how would ichi make his pp presence known >:)c
nsfw!!! for brittany! self insert so uses ha name and such!
This stupid ass phone. Ichimatsu glares at it, sitting heavy and sweaty in his palms. Why the fuck did he even get this damned thing, his eyes swirl, he can’t breathe, his face is flushed and Ichimatsu’s two seconds from pulling down his boxers and fucking shitting on the table.
All the heat in his body is burning him directly where it sits, heavy in his sweats, urging his palms to attend to his needs.
“I’ve gotten a few dick pics, but never from anyone I’ve liked.”
“What about you, do you have any to send?”
Ichimatsu’s heart is racing. It’s beating so hard that he’s sure you can hear it from your bedroom across town.
What the fuck is he supposed to say? How is Ichimatsu supposed to play this game of 4D chess? What if this is a test? What if you block him immediately after he sends one? What about angles? Lighting? How to make his weird dick not so weird? Ichimatsu got this fucking phone for you, and now you’re going to render it useless because he’s too excited?! You might as well tell him to quit his job too, and kill himself since the punishment you’re asking for in exchange — Ichimatsu’s too inexperienced for this!
Instead he breaks open a shitty little notebook, and scribbles a dick in order to ease the tension. Next time he sees you! Next time, Ichimatsu thinks panting. Next time he’ll let you grip his hair, and force whatever you want on him! He won’t resist, but Ichimatsu needs to be passive so he knows without doubt, that you want Ichimatsu back.
With a click, carefully framed so you see the shadow of Ichimatsu’s true feelings erect on the dingy paper, he sends it over.
“Like what you see?” Ichimatsu asks, already cringing.
“Aw, I wanted to see the real thing.”
“Haha perv. I’ll send you a dick pic.” Another beat passes and Ichimatsu sketches out a more serious version, he even uses his real cock as a reference, when you respond. “Is that what your dick really looks like?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy?” Ichimatsu hopes he gets bonus points. Notice that I used your phrase. I watched that video, I learned it. Praise me.
You don’t reply within a half second, so that’s too slow. The shame eats him away like a moth, he needs an out.
“I gotta go to bed though, see you tomorrow at your place, at 5PM. I’ll be there when you get off work.”
“That’s specific. Good night.”
Ichimatsu’s body pillow is taken out, a rare appearance when he usually reserves it for Christmas related loneliness. He hides in the night to rub himself normal, every time he remembers, then clicks his screen open to let his fantasies return. As many times as Ichimatsu can until he’s exhausted in the morning.
After that it’s a waiting game.
What if you fuck him? Ichimatsu thinks, at the bath house. Then when he’s using his entire allowance to order you food, and when he buys your favorite snacks. When he’s standing in line, thoughts full of cotton candy affection, and having his virgin ass dominated in the most romantic way possible. He keeps remembering the image you sent a while ago, with two girls.
He can’t wait til you tilt his chin and make him drink from the carton of milk.
So when 5PM rolls around, Ichimatsu stands outside of your door when 4:59 becomes 5 exactly when he knocks.
You open the door fairly quickly, right when Ichimatsu’s knocking transitions to banging on the frame. The second he sees your face, Ichimatsu melts.
“Right on time.” You smile before commenting, “You nearly scared me half to death. I was wondering who was hitting my door like that. I was gonna call the cops!”
Ichimatsu swallows, then opens his mouth, then swallows again. “Sorry.”
“Alright, don’t do it again.” You exit your house, pushing right into Ichimatsu’s space. “Let’s go,”
“…Go where?”
“Gotta pick up groceries.”
That’s how Ichimatsu ends up riding shotgun in your SUV, thinking on repeat “Touch me, Brittany. Touch me.” In semi-patient anticipation.
He’s pushing the cart, hoping to remind you of last nights conversation even though it seems like you’ve forgotten it. Ah…a banana?
Ichimatsu watches you weigh a bunch. He plucks a random one after you set it in the cart. “It’s kinda like…”
His fingers wrap around the fruit like he was about to play with himself, “But not this length…”
Does that give him a pass? Is that flirting? Is that good enough? Do you hate him?
The expression on your face ignites Ichimatsu from head to toe, he can’t look at you too long or else he’ll combust.
He can’t speak for the rest of the trip, instead Ichimatsu’s tongue wants to swallow itself. So he dissociates until Ichimatsu’s helped put up all your food, until he’s eating the lunch you brought over, until you pragmatically hand him a toothbrush, until he’s spitting out the mouthwash, and until his hands are braced on your hips - wait, this is good place to start paying attention again!
Ichimatsu’s pressed back against your bathroom counter, and you’re kissing his neck feverishly. “That feels nice.” He sighs, he’s holding onto you for dear life while your body contours between his thighs.
“I just want to prepare you though,” Ichimatsu mumbles out mid moan, god you’re gripping his hair in order to access his throat. You teeth graze against his shivering neck, “It’s actually not that great.”
Your hand slips down to feel Ichimatsu through the fabric of his sweatpants.
“My dick, that is.” He loves you.
“So keep that in mind, don’t get disappointed.” Your smile is so bewitching, when you return to kiss Ichimatsu on the lips. You only say three words in between breaths, “I won’t be.”
“You say that now.”
You slowly begin to sink to your knees, and Ichimatsu keeps his mouth shut when you pull his waistband down.
