𝟏𝟖+ 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢 | he sends you a voice message while he’s away.
“hey sweet thing. missing ya’.”
his voice erupted, you could only hear the sound of his breathing, imagining the slow rise and fall of his chest.
“how have you been, mm? eating well? hydrating? you best be taking care of yourself while ’m gone.” he laughed, that squeaky one where you could tell his throat was tight from holding something in.
“wish you could feel how much i’m missing you.” you heard his breath shake at the last syllable, then the tell-tale sound of his zipper slipping down rang out. a loud zzziipp like he wasn’t even trying to hide it.
a moment of silence then a harsh hiss came from his side as he wrapped a hand around his aching member, stroking it to full mast. “shit baby, i’m so hard just thinkin’ about you.” he groaned, then a rustle of clothes came as he shoved his pants down to his ankles.
he shifted his phone so that it was placed right beneath his cock, you could hear it slap against his phone screen, hot and heavy. “listen to it. listen to what you do to me.” he panted, beginning to pump himself, every tug of his length drawing a throaty sigh from him.
“wish you were here. y’know, sucking me off.” he paused to breath, stifling a whine as he imagined the scene in his head. “gosh, you’d look so pretty, mouth full of me. choking on me.” he continued.
“or you could just sit on it. let me hump you ‘til you pass out, all dumbed out on my dick.” he rasped, voice dropping a milky octave. you could hear him spit down on his cock, smearing the glob of saliva over his length.
“if you were here, i’d bend you right over this desk and fuck—” he sped up his strokes, you could tell he was close with how whiny he got. “i’d do so much to you darling, but you’re just not here. and it’s killing me.”
“miss you, so fuckin’ bad.” his voice cracked, you could hear the lewd fap-fap-fap of him fisting his cock ruthlessly, teetering on the edge of release.
“bet you’re touching yourself too, huh?” you could hear his smirk through the phone, “bet you’re getting off at seeing me so desperate and needy. you’re evil.” he grunted.
“shit, i’m close.” he cursed through gritted teeth, you could hear his chair creak under his weight as he pumped his cock, chasing his orgasm.
“this one’s for you.” he panted, the sounds of his fist becoming slicker. after a couple more strokes, he came all over himself with a muffled groan, making a mess everywhere.
“it’s so much.” he grumbled, already regretting what he did knowing he would have to get up and clean off. “and i blame it on you.” he chuckled, you could hear him tucking himself back into his pants.
“anyway. i’ll be back soon. love you, byee.” he spoke before blowing an obnoxious kiss to the phone and cutting the voice message.
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When you first met Simon, he was living in a rubish place with minimal-need furniture. A worn-out couch that he used to sleep in. A camping-like table used to eat tasteless but fueling food, work. He even doesn’t have a tv! He just stare at the white walls of his studio.
You knew Simon got a LOT of money, so why would he lives like this? The guy doesn’t even has a pillow, just old shirt he rolls under his head.
That’s why the tf141 was surprised when they met you -a spoiled little thing. How the lieutnant who lives like a victorian peasant could be with a high-maintenance girlfriend?
You have basically anything.
Outfit from the lastest trend, it even looks like you are the one making them. Fresh blowout every two weeks at the salon -that shit’s expensive. Perfectly manicured nails. An entire closet of shoes and bags.
Some could thinks that Ghost is a skinflint, but he just thinks he doesn’t deserve it. While you-his perfect sweet and pretty girlfriend- deserves the whole world and more. He doesn’t mind throwing all his money on you.
You have been together for a few years now. You kind of started to live in his mid apartment. With that, you brought your own furnitures as there was none in his place.
With your eight pillows, fluffy plaids, infinite wardrobe, enough skincare products to open an entire cosmetic shop.
After months living with Ghost -and sharing your lifestyle with him- you finally made Simon a spoiled thing.
He pouts when he doesn’t have kisses, wears your headband when shaving, grumpy when he doesn’t have his overly too sweet -type 2 diabetes- coffe in the morning. Sleeps with three pillows and your stuffie. Watch tv shows.
