#lel

You can’t help the annoyed roll of your eyes or the long disdainful exhalation of breath. It all makes sense now; Endo’s been quiet all day. Until now. And of course, in typical Endo fashion, this is how he chooses to break his silence. You hate the way the corner of your mouth twitches upwards, and your fingers betray you. 

To: Yamato Endo

Proof?

You slide your phone across the kitchen counter, hoping to leave the room before you hear another ding, but it rings in your ears before you’ve even had a chance to fully stand up. There’s another load of laundry waiting to be folded that you could take care of before you touch your phone again. Or even a hot shower calling your name to be the solidification of a relaxing day. But your body turns against your will, fingertips reaching out for your phone as they often do, to your dismay.

From: Yamato Endo

[1 image attached]:

…It’s the most heinous shit you’ve seen in your life.

He wasn’t joking. Endo’s half-hard cock sits wet and glistening on his stomach, surrounded by a moat of milky, translucent cum. Clearly, he’d gone multiple rounds in multiple positions, made evident by the way his cum is streaked on nearly every visible part of his skin. 

There are drops of it still beaded onto the sheets below him where it’s dripped from his abdomen. His slender tattooed fingers are drenched, loosely wrapped around the base. His pubes are tousled and shiny, speckled in creamy dewdrops of cum. It even breaks up the lines of his inked skin, ropes laid over his pecs and splattered onto infinity. The last straw is the drop sandwiched between the tip of his tongue and bottom lip, complimented by an open mouthed smirk that’s all too familiar to you.

You contemplate blocking him. But your thumbs trail down to the keypad. 

To: Yamato Endo

What a waste. 

You wait for what feels like forever for those three little dots to pop up, but they never come. You figure it’s actually not such a bad thing that he isn’t touching his phone with soiled fingers, and walk away with a heat in your core that’s hard to ignore. 

It’s not easy to shake the thoughts of him away while you change into your loungewear— imagining the rough feel of his hands around your waist when you lift your shirt over your head. Or the squeeze of his palms into the meat of your thighs as your bottoms drop to the floor.

A distant ding from the other room pumps your heart up a pace, but your brain fights your body— resisting the urge to drop everything for a glance at your phone. Slowly slipping into something more comfortable, you attempt to ease yourself back into the peaceful mindset your day started with. 

It all crumbles when you see his name again. 

From: Yamato Endo

[1 video attached]: 

Your face burns the second you press play. Yamato is panting softly out of the frame, two tattooed fingers slowly scooping cum from his skin and letting out a soft keen as he smears it onto his cock. Your throat goes dry as you watch him pump himself, hips bucking from what you’re sure is overstimulation. Heat floods you at the low tone of his voice, “A waste, huh? You jealous, baby? Want my cum inside you?” A chuckle gets caught in his throat, groaning as his hand tightens, “Yeah. Yeah, I know. Bet you’re– nghh, fuck. C-clenching ‘round nothin–”

You take a sharp inhale, cutting his voice off with a click of the side button on your phone. You were barely halfway through the video and he’s already coursing through your veins. A few minutes with your head in your hands in complete silence is all you can muster. You hate that he’s right.

Breathe in, breathe out. Your heartbeat slows, your temperature regulates. It all gets thrown out the window a second later.

Ding. Ding. Ding. 

From: Yamato Endo

Cat got your tongue? You’re so cute, baby. Really not helping my case here. 

Oh yeah, your read receipts are on. You groan, throwing your head down onto your arms. He’d find it cute that you feel the need to avert your gaze when he isn’t even there to look at you. Peeking up at your phone, slowly you scroll back up to press play again. 

“—God, wish I could feel it– you. You always feel so fuckin’ good,” he breathes, strained and deep in his throat. The veins in his hands are prominent with how hard he’s gripping himself, the steady shlick making your brain go fuzzy. “Good enough that– haah, shit– once is enough. B-but without you,” he chuckles, “c-can’t stop, ‘s not enough. Need you…” Endo’s voice pitches into a whimper as he strokes faster, desperately, bucking his hips into his hand. The video shakes around a bit as he moves to end it, giving you a second long, blurry view of his fucked out expression and messy black locks spread out on his pillow.

The room is silent when the video ends. For a few seconds, actually. The realization that he never shuts up even when he’s alone should be infuriating, but there’s a puddle of arousal in the seat you’re in. You play the same game you always do, despite the desperation creeping up your throat.

To: Yamato Endo 

Doesn’t look like you need much help. 

You bite your lip when you press send– you wish he didn’t see through you. He’s not even around and you can sense the amusement exuding off him. You flick your eyes over to your keys dangling on the hook by the entryway, spine already threatening to fold.

From: Yamato Endo

[1 image attached]: Aw, not even gonna offer to clean me up? So mean to me.

Sigh. 

Cum coats Endo’s long fingers, milky white jewelry draped across the inked skin. His hand lays on top of his chest where a thin sheen of sweat glistens, sandwiched between muscle. The angry pink around his hardened nipples is another not-so-subtle suggestion that certainly wasn’t included in the frame on accident, knowing him.

You don’t even realize how long you stare at the photo before you’re rudely interrupted by a call. It’s him, of course, infuriatingly handsome features invading the entirety of your screen. For someone you refer to as just a hookup, you’ve set quite a romantic contact image. The rim of his cheekbone is lit by the evening sun; you’d been out on the beach doing things hookups don’t usually do. His intense eyes are cast to you from the side, complimented by an uncharacteristically warm smile. You make a mental note to change the photo later, and take a deep breath before you accept the call.

“Hey–”

He’s got no time for niceties, clearly, “What’s it gonna take to get you over here, huh? A ride and a meal? Can get you anything you want, just say the word.” He’s out of breath, but his tone is still laced with something smug.

You pretend to consider. “Hm…I’ll bite, maybe.”

He speaks through a smile. “God, I hope you do.”