Haruka sets down the two boxes that he had brought with him by the entryway, staring out into the studio apartment he can now call his home.
The place is dirt cheap, as Haruka needs it to be. It’s a single, large room, with a small kitchen and a closed-off bathroom. Tucked at the very far corner, right next to the window, is a large double bed, bare aside from the thin plastic wrap covering the mattress.
It’s nice, despite how small it is. The walls are white, the fridge looks new, and the floors don’t creak with every step.
It’s… it’s something.
Better than any of the junk that he’s lived in before.
Nirei had found the place for him; his friend had all but shoved the flier in his face, yelling at him to get out of his old, ratty apartment, and Haruka had felt hard-pressed to comply; he’d spent far too many nights listening to the sound of his neighbours fucking and fighting; to the sounds of them laughing and singing.
This time, he has no neighbours on either side of his walls—at least according to his landlord.
He wonders why.
Haruka walks further into the apartment, locking the door behind him with a quiet click. He’s pleasantly surprised that he doesn’t have to jangle the knob to lock it properly. In his old apartment, his old door just didn’t lock.
So far, so good.
Haruka bends down, opening one of the boxes. He pulls out a bed liner, a thick blanket, and a single pillow, fighting the desire to lay them out right then and there and lie down.
He has a bed, now, one with a sturdy-looking wooden frame and a new-looking mattress. Haruka isn’t going to pass that up.
So Haruka beelines to the bed, putting it together swiftly. Then he’s sprawling on top of it, not even bothering to curl up under his blanket.
Even though it’s still the middle of the day, a nap wouldn’t hurt.
When Haruka wakes up, his body feels sore.
Massaging his abdomen uneasily, he wonders if he pushed himself too hard with the moving gig he completed yesterday before he himself moved into his new place. Haruka picks up odd jobs here and there to pay for the bills; mostly heavy lifting, and anything that requires general labour.
Haruka is strong. Always has been, despite the way that people sneered down at him and his arms and the too-thin plane of his stomach; despite the fact he only manages to scrape up enough to eat one meal a day.
Haruka doesn’t mind; not really. That’s just his life.
And so Haruka sluggishly sits up from the bed, wiping the morning glories from his eyes, and shifting uncomfortably when he feels an odd, slick feeling beading down between his thighs, sticking onto the lining of his boxers.
It’s not an abnormal occurrence, really. Haruka is a grown man with needs.
He must have had a wet dream in his sleep; it wouldn’t be the first time.
Haruka spends the majority of his day cleaning his new apartment.
Even though it was clean, technically, Haruka can’t shake the uneasy feeling from his chest that something is a bit… off.
Rent was unnervingly cheap, even more so than his old place, but with nearly double the amount of space. And the landlord had seemed a bit fidgety, when he handed Haruka the keys.
He was hiding something, but Haruka didn’t know what.
And so he spends several hours inspecting the drains and the vents and every nook and cranny he can find. There might be mold, like his last apartment. There might even be rats.
Or a dead body.
He doesn’t find anything, and so he ends up wiping down the kitchen, and removing the thin layers of dust from the windows. Afterwards, he eats Chinese takeout on the floor, which reeks of bleach.
He finishes it all in a matter of minutes. Still feels a little hungry.
It’s a good day.
That night, Haruka all but falls onto his bed, his eyes immediately closing shut.
“...Sakura-san.”
“...Sakura-san…”
“Sakura-san!”
Haruka jolts, nearly falling off his bed.
“Sakura-san, seriously,” Nirei says, his voice pinched with concern. “You need to lock your doors.”
Haruka blearily sits up, barely registering the odd throbbing between his legs in his haze of deep exhaustion. “I did,” he groused.
“It was unlocked when I came,” Nirei scolds, his voice coloured with concern. He looks around, approval shining in his eyes. “You really cleaned things up nicely, Sakura-san! All we have to do is get you more furniture, and more clothes—”
“That’s not necessary.”
Nirei makes a faintly offended noise. “But Sakura-san—”
“Can we talk about this next week?” Haruka grumbles, holding his stomach when a twinge of pain suddenly hits him. Fuck, is he on his goddamn period?
Nirei opens his mouth again to protest, before he pauses. Huffs out an exasperated sigh. “Sure, sure. Now get up already! Kotoha-san is expecting us!”
Grumbling, Haruka gets up, plucking a pair of sweatpants, a clean-looking white shirt, and a pad from one of his boxes, stumbling towards the washroom.
Immediately, he pulls down his boxers, expecting to see blood dotting the lining, or streaming between his thighs, but there’s—
Nothing.
Haruka frowns, bending down to inspect the material closer.
No. Not nothing. There’s a… white-ish fluid… sticky and wet and—
Haruka turns bright red.
Dream.
He must have had a wet dream.
Haruka spends much of his day in Cafe Pothos—mostly because he needs money and ends up picking up a shift for Kotoha, who looks at his clothes with sisterly disapproval and all but drags him behind the counter.