You made him gain self-estime. Thanks to your relationship he knows that he’s worthy of sparkle of sweetness and comfort in his life.
a bit nervous, considering i’ve never sent an ask here before…if you’re comfortable with it, can you do a popular gyaruo reader x an emo loser who tutors the reader? theyre good friends, they’ve been friends for years. and like, theyre studying in the emo’s bedroom, when he leaves to go to the bathroom and m/n somehow comes across the emo’s notes on how much he’s obsessed with the reader and wants to feminize and dumbify him and freak shit like that. then emo comes back and gets mad at him for snooping thru his shit, and then they have sex!!
but if you don’t want to do it, just ignore this ask lol!! no need to do it if you don’t want to!!
ఌ 𝐄𝐌𝐎
w.c › 6.7k
warnings › bottom male reader. OC.
kinks › lite feminization, manhandling, dumbification, degradation, dubcon
ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-
“You and Matsuda-San are friends?”
That was how everyone, no matter their age, would react when you brought up Matsuda Kota casually in conversation. You were quite the persona since middle school. Going against the dress code to fit your gyaruo style. Kota, however, was quiet.
Some labeled him an ‘emo’ but he just had long black hair and mostly wore black clothing. At least that’s what he would say. His hair was so long that his bangs regularly covered his face.
You wore black clothing too—but they were often paired with bold pieces. You wore black eyeliner to make your eyes pop. It was only in university when you were able to go full out in being a gyaruo—a male version of a gyaru. Though you were on the more simple side of the aesthetic.
The full makeup and outfit took so much effort that you only did it on rare occasions. Or whenever you were in the mood to sit in front of a mirror for over an hour.
Your parents were lacking in the usual strictness that older Japanese people were known for. So you basically wild out—a stark contract to Kota whose parents were so overly strict it was concerning.
That’s probably why he spent most of his time over at your house. The two of you met in middle school. By pure accident.
You were sent to your homeroom teacher’s office for being caught with eyeliner. After a stern talking to and being shoved outside of the room with some wet wipes—you were too busy wiping your eyes to notice Kota standing in front of you.
It was only in middle school that you were taller than him. You bumped right into him, causing him to crash to the ground. His bento box spilling all over the floor.
“Woah! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.” You kneeled down and carelessly began scooping up the food with your bare hands, dumping them into the bento box. “Five second—”
“I’m not eating that.” Kota rudely interrupted you.
You blinked, finally glancing up to look at him. He had an ugly bowl cut and thick rimmed glasses that looked too big for his face.
“Pfft—!”
Your lips clamped shut as you quickly covered your mouth. Eyes wide while Kota’s narrowed.
“I don’t know why you’re laughing. You look ridiculous too.”
Kota huffed. He roughly grabbed his bento box from your hand and walked away. You stood up and looked to your left, seeing your reflection in the window.
He was right.
The makeup was all smudge—giving you perfect raccoon eyes. A laugh left your lips. It was honestly a look. You rushed after Kota and wrapped your arm around his neck. He grunted and tried to push you off but you used your height to rest your chin on his head.
“Since we both look ridiculous, we should hang out!”
Kota groaned. “What are you—?”
“My name is Togami (Name). But you can call me (Name), no one calls me Togami.”
“We just met, why—”
“Because it’s sooo boring. My name is so much better than Togami. Don’t you agree?”
“Well—”
“Anyway, what’s your name?”
“Matsuda Kota, why—”
“Can I call you Kota?”
“Are you going to keep interrupting me??” Kota yelled out, stopping you both in your tracks. You stared down at him before grinning slyly.
“Sorry, Kota-kun~ keep talking, keep talking. I think I really like you!”
“I didn’t give you permission—”
“Lunch’s almost over! Hurry, we don’t want to be late for class!”
“I said stop interrupting me!”
The rest was history. Which led to where you are now. University. You were able to dress up more and didn’t have to worry about getting in trouble with teachers for a little bit of eyeliner.
You and Kota decided to rent an apartment together. With your parents' help mostly. They were retired and had a decent amount of savings. Kota paid for everything else that your parents didn’t cover. You were just there to decorate the apartment.
Kota really didn’t care about that type of stuff. His bedroom was bare. Really bare. It looked exactly how it looked before you both moved in. The decoration he had in there was from you. Though he rarely allowed you in his room.
