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aliyahwritings · 23 days ago

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THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (04)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player & Model!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 6.4k

Aliyah's Notes: i'll say it again, but specifically this chapter depicts heavy body image and ed descriptions + vomit so i beg of you to skip the beginning if you're uncomfortable with that. besides that, the chapter is cute and full of rafe and reader moments

No, no, no, no, no…

The air in the cramped bathroom felt stifling, its walls pressing close as if they could hear every breath slipping through your lips. Your phone screen glared up at you, the message burning into your mind, twisting your insides. It felt like a rope tightening around your chest, the words somehow dragging you thousands of miles back to a place you fought so hard to escape.

It was just a text. Just words. But your body reacted as if you’ve been thrown into an ice-cold river, your mind spiraling as your heartbeat thumped in your ears, louder and louder, drowning out all your sense of reason. You weren’t supposed to feel this way—not here, not anymore. You fought too hard to let a few words send you back to that place.

The text was simple, it read: "Hey, do you remember me? Just to let you know we're coming to the U.S. in a few weeks."

Your fingers, knuckles white, tightened around the phone as you tried to calm yourself. You had come so far, broken so many boundaries to make it, to have a life that was your own, that you chose. And now? Now your world felt as fragile as glass, your strength chipped away by something as simple as a message.

For years, you pushed that life aside, buried it beneath layers of success and glossy magazine covers, of flashing cameras and compliments that felt like armor. You learned to smile, to keep your chin up, to say what people wanted to hear. Y/N Y/L/N, the golden girl, they’d call you, the one with the perfect life, the charmed career. They didn’t see the cracks beneath, the memories you pushed so far down you could almost believe they’d never existed.

You missed them, sometimes. In quiet moments, when you let yourself think of them, you felt the familiar pang of loss. But you missed them on your own terms, and never to this point—never to the point of feeling that old, oppressive weight. The suffocating sense of having your every move watched, every thought scrutinized and molded into someone else’s idea of perfection. You’d broken free of those chains. Or at least you thought you had.

Your breath hitched as a tear slipped down your cheek, cold against your heated skin. You quickly wiped it away, but another followed, then another, until you were gripping the edge of the sink, trying desperately to hold yourself together. “You’re okay,” you whispered to yourself, your voice barely a breath. “You’re fine. Suck it up, come on.”

The words felt hollow, but you forced yourself to repeat them, steadying your breathing as you stared at your reflection. The woman looking back at you wasn’t the helpless girl from your past; she was someone stronger, someone who’d fought for every inch of her success. But as you brushed away the tears, you wondered just how deep those old wounds ran.

Another shaky breath, another splash of cold water. You didn’t have time for this. Not here, not today. There was a shoot waiting, people depending on you to be the flawless professional you always were. You could fall apart later. That would have to be enough.

Drawing yourself up, you checked your reflection one last time, wiping away any trace of emotion from your face. Your fingers still trembled, but you forced them to steady, exhaling one last time before stepping out of the bathroom, your shoulders set with the poise you spent years perfecting.

As you walked back into the studio, the lights blinded you momentarily, the heat from the set lights prickling against your skin. The room buzzed with activity—assistants darting back and forth, stylists fussing over racks of clothing, and the low hum of the photographer’s voice directing the scene. You slipped back into your role, letting the familiar rhythm carry your as you took your place on set.

“Finally,” the photographer muttered, barely looking up from his camera. “We’re on a schedule, Y/N. I don’t have time for dramatics.” His voice was cold, clipped, as though your presence was nothing more than an inconvenience.

You clenched your jaw, brushing off the comment. Just keep your head down, and keep moving. You struck your first pose, forcing yourself to focus on the rhythm of the camera’s clicks. Each flash, each snap, pulled you farther away from your thoughts, grounding you in the present. You knew this world, knew how to inhabit the perfect persona they wanted from you. You could do this.

“Okay, chin down,” the photographer barked, barely glancing up from his lens. “More. More—there, but tighten up your core, Y/N. It’s looking a little… fat.”

The comment hit you like a slap, the faint tremble returning to your hands. You adjusted your pose, forcing yourself to stay calm. You've heard comments like this before. Your body was scrutinized in ways most people couldn’t understand, your curves debated and dissected like they belonged to someone else. You have been trained to brush it off, to smile and push through it with the poise they expected of you.

But today, after everything, the words dug a little deeper.

The photographer snapped another shot, then lowered his camera, looking you up and down with a critical eye. “You’re slipping, Y/N. You used to be skinnier. Are you having those episodes again?” He cocked an eyebrow, his tone dripping with condescension. “If you’re going to stay at the top, you have to stop whatever it is you’re doing that’s triggering you. That means discipline, diet, focus. Do you have that? Or am I wasting my time here?”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, the words stinging sharper than you wanted to admit. You knew you gained a little weight—nothing drastic, nothing worth commenting on, but in your world, even a fraction of a change was enough to invite scrutiny. You forced yourself to hold your pose, to keep the practiced smile on your face, even as your heart pounded in your chest.

“No,” you said quietly, your voice steady but clipped. “You’re not wasting your time—I understand. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good,” he said, turning his attention back to his camera. “Because the camera doesn’t lie, Y/N. Either shape up, or Chanel will find someone who will.”

The ride home was a blur, the city lights streaking past the window as you sat, rigid, in the back seat of the car. Your stomach twisted painfully, a churning knot of anger, shame, and something that felt dangerously close to despair. Each time you closed your eyes, the photographer’s words replayed like a cruel loop in your mind, mocking you, unraveling every shred of confidence you’d managed to build. You’re slipping… used to be skinner…discipline, diet, focus. His voice echoed with the ghost of memories you’d focus so hard to bury.

You barely noticed when the car finally stopped. As soon as you stepped out, the familiar ache in your chest intensified, the weight of everything pressing down, suffocating. You fumbled with your keys, barely able to keep your hands steady long enough to unlock the door. Once inside, you kicked off your shoes, not even caring where they landed, and stumbled over to the couch. Every nerve in your body screamed, the urge clawing at you with a ferocity that was both frightening and familiar.

You sat there, breathing heavily, your fingers digging into the fabric of the couch as you fought to steady yourself. But the memories kept coming, one after another, tearing at you until it felt like you were drowning in them. You saw yourself, younger, lost, staring into the mirror late at night, desperate to feel in control of something—anything. The hunger, the self-loathing, the endless cycle of guilt and relief—it all rushed back with a force that stole the breath from your lungs.

It would be so easy to give in, a voice whispered in the back of your mind. Just this once. Just for tonight. You could have the relief you craved, the escape from the pressure that felt like it was suffocating you from the inside out.

No, you told yourself, clenching your fists. You’re stronger than this.

But the temptation was too strong, too insistent, and before you even realized what you were doing, you found yourself in the kitchen, stuffing your face with whatever you could find. You just needed to eat, eat, eat, and eat more. You blinked and found yourself in the bathroom, hands braced against the sink as you stared into the mirror, a tear-streaked, desperate face staring back at you. Your chest tightened as the shame washed over you, the familiar ache settling deep in your bones, dragging you down into the darkness you’d spent years trying to escape.

Your fingers brushed your throat, trembling as you fought against the impulse. You didn’t want this, not really. You knew the pain that would follow, the emptiness that would settle in your chest like a lead weight, crushing you from the inside out. But the need for control, the need for release, was stronger than you were.

As if in a trance, you gave in, the guilt and shame numbing your mind as you went through the motions, each step mechanical, devoid of thought. The feeling of release came in a rush, bringing a momentary sense of relief that quickly dissolved into nausea and self-loathing. You sank to the floor, gasping for breath, your entire body trembling as the full weight of what you’d done settled over you.

The bathroom floor was cold against your skin, grounding you in the present even as your mind spiraled, tangled in a haze of guilt and despair. You pressed your forehead to your knees, the tears coming fast and hot, unstoppable. Your chest heaved with silent sobs, each one cutting deeper than the last as you choked on the bitter taste of regret. The walls seemed to close in around you, trapping you in a prison of your own making, a prison you’d vowed to escape but somehow couldn’t.

You thought you were done with this, that you’d left this part of yourself behind. But here you were, broken and hollow, the fragile pieces of your self-control shattered beyond repair. You wanted to scream, to tear at your own skin, to do anything that would make the pain stop, even for just a moment.

“Why am I like this?” you whispered, the words barely audible through your tears.

When the tears finally slowed, you felt hollow, emptied, the relief you’d hoped for replaced by a numbness that was somehow worse. You pulled yourself up, the motion slow and heavy, as though your limbs were weighed down by the shame you carried. You splashed water on your face, watching as the streaks of mascara and foundation washed away, leaving you bare and exposed, a shadow of the person you pretended to be.

Stumbling back into the living room, you sank onto the couch, the silence of the apartment pressing in around you, thick and suffocating. Your stomach ached, a dull throb that echoed the ache in your chest, a reminder of everything you’d tried to forget. You leaned back, closing your eyes, your fingers still trembling.

The silence was shattered by the faint buzz of your phone, the sound jarring in the quiet. You opened your eyes, feeling a fresh wave of dread as you reached for it, already bracing yourself for more bad news. The screen showed a message from Rafe, sent twenty minutes ago.

Rafe: “Hey. On my way over. Be ready. We’re going out.”

Your heart skipped a beat, panic flaring in your chest as you processed the words. Rafe was coming here. He’d be here any minute, expecting you to be ready, expecting you to be fine. But you were anything but fine. The thought of facing him, of pretending everything was normal, felt like an impossible task.

You wanted to ignore it, to curl up on the couch and let the world fade away. But you knew you couldn’t. He’d see through you, he’d ask questions, and you weren’t ready for that. You weren’t ready for him to see the broken pieces.

Taking a shaky breath, you sat up, wiping the last traces of tears from your face. You couldn’t fall apart now. You’d have to pull yourself together, put on the mask he expected to see.

But as you stared at the screen, the weight of what you’d done settled over you, a cold, crushing ache that threatened to drown you all over again.

A sharp knock broke the silence, the sound slicing through the thick air of your apartment. You jolted, your heart racing as you looked toward the door.

Fuck! You hadn’t even had time to fully compose yourself.

Another knock, lighten this time, followed by his familiar voice. “Come on, open up, sweetheart,” Rafe called out, his tone easy, teasing. He was here. Of course he was here.

Forcing a deep breath, you pushed yourself up from the couch, running your hands through your hair in a last-minute attempt to look put-together. You brushed a hand over your face, trying to erase any trace of what had happened, then ran to close the door of your kitchen to hide the mess of food sprawled everywhere.

The moment you opened the door, Rafe’s eyes locked onto yours, his playful smile faltering as he took you in. The lightness in his gaze shifted, softening with a concern that made your chest tighten. You could feel his eyes sweeping over your face, catching the lingering redness around your eyes, the slight shake in your hands and naked legs, the way you wouldn’t quite meet this gaze.

“You…” he said, stepping forward as his brow furrowed. “You okay?”

You forced a smile, dismissive, brushing it off as though he hadn’t seen what he had. “I’m fine, Cameron. Just a long day, you know,” you replied, your voice steady but rough, your fingers clutching the edge of the door.

He didn’t move, his gaze unwavering as he studied you, his expression laced with worry. “Are you sure?” he asked softly, his voice careful now. “You don’t look fine. Your eyes…”

“I said I’m fine, Rafe!” you snapped, the words sharper than you’d intended, the force of them surprising you both. His brows shot up slightly, but he didn’t move, his gaze locked on yours as though he were searching for something beneath the anger.

“I’m just asking, but something’s obviously wrong. You don’t have to—”

“Why do you care?” you interrupted, your voice edged with a defensiveness you couldn’t control. “It’s none of your business, alright,” Your hands tightened into fists at your sides, the sting of tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you willed them back, pressing down the wave of emotion threatening to rise again. “I told you, I’m fine. Just drop it.”

The silence stretched between you, tense, your words hanging in the air like a challenge. You could see the hurt flash across his face, fleeting but unmistakable, before it softened into something closer to understanding, something that only made you feel more exposed.

“Alright,” he murmured, his tone calm, measured. He took a step back, lifting his hands slightly in surrender, his gaze lingering on you, patient, waiting. “If you say so.”

But you could see it in his eyes—he didn’t believe you, not for a second.

You stepped back, allowing him to come inside. He moved past you slowly, his gaze flicking back to you once before staying put. You headed toward the living room, and he followed you, swallowing the lingering shame in your throat as you focused on steadying your breath.

He paused near the couch, glancing around the room as though searching for a sign of what had shaken you.

“Alright, so… where exactly are we going?” you asked, aiming to keep your tone casual. Your gaze dropped to your hands, hoping to mask the slight tremor of your nerves.

Rafe glanced over, he seemed to take a moment to consider his answer, studying you as though choosing his words carefully. “One of my friends is hosting a little get-together…”

“Topper?”

“Hell nah!” He quietly laughed, shaking his head. “Not this time. It’s Kelce. He throws these gatherings sometimes—more chill than anything else. It’s just a handful of people, around a dozen or so, max. You think you’ll be okay with that?”

His gaze lingered on you, a mix of playfulness and genuine concern softening his features. You swallowed, nodding as you offered a small shrug. “Yeah, sure. That’s fine. So… just friends? Are there going to be, um… other girls?”

He tilted his head. “Yeah, some. Kiara and Cleo are usually around for these things, and…” he paused, scratching his jaw before continuing, “my sister.”

That made you look up, your curiosity piqued. “You have a sister?”

“Two actually, both younger,” he replied with a faint smile. “But only one’s coming tonight. Sarah. I think she’s around your age. You’ll probably like her. She’s… got a bit of a wild streak.”

You nodded and stayed quiet for a moment, lost in thought, before glancing back at Rafe. “So… I’ll just go get ready—wait! How should I dress up? Is it a casual-casual or a casual-but-nicely-dressed type of gathering?”

Rafe’s lips quirked into a smile, visibly relieved to see you bouncing back to your usual self. “Pretty sure, whatever you wear, you’ll make it look elegant, sweetheart.”

“That’s not helpful—but thanks.” You arched a brow at him, waiting.

"Just something simple," he replied with a shrug, leaning back on the couch. His eyes traveled over you, taking in your outfit—a pair of black shorts paired with an oversized, ripped T-shirt splashed with images of Barbie. Somehow, even in that, you looked hot, and he couldn’t help but let his gaze linger.

“Simple?” You tilted your head thoughtfully. “Like…a dress? Wait, maybe a skirt is better for this. But a dress is more of a party vibe…” you started muttering to yourself, lost in wardrobe decisions. “Should I wear something with prints? Oh, wait—”

“Just wear a skirt, baby,” he cut in smoothly, his gaze softening as he watched you.

That one little word—baby—made your heart flutter and stopped your train of thought cold. You caught his eyes, trying to ignore the sudden swarm of butterflies, and arched a brow at him with a teasing smirk. “Oh, I see what this is. You just want an excuse to look at my ass. Bet you’re hoping for a little peek under my skirt, huh, you perv?”

Rafe’s smirk grew, and he sat up, his blue eyes gleaming with something undeniably mischievous. “I’ll see your ass at some point during this marriage, whether it’s tonight or some other night,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “Got you speechless now, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, pretending his words hadn’t just lit a spark that was still buzzing beneath your skin. “No, actually, I was just thinking of all the ways I could strangle you.”

“Kinky,” he teased, eyes alight with amusement.

You groaned, chuckling despite yourself. “Not like that, you perv.” You waved your hand dismissively, shaking your head. “Enough of this. I’m gonna go get ready.”

Before you turned, he grinned and made a move to get up. “Can I come and watch the show?”

You placed a firm hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down with a laugh. “Absolutely not. Stay here and be patient. I won’t be long.”

Rafe relaxed, settling back with a smirk as he watched you disappear into your bedroom, and you made sure to close the door firmly behind you.

You emerge from the bedroom an hour later, dressed in a strapless leopard-print tube top that clings to your figure just right, paired with a faded denim mini-skirt. For makeup, you opted for a natural look with a subtle glow, focusing on your lips, and you left your curls loose, letting them fall naturally over your shoulders, once again.

You walked into the hallway, slipping on your black Louboutin stilettos. As you straightened, you didn’t need to look back to know Rafe was right there, his presence a steady hum in the quiet of your apartment. You’d heard his soft footsteps the second you stepped into the hallway.

"You—"

"Watch what you’re about to say, Cameron," you cut him off, throwing a teasing glance over your shoulder, "because if it’s about my ass, I’ll slap you so hard you’ll fly out the window."

His smirk widened. "Now, I wasn’t gonna say anything like that," He let his gaze travel up and down your figure, lingering on the way your fitted mini skirt hugged your curves. "But since you brought it up—yeah, it’s the perfect opportunity to take a peek. Especially with you bent over and all."

You straightened up, narrowing your eyes at him, though a faint smile tugged at your lips. "Rafe."

