Reminder: Bi Visibility Day Is September 23. Remember To Leave Cookies Out For Freddie.

Reminder: Bi Visibility Day is September 23. Remember to leave cookies out for Freddie.

Train Stalker: Part 1- On the Train

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[NSFW] ‼ 18+ >MDNI<

Part 2

Summary: Your stalker follows you onto the train, taking advantage of the crowded place.

But it turns out he's someone familiar to you.

Pairing: Stalker Dabi/Fem Reader

Content Warning: Sexual Assault, Chikan, Noncon Groping and touching, Turns Consensual, Dubcon, Public Sex, Public Transportation(Train), Fingering, Humiliation, Degradation, Self Degradation and Blaming, Victim Blaming, Stalking, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Word Count: 3k

Disclaimer: Character belongs to Kohei Horikoshi

A/N: Had this in my drafts for a while, contemplating to post it lol

I Do Not condone this, Stalking or Assault. I don't think I should have to say that, but just in case. Don't Like? Don't Read.

My Masterlist

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You don't really want to go to this company dinner.

What with the constant judging and personal questions, not to mention the token creepy guy, it's just never worth it.

But your only work friend begged you to come, and you're unfortunately inclined to be a good friend, so here you are on the train, on your way to the venue.

There was an accident on one of the main subway lines, and traffic is horrible and rush hour is still unforgivingly a thing.

There's so many people confined in this one small subway carriage, you're practically packed like sardines. You'd gotten on early, before the influx of people, and it would be a good thing if it wasn't for that fact that you just might spend the rest of the ride sandwiched between the mass of bodies and the corner walls of the carriage.

Things are somewhat bearable for a while. You zone out, trying to think of a passable excuse to get out of this thing that would maybe make your friend believe you.

When nothing comes to mind, your thoughts stray again, this time to your most likely stalker. You sometimes feel eyes following you, lingering for a bit too long. The gaze burns, yet you could never find where it comes from. Even today, as you left your apartment, you could feel them watching you.

And of course, when you went to report it, you were written off as "paranoid" and "imaginative".

Useless fucks.

Before you can dwell on it further, the train lurches, making the crowd shuffle and push, and you end up being further plastered to the wall.

You push back against the people surrounding you in an attempt to reclaim some of your space, only to freeze when you feel a hand pressing against the small of your back.

Your first thought that comes to mind is that you really hate public transportation.

Your second is that the hand is big and warm.

A lump forms in your throat as you swallow your voice. You decide to give the stranger the benefit of the doubt, hoping that it's just an accident; a misunderstanding, as you wait for them to pull away.

But instead, the stranger moves his hand down, resting it on your ass; and squeezes.

A gasping yelp escapes your throat, which goes unheard in the drowning noise of the train and surrounding people.

You curse under your breath as you feel a weight settle over you, pushing you even closer to the wall, till you're completely trapped between the corner and a broad chest; the heat and pressure of the stranger's body suffocating and overwhelming.

You can't believe this is happening.

Taking a deep breath, you try to calm down, contemplating your options.

Maybe someone will notice.

You try to look behind you at the packed carriage, but you can only see a black hoodie and a tall frame. Dread washes over you as you realize the stranger's body is completely shielding you from the view of the other passengers; from the posssibility of someone noticing what is happening.

You know. You know you should scream out for help, but you just can't bring yourself to. The thought of bringing attention to yourself like this, to reveal what you've allowed to happen to you is...humiliating.

There's a fleeting thought to defend yourself, but your body is completely frozen; the fear keeping you rooted in place.

And all you can do is clench your eyes and grit your teeth as you feel a second hand move up to grip at your hip, holding you in place, as the first slips beneath your skirt, sliding up your thigh to your underwear.

"Oh?"

You flinch upon hearing the stranger speak, low and breathy, right into your ear. His voice is deep and rough, his breath hot on your skin.

There's a passing thought that he sounds vaguely familiar, but it's quickly pushed aside as he continues.

"Lingerie in public, hm?" His fingers toy with the fabric of your panties, tracing the delicate lace; and you can hear the smirk in his voice as he taunts, "Slut."

A mix of shame and indignation runs through you, yet your body heats up as the stranger continues to play with your underwear.

Hot breath against your neck, mouth dangerously close to the tender skin, sends goosebumps along your skin. An involuntary shiver goes up your spine when his fingers slither underneath your panties, trailing over the soft, round flesh of your ass, his touch feather-light.

A pathetic, whimpering sound of refusal spills out of your quivering lips, which is of course ignored.

Your eyes sting when the stranger's lips meet your neck; his mouth closing around the tender flesh, rough skin and metal...piercings?...grazing your skin. An embarrassing little sound catches in your throat when he licks and sucks at your pulse, marking you. It dissolves into a sob when the hand on your hip slides up your shirt, slipping under your bra to fondle and grope your breasts, and something terrifyingly close to a moan slips past your lips when a thumb brushes over your nipples. Traitorous jolts of arousal run through your body, pleasure clouding your senses.

You come back to yourself when you feel him pressing against you, his chest warm against your back, and something twitching against your lower back and oh fuck that's his dick.

You let out a pathetic little whimper at that, and then you feel his fingers begin to trail along your inner thighs and slide further up between your legs, and a mix of dread and anticipation washes over you as they reach your crotch.