The apartment was covered in a lot of furry furniture. Black, brown, and gold. Leopard print… it was a mess but also somehow worked for the chaotic vibe you were going for. Your bedroom was the only real mess.
In any case, you and Kota lived together fairly well. Despite everyone being shocked that the two of you were even friends. You were outgoing and nice–Kota was quiet and a little bit rude. Everyone called you by your first name… no one but you could call Kota by his first name.
It actually got you into hot water once with Kota.
“You can call me (Name), I don’t mind!” You proudly said, grinning at your clubmate. You and Kota joined the photography club to kill some time. The club was meeting at a restaurant as a way to get to know everyone.
Everyone said their introduction. Kota’s was as bland as ever while you were practically bursting with excitement. You were sitting beside some guy–you couldn’t remember his name–and was telling him that he didn’t have to be formal with you.
A loud clink of glass hitting the table startled everyone even with the bustling sounds of people excitedly chatting. Eyes were all on Kota. His beer glass had a small crack on the bottom, the yellow beer slowly seeping free all over the table. He calmly grabbed some napkins and dabbed at the liquid.
“Uh, waiter!” The club leader waved someone down and pointed to the pointed glass.
You only watched Kota, blinking as he seemed to not even react to anything. Not when the waiter carefully took away the glass. Not as a few other clubmates wiped away the mess. Not when a new beer glass was placed in front of Kota.
Kota only grabbed a skewer of meat from the shared plate in the center of the table. He took a small bite, his gaze not even flickering over to you. It took a minute before everyone began to talk like normally, as if nothing happened.
As soon as the club leader had mentioned that everyone should start heading home–you were roughly grabbed by the arm and tugged to stand up. Everyone watched in silence as Kota grabbed your coat and backpack without a word.
He draped your coat around your body, buttoning it without allowing you to properly put it on. Your arms were restricted but he didn’t seem to care. Kota nodded his head at everyone, wrapping an arm around your waist and guided you outside.
“Kota. Kota, I can’t move my arms,” you tried to push your arms through the sleeves but Kota kept pulling you forward. His hand tightening his grip on the curve of your hip. “Kota!”
He hummed. “Does everyone need to call you by your first name?” His words suddenly stop you in your tracks. It was only now that he actually stopped as well. You both were far from the restaurant by now.
“I let everyone do that.” You muttered, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
“Maybe you shouldn’t.”
“Where… is this coming from?”
Kota looked you in the eye. There looked to be something there… the need to say something. Something that could possibly change things. But he only shook his head.
“Forget it.” He removed his hand from your waist, finally allowing you to properly wear your coat. You follow behind him as you slip the coat into place. His words swirled around in your head but you didn’t say anything.
You still allowed people to call you by your first name. At least the people you had already allowed to but for some reason, anyone new had to call you by your last name.
Nothing was said. It just happened.
But you couldn’t forget the one time Kota had overheard you introducing yourself to a new member of the photography club.
“Hi, I’m Togami (Name). You can call me Togami or Toga!” You said, smiling wide as you excitedly shook their hand. Your gaze flickered to Kota who was standing right beside you and his expression was pure smug.
A small smirk tugged on his lips. Big enough that even another member noticed and asked Kota what he was thinking about to smile like that.
Kota only hummed. “Nothing.”
That was really the only time Kota had ever been mean towards you. Or at least angry. Afterwards he didn’t use any force on you again. Which really made you wonder what upset him that badly.
But you never brought it up again.
“If you want at least a B, you’ll need to get an 80% on the final exam, Togami-San.”
You groaned, rubbing at your face. Your grades in college were decent. Could be better but decent. Your parents were just happy you weren’t flunking. The fact you even went to college surprised them and your entire family.
It wasn’t like you didn’t care but you didn’t go above and beyond like others. You studied like twice a week. Each time before an exam you studied a bit and somehow that allowed you to continuously get Bs and A minuses.
Good enough. Some would kill for that.
However your studying method was proving to be useless for one class. The one class where you had your first ever D.
Organic chemistry.
Now why are you taking organic chemistry?
Well because you’re dumb.