He raised his hands, palms out. "Alright, alright—my bad." He let his eyes travel over you one more time, this time slower, more appreciative. "But you look nice."

"Just nice?" you teased, tilting your head slightly as you stepped closer, noting the way his eyes darkened as he drank you in.

"No..." His voice dropped, his eyes turning hungry as they lingered on you. "You look hot. Really hot."

You felt a satisfied smile spread across your face. "Perfect. That’s exactly what I was going for."

"Well, you succeeded, sweetheart," he replied, voice thick with an admiration that felt too close for comfort.

You smiled, pushing down the heat rising to your cheeks, and made your way to the door, pulling it open. Rafe followed close behind, stepping into the hallway as you both moved toward the elevator.

"So," you asked as you pressed the elevator button, "do your friends know about the arrangement, or…?"

Rafe shook his head, popping the 'P' as he answered, "Nope. None of them have a clue. Not my teammates, not my sister—nobody. So you’re gonna have to pretend to tolerate me for a few hours. Think you can handle that?"

You tilted your head, your smile turning sly. "Tolerate you? For a few hours? I mean, it’s gonna be a challenge, but I think I can manage.”

“Is that so? Gonna be that hard to put up with me?”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything, in fear to hurt your poor feelings but you are extremely annoying and hard to put up with, Rafe Cameron,” you shot back, your eyes sparkling.

“Ouch,” he touched his heart and mocked a pained expression. “You’re hurting your husband’s feelings here, sweetheart.”

“Future husband,” you corrected with a smirk. “And, womp womp!”

The elevator reached the lobby, and the two of you stepped out, making your way toward the exit. Rafe opened the door for you, his hand resting briefly on the small of your back, sending a shiver up your spine.

Outside, his car was waiting, sleek and polished under the streetlights. He held the passenger door open, and you slipped inside, watching as he rounded the front and got in beside you.

The car ride was quieter than you expected. He seemed content, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting casually near the gearshift. You stole a few glances at him as he drove, catching the glint in his eye as he noticed you looking.

Finally, he spoke up. "You know, if you’re gonna be my girlfriend for the night, you’ll have to act the part."

"What do you mean?"

He smirked, shifting gears smoothly as he turned onto a quieter road. “Maybe try not to glare at me every time I look at you. Oh, and try smiling, or I don’t know, pretend like you don’t find me annoying.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. "Noted. You have some more notes, Mr. Cameron?"

“I do, actually, future Ms. Cameron,” he said, glancing at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “As my girlfriend, you should probably let me put my arm around, or even hold my hand if we’re getting really freaky.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk dancing on your lips. “Oh, yeah ‘cause touching your hand will make me nut, right?”

He chuckled, glancing over you, his expression full of amusement. “I mean, that’s usually how most people feel—but more seriously, we need to make this believable. The whole world has to think we’re in love.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "And here I thought this was a marriage of convenience. You know, strictly business. But since we’re giving notes then I think you should show a little more enthusiasm."

He chuckled, shaking his head as he navigated the streets. "Alright, I can do enthusiasm. How about I serenade you while I drive?"

"Oh my God! Please don’t," you laughed, shaking your head. "I’d like to keep my hearing intact."

"Suit yourself." Rafe grinned, glancing at you with a mock-seriousness. "But if I can’t sing, then I have to hold your hand. That’s the rule."

You hesitated, your heart racing at the idea of intertwining his fingers with yours. “Fine…”

He raised his hand triumphantly, a playful smirk plastered across his face. "See? You’re already getting into the spirit of things. Besides, it’s not like our lips haven’t touched—"

“Rafe!” you exclaimed, slapping his chest with a mix of disbelief and embarrassment.

“What? I’m just stating the truth,” he said, feigning innocence as he rubbed his chest, an exaggerated pout forming on his lips. “Come on, don’t get shy on me now, baby.”

“I am not shy,” you retorted, unable to suppress a smile.

“Right, and I’m the bloody king of England,” he shot back with a horrible fake British accent.

“Shut up,” you laughed, the sound echoing softly in the quiet of the car as you shook your head at his antics.

The banter hung in the air between you like a playful thread. You both lapsed into a comfortable silence, the gentle hum of the engine and the occasional rush of wind outside the car providing a soothing backdrop. As the minutes passed, anticipation buzzed in the air, making each second feel charged with excitement.

Finally, you pulled up in front of a large, ornate gate guarded by stern-looking security personnel. Rafe, unable to contain himself, leaned forward and called out his name with exaggerated bravado, “Rafe Cameron!” The gates swung open, revealing a huge house with lights everywhere.

As he parked the car, you took a moment to steady your breathing, inhaling deeply to calm the flutter of nerves in your stomach. With a final exhale, you opened the door and stepped out onto the pavement. Before you stood three familiar faces, their expressions a mix of anticipation and curiosity as they waited at the door of the house.

You glanced at Rafe, who had just stepped out to join you, his presence exuding a quiet confidence that somehow eased your tension. The way he stood beside you, relaxed yet alert, made you feel a little more at ease.

“Am I dreaming, or are there three people waiting for us—and they’re jumping?” you asked, barely able to contain your laughter as you watched the trio bouncing in place, their enthusiasm infectious.

Rafe chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “You’re not dreaming. The idiots over there are my sister, JJ, and Topper.”

“Oh, I know Topper!” you exclaimed, a spark of excitement igniting in your voice. The prospect of recognizing someone made the moment feel a bit more comfortable.

“Yeah, you do, sweetheart,” Rafe replied, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. His eyes glinted with warmth.

As you approached the animated group, the sounds of their laughter filled the air, creating a vibrant atmosphere that made your heart race with anticipation. Rafe walked beside you.

Topper was the first to spot you, his face lighting up with a broad grin as he waved. “Love birds! Over here!” he shouted, bouncing on his feet, you could tell he was slightly tipsy already.

JJ turned at the sound of his voice, his expression shifting from casual to surprise when he caught sight of you two. “What the fuck? Rafe is here with a girl—isn’t that—”

“That’s Y/N! What the actual fuck, Rafe?” Sarah exclaimed, her voice rising in disbelief as she slapped JJ’s chest, the surprise evident in her wide eyes.

As you stepped into view, the weight of their stares sent a wave of nerves crashing over you, and suddenly, the words you’d rehearsed vanished from your mind. It was ridiculous—usually, you were the life of the party, friendly and extroverted. Why were you feeling so overwhelmed now?

“Hi,” you managed to say, cringing at the awkwardness of it. A rush of heat crept up your neck as you mentally kicked yourself for being so inarticulate.

“Hi, pretty girl,” JJ chimed, his grin infectious. “Now that Y/N and her boyfriend have arrived, the party can officially start!” He turned and bolted into the house with an enthusiastic shout, followed closely by Topper, leaving you alone with the Cameron siblings.

Turning your attention back to Sarah, you took a moment to admire her outfit—a stunning black leather dress that hugged her curves perfectly, her makeup expertly applied to accentuate her striking features. She radiated confidence.

“I’ve seen stuff about you two on social media, but I didn’t expect you to actually bring her here—respectfully, of course,” Sarah said, her gaze flicking to you as she finished her sentence and you simply shrugged. “This is a first for you, Rafe,” she continued, raising an eyebrow at her brother.

“I’m serious about her, so get ready to see her everywhere by my side,” Rafe replied casually, but the warmth of his words sent your cheeks aflame. “Are you the only girl here—”

“I love your dress, by the way. I don’t know if I said that already ‘cause I’m pretty tipsy, but I love it. Leopard prints suit you so well! Every time you wear animal prints on the runway, I’m always so in love with how it fits you. Oh, and I heard you’re working with Chanel right now—is that true? You can tell me; I promise I won’t spill. Plus, I’ll probably forget about it by tomorrow anyway—”

Rafe, clearly exasperated, swiftly placed a hand over her mouth. “Don’t say weird shit like that, stalker. You’re creeping my girlfriend out.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, placing a hand on Rafe’s shoulder. “No, it’s fine.”

“You sure? Because she really sounded like a fucking creep,” he said, feigning seriousness, but you could see the hint of amusement in his eyes.

“Guess that runs in the family,” you teased, lifting yourself on your tiptoes to lean closer and whisper in Rafe’s ear, the warmth of his body radiating against you. “But thank you, Sarah. I was going to say the same about you and your dress. It fits your body like crazy; I’m honestly jealous.”

“Girl, please. Have you seen yourself?” she scoffed, her confidence shining through.

“I have, but have you seen yourself? You’re stunning, like a goddess.”

“Oh my God—”

“Alright, enough with the glazing,” Rafe interrupted, a mock-seriousness creeping into his tone. Sarah shot him an annoyed glare, which you mirrored, both of you momentarily united in your frustration. “I introduced her to you, but there are other people who don’t know she’s here, so get out of the way, Sarah.”

With that, he gently nudged her aside, his protective demeanor hinting at how much he cared, even amidst the playful banter. You couldn’t help but smile at the way he navigated the room with ease, leading you into the chaos of the party.

The room was awash in vibrant colors, illuminated by twinkling lights strung overhead. A long table was set up against one wall, laden with an enticing spread of snacks and alcoholic drinks that sparkled enticingly under the glow. The atmosphere buzzed with energy; laughter and music melded together in a lively symphony. Groups of people swayed on the dance floor, while others engaged in animated conversations or indulged in the delicious food. Rafe was right—though the crowd wasn’t particularly large, the energy was palpable, and the music was loud enough to make your heart race.

You gently tapped Rafe’s arm to get his attention, and he leaned down slightly to hear you over the din. “We’re not gonna go to each person to introduce myself, are we?”

“Hell no! Just my close friends—” he started, but his words were cut off as someone unexpectedly leapt into his arms, wrapping their limbs around his neck with abandon. Rafe staggered slightly, instinctively holding the person tight to steady them both. Your brows knitted together in confusion and irritation as you wondered who would be so brazen as to interrupt a conversation. The person had clearly come from the front, meaning they’d seen you two talking moments before.

Fucking prick, you cursed internally at the bold interloper.

When the person turned around, you found yourself face-to-face with a woman who had long, straight brown hair that cascaded over her shoulders. Her cheerful smile faltered briefly upon noticing you, but it returned almost instantly, though you could sense the shift in her demeanor.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry for coming in like that,” she shouted over the thumping bass, her voice bright and exuberant. “I was just so excited to see Rafey. I couldn’t contain my joy.”

You waved your hands dismissively, plastering on a friendly smile, trying to keep the peace. “It’s totally fine, don’t worry. I get it.”

“I’m Chiara, by the way. Chiara Romano,” she introduced herself, extending a hand for you to shake. You accepted, noting the warmth of her grip.

“That’s a pretty name,” you said sincerely, your tone genuine. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

“The supermodel who fled from her country, right?” Chiara asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

You scratched your cheek, a touch of embarrassment creeping in. “Well, not exactly, but yeah… that’s me.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Y/N,” she said with a bright smile before turning her attention back to Rafe, suddenly snatching his arm and tugging at him playfully. “Come with me, Rafey.”

Rafe, who had been uncharacteristically silent during the exchange, finally spoke, his tone firm. “Wait! No, Chiara.”

“Why? It’s gonna be fun—” she retorted, but Rafe’s tone shifted to a more serious note.

“I’m here with Y/N,” he said firmly, the protectiveness in his voice undeniable. Chiara halted her playful tugging, her expression shifting as she turned her full attention to you. “She’s my girlfriend.”

“Oh…” she said, her brows raised in surprise as she studied you intently. “Are you two serious, or not?”

You frowned, taken aback by the bluntness of her question. You knew Rafe had a reputation for jumping from one woman to the next, but he had just referred to you as his girlfriend with such conviction. That had to mean something, right? You couldn’t help but wonder what Chiara would have done if you had said no.

“We’re se—” you started, but your voice faltered.

“I want him to say it,” Chiara interrupted, a challenging glint in her eye as she turned to Rafe. “Say that you two are serious, Rafe.”

The air grew thick with anticipation as you awaited his response. The weight of the moment felt significant; this wasn’t just a casual interaction—it was a test of the fragile foundation of your arrangement. Rafe’s eyes darted between you and Chiara, a mix of uncertainty and determination swirling in them. You held your breath, knowing that you needed him to affirm the seriousness of your relationship, even if it was just for show. Rafe couldn’t afford to slip up, not when so much was at stake. You watched him struggle with the words, a silent plea hanging in the air as he held Chiara’s gaze, and you braced yourself for what would come next.

Who the fuck was Chiara Romano to Rafe Cameron?

chapter five

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bunnys-kisses · 3 months ago

Note

I did the last request the vanilla cheesecake with a side of champagne and root beer and I forgot to add my person can it be max verstappen sorry!

bakery menu

thank you for the submission!! also i saw that this was your first time requesting a fic so THANK YOU! if you want to submit an order of your own, hit up the menu for all the information! i write for more than just formula one so go crazy! thank you and enjoy!!

vanilla cheesecake ("where are your manners?") + champagne (sugar daddy au) + root beer (filming/recording) served by max verstappen (formula one)!

cw: smut/pwp, sugar daddy au, filming/recording, collars, degrading language, mean!max, dom/sub dynamics, bondage, sex toys, orgasm denial/control, jealousy

max thought that you were sweet like honey, something to drag his tongue along as he had your ankles at your ears, his cock buried inside of you.

you didn't mind being the play thing of one of the best drivers in the world. you didn't mind that you'd be in your apartment one day and the next day you're in the back of his car heading to his jet to go anywhere in the world.

money wasn't an object to someone who made close to sixty-million dollars a year. even the time he was off racing, you'd still get a pretty deposit in your banking account.

it was a charmed life, but being the sugar baby to a man like max meant indulging in the needs of his. you were a paid service, company as you were once told it was.

and max had some sick little kinks. nothing that bordered on illegal (thank god), but the flying dutchman liked his girls behaving and begging. and you were the prettiest beggar of them all.

"head. forward." he said. he was seated on the couch and you were on your stomach with your arms tied behind your back with a belt and a toy stuck in your slick pussy. you had dropped your head up against the floor for a moment before max corrected you.

you looked up at him and whined a little, "please, sir. please, i promised i'd be good! i didn't realize what i was doing." and tensed up when max turned up the intensity of the vibrator via the remote in his pocket.

max currently looked fairly sleek, in slacks and a white button up. the suit jacket was draped over the arm of the couch and his sleeves were rolled up. those strong forearms were exposed. he was leaned back against the leather couch with his hand in his pocket with the remote in his hand.

he sighed through his nose before he said, "i don't think that's the case, treasure. you know what you did tonight, i'm surprised that you didn't whore yourself at that party."

you tensed up when he lowered the vibrations of the toy. he shifted in his seat a little and kept a stern eye on you. his gaze felt oppressive and it made you squirmed on your stomach. you felt like a worm, weak and vulnerable. prey.

"please, max. please, please, please! i'm sorry! it won't happen again." you arched your back a little and squirmed in your binds.

he made a face, that he wasn't convinced of your apology. he turned off the vibrator and got up from the couch. you could see the painful erection in his slacks more clearly. he walked over to you and held you by the back of the head to look at him. he said, "you are very dumb, treasure." his words were biting, "a dumb little thing." he shook his head a little, "oh max gives me money, so i can act like a slut. norris' hands were up your skirt. i don't like when people touch what is mine, especially another driver."

you flinched a little, but your core swam with want. he was domineering like this. scary in a way that left a thrill of excitement through you. you licked your lips and said, "it wasn't what it looked like."

he nudged you with his shoe and then stepped on the center of your back, right under where your hands were bound. he made a small noise before he turned the vibrator back on to full intensity. you tensed up and threw your head back, but you weren't going far. not bound and under max's shoe.

"i'm not too sure, treasure. i told you when we started this little agreement that you were going to be exclusively mine. i didn't want to share you with other men. i pay you enough to keep you mine." he pressed a little bit on your back and you arched it.

you felt the heat in your cheeks and the wetness between your legs. you panted a little bit, "i promise, i promise i will never let another man touch me." the lust in your body was short circuiting any logical thinking.

he chuckled, a little more convinced now. he took out his phone out of his other pocket and filmed your quivering body. he played with the remote in his other hand as he continued to film you. he took a good shot of your pussy as he watched your wither and moan.

"please, max. please, i'm sorry. i won't let lando touch me again. i thought he was just being friendly!" you moaned as you tried to shift your hips in a way to get the pleasure you need.

he put the camera in your face and your head in his other hand. he chuckled and got the camera close to you, "say that to lando right now, treasure. tell him you're off limits." he could feel the heat in his body grow, you were so painfully pathetic in front of him withering on a toy.

you looked up to the camera, your lips in a pout and your eyes were wet. you sniffed a little bit as you said, "lando. never touch me again. i belong only to max." then arched your back further as he lowered then intensity, only to put it to the max once more.

max rubbed your head and chuckled, "that's it, that's a good little slut. you actually know how to behave. i guess i haven't fucked all of your brains out."

you whimpered when you realized that max had full control over your orgasm. he was edging you when he finished filming you. you wondered if the video would actually be sent to lando at the end of this. the prospect of it excited you, maybe you liked the way max treated you like an object when he was upset.

he eventually had enough of the teasing he was doing to you. he got behind your naked, bound form. his phone on the floor beside him. he was still clothed with his cock out of his pants.

he loved the sight of you naked under him when he clothed. you shuddered at his oppressive gaze and winced when he took the toy out and replaced it with his cock. you squirmed under his touch and bucked against him. but a swift slap across the ass calmed you.

