Chapter Text
Takemichi sat on the edge of a coin laundry bench clutching a worn hoodie over his knees. The fluorescent lights above him flickered. His phone screen, cracked from a fall, displayed a grim bit of information: his bank balance . In green , as if it were something positive, Takemichi read what was left from his last paycheck: 97¥. That was all. He had no job. No family. No friends.
Tokyo pulsed around him, indifferent and loud. The city thrummed with late-night traffic and a thousand overlapping conversations. People passed by him like he was invisible ― like a ghost .
Once again, his eyes returned to the balance, hoping that it had changed, hoping it was just a glitch but no, the numbers were the same. Not even enough for a meal. His stomach growled but he ignored it.
How did it come to this?
Takemichi had often found himself lost in moments of painful self-analysis tracking back through his past, trying to figure out where everything went to hell. Unfortunately, there were too many moments in his teenage years where he could’ve chosen differently, so he proclaimed to himself that, in the end, there was no point of no return.
The first thought that crossed his mind was that he could stay in that place that smelled like fabric softener and avoid his landlord for one more night but when a drunken man stumbled in, loudly singing some childish tune, Takemichi got up. He would rather face the man who’d given him one week to find the money to pay rent.
“ I’m not joking, Hanagaki. If my money isn’t in a pretty white envelope by Saturday, you are out ”.
Not that Takemichi was surprised. Mr. Aritomo had been clear from the beginning. Rent was due at the end of each month. No exceptions. If you don’t have the money, you are out. The extra week had been nothing but pity dressed as mercy.
His apartment was a grave. A mausoleum of stale air, dim light, and things left undone. The ceiling of his was stained yellow from years of slow leaks, like the walls themselves had been weeping. The floor was buried in takeout containers and unopened bills. The sink was swollen with dirty dishes and the trash stacked up in a corner, like a collapsed body.
His place reflected his life.
Takemichi dropped on the couch like a puppet with its string cut. He didn’t bother cleaning. He never did anymore. What was the point? The rot outside matched the one inside. Instead, he grabbed his phone again, thumb already moving to social media. Not because he cared. Not because he had anyone to talk to. It was pretty satisfying to hurt himself again and again by watching people enjoying their life while he was trapped in misery. In high school, Akkun once told him that he shouldn’t believe everything he saw online. “They all lie,” he’d said. But Takemichi, the twenty-four old Takemichi , knew that even a lie was more beautiful than the crap he was experiencing.
Scrolling was alienating. His finger moved on the screen repetitively not really wanting to stop at a particular video. He just liked the sound of music and words mixing to each other. It gave him pleasure to know that what they create as content was not interesting enough for him to stop ― or that was the lie he kept telling himself.
At 2 a.m. in the morning Takemichi was done scrolling. The night had gone sour. He had enough of the same recycled trending songs and motivational videos with people that sprinted toward a beautiful beach with an inspirational quote on the background: don’t give up .
He opened chrome.
His fingers moved without a thought, typing lazily on the search bar XNXX.com . It was a porn website and Takemichi’s goal was not only distraction but also to watch some cute girl being fucked in the ass by a monster cock. Nothing romantic. Nothing tender. Just violence disguised in pleasure.
Did he care about her? Not at all. After Hinata, no one really mattered. Takemichi never looked at a girl with the same interest he had for her. Hinata was his first. Hinata was the girl he thought he’d grow old with, but they split the moment she started university. He didn’t resent her. Hinata just … slipped away and after months they broke up, quietly, with gentle smiles and a warm hug.
“I will always carry you in my heart Takemichi-kun ” she had whispered with tears in her eyes, breaking him with the softness of it.
Takemichi held her tight that afternoon, they had sex one last time and they stopped talking. Their love only a dear memory.
After Hinata, the boy, discovered that his eyes had always lingered too much on men and it made all sense, especially in hindsight ― especially when he remembered how often Hinata had pegged him and how he’d begged for more.
His blue eyes were focused on the perfect video. Each frame showed a couple, and while all the girls were pretty, their male partners were … insignificant. They had the bodies, maybe even the right size, but their faces were all ugly. Forgettable.
Takemichi grunted, annoyed, his hand leaving the inside of his sweatpants after several minutes of frustrated searching.