"Look how wet you are," he hums into your ear, fingers brushing up and down your slit through your soaked panties, and you can't help the feeling of shame and disgust with yourself when you realize just how aroused you are. And how good the touch of this stranger feels. "Fucking slut... You actually want this, hm?"

"N-no," you choke out, "I-I don't—,please—"

"Shh, be quiet, Y/N. We don't want to make a scene, yeah?", the stranger coos, voice a soft murmur, yet tinted with the threat of danger, as he gives a squeeze to your tit. Your heart speeds up, adrenaline pumping through your veins, as you freeze at the sound of your name, spilling like honey from this stranger's mouth.

This man knows you.

This wasn't random.

You were targeted.

Your mind races at that, and you hysterically think to yourself, 'Well, I found my stalker! Useless! Fucks!'

Yet it does nothing to curb the steady arousal licking up your spine as a heated, sleek finger pulls your panties to the side and runs along your slick folds, your body trembling. Anticipation and fear pool in your tummy, yet it's drowned out by the hot, shameful arousal there.

You suck in a sharp breath as you feel the tip of his finger prodding at your entrance, petting at it, before slipping in with embarrassing ease; you clench around the intrusion, but you're so wet that it does little to stop his finger from making a home in your tight heat.

With a bitten off whimper, you scramble for something to hold onto along the uselessly smooth wall as he slowly pumps the thick digit into you.

Almost too soon, he pushes in a second finger, his other hand still tugging and pinching at your nipples, and you desperately try to swallow your moans.

Which is futile as he slowly thrusts them inside you, curling his fingers and caressing your walls, and stretching you, scissoring you open so good.

Long and thick, the stranger's fingers reach all the right places, making you squirm and shake, and your hand clamps around your mouth as you feel a whimpering moan bubbling up your throat,

Your neglected clit aches to be touched, as he finally adds a third finger and you gasp at the delicious stretch; his hot fingers rubbing at your walls making you melt.

He breathes heavily into your neck as you squirm against him, the slow thrusts maddening. He gradually speeds up, into something rough and mouth-watering, fucking his fingers into you at an intense, mind numbing rhythm; the obscene squelching sounds of your soaked cunt as it's stuffed so good just barely getting drowned out by the rattling of the train.

The satisfaction practically drips off of the stranger's voice like honey, thick and sweet, as he hums into your skin, "Fuck, that's it, such a good girl for me..."

You can't help the whimpering moan that escapes through your covered mouth, that specific wording along with the man's deep voice sending liquid heat through you, even as mortification goes along with it. You clench around his fingers, rocking your hips down to chase the sweet friction, lost in the pleasure. The announcer's voice echoing through the carriage is a small mercy, masking your desperate cries as you throw your head back when he hits your sweet spot.

It's fucking mortifying, getting aroused by being assaulted on the train. And to the point where you're turned into a needy, whimpering mess of a slut, is achingly, deliciously humiliating.

You shake, eyes wide with pleasure, and you catch a glance at part of his face.

Your hips stutter to a halt even as his fingers keep going; your breath catches in your throat and you swear your heart simultaneously freezes and tries to beat out of your chest.

Because you recognize him.

You know who this man is.

And how could you not?

Dark scars along his throat and jaw, staples holding it to smooth, healthy skin, who else could it be?

You look up further and your heart lurches as your eyes lock on burning blue, the same ones you've always reluctantly found breathtakingly gorgeous, ever since you first saw them in a dingy bar last year, up close and personal before being kissed stupid, drunk and horny, and then again in his video detailing his life.

The villain Dabi grins down at you when he sees you looking at him; a devilish, dangerous thing, all heat and sharp edges, as his fingers curl, making your breath hitch.

"Missed me, Doll?"

You never did quite forget how he pressed against you, heat and tantalising danger wafting off him; smelling of smoke and sandalwood, tasting of cheap beer and something sweet.

Not getting further than making out and heavy petting, for whatever reason, this is the first time you truly had his hands on you.

And you can't deny the late hours of the nights, after seeing him on the news, bloody and wild eyed, surrounded by his pretty, blue flames that set your heart alight with awe at its beauty, with sweat coating your skin and a hand slipped between your thighs; can't deny that it's his name you cry and chase in your pleasure on those nights.

Yet, this couldn't be real.

It couldn't be.

You swallow dryly. Without thought, the word spills out, a whisper of a thing.

"D...Dabi?" your voice is small and disbelieving, yet so sweetly hopeful.

His fingers slow down, and he smiles, amused and smug.

Scalding lips brush the shell of your ear. "Mhmm.", is the rumbling confirmation and you sag back against him, subconciously rolling your hips.

"Dabi—" you choke out, confusion and arousal warring within as you try to grasp what the fuck is happening right now.

Your voice melts into a whimper as you feel his fingers move faster again and you clench around them as they rub and curl inside you, exploring every inch of your walls in a way that has your hips bucking down to meet him, desperate for more despite your questions.

Because right now, the man you've wanted for so long, your guilty pleasure, is knuckles deep inside of you, and fuck if you're going to deny yourself that, but you want answers dammit.

"Why—mmn—why are you—" you struggle to speak around the moans and pleasure, "—why are y-you here, doing thi—ahn—this?"

His replying chuckle is low and dark in your ear, his answer making your knees buckle.

"I've been watching you for a while now, Sweetheart. And I never did get a taste of this sweet cunt." he accentuates his words with a grind to your sweet spot that has you seeing stars.