"you're so pretty like this." he said, "you're so painfully pretty on your shoulders and knees, letting me fuck the daylights out of you. you look good under me. it's where you belong."

you gasped against the hardwood floor under your. your cheek pressed against it as he started to rub against you. his large hands on your hips, keeping you pinned to him as he thrusted into you quickly,

there was no time for romantic pleasantries, he needed you at that moment. he needed to feel that sweet cunt around his cock as he fucked you. his possessiveness for you grew with each thrusts of his cock.

"please, max." you panted, "shit, please." you gasped as you moved against your binds. you felt the knot in your stomach as he fucked you without much abandon.

"see, you can be good." max groaned. he was obsessed with you, that was why he was luring you in with heavy stacks of cash. he could bruise your insides with his cock if it meant that you'd get something shiny out of it. it was almost cute, too easy for him to trap you.

the rabbit between the lion's jaw.

"max, i'm sorry. please, i want to be your good girl." you panted heavily.

he held onto the meat of your hips tighter and bullied that impressive cock of his deep into your sweet pussy. he wanted to make sure that he marked you inside and out.

pretty thing like you need to be owned. kept next to him, not running off with the likes of lando. things sparked in the back of his mind as he thrusted in and out of you.

he'd make sure next time that you knew who you belonged to before you both went out partying. maybe a collar next time, a nice piece of sturdy leather with a lock that only he could open.

so even if lando got his hands on you, max's name around your neck would be a reminder to him and anyone else that you were claimed territory.

"i know you can be my good girl." he said, "just lie there and let me fuck you. you're mine, got it?"

you swallowed, "yes, max!" you felt the heat curl in your gut the more that he fucked you. your head swam with pleasure, the aggressiveness to his movements were all getting too much.

he shuddered and pushed his cock as deep as it would go. he felt his pace stagger when you clenched around him and finally came. it was all too much for you. usually he'd make you beg to climax, but he had done enough damage tonight. your poor pussy was probably nice and bruised.

max would make it all up in the morning with something expensive. he'd wave a stack of euros in your face and all would be forgiven. he thrusted heavily a few more times before he pushed it in all the way to the base and finished inside of you.

he prayed the birth control he paid for worked like it did every other time. but a sick part of his brain hoped that it failed. he hoped that you got pregnant and stuck carrying his kid. then at least lando wouldn't touch you, hard to get his hand up your skirt when you're nice and pregnant with a verstappen brat.

he grit his teeth and grumbled, "that's it, that's a good girl." he landed a smack across your ass as he finished. his pace slowed and he panted heavily. he leaned back on his heels and admired the sight of his cum dripping out of your poor pussy.

you've learned your lesson. you were going to be max's good girl. you were simply his expensive play thing, but the more max sank his cock into the gummy soft pussy of yours. the more the addiction came over him, max was getting greedy with your time.

and soon he'd want to devour your whole <3

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beta-therapy · 3 months ago

Text

How to Deal with Sadness/Frustration from Rejection

We’ve all been there. We’ve all had a crush on a beautiful woman and wanted to give her the world, only to find out she has no sexual interest in us. Maybe she puts you in the friendzone; or maybe she makes it clear she wants nothing to do with you at all. It’s normal to feel frustrated in these situations, knowing that she probably has a vibrant sex life with other men, yet doesn’t have any sexual interest toward you.

When this happens over and over again, it can make us question our own self-worth: how come so many women have decided that sex is an activity which is off-limits to me? Do my sexual needs not matter? How come a woman can be salivating with excitement as she begs certain men to engage her in the most personal of ways—whereas with me, so much as asking if she’s single gets me permanently labelled as a creep?

As society becomes more and more accepting of personal freedoms, (especially regarding women) like allowing people to dress how they want, freely express themselves, do what they want in their own bedroom, etc., there indeed looms an increasing mental health crisis among those men who don’t get included in all the sexual fun. They can feel inferior and isolated. In this blog, I’ll discuss how to handle these emotions.

Although it might bring you feelings of shame, insecurity, and jealousy to find out that women consider you unsuitable for sex, it is important to understand that these feelings are rooted in misogyny. It is an outdated, oppressive idea that the goal of a man’s life is to acquire dominance, status, power, and wealth; and use this prestige to seduce beautiful women. This idea is so evil because it views women as beauty objects rather than equal human beings. Women are not trophies.

Women are full human beings with no less intelligence, leadership abilities, creativity, and dignity than the men who forced them to be quiet and submissive for all human history. A lot of men still refuse to acknowledge this today. They want to keep seeing women as less intelligent, less capable, submissive homemakers whose value comes from their sexual beauty.

That sexy woman you know probably does have a passionate sex life, but you should strive to admire her as a person: smart, strong, kind, witty, dignified. She can still have all these great qualities to her even if she has zero sexual interest in you. Considering her a “sexy woman” is—in and of itself—toxic masculinity at work. Why is “sexy” the first trait that comes to your mind when it’s clear that her sex life is off-limits to you? Maybe she is sexually submissive in her bedroom, but why should that concern you? She’s allowed to explore the “feminine” part of her existence in her private life without it subtracting from her value as an interesting, fascinating person in her public life.

You can still be a happy, nice, and fulfilled person even if all the women around you would prefer not to have sex with you. Just because the female community around you doesn’t want you as a sexual/romantic person, doesn’t mean you have been rejected as a person entirely. Sexuality is just one component of the human experience, and it’s very common throughout history for people to be deprived of it.

We have evolved for survival and reproduction, not necessarily to have good morals and be happy. For example, racism is part of our DNA. In prehistoric times, racism helped us stay away from warring tribes, so it was positively selected-for with respect to evolution. But in modern times, we can recognize that racism is a huge problem if we want an inclusive, happy society, and so we must actively denounce this artifact of our DNA.

Our sexuality is much the same way. Throughout history, the evil, abusive, tyrant was always better able to protect his children due to his status and wealth, in comparison to the poor, harmless, gentle, and caring man. That doesn’t mean the evil tyrant was a better person, but it does unfortunately mean that women would evolve a sexual attraction toward higher status, dominant men even if it meant overlooking their moral evil.

As a result, the things women are sexually attracted to are not necessarily the things that are good. You can take solace in this fact. Being sexually undesired by women does not mean there’s something wrong with you, it just means they see you as more harmless and submissive rather than powerful and dangerous.

#pussy free #friendzone #denial #sexless #beta zone #beta #pussyfree #fully clothed #loser #friend zone #friendzoned #besties #friendship #rejection #rejected #reject

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ddarker-dreams · 5 months ago

Note

It's ovulation week I am begging you to give us more blade crumbs

I'M A BIT LATE BUT !!!!!!!!!! better late than never, ig ??? anyway... here's some not sfw jealous blade. warning for mentions of alcohol and it's implied reader let a dude flirt with her just to fuck around and find out .

(definitely not a bad idea or anything when your bf is an immortal killing machine haha... aha...)

despite your affection for your morose lover, you’ve harbored a secret regarding his eyes.

those wickedly beautiful vats of crimson can occasionally be too much to bear. staring back at them, you’re reminded of the carnage he’s inflicted. that for some, this was their final sight before they bled out a similar shade. to have those same eyes weighing you down inspired apprehension. not from the belief he’d harm you — simply that he could.

his gloved hands are cool against your feverish skin. they grope at your bare thighs, desperate and unforgiving. you’ve made his lap your throne. your panties are embarrassingly soaked against his clothed bulge, which you’re made to grind against by his inescapable grip. the friction is exhilarating, depriving your lungs of air and his mind of any coherent thought. he’s acting on base, animalistic instinct, his composure shattered beyond repair. yours isn’t any better. the night is young and he’s made an unapologetic mess of you.

faintly, you wonder if you should apologize. next comes determining what there even is to say.

i’m sorry i’m so hungry for attention.

i’m sorry that i laughed at his jokes.

i’m sory that i leaned in too close.

“come back to me,” blade demands. his dominant hand finds your jaw, tilting it up, forcing you to stare at your reckoning. “think of no one else.”

the meaning behind his words doesn’t immediately register. through the haze clouding your senses, a semblance of understanding pierces through. having your body isn’t enough. he wants your mind for himself as well. your most fearsome acolyte, who’d serve as its warden and worshiper.

his eyebrows pinch together, belying his own inner conflict.

why did you choose me?

when will you change your mind?

how do i get you to stay?

your lips find his. blade’s response is instantaneous, he ravishes you, his tongue likely tasting the cocktail you sipped an hour prior. a deep, guttural growl sounds from his throat. you whimper. his sounds of gratification do something to you, altering your chemistry, making your veins hot with lust. when you part, he chases after you, only stopping once he sees how desperately you need air.

he’s painfully hard against your cunt. a wet patch has formed from where your anatomies grind together, his precum seeping through the fabric. the constant stimulation to your clit has you breathless. you’re close — teetering on the precipice. he must be able to tell, for he maneuvers you like you weigh nothing, sparing you the physical overexertion. thighs trembling, you bury your face in his neck. his scent is a mix of anise, sweat, and blood. oddly, it makes you feel safe.

and then he urges you back to look him in the eye.

“did you want him to do this to you?” the question comes out like a snarl, scarcely human in its timbre.

you shake your head.

“would you—” he clenches his teeth, as he’s nearing his own end, “—would you have let him fuck you?”

this time, when you try shaking your head, he slows down.

“you have a voice, girl. use it.”

you swallow thickly.

“i wouldn’t have,” the words stumble out. “m’ sorry.”

the atmosphere is thick and oppressive. the low light has you squinting to better discern his countenance. as always, it gives little away. in an unexpectedly tender gesture, he brushes his lips against your forehead. he then tucks the hair sticking to your sweaty skin back. your throat feels tight. before you can try to make sense of it all, he returns to his previous ministrations. still sensitive, you gasp, throwing your head back.

the muscles in your body tighten, threatening to snap—

“i swear,” he murmurs against your ear, “it’s you who will be the death of me.”

—and at that, you come undone.

#blade x reader #honkai star rail x reader #blade brainrot #bf blade #not sfw #hsr x reader

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tododeku-or-bust · 8 months ago

Note

could you elaborate a bit on that post abt (not) wearing headphones in public/playing your phone out loud? i was under the idea that it was nice to not play stuff aloud bc ppl might have migraines or be sound avoidant, but didn't realize i might just be seeing it from a white perspective, and id love to learn more

All right! First, check this link out: Xochitl does a far more eloquent job of explaining the idea than I would:

I assume that you're specifically honing in on my tag about the "white right of comfort".

Okay, so here's the thing. You're allowed to find public noise annoying. I too, find public TikToks and music annoying! And if you have migraines and such, I can understand how it would be impolite and inconvenient.

But what you're NOT allowed to do, is feel entitled to the public and prioritizing your OWN comfort in it over everyone else to the point of DEMANDING that it conforms to you or it's "bad". Especially when there are things you as an individual can do to prevent this discomfort.

While this gross sense of entitlement is very first world American in nature, it is extremely White American in nature because white Americans actually have the social power to enforce what they believe is the "right" thing based on their own standards.

For many cultures around the world and for many people of color, noise in the community is a GOOD thing. It's part of being a community. I feel safer if the people around me feel safe enough to be outside, to exist and to be, visibly in public.

And you got to understand, while many white people think they're genuinely in the right for believing that being loud on public transit or in the public is worth enforcing as a "bad" thing, people of color have literally already been killed for it. A Black teenager was shot in the face for playing music that a white man didn't like. A Black mentally ill man was murdered in front of EVERYBODY on a train because he was having a mental breakdown. This sort of policing ALREADY HAPPENS to us. Hell, even white gays with any sense of community should be aware of how queer gatherings would be shut down for "noise" (when in reality it was bc it was homophobia).

And now people want me to empathize that YOU'RE oppressed by... noise? On Public Transit?? IN PUBLIC?? Kiss my ass lmao.

I've been on trains where a man was legit growling at me like he wanted me dead. Another i saw Teens high on crack. Another where people beg and people sleep and people listen to music. And you know what I did? I turned my OWN music up and went on my way. Because at the end of the day, the only person I control is me!

And if people were REALLY concerned about others welfare, they would COMMUNICATE. no one is willing to say "hey, I have a headache, do you mind-" bc they're afraid of the rejection, so it's easier to demand "well EVERYONE SHOULD BE LIKE ME". Mhm. Learn to confront your issues. But you're not "unsafe" bc music. You're just annoyed, and you'll get over it.

In summary it really gives me "I can give you something to cry about" energy. Bc y'all swear y'all don't understand the existence of an HOA but here yall are replicating the same Karen behaviors, and y'all don't even realize (or maybe even care) how racist you sound. But why would you lmao, that makes you uncomfortable! And damnit, you have a right to comfort!!

#using general you btw #not you specifically anon

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averycutesalamander · 1 month ago

Text

finished the 2.6 story and promptly blacked out and wrote this in a feverish haze. minor gore warning (it's really mild but still). also this is up on ao3 if that's your preference. comments always appreciated but not obligated 💕 xoxo love yall

Boothill tries not to sleep very often.

He doesn't particularly need to, either; he can get away with around a dozen hours every week if he pushes himself – which he often does. The only time he sleeps with any consistency is when he's with you, in the interim between his long journeys away.

He doesn't often have pleasant dreams, but when he does, it's always when he's sleeping by your side. His particular favorite is an impossibility, as dreams so often are.

He's back on Aeragan-Epharshel, playing with Clementine. She's a bit older, now – around ten. She's still just as sunny as she always was – though he hasn't quite managed to get her to stop tugging on his hair; perhaps he should be content with her progress so far, considering that she never pulls hard anymore. He's outside with her on a blessedly warm fall day, painting stones with the pigments you made by hand; the holidays are a few months off, and Clementine wants to paint customized stones for everyone she can think of, aunts and uncles included. (She told him very decisively that she'd make his rock on her own. It has to be a surprise, obviously.) He'd argue that her painting is far better than his, but he still makes one for you – a messy collage of your favorite colors on a shiny black stone, forming a smeared mimicry of the night sky.

When she tires of that, he hauls her up onto his shoulders and heads inside to badger you, disturbing your reading. You banter; you chat; you help Clem clean up, then dot her little forehead with kisses until she laughs – that sweet, warm laugh, like the chime of a bell. After that, he helps you out with dinner, the aroma of casserole filling the entire house. Clem lingers by your feet, clinging to your pants as you chop vegetables plucked from the garden that morning. She looks up at you with those dewy doe eyes, pouting dramatically until you relent and give her small chunks of veggies; you're so used to her habit of begging like a dog for scraps that you bring out a little more vegetables than you need every time. He watches on with a tender, lovestruck smile, perfectly content.

When he woke up from that dream, it was to the silence of your bedroom, his eyes burning and his chest aching something fierce. He looked down at your sleeping form sprawled over his body, your limbs tangled and your face soft with sleep. With his hands shaking slightly, he shifted to hold you just a little tighter against him, savoring your weight, your warmth, your smell.

That dream will never be a reality, but at least he can fulfill some morsel of it.

It's rare for him to be so fortunate as to have sweet, peaceful dreams like that one – despite the irreconcilable yearning they're tainted with. Most dreams – such as the one he's having right now – are not so pleasant.

Smoke clogs the air, so thick that it burns his lungs. Flames press in on all sides, licking at his heels, searing his skin. The smell of death, of burnt hair and flesh, of ash and misery, is so oppressive that he feels like he's suffocating under the weight. A cacophony of screaming echoes from all around him, cannon fire bursting in his eardrums, but through the noise, he hears it – the shrieking wail of a child in pain, piercing straight through his heart.

He's running, clamoring through the fire, stumbling over the rubble of destroyed homes and corpses whose roasted, blistering hands grasp uselessly at his ankles, their croaking voices begging him for help; his instincts urge him to obey, to haul them out of the fire and carry them to safety, to tend to the wounds of his family – but he knows in his heart that there's no use. There is no safety here, nowhere to bring them, no way to treat burns so fierce that they've bared bone and sinew.

But there's a dash of hope in his heart, because that girl's crying is so clear, so crisp – he must be close. Yet no matter which way he turns, no matter how fast he runs, no matter how far he sprints into the carnage, he can't find her. Her cries turn sharper, more anguished; she sobs his name, pleading, begging, but her voice only seems to be getting further away. His chest heaves, his tears evaporating from his eyes before they can spill, his flesh melting from his bones in a slurry of fat and muscle. Why can't he find her? Where is she? Why did it come to this? Why, why, why–

“It's okay, bee.”

