothing words act as a lullaby, your mind following wherever he leads it. You take a few deep breaths, trying not to be so stiff. The athlete above you rubs your thighs, cooing as he eventually slips in more easily. Every inch makes your grip on his arms tighter, and you wonder if he feels any pain, what with his loving expression piercing your very being.
“That’s my good girl,” he hums, his hips soon meeting your own. You shift in discomfort, your insides feeling like they’re being torn apart. Your bottom lip wobbles, and you feel your eyes burn from upcoming tears. Yukimiya shushes you, kissing up your torso, past the valley of your breasts, and your neck, welcoming your lips with a gentle kiss. “I’m going to start moving now.”
Your heart hammers against your ribs like an alarm, your eyes begging for mercy. Your legs are unable to stay still, desperate to find a position that’ll make the pain more bearable.
“Kenyu,” you whisper against his lips. “Just gimme a minu—”
“I’ll go slow,” he insists, his nose gently nudging yours as a silent agreement. And when his hips reel back ever so slightly, you gasp. He’s mostly grinding against you, offering some mercy as you adapt to the new feeling. The model only decides to pick up the pace once your laboured breathing sounds less painful. “You’re perfect. So fucking perfect.”
With everything happening right now, your stomach can’t help but churn upon hearing him curse, clashing with the warmth seeping into your lower belly.
But then his careful movements pick up momentum. No longer are his hips grazing yours, but are now pulling all the way back until it’s only his tip inside you, and he reenters while reaching even deeper than before.
“W-Wait,” you pant, your hand weakly pawing at his chest.
The sunset in his eyes has long set as Yukimiya wraps his arms around your thighs to keep you in place.
“You take me so well, angel,” he groans, his head momentarily thrown back in pleasure. “I knew you would, ever since I saw you.” The way his cock grazes against the area that has your toes curling distracts you from fully listening. The athlete laughs breathily, pressing his forehead against yours. The new angle makes your eyes roll back, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.
“Slow down,” you whimper.
“I get a lot of free clothing thanks to my gigs,” he continues as if you never spoke, “think of all the matching outfits we can wear out together, dressing up for dates.”
He ruts into you faster, moaning as he sits up again. You gasp at the change of pace, reaching out for him like you were expecting comfort. Instead, you hiss as his hold on your legs tightens.
The athlete continues, vermillion dusting his cheeks. “In fact, you could model with me, too.”
His grip on you disappears for a moment as his strokes fall softer, making your eyes flutter. When your vision clears, you find him aiming his phone at you.
“What are you doing?” you panic, quick to cover yourself to the best of your abilities.
“Don’t be like that,” he chides, momentarily lowering the device to gently yet firmly move your arms. “I just want you to see what I see.” His thrusts return in strength before he aims the lens at you once more. “Let’s switch our roles for once.”
You barely register the clicks as his hips continue their abuse, tears brimming on your waterline as he bullies your g-spot. Your moans sync with your whimpers and hiccups, and while you want to look away, you find your head turning back to the model above you.
Meanwhile, Yukimiya murmurs praise as he captures your vulnerability; from “beautiful” to “perfection,” his focus never leaves your trembling form. He only pauses to remove his glasses, his ministrations causing them to fog. You catch your breath in the few seconds he places his eyewear on the nightstand before he resumes.
“I may not have your eye,” he grunts, slamming his hips against yours, “but it shouldn’t be hard with you beneath me.”
The clicking continues as you feel that honeyed fire in the pit of your belly, the one he snatched away from you earlier. Your grip on the sheets tightens as you look up at him pleadingly.
“Kenyu,” you babble. “P-Please, I’m gonna—”
“I know, angel,” he exhales. “Go on, let go for me.”
Mere seconds later, and hot white pleasure soars through your body, a strained cry leaving your lips. Your cunt squeezes as your back arches off the mattress, your toes curling from the intensity. You might have said his name; you might have thanked him.
Yukimiya follows soon after, pulling out last second to finish on your chest and stomach. Even through his soft groans, you hear faint clicking, though you can’t find it in you to care anymore. You can only shudder at the stickiness clinging to your skin, your lungs greedily taking in air as you feel his weight disappear.