And you're suddenly very grateful that you're cornered against the wall; because you know that your eyes are wide, blown and hazy, lips parted and face flushed, and you don't know if you could take the look in his eyes if he sees the slutty, debaunched expression on your face at his words.

Though, he doesn't even need to see it to know, not when he hears the wanton little sounds you let out as he fucks his fingers in and out of your tight heat.

His thumb brushing over your throbbing clit has you biting down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from crying out, the touch sending sharp jolts of pleasure through your body.

"You always look fuckin' hot but today," he breathes into your neck, his voice dark and rough, exhilarating in the best of ways, as he punctuates the last word with a grind against you, the thought of his hard cock so close yet so far is almost enough to make you lose your goddamn mind, before growling out, "Today, you look fuckin' edible."

Heat washes over you at the depraved praise as you let out a tinny whimper.

"Oh fuck," you breathe out, high-pitched and needy. The thought that he's been watching you all this time, wanting you all this time, added to the sensations ravaging your body to the point it's almost too much, and you're just on that precipice, heat coiling low in your tummy.

You desperately clutch at his scarred wrist as his pace quickens into a near brutal rhythm, fingers simultaneously fucking into your pussy and rubbing at your clit, while his other hand fondles and kneads your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between the rough pads of his fingers, and it's just all so much, so good.

The pleasure is overwhelming, he is overwhelming, in all of the best ways they could be. His smoky scent, his deep voice, his filthy words, the feel and heat of him against you, the fingers that play you with the ease and prescision of a pianist; his very pressence electric, his every touch incendiary.

"Such a good girl for me, baby, so fuckin' wet for me, so fuckin' pretty..." he groans, muttering into the crook of your neck where he's nuzzling his face into, as his hips jerk forward, pressing and grinding his clothed erection against your ass.

Feeling him so big, so hard against you, for you, you moan; high and needy, dizzy with lust, wishing you could feel it stretching your insides instead of his fingers, pulsing and hot. That thought has you shaking, your eyes rolling back, vision going white, as you go limp; the only things now keeping you up are your shaky, braced hands against the wall and his hold on you, and you feel like a bubble just about to burst.

"Aww, you gonna cum for me, Doll?" He whispers almost harshly against your ear, his tone playful and full of sadistic glee. When you nod frantically he laughs, dark and mocking, "Do it baby, lemme see you."

It's exactly what you need.

Your juices drip down your thighs as you clench around him like a vice, and his hand releases your breast to slide up and cup over your mouth to keep you from screaming.

Ecstasy saturates your very blood, and you feel your cunt convulsing, your toes curling, and you reach your peak with a barely muffled cry, your release gushing down your legs.

Any thought of shame at the utter debaunced indecency of what you did and allowed to happen, is forgotten as pure bliss clouds your senses, sagging back against Dabi's chest, spent.

His body is tense against you, as it takes all of his willpower to not fuck you right then and there in front of everyone, but he wants you to himself, so he endures; breathing heavily into your neck as he mutters, voice strained and husky, "Good girl."

If you could, you would come all over again just from that.

You moan softly as he pulls his fingers out, bringing it to the front of your face to see them glistening in your juices, sticky and stringy where he spreads them, before bringing them up and back. Your eyes helplessly follow them as he brings it to his mouth, lapping at them with a soft groan.

Your chest heaves at the sight as you stand there, dizzy and in disbelief, catching your breath.

He grins, a cheeky little thing, "I said I never got a taste."

You just stare at him, trying to wrap your mind around what the hell just happened; so out of it, you almost don't notice the train slowing down, announcing your arrival to yet another station......and you notice that you missed your stop.

Shit.

Though before you could panic, he speaks into your ear.

"This is our stop, Sweetheart."

Heart racing, you turn around to face him, after he steps back, allowing you space. Flushed and confused, you hastily fix your clothes to be somewhat presentable as you look up at him; at his dilated pupils and the unmistakable hunger in his eyes as he watches you intently.

And you realize what he means. The sweet, titillating promise in his words and what he plans to do with you: to you.

Once you do, you don't even have to think about it before you agree.

As the train comes to a halt and the crowd of people rush out of the carriage, you let Dabi lead you out to the platform, your veins thrumming with excitement.

So much for being a good friend, but you'll just have to apologize to her tomorrow.

You're finally going to have what you've been craving.

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Arabian Nights

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[NSFW] ‼ 18+ >MDNI<

Summary: Aizawa Shouta goes to a suspicious spa for a relaxing day, when things take a turn

Pairing: Aizawa/Harem Boys

Content Warning: Male Gay Sex, Smut, Dub/Non Con, Gangbang(?), Harem Boys, Hypnotism, Brainwashing, Drugging, Kidnapping, Chastity Cage, Cock Cage, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Prostate Massage, Prostate Massager/Toy, Nipple Play, Cumming Untouched, Milking, Prostate Milking, Unethical Masseuse Actions, It's porn, Body Oil, Body Hair, Pampering, Loosely based on Aladdin's aesthetics, This is not meant to be offensive in any way, though it is pretty stereotypical

Word Count: 5.8k

Disclaimer: Character belongs to Kohei Horikoshi

A/N: This was my first requested fic!! I had sm fun writing this, especially researching stuff to be at least somewhat accurate lol

Hope you like it @princeasimdiya12 !!🥰❤

My Masterlist

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Aizawa Shouta has been notably stressed lately; more so than usual. And as his friend, Hizashi decides that he needs a break. Just a day to relax and unwind. He knows that even that might be asking too much of him by himself, so he enlists their other friend Nemuri for help.