A soft voice echoes in the back of his head, nearly muffled by the deafening noise battering him from all sides. He collapses to his knees, completely spent, his whole body disintegrating into ash. He's burning, he's burning, but so is Clem – he can hear her screaming, louder and louder, piercing clean through his skull. He has to find her, he has to get up, he has to–

“Wake up, honey. It's okay. I've got you.”

The voice is a little louder now, and it feels like his body cools slightly, like the flames have been slightly dampened – but a moment later, they roar back to life with a vengeance. This can't be happening; this can't be real. He can't–

“Wake up.”

He jerks awake with a gasp, his whole body shaking like a leaf. He can hear your voice in his ear, your arms wrapped tight around him, his head nestled against your chest as you slowly rock him back and forth. He's already clinging to you, arms locked around your waist, but he pulls you in even tighter, desperate for an anchor. His breathing skips as he sobs, not a tear to be found, his body aching with phantom pain.

It takes a few moments for him to even process your words. “You're alright,” you murmur softly, stroking tenderly through his hair, your other hand tracing soothing circles into his shoulder. “Shh, shh. It's okay.”

Mindlessly, stupidly, he blubbers your name, nearly incomprehensible in his distress.

“I'm right here, baby. I've got you.” You tighten your hold slightly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Breathe with me, sunshine. Can you do that?”

You take a deep, slow breath, your heart beating steadily in his ear. On instinct, he mimics you, his lungs stuttering in his chest. The air of your exhale tickles his hair, and his own warms your skin, taking with it a bit of his tension. Inhale, exhale; slowly, his hydraulics begin to relax. Inhale, exhale; his hands grow a bit steadier, his palms flattening against your back. Inhale, exhale; he swallows heavily, the fear bleeding out of his veins.

The two of you stay like that for some time, your breathing keeping him grounded, letting him clear his mind. “I'm… I'm sorry,” he rasps, so soft that it's nearly muffled by your skin.

You shush him softly. “Nothing to be sorry about, honeybee.”

He doesn't even have the energy to rebuke you; as the terror flees his body, exhaustion rushes in to fill the gaps. After a moment, he murmurs, “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. I'm okay.”

He can practically feel the gentle, concerned furrow of your brow. “Are you sure? I don't mind staying up to talk with you, if that'll make it easier.”

He shakes his head, burrowing a bit further into your chest. “You're helpin’ just by bein' here, honey.” Slowly, he begins to rub circles into your back, just as you're doing to him. “This is just fine.”

He can sense your hesitation, can hear it in the beat of your heart. He lifts his head to kiss your collarbones, shamelessly savoring the scent of your skin.

“I'm okay,” he whispers. “Just get some rest for me, sugar.”

You're silent for a beat before finally sighing, your body relaxing against him. “If you say so.” You lean down to press a kiss to the top of his head. “Promise you'll wake me up if you want company, alright?”

He smiles, a tender, shaky little thing, then presses his ear to your chest. “Sure thing, pumpkin.”

Thankfully, it doesn't take too long for you to drift back into a light sleep, your breathing deepening, your heart slowing next to his ear. Your natural rhythm soothes him so efficiently that he might've fallen back asleep if he weren't actively trying to stay awake. He distracts himself by stewing over your plans for tomorrow, how he'll spend his precious time with you.

He'll make you breakfast in the morning, he decides – though he'll have to be careful not to disturb you. He always loves watching you wake up, and he's sure it'll be even better if it's to a fresh plate of food.

Yeah, he thinks, his lip quirking fondly as he nuzzles into you a bit more firmly. That'll be good.

#sal.txt #boothill x reader #reader insert #x reader #gn reader #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #boothill #sal.sdfb

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redvexillum · 1 month ago

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@nyx91 I swear, my kinktober wouldn't be as sexy without your saucy, devilish little mind! Thank you for the request. I would like to dedicate this story to @ritualofcirice - as a fellow red flag connoisseur, this is for you bbg 😘

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, established relationship, quickie, p in v, fingering, period-typical racism, period-typical sexism, dom/sub undertone, alastor being a lil shit

The music swelled around you, a melody meant to evoke elegance, but it felt suffocating, like a veil draped over the quiet chatter of faceless strangers. Their gazes pierced, indifferent yet heavy, but not as heavy as the hand draped across your shoulder, its weight oppressive, a silent command for obedience. The man beside you, your husband in name only, pulled you closer as though to cement the truth of your captivity.

Suffocating.

You had been sold like a decorative doll – prettily packaged, displayed for the highest bidder. Your smile, meticulously crafted, gave the illusion of perfection. But you and he knew the truth behind your smile. It was hollow, an empty facade to continue the play, an act, until you bow out for the rest of eternity.

You didn’t belong here, trapped in a glided world of opulence, where the diamonds adorning your neck felt more like chains than luxury.

You had everything you needed to survive. No, that wasn’t right. You had everything required to prolong your existence, to keep breathing, but you weren’t living. How could you be, when your life was confined to a sparkling prison? You were a possession, locked away, waiting to be presented as an accessory to those who owned the world.

Was it living to have your voice silenced, your soul stifled, your body surrendered?

Suffocating – each breath tightening the invisible noose around your throat. Your fingers itched, clawing desperately at the ever–tightening rope that cut off your air, but no matter how hard you struggled, it wouldn’t loosen. The weight of expectation, of disdain, pressed down on you, drowning you into the deep depth of the sea with unreachable air. You begged silently, for release – just one breath – but instead, it was stolen from you, over and over again.

The man beside you, the one whose touch made your skin crawl, let his hand drift lower, resting possessively on your stomach. “Ah, we’re still trying, aren’t we?” His laughter was thick, rich with the arrogance that came from power, but you could see it – the tension, the anger, the thinly veiled contempt in the set of his jaw. “Perhaps, by God’s grace, we’ll finally be blessed with a child.”

You saw their glances, their cruel smirks hidden behind masks of sympathy. You could hear their whispered judgments, each word laced with venom. It was your fault – you had failed. No child, no purpose.

A doll – that's all you were.

Thoughtless.

Lifeless.

Useless.

When their stares became unbearable, when your husband’s presence suffocated the last fragments of your will, you forced yourself to smile. It was a trembling thing, fragile and uncertain. Your hand rested lightly on his, a touch that felt foreign on your own skin. You dared to meet his icy blue eyes, his aging features seeming to grow harder under the weight of his resentment. “Dear, I...I would like to freshen up.”

Your words were laced with a tremor, posed as a statement, yet asking permission all the same.

His gaze cut to you, sharp as a blade, and for a moment, the world stilled. With a heavy sigh, devoid of warmth, he gave a single nod. “Of course, dear,” he said, his voice as lifeless as your own. There was no love, no affection – nothing but the void.

Despite the sweltering heat that clung to the Louisiana air, you were always cold. Cold, and drowning in a world that wasn’t meant for you.

With a controlled nod, you ascended the stairs. Each step measured, deliberate, though your heart pounded wildly beneath the facade of calm. You needed to maintain the mask, yet inside, your chest tightened, desperate for air, for freedom. The moment you crossed the threshold of the master bedroom, you finally took a breath – deep and revitalizing, your lungs filling as though for the first time all evening.

“My, it must be quite the tough crowd down there, cher!” A voice, smooth and rich with an almost dangerous charm, cut through the stillness. It was familiar – achingly familiar.

Your eyes snapped toward the source, and there he was. Alastor, lounging casually on your marital bed, legs crossed, his eyes inspecting his nails through his circular glasses. His brown hair, always so alive, shifted with his movements as he tilted his head, that ever-present grin stretching across his face.

“Al...Alastor?” His name slipped from your lips, soft and breathless, your mind struggling to form anything beyond the simple syllables. A torrent of questions rushed through your thoughts.

How have you been?

Why are you here?

Did you know how much I’ve missed you?

But none of those questions made it past your lips. Instead, your body acted on its own.

Before you knew it, you had crossed the room and threw yourself at him, the momentum forcing him back onto the bed. Your arms wrapped around his neck, your face burying into the familiar crook of his shoulder. That scent – rich black coffee with a faint metallic tang – washed over you, flooding your senses with memories. Safety. Desire. Love.

“Oh, cher,” Alastor’s voice was a low, intimate whisper, his hand tracing a slow path down your spine. “Right here? On your marital bed?” His tone teased, warm and dangerous, as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, his hands roaming in those familiar, tantalizing patterns.

Trembling, you slowly pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, tears blurring your vision, smudging the mask of perfection you wore so carefully. “How are you here, Alastor?” you breathed, barely able to speak. Your fingers grazed his chest, lingering on the fabric of his suit. “This place...the security...” Panic began to take root in your chest, twisting sharply. “You have to leave – if my husband finds you, he’ll - he’ll kill you!”

You grabbed his wrist, a frantic tug to get him off the bed, but he didn’t budge, at least not from your force. Instead, he stood in one smooth motion, and before you could register what was happening, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. His other hand gently clasped yours, a slow, intimate dance forming between you.

Confusion painted your face as he swayed, guiding you in time with the muted music that filtered through the floorboards from the party below. “Ah, I’ve missed this,” Alastor purred, his grin never dropping, as if the danger meant nothing to him. “You and me, cher. We used to be quite the pair at Mimzy’s, remember? People would come just to watch us dance!”

His voice was warm, teasing, dripping with nostalgia. You wanted to stay mad, to push him away. But your resolve wavered. “I was foolish,” you began, trying to sound firm, to mimic the cold, detached tone your husband wielded so effortlessly. “You mean nothing to me,” you forced out, but your voice quivered, betraying the truth behind your words. “After all, I’m just another loose woman,” the self-deprecating laughter fell weakly from your lips, and you hated how easily the cracks were revealing itself.

“Mmm,” Alastor hummed, his hold tightening around your waist. His grip was possessive, unyielding. “Is that what you believe?” His voice was soft now, a whisper in the intimate space he had created for the both of you. He spun you gently, his breath brushing against your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine.

You nodded, though your throat tightened painfully. “Of course,” you whispered, your laugh sharp, broken. “Why would I choose some small-time radio host over all of this?” You gestured weakly around the room – the polished wood, the silk sheets, the closet lined with designer clothes and sparkling jewels. It was everything society told you to want. “Why would I choose you?” Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper, and the tears you had tried so hard to suppress began to spill over, streaking your cheeks.

Alastor turned you around to face him, then his hand moved to cup your face, his thumb brushing the tears away as they fell. He leaned in, his lips grazing your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Because, cher,” he whispered, his voice low and sensual, “no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, you know deep down...you’ve always wanted me.”

Your heart stuttered at his words, the heat between you growing palpable. His touch was fire against your skin, burning away the cold of your marriage, the numbness of your glided cage. With him, you felt alive again – dangerously alive, as if every nerve in your body had been reawakened. You shuddered against him, your mind caught between the addicting pull of desire and the sharp bite of fear.

He leaned down, his lips hovering just above yours, his voice nothing but a sultry murmur. “I’m here now, cher. And I’m not leaving until you admit what you really want.”

Before you could utter a response, Alastor’s grip tightened as he guided your body toward the window, the cool glass casting your reflection into the darkness of the night. Only the moon, high and full, bore witness to the scene unfolding, its pale light shimmering on the wine-red curtains that cloaked you both in secrecy. The silken fabric draped around you like a veil, shrouding the sinful, forbidden moment with another man.

“So, tell me...” Alastor’s lips dipped low, his breath hot against your ear as his fingers pressed firmly into your cheeks, turning your gaze toward the window. The reflection staring back was undeniable – the image of two lovers entwined in passion, his whisky-brown eyes locking onto yours through the glass. His ever-present grin curled devilishly, brimming with dangerous delight. “Why do you look like a woman in love, cher?” he whispered, his lips brushing over your cheek in a feather-light kiss, warm and inviting, his breath sending a shiver through you.

His hand drifted down, fingers trailing over your skin with the slow, tantalizing precision that made your heart race. One by one, the buttons of your dress came undone, and with each release, the fabric parted until your white bra was fully exposed to the night.

You should’ve felt shame, knowing anyone who glanced up might see you like this – exposed, vulnerable, sinful. But when Alastor tugged down your bra, freeing your breasts to the cool air, the thrill of it only made your nipples pebble, sharp against the sudden chill.

“Ah, cher, you look like a woman drenched in sin.” His words were molten, dripping with heat as his lips grazed the curve of your ear. His fingers found your nipple, teasing, pinching, drawing a sharp gasp from you that you couldn’t suppress.

Alastor shushed you with a dark chuckle, his hand tightening around your waist. “Careful, love. You wouldn’t want him to hear us, would you?” The danger in his voice set a rush of excitement flooding your veins, every nerve alive with desire.

Immediately, you bit your lower lip, nodding, your breath shallow as you fought to keep quiet.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the words a caress that sent a delightful jolt down your spine. His body pressed closer, his hips grinding slowly against you, his desire evident, burning. “Now, show me how much you want me,” he breathed, his tone filled with a dark, seductive command. “Show me how much you missed me.”

For a fleeting second, you caught it – a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, something soft and aching beneath the confident, teasing mask. But it vanished just as quickly, leaving you wondering if you’d imagined it.

Turning your head, you pulled your gaze away from the reflection and looked at him, really looked at him. Not the illusion of him through the glass, but the real man before you.

“I’m not allowed to want you,” you whispered, voice trembling as the weight of your emotions crashed over you. A single tear slipped down your cheek, and with it, the perfect mask you had worn for so long began to melt away. “I’m not allowed to think,” another tear passed the threshold, the barrier of unfeeling you had tried so hard to uphold. “I’m not allowed to love you, Alastor.”

The words hung in the air, raw and exposed, words you had never dared to speak aloud, finally escaping into the night.

“Then don’t,” Alastor whispered back, his voice low and dangerous, just before his lips captured yours in a kiss that stole your breath. You wanted to laugh at the absurdity of his words. How could he ask you not to want him, not to think of him, not to love him, when every touch, every kiss, every moment with him set your soul ablaze?

But you understood what he meant. He didn’t care, and neither should you. At this moment, with him, propriety, expectations, rules – those didn’t matter.

He spun you around to face him fully, pressing your back against the cool glass of the window. The sensation of the cold pane against your heated skin made you gasp, but Alastor’s hands were quick, pulling your leg up to hook around his waist. The clink of his belt unbuckling rang loud in the quiet room, a promise of what was to come.

“Tell me you want me, and I’m yours,” he said softly, his voice a gentle plea, his fingers hooking into the band of your underwear, pulling it down slowly. “Tell me to leave, and...” His breath stuttered for just a second, and he paused, his eyes searching yours, his lips hovering as if he didn’t want to finish the thought.

But before he could say another word, you closed the distance, your lips crashing into his in a kiss full of desperation, full of need.

You, the sinful, wretched, adulterous woman, wanted him - wanted him more than anything.

Your fingers tangled into the back of his hair, pulling him closer as your lips melded together, tasting, licking, savouring every breathless second of the kiss. A soft moan escaped you, the sensation of him after so long overwhelming every sense. His warmth, his smell – all of it was intoxicating, all of it drowned you.

“Oh, cher,” Alastor murmured, his voice a wicked purr, just before he tore your underwear away with a sharp, satisfying rip. The blunt, heated tip of him pressed against your core, rubbing in slow, deliberate strokes. He moaned into your mouth, his words a low chant of pleasure. “You missed me, you missed me.”

Slowly, deliberately, he pushed into you, savouring every inch, every stretch. The heat between you two felt unbearable, a throbbing pulse that only deepened the craving you had tried to bury.

“Al-Alastor,” you whimpered, your voice catching as your walls clenched around him. He filled you slowly, drawing out the moment, making you feel every single second of him entering you, making you remember every inch of what you had missed.

You bit down on your lip, squeezing your eyes shut as the intensity of it coursed through you. Your body screamed with need, the lewd moan threatening to escape held firmly behind gritted teeth. Here, in the bedroom you shared with your husband, you were pressed against the window, fucking another man behind a flimsy red curtain.

The thought sent a thrill racing down your body, but reality pulled at you, reminding you how close you were to getting caught. Your husband would come looking for you soon. You couldn’t stay away too long. “I-I-” you stammered, taking in a sharp breath as Alastor buried himself to the hilt, filling you completely.

“I know, cher, I know,” Alastor muttered against your skin, his voice filled with understanding. And then he quickened his pace, his hips snapping forward, thrusting into you with reckless abandon.

Your suppressed moans mingled with his, the heat between you rising, rising, rising – his breath coming out ragged as he kept up his relentless rhythm. He was close – you could feel it in the way his movements grew more desperate. And then, with one final thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, the hot spurt of his release filling you, flooding your core.

Just as the pleasure surged through your body, the door to the room creaked open.