Dumb enough to not realize that you signed up for the wrong class until it was too late and you had to continue taking it. You were a literature major! Why would you ever need organic chemistry?
“It’s okay, (Name)-Chan~” Hinata, your classmate, gave you a wide grin. “Maybe you should do tutoring.”
“Tutoring?” Another one of your classmates chirped in, Genki. He was a fellow gyaruo who put more effort into everyday makeup in comparison to you. A true legend. “What (Name) needs is a miracle.”
Hinata rolled her eyes. “Don’t make it worse. You’ll stress him out. I know someone who took organic chemistry as a freshman and actually passed with a 99%!”
“99%? Woah,” Genki’s mouth dropped while you perked up at her claim. “How—? That professor is strict. How'd that kid pass?”
“Don’t know but he was even the teacher assistant last year. He’s good, really good. But he doesn’t just tutor anyone.” Hinata turned her gaze over to you. “You might have to really beg for it.”
You frowned, “beg…? Ah, it can’t be helped. I’m not failing that final exam!” There was no way you’d let this class ruin your semi perfect record of As and Bs. “Where can I find him?”
“He’s an engineering major! My friend said he’s currently a teacher assistant for engineering 101, class should be ending right now. Go stop him before he leaves!”
The thought of having to beg some stranger to hopefully pass your class was a little stressful. Technically your whole life was up to this one dude.
And judging by how Hinata had described him—he wasn’t exactly the helping type.
He already reminded you of Kota.
Ah, Kota.
A giddy smile pulled on your lips at the thought of him. It’s already been three years of living with him and you had begun to realize you had a crush on him. Nothing serious at the moment but it certainly was something.
You found yourself doing more things for him. Making him lunch or dinner. He wasn’t a breakfast person so you never forced that. Two days ago you even bought him a leather jacket that reminded you of him. Though you still haven’t given it to him yet.
You’ve given him things before. Especially not an expensive leather jacket. It was around ¥291,500. Nothing cheap at all. But it was real leather with fluffy fur around the collar.
Perfect for winter that was right around the corner.
Thinking about Kota, you began wondering what you should make him for dinner. You stood outside the classroom door just as students began to walk out.
“(Name).”
“Kota?” You blinked, looking over to see Kota standing right beside you. Your head tilted as you blinked. “You’re taking this class as a junior?”
Kota fixed the strap of his bag as he raised an eyebrow. “I’m the teaching assistant.”
“Ah!”
Well looks like luck was on your side after all.
You grinned and rushed to his side, grasping his arm with your hands. “Kotaaaa~”
Kota only hummed and looked down at you. The height difference wasn’t by much. Your head was the perfect height to rest on his shoulders—which you constantly took advantage of.
“Can you tutor me? In organic chemistry? I heard you passed the class and I need to get an 80% on the final exam to even pass the class. Please, please, please—”
“Sure.” He interrupted you.
You blinked.
That was really easy.
Well, getting him to tutor you was easy but he wasn’t an easy tutor at all.
“If you can’t even memorize this then don’t even bother showing up to take the exam.”
“Kotaaaa.”
“Try again.”
It had only been a week and you were pooped. Kota didn’t let up. Each day after dinner, you’d spend almost two hours sitting at the dining table as he tutored you. No breaks, no days off.
And yes you were certainly learning and retaining information… but you were also tired.
“67%,” he said, placing the mock final exam he made you take on the table after grading it. Despite his rough tone—you knew he was semi happy about your progress in just one week. “I’ll test you again next week.”
You sighed. Better than nothing. You used to get 20-30% on the exams. This was an improvement.
Kota cleaned up the dining table while you placed your head on the table. You were only going to close your eyes for a second. But soon you found yourself in bed. Hands tugging up your shirt.
“Kota?” You groggily whined, placing your hand over his. His hand was larger than yours. He stopped what he was doing and leaned away a bit.
“You’re awake?” He asked. You felt his hand slipping away but you quickly tightened your grip. With sluggish movements, you tugged his hand up, making him gently cup your face.
He didn’t stop you nor did he say anything. If you weren’t struggling to even stay awake, you would’ve noticed his thumb gently rubbing circles on your cheek.
“I got something for you.” You whispered.
“Like what? Is it a thanks for tutoring you?”