“I pay my employees well,” she tells him. “You should just start working here regularly.”
“I don’t want your pity,” Haruka says, and Kotoha looks seconds away from throttling him, but keeps her mouth shut.
In the end, Haruka works, and Kotoha writes him a paycheck for the day, which Haruka cashes out immediately. He picks up dinner from a convenience store—just cold soba noodles—and this time he eats at the foot of his bed, his back propped up against the side of the mattress, his legs sprawled out in front of him.
Somehow, Haruka falls asleep like that.
When Haruka wakes up, he’s back in his bed, and his leftovers are still on the floor, untouched from the last time Haruka had put his hands on it, but—
He’s tucked under his blankets.
His stomach aches.
His cunt is throbbing.
Heart racing, he slides his hand down under his boxers, between his legs. His fingers slide embarrassingly easily through the seam between his folds, like he had dipped his fingers in hot syrup.
Why the hell has he been so damn horny, recently?
He slides his fingers out of his boxers, feeling dizzy as he sits up. He combs his clean hand through his hair, tangled and matted with sweat, and stumbles towards the bathroom.
He drags himself into the shower. Leans heavily against the grey tiles as cold water beats hard down his head and neck and back, closing his mismatched eyes tightly.
His heart is pounding so loudly he can hear it in his ears, and there’s a sticky, tacky feeling in his throat. He thinks it’s embarrassment.
He thinks it’s anxiety.
At some point, his cunt starts throbbing, throbbing, throbbing, like a cramp that won’t go away, and his stomach aches and Haruka clenches his fists tightly against the wall, his nails nearly cutting into his palms.
And then—as the throb persists, persists, persists, Haruka groaning, whimpering, gasping harshly—he feels something leak from between his legs; feels something dribble down his thighs, and when Haruka looks down he expects to see blood but instead it’s.
It’s.
It’s… white. And thick.
Like someone had—
Haruka’s stomach drops low, his heart racing—
His cheeks bloom bright red, as he watches the fluid disappear into the drain.
Before Haruka goes to bed that night, he checks the front door once. Twice. Three times. Checks the locks on his windows.
Lies down slowly on his bed, planning to—
Stay. Awake.
He doesn’t.
The next time Haruka wakes up, his skin feels cold, and he feels something warm and heavy moving inside him.
For a moment, he thinks he’s dreaming. But while his dreams have always felt real— there’s a reason why his nightmares used to keep him up at night—his wet dreams had never.
They’d never—
Haruka whimpers lowly, feeling his cunt spasm and squeeze around the—the— what the hell is that? —inside of him, white sparks lighting up behind his eyelids.
He tries to move his arms and legs, but his limbs feel heavy, like a heavy pressure is weighing him down, pinning his body flat onto the bed.
It’s hard to open his eyes—he wants nothing more than to fall back asleep, despite the voice screaming at him that he should fight back, should be angry, should feel violated that some kind of intruder has been touching him in his sleep—but he.
He.
Opens his eyes.
Despite the darkness, Haruka can make out the darkened form kneeling between his legs. It’s humanoid in shape, and Haruka registers the long, cold fingers gripping around his hips possessively.
Human.
But the appendages wrapped around his thighs, long and firm and slick, keeping him spread wide open, are not.
The appendage inside him is not.
It’s too large. Too long. Too curved, tapered at the end. Too slick, like it had been doused in layers of lube, and likely the only thing stopping him from feeling like he’d been torn open.
Too hot, despite the frigidness of its fingers.
And the worst part. The worst part is that even though Haruka’s heart is screaming and his mind is yelling at him to get up to fight to rip the monster’s hands off him to do something, he doesn’t.
He doesn’t.
He doesn’t—
There’s something wrong with Haruka. He’s known this since he was small and had the word freak thrown at him by children and adults alike. They had seen something in him, beyond the way he looked, that they had deemed wrong, and they were right, because why else would Haruka want this. Why does Haruka want this—
The hand from his hip moves. Slides up his stomach and his chest and his collarbones, all the way up to his chin, tilting Haruka’s head up.
Immediately, Haruka finds himself looking into a human-shaped, blazing red eye, which flashes with amusement, even in the darkness. It’s the same colour as the beads in the odd, abnormally bright tassel earrings hanging from what he assumes must be ears, and they’re the only real part of the monster that Haruka can make out properly, the rest of the… the thing on top of him a humanoid, wavering cluster of black shadows, its wispy, tentacle-like appendages wrapped possessively around Haruka’s thighs.
With a single pull, or a flick, really, it could tear Haruka apart. Split him into two. Leave him a carcass on his bed, an unspeakable case that ends up in some B-rated true crime documentary.
But the monster doesn’t do that.
