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sleepynoons · 2 months ago

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AMARYLLIS – celebrity!au, afab!f!reader x sado yasutora (bleach), nsfw, 18+

word count: 2,100+

cw: explicit language, masturbation, toys, exhibitionism, parasocial behavior, mentions of stalking

note: thank you to both @staraxiaa and @grimmweepers for helping beta-read this first chapter! still figuring out how i want the rest of this story to unfold, but you two have been awesome in making sure this first chapter was good to go!

I. Why Do I Even Bother?

Buzzing. Sighs. Pings.

Today’s stream is much earlier than normal. Typically, you stream late at night, starting at around midnight and finishing within an hour, but recently, your ask box has been flooded with requests for an early morning session.

Aside from the soft streaks of dawn light filtering in through your blinds, everything else is the same. There’s a camera and mic placed at the center end of your bed, connected to a computer and monitor that sit on your desk. Your sheets are white, a bold choice but aesthetically pleasing, with large pillows piled at the headboard which you lean on.

You release another small sigh as you rub slow circles into the side of your breast. You sink in another inch of the glass dildo, and your hips shift side to side to adjust to the length. A few more notifications sound from your computer, all donations from your viewers. One message even reads aloud: “You can take in more.”

You chuckle and close your thighs. A little breathless, you reply, “Why the rush? We can take it slow this morning.” At your words, a shower of donations comes through, and you uncross your legs to reveal that you’ve pushed the dildo all the way in.

The pressure inside your stomach is familiar – a mixture of slight pain and overwhelming pleasure. You keep the head of the dildo nestled firmly against that spot inside of you as you roll your hips, letting small waves of the sensations wash over you. Meanwhile, your fingers inch over to your nipples, and you teasingly pinch and pull at them, whining softly with soft jolts of your body.

“Took it all in,” you mumble, glancing up at the camera.

That seems to rile your audience up, but you know they’re getting impatient. So you begin moving the toy in and out, flashing a clear view of how much of a mess you’re making on the dildo before you sink it back into your burning core. You pace yourself so that every push in matches with each twist of your breast, and the pain has fully subsided by now.

As you speed up, you can’t help but let yourself go a little, moans growing in volume and frequency, jaw dropping slightly to let some spit dribble from your glossed lips.

“It’s so early – ah! Not too rough – ha – please!”

You look at your monitor, where comments of “So hot,” “Fuck, she seems so tight,” and “Hurry up!” populate the screen.

You huff. “I don’t want to hurry. You made me wake up so early, and now you want this to end already? Make up your mind.”

With a push from your elbow, you sit up and stand the dildo on the bed, before completely sinking down onto it. Head rolling back and groans spilling from your parted mouth, you lift and drop yourself, up and down, up and down, over and over again. The glass is no longer cold, and the ridges and curves of it bump and grind against your walls in unexpected ways such that you’re constantly stimulated, pleasure continuing to mount, compound, and rise.

Once you’ve found a good pace, you drop a hand down to play with yourself. Using the tip of a finger, you tease the hood of your clit, faintly flicking back and forth, rubbing in fleeting motions, all without actually touching your yearning bud. The combination of the dildo hitting deep inside you and the burning desire for more make it impossible for you to hold back your moans – and you loudly whine about it, too, slurring random phrases, like “Want more!” or “Wish it was you touching me!”

At last, when the wait has become unbearable even for yourself, you finally allow yourself to give in. Usually, you have way more patience and discipline, but you suppose the lack of sleep is interfering. You run two fingers through your slit, gathering slick, and touch your clit directly. You feel an electric shock travel your body, jolting your nerves, and you squeak at how good it feels.  

You can’t help but hurry. You rub furiously at your clit, while you bounce faster on the toy. It almost feels like too much – any stimulation against your clit makes you leak, and your wetness only makes it easier for the dildo to move inside of you. With a slight turn of your waist, though, the head of it hits the spot inside of you. Your mouth falls open, tongue darting out, eyes a little unfocused. You almost lose your strength, but the sheer desire to climax keeps you together, and you become even more forceful. With a few more firm presses to your clit and ensuring that the dildo hits consistently, your orgasm comes quickly and inevitably.

You yelp and fall over, smooshing your cheek to the cotton blanket, but you keep going, rubbing and pushing and pinching until your orgasm becomes too much to the point that you scream and squirt. You feel it run down your inner thighs, but even then, you flash your laziest, almost sleepy smile at the camera and continue to rock your hips against the toy nestled deep inside you.

A message reads out loud: “Fuck, you’re sluttier in the morning.”

You only laugh in response. Letting your body return to stasis, you rest for a few moments before sitting up.

“Thanks for watching, as always, you naughty things. Have a stream tomorrow night, but if you’re also interested in what I do on the side, check out my Twitch, where I’ll be chatting and playing some games with my friends later today. Until next time!”

Promptly, you end the stream.

And you just sit there. At the edge of your bed, you’re unmoving. Because some things never fail to catch your eye.

Right before you ended your stream, an account, one that’s been watching you for years now at this point, commented: “I’ll have you on my bed someday. I know where you live.”

You can feel all of the liquids and sweat and everything harden on your skin. You know there’s a mess behind you, waiting for you to clean it all up. But you just sit there, emotionless, eyes hovering over that comment, the words unraveling into nonsensical groupings of letters.

Suddenly, your phone rings. You jump in your skin, shoulders tightening and tensing, and it takes a few seconds before you scramble over to the other side of your room to pick up the call.

“Hey, Amaryllis! Great stream today, the sponsors loved it. How are you?”

