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alvhiedeir · 4 months

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Reblog to kill it faster

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alvhiedeir · 10 months

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Untitled Miyuki Kazuya phone sex drabble

Miyuki Kazuya x afab reader

Word count: ~1.5k

Tags & warnings: SMUT-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Dubcon phone sex (reader doesn’t know? Miyuki can hear them, ecouteurism), masturbation (m&f), Miyuki is a desperate virgin, a touch of angst

Note: In a FRENZY due to this art by nume, and fever-fueled by writings by ix & mica. I wasn’t trying to make this as long as I predicted, but it’s not surprising I guess that this art has me so fucking depraved

bzzzzzzzzzz bzzzzzzzzzz bzzzzzzzzzz

bzzzzzzzzzz bzz—

He quickly swipes to answer.

“ ‘llo?” he mumbles.

No response.

“Hello?” Miyuki repeats, a little louder, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Still no response.

He pulls the phone back. It’s you calling, and — he squints at the display the top of the screen — it’s just past 2am. What could you possibly be calling about at this hour? Did something happen? Is something wrong? He throws the covers off and presses the phone back to his ear, calling your name louder than before.

Finally, he hears something. A rustle, then—

A soft gasp.

More rustling. A keen.

He’s wide awake now, palms starting to sweat, free hand clutching his knee. What’s happening?

Another gasp, no a moan.

It can’t be. You can’t be.

He turns the volume up, holds his breath. Rapt.

Fabric brushes against the phone. You’re adjusting yourself, settling with a drawn-out hum. Your delicate sighs start again, breaths shallower and quicker, and there’s no mistaking it now. Miyuki sits transfixed at the edge of his bed, grateful for the tile against the soles of his feet to cool the need burning in his blood.

Your voice gets pitchier, throat tensing to a quiet whine.

He’s picturing you now, head pressed against your pillow, fingers dancing around your clit. Maybe you’ve dipped one or two inside already, drawing out the slick pooling there and smearing it over your slit. He’s never been so hungry, and he doubts anything else could taste as sweet. Saliva floods his mouth at the thought. The skin there must be so velvety and sensitive. He wants to nip at your inner thighs, suck at that little bundle of nerves, run his hot tongue over your lips and bury it in your soaking core.

He wants to make you grind against his face, frantic, make you whine louder. He’s never done it before but he’s a fast learner. He’s sure he could.

You mewl, and Miyuki answers with his own hushed whimper. It feels like all the blood in his body is pulsing along the length of his cock. He shifts to relieve the tension between his legs, but even a slight flinch has his sensitive head chafing against his boxer briefs, the sensation making his jaw clench.

The sharp pain of his fingernails digging into his thighs brings him hurtling back to his room. The phone is pressed so hard against his ear that it may as well be fused into the side of his skull.

He looks down, and the size of the damp patch on his underwear draws out another whimper. He’s so hard it hurts.

He slowly unlatches his hand from his thigh and reaches over to palm himself lightly over the fabric, inhales and exhales rattling like yours every time he runs his thumb over the head.

You choke out a moan, and…you must have bumped the phone because nothing is muffled anymore. Suddenly he can hear the rough edges of your desire, and it sends an agonizing pang straight to his — NO. He has to stop. He should hang up. You’ve called him by accident. He shouldn’t be listening.

He should hang up.

This isn’t right.

He should hang up.

He wrenches the phone away from his ear. Or, he’s just about to, he swears he was, but he hears a squelch. A squelch. Fuck how wet are you? Your cries are throatier now with every thrust of your…fingers? A toy? What he wouldn’t give to know. The wet slap slap slap betrays how absolutely fucking soaking you must be.

And he’s only human, isn’t he?

He can only take so much, he justifies to himself as he pulls down the band of his underwear, freeing his throbbing cock with a shudder of relief. It smacks him hard in the abdomen, flinging pearly drops of precum across his chest.

Kazuya spits on his palm and rubs it over the head of his cock, smearing sweat and spit and pre as he slowly drags his hand along the length of his veiny shaft. His fingers catch lightly on the skin with each stroke. He leans over to dribble more saliva onto it. If he were there he could just dip the swollen head into your folds, wet it with a grind along your drenched pussy.