Together, Hizashi and Nemuri conspire and come up with a plan, and they somehow convince Shouta to go along with it.

They book him a spa day at a themed spa, Arabian Nights, and though he rolled his eyes and grumbled, Shouta is secretly grateful for the reprieve.

When they all get there, because they both feel the need to make sure he actually goes, Shouta gets the feeling that something is off.

He voices this to them of course, but is brushed off because they think he's either just trying to get out of it or the stress is making him paranoid, it could be either or both.

As they check him in, he scopes out anything and everything he can. The outside of the building looked normal enough, but the interior, even just the reception room, is like a whole new world in itself.

Intricate designs cover the cream walls and high ceiling, with gold accents; tapestries and paintings lining them tastefully. The carpet beneath their feet, and decorative pillows on the available seats are plush and a matching wine colour, while the furniture are all dark reds and browns, with potted plants placed at the corners of the room.

He takes notice of all the employees he can see, all of which are male, though of different ethnicities and stature.

They're all dressed to fit the theme of the spa, in puffy, cream coloured pants with the crotches dropped, tight, black, low cut V neck vests, and maroon sashes tied around their waists. Gold sashes are draped across their chests from their right shoulders to their left hips, and thick, gold bands adorn both of their wrists, along with a cream coloured headpiece, each with a slanted gold stripe across the front and a red jewel at the top center, most likely rubies.

When they're finished checking him in, he's lead through a detailed, arched doorway, to get started, with Hizashi waving him off, saying that they'll come pick him back up later when he's done.

Though, as Hizashi and Nemuri exit the building, they don't see the eyes of one of the employees glow a bright, swirling mix of red and gold as he looks at them leave.

And by the time they reach the car, they can't remember why they're here, where they are, and with no recollection of an Aizawa Shouta.

*****

The man leading Shouta is taller than him; slender and lithe, almost serpentine in his movements. He's dressed in a black, floor length robe with red bell sleeves and a low cut neck that shows off his muscular chest, a matching red sash around his waist, along with a tall, black headdress, a thin and wavy gold pattern wrapping around the middle, going downwards at the front, with a garnet stone situated just above his forehead, and a long, crimson feather above the gem; a maroon cloth attached to the base of the headpiece is draped over his shoulders. It's extravagant as it is, but to top it all off, a black, dramatic cape with a scarlet interior flows behind his every step.

Shouta thinks that that might be a bit much, but who's he to judge?

Just as he's starting to wonder just how far they're going, the man leading him stops in front of what seems to be a shower and changing room and turns to him, allowing him to take in his features properly. His eyes are dark red, lined in black and lidded, and he has a neat goatee and mustache which just seems to emphasize the sharpness of his jaw and high cheekbones.

His voice is low and damn near hypnotic as he djrects Shouta to shower, just to freshen up, showing him to the towels and amenities. Shouta quickly obliges, as it seems to be like a pool or a public bathhouse; rinsing yourself off beforehand so that you don't bring in any outside dirt and germs.

When he gets out, the same man leads Shouta, now clad in nothing but a towel, to a large, opulent hot spring.

Ornately patterned tiles decorate along the walls, the high ceiling and around the spring itself. There are intricately carved pillars and arches, and statues of cobra snakes with embedded rubies for eyes placed around the room.

Shouta hides a scowl as he thinks how how much time and money is being wasted on this, though it's quickly wiped away as he settles into the water, it being far more pleasant than he anticipated.

He lets out a soft sigh as the warmth seeps into his skin, easing his muscles and draining the tension from him; sitting and soaking in the water for a long while, his head tipped back on a rock, eyes closed. Beads of water drip and trickle down the pale column of his throat, pooling in the dip of his collarbones and sliding down his pecs; facial and chest hair glistening with the droplets.

After only a few minutes, he begins to feel woozy. Though, the steam of the hot spring is rather thick, so he just chalks it up to it being the heat.

An attendant, dressed the same as those in the front lobby, brings him a bottle of water. It's sealed, so he assumes it's perfectly safe, and drinks.

By now he's completely relaxed, pliant really, and somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks that something is wrong, but he doesn't know what.

Eventually, the same man in the dark robes come back to collect him. Shouta stands from the water, about to head over to the changing rooms, when the man stops him. It's then he realizes that the man has a towel thrown over his forearm that he holds out to Shouta, and a maroon pillow, with gold stitching and tassels hanging from the corners, in his hands with a black and gold box atop it.

Accepting the towel with quiet thanks and beginning to dry off, Shouta thinks he should really worry that he hadn't noticed that until then, but the thought is shoved down almost as quickly as it appeared.

At Shouta's questioning look, the man nods to the box with a smile. He steps forward, gently unclasping the latch. When Shouta sees what's within the box, he blinks confusedly, wondering if he's hallucinating.

A chastity cage.

All shining gold metal, nestled in velvet pillowing.

Brows furrowed, he asks, "Why?" The corner of the man's smile twitches, because really, he shouldn't be questioning anything at this point, but he takes a breath to keep himself calm. It probably just hasn't settled in properly yet.

