drells.

It's a cruel thing, seeing everyone else's destiny but being blind to your own. He doesn't even know if he has a soulmate at all. As a teen, he convinced himself it was a test—maybe he just needed to work harder to find his soulmate. He spent far too much time researching old mythology about destiny and fated lovers.

Growing into young adulthood, he spent even more time watching people, searching for someone else who might be missing their own thread. With Caleb's good looks and charming personality, he's always been spoiled for choice when it comes to a potential partner. Many people throw themselves at him, not realizing their threads tug them back toward someone else entirely.

It's not like he needs to reject his admirers. He knows he could just be another passing tangle or knot in someone's connection with a true soulmate. But that doesn't appeal to him. He wants to feel that undeniable pull, that intimate connection that comes with finding the person who was made for him. So he continues waiting—and watching for patterns he can study.

He soon learns how to guess people's whole life stories just from the way their threads are woven. It becomes second nature to figure out someone is having an affair or if they've lost a loved one or are desperately trying to escape fate altogether.

When he bumps into you at a café, he initially thinks nothing of it. He plasters on his usual suave smile while reaching down to grab your fallen bag. And when he hands it back to you, he freezes in place.

Caleb has never believed in sparks flying or love at first sight. Especially not when he's witnessed firsthand how every connection is planned by some higher power. But when he sees your face—your apologetic smile and the way you look at him with genuine kindness—he thinks fate becomes inconsequential.

His eyes land on the red thread tied around your left wrist like a shackle, and his heart drops. For a fleeting moment, he hoped you'd have no thread like him. He almost turns away, until he notices the wrongness of it.

Your thread is…ugly. A weak, dull color as it yanks at your wrist like an incessant child, trying to tug you toward something you don't seem to have any interest in.

The moment you turn your back on Caleb to resume your order, his eyes never leave you. You become an obsession—half because of that immediate flicker of something he felt when he saw you, and the other half because he has to find out why fate feels different around you.

His feet carry him mindlessly behind you when you leave the café. Careful not to arouse suspicion, he follows you all the way to your apartment. And imagine his surprise when he realizes you live right down the hall from his own apartment.

Caleb doesn't believe in coincidence. So he takes it upon himself to learn even more about you.

Clearly, the universe is sending him a sign. Maybe it messed up when writing your destiny. Maybe some cosmic being needs his help in fixing the mistake. Either way, he's the only one who can correct that dreadful thing holding you back from having a true soulmate. He's the only one who could be your soulmate.

He watches you for weeks, taking his time to collect as much information about you as he can before he makes his next move. People, normal people, are hilariously predictable. Not only are they beholden to fate, but they also desperately cling to routine. Just another pattern that Caleb picks up on with far too much ease.

It barely takes him a month to have your entire schedule mapped out and memorized. Even on the rare occasion when you do something spontaneous, he's able to intuit where you might go, who you might be with, and what time you'll decide to head back home.

He takes advantage of one of the moments you're not home, picking the lock on your front door with ease. Knowing exactly how much time he has before you return, he's planned the perfect opportunity to plant hidden cameras in each of the rooms of your apartment.

He's so well-prepared that he even has a few extra minutes afterward to go through your most precious belongings. It's hard not to steal a caress of your soft bed, rifle through the diary hidden underneath it, or gingerly smell one of your hoodies hanging on the couch.

If you were here now, you would freak out. Caleb's not insane enough not to know that. But he also believes if you gave him a chance to explain—you're meant to be with him, duh—maybe you wouldn't be too mad. That's why he does something completely unplanned and leaves with your hoodie after double-checking that all the cameras work.

Luckily, you don't notice the missing item or the added tiny red dots peeking out from strategically placed spots. One of the things Caleb loves about you is how sweet and trusting you are. It's something anyone else could easily take advantage of, though. And he doesn't like the thought of that.

Being a guardian angel isn't enough for him. Watching from afar won't mean much if someone gets too close to you when he's unprepared or turns his back for a moment. He needs to make sure no one else slides into your life. Especially if that someone could be whoever is on the other end of that counterfeit bond wrapped too tightly around your wrist.

So Caleb manufactures more accidental meetings with you. You're neighbors, after all. When you take out your trash, Caleb times his exit perfectly, turning a corner just fast enough to bump into you. His charming apology makes you a bit flustered, and he thinks you're even cuter when you're within arm's reach.

The second meeting happens at a bookstore three blocks down. The one you frequent every Saturday around lunchtime to read a new book while snacking on something salty. He’s already browsing the shelves when you walk in, glancing at you with feigned surprise when you notice your neighbor likes one of the books you read last week.

After that, it becomes easier. He embeds himself into your routine until he's impossible to ignore.

First, he's a simple stranger who you notice every once in a while. Then, an acquaintance who happens—coincidentally—to love the same cafés, the same obscure novels, the same quiet walking paths you prefer at dusk. He laughs at the right moments. Listens when you speak. Remembers little details you share that you think anyone else wouldn't bother paying attention to.

Finally, he becomes a friend. A staple in your daily routine. A shoulder you cry on when days are hard and you need someone to rely on.

In those moments, Caleb wants nothing more than to confess his feelings for you. Everything is going so well, and he can sense that you'd reciprocate his confession.

With every cozy hangout, conversation that stretches past midnight, and shared meal where your knees brush his under the table, Caleb watches the subtle shift in your body language. The way you lean closer and your voice softens. You're falling for him.

But that grotesque thing around your wrist begins to thrash in protest whenever he gets too close. His teeth grit every time he sees its blatant disapproval.

Why is the universe resisting him now? You are his other half. He's never been so sure of anything else in his life. Is this the real test he mistakenly thought he'd been put through as a child?

At night, he lies awake and dissects every possible next step. No matter the scenario, he arrives at the same conclusion. There is only ever one outcome with fate.

He's seen it before in past observations: no matter how much fate veers off course, it always finds a way to correct itself. But perhaps that's only because no one with Caleb's gift has ever tried to intervene.

People believe fate does not bend for desire, or that it doesn't reward patience and effort. They believe it simply is. But when you grow up seeing its physical manifestation and the way people fight against it, it's hard not to come to the conclusion that even something preordained can be manipulated by someone strong enough.

If Caleb's been given such a gift…then it would be a shame not to use it.

He'll make sure there is no possible way the universe could pull you into someone else's orbit. Which means he needs to find the parasite at the other end of your tether. He needs to measure their worth. Even though deep down, he already knows what answer lies at the end of his calculations.

And he's proven right when he finally does find your dead weight. Your so-called soulmate doesn't seem to treasure true love or fate at all. Even worse, the man doesn't even add up to a quarter of the exceptional person you are.

Your destined counterpart spends his days slouched at a bar that smells like stale beer and desperation. Caleb watches from across the street first. Then from inside. Then a day later, from a camera discreetly installed in the man's messy home.

He scowls as he watches your fated half drown in cheap booze and women that barely stay the night before being kicked out onto the street like trash. One could barely call this a routine when it's more like a never-ending rut for a loser who thinks he's the shit when he actually just smells like it.

This is what pulls at your wrist every night? This is what dares to fight when Caleb leans into you with a look full of yearning?

The knowledge taunts him for three days. That's all it takes before he ponders something brand new about the universe while watching a belligerent idiot snore facedown on a stained mattress.

Can fate defend itself?

Caleb makes sure what he's about to do will look like a freak accident. It's just something that happens to a drunkard who no one will miss anyway.

It turns out it's easy to sever the very thread of fate that he always admired as a kid. In fact, he's a little disappointed by the lack of ceremony. There's no bolt of lightning striking him down, no divine intervention or a voice booming from above in anger of what Caleb has taken into his own hands.

Fate is weak and pathetic as it tries to resist its new order from a power more determined than a fickle thing like the universe. It bleeds and whimpers before the last rush of air leaves its lungs.

Caleb stares down at the broken thread, now unattached from the man you were never meant to meet.

It feels like a stupid thought now, but he knows he has to attach it to himself. He doesn't believe in its power anymore, but you might. You might feel its loss if it decays, the same way he's seen remnants of other people's bonds that ended when their lovers passed away too soon. Besides, he wants there to be no question that there is an unshakeable bond between you two—even if you can't see it for yourself.

Caleb works quickly, tying a knot around his left wrist a bit too tightly, like he's scared it might come undone if he isn't meticulous enough. Some strange bit of life still left in the thread resists him at first, stubbornly recoiling from the wrongness of what just transpired. But familiarity is a powerful thing. He has already watched you, memorized you, and diligently shaped his life around the edges of yours. He makes fate recognize effort now.

It stings for a few minutes, feeling like forcing a shape into the wrong space. Fortunately, his lack of a thread becomes an advantage. There is nothing to conflict, nothing to reject the intrusion other than your own thread trying to hold onto something irrelevant.

And after a few heart-pounding moments, the knot finally holds—and your thread stills. Caleb exhales for the first time in minutes. He leaves the unmoving body on the dirty mattress, smiling when he thinks of the next time he'll see you with a strengthened bond.

Your neighbor—and new best friend—is the sweetest man you've ever had the pleasure of meeting. You never thought you'd find someone like him in this day and age. A true gentleman, he makes you feel seen in a way that feels inevitable. Like he was always waiting for you to run into him on a busy day at your favorite café.

Lately, you've been unable to stop yourself from flirting with danger. And it really is a dangerous thing to fall in love with a neighbor. If things don't work out, then you'll have to bump into an ex every day just to go in and out of your apartment.

But if the only dangerous thing about wanting a man like Caleb is the possibility of a constant heartache, then you'll take your chances. Besides, your chest already tightens painfully every time he smiles at you. Your heart really does skip a beat when he laughs at your jokes, or hugs you when you're sad, or when his hands wander just a bit while he cuddles up beside you on your couch.

Caleb is different than any men you've ever met. He's better. Maybe he's the best you might ever get. And you're not going to let someone else snatch him up.

That's precisely why you've already put so much faith in him. Someone as gentle as Caleb could never hurt a fly, so you happily gave him a key to your apartment for emergencies. You let him come over even when you're looking like a mess after tiring days at work. You even fall asleep on him sometimes, so trusting that he would always protect you even in your most vulnerable states.

His easygoing charm and innocent puppy-like eyes make your heart beat only for him. But you're also a bit annoyed; no matter how much his touch might wander at times, he always holds himself back.

You've tried baiting him with shorts that "accidentally" ride up a bit between your thighs when you bend down in front of him. You've even let your hands trail his chest and abs while watching movies beside him.

It takes all your willpower not to jump him right then and there the moment your fingertips trace the quivering lines of his lower stomach. His breathing always turns heavier with cute little gasps of air when you touch him. But still, he doesn't take things further.

It's for this reason that you decide to take a leap of faith and ask him on a date. You're not usually this bold with your crushes, but something about Caleb makes you want to be brave. When the two of you meet up at your usual café for lunch, you take advantage of a quiet moment.

"Caleb?" you say, trying to keep your voice steady as he looks up at you over the rim of his coffee mug.

He sets the cup down, giving you his full attention like he always does. You stammer for a second, and he smirks, as if he can guess what you're about to say. That cockiness is what makes you turn a nervous question into a headstrong declaration.

"I want to go out on a date with you."

Immediately, you feel a bit stupid for the phrasing and the way you looked at him like he had no say in the matter. But Caleb—always the type to play along with your every whim—smiles, his dimples making you swoon a bit. You notice a flicker of something strange in his expression, but it's too fast to put to words.

"You do?" he asks with a chuckle, far too calm when you're over here sweating buckets and waiting for a proper response. "Well, I could never say no to you."

The warmth that spreads through you is immediate and dizzying. You laugh in relief, feeling ridiculous for ever doubting yourself or his feelings for you. Caleb wipes away any residual doubt the second he gets up from his chair and presses a chaste kiss to your cheek.

He promises to plan everything for your date, even though you were the one who asked him out. The next weekend, he meets you at your apartment promptly on time, with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a small box of treats from that dessert place you love visiting.

Everything is perfect and effortless. Even more so than how it usually feels being by his side. He picks a restaurant you mentioned wanting to try weeks ago—one you hadn't expected him to remember. He holds doors open for you, rests his hand lightly at your back while leading you to the table, and looks at you like you're the only person in the room.

As always, conversation with Caleb flows easily. Since you've known him, he's always been able to guess what's on your mind, what might be bothering you or making you nervous. It's uncanny just how much he can stay in sync with you, as easily as breathing.

But this time, there's something just a bit different about your dynamic. Something charged with a heightened tension.

When your fingers reach across the table to brush against his hand, he doesn't pull away or avoid eye contact. He looks at you like what you've just done has sealed something he's been waiting to finalize for a long time.

It should scare you, that dark look in his eyes. Because for a second, he looks a bit unrecognizable. But all you feel is a sensation like something clicking into place.

You intertwine your fingers with his and ask, "Do you believe in soulmates?"

For the first time since you've met him, Caleb looks surprised. Nothing ever catches him off guard. Yet somehow, this simple question does the trick.

Wondering if maybe your question was a bit embarrassing, you backtrack. "I know it sounds silly. But—"

"Yes," he interrupts with a whisper. "I mean…I'm not sure if I did before meetin' you." His thumb rubs your knuckles back and forth as he holds your hand just a bit tighter. "But now I know."

If it was anyone else, you might have been amused by how cheesy his words are. But when Caleb is the one saying them—so earnestly, too—all you feel is a rush of heat through your body.

The rest of the date happens in a bit of a blur. Both of you can't seem to keep your hands off each other, even opting to skip dessert if it means getting back home quicker.

You really aren't the type to invite a first date inside your home, no matter how well the night goes. This time it's different because it's Caleb, the man you've already shared so much with. He's been inside your home before. He's seen you in every way but one. And you're desperate to show him that missing piece now.

As soon as you unlock your door, you push him inside, all pretense forgotten the moment your shoes and coats come off. You crash into him, feverish kisses stealing his breath away as he chuckles between them. You don't care how eager you seem, you just want his lips on yours.

Using his tie as a leash, you tug him backwards with you, blindly stumbling to your bedroom. But even when you think you might bump into a wall, Caleb redirects you with his eyes closed, like he's memorized the route you need to take without so much as parting from your lips. If you weren't getting drunk off his kisses, maybe alarm bells would ring in your mind—you've never taken him to your bedroom before now.

Nothing matters anyway. Nothing except getting him out of these stupid clothes and showing him just how much you've wanted him all night. When Caleb gently pulls you down onto your bed, you move with more roughness, your frenzied kisses pausing so you can shove him to sit back against the headboard and straddle his lap.

His eyes sparkle with mirth, but he lets you manhandle him. The realization makes your stomach flutter. Testing the waters further, you use his shoulders as leverage before grinding down on him. Caleb's hands fly to your hips with a gasp, but he doesn't control your movements. He just lets you rock at your own pace, basking in the weight of your core rubbing against his clothed erection.

His compliance encourages you, making you needy for leaving more kisses along his Adam's apple and neck. He moans for you while his hips buck instinctively beneath yours, and it makes another flood of arousal pool between your thighs.

"Mm, is this okay?" you mumble against his skin while grinding with more pressure, desperately chasing friction.

His fingers tighten on your waist, but he still doesn't stop you. "Y-you can use me however you want, baby," he replies through another breathy moan. "I'm yours. All yours."

How did you get so lucky, you wonder before biting down on his neck. You make sure to suck a mark worthy of being on someone who gives himself to you so eagerly. It's the least you can do for how sweetly he whimpers and claws at your hips while you hump him until you're nearly coming on his lap.

In the midst of your greed, you've undone his tie and ripped a few of the buttons on his shirt, making room for more licks and bites. When you lean back to look at your handiwork, both of you are panting, not nearly satisfied yet but needing a moment to catch your breath. And your sweet friend, no, boyfriend now, looks at you like he's ready to worship you.

He slides one hand up your body, taking his time to feel every curve until his fingers gently wrap around your left wrist. He holds his breath and glances at you with hesitation, like touching your arm is a sin.

It's cute how even after your frenzied touches and kisses, he acts like he still needs permission to reciprocate them. You nod, and then he carefully lifts your hand to his trembling lips before kissing the inside of your wrist.

The gesture seems deeper than you can understand, especially with the way he keeps glancing at you as if you know its hidden meaning. But you're lost for words, only feeling that aching throb between your legs and needing him to soothe it. He notices your confused expression but presses another kiss to your hammering pulse before smiling up at you.

"Let me take care of you now," he says, tugging you by the wrist to reposition you beneath him.

It's your turn to be maneuvered, and you let him. He kisses down your body, fingers still tickling that wrist he seems fixated on before he pins it to the mattress.

The two of you pull at each other's disheveled clothes until you're both bare. Until the tip of his cock nudges against your lower belly as Caleb continues showering you in love. But before you can feel it inside you, he seems to have other plans.

His kisses travel across your chest, against stiffened nipples, along the softness of your tummy, then finally between your thighs. When he pushes your legs apart, you shudder, feeling the cool air kiss your soaked folds a second before his warm breath does. Then he drags the flat of his tongue in one long, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your clit.

The sound you make is obscene. Your hips jerk up before you can stop them, accidentally shoving your cunt harder against his mouth. But Caleb's only response is a needy moan, like he’s the one being pleasured, the vibration humming straight through your core.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he mumbles, lips brushing your swollen clit as he speaks. “Let me hear you, baby. You're mine now—those sounds are mine.”

You barely have time to let the certainty of his words sink into your fluttering stomach before he dives in like a man starved. No teasing anymore. Just hungry, wet, open-mouthed kisses to your pussy.

It's like he knows exactly what pace to set and how much pressure his tongue should apply to make you wail for him. Could it be possible this man was sent from Heaven to satisfy all your cravings? You swear you might become religious after this.

His tongue nudges against your clit before his lips suction around it, and your back arches off the bed while you moan for him. One hand flies to his hair while your other fists the sheets, and still he doesn’t let up. If anything, the way you yank his hair only makes him moan louder against you.

There's a faint rustle of movement, and you glance down to see Caleb gently rocking against your mattress, so lost in the taste of you that he needs to hump your bed.

"Oh my god, I think I'm gonna come," you cry, feeling overwhelmed by how quickly he's able to pull this much pleasure from you. You fuck his face with more fervor now, shamelessly bucking your hips and pulling on his hair with a tightness you'll only regret after you come down from this high. "Caleb, please…need your fingers. Wanna come around them," you whine with each buck.

You peek down at him, and he's watching you with dark eyes, a scary determination in them while his hand snakes in between your legs. His fingers slide inside you with ease, curling in a rhythm that matches how he laps up your slick.

The soft smacks of his lips against your skin and the squelch of your wet pussy fill the room, mingled with your growing screams. And then you gush around his thick digits—coating his lips, chin, and palm with your orgasm. Caleb takes it all with a look of reverence on his flushed face, licking every drop you give him and gasping for air when he finally parts from your twitching body.

When he slides up your body to look at you with a satisfied grin, your pussy clenches again at the sight of his glistening mouth and pupils blown wide. He looks dazed, proud. His cock slides against your still-twitching pussy, smearing precum against the mess you already have between your legs—but he doesn’t rush you. Instead he kisses you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Please,” you whisper against his lips when he pulls back just enough to breathe. “More, I need more. Need you inside me.”

He exhales a shaky laugh that turns into a groan when you wrap your legs around his waist. “Yeah…yeah, baby. I’ve got you, don't worry.”

Reaching down, he nestles the head of his cock between your folds and then finally pushes in. It's slow, so fucking slow, but you revel in the jolt of pleasure that shoots down your body as he stretches you out cautiously. He's bigger than any man you've had before, but every thick inch slides inside easily, filling you all the way until his hips are flush with yours.

Caleb curses beneath his breath, head falling to rest against yours while he pants and gasps at the feeling of you wrapped so tight around him. His eyes meet yours, locked and unable to tear away when he starts to move.

You both groan from the feeling, gripping each other tighter and starting to build up a faster rhythm. It's easy to get lost in this feeling, and you lose track of what you mumble and chant while Caleb picks up the pace. But while you struggle to keep your eyes on him, he can't stop staring.

He also can't keep his hands off you while fucking you nice and deep. His fingers toy with your nipples, rolling and pinching them to get more sounds out of you. And then they caress your stomach, pushing down slightly right above your mound to elevate the feeling of how he fills you up. You stutter and shake, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him into a breathless kiss.

His lips find yours again and again between thrusts, sharing his breath with you before he whispers, "Fuck, I love you."

That sentence sends your thoughts to a screeching halt, but your pussy clenches even harder around him. You should be appalled that he's saying such a thing so soon. You should reconsider this whole relationship and how quickly you've allowed it to escalate.

You should, but you don't want to. In fact, you think you love him too.

Feeling your second orgasm barreling toward you too fast, you crash your lips against his again, nails digging into his shoulders and leaving little red crescents.

“Hm, I…love you too,” you babble, after breaking the kiss. Your brain practically short-circuits with how close you are to coming. You can't stop the words spilling out of your mouth. “Love you so much. Don’t stop, oh, don’t stop—”

The second those words leave your lips, a switch seems to flip in Caleb's brain. His whole body locks up for one heartbeat, buried deep inside you, cock throbbing hard enough that you feel it pulse against your walls. Then he exhales a ragged sound against your mouth, and the slower, careful rhythm he’d been holding onto shatters. His hips snap harder, punching the air from your lungs and making your eyes roll back.

“You can't take that back now,” he growls, his voice alarmingly different from the sweet, hesitant Caleb who kissed your wrist like it was sacred.

He’s moving faster, rougher, but still so deep it feels like he’s trying to carve himself into you permanently. Your foreheads stay pressed together, making it impossible to look away from the wild, glassy look in his eyes.

“I’m gonna marry you one day,” he groans, like it's a fact and not a hypothetical. “I'll put a ring on this finger"—he snatches the same hand he’s been obsessed with all night and brings it to his lips to kiss the bare spot where a ring would sit—“and make sure everyone knows you belong to me.”

This is so wrong, god this is so wrong. Everything is moving so fast. You shouldn't like this. You can't tell if this is just dirty talk or something more serious, but that look in Caleb's eyes is a little terrifying.

And yet? Your cunt flutters hard around him at the words, more of your arousal gushing down and soaking the sheets beneath you.

“Oh, fuuuck, that's it," he says with a manic laugh, folding your legs higher until your knees are pressed up against your sweaty chest. "I can feel how much you like this, baby. It's okay if you do," he coos. "Gonna ruin you for anyone else. No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to hear you moan like this. You’re mine—only ever gonna be mine. Say it again for me, sweetheart." His voice cracks, and it's the only thing making you refocus on his words while your ears ring from the pleasure. "Say you love me while I fill you with my cum.”

You’re beyond proper speech now, just broken whimpers and gasps, but you manage to choke out, “Love you—I love you, Caleb.”

He slams in one last time, hips grinding flush against yours, cock pulsing as he comes with a choked sob that makes your toes curl. Your pussy spasms and clamps around him, milking him dry as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you.

Turns out you're just as crazy in love as he is. And you don't have it in you to be ashamed right now.

Caleb's counting his lucky stars that he spent all those nights watching you touch yourself through the flickering camera feeds he set up. It's what helped him learn all the ways you like to be caressed, the speed you prefer when you have a silicone cock deep inside you, and the fantasies you'd whisper to yourself when you imagined someone above you.

You won't need fantasy anymore, though. He knows everything about you. That's why he's able to make you cream on his cock over and over again, while his hips move at a speed even he didn't know he was capable of.

The gravity of this moment—of finally claiming the person he's going to keep for the rest of his life—is heady. It makes Caleb insatiable and greedy for more. More of your addicting sounds, more of your shaking orgasms, more of his cum spilling deep inside you.

More, more, more. Caleb can't stop chanting it each time you melt and rake your nails against his back and allow him to take everything from you.

You're so pretty, so perfect, all his. It goes straight to his head, and his cock, when you beg for all that he's giving you even when your body is so weak that it can't hold itself up.

You like being pushed to your limit, it seems. Right when you become too exhausted to keep your eyes open, you sleepily tell him he can keep going if he wants to. He can't help but come inside you again just from hearing your whispered permission to use you while you fall asleep.

The fact that you trust him so readily…god, he knew you were made for him. He doesn't keep you awake too long, even though his cock already throbs insistently for more of your warmth after he pulls out with a groan.

Caleb is no stranger to patience. He's glad he waited to find you. Because now he'll never let you go—and there will be many more days to spend reminding you of that if you ever forget.

No matter what happens now, you're bound to him forever. Fate made sure of it.

a/n: thank you all for the 2k celebration votes 💕 I hope I made good on our wish for more scaryleb teehee

and none of this would be possible without my ride or die @heartyluv, who constantly inspires me with her takes on scaryleb and toxic!caleb. everyone say a big thank you to her bc she let me yap about this fic to her and she beta read it for meeee, ilysm Jay 😘

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Whirr, hum, whirr, hum. The white box is trudging its years-old components to make sure your skin doesn’t melt off. The sun had become a̗̾ͣ͘n̡̻̱͎͙̦̯̿ͯ͊ͤ̉o̪̥̞͇̖ͨ͋ͫͅmͨ̚͞a̠̠̫̙ͫͪ̀̈l͌̈͆͌ͬ̓̌ơ̯ͧͮͣü̱͓̱̭̩̾̊̇́͞ͅṡ̜̝͎̥͉̞̬̂ͬ too hot apparently, too hot that the sun rays people used to bask into now burns them into a crisp.

Along with the sun reverting back to its archaic reputation of being the deadly laser that formed this godforsaken earth (it seems to have changed its mind now — not surprising really, after witnessing the shit humans have been up to lately), there also seems to be a long stream of problems coming along with it.

“IPC officials have scouted at least twenty thousand dangerous individuals c̳͊̄͑͞r̩͕̦̹̩̘̲ͥ̿ͬẹ̢̓ͬ̉̀̏̆a̫͠t͇̣̞͖̽ͨ͆͠u̸͈̣̤͔̤r͍̊͆̒ͪͬ̚e̜̗̘͛ͨͣ̿͛ͣͣs̱̮̥̊ͥͯ́ͣ̆ that are suspected to have come after the deadly solar flares. These unidentified visitors are a major concern of safety, please be guided accordingly.”

Hum, whirr, hum, whirr, hum.

“Be wary of these traits, if spotted in an individual, escape immediately.”

The reporter on TV disappears from your sight, replaced by a plain white infographic with the logo of the Interastral Peace Corporation in the top part. The bold letters spelled out “signs” of the dangerous individuals.

-Visitors are believed to have come underground, so they have soil buried beneath THEIR fingernails, especially ones too deep in the nailbed.

-Rapid eye movement and bloodshot eyes.

-Insects inside the ears. 

-Unnatural amount of teeth and bleeding gums.

-Rashes and skin irritations, especially in the hands and legs.

-Black patches in skin.

-Aversion to cameras and photography, they appear blurry in photographs.

After what felt like a long minute of staring at random bullet points and the IPC logo, the reporter returns on TV. There was no other news, so he  just smiled at the camera. And then left these words to the viewer:

“Stay safe, don't get burned!”

He disappeared again, probably for good this evening, as the IPC numbers are the only thing left on your TV.

You turned it off, now the only sound that remains is from your air conditioner.

Whirr, hum, whirr, hum, whirr.

KNOCK 

KNOCK KNOCK

“Hey partner! You good in there?”

Startled, you dropped your remote. Who the hell just comes up to a house like that? Filled with paranoia from the earlier newscast, your heartbeat races at the voice. Warily standing up, you headed to your door to look at the peephole.

“Hey…uh, I’m Phainon! Can I stay with you for the night? Please! It's scary out here and-”

“Sorry, I’ll have to decline.”

Outside was a man pale as snow, his white hair elevating the seemingly lack of blood flow further. You noticed that as you spoke of your decline, his stature slightly drooped, yet with the way he's leaning into your door tells you that he's on the taller side. 

“Wa-wait! Hear me out please, I promise I’m safe! I just really need a shelter-”

“I’m sorry”

The man leans in further, his pleading blue eyes seemingly staring directly in yours. A sun tattoo on his neck came into view, momentarily catching your attention. 

He looked okay, really, yet the prospect of having another housemate and losing them through your own hands have successfully cleaved off at least half of your sanity. The visitors are rampant in their mimicry of humans, and god forbid if you have to kill off another thing — whether it is a human or something that looks just like it.

You clutched your rifle tightly.

“...”

The other side goes silent. Thinking he just gave up and left, you turned your back and walked away from the door.

“...if you need anyone to accompany you, I can do that. You don't have to carry these burdens alone, okay?”

You don't know what has gotten to you — maybe his words did, but your hands reached to the doorknob and twisted it.

“Thank you so much, I thought I was finished out there.” Phainon heaves a sigh, slowly walking towards your couch before sitting down, his knees and legs slightly shaking.

“Are you a visitor?” 