You weakly shook your head. “No. It’s…” your voice trailed off, eyes struggling to stay open. “It’s just for you. Because I like you. It’s underneath my bed.”
“Don’t fall asleep.” He gently tapped your cheek. “You still have makeup on.”
“I like you… didn’t you hear me?”
“Mhm.” Was all he said in response.
The rest of that moment was a blur. You remembered feeling makeup remover wipes on your face. Kota grabbed the box from underneath your bed but he didn’t open it in front of you. Your eyes were basically closed by then.
He whispered something and then you were fast asleep.
Another two weeks passed. It was uneventful. Kota continued tutoring you and you made significant progress. Your little puppy crush was beginning to grow by the minute. Especially now that you two were spending most nights together.
You didn’t have to ask about the jacket because not even a day later you saw him wearing it. It made you so giddy that you almost laughed right in front of Kota. Luckily you managed to hold it in.
Despite organic chemistry being the worst class you’ve ever taken—you certainly had to thank it for allowing you the opportunity to be near Kota for such long hours.
However there was something you began to notice.
Kota didn’t allow you in his bedroom.
At first you didn’t notice because well it’s not like he comes into yours. You both were close but still wanted the bedrooms to be your own personal space. But now that you two were studying together for a long period of time… you and Kota would sometimes study in your bedroom.
It was a mess, obviously, but Kota didn’t seem to mind.
But it was like his room was off limits before you could ever ask.
Nothing was wrong with that per se… at least at first. Until you finally realize it when Kota always keeps his door locked. The door was always closed and even locked sometimes.
That’s strange, right?
Was he hiding something?
What would someone like Kota have to hide? He’s such a normal guy at the end of the day. You were the one that had more to hide but your day was basically left wide open at all times. Even when you were changing.
Like right now.
You slipped on your boxers, yawning. The thought of looking for some pajamas felt like a hassle. Your body was tired and even struggling to stand up straight.
“Where did I put it…” you whispered mostly to yourself, rubbing your shirtless chest. It was certainly a sight to behold. Your makeup was only semi cleaned off, your eyeliner was being stubborn and your lips were stained from left over lipstick. It’s kind of why you never wear lipstick that often.
It always stained your lips.
Just like your clothes, your pajamas were also heavily influenced by gyaruo clothing. You even dabbled a bit in more feminine pajamas. Simply only because male pajamas were boring half the time.
You knelt down and grabbed your silk shirt. It was plain black but felt nice to sleep in. “Pants… where’s my pants?” You spun around, now facing the doorway when you finally noticed that you weren’t alone.
Kota was watching.
He looked like he had just finished taking a shower. Hair still damped while the towel laid around his neck. An old beaten up white t-shirt and black sweatpants. His bangs covered his right eye entirely.
You gulped. Your own semi nudity was the last thing on your mind. Just the fact of seeing Kota in clothes that didn’t cover his body entirely. Nothing baggy that hid his muscles. You were allowed to see everything.
Almost everything.
Your bottom lip caught between your teeth. You didn’t even realize just how bad you were ogling him. Though it seemed to be mutual when you glanced up at his face.
Kota was staring at you. Really staring at you. His gaze flickering from your thighs to your chest. You still hadn’t slipped the shirt on yet.
Feeling yourself heat up from his strong gaze, you slipped the silk shirt on. That finally broke the spell as Kota quickly looked away. He began quickly drying his hair.
You finally found your pants, right near your dirty hamper. They were actually shorts. A matching pair to the shirt. You stepped into them and it was basically the same length as your tight boxers. These were one of your more feminine pajamas.
“Well,” you spoke, blinking slightly as you glanced over at Kota. “Uhh,” your lips pursed together. Hands wringing together. “Can I ask you something, Kota?”
He hummed. His eyes still focusing on anything but you.
“Can we… maybe study in your room one day?”
That caught his attention. His eyes snapping over to you. “Why?”
You froze. This was probably one of the first times Kota ever pushed back against a request of yours. Usually you could just say one word and he’d do it without hesitation. Not even asking why you want to do a certain thing.
It wasn’t always like that—that behavior didn’t start until high school.