Then something new caught his attention ― an ad buried between porn pop-ups and sketchy job listings. The background was black, sleek. A silver snake coiled around a rose, and beneath it, a minimalistic name: Velvet .
Turn your body into currency. No limits. No shame. Just you, the camera and freedom.
It didn’t even look like a real advertisement. It was too clean, too deliberate. The kind of thing that felt dangerous .
Driven by curiosity he clicked.
Another chrome page opened. A smooth, black button appeared at the centre of the screen with a simple instruction: install . Takemichi tapped it, amused. Within seconds an app appeared on his phone. The icon was simple, elegant ― the same silver logo from the ad.
No hesitation. He opened it.
The first page: Registration .
I am bored, let’s amuse myself with it. He thought.
The sign-up was seamless. A few questions. A few disclaimers. No IDs. No contract. Just a camera check and after it a seductive voice saying Welcome to Velvet. Let’s begin.
The screen went black. Two buttons appeared: MEMBERS on the left and STREAMERS on the right. out of curiosity, Takemichi tapped on Members, but it asked for a password.
“Strange”.
He went back and tapped Streamers . A questionnaire appeared. It was a kink list, basically (with kinks he never heard of) ― nothing personal, just what kind of stream he was planning to perform.
“This is some minimalistic crap,”. Takemichi muttered.
He completed the questionnaire and once on his personal page there were only two options: GO LIVE and WALLET .
He could go live, though. It was tempting. He could just jerk off and see if someone was willing to watch him. He glanced around and then switched rooms heading to his bedroom. It wasn’t luxurious or even clean but at least it was slightly less disgusting than the living room.
The bed sheets were bunched on one side. Takemichi placed the phone on the nightstand and adjusted the camera. Fortunately, GO LIVE didn’t mean immediate broadcast ― it gave him a chance to check the camera angle and prep the scene. At least who developed the app was smart enough to let the streamers prepare the setting.
He watched himself on the screen. He was sitting on the mattress, with legs slightly parted, and in that position, he thought that that was not the worst angle. Chuckling and feeling less depressed than usual, he pressed the red button. The live started with a shy smile and a curse for his terrible username: Mitchy . Anonymous, sure ― but also embarrassing. Akkun had called him that when they were kids.
The recording icon blinked.
Takemichi stared at the bottom of the screen where an icon of a tiny person-shaped showed the number zero next to it.
No one was watching him.
He sighed. He hand moved, palming himself half-heartedly. He was trying to be sexy, to put up with a scene that will make people stop and watch him but … after several minutes of it, it was clear that no one was interested in him — and the fact that no one was there drained any pleasure.
What was he even doing? Masturbating for money on some sketchy, unknown app ― and no one was even watching. He was a loser, even in porn.
“Oh shit, what the fuck am I doing?!” he said, eyes closed for a moment, before crawling forward to end the stream and delete the damn app.
Then, the number changed. 1 . A message appeared.
VoidKing joined the live .
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. VoidKing but I was ending the stream” Takemichi said politely. He hadn’t expected anyone to actually show up.
A chat box popped up at the bottom of the screen.
VoidKing: Why?
“‘Cause I’m shitty at this. But thanks for joining” Takemichi replied quickly. It felt strange, talking to a screen while a stranger typed back.
VoidKing: Yeah, you seem a little out of place in this world … but stay.
“To do what?”.
VoidKing: what were you planning to do, Mitchy?
“Wank … maybe play with my … you know”.
VoidKing: I don’t.
“Play with my ass”. Takemichi flushed ― redder than a tomato. He wasn’t a prude, but saying it out loud, even to a faceless user, made his skin crawl.
VoidKing: I would love to see you do it. Do you take requests? I’ll pay.
“It depends”.
VoidKing: Good boy. I like people who can bargain. Here’s my request: stay dressed and just tell me how much you love me.
Takemichi’s eyes widened. Was this guy … serious?! He could ask for a thousand filthy things, and instead, he wanted Takemichi to tell him I love you ?!
“How much will you pay me?”
VoidKing: 81.849 ¥
“… Deal”.
That was enough for rent. Enough for some low-quality food. Enough to survive another two weeks maybe.
VoidKing: No, no my sweet Mitchy. You should ask for more. Let’s try again.
“Ho-w … much will you pay me?” Takemichi asked again, a little uncertain.
VoidKing: 81.849 ¥
“No. Make it 130959 ¥”.