Phainon looks up to you wide-eyed before shaking his hands in front of him, his head shaking in disagreement at the same time.

“What? No! Of course not. Please, my promise is genuine, I’m willing to help you in exchange for a place to rest. Please, trust me.” He looks at you straight in the eyes with a pleading look in his.

“I was hopping from place to place before this house, you're my savior really, nobody is opening the doors for me I almost gave up.” He continued, his posture so hunched down as if trying to look smaller than you while saying it that you felt a little bad for him.

But you still can't shake the unease in your head. It's like a cold chill constantly reminding you that by doing this, you're back at the start of the cycle of endless doubts.

And then possibly losses.

He seemed like a good man, a pitiful one even, with the fact that he doesn't have a permanent roof against the sun that turned faulty on all of you. At times like… these, the humanity in you wishes that you could extend a helping hand to him — probably the last vestiges of instinctual human compassion trying to claw its way out of your heart.

But at the end of the day, you are indeed, human.

And you're scared, and hurt, and confused. Because humans exposed to the crushing pressure of survival are more likely to close their walls off in hopes of lessening their burdens.

(or more like trying to stop themselves from giving out pieces of them only for the other to take it to the grave. Again and again until they have no more pieces to tear off of their bodies.)

(strange humans, really.)

“Hey… sorry if this seems blunt, but keep your distance. The room upstairs is free and I’d appreciate it if you stay there more.” You offer him a thin, half-hearted smile before heading towards your kitchen.

So in hopes of keeping what's left of yourself whole, you hide.

You're not used to hearing breathing after all the times that you're alone with the hums and beeps of your air conditioner.

You glance at your side after seeing movement in your periphery, there stands Phainon in the doorway, looking in your direction. He looks around tensely, before stepping backwards, as if to keep distance from you.

“I’m sorry, I didn't know you're here.” He shoots you an apologetic smile before turning around.

Against your better judgement, you called out to him.

“Phainon.”

The man froze in his tracks, surprised with you suddenly acknowledging him. As for you, it was too late before you realized what you blurted out.

Oh well, you've been mulling this for a while now, better get over it.

“Uhm… let's talk?” You trailed off, before revealing a second cup in your hand and giving it to him.

For the first time since his two-week long stay in your house, he beamed. To be fair, the only time you acknowledged him prior is when you coldly told him to keep distance when you first met that night.

For the following days after that, he floated around your home. Using the kitchen after you, washing up before you, and just, living in parallel to you, never really meeting. You did the same to him, offering him measly nods and stares when coming across him.

Like ghosts learning to coexist in their lonely haunting grounds.

But you're tired of the charade you made yourself, wordless guesses of each other had worn down your already thin patience. There was a time where you stared up at your ceiling all night and realized you're living with a complete stranger, who stayed as a stranger because you refused to talk about it. 

“About your…” You paused for a second, your mouth suddenly feeling dry, nonetheless, you continued, “...stay here, how was it?”

What the hell even is that? You mentally smack yourself. But alas, you really don't have any topic in mind to share and you're desperate to smooth out this problem as soon as possible.

“Pretty good, pretty good!” Phainon immediately chippered, his mood clearly going up from the interaction, “Ah! Did something happen? Need my help? You're usually not one to start conversations like this.”

“Ah… that.” You cleared your throat a bit, “I was just thinking about…how uh, cold we are no? I’m sorry you've been living in here for weeks now and I don't know anything about you except your name”

“No worries! I understand why you are so distant. Times like this… it's just safer when you're alone right?” He replies, eyes boring into yours for a minute before he turns his pupils away, “But! That's why I'm so thankful to you! You sacrificed your peace of mind just to help poor me. Ah, now that we're talking about that-”

Phainon suddenly leans down to grab something from the floor. It turns out to be a bag, he starts rummaging through it, bringing out a bunch of supplies. A pack of spearmint candies, canned goods, a pair of toothbrushes, tubes of topical medication and some hygiene products.

“Okay, I think that's it…?” He trails off as he shakes the bag to empty it. “Alright, here's my little stash, if you need anything just help yourself. I used to go out at night to buy groceries, however I kinda stopped after I ran away from my apartment. Still, if you need anyone to run up things for you, just call me~” He gestures with his fingers what looks like a running motion while his other hand points at your door.

You let out a small laugh, “Why would you bother? Just ask the delivery guy to drop the goods here.”

“Delivery?” He tilts his head, eyes darting to you again, “No way.” 

“Uhm-”

“Why hire a delivery guy, I'll do it for you.”

You really don't know why he's so eager to talk and help you. Perhaps it's because of the fact that you really did sacrifice your peace of mind just to put a roof over him, but his enthusiasm when it comes to this entire “setup” is… a bit jarring to you.

It's the first time in a long, long while since you've seen such bright emotions.

“Phainon, I accept your thank you. But don't bother with the grocery run-ins or, actually, any stuff in this house. I'm simply worried about you just going back out there.” You sighed at him.

But that only earns you a laugh from him.

“Hah? I think,” He stops for a bit before bringing his face close.

He seems to have a liking at staring directly into you, now that you've noticed.

“They are the ones who should worry about me!” He suddenly exclaims, before laughing with a ‘just kidding, don't worry about me!’

“Oh, it's getting late now, night-night partner!”

What a weird guy.

“See Phainon, this is why we leave the essential groceries to the delivery guy.” You plopped down at the sofa, holding a bright blue, mixed berries flavored, children's toothpaste.

“I have never seen a mixed berry flavored paste before, I always had the boring rotation of mint, spearmint and peppermint. They taste the same almost every time by the way.” Phainon sits down with you, taking the box out of your hands to open it.

“Yeah right, you’ve never seen it because it's probably been years since you had the need for any toothpaste remotely the same as that, it’s made for kids ages 7 and below!” 

About a month after your “talk” with Phainon, you've settled into a rhythm within the household. While the usual habits of staying in your respective rooms and using the sink one after the other still remained, the two of you now watch T.V. and do boardgames together, as a way of acknowledging each other's presence at least.

Phainon has never shut down the idea of doing grocery runs for you, always asking if you want something from the store every night. At first you only humored him for the sake of shutting him up, asking him to buy you snacks and skincare products, basically things that you don't need but want.

But then the actual supplies had depleted and you finally decided to heed Phainon’s request for a full grocery run-in. Absolutely delighted, he immediately rushed out of the door at sunset.

And now you are regretting your decisions because while Phainon is pretty on point on your snack cravings, he has absolutely no sense of what essentials to actually purchase.

A kid's toothpaste, some new tubes of medicine you're sure you're still seeing three of in your drawers, new perfume and a travel-sized shampoo.

That shampoo is going to last you three washes.

The food selection however is fine, and you thank him for that. But you've promised to just let the night delivery handle your toiletries no matter how much Phainon begs to be let out again.

“Okay… sorry, I got carried away and got lost in the store. Here, I brought some candy and popcorn, let's eat it while watching some movies?” He pushes a plastic bag in your direction before standing up and plugging your T.V. on.

If there's one more thing that's really good about Phainon is that he has all these knick-knacks on him. For some reason, in the middle of all things, the guy has found a set of DVDs, boxes of boardgames and some entertaining books. It gets you entertained too, and considering all that's around you, you're thankful for the distraction.

You lay there on the sofa, staring at your ceiling. And then on Phainon himself. He's tall, has a great build. His white hair is always disheveled but you’re quite used to it now. If there's anything that's sticking out, it is that he looks oddly paler than normal and the contrast of the bright yellowish-gold sun tattoo on his neck makes it all the more noticeable.

Other than that he looks healthy, on the normal side even. You really can't imagine what made a capable-looking guy run away from home.

Well, it's not like you can make sense of anything that's happening to the world right now anyways.

Maybe because you've spaced out while Phainon is in your sight too much, you've also noticed some things around him. How his disheveled hair sometimes forms an antenna in his head and how that always seems to break your thermostat, as if sending a signal to it.

“Duck your head Phainon, my poor air conditioner.”

Unfortunately, your warning came in a second late as the thermostat reading suddenly shot up, 19°… 33°… 55°…

And then back to 19°

And then it just blinks to its death.

“What- Oh fuck did I kill your air conditioner?” Phainon waves his hand to the white box, but fortunately it is still working, it's just that the thermostat is now useless. “Oh, just the thermostat. Don't worry, I think I can fix it as long as the main air-conditioning still works.”

“Okay, enough with the distractions let's go actually watch something,” Phainon settles beside you, opening a bag of candies before handing it to you.

You've now realized that the lights are also off, with the glow of the T.V. being your only source of illumination. The movie begins, and by the looks of it, it's going to be another romance movie.

Phainon does sound like he's a fan of the romance genre, with how much of it he has. You've never gotten to asking him where he gets his stuff. Maybe it's all that's left in his old place? Still with how much he gushes about the scenes, you think that maybe he genuinely likes it.

“Wouldn't it be nice to get married and walk together under some sunshine?” Phainon suddenly mutters, the scene of the couple playing together on the sunny beach.

“Huh?”

“I mean, don't you miss the warmth?”

Right, warmth instead of heat. You truly miss it. When sunshine kisses your skin instead of searing it, when you can take long walks in the afternoons until sunset. When sunrise meant new beginnings instead of just another day to survive.

“Yeah, of course, I miss it. Now I see how romantic basking under the sun together is, too bad it's a little too late of a realization” You just laughed the thoughts off softly.

[Dearest, it's not too late for us.]

Phainon wraps a blanket around your bodies, snuggling closer to you. Times like this make you realize how much you miss having something, someone, to be around with. In the past few months, Phainon has become a daily part of your life. Finally after a long time, you've been talking to another person again.

You think, for the first time, you felt safe. For there's finally someone that will watch your back when you decide staying guarded feels too heavy.

This time, sleep comes to you easily.

You are woken up with the sound of the faucet running.

Trying your best to roll around and block out the noise, you can't, because the sound of someone scrubbing something rouses you awake.

Now that you've noticed it, your throat kind of feels hoarse and sticky. A nauseating aftertaste still lingering somewhere in your mouth.

Crap, you inhaled all those sweets yet fell asleep without drinking water and brushing your teeth.

Rubbing your eyes, you still hear the scrubbing from the direction of your sink. Phainon must still be brushing his teeth with that stupid bright blue toothpaste. You laughed to yourself. 

You've decided to just wait until he finishes brushing his teeth. However minutes have passed and you still hear the schick schick of his toothbrush. And the faucet has been running for a while now, so you decide to call out to him.

“Ack! O-oh… you're awake? For how long haha… Oh! Are you gonna brush your teeth? You ate a lot of sweets no? Just let me finish up.” Phainon frantically answers you, his hands almost throwing the bright blue tube of the toothpaste directly into the sink.

He then quickly spits out the foam before marching to his room immediately while yelling a ‘goodnight!’ to you.

You've always noticed that he takes an awful lot of time on the sink, sometimes just washing his hands absentmindedly or brushing his teeth at least a minute or two longer than usual.

Standing up, you headed to the sink yourself for your turn. Isn't that gonna scrub his gums off or something? You wondered while picking up your toothbrush that's sitting on the same cup where Phainon’s is.

You noticed however, that aside from the absolutely decimated bristles, its color is also…off. The bristles are yellowing and there are some wet, reddish stains on the handle. 

It's strange, Phainon never came off as someone with bad teeth hygiene, at least not something that you can smell when he inevitably “accidentally” pushes his face close to yours. The bright blue children's toothpaste comes into mind, that certainly would not leave red stains, no?

Ah hell, did Phainon buy a separate fruit-flavored toothpaste behind your back?

Today, you have taken one good look in your home and have realized that despite the apocalyptic situation you’re in, the task of cleaning your house remains. Huffing about the thought of moving furniture to dust them off and unearthing the long forgotten storage boxes, you stretched your arms and back in preparation for it.

Honestly, you’ve thought about asking Phainon for help (since he’s always up in your face about wanting to do things inside the house), however the thought of having to explain the possible findings in your pile of stuff — stuff from before all hell broke loose, you decided against it and just distracted the guy by asking him to buy more snacks for you.

And this time, you gave him a long list, just to be sure, damned your savings will be.

You started with the easy tasks first, like dusting off the things sitting on top of your table and cabinets. You also went in and swept your floors and rearranged displaced furniture. To be honest, your shared living spaces like the living room and kitchen are actually just fine, probably from Phainon maintaining it. You feel bad for sending the guy away but it’s too late for regrets now.

The real problem here might just be your room.

You sighed at the thought of it, but it’s not like that would do anything, so you just decided to go and actually do it. On your way to your room, you passed by Phainon’s room with its door left ajar. Out of curiosity, you took a peek inside it. The room, as you expected, is pretty much neat and tidy. The bed covers and pillows are all arranged and folded, contrary to yours that you just leave as is after waking up.

You’re about to close the door when your eyes caught something further inside. In contrast to the orderly room, one of the bedside cabinets is not closed properly, on the floor in front of it lies a used tube of some medicine.

Tube of medicine?

You’ve noticed that every time you ask Phainon to fetch things in the grocery, he never forgets to buy some of this topical ointment. You even remembered your first real conversation, this medicine is one of those that fell from his bag. You never really paid attention to it, thinking that maybe it’s something that he needs to have daily. 

However that reasoning didn’t stick with you, Phainon has been buying a lot of these tubes, to the point that it’s strange because — who uses that amount of skin medication all at once? And when you look at the tube on the floor again, you realize that it’s all flattened out, it’s content all used up.

Against your better judgement of not entering other people’s room without your permission, you fully opened the door to walk inside. It felt heavy and suffocating seeing the interior of this room once more, as it belonged to your old housemates.

When this apocalypse started, you were still very gracious back then, always willing to lend your home for people in need. They always come and go, telling you that they needed to come back for someone or something, and then you never hear from them again.

The last time you had someone stay a long time was a friend who was just visiting the city and a man who begged the two of you one night, claiming that something was coming for him.

Your friend was visibly scared of him, however you felt so bad for the trembling man that you let him in. All is well for a few weeks for the three of you.

Until it's not.

Until one morning, in this very room, you found your friend lifeless under the bed. 

The man was gone too, and after you called the IPC, they have confirmed that it's indeed a visitor that you unwittingly let inside your home. Their masked faces offer no consolation (maybe except for one) as they cleaned the scene like it’s just a messy bedroom.

In this room, you had your first encounter with a visitor.

And in this room, you have sentenced yourself murder of a friend. You have killed someone because of your ignorance.

And therefore, you locked yourself up, vowing to never let in anyone again.

But just like how you've ignored your vow of isolation, you also forced yourself back in this room, and it's out of extreme curiosity of your new housemate. You laughed to yourself, I will always be a bad housemate huh? 

You pulled the cabinet open, and what's in there bewildered you extremely.

A pile of flattened — you squint your eyes, Hydrocortisone tubes. It's a huge pile, there's probably more than fifteen of those. This is all so strange, where the hell is he using all these ointments?

Your mind floats back to the nightly IPC news segment you used to zone out into. You haven't seen it in a while since you've replaced it with movie nights with the snow-haired guy who keeps insisting that it will just cause you unnecessary stress.

Thinking back, they used to show a list containing visitor traits to look out for. Your entire body suddenly gets chills the moment you start listing it down to your head.

…insects, bleeding gums, weird teeth, itchy skin and rashes-

Itchy skin and rashes?

You look at the hydrocortisone tube in your hand, the green label boasts 100% effectiveness against rashes, burns and inflammation. 

You drop it and leave the room

For how long are you going to keep denying it?

You rush into your room and lock your door. Breathing heavily, you curled up in front of it.

Phainon has always been an odd guy. He's just a bit weird and quirky… please, right…? But the months of denying your reality, months of desperate praying that it's not that comes crashing down right in front of you.

Phainon is indeed odd, but he's odd in an odd way, if that makes sense. He's clearly way too much of an experienced guy, based on his ability to repair all things inside your home and his life stories before this apocalyptic mess happened to be that stupid over simple things like grocery lists and medicine dosage.

He's weird in all the weird places, for the lack of better description.

But he's fun, charming… and you've seemed to have developed an endearment to him. He's cared for you a lot, kept you sane when you thought a visitor is trying to get inside your house, and he's just-

He's just someone that's easy to be with.

So the thought of possibly getting rid of him pained you deeply. Just right after getting used to having someone by your side again, how unfortunate.

Suddenly, you hear the front door open. You slowly lifted yourself up and swallowed the sobs threatening to fall.

You'll give him one last chance. 

“Heya- oh, what's this broom for, did you clean something? You should've waited for me so I could help you!” Phainon exclaimed as he dropped a large bag of snacks that you had asked him to buy.

“Hm, no need, the house is actually already clean haha… did you clean it before?” You timidly answered him, which made his head tilt a bit.

“Well… yeah! What do you think? Pretty good right? I maintain our home daily just so you know, so don't bother with the cleaning,” Phainon laughs, sitting down on the sofa and opening his arms as if to showcase your very much cleaning living room.

“Yeah!” You try matching his enthusiasm but failing. You sighed at the attempt and just sat with him on the sofa, “Hey… can I ask you something?”

“Hm? Yeah sure, what's up?”

“Do you… have any skin conditions?”

Stupid, stupid, when will you accept it?

Phainon freezes up for a moment before turning towards you, “Ah… this is embarassing…did you go inside my room?”

“I- I’m sorry… I couldn't help taking a look because it was open, and I just so happened to see a used tube of those medicines you buy a lot… so I was curious.” 

“Yeah, I have… a really sensitive skin that easily reddens if I get into contact with some triggers and I'm not really sure where to get it checked out because I don't know a clinic.”

“Sorry for worrying you,” Phainon offers an apologetic smile.

Liar.

For the first time in months, you missed your daily movie night with Phainon.

You stayed in your room, curled up to your bed, the rifle sits between the gap between your mattress and bedframe.

For the first time in months, you brought this out again.

You're frustrated with the long, black firearm beside you. It was given to you by an IPC soldier who sympathized with your tears after what happened that day.

Just pull the trigger if you feel unsafe.

Can you though? Can you do it to someone who has done nothing but care for your well-being? The one who made you smile and forget about the hellish world you're currently living in?

No, you absolutely cannot.

But evidence doesn't have feelings like you and it never lies.

The excessive use of medication.

There was also a time you noticed weird stains on his almost decimated toothbrush — it's not a new funny fruit flavored paste, it's fucking blood. And the reason he almost seems to eat away at the bristles is that it probably has more teeth to grind into.

And when he thinks you don't notice, he stares into you a lot, sometimes putting his face so close to yours because his eyes are always shifting and moving when his vision is not zeroed into you.

By gods, the first thing he did after getting your permission to stay is wash his hands off. 

So dirt does not get into the stuff here, he said.

How many more signs until it sinks in to you?

“Just one more.”

Just one more confirmation to end all of this.

You clean your room that night.

And as if to mock your current predicament, buried beneath old photo albums and dusty plushies is a digicam. The Kodak logo on the top of its lens has almost faded away, however the thing still magically works after you left it plugged in for two hours.

Just one last confirmation. 

One last chance to prove every accusation wrong.

You carry the small silver camera in your pocket and bring it out with you. Phainon immediately looks over to you and smiles. Your heart sinks with the gesture. I’m so sorry.

You smile back at him and head to the kitchen. Phainon is focused on the T.V. to notice that you didn't fully enter and instead slowly took out the device from your pocket.

click.

click.

click.

You then proceeded to grab a snack from the bag he brought home earlier. You can hear Phainon whining as to why you're going to eat that alone instead of sharing it with him when you go back to your room.

At first you blamed it on shaky hands and nervousness.

You opened up the camera with dread, praying to every god that all your assumptions are just due to unfounded paranoia.

But what gods? Have you seen the hell outside?

The first photo showed you something. It's definitely Phainon but he looks as if he's a fading memory, translucent and all flowy in the wrong directions.

The second photo isn't any better, it’s so blurry, so blurry you only see a white humanoid shape in the middle of your yellow walls.

The third photo is damning.

It was also the one that confirmed it to you like a punch in the gut that, no, you didn't take the photos wrong. There it was, the patterns of your yellow walls and the air-conditioning all vividly clear. 

With Phainon nowhere to be found in the photo.

Tears started blurring your vision, but before you can even form a sob a knock comes in.

“Hey… are you sure you're really okay?” Phainon's worried voice can be heard from outside the door.

“Yeah..yeah! Uh, just tired so-” You tried forming a coherent response but he interrupted you.

“Are you crying?” 

You didn't get a chance to answer as your door flung open. There stands Phainon with a distraught expression on his face.

And there you are sitting on the floor of your room in tears while holding a camera.

Didn't you lock the door?

“Phainon-”

In your shock, Phainon suddenly lunges at you, pinning your shoulders to the ground. The camera you're holding flies off your hand, rolling over to show to the both of you what's on the screen.

“What a̧̬̮̠̥̳̱͈͐̑̿ͬrͬ̊ͮ̇ͭȅ̱̰̔ͤ͊̓͛ you doing?” Phainon, as always, brings his face extremely close to yours. He's breathing heavily, and you can feel the warmth in your face.

It smells like berries and iron.

And there it was, droplets of blood falling from his mouth and nose, staining your shirt.

“Phainon…” 

You liar.

His head stays down, but as his hand travels your neck, you panicked and kicked his abdomen hard. That was able to free you from his grip, you immediately stood up and stared warily at him.

He clutched his stomach while kneeling and looked up at you. His pained and shocked expression broke your heart.

You can't, you can't do it.

He didn't do anything wrong, he didn't…

But as long as that anomaly stays inside your home as if a remembrance of your past grievances, you'll never feel truly at peace.

Your tears finally flowed down this time.

Phainon attempts to stand up and reach out to you but you cut him off.

“I want you out of this house. Now.”

Phainon’s expression now fully transforms into shock. His eyes widened, he suddenly stood up and grabbed both of your hands. He comes close to you, trapping your body between his and the wall.

“Please…why..” 

“Phainon. I want you out this instant.”

“Why-”

“Because you're a liar.”

And because you're supposed to kill or report the likes of him, but your fragile heart cannot handle it. So you just let him go.

“Leave!”

Phainon didn't utter a single word at all when you watched him pack up his things that night.

When he was about to go out the door, he suddenly turned to look at you one more time.

“Look at me please.”

“Please, dearest.”

You didn't.

Your gaze planted itself into the floor before you turned away completely. Nothing else aside from the door clicking shut can be heard from Phainon after that, it seemed like the action itself was enough of an answer for him. 

You went to your room to sleep off your emotions. But instead you stared at your ceiling for hours, with no avail to rest at all.

Standing up, you headed to the kitchen to do yourself a favor and at least rehydrate all the tears you've cried out. You slowly make your way back to your room when your vision lands on the door. Just a few hours ago, you pushed him away in that very place.

Your feet absentmindedly go toward it instead. You stared at the white wood before slowly leaning towards the peephole.

However, instead of the desolate surroundings that you're always used to, you see Phainon’s head bent sidewards from his neck, golden eyes staring at you.

He smiles, wide, all the extra teeth visible.

You fell backwards in shock, the glass you're holding shatters to the ground and as if in response to you, you heard scratching from outside the door.

You didn't dare to look into the peephole again.

Have you always been alone all this time?

There's a bitter taste in your mouth when you think about how all the time you spent with Phainon is built on a lie. That all this time he's not a human at all.

What did he want from you? 

Was it karma for your stupidity back then?

When you remember his voice happily greeting you, you feel your chest tighten.

What if…

But the last time you thought a visitor was just ‘alright’ someone ended up dead. How long would it be for Phainon and you? Just weeks like that visitor or would it take longer before he strikes.

And what you saw on the peephole the night you kicked him out.

There was no way of denying that.

You've reverted back to watching the monotonous IPC news channel every night. While you found out that Phainon has actually left all his collection of movies and books, you didn't dare to touch any of them at all.

Zoning out again, you become more aware of the temperature in your room. You take a glance at your thermostat, it shows no changes in the temperature, still the same number as it was.

But it was colder.

It feels colder.

Maybe your thermostat is failing you now, but you felt like it's been colder lately.

Or maybe you're just lonely.

You stand up and take a closer inspection at the little screen of your thermostat. The number isn't moving, but it's cold.

And you feel like something is w̩̙ͅȃ̶͉̫̠̎̌̀̾t̲̠̱̘̜ͤͤ͗͗̋c̻̠͍͚̍ͣ̆̍̒ͦͮ͝h͇̼̃̓́ͅi͉̞̻̐̾̊̂͐͝n̬͇͇̪̖͓̾̑̃̾ͧ̑͆g̡̠͓̠͕͈͑ͬ.

Ever since you've started living alone again, the sense of security you had isn't the same as when you're still together Phainon. While maybe it was a false sense of security considering his true self, it was still less empty than whatever you're feeling right now.

You have decided to leave the thermostat alone when suddenly the numbers started rising.

KNOCK.

KNOCK.

KNOCK.

Ever since the last time you saw Phainon's true self in that peep hole, you've never looked into it again. 

But the incessant knocking just keeps getting louder and louder, so you piled up whatever courage that's left in you and took a peek.

“You alone in there? Haha, of course you are.”

It was Phainon, and he's carrying a severed head of an IPC soldier. You lurched when he brought it closer to your view.

“I'm always watching you! And it seems like these guys do too, but… I'm the only one who can watch you, so they're gone now, don't worry!”

The measly snacks you've eaten earlier come back up as you breathe heavily through the taste of bile in your mouth. He never fucking left. He was just there outside your house all this time. He is the one that's making you feel all watched and exposed.

He looks a bit different too, his bloodshot eyes have gold irises in them. He's not even trying to hide it anymore. It's rapidly moving but it suddenly locks into yours when he realizes you peeked. 

“You're in there right?”

You quickly shuffle away from the door and head towards your room. The rifle, the rifle, you need it right now.

knocknocknocknocknocknocknocknocknocknocknock

Jumping into your room, you quickly grabbed your rifle. You hunched down right below the singular window of your room. You're not sure if going outside would save you but you, but at this point you're willing to try anything.

The knocking has stopped.

You yelped when you heard a loud crash from the living room. Contrary to your earlier complaints of coldness, the room suddenly feels too hot, way too hot. When you feel sweat fall from your temple, you think that he's close to your room now.

Without hesitation, you immediately jump outside, thinking he's inside the house, however before your feet touch the ground, your body is snatched by an extremely warm pair of arms.

“Shh, it's okay, I got you.”

The voice is deeper than what you're used to, but there's no mistaking that this was Phainon. The arms that are holding you have red marks and blackening torn flesh in them, however he does not seem to mind as his grip on you is still way too tight.

Luckily, you've hit his hand with the body of the rifle and you manage to wiggle free. You turned around and aimed directly at his head. Point blank.

However, instead of seeing golden irises through the blood, you see Phainon's blue eyes staring at you. His expression is bright, and you see the sweet smile he always does when you see him lounging on your couch back then.

Ah… ah- what have I done?

Your mind blanks at the realization. Everything seems to slow down around you. Did you kill someone again? Phainon watches your dazed expression and takes your sudden freezing as a chance. He immediately lowers himself to grab your rifle before you can snap out of it.

You returned to your current situation when you heard a loud crack coming from Phainon. He broke your rifle in half with just a single hand.

He discards the now pieces of scraps and scoops up your body. His grip still remains tight, settling you on his shoulders as if he's carrying a sack.

“So you like that form better… I'll keep it in mind.”

His voice is lighter now, back to the one you've always heard asking about what to buy in the grocery. Same one as the greeting you've come to get used to in the mornings.

“Ever since I saw you, I've always wanted nothing but to keep you safe and remove all your worries.” He whispers to you, “After this, you wouldn't have to worry anymore.”

He's now tightly hugging your form, humming a tune while walking towards an empty field. Just like the rest of your town, it was desolate and contained nothing but weeds and soil.

After what felt like an eternity, Phainon suddenly stops walking and gently drops you into a shallowly dug hole in the middle of the field. It feels like a tomb. Phainon confirms that thought when he holds you by the neck and starts burying you in the soil. 

You couldn't move, his legs pressing down on yours too. You stared at his blue eyes for an answer but he only gave you a bloody smile.

“It's not too late for us, dearest. It's never too late for us, we will walk under the sunlight again.”

He worked the soil pretty fast, your body is buried under it further. Your nails claw and dig into the soil, causing some of them to be uncomfortably stuck under it.

Your exhaustion gets to you and vision blurs. Suddenly you feel his lips on yours, offering a chaste kiss and a taste of iron. There you hear Phainon's strange last words before you blacked out.

“At sunrise we will be together.”

“See you tomorrow, sunshine.”