No. It seems more concerned about—
The monster’s cock grinds deeper inside him, and Haruka chokes on a helpless moan, his nails digging into his bedsheets. It’s not long after that more… tendrils emerge from the monster’s back, winding up his arms, wrapping firmly around his wrists, another one wrapping around his chest, chafing his nipples.
They’re chains. Rope. Bondage.
They feel warm, even when the hands on him are cold.
“Why—” Haruka chokes out, his words slurring, heavy on his tongue, and the finger glides further up, sweeping over his bottom lip before rubbing repeatedly, as if beckoning for Haruka to open his mouth.
For some reason, Haruka does.
The monster’s lone red eye glimmers brightly, and soon there’s a tendril sliding into Haruka’s mouth, thick and long and slimy, and Haruka chokes around it, whimpering.
Sobs, voice muffled by the tendril, when another one thrusts slowly into his other hole, as deeply as the cock in his cunt, stuffing him impossibly full.
Was this what was happening the past few nights?
Was Haruka’s body being used as a fleshlight?
Dazed, Haruka’s holes squeeze tightly around the appendages inside him, and drool dribbles down his chin. He can barely register where he is, his head a haze of pink fog; his body so stuffed that he feels like he’s going to burst.
He could die from this, Haruka realizes, and the thought should horrify him more, but instead he’s thinking more about how his cunt and ass and mouth strain, cry around the monster’s cock and appendages; about how the monster must have stuffed him similarly the past two days now; about how he had managed to survive those times with only a sore body and an ache between his legs and a cum-filled cunt and a third night in a row wouldn’t be so terrible, would it, so long as he can still walk.
Or maybe the monster will be rougher, crueler now that it knows that he’s awake.
“...don’t… don’t hurt me,” Haruka manages, his face flushed darkly, his voice shaking, staring the monster in the eye, and it—
Looks at him. Cocks its head, slightly, as if curious. Amused.
Hungry.
Then the appendages slowly pull out, Haruka’s walls and rim wailing at the stretch, and they—
Thrust hard inside him.
“Arghh!” Haruka cries around the tendril in his mouth, his cunt clenching painfully around the intrusion. The force of the movement would have pushed Haruka up his bed if not for the tendrils wrapped around his wrists and the cold hands on his torso, keeping him in place, and Haruka moans sharply, struggling against his bondage, but then the monster fucks back into him, and he chokes around the tendril, his throat sobbing.
Thrust.
Thrust.
Thrust.
Thrust.
It’s even. It’s measured. The tendril in his ass and the cock in his pussy alternate in their force; sometimes they thrust together. Sometimes the one in his ass stays high up inside him while the one in his pussy barrages him, battering his cunt until it’s raw and red.
No matter what, he’s stuffed full.
No matter what, Haruka is moaning.
It feels good. It feels good, it feels good, it feels good, and Haruka widens his mouth, takes the tendril deeper, and he can’t breathe can’t think can’t do anything and it’s—
It’s—
Another thrust, and the thoughts die in Haruka’s head.
Another thrust, and Haruka is whimpering.
Another thrust—
Another.
Another.
Another.
Another.
Another.
Just as Haruka feels like he’s going to pass out, a new tendril emerges from the monster’s back, sliding up between his legs, and Haruka’s eyes spring with panicked tears, his breath hitching.
Would it try to stuff him even more?
But Haruka will break—
A cold hand cups Haruka’s face, a thumb swiping a tear away from under Haruka’s eye.
Then the new tendril slides up against Haruka’s clit. Rubs him, the tendril flicking lightly at the underside, and Haruka screams, white sparks flashing behind his eyelids, electricity battering up his spine, his cunt a vice grip around the monster’s cock, and his vision blurs and darkens as he feels something hot filling up his cunt and ass and mouth; chokes and groans and cries, it’s so damn bitter and so damn hot—
Dazedly, Haruka swallows, his tongue sliding along the tendril still inside his mouth.
His body feels heavy.
Above him, the monster makes a pleased noise.
Slowly, Haruka wakes up.
He’s lying on his bed. He’s wearing his clothes again, and he’s tucked under a blanket.
His ass aches. His throat burns.
His cunt throbs.
Haruka shoves the blanket off, and pulls his boxers off. Spreads his legs. Dips his fingers between his aching folds, into the syrupy wetness between them.
He hooks his middle and ring fingers inside his cunt, curling them.
Slowly, carefully, he coaxes out the… the white fluid that had been stuffed inside of him. He can feel it spill and splatter onto his bed, staining his thin bedsheets, his cunt pulsating with every spill. He wouldn’t be surprised if it soaks into the actual mattress.
Tentatively, then, he pulls his fingers out. Rests his hand over his abdomen, blinking blearily up at the ceiling.
His face is burning. His cunt is burning, too. Throbbing.
He feels empty.
Tiredly, Haruka closes his eyes. Breathes slowly, attempting to slow his heart rate.
Wonders if he’ll wake up full, again.