“Oh well…” your voice trailed off. There was technically no reason. Or really any good reason. “Uhm, I just… want to change the environment.”
“We can study at the library.”
“Kota.” A pout on your lips. “I don’t wanna. I like being at home.”
“Then we can study on the balcony.”
That did sound nice.
You sighed. “Then… if I pass with an 89% can I celebrate in your bedroom?”
Kota raised an eyebrow. His face was neutral but you could tell he was getting agitated. The slight twitch in his upper lip, the way his grip tightened on the towel. “89%? That’s high.”
“Yeah, so if I do that good, then you have to grant my wish.”
“Why do you want to do that? Be in my room so badly?”
You were nosy, that was certainly the main reason.
But instead of saying that…
You said, “because I want to be in your scent.”
Which, in hindsight, was one of the stupidest things you had ever said.
I want to be in your scent? What did that even mean?
It was one of the strangest things you’ve ever said. And you were known for being weird to Kota.
Oh well—you couldn’t dwell on it too much because to your shock, you did it.
“How??” Hinata and Genki stared at the final exam paper in shock. There, written in bright red ink, was the percentage 90. You had done better than you had even thought was possible.
You simply smirked. “I managed to get that tutor you told me about.” Was all you said before heading straight home.
Kota was home, luckily enough. You had bought some take out and a case of beer. A smug smile on your lips as you walked over to where he was sitting on the couch.
He closed his book as soon as he saw you. His gaze solely focused on you. Your cheeks felt a little hot from his gaze but you straightened your posture. You placed the food and drinks on the center table.
“I took the exam.” You reached into your bag, excitedly pulling the exam paper out. The paper was folded as you handed it over to him. He took it, you excitedly sat down beside him and inched close, wanting to see his exact expression once he saw your score.
Kota opened the paper and despite the fact his face didn’t move an inch, you could tell he was proud. “Amazing.” He simply said, placing the paper on the center table. “How do you want to celebrate?”
You pursed your lips, eyes looking to where Kota’s bedroom was located. There was nothing else that needed to be said. Kota got the hint immediately.
Kota’s bedroom was the exact same as you remembered. The last time you had seen it in its full glory was maybe a month after you both moved in. To say it had no personality was an understatement.
It didn’t feel lived in if it weren’t for his studying material all over his desk. You plopped down on his bed as he sat at his desk, placing the items you brought on the surface. He glanced over at you with an unamused expression.
“This is all you wanted to see?”
You eagerly nodded your head. “Well yes.”
“You’re weird.” He opened a bottle of beer with a bottle opener. “Enjoy my scent.”
Your cheeks felt hot.
Kota’s room really was uneventful. He didn’t even have a tv. You stuck to watching something on your phone. About an hour or two passed when Kota excused himself to the bathroom.
You only huffed and moved to rest more comfortably on the bed when you felt something poke your back. It felt like a notebook. Underneath his pillow was a small little notebook—a diary was your first thought.
Now, did you originally plan to snoop around Kota’s room? No, you did not.
But now that you had the opportunity to possibly read his diary were you going to miss it?
No.
While you might be able to understand Kota’s expressions after spending so many years with him—it was too tempting to be able to read about his thoughts.
Who was he talking about? Jealousy bubbled deep within you. Who was lucky enough to be the object of Kota’s affection? It wasn’t like he talked to many people that weren’t you.
You gasped as the diary was roughly ripped from your hands. It was there you came face to face with an overly pissed Kota. A first. The last time you ever saw Kota this angry, his face actually showing the full emotion, was back in middle school.
Your stomach began to twist into knots. The idea of angering Kota this much hadn’t even crushed your mind. Sure you were pushy sometimes but you never wanted to ever make him feel this way.
It was silent. Your mind raced a mile a minute. But nothing left your lips.
Kota let out a humorless laugh. Another first. He stared down at you. “Are you weirded out?”
“Huh?” A soft gasp left your lips. Your eyes flickering up to stare at him. He towered over you. You sat on your knees on the bed.
He waved the diary. “You read what was in this.” His voice sharp. “You’re weirded out, right? You want me to leave don’t you?”
“Why—? Why would I want that?” You quickly moved to stand up but Kota grabbed your shoulder and shoved you back down. It should’ve upset you that he put his hands on you but you felt your cock twitch in your pants.