[seraph's note] “is the song he's humming supposed to be coronal radiance-” yes. 

anyways, oh god i never thought i'd see the day where this thing is finished because i legit started this way back in november LAST YEAR and simply forgot its existence until this month

but yay visitor phainon has seen the light of day :”)

personally, i haven't played “no, i am not a human” at all but i have followed it on streams and such. some of phainon's scenes and imagery here are inspired by the character 'the pale man' in the game, but as always there has been creative liberties going on here lolol many things changed so of course it’s not going to be a 1:1 on the source material.

also there has been a trend of drawing characters in that distinct blue green screen of the game and that has been my biggest inspo for this.

want more? check out the [database.] for other content!

"As mentioned prior," your boss starts, skimming through the large amounts of paper tacked onto the wooden clipboard, “you all will be the behind the scenes for the circus’ needed operations, obviously that is to aid with technical support as well as even providing customer support.”

The last part regarding “customer support” earns a couple of groans from the small crowd of employees, even an internal groan from yourself, but you made sure to keep your discontent showing on your face - you would say its due to upholding professionalism, but it is only because you are the first row, facing the boss directly.

“Don’t groan at me, that is required for all events,” he says and tucks the clipboard under his arm, “however, it shouldn’t be as prevalent for this event as the clients stated they would manage all customers themselves.”

The boss begins to ramble on about the separation of tents, where we will be quite far from the circus due to the requests from the circus owners. In fact, we are only really to leave our tents when pinged in from the walkie-talkies if a machine is broken, a tent falls, and many more.

“We will be splitting up shifts; some shifts you will be alone, and some shifts you will have one to two people with you - those are only for high volume days such as weekends, so don’t get too comfortable hanging out with buddies. Understood?”

The meeting completes with an unanimous confirmation, the scraping of chairs fills the room which follows with growing conversations about shifts or the circus entirely.

You immediately check the board containing your shifts for the next few periods where the circus will be in town. You’re annoyed at the fact that you have rarely any days that fall along that “high volume” shifts people, in fact, you’re alone for most of the days you work. Obviously, this is since you are one of the few out of school with completely open availability, while the rest of your coworkers are still in university.

This is so stupid, you internally groan, especially when you’re seeing the groups of full-time university kids obviously smiling when they see they are scheduled with someone else. You run your hands through your hair to calm your annoyance, taking a picture of the schedule and job duties.

The walkie-talkie abruptly fills the small tent with static, causing you to jump in your spot.

“One of the speakers are malfunctioning in one of the tents, is there anyone available to fix it?” a deep voice inquires over the small device. It fills your stomach with dread immediately.

It was your third shift since the meeting. On the first day you expected all kinds of technical issues to sing over the black walkie-talkie. Yet, to your surprise, it was completely silent. So silent that you nearly fell asleep before your shift ended. The second day you expected something to be relayed, and yet again, nothing.

Having not touched the circus at all in terms of equipment or even beyond the ticket gates, you dread what is waiting for you.

Despite wanting to ignore the obvious job duty appearing in front of you, you grab the walkie-talkie while pulling on a thin jacket.

“I’ll be down in just a second. Which tent is it?”

It’s silent for a few seconds before the deep voice responds again: “the red tent. We will have one of the performers show you where the issue is.”

You glance over at the map that displays a simple layout of the circus through color coding. You spot the red tent, somewhat in the middle of the circus, but not too far from your tent. That, again, resides outside of the circus layout entirely.

“Understood, thank you.”

You grab a mini bag of tools to operate on all equipment as well as your lanyard that displays “EVENT STAFF” in big red letters.

You unhook the flaps of your tent as you step outside, immediately meeting the flashing carnival lights that seem to fill the night sky with color.

Dim carnival lights flicker against the damp ground, casting warped colors over empty pathways and silent game stalls. Music hums somewhere in the distance, muffled and distorted enough to sound almost dreamlike. You can’t tell whether the smell lingering in the air is popcorn or something burnt.

You pull your jacket tighter as you begin your trek towards the circus, passing through a small opening between the metal gates surrounding the perimeter of the circus.

As you get closer to the red tent you take notice of the instantaneous rumble of music and chatter that vibrates from your shoes to the tip of your head, some laughter here and there occasionally fills your ears.

You can feel your lanyard tapping against your beating chest with every step, the small plastic clinking against your zipper fold of your jacket. You don’t know why you’re scared; you were never scared of clowns when you were younger, and yet, an unknown rush of adrenaline overcomes your body when the red tent comes into view, your stomach already twisting itself into knots.

Immediately, you spot the entrance of the tent. Not because there are obnoxious signs or lights singing above it, but because of the figure in front of it.

Tall.

Nearing six feet tall, maybe even more, if you didn’t think any better you would’ve thought they were hiring basketball players as performers.

His outfit is designed, albeit, modestly, but still reflects themes of a circus. Loose ivory fabric draped neatly over his frame, accented with deep crimson ribbons and dark diamond patterns stitched along the sleeved. A ruffled collar rests beneath his jaw, slightly wrinkled as if worn far too often, while the pale sheen of his mask displays the dark paint making up his eyes and smile – that were on you the whole time you were looking at him.

“I am so sorry,” you scramble, walking over faster, “I was just surprised how tall you were.” You give a nervous laugh at the end, staring at his masked face.

He doesn’t say anything which immediately tightens the knots in your stomach, a bloom of red reaching your face and ears from an obvious silent treatment.

The bells, you now notice that are attached to the ends of his hat, jingle as his head tilts. The movement is so small, but it does little to appease your nerves that were growing by the minute.

“I am here to help with the broken speaker?” you say in a questioning tone. “Did they tell you I was coming?”

Another few moments of silence where the rumbling of the circus fills.

The performer, you think at least is a performer, nods. The bells jingle with movement.

Without a word, he turns.

For a moment you simply stare, unsure whether the interaction is over or if he expects you to follow. But after a few slow steps, he pauses near the entrance of the tent and glances back toward you.

Waiting.

“Oh, right.”

You quickly adjust the strap of your tool bag before hurrying after him.

The inside of the red tent is much darker than expected. The air smells faintly of dust, old fabric, and something strangely sweet underneath it all. Dim bulbs hang overhead, casting uneven shadows across stacked props and metal rigging. Only after do you notice that the color palette of this tent resembles the performers colors.

Near the center of the tent, surrounded by rows of benches for an audience, sits a large speaker tipped onto its side. They must have tried to fix it themselves, either DIY or through technical experience, but it is obvious from the low static crackling from it every few seconds that it is having issues.

You kneel beside the speaker, setting your bag down and pulling out a screwdriver. The casing looks old — older than you expected for equipment still in use. Your fingers brush against loose wiring near the back panel while the static briefly squeals. It sputters out what must be the intended music to play at high volume, causing you to let out a small gasp of air.

Great, not like that was a little embarrassing. However, hearing how the performer says nothing, you try not to overthink.

As you unplug and move wiring around the back panel, you hear the bells attached to his hat softly chime behind you as a reminder.

You can practically feel him staring down onto your body.

Trying to ignore the growing discomfort crawling beneath your skin, you glance back over your shoulder with an awkward smile. “You don’t have to stand there, you know. I can probably fix this in ten minutes.”

Hopefully ten minutes.

For a second, he says nothing and you assume that this guy is mute or intentionally giving you the silent treatment.

Then, almost too soft to hear:

“I know.”

The voice is timid and soft. The response, while annoying, helps settle some of your nerves.

You muster up some courage, deciding to make a joke you hope lands correctly.

“Oh, so you can talk?” you say lightly with a chuckle, “I thought you were ignoring me.”

You turn around to meet his masked eyes. However, you notice the obvious glow of gold in the eye sockets of the mask. You assume it must be some “aesthetic” touch with the mask.

He immediately shakes his head, the bells jingling violently.

“No,” he says quickly, almost sounding distressed by the accusation. “I can’t speak freely.”

The answer catches you slightly off guard before realizing that you were operating in a circus, and a circus probably entails all sorts of acts and performers, like mimes.

“Oh.” You let out another small laugh, more genuine this time. “Sorry. Your staring was just making me nervous.”

Your attention drifts back toward the speaker, fingers working carefully along the loosened panel. The static crackles again before cutting out completely once you disconnect one of the wires.

You let out a relieved sigh; thankful it wasn’t a permanent issue you’d have to bring up to more people.

“There,” you murmur, before wiping your dust-covered hands onto your pants. “That should fix the - ”

“You are new.”

His voice interrupts so suddenly that your screwdriver nearly slips from your hand.

You glance back at him again. He’s still standing exactly where he was before, hands draped along his side with a slight hunch to his back.

“Uh, yeah,” you answer. “This is my third shift.”

The bells softly chime as his head tilts once more.

“I have not seen you before.”

Something about the statement makes heat crawl up the back of your neck. Not because of what he said, but because of the way he said it, careful and observant.

You force out a lighthearted smile.

“Well, hopefully that means I’m doing my job right.”

You tuck the screwdriver back into the pocket of your bag.

“You will probably be seeing a lot more people like me, to be honest.”

His bells jingle, implying he’s moving.

You look up expecting him to still be standing across the tent, motionless and distant, yet somehow, he is nearly right in front of you. Looking down with glowing gold eyes that seem brighter than before. The movement was so silent without the jingling of the bells notifying you, it causes you to jolt backwards slightly.

“Oh,” you gasp out, clutching the opened ends of your jacket. “Jesus, you scared me.”

The bells sway softly as he tilts his head downward.

Up close, the mask looks pristine, too pristine. The smooth lines of the mask align with what may be his natural face shape, the black paint is unchipped and still vibrant. However, you can still recognize the subtle rise and fall of his breathing beneath it – labored in a way.

“I did not mean to,” he says quietly.

Despite the apology, he doesn’t step away.

Not even a little.

You swallow awkwardly, the gulp was almost comical in noise, reminding you of how dry your mouth was. Suddenly, you are very aware of how much taller he is than you, even slightly bent over.

“Well…” You clear your throat, forcing yourself to look back down at your tools or the props around the stage. “The speaker should be fixed now. Unless you guys break it again tomorrow.”

A small pause follows.

Then:

“You will come back tomorrow?”

The question is soft. Hopeful, almost.

But something about it still makes your stomach twist.

This whole situation is weird, the red alarms ringing along your head remind you exactly how weird this is.

“Sure, if it breaks again,” you exhale, “but us, event staff, aren’t really allowed near the circus otherwise.”

You add the last part in hopes to deplete that hopeful tone in his voice, hoisting the tool bag strap onto your shoulder before meeting his “eyes” once more. The glowing gold stares back at you unblinking.

These costume effects are getting more advanced, you think.

“You are allowed now.”

Your stomach drops slightly.

The statement is simple enough, yet something about the certainty in his voice makes it sound less like reassurance and more like a decision already made for you.

You let out an awkward laugh, attempting to shake off the sudden tension curling around your spine.

“Pretty sure my supervisor would disagree with that.”

The bells jingle softly as he leans down ever so slightly.

“I would not.”

The response comes immediately.

Too immediately.

A nervous smile pulls at your lips as you take a careful step backward toward the tent entrance. “Right… well, luckily you’re not my supervisor.”

For the first time since entering the tent, the performer finally moves aside enough to give you room to pass.

But his glowing gaze never leaves you.

Not for a second.

The apartment is silent aside from the hum of your refrigerator.

Safe.

Normal.

Just how you like it.

You kick off your shoes near the entrance, hanging up your jacket on a nearby hook. You let out a lengthy and heavy yawn, followed by a full body stretch.

Maybe circus performers were supposed to act strange. Maybe the staring was part of the persona. Maybe the glowing eyes in the mask had simply caught the light strangely.

“Maybe, I need another job,” you mutter, rubbing at the nape of your neck.

And yet, for some reason, you still find yourself thinking about glowing golden eyes hidden behind porcelain.

The apartment remains still in the dead of night.

Soft moonlight leaks through the curtains, faintly illuminating the outline of your bedroom. The digital clock beside your bed blinks lazily in the darkness while the rest of the apartment sits undisturbed.

Then, somewhere near the window a quiet metallic jingle resonates through the silent room, yet unheard to your sleeping form.

The unlocked window slowly creaks upward.

Cold night air spills into the room first, followed by the silhouette of a tall figure climbing silently inside. White fabric catches dim traces of moonlight while crimson ribbons sway gently with each careful movement.

The bells attached to the ends of his hat barely make a sound now, muffled as though intentionally restrained.

He closes the window behind him with practiced care.

Golden eyes immediately find you asleep beneath the mountains of blankets enveloping your body. The blankets hide so much it bothers him, yet his heart swells at the image of you sleeping so peacefully. Blissfully unaware of his presence that caused you so much stiffness before. He recalls your tiny form cowering under his eyes that his heart is pounding against his chest at an imaginable rate.

His gloved fingers twitch faintly at his side as he is overcome with a rush of something, he is not too sure of himself.

He wants to touch. The urge is overwhelming to the point where he feels as though he may die.

Slowly, his hands make their way to the ends of the main comforter atop you, slowly pulling that the minutes are grueling to him. Yet, slowly, your skin is exposed to the cold air – to his wandering eyes.

“My lady,” he quietly rasps, huffing hot air as his body looms over your figure.

Very quickly after pulling the covers all the way down to the floor he notices you’re sleeping in nothing but a loose shirt and underwear.

For a moment, he simply stares.

The golden glow behind the mask brightens faintly, almost feverish now, drinking in every exposed inch of skin like a starving man finally allowed a glimpse of something sacred. His breathing becomes shakier with every passing moment, taking in every noticeable feature of your body: every curve, every blemish, every line, or mole sits there for him to see and revel in the moment.

“My lady, you are so beautiful,” he whispers. The words barely sound human, filled with immense amount of want.

For a slight moment your body shuffles into an open position, unfurling from the fetal position you had before. Your hands reaching for something around you – your blanket most likely.

His breath stops with the movement; afraid you’ll awake and witness an unruly side of him.

He knows he shouldn’t be here, that he should take it slow – humans are fragile, after all.

However, all reasoning is quickly going out the window as he takes in your brazen form, almost inviting for someone to touch you.

Your legs are spread, allowing a view of the cute pair of panties barely covering your bottom half. Your loose top does nothing to hide the obvious perks of your nipples.

Your body must be inviting him. That is the only reasoning he can come up with before his hands immediately find placement next to your hips on the bed. His face inches away from your clothed pussy.

His breath ghosts over the thin fabric of your panties, warm and ragged, as if he's been holding it in anticipation for this very moment. His golden eyes glow feverishly, flickering up to meet your peacefully sleeping face.

His lips part slightly, a long, inhuman tongue unfurling from his mouth with saliva pooling from the end. His tongue darts out to trace the outline of your pussy through the cloth, teasing the edges where the fabric meets your slick skin.

Your body responds despite sleeping soundly, a soft gasp fills his ears, yet still not awake. He takes it as confirmation.

The sensation is electric, a slow burn that builds as he presses his entire mouth fully against your clothed pussy, the wet heat of his breath seeping through the barrier, licking feverishly.

Your body slightly twitches to the new sensation; he hopes that whatever dream that has taken hold of you is of him. His hands grip your hips firm yet softly, holding you in places as if you were delicate, something precious he won’t let slip away. His tongue works in delicate circles, the fabric growing soaked and pliant under his insistent pressure.

You let out another small gasp of air, your body squirming slightly more, as if urging him on. He responds with a low growl, the gold hues watching your face contort with every lick. He finally pulls your panties aside. The cool air hits your exposed flesh for a brief second before his tongue delves in without second thought like a ravenous monster.

He knows this is bad, he knows he shouldn’t be doing this. But you taste better than he could ever imagine, lapping with hunger at your folds, feeling your body trembling with unknown pleasure.

His movements grow more fervent, alternating between gentle flicks against your clit and broader strokes along the inner folds of your pussy. He can tell your body is on the brink of something, your body is quivering and your hands are mindlessly fisting for something in your sleep. He doesn’t let up, instead, he delves deeper. His tongue is longer than any human, sinuous and agile, and he wastes no time pressing it forward, sliding it inside you with a slow, deliberate thrust that stretches and fills you. His tongue curls and flexes as he pulls back to only plunge in again, feeling your inner walls clench around him greedily for something more.

His arousal is evident in the way his hips grinding harshly against the bed, the tip of his cock beading with precum.

He can’t stop himself, lost within your scent and taste, and the idea of you trembling beneath him, taking him so well yet barely being able to take in the full length of his cock. He would praise you – worship you, tell you how beautiful and amazing you are.

The wet, slurping sounds of his movements fill the room, a raw symphony that heightens the intimacy, blending with your breathless moans and the occasional growl from his throat, as if devouring you is both a necessity and a revelation.

Your walls begin to tighten unbearably, shuddering with the rest of your body, but it only makes him continue with newfound hunger. The rhythm becomes relentless now, his tongue plunging deeper with each thrust, curling against that sweet, swollen spot deep within your pussy that sends shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your core. Your hips buck involuntarily which earns a small groan from him.

His hands slide up to cradle your ass, pulling you even harder against his face, his painted lips sealed around your folds as if he's savoring every drop of your arousal, his breath hot and erratic against your sensitive skin.

Your body convulses in release, your pussy clenching rhythmically around his invading tongue as the orgasm rips through you. He notes the liquid heat spilling from you, soaking his mouth and chin, and he groans in response, lapping it up greedily.

As the tremors subside, your body seems to collapse back into its peaceful deep slumber once more, your chest heaving and body twitching with aftershocks.  

His own breath is heavy and fast, following the rise and fall of your stomach.

Everything is telling him to do more – taste more.

However, he decides against it, the obvious tent in his pants giving rise to his predicament, and your alarm clock flashing dangerously close to sunrise.

end of part one!

Water, Glycerin, Xanthan gum, and… less than 1% clove oil.

You read the short list of ingredients a second time and sighed. Basic. Actually, it was insultingly basic for a skin cream and the $55 price tag had you immediately placing the jar back on the shelf.

Ever since you had a skin cancer scare a few months ago, you’d thrown yourself into bettering your skincare routine. You'd never bothered with sunscreen before, but one SPF rabbit hole had you watching twenty minute videos about niacinamide at two in the morning. In fact, most of what you'd learned came from your favorite skincare influencer, Kenjaku.

He was one of the biggest names in the space right now, and it wasn't for nothing. Unlike most influencers, he was experienced with chemistry and that made his reviews stand out from the sea of sponsored slop. That, and…the controversies.

They weren't hard to find. Search his name on any platform and the algorithm would happily stack a dozen drama videos right underneath whatever he'd most recently posted. Most of it was the usual clickbait slop:

Kenjaku has been EXPOSED for lying about his brand deal

Kenjaku's HORRIFIC downfall with Kamo Corp

Is Kenjaku HIDING a Secret Twin Brother?!

You'd rolled your eyes at enough of them to stop taking any of it seriously. Still, you had to admit he could come off as arrogant in collabs. And there was that convention he'd hosted and then failed to show up to. And the pre-order he'd yanked at the last second, only to relaunch the same product a week later with cheaper ingredients. And…

Okay. Fine. He wasn't a saint, but in your opinion people came after him way harder than he deserved. If they hated him so much, they could just scroll. Nobody was forcing them to sit through his videos frame by frame looking for reasons to be mad.

The overhead speakers suddenly crackled to life, announcing that the store would be closing in fifteen minutes, snapping you out of your headspace. From the corner of your eye, you could see a store associate hovering nearby — likely to ensure you weren't shoplifting, or to subtly pressure you into checking out so they could close up.

They perked up when they saw your eyes lingering on the cream, however, and marched over.

“Interested in the OLEE eye cream? We actually have smaller travel sizes in the back aisle, if you don't want to commit to the full jar just yet.”

You nodded, and he gestured for you to follow him toward the travel section.

"That brand's still pretty new, so it doesn't really move. Even with influencers pushing it, I maybe see one person a week pick it up." He pulled a small box off the shelf and turned it over in his hands. "That one guy, Kenjaku? He's been pushing it nonstop. No way he's not getting a massive payout."

He’s probably right about the payout, but if the product actually worked, what’s the harm in getting paid to say so? Every other influencer was promoting something. You paid for one at the register and stepped out into the evening air with your little bag swinging from your wrist, already excited to go home and try it on.

Back home, skin still damp from a quick shower, you cracked open the tiny tube. The directions recommended a dime-sized amount, but squeezing out that much had emptied a quarter of it.

Kenjaku always has that refreshed look. Creams like these are probably why.

You dabbed it on and almost immediately, an icy sting flared across your skin. As the minutes ticked by, the cooling sensation rapidly morphed into a prickling burn.

What the-! Why is it so itchy now? Am I allergic or something?

You squinted as you leaned into the bathroom mirror. The cream had already dried down, but not into the "dewy finish" the box had promised. It had dried into a pale, papery crust, webbing cracks across the skin under your eyes. When you touched it, a flake came away on your fingertip. You rubbed at it until the whole under-eye area was raw and beginning to throb.

You flipped the box over and read the instructions again

Apply sparingly.

Massage in circular motions.

Follow with SPF in the morning.

It said nothing about it flaking off and itching.

"Are you kidding me? They wanted $55. For this."

You stared at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes were starting to water from the pain and having been personally swindled by a man on the other side of the planet.

Frustration boiling over, you grabbed your phone and snapped a quick selfie, holding the tiny tube up next to your irritated skin. You opened Twitter and typed out the caption:

Complete waste of money and it feels like absolute garbage going on. No idea what Kenjaku was smoking when he recommended this one. #OLEE #review

Post.

Out of curiosity you scrolled the hashtag to see what other people were saying. The reviews were all raving about the cream and tagging Kenjaku for the great recommendation. You let the scrolling go on a little too long. Waiting for someone to agree with you, and when no one did you locked your phone and tossed it on the nightstand.

None of them even had the cream on.

You crawled into bed, pulled the blanket up to your chin, and closed your eyes, fully expecting to wake up to a couple of sympathetic likes from mutuals and a better day tomorrow.

When you woke up the next morning, you were shocked by the state of your phone. Your notifications were much higher than you usually expected. You blinked the sleep out of your eyes and tapped the first reply at the top of your screen.

“It's an eye cream, not a miracle worker 💀”

You immediately blocked the user for being rude, but the next notification wasn't any better. A condescending account claiming your skin was so dehydrated that it "sucked up all the moisture too fast." The comment right beneath that one just told you to kill yourself.

Your heart sank as you quickly deleted the post and dragged yourself into the kitchen to start making breakfast, hoping to shake off the bad vibes.

However a few minutes later, your phone buzzed against the counter and you saw you had a new notification: a comment on an older, completely unrelated selfie. You tapped on it and your stomach dropped when you saw the user calling you a stupid bitch. Panic set in and you rushed to your profile and frantically toggled your account to private.

What the hell? Why did my post blow up?

To distract yourself you navigate to Kenjaku’s profile, intending to see if he was doing a morning live stream, but instead, you froze. Sitting proudly as his most recent upload was a direct screenshot of your deleted review.

The caption was in Japanese so you hastily tapped the app's translate button, and the screen reloaded to read:

“Why are my overseas fans such shut-ins? If they actually went outside and talked to anyone, they'd know to save up for the proper formula and not buy the cheap travel-sized version.”

You couldn't believe what you were reading. A shut-in? All because you stated your honest opinion about a product he promoted? Not only that, but he had the nerve to screenshot your post and weaponize his audience against you instead of confronting you directly.

What a fucking asshole! All those drama videos about him are completely true, aren't they?

With your account safely locked down and only your close friends following you, you were at least insulated from the worst of it for now. You went back to Kenjaku's profile with one goal in mind. Blocking him. But before you could, you noticed something even worse. In the replies to his post, he was actively liking the comments making fun of your appearance.

A hot flush of humiliation and hurt washed over you. You couldn't even be bothered to block him now. You turned back to the stove to finish cooking, already knowing the food would taste completely bland given your current mood.

It had been a few days since you were dogpiled, and you hadn't dared to log back into your account. When you finally mustered the courage to open the app, you noticed a handful of pending follow requests. Most were obvious burner accounts since they had the default profile picture. Clearly trolls looking to finish what they started, but one request stood out since it was from an actual account.

Curious, you hit accept. Within minutes, a direct message slid into your inbox.

“Hey! We're so sorry to see you got harassed into going private. Unfortunately, you're not the first person this has happened to because of Kenjaku. We're actually in the middle of producing a deep-dive video documenting his history of abusive behavior and audience weaponization. Would it be okay if we referenced your post in our video? We can blur your handle if you prefer.”

Wary that this might be an elaborate trap set by a dedicated superfan, you investigate their channel. Scrolling through their page, you noted they had a substantial subscriber count of over 300k people. Their recent uploads were well-researched video essays exposing websites that faked "dupe" recommendations after being paid off by corporate sponsors to alter their results.

The skincare industry was evidently a lot more cutthroat than you had ever imagined.

Still, industry politics were no excuse for Kenjaku deliberately orchestrating your harassment. Feeling a sudden spike of vindication, you typed out a quick message giving them the green light.

Kenjaku couldn't recall the last time he was angry.

Annoyed or frustrated yes, but he'd grown out of feeling angry as he aged.

Now that he's thinking about himself, he'd never thought of himself as a socialite, even though socializing made up the bulk of his work now. He did genuinely enjoy people — foreign fans especially. It was endearing the way they engaged with him and tried to figure out the culture differences. They also had such unique perspectives about skincare. Such confident opinions, drawn from small amounts of information. He found it charming, mostly.

Sometimes, though, they overstepped.

He wasn't conceited. He didn't think so, anyway, but a person in his position had to stay aware of what was being said about him, and name-searching himself once a day was his due diligence. When bad-faith posts were from some nobody on the other side of the planet, who cares if he calls them out.

He still cringed thinking about that American girl’s post.

Buying the travel size, at that.

He walked into his bathroom to begin his morning routine. The automatic lights clicked on and filled the bathroom with a warm glow. He began to undress revealing the hard muscles under his usual sleeping clothes. Hot water rained down on him as he stepped into the shower, the temperature already set before he even got in. Then his shower began as he began to wash off with his half-empty bottle of 5-in-1.

That reminds me, he mused, letting the hot water run over his body. I need to check how my contract for that reverse-osmosis toner is going. The fans will definitely eat that buzzword up.

Stepping out to dry off, Kenjaku maneuvered past the dozens of PR packages, luxury serums, and acid exfoliants cluttering his counters for his spray on body lotion. It was cedar scented and had a chemical-like smell but it'd do. Once he was done he looked at himself in the mirror.

An aged stitched scar ran across his forehead and he rubbed at it before picking up his concealer and covering it.

Now dressed in a simple pair of sweats, he ties his hair up in his usual half bun and walked over to his couch to check his phone.

Unfortunately, his mood curdled the instant he picked it up.

Tags. Dozens of them, and all pointing to the same new video.

Uraume.

He exhaled through his nose that he'd have to deal with them this early in the morning. Uraume had been on his neck for years now. They were sanctimonious, had a hair-trigger temper, and built their entire brand out of calling people out. He clicked on the video to see what Uraume had to say about him today.

"This time, Kenjaku has gone too far. A few days ago, an American fan posted an honest review of the travel size of the eye cream he's been heavily promoting. Within hours, she was being mass-harassed by his audience. We all know he name-searches. I think this is further proof he doesn't just tolerate that behavior he encourages it."

Not wanting to stay out of the loop he watches the entire thing.

The first half was padding since it was a highlight reel of every rumor that had ever stuck to him. Intimidation of smaller creators. Brand deals that mysteriously reshuffled in his favor. Convention no-show. The Kamo Corp thing, which they'd dragged out again despite its being, technically, settled. All of it was true, sure, but none of it had concrete evidence. But all of it was arranged to feel concrete, which with Uraume's audience was the same thing.

The second half however…

That American girl is a problem.

Not a large one. She was too small and ordinary, he'd checked, and had fewer than three hundred followers. Under any normal circumstance he'd have left her post to rot, but Uraume had found her, or she'd found Uraume, and that changed things.

Irritated, but he knew he'd have to respond.

He got up and walked into his sunroom. The light there was good at this hour. It was warm and the glass diffused the light, to make him look livelier. He set up the tripod, then adjusted the angle before sitting down.

For a while he just scrolled through his own notes app, thumbing through a catalog of phrasings he'd built up over the years for moments exactly like this one. He knew them by heart, but it helped to look at them anyway.

• Those screenshots are fake.

• It was taken out of context.

• They harassed me first.

• It's not that serious.

As he began drafting his script, a new and far more interesting thought came in his mind.

She's currently the center of attention and probably feels isolated and incredibly vulnerable. Perfect.

He smiled to himself as he finished drafting his video then hit record.

It’d been a few weeks since Uraume had uploaded that video and since then you'd unprivated your account. You’d watched the video Uraume uploaded, and it only cemented your intense dislike for Kenjaku.

He had a pattern of emotional abuse and manipulation, all of which his massive fanbase willingly ignored simply because he had a pretty face. It was stupid how easily they’d been manipulated, hell, you'd been that stupid.

You knew he had uploaded a response video shortly after, but you refused to watch it; giving him the ad revenue would only make you feel worse.