It’s your manager. You know you have no reason to lie to her.

You grit, “Did you see that comment?”

Your manager sighs on the other end. “I did. I’m surprised, really. This account’s never said anything like this before. I’ve also removed the other ones.”

You curse. “This bitch pays a lot, but that doesn’t mean they can just say shit like that. Shut their fucking account down.”

“Of course. I’ll handle it, so you just relax, alright?”

You scoff. “For how much longer, huh? It’s been almost a year since I first brought this up. They just keep popping up, saying these creepy things over and over again. And now my most loyal fans are starting to think this behavior’s okay? I know it’s not up to you, but when is this shit going to end?”

“Nothing’s happened yet,” your manager says. “I know it’s hard, but the agency is doing its best, and we, of course, prioritize your safety. But we can’t really make a case when there’s no proof of substantial harm or damage.”

Your manager’s response irks you. “So,” you sneer, “you all are just going to wait until something does happen to me? Why would it matter then?”

She tries to blubber some excuse or apology, but you end the call.

–

“Oh, she’s here! Hey, Amaryllis!”

You wave at your camera. “Hey, sorry, I’m late, was catching up on some sleep and missed my alarm.”

Every Saturday evening, you hang out with your friend group and livestream your shenanigans together. Your group mainly consists of Orihime, Ichigo, Rukia, and Renji, with occasional appearances from Uryu, Keigo, Tatsuki, and Mizuiro. Just like you, the first few are involved in streaming and content creation.

Today, everyone except for Uryu has made it.

“It’s fine, we’re still waiting on Renji. That late ass,” Ichigo jokes.

Everyone on the call laughs.

Rukia sighs. “Sorry, he said he was preparing some sort of surprise for us. He was smiling really creepily about it, though, so I wish he’d just get it over with.”

“Hey!” Someone barks behind Rukia. “Don’t call other people creepy!”

Renji comes into view with his hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans.

“So what’s the surprise?” Mizuiro asks.

Smirking, Renji takes a seat next to his fiancé before whipping out pieces of laminated paper in his hands.

“Maybe some people in Rukia’s chat remember, but I’m a big MMA fan. And guess what these are!” He waves the tickets so closely to the camera that they’re blurred.

Everyone’s silent except for Keigo, who cheers. “You got us tickets?!”

“That’s right!” Renji crosses his arms, quite satisfied with himself. “We’re going to Vegas, baby!”

At that, everyone breaks into applause.

“So you’re paying for everything, right?” you chuckle.

Renji’s quick to defend himself. “Woah, I didn’t say anything about paying. But” – and he puffs his chest out – “don’t worry, because everything’s covered.”

A look of realization crosses Rukia’s face. “Oh, so that’s what your appointment was all about!”

Renji nods.

Rukia turns back to her monitor to explain. “For those of you who don’t remember, Renji’s a tattoo artist, and he said he had a big client the other day. I’m guessing they’re related to the tickets.”

Renji finishes, “I had a guy who works for the UFC as a client. Turns out he’s pretty high up, and he basically gave us all a free trip.”

Keigo asks, “Wait, when is it? Is it in time for Chad’s match?”

You and Orihime tilt your heads. “Who’s that?” the latter asks on your behalf.

You roll your eyes as the two fanboys start screeching their heads off. You hear something along the lines of this Chad guy being a world-class fighter and a candidate for the next championship, but even then, those words don’t really matter to you. Your chat seems to notice, and you mute yourself from the call.

“I know nothing about MMA and the UFC,” you admit. Your viewers seem to share a similar sentiment, and wish you safe travels for the trip.

You take this time to interact with your chat.

“Sorry that this stream is already so chaotic. Anyway, Tomo441, thanks for the 20 gifted! Also, thanks for subbing, zzz7712 and yeetnyan!”

You’re about to read off your donations, until you see a comment float up in the chat: “See you in Vegas.”

It gets removed by one of your moderators, but the damage has been done. Just when you thought you could escape and enjoy a vacation, it gets ruined before it has even begun.

It seems Tatsuki, who is one of your other moderators, had also noticed the message, and she immediately takes countermeasures. “Hey,” she says, “we can discuss logistics another time, yeah? Can we just play the game already, instead of having to hear Renji brag about himself and his eyebrows for another ten minutes?”

You play along and feign indifference, as if you didn’t notice anything off. After all, you have to know how to act, even as a camgirl.

“Chat, I have to go back to the main call, but I’ll let you all know when I’m gone, alright? Everything will be on the schedule, and I’ll make an announcement about it when the time comes.”

And that’s really it. You’re just troubled and very, very annoyed. Your manager’s right in that nothing has actually happened to you. Besides, everyone, even those with the slightest bit of Internet fame and especially accounts like yours that have hundreds of thousands of followers, have to deal with haters and parasocial fans. It’s just an inevitable, inescapable aspect of having a job that requires and leeches off of online relationships. Some fans just take your roleplays too seriously, and you can sympathize a little, if you really tried to – after all, your whole persona is acting like someone’s bratty, sexy, insatiable girlfriend. As long as your agency keeps things under control, you’ll be safe.

You’ll go on this trip with your friends, and nothing will happen.

next chapter

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#TPO – carrot writes!#bleach #bleach smut #bleach x reader #sado yasutora #yasutora sado #bleach chad #chad yasutora #sado yasutora x reader #chad yasutora x reader #chad x reader #yasutora sado x reader #sado yasutora smut #yasutora sado smut #chad yasutora smut #chad smut #carrot cake!#house of solis occasum

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