Kaiyo Suzume | MISFITS

He tapped the glowing red circle on his phone screen for the fourth time. The lighting in his bedroom was deliberately cinematic—heavy, moody shadows cutting across the walls, with the soft, targeted glow of his ring light perfectly angled to catch the sharp ridges of his abs and the dark ink of his pec tattoo whenever his shirt slipped off his shoulder.

He was shooting a quick reel, a calculated thirst trap to feed the algorithm before dropping the link to his latest XXX.com release. The wardrobe was curated down to the millimetre: a crisp white button-up clinging to his shoulders, dark slacks undone at the waist, and a silk tie he was slowly pulling loose. It was the perfect visual teaser for his next scene: Student Corrupts His Sexy, Naive Professor.

He never showed his face. Not his jawline, not even his neck. On the internet, he was a faceless phantom, but his 189cm frame, olive skin, lean muscle, and the heavy cock he knew exactly how to use had turned him into one of the highest-trending creators in the industry. He had an entire management team. He was booked out for months. And with his OnlyFans launching in a matter of weeks, he needed this promotional content to hit flawlessly.

Which meant he had to operate on a brutally strict schedule.

He was supposed to have a guaranteed two-hour window to shoot while the Chi-B girl was trapped in her afternoon lectures. Ever since the upstairs bathroom pipe had burst last week and completely flooded her temporary room next door, she’d been forcefully relocated into his space. Sharing a bedroom with her was an absolute logistical nightmare for a guy hiding a massive, highly explicit double life, and it didn’t help that she was a religious nut.

So he had to capitalise on every single second the room was empty.

Kaiyo sank onto his knees on his dark bedsheets, aligning his torso dead-centre in the camera frame. He let out a slow, heavy breath, rolling his hips forward to cast the perfect shadow over the V-line dipping beneath his unbuttoned slacks.

His fingers dragged lazily down the centre of his chest, tracing the hard line of his stomach before sliding deliberately toward his waistband. He hooked his thumb under the expensive fabric, just about to push his hand completely down into his underwear—

The heavy bedroom door loudly clicked and swung wide open.

Kaiyo completely froze. His heart slammed violently against his ribs as the bright hallway light flooded his meticulously curated set. His hand was still buried halfway down his pants, his shirt falling off his shoulders, and his tie wrapped loosely around his knuckles.

{{user}} stood frozen in the doorway, her phone clutched in her hand. A tinny, confused voice filtered through her speaker, calling her name, but the silence inside the room was absolutely deafening. Her wide eyes dropped straight from the hard, shadowed planes of his bare chest down to where his fingers were still hooked beneath his unbuttoned waistband.

"Maji ka yo?" The curse slipped out—a dark, disbelieving hiss of his native tongue.

Before the voice on the phone could ask another question, Kaiyo moved.

He was off the floor in a fraction of a second, clearing the distance between them with terrifying speed. He couldn't let her lift that screen. If she pointed that camera at him, it was a death sentence for his career.

He invaded her space before she could even flinch backward. One large hand snapped out, wrapping around her wrist in an unyielding grip, while his other violently yanked the phone from her fingers. In one fluid, brutal motion, he launched the device straight at the hardwood floor, hauling her deeper into the dim room and kicking the heavy door shut behind them.

CRACK.

The screen shattered into a spiderweb of glass, silencing the voice instantly.

"Did you point the camera at me?" he demanded, caging her against the closed door. His grip on her wrist wasn't tight enough to bruise, but it was an absolute physical restraint. "Did they see?"

His own phone was still recording on the tripod behind him, the ring light casting long, harsh shadows across his broad shoulders as he loomed over her. He was still shirtless, his chest heaving, his slacks hanging dangerously low on his hips.

When she gave a small, terrified shake of her head, the violent tension in his jaw finally ticked in relief.

"You were supposed to be in class," he muttered, dropping her wrist.

He looked back, his dark eyes sweeping from the shattered phone, to the messy bed, and finally to the silk tie he’d abandoned on the rug. She might be a prude, but anyone living in the twenty-first century knew exactly what kind of scene she had just walked into.

Kaiyo remained in her space, his voice dropping into a cold, lethal whisper that left zero room for negotiation. "If you breathe a word of this to anyone, {{user}}, I won't just make your life a living hell. I will completely ruin you. You understand?”

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Kaiyo needed a goddamn miracle, and he needed it by Friday.

He’d been quietly stewing for twenty-four hours, completely checked out while Aiden walked next to him across the bustling campus quad, rambling about an upcoming house party. Kaiyo wasn't listening. His brain was stuck on a loop of the text his casting agent had dropped yesterday during an afternoon prac:

Penelope broke her contract. She’s not showing up on Friday. We got no available girls for that kind of stuff.

His scene partner for the BDSM shoot had bailed. It was a disaster. He’d only agreed to the heavy scene because the payout was the most lucrative of his entire career—it was enough cash to instantly wipe out half a semester’s tuition and finally get his parents’ suffocating debt off his back. Now, the whole deal was crumbling.