Soft lips press against your temple as your eyes flutter shut, and your first instinct is to curl into yourself. The mattress dips beside you, followed by a hand gently stroking your cheek.
“There you go,” the model whispers, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. You shudder despite welcoming his affection.
Your eyes reopen once his touch disappears, and you find him going through his phone next to you. His glasses sit atop the bridge of his nose, fog lingering on the edge of his lenses.
Yukimiya catches your gaze and smiles. “Hey, you.”
You groan softly, sluggishly lifting yourself to sit up beside him awkwardly. Your muscles are sore, and you feel like you can only fix what little clothing you’re wearing and twiddle your thumbs. Anything but look at him any longer.
“I didn’t mean to read your journal,” you manage to say, your voice somewhat hoarse. Your brows furrow as you curse yourself for not being able to say anything else.
The athlete wraps an arm around your waist, not minding the mess he made on your skin as he pulls you closer to his side. Your posture stiffens, yet the warmth of his body raises goosebumps along your arms. You only fully come to when you catch what he’s looking at.
“They’re pretty, aren’t they?” he hums thoughtfully, going through his camera roll to show each photo he snapped, each one more lewd than the last. Your eyes widen, something he notices. “No need to worry. I plan on keeping these for myself.” He kisses your temple reassuringly. “Though I wasn’t kidding about you making a perfect model.”
You don’t look away from the photos until Yukimiya gently holds your chin to kiss you, a soft sigh leaving his body as he physically relaxes.
You flinch, pulling back abruptly. “Ken—”
He kisses you again, hugging you closer as he licks your bottom lip. You’re lulled back into a false sense of comfort, closing your eyes as he completely takes over.
CLICK
You blink, pulling back to find him holding his phone a foot away from you two, a photo of your shared kiss captured on the screen. He smiles like he’s guilty, but not sorry.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he says, tapping at his device. “I figured this would make a great lock screen.” He leans in to whisper, like he’s sharing a secret. “One of the other ones can be my home screen.”
You look at him in awe, in terror, you don’t know.
And if he weren’t reshaping your entire anatomy right now, you’d call him ridiculous with a scoff.
Your muscles burn as your legs are held in place by Shidou’s strong hands; he won’t let you budge, keeping your limbs folded over your body and preventing you from squirming. The only movement he seems to accept from the waist down is the curl of your toes as he plows into you. If it weren’t for the sappy fluids clinging to the back of your thighs, you’re sure your skin would sting from how intense the striker’s thrusts are.
“R-Ryu,” you gasp, clutching the sheets. “Slow down—!”
The man in question offers maniacal laughter in return, drilling into you harder.
“Sorry, babes,” he shudders happily, his pace never faltering. “It’s my time to shine.”
You whine, eyes rolling back as your thighs burn from the position. You’ve been like this for who knows how long, already having experienced a couple of orgasms beforehand. But Shidou’s not done.
“Our star striker’s got hold of the ball,” he rasps to himself, smirking widely. “The opposing team’s defence is on their A-game, but will that be enough to stop this forward?”
Your boyfriend’s narration makes your face burn from embarrassment, though this is hardly unlike him. From finding cuteness in how velociraptors eat people to shouting whatever he wants at the morning sky in his birthday suit, turning into a sports commentator during sex seems natural for the eccentric football player.
Though with how your juices seem to further stain his cock, you suppose you’re no better than him.
“My shooting range’s expanded by several meters,” he mumbles, eyes wide and ravenous. You can’t tell if he’s informing you or further hyping himself up. It’s tough to focus with his constant attacks on your sweet spot, your previous orgasms making you all the more sensitive.
“Babe,” you stammer, gripping the sheets for balance. Shidou doesn’t seem to catch your warning, his rhythm growing somewhat sloppy and tilting your body to the side. His hold on you never falters, no.
You call his name again, but the striker only picks up the pace, his voice hoarse.
“He shoots…”
A whorish grin stretches onto his face, raising prominent cheekbones highlighted with sweat as magenta eyes roll back while long, blonde lashes flutter in ecstasy. Toned back arched plus stiff muscles, and the striker shoots heavy spurts of creamy white into your weeping cunt. It’s more than enough to trigger your body to spray its own fluids, making a mess of his pelvis and the sheets below. And while you shriek from the overstimulating intensity, Shidou lets his final comment be known:
“HE SCORES!”