Now that you thought about it, though, it was a little surprising that the flood of hate comments had completely stopped. It was almost as if someone had called off the attack dogs.

Opening your Twitter app to check your notifications, you noticed a single pending DM. When you tapped it open, your heart stopped. It was from none other than Kenjaku himself.

You opened the thread and read his message:

@Kenjaku_Official: Hello. If you haven't already seen my explanation video, I wanted to reach out and personally issue a formal apology. It's common practice for influencers to screenshot posts rather than reply directly to prevent our fans from immediately spamming the original user. I absolutely do not condone my fans' harassment. I wanted to know if we could do a live stream together to make amends and clear the air properly?

You re-read the message twice just to be sure you hadn't misread it. It was a shitty non-apology. He didn't even take accountability or acknowledge that he had essentially called you broke and a shut-in! You drafted a fiery response telling him to eat a dick, but right as your thumb hovered over the send button, a petty thought popped into your head.

Why not completely waste his time and money instead?

You erased your angry draft and plastered on a fake, overly-enthusiastic persona, typing out your trap:

@You: omg hi!! so it was just a cultural thing? that makes so much more sense honestly 😭 i've been a fan for a while so i figured there had to be something, glad we can clear it up!! i'm in the st. louis area (missouri) so whenever you're free!! can't wait 💕

You cackled as you hit send, knowing damn well he wouldn't actually fly across the globe. The plan was simple: once he inevitably ghosted you, you’d screenshot the entire exchange and expose him for being a performative asshole.

A few minutes later, your phone buzzed. Kenjaku had replied.

@Kenjaku_Official: Tomorrow works perfectly. My schedule is completely free.

You stared at the glowing screen, your jaw practically hitting the floor. Tomorrow? That was impossibly fast. A last-minute international flight had to cost well over $2,000.

I guess doing brand deals gives him a lot of disposable income and time to roam, you rationalized, though a knot of actual nervousness began to form in your stomach.

You hadn't actually planned on meeting him! Scrambling, you threw open your closet doors and frantically began to sift through your nicest clothes. It was crucial to look good, but not too good. You didn't want to overdress and embarrass yourself. Eventually, you pulled out a simple but flattering sundress.

Your phone chimed again.

@Kenjaku_Official: Does meeting at the Saint Louis Galleria work for you? 😉

Oh!

You could feel your face beginning to heat up. You knew the winking face didn't actually mean anything. He used that exact emoji all the time in his streams, and it was usually an automated prelude to him asking his viewers for donations or hyping up a sponsor drop. He knew he was handsome, and he knew that you knew he was handsome.

You took a deep breath, forcing your burning cheeks to cool down. You had to remind yourself that his playful flirting was just a calculated part of his gimmick. This was strictly a PR recovery mission for him.

But as for you? You didn't have a massive digital footprint, so it wasn't like you needed to repair your online image. Still, if he wanted to use you for good PR, you were perfectly fine with letting him. Especially if it meant you could manipulate him into buying you some free, high-end merchandise out of guilt.

You were waiting nervously in the food court when you heard someone call your name.

You looked up and there he was.

He looked...different, which was the first thing you noticed. Way paler than he looked in his videos, and his skin was a flat porcelain that the fluorescent lighting wasn't doing any favors towards. Also, his hair was less glossy than it appeared in his videos. He was taller than you'd expected and standing a little too close for a first meeting...in a public place. Still, he was incredibly handsome which made you even more nervous.

"Yo." He bowed slightly. "Nice to meet you. I wanted to apologize again for what happened."

His voice did something to your body.

You were unprepared to hear him speak. Even though you'd watched hours of him talking, somehow the recordings had failed to capture how velvety his voice sounded. Just hearing him was making your chest tight.

Get it together.

"Nice to meet you too, Kenjaku, um-" You cringe as your attempt at being nonchalant fails. "What uh...what brings you down here? Besides, you know. Me. ha ha"

Fuck.

He gave an easy smile as you fumbled and that made it even worse.

“Actually, there’s a convention happening nearby that I've been wanting to attend. It's not for my usual skincare content, just something new. I can't have my entire life revolve around my job, or else I'll get bored. I'm sure you understand.”

You didn't trust yourself to speak so you just nodded.

"How about we walk?" he said. "I'd love to start at a fragrance store, if there's one nearby. I'm curious how different the U.S. market is. Citrus has been blowing up in Japan lately since there was an idol group with a song about oranges, and now you can't walk a few meters without smelling it. Personally for citrus I prefer cologne. It has a..."

He continued to talk...and talk. Hardly letting you get a single word in edgewise as he guided you both toward the boutique. You hadn't said anything and he didn't appear to need you to. By the time you reached the Sephora you'd relaxed into his rhythm.

He stopped once he was inside and pulled out his phone.

“You don't mind if I start a quick live stream, do you?” He looked down at you expectantly, tilting his head with a flawless smile.

Your stupid heart beats faster at that.

"sure." you managed to say without choking.

Sure? Did that sound lame? It's so hard to think straight when he's looking at me like that.

He raised the phone and the indicator went red. As he started speaking, your stomach dropped when you realized he was speaking Japanese. You stood there ignorant as to whether he was insulting you to his audience or not. He looked down at you, flashed another heart-stopping smile, and pulled you into the camera's frame.

"Super sweet." He said in English.

The chat exploded with a wash of crying emojis, broken hearts, and a few spamming ”NOOOOOO".

They're jealous. You deduced.

"Please bully me next?" He chuckled at his chat. "Stop it." His laugh made your spine feel fizzy. "I already told you, I didn't bully her. It was all a misunderstanding. Just people trying to spill tea about me, as usual."

He turned to look back at his camera and a terrible pun materialized in your brain.

"Meanwhile, you're a hot tea." You blurted out.

You immediately cringed at how awful it sounded. Too embarrassed to even look at him, you prayed he'd leave soon after this. However, instead of giving you a forced, polite chuckle, Kenjaku paused. Then, he began to laugh. He clutched his stomach, his shoulders shaking as if it was the funniest thing he'd heard all week

"Okay." He said breathlessly and then told his chat something in Japanese that you couldn't follow. He waved, said " thank you for tuning in", then ended the stream.

You blinked at him in surprise.

"That's strange. He usually goes on way longer when he does a surprise stream. Maybe it's because I'm here?"

"You're funny." He said, still half-smiling. "I have a pretty dry sense of humor, usually."

You felt your face heat up. You didn't have a response that wasn't going to embarrass yourself further, so you pretended to study a display.

He turned back to the shelves and picked up a perfume then handed it to you. “This one was really popular a few months back,” he noted, before picking up a bottle of scented cream. “The cream itself goes on alright, but the scent is the only reason people buy it. It leaves a tacky feeling behind because of the cheap carrier oil they use to formulate it, so you have to look out for that. They have a non-scented version, but I've definitely used better.”

He pressed the cream into your hand, then walked to the counter and paid for both before you could say anything. Already pulling his phone out again, he took a picture of you.

"Mind if I post this?"

You nodded and watched him as he typed. His expression had gone completely flat and bored. You could tell that, at this point, his ‘making amends’ quota had been met. Still, you weren't too disappointed, after all you scored free stuff.

You glanced away from him and spotted a small fabric-craft store across the mall and you lit up with glee.

Oh! Please let them have cow print.

When you turned back, expecting him to be wrapping up the thanks for being a fan, glad we cleared this up speech, he wasn't doing that at all. Instead he was looking at you curiously.

"Are you a designer?"

"What? No."

"Sewing's not exactly a common hobby. I was just guessing."

"Oh...no! I just picked it up recently. I've only done small stuff. Chokers, bracelets, that kind of thing."

His dark eyes brightened significantly as he leaned in closer to you and nodded towards the craft store.

"Now you've got me curious. After you."

He followed close behind as you entered the store. To your surprise, you both spent the next hour chatting about different needle types, what stitches held best under tension, and your favorite textiles. Soon enough, another store piqued his interest, and you followed him there. You alternated from store to store until both of your hands were so full of shopping bags you had to stop at a bench.

"I can't remember the last time I had this much fun shopping. I just have so much going on in my head that I usually just buy everything online, but it's different when you've got someone to talk to." He glanced sideways at you and it made you feel like you were melting inside. "You're entertaining."

"It was really nice getting to hang out with you, Kenjaku." You admitted softly. "I haven't met someone with so many revolving hyper-fixations...well, ever! It’s really nice knowing there's someone I can actually relate to."

To your absolute surprise, he leaned over and gave you a firm hug. His cologne was a heavy cedar scent mixed with something faintly medicinal, making your muscles relax against him.

"Come with me to the convention tomorrow."

"What?"

"The one I mentioned earlier. I was going to go alone, but I'd rather not." He said as he played with a loc of your hair.

"I-yeah. Yeah, of course, I'd love to!"

He squeezed once more and let go.

"You're in luck, actually," he said, lifting his bags. "I had a second pass on standby for someone else, but they're...well." He gave a small, dismissive smile. "A bit of a shut-in so I wasn't really expecting them to use it."

The word shut-in made you stiffen in his arms.

You saw his eyes twitch with a flash of dark annoyance when he mentioned this mysterious friend, but when he looked back down at you, his smile was as sweet and warm as ever. He shifted the bags to the other hand as he pulled out his phone.

"What's your number?"

You told him.

"Perfect."

You walked to the parking garage together, and he insisted on paying for your Uber home, and you told yourself, the entire ride back, that it had been a throwaway word. People said shut-in. People said it all the time in fact.

Your phone buzzed in your lap. It was a text from Kenjaku.

“Today was lovely. Sleep well.😉”

“Thanks, you too!” You respond.

He reacted to it with a heart.

You arrived at the convention center 10 minutes early but he was already there.

He was standing at a pillar near the registration booth, phone in one hand, a tote bag slung over his shoulder, and watching the doors. When he caught sight of you he raised a hand in a friendly wave and your face was already smiling back automatically.

"There you are. You look even better than yesterday."

You gave a friendly laugh at his compliment which he returned.

He stepped closer to drape a VIP lanyard over your head, but as he secured the pass around you, he leaned in just a fraction too close. You froze as he inhaled into your shoulder.

"I knew I'd recognize that scent. Did you use the cream I bought you?"

You nodded, somewhat flattered he noticed.

His eyes narrowed and for a brief second, bit his lip.

"Let's not loiter out here. There's an author inside that I really wanted to talk to."

He turned and you fell into step beside him.

Why did he bite his lip? You panicked internally, clutching the lanyard. Oh God, is he actually into me?! No, get over yourself. He acts like that with his fans all the time. It's just part of the charm.

You forced your nerves down, reminding yourself this was just a platonic PR hangout

The convention floor was loud and a little overwhelming. Booths were stacked with art books, indie zines, and tarot decks. Kenjaku weaved through them as you stayed close beside him. He finally stopped at a booth near the back and the man behind the table looked up.

Your first impression was his stitches. Long, fine, raised tracks of suture scarring running across his face in two perpendicular lines. He grinned as he stood up to greet Kenjaku and you had to hold back touching your neck as you saw the stitches around his throat.

Even his smile made you cringe. It's the kind you'd give someone after asking them if a cloth smelled like chloroform. Moreover, he had heterochromic eyes with one of his pupils being much smaller than the other.

"Kenjaku!"he said, in Japanese. "What a nice surprise. And who's this, a new vessel?"

You didn't understand a word of it.

"Of a sort," Kenjaku replied, his face giving nothing away. "but let's not get into that here. I've been meaning to read your new book. Remind me what it's about?"

"Oh, the usual, body-mod stuff, surgical illustrations, a few case studies. It was actually a bore to write." The man's shoulders sagged theatrically. ”Photographs would be so much better, but my patients keep refusing to sign the releases. So selfish."

He turned to you, and his face morphed itself into something approximating a warm smile.

"Howdy. He hasn't talked your ear off yet?"

Mahito picked up a book from a stack at his elbow and passed it to Kenjaku, who flipped it open at a middle page. From where you stood you could see, but not clearly enough, it was illustrations of hands, forearms and other body parts. There were notes written at the sides but annotated in Japanese.

“Ow wow! Are those your drawings?” You asked as Kenjaku closed his book. "I love realistic art. I think you'd be a great muse to draw.

“Wow, really? I've been called a lot of things but never inspirational. Maybe we could work on something as partners?”

He extended a hand and you shook it just to realize how cold his palm was. His grip went on a bit too long.

"Mahito's a plastic surgeon." Kenjaku said smoothly, taking your wrist back from him. "He also does body modifications. The kind of work other surgeons won't touch. He's well-known in the alternative scene.”

Mahito beams at you as he reaches into the stack and offers a second copy for you, but Kenjaku's hand comes up and intercepts it before it reaches you.

"It's in Japanese, She wouldn't get anything out of it."

Mahito's smile didn't move as he set the book back down.

"Can I play with this one once you're done?" His tone cheery

"Don't." Kenjaku replied, smiling.

You looked between them and decided it was probably an inside joke between old friends.

"So what else brings you out here?" Mahito said, switching back to English with a singsong tone. "Picking up a new hobby? Cooking, maybe? Sukuna's on the second floor doing cookbook signings, you know. I'm sure he'd love to catch up."

Kenjaku chuckled.

"I doubt he'd want to see me right now. He'd just want to talk about Yuji. I'm here to relax. Not to talk about family."

"Suit yourself." Mahito lifted both hands in mock surrender, then his eyes flicked past you both, to a customer behind you. "See you later Ken-chan."

Kenjaku gave a hum and steered you away with a hand at the small of your back.

He...was a lot.

Kenjaku, for his part, seemed entirely unaffected. He continued talking about books and what he'd been reading lately. His voice was so warm compared to his videos that it made you relax.

After an hour of meandering, you both ended up at a quiet table.

"You said you've been reading up on pharmaceuticals more? I used to be a pharmacy tech, you know. Though I'm not sure I can do much for you besides pill-packing."

He laughed. "Pharmacy tech, really? I wouldn't have guessed."

"What did you guess?"

He tilted his head, considering. "Entertainer."

You giggled at his joke as he smiled and stared at you.

"My interests are different. I'm thinking about a career change, honestly. Influencing looks glamorous from the outside, but it gets so boring. It's hard to do anything else of substance. Hard to-" he glanced at you, "-spend time with anyone, really."

You looked down bashfully at a stack of merchandise he had bought for you.

"Speaking of spending time, you mentioned the other day that you'd originally bought a second pass for someone else. Did they not feel like flying out?"

He crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair and gave a melancholic sigh.

"More like they don't feel like leaving the house.

It's a whole thing. They're a difficult person. Lots of opinions, very few of them workable with mine. Honestly, I'd rather not waste the afternoon talking about them. Tell me about the gardening thing."

"The-?"

"You mentioned it the other day. You said you'd started growing things."

He'd remembered. You hadn't said much about it. Having mentioned it in the middle of a longer story about your apartment, yet he'd remembered.

It made you even more excited to talk about it.

He'd insisted on driving you home, citing that he didn't want his favorite fan taking the bus this late. When he said it, you couldn't help but stutter out a quick thank you, your face hot.

Besides, You told yourself as you sat in the front seat of his rental. There was no real harm in him knowing where I live. He doesn't even live on this continent.

The drive was quiet, save for the low hum of the engine and the occasional brush of his knuckles against your thigh when he shifted gears.

Once you arrived you were standing at your front door, fishing for your keys, when his hand came up to rest against the wood right next to your head, effectively boxing you in. The warmth of his body radiated against yours.

"Kenjaku? Was somet-!”

He didn't let you finish as he tilted your chin up and gave you a soft kiss. You gasped against his mouth and he took it as an invitation, slipping his tongue past your lips. He gave a low hum as his tongue slid against yours.

You let out an embarrassing moan against his tongue as you leaned in further. You felt his hand drift to yours as he guided the key to unlock the door. Taking advantage of his size he pushes forward, walking you backwards and into your own apartment as his mouth didn't leave yours the entire time.

The door shut behind him and you heard the deadbolt lock.

The hallway light caught half his face in shadow as he finally pulled back, just far enough to look at you. It was hard to see his eyes as he licked your spit off his wet lips.

"I know you have a crush on me, Don't lie."

Your heart was hammering against your ribs, but the only thing you could look at was him. His dark eyes pinning you in place like a lab animal.

I thought he wouldn't notice. God, it's so hard not to like him.

"I already know what you're thinking." He purred. "Look at you, so jittery."

He kissed you again, deeper this time, his tongue curling against yours until your knees actually buckled. Before you could collapse he effortlessly swept you off your feet. You weakly mumbled the directions to your bedroom, and he carried you down the hall, laying you gently onto the mattress.

"You trust me, right?" His smile was so warm that you could only manage a nod.

He shifted you until you were lying sideways across the bed with your head hanging. From your upside-down vantage point, you froze as you watched him pull out a pair of handcuffs from his pocket.

Panic flared, and you immediately propped yourself up on your elbows to pull away. However, his hand immediately shot out and his fingers gently tangled in your hair as he firmly pressed you back down onto the mattress.

"I thought you said you trusted me."

"I-I do! But I just...wasn't expecting that." You stammered, looking up at him. His expression softened back into his charming smile as he gave you a head pat.

"You're right, I should have warned you," His thumb traced the shell of your ear. “but I know you trust me."

He took your wrists, gently this time, and pulled them down, looped them through the bottom rail of the bedframe, and clicked the cuffs closed. Your hands were now pulled below your head with your throat exposed to the ceiling. He stepped back and looked down at you.

That's when you realized that your bed was at the perfect height for what came next.

You got a front-row seat as he unbuckled his belt, the leather hissing free of the loops. He unzipped his pants and your eyes went wide as he pulled himself free, already half-hard and thickening visibly as he watched your reaction.

Oh my God, he's way too big!

You tried to push him away as he stepped closer until the heavy, flushed head of his cock was right at your lips, leaving a slick smear against your bottom lip, only to hear faint metallic clicking from the cuffs.

He leaned down, his thumb pressing deeply into the column of your throat to massage the muscles there.

"You need to open your mouth." He instructed, guiding himself inside your mouth as you did.

His cock slid past your lips in a slow, steady push, as his thumb stroked down your throat as if guiding it in. You tried to focus, to breathe through your nose, but the pressure of his thumb made even that feel difficult

"Wider. Wider than that. That's it ah perfect."

He was patient at first. Shallow, careful thrusts, letting your jaw stretch around him, letting your throat figure out how to relax. His thumb traced lazy circles under your jaw, holding you steady. Each thrust pushed a little deeper. By the fourth, the spongy head of his tip was pressing into the back of your throat, and your eyes started to water.

Ugh! God! He's huge! Does he know how big he is?

You looked up to see if he noticed your discomfort — that he might slow down.

What you saw instead was his head thrown back, and the soft sounds of pleasure coming from him as his hips rocked into your mouth. His balls slapped wetly against your nose with every stroke, and you could smell him. A soapy scent, faint cedar cologne, and something muskier underneath that made your thighs press together involuntarily.

He looked down at you and caught you staring.

"Oh, Look at you. You like me that much?”

Then, his hand wrapped around your throat and slowly began to tighten as he fucked your mouth, turning from a massage into a suffocating grip. The air in your lungs began to burn. You tried to whimper a protest, but the only sound you could make around him was a wet gargle.

"Starting to choke?" His eyes were dark as he looked down at you. "Go on, tell me to stop."

You had no idea what he was saying as his pace quickened, his grip squeezing tighter until the edges of your vision began to starburst with black spots. Drool pooled out of the corners of your mouth, sliding down your cheeks and into your hair, sticking in long, glistening strings to his balls every time he pulled back.

"Swallow." he commanded. "Swallow all of it. Every drop."

He drove himself to the hilt and held there, his stomach tensing, and a long groan dragged out of him as he came down your throat in thick pulses. You couldn't close your mouth. Couldn't turn your head. Could only feel him twitching against your tongue as the salty heat of him flooded you. Your throat working around him on pure reflex as you tried to swallow what he gave you.

He didn't let go of your throat until your vision was tunneling dangerously, pulling out and releasing his grip just as your lungs began to spasm.

You gasped violently, racking coughs tearing through you as oxygen flooded back into your burning chest. Your eyes were streaming, your makeup undoubtedly ruined, and a thin string of his cum and your spit connected your lower lip to the head of his softening cock. He thumbed it away then pushed it past your lips for you to suck clean.

“There you go. You're so fascinating like this."

He moved away from you then, somewhere out of your line of sight, and you heard the soft rustle of fabric. Your throat ached. Your jaw ached. Worst of all, you felt a mortifying throb between your legs that you couldn't do anything about.

When he came back into your view, your stomach dropped.

He wasn't holding the key. Instead he was naked, and his cock was already starting to thicken again.

He climbed onto the bed and pushed the skirt of your sundress up around your waist.

"Don't worry," he said, hooking your thighs over his shoulders and dragging you closer. "You don't think I'm that selfish, do you?”

From this view he got a good look at your disheveled state. Tethered to the bed frame, you laid completely at his mercy. You shiver as he looks down at your exposed pussy, cuffs giving another useless chime as your hands twitch.

He shifted you, pressing the pad of his thumb to your slit and parting you open so he could see more. You could feel how wet you were against his hand and now he could see it too.

"Pretty," he murmured. "You take care of yourself.”

He lowered his mouth on your clit before you could respond. Giving it a quick kiss before he placed the broad of his tongue at the bottom of your pussy and licking upwards towards your clit. He gave an appreciative hum, pleased at how you tasted, licking up your gathering juices.

"You know, you were already wet before, don't lie.” His tongue flicked against your clit teasingly. " Does my number one fan like being face fucked by me?”

Humiliation flushed up your neck in a hot wave. You weren't that wet, but he wouldn't even let you respond before he leaned back in and started sucking on your clit. Your thighs clamped tightly around his head and he let out a moan of appreciation.

His tongue moved lower, parting you open and pushing inside, twisting and curling, as your legs kicked uselessly behind his back. When the tip of his tongue dragged against something deeper. Some electric bundle of nerves you didn't even know you had. Your whole body jerked, trying to grind down for more.

He pulled back immediately as his eyes gave a dark warning.

"No," He said steely, "I set the pace. You stay where I put you.”

He waited, until you stopped twitching. Only then did he lean back in. His eyes never left yours as he licked a slow stripe up your cunt. Making sure you knew exactly who was in charge.

Then his eyes slid shut and he started to work your pussy. His tongue circled your entrance, retreated upwards to give soft kitten licks against your clit, then plunged into you again. He built a rhythm that had you panting, then whining, then begging in broken sobs. The cuffs rattled as your hands tried to grab at something, anything really.

When his tongue pushed back into you and his nose ground against your clit at the same time did you finally climax. Your thighs locked around his head so hard you were sure you were hurting him.

He didn't stop. Eating you through it, swallowing everything you gave him. Even working you until your first orgasm bled into a second smaller one and then into oversensitive trembling. You were babbling incoherently above him as tears leaked from the corners of your eyes, your whole body twitching every time his tongue moved.

Only when all that came out of you was ragged breathing did he finally pull away.

His mouth and chin were glistening with your juices.

The bed creaked as he got up, and you heard the soft rustle of fabric, then the jingle of keys as he reached for the cuffs and unlocked them. Your arms remained limp above your head, too exhausted to even move them.

"Look at you. Tired yourself out already." He smiled down at you, brushing your hair out of your sweat-damp face. "My number one fan is so lazy.”

He easily lifted you and repositioned you properly under the covers. After that he grabbed a soft cloth and gently wiped your face clean. When he was satisfied, he tossed the cloth into your hamper, clicked off the bedside lamp, and slid in behind you, pulling you back against his bare chest.

"You want to be with me, right?" he murmured into your hair softly. "Come back to Japan with me."

You nodded. Your eyelids were too heavy to fight.

You drifted off to sleep and didn't notice the smile that spread across his face.

The room was a chaotic testament to neglect, the floor littered with crumpled clothes—discarded shirts, tangled jeans, and rumpled socks—strewn haphazardly across the worn carpet like the aftermath of a storm that had raged for days without respite.

Empty takeout containers teetered precariously on side tables, their greasy remnants congealing in the dim light filtering through half-drawn blinds, while stacks of unopened mail and forgotten gadgets cluttered every available surface, dust motes dancing lazily in the stale air. It hadn't been cleaned in what felt like an eternity, the faint musty scent of disuse mingling with the sharper tang of sweat and arousal that now dominated the space.

And there you were, seated with your legs spread wide on the sagging couch, the cushions dipping under your weight as your bare thighs trembled from the relentless onslaught between them. Your panties lay discarded somewhere in the mess—tossed aside in a haze of urgency, perhaps tangled with a stray sock or kicked under the coffee table—leaving your most intimate folds exposed and glistening.

In your hand, you'd been handed a phone earlier, its screen glowing softly as your fingers scrolled through the pages of a steamy novel, the words blurring slightly at the edges of your vision from the building haze of ecstasy.

Between your legs knelt the man, his broad shoulders wedged firmly against your inner thighs, holding you open with unyielding strength as his mouth devoured your pussy with insatiable hunger.

He'd been at it for hours now, his tongue working you over in a merciless rhythm that had you soaking the sheets beneath your ass, wet spots blooming from the multiple messes you'd made—your juices spilling out in waves, slick and abundant, as orgasm after teasing near-orgasm ripped through you.

Your brain swam in a fog of pure, overwhelming pleasure, every coherent thought dissolving into the electric pulses firing from your core, your hips bucking involuntarily against his face despite the exhaustion settling into your limbs.

He teased his tongue deep into your hole, plunging it in with slow, deliberate thrusts that mimicked a cock's invasion, curling and twisting inside your clenching walls to lap at the sensitive ridges, drawing out your arousal in thick, creamy rivulets that he slurped greedily.

The wet, obscene sounds of his sucking filled the room—schlick, slurp, smack—as he hollowed his cheeks and sealed his lips around your entrance, creating a vacuum that pulled at your folds, intensifying the suction until your pussy fluttered wildly, threatening to gush again.

Then, just as your body tensed on the brink, he'd withdraw, only to flatten his tongue broad and firm against your entire slit, licking upward in long, languid strokes that coated his chin and your thighs anew, savoring every drop as he traced the swollen contours of your labia, flicking briefly over your throbbing clit before diving back in.

It was so intensely good, the dual assault of his voracious mouth and the filthy scenes unfolding on your phone screen amplifying each sensation tenfold—the novel's descriptions of raw, pounding fucks mirroring the way his tongue fucked into you now, stretching and probing without mercy.

“Ngh~.. enough already…!" you moaned, yet tangling your fingers in his hair and pushing his face harder against your throbbing core.

He responded with a low growl of hunger, doubling his efforts as he savored the taste of your arousal. His nose brushed against your clit with each thrust of his tongue, sending jolts of electric pleasure shooting through your body.

You could feel another orgasm building rapidly, your thighs trembling and your toes curling as the intensity mounted. The man between your legs showed no signs of letting up, determined to bring you to the pinnacle of ecstasy with his skilled oral ministrations.

“aAhh-! I.. I'm gonna-!" you cried out, your hips bucking against his face as the pleasure reached a fever pitch. "I'm going to-cum! I'm cumming again…!"

Your body convulsed as the powerful orgasm crashed over you, your pussy clenching and unclenching around his probing tongue. The man lapped up your juices eagerly, prolonging your climax with his relentless stimulation. By the time you finally collapsed back onto the couch, completely spent and satisfied, your sheets were damp with the evidence of your pleasure.

But…

Even as your body trembled with the aftershocks of your intense orgasm, the man between your legs showed no signs of stopping. He gently spread your sensitive lips wider with his fingers, exposing your swollen, throbbing clit to his hungry gaze.

Before you could react, he dove back in, flicking the tip of his tongue against your sensitive nub in quick, feather-light strokes. The sensation was almost too much to bear, your overstimulated nerves screaming in protest at the relentless assault.

“No stop…!! it's too much-!" you gasped, instinctively trying to close your thighs and push him away. But he was having none of it, his strong hands gripping your hips to keep you in place as he continued his relentless onslaught.

Your phone slipped from your trembling fingers, clattering to the floor and forgotten as you struggled to process the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body. Just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, you felt his thumb pressing against your entrance, slowly pushing inside your dripping channel.

"Ahhhh…!?" you cried out, your back arching off the couch as a jolt of pleasure mixed with pain shot through you. Your pussy clenched around his invading digit, drawing him deeper as he began to thrust in time with the flicks of his tongue against your clit.

He growled against your flesh, the vibrations adding another layer of intense sensation as he worked you towards yet another climax. Your brain felt fuzzy, your thoughts scattering as all you could focus on was the incredible pleasure building inside you once more.

"Pleaseee… I can't...I can't take anymore…!" you whimpered, tears of overwhelming stimulation pricking at the corners of your eyes. But even as you pleaded, you knew it was a lie.