Alastor’s hand flew to cover your lips, muffling any sound as his body stilled against yours, his cock still pulsing inside you. Your breath was stuck in your throat as the familiar voice of your husband echoed through the room.

“Dear?” His voice was calm, almost indifferent, but each footstep that creaked across the floor sent your heart racing faster.

Your eyes locked with Alastor’s, and for a brief moment, you wondered how he could remain so composed. His grin didn’t falter, not even with the looming danger. Your husband could kill him – claim it was self-defence to protect his honour, saving face from the scandal of an adulterous wife.

“Damn, where did that bitch go?” Your husband muttered under his breath, his voice growing closer.

You felt Alastor soften inside you, the remnants of his release dripping down your thighs, but he wasn’t finished. His hand slid down, finding your clit, his fingers circling the sensitive nub in slow, tantalizing strokes. His other hand remained over your mouth, stifling any sound, his eyes glinting with that familiar, manic thrill.

He scooped his own seed from your thigh, pushing it back into you, teasing your already sensitive core as you trembled in his arms.

And still, he grinned, devilishly, as if daring your husband to step just a little closer.

Instinctively, your hips bucked against his fingers, desperate for the release Alastor was teasing from you. He closed his eyes, a low, stifled groan escaping his throat as he ground his softening cock against your thigh, savouring the sensation of your wetness mixed with his seed. The heat of his spent length against your skin sent sparks through your trembling body.

You bit your lip, eyes squeezed shut, fighting back the moan that threatened to spill from your throat. The sound of his fingers working you, slick with a mixture of both of you, filled your ears. It was deafening in the otherwise silent room, your husband just steps away. The danger, the thrill – it was too much. You were spiralling closer toward the edge, your body coiling tighter with each stroke.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you opened them, meeting Alastor’s gaze, silently pleading for him to stop. You were so close to falling apart, right here in your marital bed, with your husband in the same room.

If he caught you – if he knew – you couldn’t bear it. You couldn’t bear the thought of Alastor’s life in danger because of your sins.

But he didn’t stop.

Instead, Alastor’s lips curled into that wicked, wolfish grin that sent shivers down your spine. He pushed you further, faster, his fingers working you into a frenzy. The door clicked shut, your husband leaving the room, blissfully unaware. The instant the threat was gone, Alastor’s hand moved with abandon, his fingers rubbing your clit in maddening, slick circles. The wet, lewd sound echoed through your ears, the final push you needed.

“That’s right...that’s right,” he murmured, against your skin, his voice a low, intoxicating drawl. “Come for me, cher.”

The words shattered you. Your body seized, muscles tensing, your moans muffled by his hand. Your fingers dug into the sleeve of his jacket, clutching at anything to ground yourself as your orgasm ripped through you.

Alastor’s eyes never left you, watching every moment of your undoing, the dark gleam of satisfaction never leaving his face as he kept you pinned in his grip.

As your trembling subsided, and the waves of your climax began to fade, Alastor leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “When you go downstairs, cher, don’t clean yourself up,” he whispered, his voice drenched with possessive heat. His hand slowly left your mouth, only to slip lower, fingers slick with his release. “I want you to feel me, “ he muttered, scooping up more of his thick seed and plunging his fingers deep inside you once more, “all night.”

Your mind spun, lost in the haze of lust as he pressed his cum-soaked fingers to your lips. Without a second thought, you wrapped your mouth around them, slowly sucking, tasting the salt of him and the lingering heat of your own desire. You cleaned his fingers obediently, your tongue swirling around them as he watched with a sharp grin.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, you hurried to button your dress, your hands shaking as you tried to fix your makeup and smooth your hair. Alastor slipped out the window, leaving you trembling in the wake of your shared sin. The tattered remains of your underwear did nothing to cover you, and the cool breeze caressed your slick folds as you stood there, still reeling.

Returning downstairs to greet your husband, you felt the unmistakable warmth of Alastor’s seed slowly dripping down your inner thighs. You pressed them together, trying to keep it contained, but true to his word, you felt him with every step, every moment. His presence lingered on your skin, inside you, for the rest of the night.

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

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thehetrophobe · 3 months ago

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This is for those of you who think the problem is homophobia, not heterosexuals

It cost them nothing to be nice, yet they chose to be bad, not because it's fun, but because that's what being a default means.

Straight people were born with superior complex. They see themselves as the CORRECT example of a human being, the rest of us are just bad archetypes. Due to being surrounded constantly by their own kind, they have developed this notion that "anything that doesn't resemble me is stupid and should be suppressed."

You can see for yourself above. And below...

Their offsprings are as bad as they come. Being heterosexual is being the villain.

Yet we keep on begging them for acceptance and tolerance. And it turns them on to see us on our knees. They love to watch us beg, but they hate it when we celebrate ourselves.

So they do anything to stamp out our happiness...

But we remain strong. We push back. We fight till we fight no more.

Just remember this; you are stronger than HETEROSEXUALS. Believe it or not, you have grown tougher than them. You grew up hiding and suppressing yourself while they grew up exploring their sexuality. You adapted to your surroundings while they whined and complained when things didn't go their way. You live among them, you know how they think, you know their desires, meanwhile some of them have never even met a gay person. We are part of them, they are not a part of us.

We are a community, we are connected. They are not.

LIVE FREE OR DIE

Fuck defaults

EDIT: I knew what I was going up against when I started this blog. This isn't some minority I can shit on and everyone will roll their eyes. This is the fucking majority. The kings and queens of oppression. The Saurons of earth. If I said I was scared of what they thought of me, then I would be a fucking liar. I'm sick and tired of living around their feelings, sick of reading their homophobic comment, sick of celebrating their heterosexual bullshit.

Let. Them. Suffer.

Defaults can go hang themselves!

#lgbt #gaymen #gay #transgender #lgbtq #love #lesbian #trans #memes #truth #art #artists on tumblr #fuckstraightpeople #democracy #vote harris #writers on tumblr #homophobia

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leikeliscomet · 6 months ago

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(Reposting from twitter)

My POV as a Black fan that thinks Dot and Bubble's racism commentary is trash

Rewatched Dot and Bubble and I'm gonna break down from my POV as a Black fan why this episode didn't work for me & why it's an awful racism commentary. Long arse post incoming:

The whole "You should've noticed the cast was all white except for fifteen ha your bias is showing" doesn't work for a show that's been predominantly white for 60+ years. D&B casting has been the default for most of the show so its not abnormal enough to be a racial litmus test. An example is the Matt Smith era The only reoccurring character of colour in s5 (2+ appearances) is Liz 10. Artie n Angie in s7. 0 in s6. RTD's own era isn't fully safe either. For many eps Martha or Mickey are the *only* Black characters. Most POC are side characters or extras.

White fans should be aware of the predominantly white casting of the show but this late in the game feels cheap. Most of the show has gone through 100% white episodes including fan faves and it was never an issue back then bc it was beneficial. This is so hollow. Representing racists as cartoon caricatures SEVERLY underestimates the danger of white supremacy irl. White supremacy is system designed and constructed and rebranded over centuries. It is not accidental. People aren't racist bc they don't know they're racist because they *do* They know the system that oppresses POC, Black people especially, benefits them socially and financially and that is why they participate. Its not stupidity it's intention. That should've been the Finetime core not Lindy goofing around bc the arrows are gone or some shit.

Human Nature showed us racist young people that exercised this power bc they knew this. They may be children but they are still dangerous bc of their views. Martha knew this. The silly tech obsessed gen z angle erases this danger and that of actual gen z white supremacy

Instead of the camp goofy tone we could've gotten a serious focused episode. The slugs and millenial/gen z social media silly distracts from what could've been the main theme of colonisation instead of saving it for 10 mins of exposition at the end & scattering microaggressions. Saving Fifteen's racism scene for a goofy episode was a horrid idea. Spending 30 mins on representing racism as silliness then giving a dramatic dangerous score is the definition of tonal whiplash. Representing his oppressor as a blonde bimbo again does not take this seriously. Fifteen went to 1960s BRITAIN & got through it unscathed. Finetime is a fictional futuristic land but the racism of 1960s Britain was real. If anytime was right it could've been Devil's Chord. Distancing yourself from a panto villain is easy but addressing your history is hard.

The scene itself is incredibly performed so I'll give Ncuti his flowers but what he used this skill for could've been so much more. Having his FIRST SCENE begging to save a racist is disgusting. It isn't Black people's responsibility to show compassion to people that want us dead. Yes the Doctor helps the baddies bc they care. But they're aren't ignorant to prejudice. The liberal anti racism of who is so jarring and why I still think Thin Ice is performative. When white people are angry at injustice it's radical. When it's Black people we're aggressive.

Respectability politics is a tool of white supremacy. That if one pleads and is nice enough they can earn liberation. What would white fans think of Fifteen if he DIDN'T beg Lindy? If your allyship with Black people depends on showing kindness to racists you are NOT an ally.

Next up is Ricky. It was established ALL Finetime citizens have white supremacist views yet Ricky September stans refuse to see him in any negative light. Just like Joan Redfern white dw fans refuse to see racism if a character is likeable. If nice guy Ricky's a racist, then anyone no matter the niceness can be racist too and that's a pill white fans aren't ready to swallow. If racism is systemic and not about individual character, then what's keeping them safe? What happens when YOU are under the microscope.

THIS is why we NEED Black writers in Doctor Who. The nuances, depth and complexity of the Black experience can only be told at it's best by Black creatives and not guessed, assumed or spoken over by white fans and white writers. It's okay to put ego aside and say you don't get it.

"Im white but I loved the Doctor's reaction" "I'm white and i thought the racism commentary was great" "I'm white but i-" Yet again, we have to sit through another round of white and non Black fans of colour dictating Black representation for us. I'm so fucking tired man. AGAIN IM YELLING FROM MY HILLTOP TO WATCH SHOWS BY BLACK WRITERS. Almost EVERY single theme in Dot and Bubble and frankly most of the show has been done WAY better in other media. RTD is not the authority on Black stories. We are. Always have been and always will.

Tl;dr Dot and Bubble is an unserious and tacky racism commentary. It's core message is drowned by more RTD Who camp. Don't tell me this episode was good at representating my own experience. It wasn't. S15 having Black writers isn't a need it's a must. Goodbye.

Reblog this version pls

#dw spoilers #doctor who spoilers #doctor who #rtd2 era #rtd2 #antiblackness #fandom antiblackness #racism #fandom racism #rtd critical #anti rtd #fifteenth doctor #dw negativity #doctor who season 1 #dot and bubble

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pin-k-ink · 7 months ago

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feral // kyoutani kentarou

tw ⇢ possessive!kyoutani, sexual tension, teasing, dirty talk, making out, begging, fingering, biting, cunnilingus, overstimulation, name calling, mild degradation, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, mentions of masturbation, semi public sex

wc ⇢ 11.5k

a/n: this was for the sweetheart that asked for some kyoutani smut. i’m sorry i accidentally deleted your request ;_;

You never knew what to expect when Kyoutani Kentarou stomped into the room, his perpetual scowl etched deeply across his face.

From the moment he had joined the Aoba Johsai volleyball team in his first year, the hot-headed wing spiker had been a ticking time bomb of aggression just waiting to explode. Despite Coach Mizoguchi and the upperclassmen's efforts to rein him in, Kyoutani seemed to take perverse pleasure in disrupting practice with his outbursts and insubordinate behavior.

Which was why you, as the team's manager, often found yourself being summoned to deal with the fallout of his latest tantrum.

"He's done it again," Yahaba groaned one afternoon, shoulders slumped in exasperation. "Kyoutani started mouthing off during the hitting drills and it escalated into a full-blown brawl with Watari."

You bit back a sigh, feeling a headache already forming. Ever since the newly-minted captain had instituted "disciplinary punishments" for the unruly wing spiker, you'd been the one tasked with monitoring his compliance.

The punishments ranged from tedious chores like cleaning the gym to studying in the library after practice - essentially anything to constructively wear down Kyoutani's endless reserves of pent-up aggression. At least, in theory.

Because in reality, getting the tempestuous third-year to actually apply himself to the remedial tasks proved an uphill battle of wills every single time. You could already envision the confrontation awaiting when you attempted to corral him later.

Sure enough, Kyoutani was his usual prickly self when you finally tracked him down in one of the empty classrooms later. He was slouched low in a rickety desk chair, booted feet propped up and arms crossed like a petulant child as you entered.

"I know, I know...library study time again," he grumbled without even looking up. "When are you jailers gonna get some new material?"

You refused to rise to the bait of his surliness, instead simply fetching one of the textbooks from the pile on the teacher's desk.

"As many times as it takes for you to learn some self-control, Kyoutani-san," you replied calmly. "Now open up to chapter nine and start reading."

A muscle ticked visibly in his clenched jaw as he dragged his glower up to finally meet your steady gaze. You braced yourself for the usual torrent of insolent pushback that always followed these disciplinary sessions.

But this time...something seemed to flicker and fracture in Kyoutani's stony glare the longer your silent staredown stretched. You watched as his narrowed eyes gradually widened, tracked the way his throat bobbed slightly on a subconscious swallow.

Was it a trick of the light, or did his cheeks appear just the faintest shades pinker beneath that oppressive scowl of his?

The surly wing spiker seemed to catch himself after a beat too long, blinking rapidly as he scrubbed one hand over his face with a low grumble.

"Whatever...let's just get this over with," he muttered, snatching up his pencil and cracking open the textbook with far less resistance than usual.

An odd, perplexed furrow creased your brow at his uncharacteristic acquiescence. But rather than pry into the bizarre shift of behavior, you simply took your customary seat near the front and opened your own bookbag to pass the tutoring time in productive quiet.

Out of the corner of your periphery, you periodically caught glimpses of Kyoutani's hand dragging through his disheveled fringe in what looked like agitation. His nostrils would flare slightly, lips pressed into a flat line of concentration - or perhaps constipation judging by his pinched expression.

More than once you opened your mouth, a gentle reminder on the tip of your tongue to urge him to stop stalling and simply get on with his assigned reading for once.

But each time the words wilted before they could form as your eyes traced the taut, corded lines of muscle shifting beneath his rolled-up shirtsleeves. Watched the play of tendons flexing along the powerful column of his throat as he swallowed again in apparent... agitation?

An infinitesimal spark of heat you hadn't noticed before seemed to smolder behind Kyoutani's russet stare whenever his gaze would instinctively, unconsciously dart over to follow you shifting position in your seat.

It was...unnerving to be studied in such an abruptly intense manner by someone as volatile as the hotheaded spiker. You couldn't deny the fine prickle of unease slowly blossoming beneath your breastbone the longer that strange silent observation stretched out between you.

But still...you couldn't bring yourself to shatter the weighted quiet crackling with some indefinable new tension, either.

Over the next few tutoring sessions, Kyoutani's newly mercurial behavior only seemed to intensify further. His moods would careen wildly between sullen aloofness one minute, only to have his gaze practically scorching a trail over your movements the very next.

You couldn't deny the spark of inexplicable heat that bloomed low in your belly whenever you'd catch him tracking you with that piercing stare - slightly hooded and inscrutable in a way that sent confusing little shivers racing beneath your skin.

During one study hall, you made the questionable decision to bend at the waist and retrieve your pencil case from your bag on the floor. When you straightened again, textbook cradled in the opposite arm, you found Kyoutani's intense focus locked onto the new vantage you'd inadvertently offered.

His eyes snapped up instantly when he registered your upright position once more, but not before you caught the faintest hint of pink staining those sharp cheekbones. The wing spiker startled like a kid caught snatching sweets before dropping his stare guiltily to the desktop.

You could have sworn you glimpsed his throat working in a harsh swallow, chest expanding on a sharp inhale. And all at once the simmering tension in the small classroom took on an unmistakably suggestive edge you couldn't ignore.

Flustered heat flooded your own features as the implications crashed over you in a dizzying rush. Was it possible Kyoutani had just been...

No, you firmly shut down that inappropriate trail of thought before it could start sparking more indecent ideas. With some deliberate throat-clearing, you shifted your weight and pointedly avoided looking in the disgruntled spiker's direction once more.

The next few minutes stretched out in a weighted hush that felt thick enough to drown in. Until finally Kyoutani gruffly broke the silence by slamming his pencil down and shoving his chair back from the desk with a screech of wood on tile.

"This stupid babysitting shit was supposed to help control my temper, right?" he growled in a voice made thick and gravel-rough by...something you couldn't put a name to.

You blinked up at him with a bemused frown. "Well...yes? That was the inten--"

"Hasn't worked for shit," Kyoutani snapped before you could finish, suddenly on his feet and radiating wild, jagged energy. "Don't think locking me up with homework is gonna solve jack if you wanna stop me losing my shit."

With that brusque declaration hanging in the air, he abruptly slung his bag over one shoulder and stalked for the door without a backwards glance. His motives, as usual, were utterly inscrutable.

You could only sit and gape after the wing spiker's tense departure, feeling utterly poleaxed and more than a little flustered by whatever fresh maelstrom of emotions seemed to have been roiling just beneath Kyoutani's surface this entire time.