Keeping his eyes locked onto Shouta's, he says, with that same low, hypnotic tone, that people often get aroused from the massages, ending up uncomfortable when they're face down because the position presses on it. The man smiles contentedly when Shouta accepts this and complies without any complaint or fight, not seeing anything wrong with what he said.

Shouta reaches for it before the man stops him. "Allow me to put it on for you, Aizawa-san." Shouta furrows his brows in hesitation, and seeing this, the man adds, "It is part of my job. I must ensure that it is on properly and securely." Shouta nods slowly, accepting the answer and ignoring the nagging hesitance at the back of his mind.

He's guided back inside to another room with a massage table, being directed to sit on it, thighs spread.

Propped up on his hands, Shouta gasps softly as the man kneels in front of him and grasps his soft cock in his large hand, his cheeks burning with embarrassment at the contrasting sizes. He's a grower, not exactly a shower, and it's obvious.

The man's hands are slender and graceful as he works, placing the gold ring of the device around his balls, then slipping the rest of the cage itself over his shaft.

"How does that feel, Aizawa-san?"

Shouta does his best not to squirm as he replies, voice strained. "Weird."

"But it doesn't hurt? There's no pinching?" He holds Shouta's gaze as he asks this, eyes intense and searching.

"Well, no, but—" he cuts himself of when his breath hitches at a stray jolt of pleasure when his touch brushes his tip.

The man hums in acknowledgment, ducking his head to hide his pleased amusement, fiddling with it a bit more before Shouta hears a soft click. "There we go."

A low heat settles in his stomach as he sees the gold cage surrounding him, contrasting prettily off of his dark body hair and pale skin.

A dangerous glint of satisfaction flashes

in the man's eyes and Shouta flushes when his finger drags through the openings along the cage as he pulls his hand away. Shouta sucks in a sharp breath. The sensation is light, but that almost hungry look in his eyes makes it feel like so much more.

"Perfect." The man practically purrs, his voice hot and low, eyes dragging over him with intensity so potent that it feels like a caress in itself.

Shouta bites his lip, lest he says something mortifying, as the man stands back up. He moves over to a cupboard, taking out a few items of cloth before going back over to Shouta. "Please change into these, Aizawa-San."

Swallowing thickly, Shouta nods and stands, taking the clothes and quickly slipping them on.

It's a matching set of an open chest vest and baggy, puffy black pants with thick gold trimming, though they may as well be nonexistent with their thin, sheer material. The gold of the cage can still be clearly seen through them.

After he's finished changing, he's guided back to the same massage table, now adjusted to more resemble a chair, where other workers join them, quickly introducing themselves.

They're all of course unfairly handsome. Some with sharp features, others soft, with varying skin tones and ethnicities. Some are tall and muscular, while some are shorter and more lithe, but they're all dressed almost the same. All of them are in all white, silk, low cut robes, puffy pants and tall headpieces, with a matching cloth attached to the base of the headpiece, draping over their shoulders; the only difference among them being the variety of colours they each chose for their accessories, specifically the gem and feather adorning their headpieces, the sashes tied around their waists, and the sheer veil masks covering their noses and mouths, which match their eyes that are lined in black which make them stand out.

There are five of them, two dark skinned men with peridot and aquamarine eyes respectively, two tanned skin men dressed in emerald green and sapphire blue, and one with pale skin and amethyst eyes, seemingly albino, with snowy white hair peeking through his headpiece.

At first, it doesn’t register with him what’s happening, with them bustling around and setting up tables, appliances and products, but then they talk through the options of scents for the humidifiers, incense and massage oil. He chooses a light coffee and vanilla scent for the humidifier, cinnamon for the incense and rose for the oil.

When they're finished setting up, the same man in the red and black robes stands in front of him, hands clasped behind his back.

"They will now treat your hair, nails and skin, before the massage. Please be patient and enjoy." He explains, and they immediately begin as he leaves with a bow.

They adjust his seat, reclining it back to wash and treat his hair, while two take each of his hands, the ones with peridot and sapphire eyes, and begin carefully treating his nails, and another two, emerald and amethyst, does the same to his toenails after soaking, scrubbing, and treating his feet, all while the one with aquamarine eyes is behind him, treating his hair. When he's done with his hair, he moves on to giving him a facial, along with neatening his eyebrows and stubble.

And Shouta sinks. There's a low buzz of calm and peace from being pampered and taken care of, his eyes closed and breathing even as he relaxes with the aroma of the incense and humidifier in the air, and he's pretty sure they're all wearing the same sweet but mild perfume, though he can't place the scent. He doesn't know what could be causing it, but he feels loopy, his ability to think straight slipping away bit by bit.

By the time the manicure and pedicure are finishing up, along with the man doing his facial treatment, including a massage, his head is fuzzy and light.

The rose oil is warm on his skin when they begin the massage itself.

He starts at his jaw, going down his neck. From there, he goes to his shoulders, and then eventually his chest, all from behind him where his chair is tilted back, and Shouta barely reacts when they slip the vest off his shoulders and fully adjust the seat back into a table.

Now laying on his back, he pays no mind when they strip him back out of the very pants they instructed him to wear, now leaving him completely bare yet again, barring the chastity cage.

With multiple pairs of strong yet soft hands gliding over his body, Shouta feels utterly blissful as he basks in their ministrations, letting out soft, relaxed moans.