You watch him hungrily worshipping you, eyes closed, mouth working like an animal—too desperate... too much—Aggressive—as if you're going to disappear if he stops—Just like you've read in those adult books.

And this man... is one of those who writes such works that you've been enjoying so much.

Your thoughts would snap as he made you hold the phone again that you dropped accidentally, making you focus back on it once more.

—

You were a book girl.

Obsessed with your fictional men. The kind that lived between pages and ink, in half-finished sentences and quiet confessions. The kind that weren’t real—but felt more real than anything you could reach. You got lost in your imagination often, and not in a way that pulled you away from life, but in a way that softened it. Made it easier to breathe through long, tiring days. Even after everything—work, responsibilities, conversations that drained more than they gave—you still found time. Always. A few stolen minutes, an hour past midnight, eyes heavy but unwilling to close. Just one more chapter, you’d tell yourself. Just one more scene.

And lately… there was one writer.

Your current obsession.

Their username sat at the top of your notifications more often than you’d like to admit, their stories bookmarked, reread, memorized in fragments. The way they wrote your favorite characters—it wasn’t just good. It was breathtaking. Intense in a quiet, consuming way. Twisted, dark, in the way emotions were unraveled and stitched back together. And the reader in those stories… it was unsettling how familiar it felt. Not identical, not obvious—but close enough to make your chest tighten at certain lines, like you’d been understood without ever speaking.

No one really knew who they were. No face. No name. Just words.

And somehow, everyone had come to the same conclusion—you included.

They had to be a woman.

Because the way they wrote for the female gaze… the way they captured longing, hesitation, the softness of affection and the sharp edge of vulnerability—it didn’t feel like something a man could replicate so effortlessly. So naturally. So you believed it, without questioning. It made sense. It felt easier that way.

Either way… you loved their work. That was the only thing that mattered.

You had been following them for a while now. Quietly at first. Reading everything they posted, going back to older pieces, liking, saving, rereading. Then slowly, you started engaging more. A comment here and there—nothing too long, nothing too personal. Just simple things.

“This was so good.”

“I loved this part.”

“You write them perfectly.”

Sometimes, when the feeling lingered longer than usual, you’d send a direct message. Just a small one.

“Your writing is really comforting. Thank you for this.”

“I don’t know how you do it, but this was amazing again.”

Normal things. Safe things. The kind of messages you never really expected a reply to.

And you didn’t, at first.

Until one day—

You had stared at your screen longer than necessary, rereading the notification as if it might disappear.

A reply. From them.

“Thank you. i’m really glad you liked it.”

It was simple. Lowercase. Almost shy.

Your fingers had hovered over your keyboard for a moment before you typed back, a small smile already forming without you realizing.

“liked it? i loved it 😭 you write them so well, it’s actually unfair.”

There was a pause. You watched the typing bubble appear… disappear… then appear again.

“umm i’m not very good at replying to messages like this… but thank you. really.”

You blinked, then let out a quiet laugh. It was endearing. Unexpectedly so.

“that’s okay. you don’t have to be 😭 your writing does all the talking anyway.”

Another pause. Longer this time. Something about that stayed with you.

Because it made sense.

Here was someone who struggled with simple conversations, who hesitated over replies, who admitted—so plainly—that they weren’t good at this. And yet… when they wrote, it was like none of that existed. Every word deliberate. Every emotion precise. As if they could say everything they couldn’t out loud, but only through stories.

And you liked that. You liked that a lot.

—

After that, you kept messaging them. Not constantly, not enough to be overwhelming—just occasionally. When a story hit harder than usual. When a line stayed with you longer than it should have.

Nothing deep. Nothing intrusive. Just—

“this one got me!”

“i think this is my favorite so far.”

“the way you wrote this scene?? insane.”

And every now and then, they replied.

Short messages. Slightly awkward. But honest.

It wasn’t much. But it was enough.

Because somehow, between their quiet replies and the way they wrote entire worlds with ease—

You found yourself liking them not just as a writer… But as a person you barely knew.

Nothing really serious though…

—

The idea had come to you more than once. You had pushed it away every time.

Because requesting something like that—it felt… too personal. Too indulgent. Asking your favorite writer to take you, your thoughts, your habits, your little pieces of identity, and turn it into a story? It sounded like crossing a line you weren’t sure you were allowed to cross.

What if they found it weird?

What if they refused?

What if it made things awkward?

You had stared at your chat with them longer than you’d like to admit, fingers hovering over the keyboard, typing something and deleting it again. The blinking cursor felt louder than usual.

It was just a message. Just a request. And yet—Your heart still beat a little faster when you finally started typing.

‘hey… can i ask something a bit different?’

You almost put your phone down right after sending it, already preparing yourself for no reply. Or a delayed one. That was normal. That was expected.

But the reply came quicker than usual. Too quick.

‘yeah, of course. what is it?’

You blinked, sitting up a little straighter without realizing.

Right. Okay. Now you actually had to say it.

Your fingers moved slower this time.

‘i was thinking… would you ever write something like a personalized fic?—like… using someone’s name and personality?’ You paused, then quickly added—

‘it’s okay if not! i was just curious 😭’

The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.

Stayed. Disappeared. Came back again. Longer this time.

‘well… I’ve thought about it before, actually.’

‘what did you have in mind?’

Your breath caught slightly. They didn’t reject it. They were… interested.

You sat up properly now, pulling your knees closer as you typed, a small, nervous smile forming.

‘um… something like my favorite character x me… but like—based on my actual personality, not just a random reader insert!!

you could use my name and everything… but maybe change it if you post it publicly?’

A second later—

’only if you’re comfortable ofc!!’

This time, the reply took a little longer. But when it came—It wasn’t short. Not at all.

‘that actually sounds really interesting.’

‘i’d want to do it properly though, if i’m writing you as you…not just surface-level traits.’

‘if you’re okay with that, i’d need to ask you a few things first.’

A pause. Then another message followed.

‘also, yes—i wouldn’t post anything with your real name or identifying details. i can change that version.’

You didn’t even realize how wide your smile had gotten until your cheeks started to hurt.

‘yes yes that’s completely fine!! thank you so much, seriously 😭’’

There was a brief pause before they continued. And then the questions started. Not rushed. Not overwhelming. But deliberate.

---

‘what’s your name?’

‘and your age?’

‘what do you do right now—study, work?’

‘your location—do you want it to be accurate in the story, or different?’

You answered each one, one by one, a little more easily than you expected.

Then came more.

‘what do you like?’

‘things that comfort you?’

‘things you dislike?’

‘what kind of behavior makes you shut down?’

‘what kind of affection do you prefer?’

You paused at some of them. Thinking. Actually thinking. But you still answered. Because somehow, it felt like they would use it carefully.

And then—The last question.

‘how would you like the male character to be?’

You smiled a little at that, leaning back slightly as you typed, the answer coming easier than all the others.

‘honestly? the way you usually write them 😭like… a little twisted? yandere vibes?’

‘i really love that kind of intensity!!’

You hesitated for half a second, then added— ‘’i mean—irl no one’s really loyal like that, you know?’

‘so it’s fun to imagine someone being completely obsessed… like fully devoted, down bad, yearner type😩’

‘but yeah, only in fiction obviously lol’

There was a pause after that. A slightly longer one. Then—

‘i understand.’

‘i’ll keep that in mind.’

‘i’ll start working on it soon.’

‘i might ask you more questions later, if needed.’

Something about the way they said it—Simple. Certain. It made your chest feel a little lighter.

‘okay!! thank you so much, really 😭 i’m already excited about this lol’

You paused, then added, half-joking— ‘manifesting my own story fr’

There was a small delay before their final reply came.

‘…i’ll try to make it worth it.’

You stared at that message for a moment longer than necessary. Then smiled to yourself, locking your phone and pulling your blanket a little closer.

Already imagining how it would feel—To read a story where, for once—

You weren’t just the reader. But the one being written.

—

And when it finally came—It was more than you expected.

More than you had imagined, even on the nights you let your thoughts wander a little too far.

You had opened the document the same way you always did—quietly, almost casually, as if it were just another story. It wasn’t.

From the very first line, something felt… different. Too familiar. Too precise.

You read slowly at first. Then slower.

Then you stopped altogether at certain parts, just staring at the screen, your breath catching without warning.

Because the details— They weren’t just accurate. They were you.

The way you reacted to things. The way you hesitated before saying something honest. The small habits you never thought anyone would notice, let alone remember. Even the things you had mentioned only once, briefly, without thinking much of it—they were there.

Woven so seamlessly into the story that it didn’t feel like fiction anymore. It felt like memory.

And the way he wrote the character opposite you—It made your chest tighten.

That intensity you had joked about? The “yandere vibes,” the obsessive, unwavering devotion you claimed to like?

He understood it.

Twisted it just enough to make it thrilling—but grounded it in a way that made it feel… real. Dangerous, almost. The kind of attention that lingered too long, the kind of affection that felt suffocating and comforting at the same time.

It should have been too much. But it wasn’t. Because somehow—It fit.

You didn’t even realize when you started holding your breath while reading. Or when your fingers tightened slightly around your phone.

There were moments where you had to pause, your heart beating a little too fast, a chill running down your spine for no clear reason.

As if you weren’t just reading it—But living it.

By the time you reached the end, you just sat there for a moment. Silent. Staring at the last line.

Then, almost immediately, you opened your messages.

“that was…” You paused, deleting it. Typed again.

“that was actually insane.”

“like—i don’t even know what to say??”

“it was so good. way better than i imagined”

You sent another before you could stop yourself—

“how did you even do that?? it felt so real it’s actually scary!!!”

The reply came after a short while.

“i’m glad you liked it.”

There was a pause. Then—

“i paid attention.”

That made you smile. Soft. Genuine.

“clearly 😭 thank you so much for this, really”

Another pause.

“you’re welcome.”

It was a short conversation. Simple. Familiar. But something about it lingered longer than usual.

---

After that day, things… shifted. Not in a dramatic way. Just life.

You got busy. Actually busy.

Not the kind where you still found time to scroll, to read, to respond—but the kind where your days blurred into each other. Responsibilities piling up, things to finish, things to attend to. By the time you got a moment to yourself, you were too tired to do anything with it.

You noticed their updates. Of course you did.

Their posts still appeared on your feed—new stories, new uploads, the same quiet captions.

You’d pause for a second. Consider opening them. Then tell yourself—later.

But later kept getting pushed further away.

Days passed like that.

You’d still see their name occasionally. Still feel that small, familiar pull. But you didn’t read. Didn’t message. Didn’t engage the way you used to.

And somehow—That felt more exhausting than everything else.

And crazily… It was almost the end of the year.

Somewhere between everything that had happened—the small highs, the quiet disappointments, the days that blurred into each other—you had settled. Not perfectly. Not completely. But enough to tell yourself that things were… okay now. Manageable.

Outside, the rain poured endlessly, soft at first, then heavier, tapping insistently against your window like it had something to say. The air felt cooler, calmer. The kind of evening that made staying in feel right.

You were in your room, sitting on the floor with your bookshelf half emptied, surrounded by scattered paperbacks and dust-coated corners you hadn’t bothered cleaning in months. It was one of those random bursts of productivity—I should probably clean this—that came out of nowhere.

You hummed quietly to yourself, brushing your fingers along the spines, pulling some out, rearranging others. Old bookmarks slipped out. Folded pages. Little reminders of versions of you that had read these stories at different times.

And then—You paused.

“…wait.” Your hand stilled mid-motion. A thought, sudden and sharp.

You quickly reached for your phone, unlocking it almost instinctively, opening that app—the one you used to spend hours on without realizing. The one that had once been a part of your daily routine.

Your thumb hovered for a second before you tapped into your saved works. Scrolling.

Familiar titles passed by. Authors you remembered. Stories that still carried that quiet sense of comfort, of nostalgia. You smiled faintly at a few of them, memories flickering softly in the back of your mind.

But then—Your movement slowed. A slight frown forming. “…where is it?”

You scrolled back up. Then down again. More carefully this time.

That username. It wasn’t there.

Your brows furrowed as you sat up straighter, your thumb moving faster now, checking your following list.

Scrolling. Scrolling again.

“…no, that’s not right.” A small, uneasy feeling settled in your chest.

You knew you were following them. You remembered talking to them. That wasn’t something you’d forget so easily. So then—

Where was the account? Where did all their works go?

It wasn’t just any random writer. It was them. One of your favorites. The one you kept going back to. The one that—

You swallowed slightly, unlocking your phone again and immediately opening another app. Reddit.

Your fingers moved quickly, typing, searching, scrolling through threads. And you weren’t the only one. There were others. People asking the same question.

“What happened to them?”

“Did they delete their account?”

“Does anyone know if they’re coming back?”

You opened one thread. Then another. Reading through the replies.

“maybe they just got busy with life”

“some writers lose interest, it happens”

“i think they mentioned something in their last post?”

Your eyes paused on that. Scrolling further.

“yeah, they wrote a note… said they weren’t feeling well.”

“i hope they’re okay tbh”

Your chest tightened slightly. You stared at the screen for a moment longer than necessary. A strange, uncomfortable feeling settling deep inside you. Guilt. Uninvited. Unpleasant.

You hadn’t been there. You hadn’t read that last post. You hadn’t noticed anything was wrong.

While they were writing… while they were still there—You were busy. Living your life. Moving on without realizing something was ending.

“…I hope they’re okay…”

You murmured it quietly, almost under your breath, your voice barely audible over the sound of rain hitting the windows.

With a small exhale, you locked your phone, placing it beside you. Trying not to think about it. Trying to let it go.

---

Later that night—The rain hadn’t stopped.

If anything, it had grown heavier. Louder. Relentless against the quiet of your room.

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

2:33 AM blinking faintly on your clock. Sleep wouldn’t come.

You shifted slightly. Then again. Turning to one side. Then the other. Pulling the blanket closer, then pushing it away.

Nothing felt right. Your body wasn’t tired. Your mind wasn’t exactly restless either. Just—Awake.

For no reason you could understand.

“…what's going on…” You muttered softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

You turned again. Closing your eyes. Opening them. The room felt quieter than it should have been. And then—

The lights went out. Darkness swallowed the room instantly.

You let out an annoyed scoff, pulling the blanket over yourself, covering from head to toe like it would somehow make it less irritating.

The rain filled the silence. Loud. Constant.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying again. And then—drip.

Something cold landed on your nose.

Your eyes snapped open instantly. “...Huh?”

You froze for a second under the blanket, your breath catching slightly. Then slowly, you pulled it down, pushing the fabric away from your face.

Your gaze moved upward. Toward the ceiling. And then—You saw it.

Through a thin crack in the ceiling—Barely noticeable at first glance—There was something there.

An eye.

Looking directly at you.

—

You weren’t even sure if you were seeing it right.

For a split second, your mind tried to deny it—tried to blur it into something else. A shadow. A trick of the dark. Anything but what it actually was.

But then—It moved.

And you realized—That was real.

A sharp, piercing scream should have torn out of your throat. It didn’t.

It was like your voice had died somewhere inside you, caught, strangled before it could exist. Your chest tightened painfully, your breath shallow and uneven, but no sound came out.

You threw the blanket off yourself so suddenly it tangled around your legs, nearly tripping you as you scrambled out of bed. Your heart was pounding violently against your ribs, loud enough that it felt like it might echo in the room.

You didn’t look up again. You couldn’t.

You ran.

Out of your bedroom, your footsteps uneven, almost slipping against the floor as your hands shook uncontrollably. Your breath came out in short, panicked bursts, your chest tightening with every second. And then—

BANG.

You flinched violently as a loud knock hit your front door.

Once. Then again. Harder this time.

Your entire body froze. At this hour?

Your heart hammered even faster, your thoughts spiraling, fear gripping tighter around your chest.

Who—Who could that be?

Another knock. Voices this time.

“Y/N!”

You recognized it. Your neighbor.

Your feet moved before your mind caught up, rushing toward the door, your hand trembling slightly as you unlocked it and pulled it open.

You stood there, panting, breath uneven, a thin layer of sweat clinging to your skin despite the cold.

They looked at you—And immediately, their expressions shifted. Concern. Confusion. Something else.

“Y/N, there was someone on your roof!” one of them said quickly, his voice urgent. “We saw him—he jumped down and ran away!”

Another nodded immediately, stepping forward slightly. “Yes! I kept hearing noises from my rooftop too—I thought it was just cats or something…”

“No,” the older man cut in sharply, shaking his head with certainty, his voice firm and edged with irritation. “That was no cat. That was a thief. Definitely trying to break in.” The word thief sat heavily in the air.

“I’ve seen a few weird people roaming around lately,” he continued, his tone growing more annoyed. “Especially behind your house.” He clicked his tongue. “It’s easy to hide there.”

Your stomach twisted slightly.

“It’s a good thing you’re not home most of the time,” he added with a slight scoff. “Tch… careless.”

Your fingers tightened slightly against the doorframe.

The nicer one stepped forward then, his expression softening as he looked at you more carefully..“He was on your roof, Y/N…” he said gently. “Did anything happen? Are you alright?”

Your lips parted..You tried to speak. Tried to explain. But your thoughts were still tangled, your heartbeat still too loud in your ears.

“There’s… there’s a hole in my roof,” your voice came out quieter than you expected, almost unsteady. “He was watching me… through there.”

Silence.

It fell suddenly. Heavily.

Their expressions changed. Not in fear. Not in understanding. But—Something else.

Uneasy. Skeptical.

“Watching you?” the older man repeated, his brows furrowing deeply, his tone shifting into something sharper. “Why would a thief watch you?”

Your chest tightened.

“You don’t have any… messy business going on, do you?” he added, his voice lowering slightly but carrying enough weight to make your stomach drop. “Our neighborhood has a reputation to maintain, mind you.”

Your eyes widened slightly.

“What are you saying?” you shot back, your voice finally finding some strength despite the tremor underneath. “I don’t even know him! I didn’t even see his face—”

He shrugged. Just shrugged. Like your words didn’t matter. Like he didn’t quite believe you.

“Move along,” he muttered, waving his hand dismissively. “No point standing here in the rain.”

And just like that, he turned and walked away, a quiet tch leaving his lips. The others hesitated for a second.

Then the nicer one looked back at you, concern still lingering in his eyes.

“Call me if anything happens, alright?” he said softly. “And I’ll contact someone to repair your roof.”

You nodded. Slowly.

They left. One by one. Their footsteps fading into the sound of the rain. And you stood there. Still. Your heart hadn’t calmed down. Not even a little. You closed the door quietly, your hand lingering on the handle for a second longer than necessary.

What was happening?

You had been living here for years. Nothing like this had ever happened before. Not once. Your relationships with the neighbors were normal. Neutral. Peaceful. There had never been any trouble. No incidents. No fear.

So then—Why now?

—

Till dawn, you couldn’t rest your eyes. Not even for a second.

You stayed curled near the door, back pressed against it as if it were the only thing separating you from something you didn’t dare name. The floor felt cold beneath you, your body stiff from the same position for hours, but you didn’t move. You couldn’t.

Going back to your bedroom—That thought alone made your chest tighten. The image wouldn’t leave your mind. That crack in the ceiling. That eye. Watching.

You had thought about calling the police. More than once.

Your phone had been in your hand, the number almost dialed, your thumb hovering over the screen. But then—What would you say? What proof did you have? A hole in the roof?

That wasn’t enough. Not without something solid. Not without someone backing you up. And your neighbors—

Your grip on the phone tightened slightly. After what the old man had said…

You already knew. They wouldn’t involve themselves any further. Not if it meant questioning things. Not if it meant risking that “reputation” he cared so much about.

You exhaled slowly, your head falling back against the door. Maybe… you could stay at a friend’s place for a while. Just until things felt normal again. But then—

Would their family agree? Would they be comfortable?

And worse—Would you be dragging them into something they didn’t understand?

Your fingers curled slightly against your sleeve. You didn’t want to bother anyone. Not now. Not when people were already looking at you… differently.

—

The hours passed like that. Slow. Heavy. Unforgiving.

The atmosphere shifted with the faint light of morning creeping in, grey and dull behind thick clouds.

You hadn’t moved much. At some point, you had locked your bedroom door without stepping inside—just enough to put distance between you and it. As if that helped.

Your phone buzzed suddenly in your hand, making you flinch. You looked down quickly. It was him. The nicer neighbor.

You answered almost immediately.

“I contacted someone to fix your roof,” he said, his voice still gentle, though slightly strained over the sound of the rain. “But… they won’t be able to come unless it stops.”

You glanced toward the window. The rain hadn’t slowed. If anything, it sounded heavier.

“…yeah,” you murmured quietly.

“It’s been more than a day now,” he added. “The roads are probably a mess. It might take some time.”

You swallowed slightly. “Okay… thank you.”

“Just stay careful, alright?”

“I will.”

The call ended.

You stared at your phone for a moment before lowering it slowly.

Thirty-three hours. And the rain still hadn’t stopped.

---

The house felt… wrong.

Too quiet in some places. Too loud in others. Every sound felt sharper than it should have been.

With a quiet sigh, you pushed yourself up from the floor, your body aching slightly from the stiffness.

You needed to move. To feel normal. To do something. You made your way to the bathroom, your steps slow but steady.

Maybe a shower would help. Clear your head a little. Wash away the lingering unease clinging to your skin.

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you. The familiar space should have felt comforting. It didn’t.

You turned the tap on, the sound of running water filling the room, steam beginning to rise faintly as warmth spread. Your fingers moved automatically, reaching for your things, your mind drifting slightly as you prepared.

And then—You paused.

Your gaze shifted downward.

Toward the floor. The drain.

Something was caught there. A small clump of hair.

You stared at it for a second. Then another.

It shouldn’t have been strange. It wasn’t unusual. Your hair got stuck there all the time. You should’ve ignored it. Washed it away. Moved on.

But something—Something didn’t feel right. Because you remembered. Clearly.

You had cleaned it. Yesterday. After your shower. You always did.

“…then…” Your breath slowed—Eyes didn’t leave the drain.

“…whose is that?”

—

Ding dong.

Your head snapped toward the front door. The sound cut through the quiet like something sharp, sudden enough to make your heart jolt painfully against your ribs.

For a second, you just stood there. Frozen.

Who could it be…? In this rain?

The sound of water pounding against the windows hadn’t stopped for hours. The streets were probably half-flooded by now, the sky still heavy and grey without a hint of letting up.

So then—Who would come here?

Ding dong.

You flinched again, your fingers instinctively tightening around the edge of the sink.

“…who—”

You grabbed your towel quickly, wrapping it around yourself without thinking much, your steps cautious as you moved out of the bathroom.

Your heartbeat hadn’t settled. If anything, it only grew louder with each step toward the door.

You stopped just before it. Breathing shallow. Then slowly leaned forward, peering through the peephole.

Someone was standing outside. Tall. Broad.

Wearing some kind of uniform… and a cap pulled low over their face, shadowing most of their features.

You couldn’t see clearly. Just the outline. Still.

Ding dong.

He rang again.

“Is anybody here?” a voice called out from the other side, slightly muffled by the door and the rain. “I’m here to repair—”

You blinked.

Oh.

The neighbor. He had said something about calling someone.

Relief didn’t come fully—but it softened the sharp edge of your fear just a little.

“Uh-please wait!” you called out from inside, your voice slightly unsteady despite your attempt to keep it normal.

You didn’t wait for a response.

Turning quickly, you hurried back to your room, grabbing your clothes and putting them on in a rush, fingers fumbling slightly as you fixed everything into place.

Your mind was still running. Still thinking. Still uneasy.

You made your way back to the door, taking a small breath before unlocking it and pulling it open.

The man stood there. Close now.

He was looking down, one hand adjusting the brim of his cap as if trying to keep his face hidden from the rain—or from you.

Water dripped steadily from the edges, darkening the fabric, trailing down along his shoulders.

You frowned slightly, about to say something—But he spoke first.

“Can I get a towel?”

You paused. Then noticed it. The dampness.

His clothes slightly clinging, the rain having soaked through more than you initially realized.

“Ah—yes,” you said quickly.

You stepped back, turning to grab one, your movements slightly hurried before returning and handing it to him.

He took it without a word. Then—Slowly—He removed his cap.

Dark hair fell slightly out of place, damp and sticking faintly to his forehead. And there—Across the bridge of his nose—A deep, faint line.

Your eyes lingered there for a second too long. A mark. Almost like a scar. Or… something else.

You blinked, realizing you were staring, quickly clearing your throat and looking away.

“It’s the roof,” you said, trying to steady your voice. “You have to repair it… but it’s raining so hard. How did you even get here?”

There was a pause. You felt it before you saw it. His gaze. He was looking at you. Not hurried. Not confused. Just—Still.

Then he spoke.

“Your neighbor said it was urgent.” His voice was calm. Even. “Said I’d be paid well.”

You hesitated slightly at that.

“Ah… is that so…?” you murmured, unsure what else to say for a moment. “Okay… um, maybe we should wait a bit until the rain slows down.”

He nodded once. And then—He didn’t move. He just stood there. Quiet. Still. Like a statue placed too deliberately in the middle of your doorway.

You shifted slightly, an odd discomfort settling in your chest. “Uh…” you glanced toward the living room, then back at him. “You can sit there, if you want.”

You pointed toward the couch. His eyes followed your gesture. Then returned to you.

A brief pause. Before he stepped inside. Slow. Measured.

He walked toward the couch and sat down without a word, his movements controlled, almost too precise.

You stood there for a moment, watching him. Something about him felt—Off. You couldn’t explain it. The way he moved. The way he spoke. The way he didn’t speak.

After a few seconds, you shook the thought away, turning quickly.

You needed to call your neighbor. Just to let him know the repairman had arrived. Maybe… he could come over too. Just in case.

You reached for your phone. Only to pause.

“…where is it?”

You checked the table. The counter. Your pockets. Nothing.

Your movements grew quicker, more frantic as you searched around the room, your breath tightening slightly.

It should’ve been here. You had it. You remembered having it. You couldn’t find it. Anywhere.

—

“Ma’am?”

You flinched. Your head snapped back toward him almost immediately, your thoughts scattering as his voice cut through them.

He was still sitting there. Looking at you.

“Could you tell me the exact position the hole is in?”

You blinked once, then nodded quickly, forcing your thoughts to settle. “It’s… in the bedroom,” you said, your voice quieter than before. “On the ceiling.”

He hummed softly. A low, thoughtful sound.

“Could you let me see the room?”

You hesitated. Just for a second.

Your fingers curled slightly at your side. You hadn’t gone back in there since last night. Not once. You didn’t know what it looked like now. You didn’t know if—

“…okay,” you said finally.

You turned, your steps slower this time, more careful as you led him down the short hallway. You could feel him behind you. Not close enough to touch. But close enough to feel.

The bedroom door stood exactly where you had left it. Closed. Locked.

Your hand hovered over the handle for a moment. Then slowly, you unlocked it. A soft click.

You pushed the door open. And your eyes widened. The room looked—

Normal. Too normal.

Your gaze immediately moved to the bed. You had expected it to be soaked. The rain had been relentless. The hole had been right above—But the sheets—

They were dry. Perfectly dry. Not a single damp patch.

“Huh…?”

You stepped inside slowly, your brows knitting together as confusion began to replace the fear. This didn’t make sense. None of it did.

You moved closer to the bed, your heartbeat picking up again—but this time, not from panic. From something else.

You climbed onto it without thinking, your knees pressing into the mattress as you reached upward. Toward the ceiling. Your fingers stretched, brushing against it.

Your hand moved across the surface, searching, tracing every inch where you knew the crack had been. Where you had seen it.

But now—

It was gone. Completely gone.

“What the…” Your voice came out barely above a whisper.

This wasn’t possible. You had seen it. You knew you had seen it. Your mind scrambled for an explanation—any explanation—but nothing came. Nothing made sense.

And then—A sound.

A low chuckle. Right behind you.

“You’re so cute when you’re confused.”

——

Meanwhile—

“You should go check on her,” the woman said, her voice edged with worry as she stood near the window, peering out at the relentless rain. “She’s living there all alone… at least we could do this much.”

Her husband—your neighbor—let out a quiet sigh, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. He looked tired. Not just from the weather, but from the weight of something he couldn’t quite name.

“I know,” he replied, his tone softer, conflicted. “But… we have to be careful too. For our own kids.”

He glanced toward the other room unconsciously, as if reminding himself of that fact.

“We don’t even know what’s going on,” he continued. “Everything just… happened so suddenly. And I’m doing what I can.” He paused briefly before adding, “I tried calling a repairman for her roof, but they refused. Said they won’t come out in this weather.”

The rain outside only seemed to emphasize his words, crashing harder against the glass.

The woman turned to him fully now, her brows drawn together. “Did you at least contact her?” she asked. “You should tell her that. And that we’ll go there once the rain stops.”

He hesitated for a second. Then nodded.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone, unlocking it with a practiced motion before dialing your number.

They both stood there in silence as the call rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

He frowned slightly. “She’s not picking up.”