Over the next few weeks, his outbursts and disruptive antics only continued unchecked - racking up infraction after infraction at an alarming rate. At this juncture, even Yahaba was at a loss for how to proceed in curbing his unruly teammate's behavior.

"None of these punishments seem to be taking," the captain sighed in exhaustion one afternoon as you watched Kyoutani storm out after his latest raging display. "If anything, it's like he's been acting out more just to wind up with extra sentences of study time."

Your brow furrowed as you absorbed his observations alongside your own disjointed suspicions regarding Kyoutani's volatile state. Because the more you mulled it over, the more it seemed like the surly third-year almost...enjoyed receiving those private punishments with you as his monitor.

A troubling thought began to form, one you hesitantly brought up when seeking Yahaba's counsel on how to proceed.

"Captain...is there any possibility the reason he's been even more disruptive is...well, because of me?"

Yahaba's brow arched quizzically. "What, like he has a crush on you or something? HA! Yeah right, that would require Kyoutani being capable of feeling anything other than rage and spite."

You smiled wanly, though the jeering laughter didn't quite manage to fully dispel those nagging uncertainties from taking root further. Because now that the idea had been verbalized, however ludicrous, you couldn't seem to dislodge it entirely from your wavering thoughts.

And over the subsequent days and weeks, the theory only mushroomed into something far more tangible and visceral to dismiss.

The rising charged tension between you and Kyoutani felt nearly palpable, manifesting in a series of escalating encounters and near-misses that left you feeling perpetually off-kilter and frayed.

A terse bathroom encounter in which the sound of running taps from the sinks had drowned out his arrival, only for you to turn around and find Kyoutani looming in the open doorway with that searing gaze roving over you in one long, heated assessment. The sleeves of your fitted shirt had ridden up around your forearms, leaving slightly disheveled and flushed from the exertion of scrubbing away stubborn floor scuffs. Kyoutani's jaw had tightened perceptibly as he drank in your relatively undone state, nostrils flaring like a predator catching the scent of prey.

Before either of you could address the weighted tension strangling the cramped room, the boisterous arrival of more teammates behind him sent Kyoutani abruptly about-facing and stalking away as if you'd burned him.

Or the time he'd caught you in the gym storeroom struggling to haul a bulky rack of withered volleyballs to the wash basin across the cramped space. Without prompting, Kyoutani had pivoted on that eerily feline tread of his to crowd up behind you - the sudden brand of his muscular frame searing into your back as his larger hands came around to grip the cumbersome rack on either side of yours.

"Lemme do that for you," he growled in that sandpaper rasp that raised goosebumps all along the nape of your neck.

Dazed by the sudden smoldering proximity, you could only offer a jerky nod of assent before allowing your grip to slacken completely. Kyoutani took the bulk of the weight without visible strain, tendons cording and flexing beneath the bronzed pulls of his powerful forearms as he leveraged the rack into steady motion. All while making sure to prowl at a distinctly leisurely pace just behind your rigid posture, hemming you in against the low countertop's edge and those matte metal surfaces still radiating day-old warmth...

You sucked in a sharp breath at the unsubtle glide of his hips brushing yours on each laborious step closer to your destination. Heat prickled all along the back of your thighs from the continual drag of his solid girth framing you in from behind. And when Kyoutani finally pivoted and deposited the rack aside near the industrial sinks, the sudden dissolving of that searing full-body press had you feeling oddly untethered. As if every undefended inch of your back now tingled with feverish sensitivity in the absence of his caging presence.

That roiling, choking tension between you only mounted further with each drawn-out entanglement. Like an ember being stoked brighter with every suggestive encounter into something perilously close to a raging wildfire neither of you seemed capable of reigning in anymore.

More than once, you found yourself trapped in Kyoutani's orbit - confronted with the stark reality of his potent physicality in a way so raw and overwhelming you could scarcely meet the fiery simmer of his gaze without feeling immolated from within.

During one disastrous laundry-folding session, he'd casually sauntered over to help sort through some equipment bags in typical brooding silence. Only to promptly get into a tug-of-war over some knotted laces ensnaring a pair of his shorts, arms straining and tendons cording as he braced his feet for leverage against you during the awkward tussle.

All it took was one particularly stubborn yank for the ensnarled fabric to finally give way, bunching beneath Kyoutani's grip and abruptly exposing his navel, lower abdomen, and the unmistakable vee of defined musculature all the way down to...

You barely registered the warning growl rumbling up from his chest as you instinctively devoured every salt-slicked, flexing inch of revealed skin with a ravenous stare you simply couldn't tear away from for the life of you. The blaze of heat and illicit want that rendered you momentarily insensate to anything but that breathtaking physicality sprawled temptingly before you in ways you'd only ever allowed yourself to imagine in the deepest throes of restless nights...

A sharp, smarting sting across the back of your knuckles finally dispelled the lust-drunk haze fogging your thoughts. You flinched back to reality with a full-body start, blinking rapidly as your unbound hair swung across your rapidly flushing features. Kyoutani loomed over you with his spine locked ramrod straight—the abortive swing of his arm suggested he'd lashed out to strike your wandering grip back from continuing to map out any more dangerous undiscovered territory between you.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you to keep your hands to yourself?" The caustic rasp of his voice had you hunching your shoulders guiltily. Even still, you sensed the molten undertones of restrained...something else twining through those growled words like smoke and sinew.

Before you could stammer any hasty apologies about spacing out, Kyoutani snatched the tangle of laces and abruptly spun on his heel to stalk off in a tension-cloaked fury prickling with even more restless static charge than before.

All you could do was watch the broad, powerful lines of his retreating shoulders and back through a sheen of dazed longing - the echoes of that momentary, inappropriate eyeful both searing itself irrevocably into your hindbrain and kindling even more hapless embers of temptation to eventually set you both aflame once and for all...

The bubbling cauldron of charged tension could only contain itself for so long before something finally had to give. With each passing practice and tutoring session, you could feel Kyoutani's smoldering stare singeing into you from across the gym or classroom like twin laser-focused beams of sheer yearning.

It was getting harder and harder to deny or ignore the blatant implication of that ravenously intent study. Or to turn a blind eye to the way his nostrils would subtly flare with each inhale whenever you moved within proximity - as if scenting the ambient notes of your shampoo and perfume and committing every last tantalizing nuance to carnal memory.

But while Kyoutani's molten preoccupations with you seemed to steadily eclipse any remaining threads of restraint each day, you were embroiled in your own fraying internal war as well. One that collided and detonated in spectacular fashion the afternoon Watari, ever the friendly jokester, sidled up beside you with one of his patented sunny grins as you wiped down the front court railings between drills.

"Looking a little flushed there, y/n-chan!" The libero chirped in that effervescent rasp that always made you smile no matter how disgruntled you might be feeling. "Tough practice really giving you a workout today, huh?"

Offering him a beatific smile in return, you playfully swatted at his arm with the damp towel clutched in your hands.

"Something like that," you chuckled lightly. "More like dealing with Coach's endless notations wearing me down instead of the floor burns!"

Watari's nose scrunched up jovially as he fell into familiar banter alongside you, completely at ease in a way you'd always envied whenever spent in Kyoutani's mercurial presence. Where that hotheaded third-year simmered with sullen ferocity and roiling embers of something painfully unspoken, Watari danced and joked with the bubbly lightness you'd always wished you could nurture more of yourself these days.

Still snickering over his latest teasing rejoinder, you bent to set the grimy towel aside so you could collect up the rest of the cleaning supplies. Which was when you caught sight of Kyoutani across the gymnasium out of your periphery - utterly immobile and watching you both with razored focus. Specifically trained on the studiedly casual way Watari had shifted in close beside you as your laughter and camaraderie echoed bright across the high-ceilinged stretch of hardwood.

Even from a distance, you couldn't miss the acute line of tension visibly furling Kyoutani's shoulders back to an unmistakable knot of outward bristle. Nor the way his pupils had contracted to piercing pinpricks against the molten outrage visibly dilating the rest of his features into an unmistakable mask of lightning about to strike.

The visceral menace and scalding possessiveness painted across Kyoutani's chiseled contours in that instant nearly stole your ability to draw breath entirely. His heavy footfalls slammed across the courts like rolling thunderclaps as the wing spiker stormed in your direction - focused solely upon the perceived impunity of Watari now hemming you into the corner between the lockers and railing with his easy affability and casual flirting.

Before either you or the oblivious libero could register, Kyoutani's powerful bulk had shoved directly in between your joined proximities - effectively severing the personable bond with all the grace and discretion of a wildfire scalding across a drought. In the ensuing disoriented tumble of limbs and shocked exclamations, you reeled back against the hard concrete barrier with your heart in your throat.

Watari gaped up at Kyoutani from where he'd abruptly bounced off the larger wing spiker's chest in stunned bewilderment. But rather than acknowledging his sputtering indignation, the steely focus of Kyoutani's dismantling glower simply tracked past him to zero in on your flushed features and shallow pants with all the remorseless hunger of an apex predator locking onto its coveted prey at last.

"You and me," he growled in a register so choked and molten it had your core clenching paradoxically. "Practice rooms. Now."

Without sparing you or the libero another breath of regard, Kyoutani spun on his heel and stalked off towards the secluded annex classrooms appropriated for private coaching sessions. His thighs visibly bulged and flexed with each devouring stride beneath the clinging fabric as he sliced through anyone else standing in the way.

You had only enough time to gape haplessly after that possessed, potent display while gulping down the desperate rushes of fight-or-flight adrenaline roaring to molten life within your veins. When you finally managed to tear your gaze away to meet Watari's utterly befuddled stare, an unspoken acknowledgment seemed to pass between you...

Whatever feverish breaking point Kyoutani was hurtling towards with each escalating orbit around you, the rough wing spiker now seemed all but inevitable to combust beyond any hope of restraint or decorum in the very near future. All you could do was wait for the fateful encounter to run its cataclysmic course - and pray the raging fires burning between you weren't permanently extinguished in the aftermath of whatever reckoning was about to go down.

The remainder of practice passed in a disconcerting blur after Kyoutani's abrupt departure - your every sense now attuned to any subtle vibrations suggesting whatever powderkeg confrontation might be occurring behind those closed classroom doors.

More than once you startled and spun at the muffled dull thud of impact - fists against drywall or flesh, imagination running lurid as you pictured the broiling savagery the unstable spiker might be indulging with no prying eyes around. Just as often, the sound of that graveled baritone rasping indecipherable rejoinders through the baffling barrier had you involuntarily canting closer in hopes of gleaning any telling inflections.

But the only insights you managed to unearth from those fruitless listenings involved the dizzying blooms of heat blossoming low in your belly at every growled timbre. As if Kyoutani's voice alone contained hypnotic power to weaken your knees and dissolve your restraint to pliant surrender with each fervent rasp caressing your senses.

You had to shake yourself forcibly on multiple occasions from the spiraling descent into wanton reverie - cheeks flushed hot with shamed arousal that only intensified with every subsequent unraveling daydream of finally having that raw, aggression-laced physicality caged against your own trembling frame.

By the time Coach Mizoguchi finally called for dismissal, you felt wrung-out and frazzled in a way that had nothing to do with the actual physical exertions of the day's training regimen and everything to do with the tempestuous undercurrents still simmering unresolved and attended to. As you gathered your sparse possessions and tried valiantly not to betray the roiling unease gnawing away at your composure, the hair on the back of your neck abruptly lifted in forewarning.

Spinning towards the periphery coaching rooms, you glimpsed the door to the private conference area creaking open with ominous lethality. Kyoutani's hulking silhouette emerged first, striding forth on legs that seemed to devour the distance between you in a handful of prowling strides. His shoulders were locked at that telltale width suggesting every sinewy inch of musculature remained coiled at maximum tension beneath his untamed fury.

He did not acknowledge you in any overt sense. But the razor-line of his focus never once wavered or deviated from its scorching assessment of your increasingly flustered state. Conflicting desires warred within you - the unmistakable siren's call of curiosity demanding you crane to glimpse any evidence of fallout on Kyoutani's harsh visage from that impassioned seclusion just endured. While the more prudent, self-protective voices shouted to simply avoid any further incendiary provocations altogether and retreat while you still stood a chance of surviving with faculties intact.

All you could do was stand rooted, pathetic indecision eroding your footing beneath that steadily intensifying glare. It wasn't until he reached the limits of the doorframe that Kyoutani finally skated the tip of his incendiary stare higher - zeroing in on the only other occupant in the small staging room off the main gym with an unmistakable flare of possessive dismissal radiating from every taut line of his frame.

"We're done here," he growled in a voice that shredded past his gritted teeth. The words did not come across as a polite pleasantry despite their innocuous arrangement.

Coach Mizoguchi spared his volatile wing spiker the briefest of wary sidelong looks before nodding curtly and making his retreat without argument. Something about Kyoutani's present demeanor clearly cautioned against offering even the mildest pushback under any circumstances.

Once you were alone in that enclosed space together - just you and the barely-tamed wildfire of Kyoutani's focus steadily searing away any remaining vestiges of common sense or distance - the pressure in the air seemed to intensify tenfold. Each rasping exhalation you struggled to reign in only drew your shared aromas that much more intimately between your shared gravities. Sharp musk and residual adrenaline, floral body products and salted skin in a sinuously provocative melange that awakened whole new layers of yearning inside you.

When Kyoutani's gaze finally cut back to pin you in place with that familiar, bone-searing intensity, you felt your breath exit in a breathless rush of inevitability. Of acceptance that this tinderbox between you had finally reached its volatile crescendo...and all either of you could do now was let the raging fires sweep everything inevitably in their path to sweet, boneless ruination.

"So..." Kyoutani growled in that same perilous, shrapnel-laced rasp that seemed to slice right through your attempts at feigning composure. "You and the libero have been getting pretty damn cozy lately."

It wasn't phrased as an actual question despite the slight lilt tugging at the end - more an unmistakable statement of accusation loaded with displeasure. That scorching stare of his branded every trembling twitch reshaping your features as confusion swiftly curdled to realization, then a frisson of indignant defiance in the span of a few molten heartbeats.

"I-I'm sorry, what?" You stammered uselessly, desperate to stall for time against whatever rapidly escalating confrontation seemed to be unfolding from out of nowhere. "Watari and I are just...we've always been friends, Kyoutani. Teammates. Where is this even coming from?"

Another gravelly snarl ripped from the depths of his broad chest as those piercing amber irises visibly ignited with further outrage. Before you could so much as draw your next sharp intake, Kyoutani had bridged the remaining scant distance separating you in three devouring strides until you could taste the charged pheromones of him on the air.

"Don't play dumb with me," he bit out in a seething growl that had your pulse kicking up to gallop beneath your hammering ribcage. The heat of his overall presence radiated off Kyoutani in almost tangible waves now, caressing over your feverish skin in electric ribbons that raised every nerve ending to rapturous awakening.

"We both know that ain't the way you look at a damn friend or teammate, little girl."

The derisive, wrecked emphasis he laced onto that last endearment practically detonated in the shockwave between you like physical force. You reeled beneath the implication's stark insult as Kyoutani leaned down until you were forced to crane your neck back at an aching angle just to maintain that searing eye contact.

God he was huge like this - all dense, unyielding muscle and flexed potentials arrayed in towering apogee before you. It would be so easy for those larger-than-life hands and brutally-calloused grips to seize your pliant, undefended softness in a fit of unchecked possession and dominating fervor.

To simply wrench you up against that fever-warm expanse of carved musculature and scorching male intensity smothering against you in tsunamic waves with only the barest exertion from his end, utterly overpowering any feeble resistance through sheer liquid physicality alone...

A shuddering whimper threatened to break free from the shredded rags of your serenity as the next blazing pass of Kyoutani's hooded stare left no ambiguities about the forbidden directions your imagination had whited out into. He could clearly see every sordid desire and burst of need his provocation had stoked to incandescent life swirling naked across your features, eyes burning hotter at each outward tell you instinctively broadcasted.

"So why don't you just admit what we both already know?" He practically crooned in a rumbling, velvet-drenched baritone that skirted lower into sheer sin dipped in audible lust. "How it's been driving you half out of your mind watching me while trying to pretend you're not eye-fucking every goddamn inch of what you want all over--"

"Kyoutani!" The rebuked burst forth before you could think to reclaim your composure from the brink of unraveling completely.

Whether it was hearing him speak those incendiary confessions and temptations aloud after weeks spent wallowing in the swirling riptides of desire, or simply the overpowering proximity of his outrageous physicality spearing its way through the last remnants of your restraint, something finally reached terminal saturation point inside you.

He thrived off the scalding reproach dripping from your ragged tone, judging by the triumphant way his lips peeled back in a savagely amused smirk framing teeth. When he straightened to his towering height once more, the arrogance etched into his features promised whole new levels of molten ruination lying in wait. Just as promised.

"Ah, there's that fire I've been waiting to see blaze up completely, neh pretty girl?"