Every inch of him is given attention, from top to bottom. His upper half is paid great care as oiled hands knead his muscles and caress his skin, while the men at his lower half start from his feet and gradually move up his legs, rubbing out the tension.

He can't help but pant and squirm as hands simultaneously squeeze and knead his inner thighs and his chest, hands brushing over his now sensitive nipples, trying to muffle his little gasps and groans.

"Fuck," He whispers, voice all soft and breathy, then going higher and more breathless, turning into almost a whimpering moan as the man repeats the motion, grazing his palm over his nipple. "Fuck."

And Shouta freezes, going dead silent; his whole body locking up as his brain blanks. He feels himself flush to his chest as he clenches his jaw, eyes darting to them to gauge their reactions. It's absolutely mortifying to be affected like this, by this, but before he can begin to fully panic, one of them drags the nail of their thumb over his other nipple, while another rubs soothing circles into his upper thigh, making his breath hitch and hips twitch.

He sees the pleased smiles on their faces through their masks at his reactions, the intensity in their eyes, and he bites his lip, considering.

He really shouldn't. It's irrational, perverse; downright whorish really, and he's never done anything like this before.

Though, seeing the prominent bulges in their white pants and the heat of their gazes, feeling it in their lingering touches, settles his decision.

He spreads his legs further, arching his back into the touch. The man's smile widens, pale blue eyes shining as he presses a thumb to the pert bud, rolling over it and taking in the way Shouta's face melts. The man huffs a soft laugh, pinching the nub between his fingers, eliciting a gasp from Shouta.

From there, he suffers sweet torture.

They run their hands over his skin leisurely, along his sides, tummy and chest, play with his nipples until they're puffy and sore, and massage and stroke the sides of his crotch without ever actually touching his cock, teasingly only focusing on everything but where he needs it most, and all he can do is pant, moan and whine.

Humiliation burns through him as blood tries hopelessly to rush to his cock, but the cage does it's job and doesn't let it fill, only pathetically twitching. His nerves are alight with the pulsing, needy heat with nowhere to go.

He doesn't know how long he's played with like this, basking in their groping, deliciously torturous touches.

Momentarily freeing him from torment, he's mercifully flipped over, face directly in front of a taunting bulge that's so close, yet too far for him to actually reach without stretching.

Their mercy does not last long.

Brushing his dark hair to the side, exposing the pale expanse of his neck and back, they start at the base of his neck and his calves at the same time, and Shouta melts into the table as the sweet torture begins anew. Their hands move down his back, and up his legs to his ass simultaneously, more forceful than he expects, like they're actually massaging out the tension, lighting his every nerve aflame.

A part of him feels silly for thinking that he’d released all of his stress back in the hot springs. Shouta doesn’t remember his muscles being this loose in his life.

Though, that’s not exactly a surprise. With his career, it’s a miracle he hasn’t keeled over from stress before now, honestly.

What is his career again?

......

...........He—

He's quickly distracted from the thought when he realizes that his sensitive nipples are brushing against the table and the chastity cage is at an awkward angle, so he shifts, raising his hips a bit to alleviate the discomfort.

That's when he feels hands spread his thighs further, rubbing and squeezing the flesh there's before moving up to knead and spread his asscheeks, while another hand slips between them, brushing over his hole.

Face down, ass up, his breath hitches and his hands tighten into fists beside his head as he feels oiled fingers glide over him there, a thick thumb rubbing over the tight ring of muscle.

He can't help but gasp and writhe as they tease and prod at him, slipping in just the very tip of a thumb, tugging at the tight rim, before immediately removing it, over and over again, all while the others continue to grope at his thighs and chest, hands slipping under him from where he's now propped up on his forearms.

And eventually, he can't take much more. "Mmn, stop teasing me." His voice is gruff and strained as he complains, but it just comes out thready and begging.

The men shiver at the sight of him, dark eyes glazed over and needy, lips shiny and swollen from biting them parted in panting little gasps, back arched beautifully and hips swaying tauntingly; his shiny, unshaven hole on show, winking and clenching around nothing, just begging to be filled.

They lament being unable to stuff him until he's dripping this very instant, knowing it's against the rules during working hours, but feel their cocks twitch in anticipation of the day they get to feel him wrapped around them, tight, pliant and hot.

For now, they settle for seeing him feel good and bask in it; some biting their lips at the sweet, low moan that's pulled from Shouta at a finger slipping into him slow and deep, others moaning right along with him at the sight of his hole greedily sucking in the thick digit.

It does nothing to make the desperation for his cock to get any sort of friction lessen, but Shouta can't help but rock back onto the finger, impatient for more as the man fucks it in and out, loosening him up.

It isn't long before he pulls out nearly all the way, a little whine of protest starting in the back of Shouta's throat, that quickly turns into a moan when instead of pressing in one, he has two of those long, thick fingers sinking into him.

His hole burns a little with the stretch, but even that feels good as he slowly pumps in and out, stretching him. He thrusts and twists them, dragging along his walls deliciously, before crooking his fingers, pressing them down and moving them inside of him like he's trying to create a hook towards his belly button, searching.

A long, low moan escapes him as his hands scramble for purchase on the table when a bolt of pleasure rushes through his nerves. He keens desperately, grinding back; the fingers pressing against his prostate again and he sees stars.