The woman’s expression tightened instantly. “Is she okay…?” she asked, her voice dropping just a little, uncertainty creeping in.

He shook his head quickly, trying to dismiss the thought before it could settle.

“Don’t worry,” he said, a bit more firmly than before. “She’ll probably call back later. Maybe she’s busy.”

He lowered the phone slowly. “We’ll go there ourselves once the rain slows down. No need to panic.”

The woman didn’t look entirely convinced. But she nodded anyway.

“…okay.”

---

The rain continued to fall. Heavy. Unforgiving.

And then—

There you were. In your bedroom. Being manhandled by the very stranger.

Before you could bolt, he lunged, his strong arms wrapping around your waist, pinning you against the wall with surprising care—no bruising grips, just firm enough to hold you still. His lips crashed onto yours in a frenzy of teeth and tongue, devouring your mouth with unhinged hunger. He bit at your lower lip, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to sting, his tongue plunging deep, swirling and tasting every inch as if he were starving. "Mm~ Y/N..."

Saliva slicked your chin, the kiss messy and desperate, his body pressing flush against yours, the heat of his arousal evident through his pants. You gasped into his mouth, but he swallowed the sound, his hands roaming your sides with a sadistic precision that made your skin prickle.

He pulled back just enough to yank your shirt over your head, exposing your breasts to the cool air. "Uh.. boobies…” His gaze darkened, pupils blown wide with perversion, and he dropped to his knees, mouth latching onto one nipple with voracious suction. He sucked hard, teeth grazing the sensitive bud, pulling and tugging until it swelled, turning a deep, angry red under his assault.

Switching to the other, he lavished it with the same brutal attention, his tongue flicking relentlessly while his hands cupped and squeezed your tits, kneading the flesh like dough. The pain mingled with unwelcome sparks of pleasure, your nipples puffing up, hypersensitive and throbbing as he alternated between them, leaving wet trails of spit that cooled and tightened your skin. He groaned against your chest, the vibration sending jolts straight to your core, his sadism tempered by the way he paused to blow cool air over the reddened peaks, watching them pebble further with a twisted smile.

From the pocket of his jacket, he produced a coil of rough rope, his fingers deft as he bound your wrists above your head, looping the fibers around the bedpost with knots that bit just enough to remind you of your captivity without cutting circulation. He worked methodically, almost tenderly, checking the tension with gentle tugs. "You know... I... I had thought of approaching you in different ways but tch.. it's so hard around these people..."

"Why won't they just leave you alone?" He whispered, his voice laced with panic yet excitement. He moved to your ankles next, tying them securely but leaving enough slack to maneuver you onto the bed. With a grunt, he hoisted your bound legs high, spreading them wide and lifting until your ass lifted off the mattress, fully exposed to his ravenous stare. The position left you vulnerable, your naked cheeks parted slightly, your pussy on blatant display, the cool air teasing your already damp folds.

"W-woah... real pussy..." His breath hitched, eyes glazing over as he drank in the sight, his face inches from your core. Then, like a man possessed, he leaned in, pressing soft, desperate kisses to your pussy lips—tender at first, almost reverent, his mouth molding to the outer folds with unhinged longing.

"Mmmh~" He kissed them over and over, lips parting to suckle gently, his tongue darting out to trace the edges with sloppy, fervent laps. Saliva poured from his mouth, drenching your skin, slicking every crease until it glistened obscenely, dripping down toward your ass. He slurped noisily at the outer lips, drawing them into his mouth one by one, sucking with a desperation that bordered on madness, his nose bumping your clit as he lost himself in the act. The wetness everywhere—his spit mixing with your growing arousal—made obscene squelching sounds with each pull of his lips.

Fingers trembling, he reached up, parting your pussy lips with his fingertips, spreading you open to reveal the pink, sensitive inner flesh. The sight hit him like a drug; his ears flushed a deep, burning red, veins standing out on his neck as he stared, transfixed. "s... so cute," he stammered, voice cracking with nervous excitement, a wide, ear-to-ear grin splitting his face, revealing teeth clenched in barely contained ecstasy. His eyes darted up to yours for a split second, wild and pleading, before dropping back to your exposed hole, clenching around nothing.

Unable to hold back, he fumbled with his belt, “ah- d.. don't worry.. i won't put it in…yet,” He'd shudder, unbuckling his pants with shaky hands and shoving them down just enough to free his massive cock. It sprang out, thick and veined, the bulbous tip already leaking pre-cum, swollen with need. He gripped the base, guiding it to your entrance, rubbing the fat head against your slick folds—not penetrating, just teasing, sliding it up and down your slit with agonizing slowness. The heat of him seared your skin, the tip nudging your clit before dipping to press at your hole, spreading your lips wider without breaching.

"Oh... ohh... I'm... I'm rubbing it... against you... your skin... pussy... so…so good..." he moaned, the words tumbling out in a breathless whine, his hips jerking as he stroked himself harder along your length. His free hand kept your folds parted, the cockhead hovering right at the entrance, smearing pre-cum into your wetness, the friction building an insane intensity that had his thighs quivering.

His strokes quickened, fist pumping furiously while the tip battered lightly against your hole, keeping it spread and ready. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his breaths coming in harsh pants, eyes locked on where his cock kissed your pussy. The pressure built rapidly, his massive shaft throbbing in his grip, and then he shattered—shuddering violently, eyes rolling back in his head as waves of unhinged pleasure crashed over him.

Thick ropes of cum erupted from his tip, shooting straight into your spread hole, flooding the entrance with hot, sticky spurts. He kept rubbing, milking every drop inside, the excess bubbling out slightly despite his efforts, his body convulsing with the force of his release, moans turning to guttural whimpers as he rode the edge of oblivion.

"Ahh~ ouh.. baby..." Panting, he slumped forward for a moment, then straightened with a dazed grin, reaching into his pocket for a strip of duct tape. Carefully, almost lovingly, he pressed it over your pussy, sealing the cum inside, the adhesive sticking firmly to your skin. "We... we'll use it as lube next... heh..." he rasped, his voice hoarse and satisfied, eyes gleaming with the promise of more twisted indulgences to come.

He straightened slowly, that dazed grin splitting his sweat-dampened face, his eyes—dark pools of obsession—finally lifting to meet yours. For the first time since he'd burst into your life like a fever dream, he truly looked at you, not as an object of his deranged fantasies, but as the woman he'd stolen away. The sight of your tear-streaked cheeks, the raw terror widening your eyes, hit him like a slap. His grin faltered, crumbling into a mask of dawning horror, as if the fog of his perversion was lifting just enough to reveal the monstrosity he'd become. His massive cock, still semi-hard and glistening with remnants of his spend, twitched against his thigh, but his hands shook violently now, no longer steady in their sadistic control.

With a whimper that bordered on pathetic, he reached up, cupping your face in his palms—rough from years of whatever shadowed life he'd led, yet careful, so achingly careful, as if you were fragile porcelain he might shatter. His thumbs, callused and warm, brushed away the hot trails of your tears, smearing them across your skin in gentle strokes that contrasted the brutality of moments before. "Why... why are you crying, love...?" he whispered, his voice cracking like thin ice, laced with genuine confusion and a creeping panic. His breath ghosted over your lips, ragged and uneven, as he leaned closer, his nose nudging your temple. "Am... am I doing it wrong...? Do I... do I have to be more scary...?"

He nuzzled against your soaked cheek, rubbing his stubbled jaw along the damp path of your tears, the coarse scrape of his skin sending involuntary shivers down your spine. The intimacy was suffocating, his body heat enveloping you like a cage, his scent—sweat, cum, and something darker, like ink and madness—filling your lungs. "Uhh... baby... you told me you wanted this... this kind of love you needed..."

He continued, his words tumbling out in a feverish murmur, his lips brushing your earlobe as he clung to the delusion you'd somehow fed him in his twisted mind. "I'm... I'm giving it to you now... so why are you crying so much?" His tone dipped into desperation, a sadist's plea wrapped in vulnerability, his fingers tightening just a fraction on your jaw, holding you in place as if your gaze might vanish if he let go.

He pressed soft kisses along your jawline then, feather-light and reverent, trailing from your chin to the corner of your mouth—kisses that tasted of salt from your tears and the faint metallic tang of his earlier bites. Each one lingered, his lips parting slightly to suckle gently at your skin, as if savoring the evidence of your distress. But he paused abruptly, pulling back with a jolt, his eyes widening in shock as realization—or his warped version of it—dawned.

"Wait... is that one of your likings? Crying and wanting more?" he asked, his voice pitching higher with excited uncertainty, a manic gleam flickering back into his gaze. He searched your face hungrily, misreading the horror twisting your features as some secret signal of consent, his ears flushing that deep red again, betraying the unhinged thrill surging through him.

You stared at him in pure horror, your body thrashing against the ropes that bit into your wrists and ankles, the restraints holding you splayed and helpless. A muffled scream tore from your throat, desperate and raw, but it came out as garbled whimpers against the tape sealing your mouth—sounds of terror that only seemed to fuel his delusion. He didn't flinch; instead, he cupped your face again, firmer this time, his thumbs pressing into your cheeks to still your struggles, forcing you to meet his wild eyes.

"Shh, shh, my sweet little thing," he cooed, leaning in to kiss your cheek with sloppy, open-mouthed presses, his tongue darting out to lap at the fresh tears pooling there. He nibbled next, teeth grazing the soft flesh just below your eye, not breaking skin but leaving a tingling sting that bloomed into heat.

"You're so cute when crying..." he breathed against your skin, his voice dropping to a reverent hush, thick with perverse adoration. His nibbles turned insistent, teeth sinking in deeper along your cheekbone, marking you with a deliberate pressure that drew a sharp gasp from your muffled lips. "I... I love your tears... your cute snots... everything about you..."

He pulled back slightly to admire the red bite mark he'd left—a blooming oval of possession, stark against your flushed skin—before diving in again, kissing it soothingly, his tongue swirling over the tender spot in languid circles, as if apologizing with his mouth while his eyes burned with sadistic delight. The contrast was maddening: the careful laps of his tongue, the way he hummed contentedly against your face, even as his free hand trailed down to idly trace the edge of the tape over your pussy, pressing it firmer, ensuring his cum stayed locked inside your clenching hole.

But then his expression shifted, a shadow of hurt flickering across his features, his brows knitting together in feigned innocence. "But... you left me hanging so sudden... do you not like my stories anymore, baby?" he asked, his voice cracking with that unhinged vulnerability, the words hanging heavy in the air like a threat veiled as a question.

He tilted his head, studying you with the intensity of a writer dissecting his muse, his fingers now stroking your hair in soothing pets that belied the ropes and tape binding you. The bite mark throbbed under his renewed kisses, each press of his lips a mix of balm and brand, his breath hot and erratic as he whispered against the welt. "It's okay, baby... I'll make you love it again... make you love me... your favorite author… Choso~…"

——

The fragile cocoon of his twisted affection shattered in an instant as a sharp series of knocks echoed through the apartment, insistent and jarring against the heavy silence of your shared nightmare. His head snapped toward the sound like a predator sensing prey, the muscles in his neck corded tight, veins bulging along his temples and forearms in stark relief against his flushed skin. His eyes, once softened by delusional tenderness, widened into manic orbs, pupils blown black with a feral paranoia that twisted his features into the visage of a madman—lips peeled back in a snarl, breath hitching in ragged bursts that fogged the air between you.

He whipped his gaze back down to your bound form, the ropes creaking faintly under your subtle tremors, your body still splayed vulnerably on the bed with the tape clinging obscenely to your pussy, a barrier holding his seed deep inside your unwilling heat. The terror etched across your face mirrored his own frenzy, your chest heaving in shallow pants, tears carving fresh paths down your cheeks as the muffled whimpers behind the tape grew frantic. He loomed over you, his semi-hard cock swaying heavily between his thighs, slick with the evidence of his earlier release, as his hands clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles whitening.

"Did you call someone?" he hissed, his voice a venomous whisper that slithered through the room, laced with accusation and betrayal, his face inches from yours now, hot breath fanning over your skin like a storm's warning. "Huh, baby... are you trying to betray me?" The words dripped with hurt, his brows furrowing in that unhinged mix of love and rage, his fingers twitching as if debating whether to stroke your cheek or crush your throat.

You shook your head vigorously, the motion jerky and desperate, your eyes pleading through the haze of fear, wide and glistening as you strained against the bindings that dug into your wrists and ankles, the rough fibers chafing your skin raw. No words could escape, only the pathetic vibrations of your denied screams, but the frantic denial in your gaze seemed to pierce his delusion just enough.

He exhaled sharply, a shaky laugh bubbling up from his chest—"Hah... I... I know you wouldn't do that..."—his tone wavering between relief and lingering doubt, his hand finally reaching out to cup your chin with a grip that was almost gentle, thumb tracing your lower lip over the tape in a possessive caress. His eyes darted back toward the door, the knocks resuming with a more urgent rhythm, pounding like your racing heart. "Wait... I gotta check..." he muttered, more to himself than to you, his voice dropping to a gravelly resolve as paranoia clawed its way fully to the surface.

Reluctantly, he peeled himself away from your side, his body uncoiling with predatory grace despite the tremor in his limbs, the mattress dipping as he rose. His gaze lingered on you for a beat longer, drinking in your helpless exposure—the way your breasts rose and fell with each terrified breath, nipples still pebbled from his earlier assaults, the taped seal between your thighs glistening faintly under the dim light. Then, with a low growl rumbling in his throat, he turned toward the nightstand, his fingers wrapping around the slender neck of a porcelain flower vase in a vise-like grip, the delicate thing creaking under the pressure as if it might shatter in his palm. He hefted it like a makeshift club, the water inside sloshing softly, petals from wilted blooms scattering across the floor in his wake.

Without another glance, he stalked out of the bedroom, his bare feet padding silently down the hallway, the door left ajar behind him.

“No one gets to disturb us… no one…”

[Extra Chapter]

I’m sorry again, for the tone in my last note. I’m not used to this. I haven’t been okay ever since you left started giving me the cold shoulder. I miss you so much. I miss your voice. I love you.

It went unopened. Tossed into the trash before you could even read the contents. You must’ve wanted him to be more direct. Ahh, his needy girl.

So there he was, knees sinking into your mattress as you sleep like the world is safe and so were you. It barely took him a few minutes to enter your apartment, someone else could take advantage of that, you know? You’re so fucking dumb—it’s okay though, because your Tomura is always there to take care of you.

That’s right. Your Tomura, slipping your shorts and panty off, hovering over your sleeping form with his pants taut at the crotch, rubbing your clit with a course thumb.

It’s not the first time he’s seen you in the flesh, but he’s never seeing you this close, your pretty features illuminated by the moonlight peering through your window—soft, petal lips slightly parted with those adorable gasps spilling through. He’s so lucky to have a beautiful girlfriend like you—as if he’d let go. The gods would have to pry his fingers off of your body to part the two of you. He’d take you right then and there, he’d let you know you belong to him and something as fickle as a lover’s quarrel would not soil the love you share.

You said you wanted to give him loads of kisses when you get to meet him, right? So he licks his lips and paste them along your jaw, inhaling the sweet scent of your hair and feeling his boner hardening at the whiff. His finger slowly dips into your core, thumb still teasing your now-hardened clit.

His free hand comes to pull your top, and he can’t help but sucks in a sharp inhale when your tits lay so prettily in front of his eyes—his mouth watering, craving to roll your nipples with his itching tongue. Gingerly, he lets his four fingers grope your breast, your flesh spilling between his digits. His head lowers to taste your nub, his tongue savouring the sweet layer of sweat coating your soft flesh. You moan as your hips buckle, grinding against his hard on when his fingers curl at your special spot.

Fuck, fuck, fuckk—you’re driving him crazy even in your sleep.

Your moans grow louder, needier, more desperate when he continues to rub your g-spot, your walls tightening around his digits as if your body was refusing to let him go. He swears he could come with just listening to you and groaning with your sweet nipple in his hot mouth.

You’re close, he can feel it. You’re gonna cum from his fingers, in your sleep. Fucking hell.

You shriek when you come, your senses finally returning to yourself. “W-Who are you?!” seriously? You’re asking a question like this with his fingers glistening with your juices and your tits in his face? Obviously, he’s none other than

“Your Tomura.”

Your face falls when you hear his name, “T-Tomura?” You look like you’ve seen a ghost, tears welling up in your eyes. “Y-You’re Tomura?! Why are you doing this? S-Stop!” You’re already begging, barely registering the sight and the feeling you woke up to.

“Shhh. Calm down, baby. It’s okay, you miss me?” his lips curl into a grin, cheeks feverishly burning. You’re finally looking at him. You finally see him. He’s here, in front of you—your Tomura, your boyfriend, your love.

“No—stop! Get away from me, I’ll hate you if you don’t!” you try to push him off of you, limbs desperate to free yourself but your thrashing came into piffling futility when he pins your wrists against the mattress, your face twisting when he neared you. You could feel his hot, stuffy breath against your neck, your skin scrawling with goosebumps when his cracked lips graze your flesh.

“I lied about my quirk, Y/N. I can turn you into dust with the touch of my 5 fingers. It’s up to you to believe me or not, but I wouldn’t want to move much if I were you,” you stiffen upon his words, tears rolling down your cheeks as you huffed for air—panic rising in your chest like a rousing volcano.

“Let me go, please. I’m begging you. Don’t kill me,” your voice cracks in trepidation, airy like your words were tripping off your mouth.

“No, no. I won’t kill you,” your eyes train at his movements as he freed a hand to tug his sweats down, your chest pumping with dread, your head shaking ‘no’ when your sight flick to his bloodshot eyes. You felt like you were begging a demon for mercy. This is no Tomura. This is a monster.

Your thighs slam shut, but the pads of his four fingers trace the side of your leg, reminding you of what he was capable of. So you let him push you open, still begging him through your tear-filled eyes.

“I love you, Y/N. Even if you fucking hate me, I’ll never let you go,” you could feel his meaty cock kissing your pussy lips, his slippery tip spreading them apart, rubbing against your clit.

“W-Wait! Tomura!” you tried again, but you were too late. The air in your chest rose only to be stuck in your throat when he slams himself in until he reaches his hilt. Your walls spasm around his size, a sob ripped through your throat at the burn.

“Fuck—I’m inside Y/N’s tight little pussy. Ahh—I can just cum like this, you know?” he’s completely ignoring you, forehead pressing against yours as he peers down to look at the way he disappears between your thighs; basking in the bliss of entering the very pussy he’s been dreaming of for the past year. “Your insides are so warm, it feels good,” he whines as he presses against your tummy, your muscle shift and you swear you can feel this shaft pressing taut against your walls.

“Tomura, i-it too big!” you try to lift yourself away, only to let out another lewd moan as his cockhead rubs against your sensitive g-spot when his hips roll.

“You’re so soft. So warm. So fucking perfect,” you could tell your words are not even registering in his mind as he continues to groan about how much he needed you, calloused fingers sinking into your hips as he began thrusting—sloppily pulling out then stretching your throbbing walls over and over again, teasing the deep special spot you didn’t even realise you had.

You don’t even realise you’re starting to get needier, your hands gripping onto his shirt and you’re panting like a dog in heat. The room turns stuffy quick and you somehow find his lips moulding into yours—the way he kisses as sloppy as the way he fucks, but it only draws you in more; until you’re chasing his cracked lips and sucking until he groans.

“Mmm—fuck,” you swear when your mouths part, a string of saliva connecting your swollen, plump lips to his now-glistening ones. God, do you look beautiful like that. Eyes hazy from the drunken kiss, your voice calling his name with the airy moan of a tone—Tomura, Tomura…

He stirs, aching cock slamming hard into your velvety warm cunt, shocking you by the sudden thrust deep inside. It feels different now, the way he’s vehemently dragging his cock all the way in and out like an animal. Your toes curl, mouth plumped to an ‘o’ as your nails dug into his skin through his shirt. He’s so deep, so rough…

“I can feel—nngh, my cock kissing your cervix. Isn’t it romantic?” he’s musing as he fucks, moaning in bliss, at the way you’re gripping his meat. He can’t even count how many times he’s envisioned this. You’re taking him in. He’s so happy. You’re a fucking dream come true.

“Tomura, m’gonna cum if y-you keep moving like that!” his pace only fasten to your words, his hips slamming into yours until the sound of skin slapping lewdly ring in your ears. His groan was guttural, and your moans were drooling from your lips. Your walls only clench tighter, his cock hardening, sensitive tip kissing your spongey g-spot with every desperate thrusts until the two of you hit your climax at the same time.

Your mix cum spurts out of your pulsing pussy in a second, your tummy burning with crackles of pleasure as your eyes roll to the back of your head. Tomura’s shaking, keeping his hips still to continue stuffing your cunt with his load. “You feel that—haa—Y/N? You feel my love spilling into your womb? Ahh—I love you, I love you so much,” he’s chuckling from the high, kissing and marking your neck while you lay dazed with cum dripping out of you.

You're a mess between your thighs and he notices, exhaling and leaning up, a hand trailing down the softness of your breasts, the nip of your waist and the jut of your hips, while you're trembling underneath him. His green eyes are hardly open, dark lashes casting shadows on the hard planes of his face, sleepy and so handsome and almost sweet.

"Fuck, never had a wet dream of you this real," he murmurs, pressing his leaky cock against you again, you gasp out when the tip ruts on your clit, soaking and sticky. "Feel so warm, fuck I was just inside you."

"You weren't," you shove at his chest, hard this time, and he finally blinks awake, the haze clearing. His eyes dart from your flushed face as he leans up, eying your breasts almost pressed out of that little crop top, heaving up and down. "We're very awake."

"Shit..." his gaze darts to the damp patch on your shorts, right where he'd had you soaked last night - then back to his own sweats, dark with pre-cum. He groans, easing off you to sit on the edge of the bed, strong back flexing in front of you. He runs a hand through his dark locks, eyeing you and trying his best to hold himself back.

It was you.

In his bed.

Soaking wet against his cock, body soft and pliant and ready, he could have slipped his tip right down your slit and sunk it into your pretty little cunt. You press your thighs together, sitting up too, your little hands gripping his mussed sheets, crumpling at how tightly you're clinging to it.

"Sorry, doll, thought I was dreaming."

"Of me?" Your voice is soft and careful, he sighs, standing up now, those sweats loosely hanging low on his hips, the sight of the smattering of hair under his belly button leading to that bulge makes you tense, trembling.

Fuck he's huge, you felt it, but to see him like this feels even more intimate, the way his cock is still so hard and just hangs, thick and heavy. You can't help but stare for a second at his half naked form, tummy clenching, before looking away, cheeks burning hot with embarrassment when he catches it.

A smirk plays on his lips, the little line over it stretching just a bit. "Rude to stare, y'know."

"Rude to pin someone down in your... sleep!?" You scramble up then, as he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Didn't seem like you minded," you glare now, so pretty he can't wait to fuck your mouth, your throat, until he makes your throat learn his shape. He can't stop thinking of how good all your holes would feel. "Need to cum again? You can use me."

"Use you?" Your voice is a whisper then, your heart hammering in your chest. "You can't just say things like that."

"I don't mind making you cum again," you turn and walk toward the door quickly, ignoring the sweet ache in your core. "Um... Megumi's downstairs eating breakfast, he's all ready to go and I have to get to my other job."

"Your other job... you need more pay?"

"No, you already pay too much," you murmur, looking at the knob in your hand as your fingers gently wrap it. "It's just a little job at the cafe with my friends, I don't mind."

"Ah..."

He'd make sure you wouldn't have to work soon.

"Hey," he's right behind you, the heat of his body sinking into your skin and making you shiver, a thick muscled arm braced on the side of you. The memory of hearing his dream, his possessive growl about breeding you, the way his hips had ground into yours has you burning. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't scare me, um..." You take a shaky little breath, hand trembling as his comes over yours, huge calloused palm over the delicate skin of the back of your hand. "It was just... you said some crazy shit Mr. Fushiguro."

"Yeah," he brushes your hair off your neck, breath tickling it then, you're dying for more, but also terrified. "What'd I say in my sleep?"

"You wanted babies," he smirks behind you, but you don't see it, his hand trailing ever so briefly over your tummy and making you gasp. "That was some dream huh?"

"Yeah, dreams are crazy, aren't they?" You look back for a moment, before clearing your throat.

"It's just a random dream, was it about me?" Toji freezes then, as badly as he wants you, he's been hurt - it could be why he feels so insane over you, seeing you with anyone kills him, like a stab to the chest.

Yet rejection would sting too.

"Was last night just you wanting to cum?" He asks, making you look back at him over your shoulder, legs shaking as you try to stand still. "It's fine, just asking."

"Dodging my question."

"No, it wasn't you, just a random dream... in pieces."

"Oh..." You blink a bit and he curses, why can't he just tell you!?

But then, where does that go - oh hey, I'm Toji Fushiguro and I have cameras in your house?

"I'll make us some coffee before I go."

"Yeah, sounds good," you rush out and leave him leaning his head on the door as he shuts it, tugging his length up to hide it under his waistband. "Always leaving me hard, little brat."

He can see he has some time before you really need him, but at least he knows you were soaked underneath him, your nipples pressing up pert and ready, lips parted and eyes dark with desire. Physically you would get needy, and now he knows he can pleasure you - so it's just a matter of time, really.

He really does need more kids, and he wants you to have them all.

*****

It's been a week since Toji touched you.

You mull over it at your side job, just a little quiet coffee shop that a few of your friends work at, you can use all the extra money you can as you don't have parents to pay for college, things are a little tight but you always made it work. Toji has helped so much you have been able to cut back your hours a bit too, yet you still needed multiple hustles to avoid getting in loan debt.

This week when you came over to help Megumi with homework Toji was business as usual, in fact one evening he had a 'coworker' with him who was all pretty, tall and curvy, she was a little overly kind to the point of being fake. You couldn't help but envy her a bit, something about being in your thirties you had this confidence that wasn't happening in your early twenties.

Was that more Toji's speed?

Did you care really, wasn't it just him 'helping you out' and casual?

You try your best to shove it down, thing seemingly going back to whatever normal was, Toji ruffling your hair, chuckling the way he did, being kind but not overly so, it was as if everything was a bit of a fever dream.

You don't know that's all a game he's playing. He doesn't know that game is not working.

"Hey love," you turn and see Shiu at the end of your shift on a friday, as you're about to clock out, leaning over the counter and smiling at you. "I didn't know you worked here."

"I do just a couple days a week, I'll make you something before I go!"

"Nah, it's fine."

"I got it, what do you want? Let me guess... one cream two sugars. Americano?"

"You're a genius," you giggle just a bit, seeming surrounded by hot dilfs all over sometimes you wonder just what your neighborhood was. A new one just moved across the way too, but he was at least married. "How'd you know, am I easy to read?"

"No, I'm just good at it." He leans forward, still wearing a tan suit that hugs his body just so, snatching up far too many bills. "Oh please just take it."

"Fine then," he throws them in the tip jar, taking the cup as you type in the keys to go ahead and clock out for the day.

"That's sweet of you," you murmur, smiling and slinging your purse over your shoulder. "We split them all every week."

"You're a little hustler, huh? College and two jobs..." He opens the door for you, you smile gratefully as wave good bye, seeing the looks on your friends faces.

They already drove you crazy over Toji when he came in, you're for sure you'll hear how hot they think he is too.

"Ah, I have student loan debt out the ass, and mom and dad gone... the property taxes are coming you know."

"Shit, sorry love," he frowns then, it's sprinkling outside with a little bit of mist. "I was kind of curious how you were owning a home alone that young but didn't want to ask."

"Yeah, it happened senior year of high school, it's hard but over time it's gotten a little easier... ah it's really raining now, shit."

"Let me give you a ride, hmm?"

"You sure?"

"Not a problem," Shiu holds his jacket up and over your heads with one hand and you hold onto the other side, both running over to his sleek black Mercedes, he opens the door for you and you sit inside, sighing once he starts it and puts on the heat. "You all right?"

"Yes, thank you really!" You still hold onto his jacket, with little droplets clinging to the expensive, thick material as the heat gently blows on your skin, you sigh and lean back a bit, windshield wipers flicking water off side to side. "I'm so tired, the heat makes me sleepy."

"Want it off?" He asks, you shake your head, sighing and yawning. "What are you doing for dinner tonight?"

"Dinner..." You trail off, tapping your chin a bit. "Maybe some... hot fries or something?"

"Hot fries!?"

"I don't know, it's girl dinner."

"The fuck," he laughs, the sound deep and throaty, as the red lights shine and his face is swathed in the color, he leans over and brushes a lock of now damp hair back. "Is that what you call nothing?"

"It's a thing, yes," his hand falls but not before it brushes your cheek, making you heat up just a little bit. "Maybe ramen if you're worried."

"Come over, I'll cook you something good, and I just bought a good bottle of red." He gestures his head to the back seat.