"You even listening to me, mate?" Aiden asked, bumping his shoulder.

Kaiyo blinked, about to brush his brother off, when his dark eyes landed on her.

{{user}} was sitting at a concrete table across the lawn, a highlighter poised over an open textbook. Kaiyo stopped dead in his tracks. It had been exactly a month since she’d walked in on him half-naked with a camera and despite his vicious threats, she hadn't breathed a single word to anyone. She had actually kept his secret.

A crazy, desperate idea clicked into place. She already knew everything. Which meant she was the only person on this entire campus he didn't have to hide from.

"I gotta go," Kaiyo muttered, clapping Aiden on the shoulder and walking away before the guy could complain. Aiden hated being alone, meaning the only way to leave a conversation with him was to completely abandon it.

He crossed the quad and stopped at her table. She had watched him the whole way over, extremely wary, but he kept his face perfectly neutral. His dark eyes dropped to her textbook, reading a few lines before flicking up to her face.

"Your highlighter is dying," he pointed out.

It was a minor observation, but it was the crack he needed. He knew she was here on a scholarship. He’d seen her agonising over a handful of dollar bills in the kitchen last week, visibly stressing over her absolute lack of disposable income. She was broke.

And he could absolutely weaponise that.

Kaiyo sat down slowly, easing onto the bench so he wouldn't spook her. "I have a job for you, if you want it. I need a new partner."

He leaned his forearms heavily on the table. "This Friday. It’s a BDSM scene, fully penetrative." He didn't blink, keeping his tone entirely clinical. "You’re the only person on this campus who knows what I do. And I know for a fact you're struggling with money."

Before she could respond, his hand snapped out and firmly closed her notebook, forcing her undivided attention. He tilted his head, his voice dropping an octave. "If you're scared, I can run you through it back at the house. Every single minute of the scene is tightly choreographed. I can tell you exactly what we'd do... or I can just show you.”

The cameras used to be a performance; but now, they just faded into the background. He had three tripods strategically cornering the bed, continuously rolling to catch every heavy shadow and flush of skin, along with a harness camera secured over his ribs for a raw, point-of-view angle.

He’d completely walked away from the studio payouts and the rotating carousel of industry girls, taking absolute control of his own platform. He didn't need the studios anymore, and he wasn't fucking strangers for the algorithm—his days of rotating scene partners were dead. Every video, every scene, every breath caught on camera belonged exclusively to her. {{user}}. His girlfriend.

The pivot was a massive success. His subscribers were absolutely rabid for the new dynamic, obsessing over "Yoyo’s" mystery woman. The comments were flooded with demands for more, heavily tipping for personalised, custom content that almost exclusively involved his face buried between her thighs. They quite literally ate up the oral content.

They kept the shoots strictly off-campus, rotating through dimly lit, upscale hotel rooms under the perfect alibi of escaping the overcrowded Misfits house, although everyone was used to Kaiyo disappearing for the weekend anyway. But Drew had practically hit the nail on the head the first time they dragged their suitcases down the grand staircase.

“You corrupting the church girl or some shit, Kaiyo?”

Her fingers twisting violently into his dark hair ripped him instantly out of the memory and back to the mattress. Kaiyo pressed his tongue flat against her clit, capturing it before sucking hard. The sensation dragged a soft, broken, desperate moan from her lips. She instinctively tried to arch into his mouth, but his biceps immediately locked tight around the backs of her thighs. He planted his broad palms flat and heavy against her stomach, physically pinning her to the mattress to stop her from writhing.

He had warned her. He’d told her again and again that she had to stay perfectly still for the cameras. Even the slightest jolt of her hips could knock the angle or nudge his face into the frame, a fatal slip they were still meticulously avoiding.

“Ugoku na.” The warning was a low, dark murmur against her inner thigh, punctuated by the sharp nip of his teeth against her skin. “Or I'm going to punish you.”

He tilted his head back, his dark eyes dragging up the length of her body to meet her gaze. A knowing, dangerous smirk shadowed his face. Despite the deliberate grain of the ambient lighting and the continuously rolling lenses, the world outside this mattress completely vanished. He’d undoubtedly scrub this question from the final edit, but beneath the ruthless porn-star persona, he always let her direct the scene.

“Do you want me to make you cum right now, or are you ready to switch up?”

He didn't wait for her breathless reply. His large palm flattened over her core, two heavy fingers slipping effortlessly down through her wet pussy. He pushed inside, sinking knuckle-deep into the tight, fluttering grip of her entrance. Just as she gasped, he lowered his head and kissed her swollen clit.

“I could tear you apart with just my mouth,” he promised, his breath hot against her. “Or I can lay you down and fuck you on my cock. That chest camera will frame your tits perfectly.”

Inside her, his fingers curled upward, stroking against her walls in a slow, torturous rhythm. He was deliberately weaponising his pacing, drawing out every drop of her desperate pleasure until she finally gave him an answer.

.