And here you thought leaving the bedroom window open for fresh air was a good idea. Should any poor soul outside hear his perverted commentary, you’d surely die from embarrassment. Was the cool breeze worth it?
The striker’s lean yet muscular body shudders before plopping onto you. The impact makes you groan weakly, though the weight is strangely grounding as you pant for air.
Shidou smothers his warm face into your breasts, sighing happily. His words are muffled against your skin, though you barely have the energy to roll your eyes when you think you hear him mumble, “and the crowd goes wild.”
You place your hand on the nape of his neck, scratching lightly at the area and making your lover purr. The vibrations tickle, and you feel the corners of your lips tug upwards ever-so-slightly.
“I think you broke my vagina.”
Shidou giggles. “That’s what I like to hear.”
Your eyes never leave the ceiling, and they form a glare at his continued misplaced glee. “You’re so lucky I’m in love with you.”
The athlete moans almost girlishly, arching his back as he props himself onto his forearms. The Cheshire grin he offers you makes your body shiver and your cunt throb.
“You know just what to say,” he sighs dreamily, kicking his feet before leaning in. “Wanna go for some additional time? Little striker’s ready for another hat trick~”
You groan at his antics, clarity slowly returning to your brain after the fog that had consumed it only moments ago. “Do I need to pull a red card on you—?”
You cut yourself off, pressing your lips into a thin line. Shidou bites your cheek affectionately before rolling off your body. You wince slightly, but embrace the affection regardless, running your fingers through his hair. You feel him relax under your touch, a low, satisfied hum buzzing from his chest. His expression softens, eyes fluttering closed.
“We’re gonna celebrate every one of my victories like this, ya hear?” he purrs, a half-smirk slowly forming on his face.
You hum, scratching behind his ear. He mewls, peppering kisses all over your collarbone.
“How about you clean me up first?” It was more of an order than a suggestion. Shidou grins wolfishly, scooping you in his arms without warning. You yelp at the sudden manhandling, and he laughs as he carries you to the bathroom.
“Shower sex, I like how you think.” He exclaims, kicking the door open. “Oh, let’s pretend it’s the locker room. It’ll be so hot~”
if you’re a white creator and your brown/black characters are always sassy, reckless, aggressive or cold and your white characters are always soft, demure, shy and introverted you should think about maybe why you did that
sorry to hijack your post, but imo this also applies to colourism dynamics, even if you have a full cast of colour. like i can only confidently speak from the south asian context, but RAMPANT colourism in the community has given rise to and perpetuated these same stereotypes of people with darker skin being more aggressive and sexually promiscuous than the “reserved, civilised” light skins.
This applies to your wlw and mlm ships as well. If the lighter or white one is always sweeter, nicer, softer, more innocent, or more feminine and the darker or poc one is always meaner, louder, more aggressive, more sexual, or more masculine then you’ve got a problem sweetie and that’s racism.
If you reblogged this from me then please reblog this addition too!
We're getting THERE! (Reached 60% of our final Goal!!!) Play a role in Evacuating and saving my family! I'm not leaving a brother or a sister behind!
Hello. I hope all is well.
This is Mahmoud Khalaf from Gaza, now studying in Ireland.I am campaigning to evacuate my family from Gaza and reunite with them in Ireland. My campaign was vetted by el shab Hussein and nabulsi #151 on the Vetted Gaza Fundraisers List as you can see in my recent post.My recent post is titled "From the Comfort of Ireland, Watching the Suffering and Starvation of My Family in Gaza" Could you please do me and my family a huge favor and reblog my post and help in boosting our campaign? https://www.tumblr.com/supportgaza/765503063942463488/from-the-comfort-of-ireland-watching-the?source=share
Let's try to help Mahmoud's family. Donate if you can <3
I'm Ahmad from Gaza, married and have a little girl. 👨👩👧 I live in a displacement tent in Deir al-Balah after our home was completely destroyed in Khan Yunis. 💔 With the frequent displacement and high costs, I face significant difficulties in providing shelter, basic necessities, and medical care for my family.
We live in very harsh conditions and urgently need support to overcome this crisis. 🙏
Any help, no matter how small, can make a big difference. 🌟 Please donate and share the link.
https://gofund.me/665fbb6c. 💖
Verified by bees and watermelon, number 171 and northgazaupdates.