"All right, I won't turn down a free meal now."

"Perfect," it's an easy quiet, less of the tension you feel with Toji, but you can't help but wonder what he's thinking right now.

****

Well, Toji is thinking of you, and how his hopes of making you maybe a little jealous or possessive failed, how his attempt to pull back to lure you in for more failed, and now he's watching the night football game with a bored Megumi. He's playing around on his phone as Toji sips a beer, sighing and contemplating just how he can fix this.

Nothing works to make you need him, not even him fingering your pretty cunt - maybe he needs to eat it instead, or edge you to the brink of climax just to pull it back. Maybe he needs to chain you up to his bed in his room, and make you spend time with your thighs spread, with him licking and kissing every fucking inch of you.

How'd he explain that to the kid though?

He texts you casually, just a - having a good night?

But you don't even read it.

****

Your phone is on Shiu's living room table on vibrate after all, while he's pouring you a big glass of a pretty red, swirling it around, handing it to you carefully, the scent of the most delicious piece of steak you've ever had and the garlicky green beans filling the kitchen. "Oh my god, oh my god!"

"Don't moan like that," he teases, as you really do moan and chew the perfectly tender morsel you just cut. "Give an old man a heart attack."

"You're not even old, fuck I haven't had food like this in forever, mmm!" You're cutting another bite into the fillet, eyes rolling back.

"Gotta do all that, huh?"

"I do, it's making me cum," you both burst into laughter then, him a chuckle as he leans back and slips his glass, you forking some of the little roasted potatoes on the side. "Stop you just get to eat like this?"

"You're more than welcome to come over any time," he takes a bite himself, the kitchen has soft lighting, casting a little glow over your pretty lit up face which he studies carefully, his brown eyes glinting a bit. "Especially if you're cumming eating my food, it makes my time in culinary school seem worthy."

"It's a deal!" You sip the wine now, smiling over the rim, feeling little butterflies with him - he was like Toji such a man and not what you're used to at all in college. Toji was a little different, a little harder to read, elusive. "What were you and Mr. Fushiguro like in college?"

"God, fucking insane," he swirls the red liquid around, smirking then. "We may or may not have ran a frat, which is cringe now."

"What? Frat boys!? I can't see it," you set your glass down, leaning over a bit, his gaze dips down your breasts that slip out just a hint in your sweater dress, hanging over one bare shoulder. "Did you all ever... you know?"

"Ever what, ask it."

"Share girls?" He laughs again nodding, and you gasp, a hand on your mouth. "Oh my god, I could see it though."

"I taught him what he knows," you get quiet then, flustered a bit while he runs a thumb across that slight little goatee he's groan, wrecking your mind. "You're all bright red now."

"No!?"

"You and Toji?"

"Not much," you mumble out, sipping the strong drink again, letting the rich liquid slip down your throat. "I think he wanted to help, like felt bad."

Shiu snorts at that. "He looks like he wants to eat you, did he?"

"No, not that um... this is embarrassing. I don't want him to feel like I'm sharing personal things?"

"No mouth," he deduces, as your thighs press together, and his hand rests on one. "Let me guess, fingers."

"You're both slutty," Shiu just grins, thumb brushing little circles on the outside of your thigh, making you suck in a breath.

"You're cute," you lean closer now, heating up from just how on edge you've been all week, as your phone goes off again, another missed text while Shiu feeds you a bite off his own fork, watching as you chew. "Why would anyone feel 'bad' for you, you're sexy is all."

"Sexy hmm..." You sip your drink again, clearing your throat now. "Me?"

"Mhm, if he got you off it's because he wanted to, Toji doesn't 'feel sorry' for shit either," you exhale in relief just a bit. "Why'd you think that anyway?"

"I told him out I'd never cum with a guy and thought stuff was wrong with me, but... apparently not?"

"Boys these days," he clicks his tongue a bit, sighing, fingers long and slender trailing up and down your thigh carefully.

"Yeah but now I think it's weird between us?" You shift a bit closer, and Shiu smirks a little, lazily running his hand higher, like he has all the time in the world. "I'm ovulating right now, don't start."

"Fuck you mean, that's even better," you laugh a bit, shaking your head, when his fingers reach up to the waistband of those black leggings, running his fingers across the elastic. "Do you need to cum, pretty little thing?"

"Shiu..." You bite down on your lip now, as your phone starts ringing, you step up quickly, his face far too close to your lap. "Let me get that."

"Mhm," he just eases back and watches you bend over, palming his hard cock. He knows Toji will probably kill him, but he can't help but want to drink you all up. You're picking up the phone then, answering it.

"Oh, I'm just at Shiu's eating dinner," you answer Toji softly, and he almost breaks his fucking phone then. "Everything okay? I'll be there tomorrow afternoon."

"Yeah," he lies, wanting to kill his best friend as he glares out of the little window on top of his door, seeing your silhouette behind Shiu's living room curtains. "Just checkin' on ya doll, that's all."

"Oh... that's so sweet," you murmur, sitting on the couch, Shiu follows with a bottle and your glasses, leaned back with his legs spread wide. "He's an amazing cook."

'he's an amazing cook' Toji mocks in his own mind, wanting to beat his friend to a pulp for going near you, especially when he knows just how slutty his own friend is, and it's not like you know you're Toji's yet.

"I could cook," he grumbles, you blink a little and laugh, making him glare at the phone. "What, I will tomorrow for you."

"Hey I won't complain about two free meals," you murmur, holding out your glass for some more of the crimson liquid to pour. "I'll be there for dinner then. Good night ,Toji."

"Good n-" You've already hung up, leaving Toji fucking fuming.

You're his.

****

"You're insane asking - wanna cum - who just asks that!?" You say then, after you sit your phone back down. Shiu raises a brow.

"What, do you not want to?" He leans close, his lips a breath from yours now, and your own part, eyes dilating with desire. "I let you eat, maybe you should let me."

"Eat..." He's leisurely as he kisses your lips then, and you exhale, tummy tensing with pressure, how badly you want him to touch you.

Vivid images of Shiu and Toji sharing you flash through your mind.

"Eat me?"

"You're a sweet little thing," he muses softly, tilting your chin up, a hand running over your curves, over the soft knit of that sweater. "If you want me to, take those leggings off and spread your thighs for me, hmm?"

****

You set your glass down now, leaned back on the couch, Toji watching your silhouette dip then, before he can damn near sense his dick head friend's grin, throwing back his glass before leaning down. Toji can't take this anymore, he has to come up with something, anything to get you out of there.

"Megumi..."

"What?" He asks, yawning and playing on his phone.

"I'll give you five hundred bucks if you act sad so she comes over."

Megumi laughs.

Meanwhile Shiu has your cunt bare, moaning and sliding your sweater up till it bunches around the curve of your hips, you whine out as his breath tickles your cunt, kissing a little bit up your inner thigh. "Fuck she's pretty, just like you, hmm?"

"Thank you..." You're a blushing mess, as he kisses higher, soft brown hair on his upper lip tickling your skin, two fingers parting your folds now. "Are you sure you just want to eat it? Don't you need me to..."

"Just lay there and enjoy," he murmurs, tongue lapping up your slit then, groaning out. "Fuck you taste good."

"Shiu!" Your hands grip in his spiky hair then, as he licks a torturous slow strip up your slit, watching the arousal spill, groaning at the sight. "Mnh!"

"Have you had your pretty pussy licked?" You flush more, biting down on your lip.

"Like once for a minute but it sucked, ah!" Shiu holds up your hood and finds your clit with the tip of his tongue, groaning and swirling it in quick flicks over and over, while you gasp out and your hips arch up, he chuckles against your skin, tongue hot and wet and precise as it circles the twitchy clit again. "Ngh!"

Shiu's moaning, tasting your sweet cunt, he just can't help but dive into it, he loves to eat pussy especially when they're as pretty as yours - but even more he gets off on just pissing his best friend off. That just enhances how badly he already wants you, how much your sweet juices dripping make him leak pre, looking up at you to watch your pretty face contort in pleasure.

"Feel good, pretty?" You nod and whimper, and he eases a finger in you, gentle and slow just like his tongue, like he's taking his time with you, savoring it. Not as intense as Toji but more of this yummy slow build that has you wriggling under him, dragging his face close.

"Sorry!"

"No, go ahead, take what you want," he says softly, and you do just that, arching and moving against his face for more, as Shiu Kong's tongue works your little clit, his finger curling up in gummy walls that quiver. "Mnh..."

"Close, close!"

****

"Megumi, a thousand," he grumbles, you've both been dipped under for too long now, he doesn't even want to know what's happening. "Act sad."

"A thousand? You're desperate," Megumi raises a dark brow now. "How about a brand new gaming PC?"

"Fuck kid that's like three-"

"Then no."

"Fine!" Megumi smirks, and Toji is running his hand over his face, grimacing. "You're just like me kid."

"I hope I won't be a desperate old perv- I mean... okay, I'll act sad, go bring her over."

"I love you." Megumi rolls his blue eyes as Toji ruffles his hair, calling your phone again, and again, and again.

]*

"Should get that- Shiu!" He's gripping your hips, dragging you against his face now, groaning out. "It could be important."

"Grab it, I'm not stopping I'm still hungry," he licks his lips, and you're so close it hurts, picking up the phone while Shiu keeps licking, hand shaking as you answer.

"Um, hi... everything okay?"

"Doll," Toji hears slurping, he's going to kill him. "Megumi, he's so distraught and he won't talk, I'm worried. Could you please come over?"

"Oh," you mute him then, crying out and tugging Shiu's spiky locks as he sucks your clit now. "Shiu it's important."

"Cum first," you're barely able to hold back, biting down on your lip and unmuting. "Taste so sweet."

"What?"

"The wine, Shiu thinks it's sweet," you bite back a moan, Shiu's licking you quicker now, the pressure building in your core. "I'll be over to try to t-talk to him, okay?"

"Thanks doll..." You hang up again, tensing as it starts to ruin you, the lazy licks building and building.

"Gonna cum gonna - ah!"

Shiu makes you shatter, cumming all over his face, groaning out as he swallows your juices, but he doesn't relent just yet, even as your thighs tremble on either side of his head, stubble scraping the delicate skin, no he keeps licking. It's slow, almost sweet, lapping up your slick while you twitch and whimper, oversensitive.

His eyes stay locked on yours as you come down, he savors it, every drop with his thirsty mouth, making you whine out. "Shh," he murmurs against your thigh, kissing the inside of it. "Just let me clean you up."

"You're both dangerous," you mumble, he presses one more kiss and then sighs. "You taught him, huh?"

"Mmm, I did," he helps you get dressed then, leans down before you leave, kissing up your neck and making you sigh in pleasure. "Come over for dinner any time."

You lean up and peck his cheek, a flustered mess that he thinks is adorable as you right yourself as much as you can. "Thank you for tonight," you murmur softly, hugging him before you head out. "For all of it."

"Any time, pretty," you're a blushing little wreck when you run out, Shiu can't help but step outside and see Toji, waving at him and grinning.

You're hurrying to Toji's place, knocking softly, realizing how late it's gotten, and Toji opens it, eyeing you at first, taking in your slightly disheveled state and swollen lips, but he knows he can't say anything yet, glaring as Shiu smirks over at him across the street before shutting his own door. He's going to kill him.

"Toji, what's wrong!? Where is he?" You're looking around, Toji pulls you in and guides you to Megumi's room, where he's playing his role already.

Toji is maybe awful for this, but at least you're in his house and not doing who the fuck knows what with his friend. "He's in there," He murmurs seriously, opening the door to the room slowly. Megumi's sitting on his bed, staring at the wall, looking utterly miserable.

"Megumi?"

He doesn't respond, just stares blankly. Toji sighs heavily, feigning care. "He's been like this all day, I wonder if he'll talk to you."

Your heart hurts now, you feel horrible, seeing how deeply Toji cares, how hurt he must have been. You sit beside Megumi slowly on his bed next to him placing a hand on his arm. "Megumi? What's wrong?"

He finally looks at you, eyes red-rimmed. "Nothing."

"You can tell me," you murmur softly, rubbing his arm gently. "I'm here."

Megumi hesitates, then leans his head against your shoulder. "Just... stuff."

Toji watches from the doorway, arms crossed. "See? Won't talk about it."

You wrap an arm around Megumi, holding him close. "It's okay. You don't have to talk if you don't want to, we could watch a movie or something?"

"Yeah?" He sniffles, you nod and smile, brushing his hair back affectionately, Megumi stands then. "I'll put one on, that would get my mind off things."

"Perfect," you say, Megumi walks by Toji and he smirks, as if that's the easiest three thousand he's ever made. You get up then, walking to Toji, he grips your wrist when you try to pass, making you falter. "Toji?"

"Did I scare you that morning?"

"No, no," you get flustered now, clearing your throat, looking at Megumi in the living room putting on a show, before looking back at Toji, angling your head so that your hair falls back. "You seemed weird after, and that girl..."

"Mei? She's a coworker."

"Right, she's just... all elegant and... I didn't want to make it weirder, yeah? Especially if..."

Shit.

"Did you have fun at Shiu's?" He tries to act casual, even as he's ready to burn down his fucking house, seeing the little marks on your neck, and how you blush even in the darkness of the room.

"I did, I should check on Megumi."

"Thanks for coming, doll," he says then, hugging you for maybe the first time, you love being in his arms, big and strong, eyes fluttering shut. "The kid loves you."

"Aw, it's no problem," you wrap your arms around just some of his huge, thick frame, before going to sit with Megumi, as Toji watches with a friendly 'grateful' smile and crosses his arms, leaning on the door frame.

His plan to make you jealous failed.

His plan to make you needy hasn't worked.

Now he's damn sure his dumb ass best friend pleasured you.

How the fuck does Toji get you where you belong - bent over on all fours in front of him?

He smirked, blue eyes turning more vibrant, though only a moment

He sought refuge from the chaos of the city, his boots tapping behind him, stepping into a cozy store.

Eyes a haze, from the loneliness of the night, in a busy city.

The rain tapped softly against the café windows, the smell of coffee beans invading his senses.

Where the scent of fresh pastries were thick in the cold contrast of the city.

The homily sounds of music playing in the back, the warmth clinging to his wet form.

Treading into the café, head down, his locks sticking to his forehead.

Joining the short line of the sweet store.

Looking up lightly to the neon menu, the line slowly dwindling.

His head aching, eyes stinging, god he missed being in the academy..

He’s finally a cop but that void.. it’s still not filled..

His face soured, foot tapping, waiting for his turn to order a late night coffee..

The music like a hum to his sense, eyes growing slightly heavy, legs buckling every so often.

Head nodding back and forth.

Thoughts wandering on his obvious pay check and chores he’ll have to do when he gets home.

Groaning at the thought.

Until the back of the customer in front moved out of his dazed sight, his eyes laying on yours.

God were you glowing or was it just him.

You were stunning- No, Gorgeous.

And you’re not even in a normal outfit?!

Eyes wide open, mouth slightly parted as if he stopped breathing.

While stood behind the counter, your hands deftly maneuvering the espresso machine.

Eyes sparkling with warmth despite the gray skies outside.

He practically jumped for joy when you turned to him, placing the newly brewed coffee on the counter.

The customer smiling while you did the same..

“Lucky bastard..”

He said coldly looking at the man smile at him, feeling jealousy boil over, his eyes staring daggers into the customer.

Soon you broke conversation walking to the counter eyes beaming.

God your eyes..

So delicate.

So lively

So pretty.

If he could he would arrest you right here, have you at the station you and him only :D.

Like a cute permanent sleepover.

“What can I get started for you today?”

You chirped, voice a honeyed melody that disrupted Leon’s thoughts.

Eyes a lot more lively than usual, Leon speaking softly.

“just a black coffee, please- oh no sugar.”

“Y-Your the only sugar I need”

Leon stuttered great dumbass, just embarrassed yourself..

“Uhhhh huh!, Coming right up!”

You buzzed, stepping from the counter, expertly grinding beans and steaming milk.

Not even a smile.. wow.. no blush, he really needs to work on his pick up lines.

He sighed ears red at the tips leaving the line.

Great.. you’re fucking pathetic..

He thought sliding into one of the side booths of the café.

Hands in hair, eyes growing dull loosing their shine..

She’ll never love you, no one does..

He thought, while you prepared his drink.

The sweet atmosphere long forgotten by Leon.

Time slipped away as his mind absorbed every detail.

Your hair, the way your eyes sparkled as you interacted with those.. ungrateful customers, the carefree way you danced to the music.

“Here you go, one black coffee!”

You yelled out, placing the cup on the counter with a radiant smile.

Leon got up, head down fingers quickly brushing yours for a moment.

Leon feeling a current of electricity rush through him.

He was mesmerized.

“Thanks,”

he muttered, barely able to muster the courage to look at her.

He will be yours.

You waved him by, as he lightly smiled leaving the warm embrace of the store.

Getting bombarded by the cool breeze, the coffee warm in his hand.

Leon stood outside the shop for a moment, heart racing, clutching the coffee like it was a talisman.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to know more about her.

As twilight descended, he found himself lingering, watching through the glass as she finished her shift.

Hand only the glass, making sure to avoid your gaze every so often.

You laughed with her coworkers, her laughter resonating like music, drawing him in deeper.

God you were so pretty.

The way you clothes hugged your frame.

Or the way your breasts foddled forward when you leaned down.

Or the way he wanted you plump lips around his cock.

God he shivered, blood rushing to his face, cock throbbing.

Get yourself together

He thought turning away from you leaning his back onto the cold glass.

Finally you stepped out, Leon’s heart hammered in his chest, quickly he turned his head, your eyes making contact with the RPD embroidered on the back.

You smile kindly unaware, only hastily treading away from the cafe your heels tapping against the concrete.

Your hair swaying past your face, beanie snug on your head.

Your only aim to get to your apartment at a reasonable time. 

His icy eyes locking onto the small of your back.

god so cute..

He blushed feverishly, his body involuntarily stepping towards your direction.

“M’Gotta follow you”

He said under his breath, his breath freezing into a fog.

The world around him faded as he became consumed by the desire, legs moving on their own.

Stalking you like pray.

Each night, a memorised routine.

Every time you left for your shift or returned to your cramped apartment.

He was there just a few paces behind, watching, learning more about stunning you who had captivated him so completely.

He’s been getting more brave, placing small letters with sweets, or a occasional 200 dollars

Discreetly placed in the shadows, for your eyes only.

The notes reading letters of total devolution.

Some saying “hope you like it dear!!”

More hearts than words on the letter.. but you have be been picking up on the more frequent gifts.

You had noticed the strange items but shrugged them off as a long overdue prank.

You we’re a busy women, the last thing you needed was to focus on an a anonymous admirer.

But today it was different.

After work, the bing of the elevator ringing in your ears, the old metal door screeching lightly.

Eyes in a daze seeking solace from today’s work at the café.

Heels tapping on the tiles, till your eyes meet yet again another gift.. this one was different.

A box?

You cocked an eye brow leaning down, picking up the box a letter as always strapped on it.

Different..

A quiet hum leaving you, unlocking your apartment.

Quiet taps entering the tiles of your home.

Dropping your bag, throwing the box onto the kitchen counter.

Undoing the expensive box…

Wait..

Is that..

Your eyes widen at what lied in the box.

It was a beautiful, 9 carat gold ring, with a single centre white diamond, it didn’t look like a lab one either..

You gasped dropping the small box back down to the counter, hands cupping your agape mouth.

This was to far.. a ring like this.. it had to cost a fortune..

You felt guilty, quickly closing the box.

For the whole night, you kept away from the ring.

Leaving it abandoned at your counter, rarely even touching the majestic ring.

The words “Let’s get married!!” Under the soft material holding the ring..

It finally clicked in your mind.. this wasn’t a joke..

It never was.. and you’ve been encouraging this behaviour.

You sighed leaning next to the ring, yawning.

What am I going to do with you..

You thought sighing, you know what the fuck it is.

Your going to bed

Slowly making way to your cozy room, changing mid walk, letting the dirty clothes litter the house.

Heels knocked off.

You’re too tired for this.

While you went into deep thought.

first, it was small.

A bouquet of daisies on your doorstep, a book of poetry you once mentioned to a friend.

And sweet notes with words that dripped with admiration.

To full blown marriage..

You groaned finally plummeting to your bed, eyes droopy.

Finally dozing off to a restless sleep, dreams haunted by shadows and whispers.

Maybe it was just a prank.

You reassure finally shuffling into a good position.

Heart rate dropping, eyes and body relaxing.

“Night stalker”

You lolled out..

Head plumenting into the pillow.

wait.. did you hear a chuckle.

You stirred awake, body still heavy from the lack of sleep.

But something felt different this night like morning.

You couldn’t move your legs nor your wrists..

What the?!

Eyes fluttered open quickly, taking in the dark scenery, nothing..

Wait.

You felt an aching pain between your thighs, like something was in the way??

Finally you heard it..

More like him.

You were greeted by a sight that made her heart race.

Who’s this?!

Eyes lidded still, feeling his cock twitch deep inside your tight walls..

Light whimpers were heard from Leon, hips frantically thrusting deep into you.

Tongue lolled out..

Your own accompanying his.

You tried moving feeling you still can’t move..

H-Handcuffs?

You thought tugging on them, Legs flailing, legs trying to come into your body.

A rough hand grabbing onto your thigh pushing your pussy wide open again.

His cock slamming in and out aggressively.

“Ah, ah, ah”

Leon whined thrusting more aggressively earning a whine.

Gently caressing the area he grabbed.

“Don’t be a bad girl~”

His diamond blue eyes intense with desire.

His hands were gently caressing your tied form.

As if you were the most precious treasure he had ever laid his eyes on.

His cock still thrusting deep inside your heat.

Earning a moan.

His cock even bulging out of you of you a little.

"Good morning well l-late, my princess.”

He cooed, leaning his head down to your belly button kissing you tenderly.

Leaving you very shocked yet very needy..

Blue eyes shimerinh into yours.

You heved and gasped, pussy clenching around him.

Only moaning back gently grinding your Clit on his base, quickly fucking your hole more aggressively.

If that’s what his baby wants then you’ll get it.

Arching your back slightly, offering your body to him.

Breasts, full and heavy, rose with your nimble movement, the nipples hardening in the cool nighttime air.

“M’love being all the way inside of you, baby”

He smiled still thrusting deep into your tight cunt, spilling his pre deep into your greedy thing.

You moaned, hands tangling in anything you could grab, head leaning back into the head board.

"You taste so sweet,"

He murmured against you, his breath hot on your sensitive flesh.

A slight nodding coming from you begging, Leon to ravage your cute cunt.

Like a dog on heat his thrusts growing faster till he stopped, still kissing at your skin.

His eyes lidded, blush nearly blood red.

“M’need to worship you pretty thing, gonna be carrying my babies”

He smile so smitten with you, you eyes going hazed.

As he changed plans, fucking you with slow, deliberate strokes.

Your moans filled the room, each thrust of his cock sending waves of pleasure through your aching body.

Leon showed no signs of stopping.

Feverishly kissing up and down his lips could reach.

He continued to worship your glistening pussy, his cock thrusting in and out, a few needy thrusts slipping out of him.

His fingers joined in, sliding inside you, filling you up as he kissed at your skin, thumb on your clit.

You cocked out a moan, with light pleas to how good he felt.

You cunt lubing up his cock, and fingers.

“N’gonna go feral..”

He said lightly, his blue eyes piercing yours searching for an answer.

You nodded lightly blush and drool covering your face.

Leon didn’t need anything else, reefing his fingers out of your greedy thing.

Speeding up like before, while he whined and whimpered.

“Saw ya not wearing your ring”

He said sadly, making you feel.. guilty?

I-It’s okay you’ll get used to it

He thought thrusting deeper, making your back arch.

“M’wherin mine”

He cooed Blue eyes looking at yours.

You looked, eyes squinted searching, finally seeing his larger fingers around your thigh, the ring was there.. huh..

Wait..

He’s the stalker..

Shit

B-but I locked- wait..

You sighed remembering you didn’t lock the door.

Ending up with you being dicked down by this lovesick psycho.

You could practically see his tail wagging while he plunged his cock into your heat.

“You like It don’t you??”

He asked happily going in auto pilot, fucking your fast and raw.

God you loved this, you pussy twitching around his aching length..

You nodded not giving a shit, while leon was left in la la land, fucking your pussy dry.

Cock hitting your g spot.

Pussy wrapping around him so good.

Cunt fluttering every so often.

Tip touching your cervix.

You felt your walls tighten around Leon,

“G-Gonna- ahh~ cum p-pretty thing”

He moaned thrusts stuttering every so often.

Till you felt it..

The feeling of his ropes cover your womb, filling your tight cunt, his constant caressing and affirmations.

While your cunt drinked him up for all his cock had to offer, his cock sliding out of your delicate cum filled folds still erect.

His smile growing, watching it ooz out just like his pre did when he saw you splayed out on your soft bed.

Fingers coming down to the escaping cum scooping it back into your greedy thing.

“Where you belong”

He cooed shoving to fingers into your pussy.

You whines coming from you.

Eyes lidded, lips plump, looks like this pussy needs a another round.

Soon enough Leon fixed himself back into his cop uniform.. wait him..

Great..

You huffed Leon only smiling, leaving the room bare.

Is he in my kitchen??

You thought your chest heaving still trying to listen for leon.

Then he shouted.

You’ve always been a dog lover.

So when you stumbled upon Leon, a German Shepherd hybrid, at a local shelter.

You knew you had to bring him home.

You and him were inseparable.

Or more like Leon was.

He never..

N̶͎̫̉̍͘͝è̷̛̗̳͚̙͇̘͍͕̊̑̿͘͜v̷̧̬̽͂́̎̉è̷̛̗̳͚̙͇̘͍͕̊̑̿͘͜r̵̨͇̰̭̜̈́͑

Let you go

Recently you had to beg him to just let go so you could go to the bathroom.

Or the time your friends came over, the whole time Leon acted up.

He even nipped a few of them, constantly growling at them and speaking profanities under his breath.

That’s when he found out about the crate.

The next morning you let him out of the steal prison.

He practically tackled you to the ground as he cried his little heart out in your shoulder

Poor thing, thought you didn’t love him..

You love him right??

Right

As you stayed in your cozy room, closing your eyes.

You waited a moment, trying to hear Leon..

Nothing..

The silence was unusual.

It was too silent..

Leon always greeted you with a toothy grin and a wag of his tail, like a good boy.

Jumping around to get your attention no matter how late it was, or how tired you were.

But today he wasn't there to greet you at the front door with his infectious enthusiasm.

You called out in concern that Leon may have hurt himself, your voice echoing in the empty bedroom.

“Leon??”

Nothing..

Growing frustrated you got up, then raising your voice as you stood.

“leon!!”

Yet again nothing.

This bothered you deeply, finally coming to terms Leon may actually be really hurt.

With a huff you stalked out of the room.

Quickly walking deeper into the clean white apartment.

The rays of white light overcasting you, while your feet padded lightly on the marble tiles.

Walking past your kitchen and lounge room.

Looking around, still hearing nothing but your own breaths.

Until seeing a small creak of light coming from one of the two spare rooms.

Slowly you treaded closer, pushing open the door.

Eyes widening at what you saw.

Leon was on the pale silk sheets of the bed.

His blonde hair wild, his blue eyes foggy with need.

Tears beading the corners of them.

As he whined and whimpered.

His cock fully hard, while he used your favourite pair of panties like a fleshlight.

Dirty boy

They were soaked in glistening pre.

The sounds he made becoming louder.

Leon was too fucked out to sense your presence.

You felt your own panties dampen..

Fuck.. he was nude, abs slim for sweat, hair stuck to his forehead. Whining and moans being heard.

You tread closer, his sounds becoming louder.

Finally noticing you, instead of slowing down he sped up.

His back arching lightly as he spoke with a pornographic moan.

“M-M’Need you, h-hurts s’so bad~”

He said his cock beading with more pre. Ear flattened.

It was obvious Leon was going into heat..

You knew you shouldn’t.. but you just had to.

He was your poor baby at the end of the day.

Without much of a peep you stalked to him, immediately capturing his lips with yours.

His soft lips capturing your own plump ones.

Leon’s lidded eyes shut as he moaned, humping the air, his tail wagging aggressively.

His ears flattening further.

You were choosing him.. h-him as your mate??

…

Finally

He was so happy!!

He can’t wait to breed you full of his pups.

Over and over and over again

His cock twitched at the thought more pre oozing at the tip.

You’ll love that!! He’ll be your very good boy for you while he fucks you soooo full of his love.

Then seeing it slip out onto the silk sheets for him to only fuck another load of pups!!

“I’ll be a good boy~” he murmured mid kisses, he whined. Kissing up your neck.

“let me take care of you... let me fill you.”

He said desperately like he’s never wanted something more than this.

Finally some tears slid down his face from such little attention he was getting.