He feels mouths on his shoulders, lower back, and the back of his thighs, hot and wet as they nip as suck at his skin, leaving pretty marks and bruises in their wake on the pale canvas of his flesh, all while a hand fondles and plays with his balls just as a third finger slips in; and eyes rolled back, cock twitching in its confines, he can't do anything but moan and roll his hips, wanting them deeper, even as his nerves scream at him.

Because really, he shouldn't want it so badly, not when every stroke inside of his greedy hole is just making his cock hurt more, just making his muscles tense and fingers grip tightly onto the sheets of the table as his body tries desperately to find something to do with the pleasure wrecking his nerves.

The man scissors his fingers lightly while continuing to rub against his prostate, and Shouta's thighs tremble; practically vibrating and his cock aching.

And then the fingers are removed.

He whines needily, wantonly, as he tries to push up to complain, only to be held in place. One of them, the one with peridot eyes, chuckles lowly, tucking a strand of hair behind Shouta's ear and whispers, "Stay still, Gorgeous. We'll take good care of you." His voice is breathy and hot, all saccharine velvet as he tilts Shouta's head by his chin to the side.

Shouta turns, going with it, and sees the man dressed in sapphire blue holding something.

A toy.

It's black silicone, and thick, but Shouta can't help the breathy laugh that comes out as he takes in the shape of it.

Not a replica of a cock like one would expect, but not one of the less human and stranger variations he knows exist either. No, this is shaped like an upside down 'T', but also almost like a genie's lamp, with a handle and everything, with the top of it elongated and curved like a dick, away from the handle part, more towards the other end.

It takes a second with his brain so soaked in his heady arousal mixed with amusement for him to make sense of the shape, realizing the curve of it is going to push against his prostate perfectly.

Shouta hum a moan, desperate, sweet, and excited, ass swaying in anticipation.

When the thick, slick head presses against his twitching, stretched hole, Shouta forgets how to breathe. And when it starts to push inside, he thinks he forgets his name. His world narrows down to the glide of the solid weight that's gliding over his quivering walls as it pushes so achiniy slowly in, and in, and in.

By the time it's all the way inside, Shouta doesn't care one bit about rationality, or decency, or reputation.

Because he feels full, so full and so good, and oh fuck he was right about the shape; that thick head pressing up against his sweet spot has his thighs shaking, to the point that he feels like he's going to shake apart completely.

"How does that feel, Aizawa-san?" The man purrs, tone all teasing, velvet heat as he presses the toy in deep, rocking it, while hands and mouths continue to map Shouta's skin.

"Good, good, so fucking good, please—" the words trip over themselves to get off his tongue, it already feels so good, so much, but he already wants more, wants him deeper, wants him to move—

Their eyes are molten on him as they hear him beg so prettily, the man pressing the toy in firmly and grinding it against his prostate. They revel in the moan he sends echoing off of the walls, and it's all they need to keep going.

He pulls it back, about halfway out, before thrusting it in again, and grinding, and Shouta trembles and strains against the hands keeping him in place, not actually wanting it to stop but it's just so much more than he's used to, so new and so good. And though futile, he doesn't know what to do other than try to escape the pleasure before it completely consumes him.

The man does that over and over for a while that feels like hours on his frayed nerves, and all Shouta could do was pant and moan and take it.

He feels someone tuck his hair that fell back into his face behind his ear. Focusing his pleasure hazed gaze, he sees it's the one with amethyst eyes, the albino, though he doesn't know when they switched places. Seeing Shouta looking at him, he smiles, rubbing his thumb against Shouta's bottom lip, tugging on it. When Shouta parts his lips, slick tongue licking at it before sucking it into his mouth, he moves his thumb back and forth inside his mouth, fucking into it, eyes hungry on him as he coos, "Oh you were made for this, weren't you, Sweetheart? Who would've thought that the great Eraserhead would be so desperate to be stuffed full."

His tone is all teasing heat as he rubs his thumb against his gums and tongue, caressing and playing with his mouth, and Shouta wishes it was more than just a thumb that's pressing on his tongue. The man shudders as Shouta looks up at him from under his dark, glistening lashes, moaning around him, seemingly in agreement, until he pulls it out of his mouth with a wet pop.

Shouta's cock hurts. They won't touch it, and the man won't pull the toy back more than an inch before he's pushing it back against his sweet spot and it feels so good, feels like so much more than it really is with his cock all locked up and useless, his hole so much more sensitive.

He's close, so close to cumming, his orgasm is pressing against his nerves, pulsing across his whole body with a building insistence, but he knows he can't, knows his cock can't let it out; and it makes the need burn that much more. He didn't know he could feel so good, so desperate for release, without going over the edge, the pleasure instead just building on itself.

"I need to cum, plea-please let me cum, please—" he pants, voice slurring and strained, breathy and sweet as he begs. The man with amethyst eyes just smiles behind his mask, caressing his cheek and throat, the others running their hands all along his heated skin as the man fucking the toy into him hums in acknowledgment.

"You will, Aizawa-san. We'll help you, don't worry." He soothes, thrusting the toy in a little harder, drawing out another low moan from Shouta.

A hand pushes up lightly on his lower stomach as he grinds and rocks the toy against his prostate, settling the base of it directly against his perineum and balls.

"I'm going to help you now, Aizawa-san. I'm going to count down for you, and when I get to one you're going to stop fighting it and let go, hm?"

What?

"Five."

He can't—

"Four."

He can't cum with his cock locked up like this.