Another dark, indecently pleased rumble vibrated that drugged cadence of his as Kyoutani reached out with one of those huge, unforgivably strong hands. Before you had time to so much as register defensive retreat, his calloused knuckles were already skating over the feverish jut of your cheekbones - rough leather textures branding trails of molten possession across your bemused features in the most overtly intimate overture yet shared between you.

The breath fled your constricting lungs on a whimper you couldn't begin to bite back or deflect. And with that single unhesitating transgression uttered through touch alone, the last tattered remnants of propriety and restraint simply dissolved away to ash and embers without a whisper of struggle.

Whatever cliff you'd careened towards together finally loomed ahead in all its breathtaking plummet - with only the embrace of depravity and scorching rapture waiting to catch your ruination below.

All that remained was choosing just which of you would claim the dubious distinction of surrendering control first between your burning gravities.

You barely registered the breathless sound spilling from your parted lips as those wicked fingers continued their blazing path across the arcs of your features. Mapping out every thrilling plane and hollow with the attentive diligence of an artisan devotee committing their muse to raptured memory.

The intensity blazing behind Kyoutani's stare as he drank in your bemused surrender robbed you of any remaining pretense towards control or retreat. Only naked yearning swirled in those blazing amber depths now - an unmistakable harbinger of the molten intentions he meant to put into scorching motion whether you rallied resistance or not.

"I've wondered over and over what it might take to finally shatter that fragile little act of yours," he rasped in a voice gone low and viscous with sin audible. "Made myself half out of my goddamn mind imagining all the wicked ways I'd have to work at stripping away every last shred of propriety before I could get a real taste of the filthy little minx hiding underneath."

The stark, unabashed confession detonated through your wavering restraints with the force of a bunker buster. You could only gape up at Kyoutani, utterly transfixed and stripped raw beneath the intensity of his rapacious scrutiny as he prowled ever closer into your orbit.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice the way you couldn't fucking tear your hungry stare off me in the locker rooms?" A harsh growl rumbled up from somewhere deep in his chest as he caged you fully against the wall with that dense, radiating physicality made to tower over you. "Every time I caught those pretty eyes dragging over every new slick inch of skin bared to you...shit, it was like watching a bitch in heat struggling against her own depraved appetite while fooling precisely nobody but herself."

The scathing vulgarity landed like a physical slap, forcibly severing away the last threads of protest or propriety that might have remained with one brutal swing. Heat flooded your features at the stark, unrepentant filth painting his wrecked confessions with darker, more feral strokes of sin.

And yet you couldn't summon even the most token objection in the face of that viscerally potent onslaught. Kyoutani's words simply resonated in your hindbrains with hypnotic potency - voicing every forbidden craving and depraved imaginings precisely as you'd struggled to deny them to yourself all this time.

"Well now you've got what you always wanted, pretty," the unstable spiker purred with perverse delight as he closed those last few molten inches separating you. His massive frame dwarfed your slight stature utterly, the scorching brand of his body searing into each awakening nerve ending through the thin layers separating you now. "A chance to get up close and personal with the big scary Mad Dog you've been eye-fucking into oblivion behind everyone's backs."

That guttural endearment landed like a detonation right between your ribs, simultaneously stoking fresh embers of mortified outrage even as it awakened a deeper, more primal thrill of debasement in your core. You could practically feel every ounce of restraint fraying away as the turbulent storm of Kyoutani's focus intensified around you with each panted breath shared.

In one smooth inhalation, the powerful line of his carved jawline descended until Kyoutani's ruination-laced exhales caressed directly over the scorching blush staining your cheeks in intimate provocation.

"So what's it gonna be, pet?" He crooned directly against the feverish hollow of your parted lips - metallic rasp scraping your senses raw as his tongue peeked out to taste the trembling give there in shameless preview. "You gonna finally take exactly what that greedy little body of yours has been desperate for me to give? Or does the thought of finally surrendering to those depraved hungers terrify you even more than that repressed bitch behind your eyes lets on..."

You only had a split-second warning of Kyoutani's intentions before he decisively slanted his mouth over yours in a punishing glide of possession uninvited. The shredded whimper that tried to punch its way free was instantly muffled, absorbed and redirected back into your shared inferno with every subsequent devouring press of his lips and questing lashes of tongue.

Despite his savagery and overt dominance, there was an undeniable artfulness to the way Kyoutani worked at ruinously unmaking you bit by bit. His large hands easily captured your jaw and the nape of your neck to keep you splayed before him, utterly helpless beneath the scorching onslaught of his hunger as he plundered your senses with wicked precision.

Slick velvet textures tangled and retreated, only to delve deeper again on a lingering glide of utterly filthy temptation. The sweltering pressure of his body pinning you rigid to the solid surface at your back didn't allow for even the thinnest margin of escape or reprieve. Only total, rapturous surrender to being consumed by that unholy smolder of passion Kyoutani unleashed without mercy or faltering.

A broken, obscene keen vibrated up from somewhere deep in your throat as you instinctively arched and bucked beneath the exquisite lavishing focus of his attentions despite yourself. The electrifying drag of his callused knuckles trailing down over the exposed rise of your torso sent lightning pulses of unadulterated bliss hurtling through your overstimulated senses.

Every illicit slide of Kyoutani's merciless ministrations only stoked the smoldering inferno of depravity blazing to incandescent life between you. Until there was nothing left of higher cognitive processing beyond naked instinct to experience and indulge the blinding ecstasy of craving finally granted satiation without reservation.

When his large hands dropped lower still to cup and knead the pliant mounds of your ass underneath your skirt, the ragged groan that tore loose from Kyoutani's lips sounded as if torn straight from the depths of his chest. His blunt fingertips dug in with a punishing squeeze that sent molten pleasure arcing up through your core like a livewire, eliciting a high-pitched whimper of need and want and desperation to plead for more of those sinful caresses.

"Fuck yeah," Kyoutani purred against the bruised, glistening give of your mouth - a wicked smirk curling at the corners of his lips when he registered how your hips bucked instinctively to meet the molten roll of his pelvis against your own. "Just like that, pet. Show me exactly how much you want it. Need it. Need me."

The ragged, unguarded plea of his graveled baritone sent another electric jolt arcing through your veins, stoking the fever-bright flames of passion roaring between you to near-uncontrollable proportions. Kyoutani's tongue dragged against the plush swell of your bottom lip in a deliberate taunt, a warning, a threat as he pulled away just far enough to sear his gaze over the fever-dazed contours of your upturned face.

"I bet you taste as filthy as you look right now, pretty." That wrecked, husky rasp raked its claws over the shivering expanse of your skin like a physical touch. "How 'bout we find out for ourselves just how sweet a girl's honey-soaked cunt can get when she's dripping with need for her Mad Dog, hmm?"

Before you could react to that carnal challenge, Kyoutani's powerful arms swept beneath the curve of your backside - hauling you up with a sharp hiss of exertion against the rippling musculature of his abdomen until you had no choice but to lock your legs around his narrow hips for stability. The sudden friction of your panty-clad center grinding against his thick arousal through the barrier sent a frisson of white-hot need skittering up your spine.

Even still, Kyoutani seemed insistent upon pressing his advantage - crowding in until you could feel the wall's concrete solidity digging into your shoulderblades and the fever-warm press of his chest molded against yours. One massive hand remained locked around the nape of your neck, holding your face mere breaths away from the scorching proximity of his own as the other curled under the curve of your ass to support your weight effortlessly.

"Look at me," Kyoutani growled as he tightened his grip around the vulnerable column of your throat - not so much as applying pressure, but making his possession unmistakably clear regardless. His piercing irises had narrowed to slits of molten intensity as they raked over every flustered angle and fevered flush of your features in turn.

"I want those pretty eyes on me while I show you exactly how I mean to devour every last filthy inch of your cunt. How I'll make you scream and claw and beg for me while I fuck that tight little hole full of cum until it's dripping down your thighs. That's the only way this ends, kitten. With my dick buried balls-deep inside you and my teeth sinking into that soft throat of yours, claiming every single last inch of what belongs to me."

A full-body shudder wracked through you at the savage, indecent filth spewing from Kyoutani's lips, even as a fresh rush of heat flooded through your already soaked center at his depraved promise. His lips curled in a cruel parody of a smile as his hips shifted against yours - grinding the prominent bulge of his cock against the slick seam of your thighs and groin in a single, ruthless thrust that sent your eyes rolling back in their sockets.

"Now that's a pretty sight," Kyoutani rasped in a voice gone low and guttural with lust. "You really do get off on the way I talk to you, don't you pet? Fuck. The way you're writhing and bucking like a bitch in heat just to rub that soaked cunt against my dick has me half-crazy."

His tongue licked a searing trail across the seam of your lips in another blatant taunt, a teasing prelude of what was about to follow as Kyoutani's hand slid from its punishing grip on your neck. You felt his blunt fingertips trace over the fever-slicked planes of your torso in a feather-light graze - only to suddenly dip lower with purpose, skating the sensitive expanse of your exposed navel and lower still.

A strangled, broken sound ripped free from the depths of your chest as those thick fingers skated over the lace-trimmed gusset of your panties - searing their presence into the soaked folds hidden beneath with a sinuous drag of pressure and friction that had your back bowing against the wall.

"God, just look at how much you're gushing," Kyoutani purred with a sinful glint blazing behind his molten stare as he continued to stroke along your slit through the thin barrier. The fabric quickly became sodden under his persistent touch, a testament to just how much the depraved, vulgar filth of his words had stoked the fires of need blazing hotter within you both.

"All that honey pouring out for me just to soak these panties even more," he continued with a smirk, the pad of his index finger suddenly catching and circling the swollen nub of your clit until a sob punched free from your constricting throat. "What a sweet, dirty little whore I've caught for myself, neh? All it took was a few nasty words and promises of my dick to get you writhing like a bitch in heat begging to be bred. Fuuuck."

The ragged groan that wrenched itself free from Kyoutani's chest resonated directly through your quivering frame, sending fresh shocks of pleasure careening through your nerve endings and heightening the already-sweltering fever blazing between you. His hips jerked against the cradle of your thighs in a harsh grind, the searing imprint of his erection branding through your damp panties until the fabric threatened to tear with the force.

"Do you know how many times I've jerked off to thoughts of this pretty pussy just like this?" Kyoutani continued in that ruined, gravelly rasp that scraped your senses raw with every uttered syllable. "Imagining my face buried between these thighs and licking up every last drop of your sweetness while you writhe and squirm and scream. It's the only thing I've thought about every time I've gotten my fist wrapped around my dick - picturing just how fucking good it would feel to make you beg for it."

Before you could process the full impact of those sordid, scalding confessions, the fingers tormenting your slick folds and swollen clit abruptly slipped beneath the elastic hem of your panties. Your mouth fell open on a wordless cry of shock and need as Kyoutani's broad fingertips delved between your swollen petals - gliding through the soaked folds and probing at the entrance to your core with the same ruthless, focused determination he exhibited on the court.

"Gonna make you mine, kitten," he groaned in a voice that had become nothing but a guttural rasp, primal and rough and hungry in a way that had your entire frame seizing and arching. "I've been dying to sink my dick inside this cunt ever since I joined the team. So wet. So goddamn warm and tight. Shit."

Your vision went hazy and black around the edges as Kyoutani sank one long digit fully into your clenching heat - the sudden invasion forcing your walls to stretch and accommodate the intrusion while simultaneously stoking the firestorm of need building towards unbearable levels inside you. He barely gave you the time to register the fullness before Kyoutani withdrew to sink a second digit inside, the stretch and burn of such a sudden breach ripping a high-pitched moan free from the depths of your chest.

The way his lips twisted and curled back from his teeth as Kyoutani began to pump those fingers inside you at an unforgiving pace sent a new shiver coursing through your overstimulated system. His hooded gaze drank in each twitch and buck of your hips against his punishing thrusts, clearly reveling in the sight of your flushed features contorted in agonized ecstasy as he continued his merciless assault.

"There you go, kitten," Kyoutani crooned against the shell of your ear - his ragged exhales sending fresh waves of gooseflesh prickling across your feverish skin. "Let me hear how good it feels, little girl. I want you screaming so loud every last asshole who ever looked at what's mine gets it drilled into their skulls that only one man gets to enjoy this gorgeous, filthy cunt and that's me. I'm the one who owns this sweet little body, and every last drop of pleasure I'm about to wring out of you."

His teeth sank into the curve of your throat with a muffled snarl, the sting of the bite and sudden suction sending another rush of molten need pulsing through your core. Those wicked digits continued to plunder your cunt without pause, curling and dragging against the swollen walls of your channel with a ruthless rhythm meant to destroy and unmake you utterly.

"You're mine now, kitten," Kyoutani practically snarled the words against your damp flesh - his tongue tracing the throbbing pulse point and sucking harder still to raise a dark, vivid bruise. "And I'm gonna take care of this greedy pussy in all the ways no one else ever could."

A keening sob broke free from the depths of your lungs as a particularly forceful thrust sent the head of his palm grinding against the swollen bud of your clit, setting off a cascade reaction that had you thrashing and clawing against the hard expanse of his chest. Your thighs clamped tighter around Kyoutani's trim hips, desperate for more friction and depth and pressure as you chased the cresting edge of bliss rapidly coiling tighter and tighter inside you.

"So fucking good," Kyoutani practically moaned the praise, his features contorting with an agonized, feral need that somehow ratcheted the inferno burning between you even higher. "Come for me, kitten. Show me exactly what this dripping cunt needs. Who it belongs to."

That commanding growl was the final straw - sending your already-tenuous restraint crashing to ruin in the blistering wake of your release. His name spilled from your lips in a broken sob, fingers scrabbling at his flexed biceps as you clung to him like a lifeline amidst the white-hot waves of euphoria washing over you.

But Kyoutani showed no mercy - only continuing his relentless stroking and curling against the spasming clench of your walls until the last aftershocks had shuddered through your trembling limbs. The entire time, his intense focus never wavered from your flushed features, drinking in each breathless gasp and whimper with an almost reverential air.

"Fucking hell, look at how goddamn pretty you are like this," Kyoutani murmured almost to himself - the awe-tinged reverence of his voice at odds with the savage, lust-drunk glaze burning in his heavy-lidded gaze. "Never seen anything so perfect. So goddamn beautiful."

The raw emotion threading through his graveled baritone hit you with the force of a tidal wave - stoking the embers of desire reignited anew to an inferno blazing between you once more. A new shiver rippled over your skin as the calloused pads of Kyoutani's fingertips continued their feather-light tracing over the flushed, sensitive expanse of your cheekbones.

"I want to see you come apart like that for the rest of my damn life," he rasped - the possessive heat blazing behind his molten amber irises scorching every inch of you with its intensity. "And I'm about to spend the rest of this night making sure you understand exactly how serious I am about keeping this pussy for myself. Gonna fuck you until you can't walk straight. Until the only thing you can remember is my name and the feeling of my dick buried so deep inside you can't think about anything else but this moment right now."

The sheer hunger and desperation behind Kyoutani's growled vows was almost too much to process, let alone absorb in its entirety. Your breath escaped in a sharp hiss as his fingers abruptly withdrew from your hypersensitive cunt with a wet sound that made you flush all over. Before you could think to protest or react, Kyoutani's large hands dropped to the curve of your ass - palming and kneading the plush mounds with an appreciative grunt as he held you firmly in place.

"Now let's see just how much of that filthy honey this pussy can give me," he said - a low, husky growl that seemed to vibrate against every exposed inch of your skin as Kyoutani slowly lowered himself to his knees.

"Kentarou!"

His name exploded from your lips in a strangled gasp as his hands hooked the thin elastic band of your panties - yanking them down and off your trembling legs with an impatient efficiency. Before you could process the next course of his intentions, Kyoutani was hauling one of your legs over his shoulder, leaving the rest of your lower body exposed to the searing blaze of his unguarded scrutiny.

"Fuck me," Kyoutani groaned, the expletive falling from his lips with such fervent reverence it was nearly obscene. The heat radiating from his penetrating stare alone was enough to set your senses ablaze - let alone the molten slide of his palms gliding up the backs of your bare thighs and gripping at the plump swell of your ass.

"I'm not sure whether I wanna eat your cunt first and taste all that sweet honey you gave me," he practically crooned as his thumbs skated the outer seam of your labia, spreading the swollen, puffy lips with deliberate slowness that had you bucking and whining. "Or if I wanna just bury my cock inside you and watch the way this pretty pussy sucks me in deep."

Another broken, pleading whimper punched free from your lungs at the graphic imagery his words painted, stoking the flames of need raging hotter between you both with each passing moment. His calloused fingertips were already gliding back down towards the apex of your thighs, seeking out the source of your renewed slickness with an air of uncompromising focus.

"Either way," Kyoutani continued with a smug smirk twisting his lips as he traced the delicate petals of your sex - spreading and dipping shallowly just past the swollen rim to test the give and resistance there. "I'm about to get every last drop of that sweetness."