Vetted by @gazavetters , my number verified on the list is ( #84 )
My name is Mahmoud Jihad, from Gaza. My home, my university, everything has been destroyed. I now live in a flimsy tent with my family after losing everything. I was studying Information Technology while caring for my family, and now we have nothing. 😔
We are living amidst indescribable destruction and desperately need your help to survive. 😭 Even a small donation can make a huge difference. Every contribution is a spark of hope in the darkness of this war. ✨
My campaign is verified by: @beesandwatermelons ✅ #190 and @gazavetters ✅ #63.
My GoFundMe link: https://gofund.me/463cbf01
Thank you from the bottom of our hearts. Let's rebuild our lives together. 🙏❤️
"My two daughters, Iman and tuleen, have known nothing but war and fear.
I appeal to you with all the pain and suffering we have endured after 11 months of war in Gaza . Our homes have been destroyed, our dreams have vanished, and my family lives in constant fear. We are facing an endless nightmare, and I need your help to protect my family and restore hope to our hearts.
Our words may not end our suffering, but we hope our voices reach you. We kindly ask for your support and assistance during this crisis. Every little help you provide means a lot to us.
Help us to survive this fierce war.
Please donate and share.
My campaing Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is (#111 )
My campaign link:
I am Muhammad Jebril from Germany, residing in Berlin. I created this campaign fo… Mohammed Gebril needs your support for Help this family
It's too hard to say this but i need your support & Help as i have no other choice,help me and my family escape from the war and Famine in North Gaza 🙏
If you can’t donate , please share the link 💙
A Little can Make Difference 🍉🫶
Doing something is better than nothing—please help in any way that you can.
My name is Hala from the Gaza Strip. My family and I are suffering from very difficult conditions. We lost our beautiful home in the Gaza Strip and I was displaced with my family, my father, my mother and my grandmother to the south of the Gaza Strip.
Winter has come and the tent we live in is dilapidated and does not protect us from the cold and rain. Please help me to repair our tent and provide our daily needs of food and medicine.
And also to save money so we can travel to Egypt.
Thank you for your solidarity with me
Whoever can donate, even if just a dollar, please do.
While my last post for Nader's family's campaign got to 4,000+ notes, it quickly slowed in donations, and the poll got 7,000+ votes. This means a lot of people did stop to look at the post because of the poll, but not interact much beyond that, which is disheartening considering a lot of people on here post about Gaza.
It is a very simple donation process--you don't need an account or anything--and literally any amount is appreciated.
I'm asking today for people to match my donation of (at least) €10 (share evidence in the notes if you want), and if you know anyone who could get the campaign more traction on here or another site, share it with them, especially if you've shown support for the cause.
My poll mentions Halloween because it's coming up and a popular holiday in the US and a time to remember that no tragedy is put on hold while you find enjoyment in such things.
This campaign is vetted (#4 on this list) and currently has €15,426 raised out of a goal of €50,000 and slowed in activity.
**Humanitarian Support Request: Abdul Salam Al-Anqar**
… Abdalsalam Alanqar needs your support for Help Abd AL Salam and his family ge
Extremely tired as a queer person hearing my name in the mouths of people using us to dehumanize Palestinians.
WE DON'T CARE. WE ARE TELLING YOU WE DON'T GIVE A SHIT. "Oh, they would throw you off a roof 😏 I bet they would 😏" no they won't, but do YOU want to? Cuz why the fuck are you fantasizing about that? Fucking freak.
I promise you no one in the queer communinty gives a shit if a victim of GENOCIDE uses our fucking pronouns. How shallow do you think we are? We do not give a shit. We are in solidarity. Go to protest. It is full of pride flags. Get our names out your mouth. You are projecting, because our solidarity is not conditional.
This is about everyone who does this, but specifically I am thinking of Bill Maher (an unmarried man who pays sex workers to pretend they love him during the service) and Asmondgold (who purposefully lets cockroaches live in his house but still thinks he has the superior culture somehow).
It's ahistorical (there is no Palestinian government oppressing gay people. Historic Palestine was far beyond its European counterparts on social issues before its occupation). It's islamophobic. It's so fucking stupid.