"Three."

Can he?

"Two."

Oh fuck.

"One."

Shouta's whole body tenses as the toy starts to vibrate. Against his prostate, his perineum and his balls, the entire thing takes him apart from the inside out. That sudden burst of new sensation along with the grinding pressure, tips him over the edge, and he dissolves into nothing but loud pants and desperate moans.

But he's not orgasming.

His body feels like there's a thinner kind of pleasure pushing through it, taking away a little of the pressure, but it doesn't feel as immediate, as strong or good, as his orgasm usually does.

And then he feels it. His cock twitches in his pretty golden cage and he looks to sees a slow constant trickle of cum spilling out of him against the sheet covered table, before his vision goes white; his mouth dropping open in a silent, screaming moan, painting the table with thick globs of his release.

"There we go. Perfect, baby. So good for us." The man praises, breathy and fond as he keeps the toy vibrating, low but on, as he shallowly fucks it in, grinding it against him. But it's still enough, still too much, still perfect.

Still makes Shouta let out another little moan when he moves it, making more spill out of him as his eyes roll back. And it doesn't stop, it keeps going, trickling out in thick globs; that burning ache slowly being drained out of his soft cock, spilling out and out against the table, soiling the cloth there.

It's so much, both almost too much yet not enough. Though amplified by the hands and lips roaming his skin, it's not satisfying in the way an orgasm usually feels; it's more of that continued, gentle, pressing pleasure, but stronger. No, this is different from an orgasm, he's not cumming.

He's being milked.

It lasts so much longer than he's used to, like it's pulsing out across his veins for ages, before it finally stops, turning into just a few more drops, and he finds himself laying limp against the sheets, his arms giving out beneath him, muscles trembling as he tries to greedily fill his lungs with air, though his lower half is still being held up by them.

And he can't do anything but lay there and let out a thin whine as the man pets his hand over the swell of his ass as he eases the still vibrating toy out of him.

The drag of it over his sensitive walls and swollen hole gives his body another little flicker of utter bliss as it slips out, his cock giving another tiny, pathetic twitch in response in its cage.

The man with amethyst eyes strokes his hair, running his blunt nails over his scalp, easing him back to his senses. When Shouta blinks glossy, dazed eyes up at him, he pulls his mask down, running his tongue along Shouta's bottom lip, licking up a line of drool from the corner of his mouth, before fully slotting their mouths together in a deep, languid kiss.

Shouta moans weakly into his mouth when he feels his grip tighten in his hair while hands grip his asscheeks, spreading him open. He shivers at the cool air hitting his sensitive, gaping hole, hips twitching at a thumb running along the puffy rim. The man pulls away from his kiss swollen lips, leaving a thin string of spit connecting them still that snaps when he moves far enough.

They gently coax him off the table, quickly switching the soiled sheets with clean ones before guiding him back to it, laying him flat on his back, rubbing over his muscles and joints to ease whatever tension he regained.

They clean him up as he floats, eyes lidded and hazy as they wipe him down so gently he manages to doze off, a small, dopey smile on his lips.

The men smile contentedly over him as they take care of him, another beautiful Jewel to add to their Master's collection.

They'll need to finish his training first of course, as this was just the first stage. Along with teaching him to be a legitimate masseuse, they still need to properly train his throat, which they will have very much fun doing, along with his ass to take more than just a toy. And after how wonderfully sensitive he is, oh the Master will enjoy him.

But they get the privilege of doing so first, and they will savour that thoroughly.

For now though, they need to get their new fellow Jewel settled in.

*****

[Two Months Later]

Shouta barely remembers his past life by this point. He knows his name, and knows he's a hero, or at least used to be, but most importantly, he knows he enjoys his new life as a Jewel. He's pretty and pampered, precious and treasured as his Master's Jewel, and he loves it.

The other Jewels take care of him as well, and he cherishes his relationships with them, whatever they may be; be that friendship or as lovers.

He exchanges gentle smiles with Aoi, the man with sapphire eyes, as he prepares the equipment and products to be used today on a trolley.

They have a new guest today after all, one Yoshida Kogane.

It's the first time he's being allowed to tend to a guest, and possible new Jewel, rather than just observe since his training is finally complete. It's also the first time he's finally allowed to wear his Jewel uniform during working hours, rather than the plain black he'd been wearing before.

Now, he's dressed in silk white robes, the low cut showing off his toned specs and chest hair, pants that hug his ass wonderfully, and a tall headpiece, matching with the others, but with black with a red sheen as his added colour. The sash tied around his waist, the sheer veil mask, and of course the feather and gem on his headpiece, a black opal stone, with flecks and swirls of red mixed in, suit him well.

Master chose it for him himself, saying it matched him perfectly.

Shouta's eyes are lined in black, making them appear that much darker; his inky hair falling in waves over his shoulders, barely hidden by the cloth attached to the headpiece. His facial hair is neat and groomed, trimmed into a light stubble beard and mustache, his skin smooth and glossy, almost porcelain, lips soft and supple.

His reflection is happy and healthy, pretty and perfect.

They soon move out to the room where Akashi, the man in the red robes who led him to this new life, is settling in their guest.

He's adorable really, on the shorter side, tanned, freckled skin, curly, blonde hair, and bright, golden eyes, and Shouta thinks his name suits him perfectly.

He would be a lovely addition to the Master's collection.

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