The strangled moan that burst from the depths of your chest sounded alien and broken to your own ears - a keening sound of utter debauched want and need that seemed to resonate in your very bones. Kyoutani's smirk twisted to a full, toothy grin as he watched you tremble and writhe against the wall, clearly savoring the sight of your overstimulated body struggling to withstand the sensual torture of his ministrations.

"Look at me." The growled command was underscored with an edge of unmistakable dominance that sent a new shiver racing over your skin. His fingertips continued their torturous swirling around the sensitive opening of your core, teasing the stretched entrance with a maddeningly shallow rhythm that only served to stoke the fires of need blazing inside you further.

When you could do nothing but continue to buck and whimper and mewl beneath his relentless, merciless torment, Kyoutani's other hand abruptly left its position on your ass - snapping a sharp smack against one of your asscheeks that sent a frisson of pleasure-pain ricocheting through your frame.

"I said look at me, pretty." His lips curled back to flash a canine in a feral smile as Kyoutani watched your expression contort with the delicious pain-pleasure of his punishment. "I want those pretty eyes locked on me when I finally bury my face in that soaking cunt."

The next broken, desperate sob ripped free from the depths of your lungs, even as a new wave of wetness flooded from your slit. You couldn't tear your fever-glazed gaze away from the smoldering intensity of his piercing irises, even as he slowly shifted to press a soft kiss against the inner thigh resting atop his broad shoulder.

"There we go," Kyoutani murmured with a satisfied sigh - the heat of his breath ghosting over the soaked folds of your cunt. "I want to watch every expression that passes over your face while I fuck this cunt with my tongue. While I make you beg for my dick."

Before you could manage a coherent response, the flat of his tongue suddenly delved between the swollen petals - the slick texture rasping and curling in a way that had you writhing and keening against the wall. Your hands reached down to tangle in the short hairs at the crown of his skull, seeking purchase as Kyoutani began to lavish a punishingly thorough oral assault upon your center.

Every flick, suck, and curl of his tongue had you reeling - a sensory onslaught that robbed you of the ability to breathe or process anything beyond the exquisite, sinful pleasure of his touch. Every time you managed to claw your way back towards the surface, his fingers would sink inside your dripping core to thrust and curl against the tight channel, ripping a broken sob free from your chest.

"Fuck," Kyoutani swore with a ragged groan, his mouth still pressed flush against the soaked folds - the vibration of his voice sending another shiver rippling through you. "You taste like heaven. Shit. Never tasted a sweeter cunt. Could get drunk on this."

A strangled moan tore from your throat as Kyoutani's lips abruptly latched around your throbbing clit, suckling with just the right amount of pressure and suction to have you bucking and clawing against the wall. His fingers continued to pump and curl in a punishing rhythm that threatened to unravel you utterly, all the while maintaining his merciless devouring of your soaking cunt.

Your breath punched from your lungs on a ragged gasp as Kyoutani's mouth abruptly shifted focus, his lips parting around the stretched rim of your entrance before delving deep in a single thrust. The sensation of his tongue stroking and curling deep within your clenching heat was enough to send sparks exploding behind your eyes, a fresh wave of heat washing over your senses and dragging you back towards the precipice of climax.

"Please," the broken sob ripped itself free from the depths of your chest, your voice barely recognizable under the weight of the lust and need pouring through every syllable. "I can't. I'm gonna. God. I need--"

Your babbled pleas seemed to spur Kyoutani into even more frenzied motion, his fingers and tongue working in tandem to drive you higher and higher. He drank down the fresh gush of slick released from your folds, growling against the soaked petals as his teeth scraped against the swollen folds in a way that had a violent shudder rippling through your entire frame.

"I know what you need," Kyoutani groaned as his fingers pumped and curled faster still, setting a relentless pace that had your vision blurring at the edges. "You need me. Need this."

The next high-pitched whimper that spilled free was muffled as Kyoutani surged upright - sealing his mouth over yours in a bruising glide of possession. You could taste yourself on his tongue, the flavor sharp and intoxicating and filthy in a way that only ratcheted the fires of lust blazing between you even higher.

"Gonna fuck you right now," he snarled against the abused swell of your bottom lip - his teeth grazing over the throbbing flesh before sucking it between his own in a fresh taunt. "I can't wait anymore, pretty. Can't. I have to be inside you. Now."

With one fluid motion, Kyoutani's hands left your overheated skin and dropped to his waistband, the metallic rasp of a zipper being drawn and fabric shifting audible even over the harsh, panting breaths escaping from both of your mouths. You barely had a moment to register the absence of his warmth and bulk before the hard, searing pressure of his pelvis crashed into yours, pinning you back against the wall in an inescapable cage of muscle and flesh and need.

Your lips parted in a fresh sob of ecstasy and anticipation, only for the sound to be swallowed and consumed by the fierce, unyielding crush of Kyoutani's mouth on yours once more. The blunt tip of his thick erection suddenly notched against the swollen folds, gliding along the slick seam of your cunt in a tantalizing stroke that had both of you moaning into the other's mouth.

"Please," you keened against his lips, hips arching to grind yourself along the length of his pulsing shaft and soak the velvety skin with your arousal. "Need you. Please, please, please. Need you so badly."

"God fucking damn, I love it when you beg," Kyoutani snarled with an almost vicious edge to the graveled cadence of his voice, the thick head of his cock finally catching and beginning to sink past the tight clench of your entrance. "That's it. Beg me for it. Plead for my cock to fill up this greedy cunt."

The words dissolved into a strangled groan as he sank deeper and deeper, the searing friction of his girth stretching you open further than you'd ever felt before. Kyoutani's teeth caught the swell of your bottom lip, worrying and tugging until the sting sent an electric jolt arcing directly to your core.

"You're so tight, pretty girl," he panted, his breaths coming in rough, guttural pants as he continued his gradual, excruciating pace. "Fuck. So wet. And so goddamn warm. Shit. I knew you'd feel perfect."

His arms flexed and locked against the wall, bracketing you in the cage of his massive form as Kyoutani finally buried his cock to the hilt inside your soaking heat. For a few moments, the two of you simply stayed locked together, bodies trembling and breaths mingling as you adjusted to the fullness stretching your core.

But even in the haze of lust clouding your senses, you could sense the strain vibrating through the muscles locked beneath your clutching fingertips - the way Kyoutani's jaw ground and teeth clenched against the primal urge to pound into your clenching channel. His features had twisted into an almost agonized mask, the dark slashes of his brows knitted tightly together as he focused his efforts on maintaining control.

"Kentarou," you breathed his name in a low moan - the single syllable practically dripping with unadulterated want and need and desperation. You felt the way his powerful body shuddered and twitched in response, the involuntary buck of his hips sending a fresh jolt of pleasure-pain rocketing through you both.

"Fuck," he hissed against the curve of your neck, his tongue tracing the throbbing vein there in a hot glide that only heightened the feverish sensations rippling through you. "I know. God, I know, pretty. But I need to hold still for just a moment longer. Because once I start moving, I'm not stopping. Not until I've fucked this sweet pussy and marked every inch of it as mine."

The possessive edge threading through his gravelly baritone sent another shiver cascading through you, the molten tension building within your core reaching a fever pitch as you struggled to hold still and absorb the overwhelming sensation of his throbbing length sheathed fully inside you.

"I'm the one who owns this pussy," Kyoutani groaned as he rocked his hips against yours, grinding his pelvis into your own until his balls pressed against the swell of your ass. "Me, and no one else. Isn't that right, pretty girl? Say it."

The ragged moan that tumbled from your parted lips was all the answer he needed, even before the words finally spilled free.

"Yes," you cried out, nails scoring along the ridged expanse of his muscled back - the sensation seeming to drive Kyoutani closer to the edge as his entire body went rigid and trembling with the effort to hold still. "Yours. I'm yours. All yours. Please. Just fuck me."

Any remaining shred of restraint abruptly disintegrated at your breathless, desperate entreaty - sending Kyoutani's hips crashing into yours in a single, brutal thrust that knocked the air from your lungs. The searing friction and drag of his thick cock filling you again and again was unlike anything you'd ever experienced, the sheer force and power behind his movements threatening to shatter your sanity.

"Shit," Kyoutani grunted in a raw, hoarse growl - the sound seeming to reverberate in his chest as his hands shifted to grip your ass tighter, angling you to meet his relentless plundering thrusts. "Gonna. Fuck. Gonna breed this sweet cunt until it's dripping with my cum."

The lewd, depraved filth spilling from his mouth sent another violent shudder coursing through your frame, your hips rising to meet the punishing pace he'd set without faltering. The friction and force behind his strokes were just on the cusp of painful, driving you towards the precipice of your release in a ruthless, inexorable tide that left no room for thought or logic or sense.

All that remained was the mind-numbing sensation of him stretching and filling you, again and again - a ceaseless, consuming rhythm that promised to shatter and remake you entirely.

"You take me so well," Kyoutani's voice rasped directly into your ear, the hot press of his sweat-slicked torso molding into your own until you could barely distinguish where his body ended and yours began. "Like you were fucking made for my cock. For me. So good. Such a perfect little slut."

His next thrust had your vision going hazy and black, the thick head of his dick grinding and pumping into a spot that sent fresh lightning pulses of pleasure-pain arcing up your spine. Another strangled scream tore itself free from the depths of your lungs - the only coherent sounds capable of escaping past the frantic, panting breaths escaping from between your swollen lips.

"Fuck, you look so good like this, beautiful," Kyoutani crooned the praise, his voice barely a thread above a guttural snarl. "Bent over for me and begging to be fucked and bred like a bitch in heat."

His tongue traced the curve of your ear in a sinful, teasing sweep, sending another frisson of need shuddering through your overheated frame. A ragged, sobbing moan clawed its way free from your throat as he continued the torturous torment of his hips slamming into your own - each thrust sinking deeper and harder until you couldn't tell if the sounds filling the air were your own or Kyoutani's.

"Tell me how much you need it, pretty," Kyoutani growled, the sharp scrape of his canines against the vulnerable column of your throat sending a new shudder coursing through you. "How much you love taking this cock and letting me fuck this filthy little pussy however I want. How much you want me to breed this gorgeous cunt until I've filled you up with my cum."

His hand had slipped between your bodies at some point during the relentless assault, calloused fingertips tracing over the slippery, swollen folds until they settled over the swollen bud of your clit. Every stroke and flick sent another shockwave of pleasure careening through you - driving you towards the precipice with the same single-minded focus that characterized every action and movement on the court.

"Say it," he demanded in a husky rasp that scraped your senses raw - his pace becoming ever-faster, ever-harder, ever-more-relentless until it was impossible to process the sensory overload.

"Kentarou," the plea broke from your throat in a raw sob, the only sound capable of passing through your swollen lips. Your head lolled against his broad shoulder as his fingers began to circle your clit with an increased pressure and tempo, driving you towards the inevitable fall with every pump and grind and thrust of his cock buried within your cunt.

"Let me hear you say it," Kyoutani snarled, his hips stuttering and jerking as the punishing pace became ever-more-frantic, ever-more-erratic, ever-more-wild. His teeth sank into the curve of your throat with a fresh growl, the sting of his canines ripping another strangled cry from your lungs as the crest of pleasure rapidly coiled tighter and tighter within you.

"Tell me you're mine."

The words were punctuated by a single, brutal thrust that had your vision whiting out, your back bowing against the wall and legs seizing around Kyoutani's trim waist. His name tore itself free from the depths of your throat in a wild, feral scream that shattered the relative quiet of the empty gym. Your nails scored across the clothed expanse of his back as every muscle and tendon in your body drew tight and taut with the overwhelming flood of euphoria sweeping over you.

"There we go," he rumbled against your throat, the vibration of his voice sending fresh sparks careening along your nerves. "There's my sweet girl. Fuck. Feels so fucking good when you come all over my cock like that."

Another guttural moan was torn free from the depths of his chest as his hands clamped around the curve of your hips, holding you steady as he continued to pound into your quivering, slick channel. His grip was iron-clad, the bruising force behind each stroke and thrust sending fresh shocks of pleasure-pain ricocheting through your already-overstimulated system.

"You feel too fucking good," Kyoutani snarled against your neck, the ragged edge to his voice and the way his hips were stuttering and losing their rhythm indicating he was rapidly approaching the brink of his own release. "Shit. Gonna make me cum."

His fingers returned to your clit with a renewed focus, the rough texture of his callouses grinding into the sensitive bundle of nerves in a way that had you crying and writhing beneath the assault. Every part of you was aflame, a fever-bright inferno burning through your veins and threatening to consume you whole.

"Gonna breed this cunt full, pretty," Kyoutani swore against the hollow of your throat, the guttural rasp to his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "Pump you full until you can feel every drop spilling out of your slutty little hole. Fuck. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Your only response was a low, broken moan, the sound seeming to spur Kyoutani's hips into an even more punishing, frenzied pace that threatened to break you in half. The way his cock was dragging against the spasming clench of your walls was an exquisite brand of torture - the friction and depth and force behind his thrusts pushing you beyond the point of sanity or reason.

"Fuck, look at how much you're gushing all over my dick," he practically purred the depraved observation, the filthy words falling from his lips as effortlessly as the sweat pouring off his brow. "Such a sweet, filthy little slut for me. Only me."

Another broken, wordless cry ripped free from your lungs as his fingertips redoubled their efforts on your hypersensitive clit, sending sparks and bolts of electricity crackling along your nerve endings and searing directly to your core. It was impossible to process the magnitude of the sensations he was wringing from you, each fresh stroke and touch threatening to send you tumbling over the edge yet again.

"I know you're close," Kyoutani growled, his features twisting into a feral grin as his tongue traced the delicate shell of your ear in a maddening taunt. "Can't wait to feel this perfect pussy clamping down on my dick when I breed you full. You'd like that, wouldn't you, beautiful?"

The words were punctuated by another harsh buck of his hips, the searing, velvety drag of his thick length dragging against the hypersensitive walls of your core in a way that threatened to rip the air from your lungs. Before you could even muster a coherent response, his teeth sank into the curve of your shoulder with a possessive snarl - the sharp pain-pleasure of his canines scraping against your skin sending another rush of molten need flooding from your cunt.

"Cum with me," Kyoutani's voice had gone husky and rough with desire, the ragged edge to his breathless pants betraying the effort it took to maintain the brutal, unforgiving pace he'd set. His fingers continued their relentless swirling and circling over the sensitive bud of your clit, driving you towards the precipice in a way that threatened to steal the last shreds of coherency from your mind.

"Please, please, please," the pleas tumbled from your swollen, parted lips in a ceaseless mantra, each syllable falling free as quickly as your breath punched from your lungs with every thrust and grind. You couldn't even register the words or sounds escaping from your throat, the only coherent thought that registered was the need to fall into the white-hot abyss of bliss looming ahead.

"God, fuck," Kyoutani groaned against the curve of your shoulder, the muscles of his powerful arms and back locking tight and tense as his entire frame seized and trembled. His next thrust sent the head of his throbbing cock grinding against the hyper-sensitive spot buried deep within you, the added stimulation pushing you over the edge once more.

"Cum for me," he snarled, his hips slamming into yours one last time before the searing, wet rush of his release flooded your clenching walls. A broken sob clawed its way from your throat as the molten heat pulsing and throbbing against the swollen, sensitized walls sent you tumbling into the white-hot waves of release, drowning beneath the overwhelming tidal surge crashing through you both.

For several long moments, neither of you moved - frozen in place as the tremors wracking your frames slowly eased. Kyoutani's hands were still clenched around the curve of your hips, keeping your lower body trapped flush against his own while his cock continued to pulse and twitch within your core. His breath ghosted over the sweat-slicked skin of your neck in heavy, panting exhales, the rapid rise and fall of his broad chest matching the erratic tempo of your own.

"Shit," Kyoutani grunted, his voice raspy and raw, almost hoarse in a way that made a fresh shiver ripple through you. "Fucking hell, pretty girl. I think you just drained my damn balls dry."

Your breath left in a high-pitched wheeze as he abruptly stepped back, his cock slipping free from the dripping, overstimulated channel. Before you could think to register the sudden emptiness, his fingers had already dipped between the soaked, swollen folds, circling and teasing and taunting the still-quivering entrance.

"Look at all this cum leaking out of your pretty pussy," he practically crooned the words, the dark edge to his voice making it clear exactly what he was planning to do. "We can't have any of this going to waste, now can we? That'd be such a shame. When I've gone to all the trouble of filling you up just the way you needed."

Before you could summon the wherewithal to reply, Kyoutani had already dropped to his knees, his shoulders and broad back flexing as his hands guided your trembling legs to rest atop them. The heated blaze of his gaze swept over the flushed, swollen folds of your center - drinking in the sight of his thick, pearly essence mixing with the slickness still clinging to the tender petals.

"Now let's see how many times I can make you cum for me, kitten."

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