VoidKing: I will only pay what I said
Takemichi stared at the screen, throat dry. He needed the money ― but something told him this was a game, and the man behind the screen wanted to play.
VoidKing: Mitchy? Do we have a deal?
“No. I want what I asked”.
VoidKing: Then I’ll sign off .
“Your loss. Not mine”.
He was trembling a little. His stomach twisted into knots. He was letting the money go ― but then after ten agonizing seconds later, his wallet showed a + 130959 ¥ .
Takemichi’s eyes locked on the number.
VoidKing: Now tell me you love me. How much you miss me every day we’re apart.
“… How should I call you?”.
VoidKing: You and ONLY you can call me Mikey.
The show had to begin.
Takemichi took a deep breath, his chest tight with something he couldn’t name. His sad blue eyes focused on the camera lens.
“I can’t do this anymore,” he said. His voice was low, rough like it had scraped its way out of his throat. There was no one there, but he imagined Mikey in front of him, sitting on a chair across his bed. Maybe he was dressed in a suit, white shirt unbuttoned and legs open, hand placed in his own tights while watching Takemichi with possessive eyes.
“I miss you,” he continued “Every second I’m not near you feels like drowning with my eyes open. I ― I crave you. Your voice. Your hands. The way you look at me”.
He leaned closer to the camera, heart pounding like war drums in his ears.
“It’s killing me, Mikey. This thing you’ve become ― the thing you’ve done to me. I’m starving for you and you ―” Takemichi’s voice cracked. “You sit there like you don’t even know you own me”.
A message appeared.
VoidKing: You know what it does to me, seeing you like this, Mitchy? On the bed we share, whispering my name like a prayer?
Takemichi read it in silence. He didn’t speak. He didn’t want to break the spell. The roleplay was strange, but Mikey didn’t ask him to undress … not yet.
VoidKing: You belong to me, you always have. You’re starving, Mitchy but you need to understand — you’ll never be full again until you are in my arms.
Damn . Mikey was good. Too good. It made Takemichi blush like a teenager.
“You’re always so far from me. I want you so badly it hurts to breathe. I’ve tried to bury it, tried to tell myself it’s just nostalgia but it’s you. You are breaking me Mikey. I need more than your touch. I need to hear your voice in my ear,l. I need your control. The way you pinned me to the wall at the station before your business trip. Tell me I am yours. Tell me that you love me as I love you”.
VoidKing: You’re mine Mitchy. I love you.
Takemichi smiled, gently caressed the screen — then noticed Mikey was no longer online.
“Oh” A pause. “Maybe I didn’t do a good job”.
Inside the digital wallet there was a link. It allowed Takemichi to enter his bank coordinates. He clicked on the transfer and ten minutes later, the money appeared in his bank account.
That was easy.
Maybe that Velvet App wasn’t so bad after all.
Mikey hadn’t planned to wank in front of his executives. But they had walked in at a moment when his mind was utterly consumed by Mitchy — that clumsy little stream boy who had whispered I need you, Mikey so sweetly, so desperately, that Mikey had to remind himself it was all just a paid fantasy.
His hand, firmly wrapped around his painfully hard cock moved with purpose. There was no teasing, no slow build. This was about need — about release.
When his men entered ( he thought about them not as his equals ), he was already a few minutes in. He was chasing pleasure, morning Mitchy’s name again and again — so much that even Mikey himself found it strange. He never called someone’s name. His lovers were meant to beg for him, not the other way around.
The room fell into heavy silence — thick and suffocating. It wrapped itself around the throats of the Bonten executives like a noose. These were hardened men, forged by blood, loyalty, and years of darkness. And yet, they froze.
It wasn’t the act that stunned them. They’d walked in on Mikey mid-indulgence before. That wasn’t new. What was shocking was seeing their king seeking pleasure—alone.
Behind the massive desk, carved from obsidian-black wood, Mikey sat —his throne in the kingdom they all feared and followed. His posture was different, hunched, not in defeat but in something far more disarming. His head was bowed, the pale curtain of his hair shielding his face like the veil of a grieving God. One arm rested on the polished wood, fingers twitching faintly. The other …
None dared speak. None dared move.
Sanzu, who had walked through fire for his king , cocked his head with slow confusion.