He’s been working up his courage for weeks, and this is what it’s come to, rubbing one out, alone, in the dark. It’s almost sad that he can’t dream of anything better, but he doesn’t regret it, especially not when he hears you fumble around, the glide of wood against wood. A click. A light buzzing. You swoon.

He responds with an unwitting groan.

His tendons flex as he pumps himself faster, desperate impatience winning out over his desire to bask in the moment.

“Ohhhhh fuck,” you wail.

You’re writhing around now, sheets rubbing against the mic, hoarse gasps sounding against his ear. Kazuya’s mouth has gone dry. His back arches, his quaking abs are covered in a sheen of sweat as he strains with the effort of holding back. He wants to slow down, the pressure keeps building, he wants to prolong this so bad but he’s so fucking close already and he can’t stop.

His knuckles have gone white around the phone. His breath only able to come out in short little wheezes. The heat in his core builds. His balls feel tight, he’s right there.

You’re just as much of a mess. Every clap against your sopping cunt practically reverberates off the walls in perfect time with his fist.

Between your sobbing pleas, the thwack of skin against skin, between your screams and his, he can just make out— “Fuck, I’m so close” — the sound of you begging, “ ‘m so-o close -uki— oh my g— just like that, please, please— fu-uck me -uya, just like that.”

Fear flickers deep in his brain (his hand never slows down), you’re calling for Tetsuya, you’ve got to be, you want fucking Yuuki (you’re close now too, your words croaky) who’s so charismatic, who’s a (fuck, he’s right there, he’s right there) much better captain, who’s—

A lightning strike, a brilliant burst against the inside of his eyelids, a shockwave. He convulses, chokes, shouts when he cums. He bucks uncontrollably against his fist as white hot ropes shoot up, over and over, more than he’s ever cum, more than he thought possible, splattering against his neck, his chest, his stomach. He lets out a long, quivering whine. It’s too much it’s too much but there’s more, there’s still more, more thick streaks paint his pecs, hit him in the chin. He’s disoriented, aching, almost delirious by the time the spurts get weaker, globbing on his thighs and leaking down his shaft and puddling over the coarse hairs at his base.

He comes to, collapsed on the bed, twitching and wincing with empty spasms, so hypersensitive that he swears he can feel the air of his exhales against his tip. The ringing in his ears come into focus as loud curses and moans, a rush of pleasepleaseyespleasefuckpleasefuckmgonna—

A swallowed moan, a garbled wail, the waves must be washing over you now as he hears you thrash against the bed. Your wails are loud, almost blowing out the speaker on his phone.

“Fuck,” he yelps and hangs up.

Fuck.

He runs his clean hand down his face before resting his forearm over his eyes. It feels cool against the heat of his face.

He lays there, chest heaving, coming down from his high. Sweat and cum pool and swirl over his skin, some trickling into his belly button, some settling across his torso, some dribbling into the sheets.

It’s not until he turns and feels the streaks drying against his skin that he realizes how long he’s been laying there. He sits up with a groan, muscles twinging, shivering from the cold air that hits his sweat-soaked back.

His breathing has settled but his heart is still pounding in his chest.

The haze of arousal has faded, replaced by a gnawing sense of guilt. He forgot he was still on the phone. He was loud too, maybe louder than you. His head is swimming. Did you hear him? Why didn’t he mute himself? You couldn’t have heard with how loud you were, right? Otherwise you would’ve hung up. Right? He can only hope that’s the case. Hope you won’t look at your recent calls. Won’t check the call times and see that he answered. Won’t notice he stayed on the line the entire time.

He doesn’t look down, doesn’t want to be faced with what he’s done.

He’s seen you unlock your phone enough times to know the password, maybe when he sees you tomorrow, he can delete the evidence.

Miyuki stands on shaky legs and pads to the shower. He turns the water up as hot as he can stand.

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alvhiedeir · 11 months

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HAPPY FIRST EVER INTERNATIONAL AROMANTIC VISIBILITY DAY

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alvhiedeir · 1 year

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RoR but instead of fighting they play DDR and the person with more points wins. i imagine poseidon thinks he’s so good at these games and he miserably fails, and Buddha sweeps everyone

okay, this is an au now Buddha canonically gets the UNO round, but there's no doubt in my mind that he'd absolutely kill it on the dance floor