Making him abuse his drooling cock while your panties get stained with his precum.

You’re being so mean to him..

Only giving him light touches and kisses, he wants to make love!!

Not this rotten book stuff..

Leon’s never been a nipper, well with other people it’s his main mood, but with.. you… never!!

That’s about to change, if you’re gonna tease his weeping cock fine well he’s gonna bite that cute pussy of your’s.

With that thought in his head he grabbed one of your hands yanking you into the mattress.

Making you stumble ontop of him while he nipped at your hand, shoving two fingers down his throat, his tongue lolling out, lapping up your fingers.

The other hand on his cock discarding your panties to the floor as he started an inhumane speed.

“L-Leon” you said breathy, eyes going lidded.

“Please~ just one baby~”

Leon’s tail wagged lightly as he said his plea.

You knew damn right it won’t be one, then with a blink there’s fourteen.

But still you body begging you to throw your clothes to the side and sink down on his twitching length.

“I-I’ll be a good breeder boy~” he whimpered, speeding his pace on his cock

Maybe I should- NO- He’s in heat he doesn’t know any better, you thought…

Yes he does, you’re the only reason he’s in heat. God damn it, just give him a baby!!

The only moral stopping you from plunging down that chewy tip.

“W-We shouldn’t-“ "Please baby, I need you. I'll be soooo good, just let me fill you up, please~."

he whined, his licking at your fingers grew more harsh.

he abandoned your hand that he was holding, to play with the buttons of your blouse.

While his other was wrapped around his girthy cock, speeding up, he felt his member twitching under you, aching to be shoved into your gummie walls.

His tail wagging harshly hitting your knees in the mattress.

You sigh, looking at his blue dilated eyes, looks like he’s not letting this go, with that you nodded.

Finally

Leon eagerly played with the buttons before yanking it off harshly tearing it to shreds in seconds.

He was strong.. but he would never.. NEVER used it against you.. Well if you begged enough~ maybe…

Then pushing up your pleated skirt up, you gasped a harsh hit landing your ass while the cold air did to .

Leon only growled, his ears flaring up, the wagging coming to a halt.

Eyes seemingly even more blown.

“Are you.. seriously-.. it's your scent~, you have to be ovulating.."

Leon panted, his body arching slightly into yours.

His cherry tip nearly touching your weeping cunt as he moaned, his need palpable.

Pre oozing out of his slit, glistening the tip further.

“Fuuuuckkk.. It's driving me wild, please, please—pleaseeeee”

His ears flattened back down, Whining like a dog.

His body trembling with unfamiliar sensation’s.

Finally, you act on your feelings, pulling your fingers out of Leon’s mouth with your own moan.

Leaning back directly on your knees, while pulling your panties to the side, spreading your folds.

Your soft folds right above his wet slit, rubbing against his angry tip.

He hated you right now..

Teasing him..

Before he could register what was fully happening Leon snarled.

Another slap landing your ass, while tears pricked his face.

Leon grabbing hold of your hips without warning only a growl, slamming upwards.

His thick shaft hooking deep inside your tight cunt.

Kissing your cute cervix.

“Y-You’ll look so pretty full of my pups.. even though you’re such a bitch..”

He growled thrusting deep into your womb earning him some slutty moans.

Arching his back off of the bed slamming into your greedy cunt.

Having an iron grip on your hips, while you griped onto his shoulders firmly.

Head buried to his neck, hair brushing against your face.

Lapping at his neck leaving love bites as he plunged his cock deep into your tight heat.

Your wet pussy making a mess on his v line, even his lower abs, such a good pussy.

“Like my cock baby~, mm’sucking me so deep~ ah~ gonna get lost in h-here~” he said wagging his tail while letting out small whines and cry’s.

You finally started to move as well, your nails dragging across Leon’s strong back leaving red streaks.

His thrusts getting faster, hands moving into your back, practically hugging while he fucked you.

He whined and moaned tears bearing both of your eyes.

“S-So tight.. m’sooo warm~”

You shifted your legs further apart taking him deeper inside you.

Leon let out a feral cry, his hips bucking wildly as he drove himself deeper into your velvet wall’s.

Sounds of skin slapping growing ever so louder.

Your tongue sticking out as you drooled and bit Leon’s shoulder.

Fully dazed as your tummy churned, head rolling back.

Leon's hand removed from your back pulling your head into his shoulder.

“Bite on me baby~ m-mark your good boy up”

He spoke then going back to heated hybrid he was, talking about how many pups you two were going to keep from the litter, how much of a good boy he was for you… only you.

“They better look like you..”

He whined, cock spilling more pre.

Leon's thrusts sending waves of pleasure through your body.

Sweat connecting the two of you.

His breaths more rapid.

“I-I’m g-gonn-“

He was cut off by your loud moans that joined his own.

His tip reaching deep in your tight cervix.

“M’so happy, we’re gonna be a family~”

Leon said his ears flattened, as he aggressively pushed you ever so deeper on his cock.

“Fucking finally”

His tongue finally licking at your neck snarling while slamming you hard down on his cock, nearly balls deep.

“Their go-gonna ah~ b-be so pretty- j-just like their mo-momma~”

You clenched around him at his words earning a whine.

“N-Need you to c-cum ah~ ngh~ first”

Such a good boy till the end.

That said the coil snapped around his cock, as you bit down on his shoulder earning a yelp while you came.

His tail stiffening as he whimpered loudly.

his finally thrust pushing past your cervix.

Thick hot white ropes shooting deep into your heat.

His potent seed spilling into you over flowing your crammed little womb.

He thrusted a few more times. overstimulating his cock while fucking his seed deeper into your tight hole.

Only clawing at Leon while the two of you settle down.

Leon still keeping you in a stone grip.

Only pulling your face from his shoulder, kissing you deeply.

“So pretty~ so mine!!”

He said, tail wagging behind him.

With that you smiled lightly pushing hair past your face.

Trying to get up from his still firm cock, only Hearing.. a.. growl?

“The fuck you think you’re going?”

Did.. did Leon just swear at you..

You thought confused looking back at him, he looked angry?

That’s new.

“J-just gonna get water”

You said his snarl disappearing.

“Oh! I thought you were gonna go out with those friends”

You were..

Looks like your gonna be stuck fucking for aaaaa longggg time..

You have a dirty secret.

Well… maybe dirty isn’t the right word. 

Lucrative.

Thrilling.

Deeply, and I mean deeply embarrassing if anyone you knew in real life ever found out.

You make premium content.

Sex content.

It started after so many failed job searches; it’s so hard to find work in this day and age as a young adult with zero experience. You also attend college, and you know the moment you do actually get a boring, shitty job as a cashier or some shit, you’d want to shoot yourself in the head due to all the stress that’ll come with it.

You saw other girls on TikTok, flaunting their gaming set-ups from DMing creeps on Discord, going on calls with them, masturbating or pretending to, and they get the biggest paycheck of their life.

You’d do that if you didn’t have to go on call with them and hear their gross, disgusting voice.

So you chose the other option, chose to sell your body online, even though, compared to how girls on Discord make money, they don’t have to sell their nudes, just talk on call, you’d rather just record yourself doing lucrative acts.

I mean, why not? You were already broke, stressed beyond any comprehension, already spending too much money on lingerie that no one ever saw.

Now someone sees it, thousands of someones, actually.

It’s practically a job at this point, your real job if you’re being honest.

You lie to your parents, tell them you work at a cafe near campus, and they’re so proud of you. Their hardworking daughter, juggling school and work and still managing to keep her grades up.

If only they knew.

You don’t just do it for the money, even though that’s how it started. Like, yeah, the money is actually insane, more than you’d ever even expect, so much that you've had to open separate bank accounts just to hide it from your parents. But that's still not why you keep doing it.

You do it because it's fun.

You do it because it feels good.

I mean, why wouldn’t it?

It’s fun dressing up all cute, bringing your aesthetic in your videos because the fans love it. Soft pinks, light pastels, lace, ribbons, and so many bows.

You show your face in your videos.

But you wouldn’t ever get caught. Why? Because you wear wigs, cute ones that actually look good and not shitty party city ones, you do your makeup in a way that people on TikTok and Pinterest would call ‘dollmaxxer,’ eyelashes, glossy lips, aegyo sal shimmer forever and always.

You cosplay sometimes, characters from games and anime that your subscribers request.

That’s the thing that sets you apart from a lot of creators, most of them crop their faces out, wear masks, keep the camera angled just so. You’re lucky you don’t have any distinctive birthmarks, tattoos, or anything tying you to the girl who goes to college and buys coffee from the campus Starbucks.

It didn’t take long before you moved out of your college dorm. Roommates are a liability when your job involves moaning loudly on camera three times a week. 

Now you have your own apartment, expensive but worth it, a pink sanctuary where you can film without worrying about anyone walking in.

Your content is... specific.

You goon, that’s the word for it, that’s what people call it on the internet.

You slap your face with dildos, letting them bounce off your cheeks, you grind on pillows and plushies, soaking the fabric while you whimper and moan. Sometimes you even sell the pillows you grind on, subscribers love it all. 

You drool excessively, letting spit drip down your chin while you suck on a dildo attached to your wall, your eyes rolled back, your tongue out too far. 

You make yourself look stupid, brainless, like a toy that exists only for pleasure.

It's fun. 

It feels good. 

And the sponsors love it.

Sex toy brands send you free products constantly. Vibrators, dildos, plugs, things you didn't even know existed before you started this job. All you have to do is use them on camera, tag the company, and they keep sending more.

What you hate is your subscribers.

Obviously, your content caters to the male gaze. That's the market. That's where the money is. 

But god, the men are disgusting. 

The comments they leave, the DMs they send, the way they talk to you like you're not a person, just a thing they can say whatever they want to.

You have some subscribers who are women, followers, and mutuals who found you through the aesthetic side of things. They're the sweetest. They leave nice comments, send supportive messages, and actually treat you like a human being.

The men are the problem.

You also profit off being a virgin.

It’s not a lie, you know, some creators fake it, like Sophie Rain. But you’re genuinely untouched.

Never had a boyfriend. Never had sex, never even been kissed before.

The dildos you use on yourself don't change that. Toys aren't real dicks.

It's your biggest money maker, honestly. The virgin thing. Men lose their minds over it. They DM you constantly, begging to be the one to take it, offering obscene amounts of money to fuck you on camera.

You always deny.

Always.

Because even so, even after everything you've done on camera, you want to wait for the right person. You want it to mean something. You want...

You don't know what you want.

But you know it's not some random subscriber with a dick pic in his DMs.

Tonight, you're exhausted.

You just finished filming a two-hour session, one of those marathon streams where you edge yourself over and over until your thighs are shaking and your brain goes blank. Your subscribers loved it. You made more money in those two hours than most people make in years.

And now all you want to do is lie in bed and doom-scroll until you pass out.

You're on your stomach, still wearing the sheer babydoll lingerie from your stream, lacey underwear clinging to you. You’re on your phone, Twitter open, scrolling mindlessly through your feed. 

Your algorithm feeds you content from girls like you, with similar aesthetics, similar content. Some of them are your mutuals, creators you’ve befriended through the weird little community you’ve stumbled into. You leave sweet comments on their posts, the kind of supportive girl-to-girl energy that balances out the gross male comments. 

You're not really paying attention, just scrolling. 

And then something new comes up.

It's a video, a boy, this time, which is unusual for your feed. The algorithm is probably experimenting, testing your preferences.

The boy is skinny, pale, really pale, like porcelain skin. He’s on a bed with white sheets, his face is cropped out of the frame, but you can see his body, lean and so pretty, looming over a girl who lies beneath him.

He's holding her arms above her head.

And he's fucking into her mouth.

You don't scroll past. You don't mindlessly like and move on. Instead, you tap the video to turn up the volume just a little.

The sounds are obscene.

Wet, throat gagging sounds, the girls' muffled whimpers mixing with his soft grunts of pleasure. He fucks into her mouth, slow, at first, almost lazy, then faster, harder.

The girl taps his thigh. The universal signal for "I need to breathe." You've done it yourself, with the dildos attached to your wall, practicing for videos, it’s basic human instinct, you think.

He laughs.

That laugh.

It's mean and amused and condescending, and something about it makes you clench around absolutely nothing. 

He doesn't stop. If anything, he goes faster, ignoring her desperate taps, using her mouth like it belongs to him.

Only at the last second does he pull back. She gasps, choking, saliva dripping down her chin, and before she can recover, he's pushing back in.

Your pussy clenches again.

The video is in Japanese, which was obvious mainly because of the body parts being censored and the words coming from his mouth. You don't understand a single word from it, but something about him, about the way he moves, the way he sounds, the casual cruelty of his body language...

You click on his profile.

scaramouche

His profile picture is a boy's pale, slender hand gripping a girl's face. His bio is in Japanese characters you can't read, so you copy it into a translator.

"i'll fucking digest you, one kiss at a time."

That's it. That's all he has to say about himself.

He’s following zero people, fucking dickhead you think, and he has over 500k followers.

Holy shit…

More than you.

You scroll down, his age is listed, 20. He’s 2 years older than you. 

Obviously, as any normal person who's about to stalk a stranger's content, you click on the media tab.

Your heart drops.

He shows his face.

Not everyone does; most people don’t want others to recognize them in real life. You didn’t expect to see his face because in the other video, the camera was angled down. 

This guy, this scaramouche, he doesn't seem to care.

He's hot.

No… hot isn’t the right word to describe him, actually. He’s pretty, beautiful, even, in a way that doesn’t even seem real.

Dark indigo hair, which could almost be blue or even purple in certain lighting, eyes the same color. 

A face that definitely shouldn’t be used on making porn.

The first video with his face in it is him on a couch with a girl. His house is expensive, the kind of expensive that screams old money or nepo baby or both. The girl's face is blurred, but his isn't. He's looking directly at the camera, completely unbothered.

Nepo baby, you decide. Has to be. Some rich kid who hates his mom and spends her money on whatever he wants, not caring about his image or his future or anything.

He probably gets away with it because he's a man.

The video is in Japanese as figured. You watch it anyway, picking up on body language instead of words. The girl looks nervous, shaking slightly, and he sits close to her, petting her hair, touching her thigh. He leans in but doesn't kiss her. Just hovers there, making her wait.

You get bored and translate the description instead.

He calls her shy. Says she just broke up with her boyfriend, saw his content online, and wanted to be one of the girls in his videos. He talks about how he's going to ruin her. Turn her into a perfect little doll.

You don't feel disgusted by it; you don’t even know what you feel.

You keep scrolling.

Ten minutes later, you've gone through most of his content.

He's always in control, always cruel, always making the girls in his videos fall apart in ways that look almost painful. But he also... takes care of them. In his own way. Kisses them while he fucks them. Leaves hickeys all over their skin. Holds them down but also holds them close.

It's confusing.

Probably more confusing for the girls.

It makes you feel things you don't want to examine.

Somewhere around the fifteen-minute mark, you give up pretending you're just curious.

You grab the vibrator from your nightstand, the one you just used on stream, and press it between your legs.

You cum to the sound of his voice.

His moans, the way he laughs at the girls when they beg, the way he laughs even harder when they start shaking from being overstimulated. The things he says in Japanese that you don't understand but somehow feel in your core anyway.

You cum again.

And again.

You're on your third orgasm, trembling and oversensitive, when your phone buzzes with a notification.

A DM.

From him.

Your heart stops.

You stare at the notification, certain you're hallucinating. You followed him earlier, when you first clicked on his profile. You didn't think anything of it; you follow lots of people.

But he followed you back.

And now he's messaging you.

You tap on the notification with shaking fingers, fully expecting to see a wall of Japanese characters you won't understand.

It's in English.

You stare at the message for a full minute in shock. Your brain is refusing to process this, because what the fuck type of coincidence is this? 

He looked at your profile, saw your content, your bio, your everything while you were cumming to his own content.

And in your bio, the first fucking line is:

horny virgin 

Fuck.

scaramouche: hello? i know youre online i saw you like one of my videos 3 minutes ago and twitter also shows when people read your texts

Shit.

You forget how annoying this app is, how it automatically shows ‘seen’, when you click on someone’s DM, and there doesn’t seem to be a way to turn it off.

Twitter needs to fucking change that.

Embarrassing.

you: um… hi?

scaramouche: there she is thought you were gonna leave me on read

you: sorry i was just surprised i guess

scaramouche: surprised that i messaged you?

you: yeah lol you kinda dont really seem like the type to just dm ppl

scaramouche: im not girls usually come to me

You roll your eyes hard in real life. He sounds so egotistical.

you: okayyy.. so why r u dming me then?

scaramouche: bcuz i wanted to is that a problem

you: no i mean… IDK… i guess not?

scaramouche: relax holy shit im not gonna bite you unless… unless you want me to

You read that last message three times at the least. Your face is burning, you're still wet from earlier, still sensitive, and this conversation is not helping. You squirm in your bed, sitting back against a pillow and pulling your sheets over you so that you’re more comfortable.

The vibrator, the toy you used on yourself to his videos stares back at you, the stare feels harder than how it felt when your plushies would look at you while you shot videos.

You turn your body away from it and lie on your side.

you: how did you even find my account i know you aren’t just scrolling thru your notifications, looking at any any girls profile that follows u

scaramouche: algorithm duh you came up on my feed some video of you drooling on a dildo

In real life, you shove your face into your pillow, embarrassed, before glancing up, thumbs typing.

you: oh god

scaramouche: it was cute very pathetic mostly but cute i liked it

you: i don’t know if that’s a compliment or not

scaramouche: it is trust me

You don't know what to say. You're typing and deleting, typing and deleting, too shy to keep up this conversation.

Thankfully, he talks first, again.

scaramouche: you know what actually make me interested in you, though

you: what?

scaramouche: your bio the first thing it says, horny virgin thats real right? not some marketing bullshit like the other girls on here

you: it’s real

scaramouche: fuck thats hot

You stare at your screen, wide eyed, trying to ignore the feeling of your cunt, aching, clenching around nothing…

Because of him.

you: …

scaramouche: i mean it the virgin thing drives me insane but you already know that from stalking my account

you: uh, no i wasn’t

scaramouche: mhm… yeah sure tell that to my inbox stalker tip: try not to like every single post of mine that you scroll past, even though i always get a shit ton of likes, i can see when a mutual likes my post

You didn’t think about it till now that you’re mutuals with him on here, you followed him, and he followed you.

He continues typing.

scaramouche: its hot thinking about some cute girl who’s never been touched for real who only knows what it feels like from toys and whos been practicing on dildos for years without having the real thing

you: i haven’t been practicing for years i’ve only been doing this for like… a year tops

scaramouche: even better a year of making content a year of showing off that pretty little body and nobody gets to actually have it thats so fucked up dont you think?

you: i guess when you put it that way

scaramouche: and then i look at the shit you post "soft girl with soft moans & a tight grip" "wanna b ur brainless toy" "force me to take it" you srsly write all that and youre still a virgin?

you: those r just marketing it’s what subscribers want to hear you should know this

scaramouche: is it though? because i watched ur videos and you dont look like youre faking it you look like you mean every dirty word

You don’t have a response for that, because he is actually right. You do mean it, every filthy caption, every desperate moan, every time you beg the camera to use you, you mean it.

You just never thought you'd actually get to experience it.

scaramouche: so here what i wanna know with all the subscribers you have all the men in your comments, begging, offering to fly you out and fuck you on camera why are you still untouched

you: because they’re all disgusting dont u see half or most of them are like 40 yr olds with wives?? plus i dont want my first time to be with some random guy who just wants content

scaramouche: what do you want then

you: i dont know something real ig someone who actually gives a shit about me

scaramouche: thats cute naive but cute

you: whats that supposed to mean

scaramouche: it means you’re in the wrong industry for romance sweetheart but i respect it it’s rare nowadays

You're blushing so hard your cheeks could probably boil an egg. 

He called you sweetheart.

Sweetheart.

It shouldn't affect you this much. It's probably something he says to all the girls.

But still.

you: so why r u messaging me if you’re not trying to fly me out or whatever

scaramouche: maybe i am

you: oh

scaramouche: would that be so bad?

you: i mean yes? i dont know you

scaramouche: you know what i do you know what i look like you know how i treat the girls in my videos you also know that im more age appropriate than the creeps in your dm’s thats more than what most people know about each other before they fuck

you: thats different

scaramouche: how

you: it just is

scaramouche: youre scared arent you

you: im not scared im just cautious

scaramouche: same thing but whatever i get it tho random guy on the internet wants to meet up thats serial killer energy i know

you: it is a little bit

scaramouche: fair but for what it’s worth i dont live in japan so i wouldn’t have to fly u there if you change your mind i just go to japan sometimes for vids, i actually live in [insert city/town/whereever you live name]

Your heart stops.

That’s where you live. The same area your apartment is in, the same place where your campus is in.

He’s so much closer than you thought.

you: wait srsly??

scaramouche: yeah, why? r u from there too?

you: …maybe

scaramouche: holy shit small world or maybe the algorithm knows more than we thought

you: that’s kinda creepy

scaramouche: it’s extremely creepy but also very convenient if you ever wanted to meet up

you: i don’t know about that

scaramouche: no pressure just saying the options here

You've spent the last hour watching his videos, cumming to his voice, imagining yourself as one of the girls he ruins on camera. And now he's in your DMs, telling you he lives in your city, offering to meet up.

This is insane. And also dangerous.

And also everything you've fantasized about.

scaramouche: you dont have to decide rn im not going anywhere just think ab it

you: okay ill think about it

scaramouche: good girl

You’re too fucking easy, because those two small words makes your entire body feel hot, and you have to press your thighs together to relieve some of the pressure

scaramouche: you liked that didn’t you

you: what

scaramouche: being called a good girl i can practically feel you squirming through the screen

you: get over urself im not squirming

scaramouche: liar

you: shut up

scaramouche: make me

You’re going to die, literally, actually going to combust right here in your bed, and they’ll find your body in the morning, still holding onto your phone, still blushing.

You need to end this conversation before it spirals into you giving in.

you: i need to go to sleep

scaramouche: running away already?

you: im not running away im just tired i had a superrr long stream tonight

scaramouche: yeah i watched a little of it u looked all cute all fucked out and desperate you wish you had someone there to actually take care of you after, don't you?

Oh fuck do you. So bad…

You wish he was that someone.

you: maybe

scaramouche: think ab that too while you’re “sleeping”

you: you’re insufferable

scaramouche: really now? and yet… you haven’t blocked me

you: goodnight scaramouche

scaramouche: scara

you: what?

scaramouche: call me scara only people i like get to use the full name

you: okay goodnight, scara

scaramouche: night virgin dream about me

You close the app before you can say anything else stupid.

Your heart is pounding, head spinning, and you’re still so wet, still needy, and now you have a name, and a face to attach to all of your desperate fantasies.

You're not going to sleep tonight. 

You know that already.

You're going to lie here in the dark and think about him. About his voice that you can only imagine in Japanese because that’s all you’ve heard. About his hands… About all the things he does to those girls in his videos and how badly you want him to do them to you.

But you can't. 

You won't.

Because if you meet him, if you let him take your virginity, he'll just add you to his collection. Another video, another conquest. Another girl who fell for his pretty face and annoying pretty and cruel hands.

And then he'll move on to the next one.

And you'll be left with nothing but a video and a broken heart.

You want him. You know that now, with painful clarity.

But you want him to stay.

And you don't know if he's capable of that.

Two weeks.

It’s been two weeks since Scara slid into your DMs, and somehow, against all logic and reason, he’s still there.

You expected him to ghost you. 

That's what guys like him do, right? 

They message a girl, realize she's not going to put out immediately, and move on to someone easier. You were prepared for the silence, had already started bracing yourself for the inevitable.

It never came.

He’d send you videos, porn videos he found on twitter.

scaramouche: [video attachment] this is what id do to u btw just so yk

you: oh my god scara wtf u can’t just send me stuff like that at 2pm

scaramouche: um why the fuck not? r u at school or something

you: yes actually im literally in the middle of a lecture

scaramouche: boringgggg watch the video

you: im not watching porn in class scara

scaramouche: coward

It wasn’t always porn that you’d both talk about though, he’d send you other things…

scaramouche: [image attachment]

you: lol is that build a bear

scaramouche: it’s a fucking sanrio build a bear it’s YOUR fault my algorithm is ruined now i see this dumb shit constantly

you: aww that’s so cute though??

scaramouche: it’s not cute it’s annoying i used to get porn content now i get plushies and dumb pastel room tours

you: sounds like an improvement tbh

scaramouche: i hate you

He was also still in the subject of wanting to meet with you, in real life.

scaramouche: [video attachment] notice how she taps out at the end?

you: yeah

scaramouche: i wouldn’t let u tap out

you: …

scaramouche: just saying for when we meet

you: IF we meet

scaramouche: when

You clicked on his profile one night, just to check. Just to see if he's posted anything new.

He hasn't. 

No new videos. 

No new photos. Nothing in the same amount of time he’s been chatting with you.

That's... unusual. He used to post constantly. New girls every few days, new content every week. Now there's nothing.

You're not sure what that means.

But then you notice something else.

His following count. The little number that shows how many accounts he follows.

1

Just one.

You tap on it, expecting it to be private, and it is. But you already know.

It's you.

Out of everyone on this app, all the girls in his DMs, all the creators he could be following... he only follows you.

Your heart does something complicated in your chest that you don’t understand.

You don't mention it to him.

At some point, you both exchanged numbers.

scaramouche: hey y/n we should exchange numbers

you: why…

scaramouche: bcuz twitter dms r annoying and i wanna text u without the app crashing every 5 minutes

you: idk…

scaramouche: im not asking for nudes well even though you have it all posted already i just want ur number so we can talk easier

you: ughh okay fineee [number]

scaramouche: finally check ur texts

You check your texts and there's a message from an unknown number.

3058291193: hey virgin

You save his contact with a little purple heart emoji next to his name.

You both start texting more now that you both don't have to open Twitter just to message each other. It's nice, fun... but you also want to know more about him.

So one day, you ask.

you: we’ve known eachother for like almost 2 weeks now and i barely know anything about u tell me something ab u

scara: uhhh like what

you: why do u do this content i mean… you clearly don’t need the money

scara: the fuck how do u know that

you: your house in the vids ur clothes everything about u screams rich

scara: observant now? yeah okay my mom is super loaded shes some corporate bitch who cares more ab her company than her own son she barely knows i exist so i spend her money however i want and she doesn’t gaf

you: that sounds so lonely

scara: dont psychoanalyze me or im blocking u

you: sorry

scara: it’s fine ur not wrong it’s just annoying when ppl are right about me

After that conversation, he started talking more about himself.

scara: i have a cat btw

you: wait… rly? i didn’t expect that

scara: black fur, golden eyes her name is kuroneko it means black cat in japanese yes i know thats basic shut up

you: aww thats so cute can i see her??

scara: [image attachment]

you: OH MY GOD SHES SO PRETTY

scara: shes a bitch actually hates everyone but only tolerates me

you: sounds like someone i know…

scara: fuck off

You find out more and more about Scara. How he speaks Japanese fluently because his mom sent him to international schools growing up. How he lived in Tokyo for three years before moving back here. How he absolutely hates sweets, can’t stand anything too sugary…

except for you…

Tonight, you’re in your bed after a long day of school, you skip filming to talk with Scara like you normally do.

scara: yk what i dont get

you: what…

scara: why u wont let me meet u

you: ughhh scara we’ve been over this

scara: have we though? because everytime i bring it up you change the subject or you say you’re not ready or you make some shitty excuse

you: scara…

scara: im srs two weeks we’ve been talking i message you everyday i havent posted shit because im too busy thinking ab u and u still wont tell me why you’re so scared im not a stranger to u anymore, y/n

You stare at your phone for a long time.

You’ve been making excuses, not wanting to give the real answer everytime he’s too close to it.

But tonight, for some reason, you're tired of pretending.

you: okay fine u wanna know why im scared?

scara: duh it’s what ive been asking this whole time

you: because you’re going to leave

scara: what

you: after you take my virginity and film the video you’re going to leave and go back to making content with other girls and im just going to be another video in your collection, another girl you fucked and moved on from

He doesn’t respond, and you keep going.

you: and i dont know if i can handle that scara because i actually like you, and i like talking to you all night and then that’ll all just be over once we meet up

The typing indicator appears, disappears, appears again.

You wait.

And finally…

scara: you’re so fucking pathetic

you: wow thanks

scara: no i mean it thats the most pathetic thing ive read two weeks of bullshit when you could’ve just said that from the beginning

you: so what? r u going to make fun of me now?

scara: no im gonna tell u something and you’re going to listen, okay?

you: okay

scara: i havent posted in 2 weeks because everytime i think about filming with some girl whos offering in my DM’s, all i can think about is you and how it should be you and how everyone else would just be a waste of time and im the one who reached out to you first when i normally dont do u understand what im saying?

you: i think so