Kokonoi frowned, eyes flitting between the polished marble floor and the king who was pleasuring himself. Rindou shifted uncomfortably, while Ran merely raised an eyebrow, unsure whether this was a test, a trap —or something else altogether.
It wasn’t that Mikey lacked desire. On the contrary, he embraced it. Whether it was a new toy or a fading obsession, he never hid what pleased him. He devoured pleasure. That’s what made this moment so bizarre.
Because here, in the dim-lit room filled with the scent of cold steel and too many secrets, their leader—Mikey, the head of Bonten, the man who didn’t bow to the world — was moaning.
“ Mitchy …” The name, audible, floated across the room like smoke.
That stream boy had been a nobody. Just another flash of light on a screen. Another hollow pleasure found in the app that was designed to entertain Bonten’s members and elite. Yet something about him had lingered with Mikey .
Now, as the minutes dragged like hours, and as Mikey’s breathing turned shallow and distant — almost dreamlike. They were starting to see something strange about that situation. This wasn’t the claim of a toy. It was something more … obsessive . Something private that had slipped through the cracks of Mikey’s usually impenetrable armour.
Their King had the world at his feet, and yet he was lost behind a desk, shrouded in secrecy, chasing a phantom across his own thoughts.
No orders were given. No explanations offered. None were needed.
Because for all the power Mikey wielded, all the dread his silence commanded, this was something else.
And they all heard it: Mitchy .
The hand moved faster; the cock slick with pre-cum was deliciously giving Mikey the lubrification he needed to give himself the right amount of pleasure. His black pitch eyes were distant, lost in the memory of Mitchy. He could see his eyes, his plump lips. He wanted that mouth around him, sobbing, choking, filled. God, that boy looked like a crybaby , and Mikey had always been weak for that.
He gave his member a few strong strokes and he came, groaning a low moan, the name Mitchy still lingering on his lips.
Sanzu coughed and as the obedient dog he was, he approached the desk.
“Boss we — “.
Mikey rose.
All eyes locked on him.
He stretched out his arm, and Sanzu, without hesitation, used his jacket to wipe the hand of his king.
“The detail of your incompetence doesn’t change the fact that you had one simple job,” Mikey said, voice calm as silk, deadly as a blade. “You chose the wrong people. I said eliminate the targets, and now one of our girls is in police custody.”
He smiled. A soft, pleasant smile. The kind that meant blood.
“I don’t care what you have to do. Fix it. You have until tomorrow. If not…” He tilted his head. “I’ll skin you alive.”
And he meant it. He had done it before.
“Yes, Boss,” came the only answer he required.
“Now leave,” Mikey said, turning back to his desk. “I have business to attend to.”
In the hallway, the tension melted—but only slightly. They walked in silence, the buzz of neon overhead flickering with a nervous pulse. Once they were out of the inner sanctum and the heavy door slid shut behind them, the questions started to rise like steam from their skin.
“What the hell was that?” Rindou finally asked, his voice hushed.
“He was … wanking? Ran said simply, brushing hair out of his face. “A real wank?”
Sanzu didn’t respond. His jaw was tight, but his mind was racing.
“He’s always had obsessions,” Koko offered. “But this… this is different .”
“Did you hear him?” Rindou asked, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening. “He said his name. Over and over. Mitchy .”
Sanzu lit a cigarette with fingers that didn’t quite shake. “I think it’s some stream boy,” he muttered. “Cute voice. I caught it earlier when I walked in too early. Didn’t even know Mikey knew how to smile like that anymore.”
They all fell quiet for a moment.
The idea of Mikey — their King —wrapped around the idea of someone was … disorienting . He didn’t crave softness. He broke it. He didn’t watch things with gentle interest. He used them and discarded them.
And yet, Mitchy hadn’t been discarded. He was being… remembered . Worshipped .
“Should we look into him?” Ran asked, almost casually.
Koko gave him a sideways glance. “You want to get killed for prying into the king’s pillow talk?”
“He’s not just a pillow,” Sanzu said suddenly. They all turned. His voice was low. “He’s something else. I don’t know why but this is different from the toys he had in the past.”
They looked at each other, a shared curiosity tightening between them like a wire.
They’d been threatened. Dismissed. Exiled from the room like children. But the silence had told them more than any command ever could.
Who was Mitchy ?
And what kind of boy made a monster whisper his name like it was holy?
They didn’t know yet.
But they were going to find out.