“Stop acting dumb.” He carelessly tossed the diary behind him. His eyes never left you. The intensity in his eyes scared you but also made you incredibly horny. Who knew he could act like this? “You read it, you saw what I wanted to do. Degrade, feminize, and dumbify—you saw it, didn’t you? Don’t spare my feelings.”
You quickly shook your head. “I wouldn’t… I wouldn't judge what you… do in your free time.”
Kota froze. He raised an eyebrow before leaning further down. You leaned back until your back bumped into the wall, effectively caging you in.
Your heart was beating so fast you were sure he could hear it. You clamped your legs together. Why was this actually doing something for you?
“How did you get that 90% on the exam?” He finally spoke.
“Huh?”
“You. I want to degrade you.” His hands pressed on either side of the wall, gaze harsh. “I want to make you pretty, only to ruin you for anyone else. Who else would I ever want to see naked beneath me?”
“…huh…? Kota…?”
Kota sighed. “I’ll move out as soon as possible.” Was all he said as he began to pull away.
“Wait—!” You grabbed his shirt and tugged him back towards you. The force causing him to accidentally bump his nose against yours. “Ow,” a whine left your lips but you quickly pushed through the pain. “Why… why are you going to leave me?”
“Did you not understand a word that I said?” Kota responded, his tone exasperated.
“I did. I did and I don’t mind. I like you! Didn’t you know that? I told you…”
Kota tilted his head. His gaze focused solely on you. “You always tell me that you like me. Was I supposed to believe that one time was different?”
You frowned. “Well I did mean it differently. I meant that I like like you.”
“You like like me?”
“Mhm.”
Kota laughed. You were seeing a whole new side to him. “Do you like me enough to let me do whatever I want to you?” He asked, his voice deep. There were simple words but somehow they felt heavy in your chest. It didn’t feel like it was a simple easy thing to agree to.
He seemed mad but not that mad that you thought he would’ve been. It felt different. A scary different. But not scary enough that you didn’t nod your head in agreement to his words.
“I need to hear a yes.” He said.
“…Yes.” You whispered. “I really like you.”
For the first time ever, Kota’s lips pulled into a wide smirk.
Your cock twitched at the sight.
You would’ve never expected that Kota would be the kinky type. Honestly you ever really expected that he’d be into sex… or anyone really. He didn’t seem like the type. It’s why you didn’t expect anything to happen from your feelings.
But here you were, hands tied together above your head with Kota’s belt. Undressed—your boxers being the only clothes you were allowed left.
Kota didn’t say anything at first. He had silently tied your wrists together, manhandling you to rest on the bed. His hands gripped your skin. It felt harsh and rough but it didn’t scare you.
“Kota…” You whispered.
He was silently taking in your body. His hand slowly tracing up and down. As his hand reached your inner thigh—you let out a gasp. Your legs clamped together as your cheeks heat up and feel hot to the touch.
“Kota… are you mad?”
“No,” he answered. His hand squeezed your thigh before he reached his other hand and grasped your other leg. He easily parted your legs open, it happened so fast you didn’t even register it until your legs touched the bed.
Kota sighed. His gaze flickered up to look you in the eye. “I’m not going to do everything I ever wanted.” He said. That somehow disappointed you. “I don’t want to rush this… not now.”
“Rush?”
“(Name),” he whispered your name as if he was worshipping you like a God. So soft and tender though his eyes held a certain hunger that made your stomach clench. “I’ve always wanted you to cry on my cock—letting your makeup mess up your face.”
“Really?” You couldn’t help but grin. “Is that why whenever you saw me with my makeup a mess, you’d get quiet?”
Kota didn’t respond. He moved to sit between your legs. “When we moved in together, I thought I’d have to deal with you bringing in random people to have sex… or maybe even get a boyfriend. How lucky am I that you aren’t able to date anyone?”
“Hey, I was single on purpose!”
“Sure.”
You frowned but before you could say anything else Kota pushed your legs forward. A strained grunt left your lips. The stretch was a little unnatural—not a position you’ve ever done before.
“Since it’s our first time, I’ll be nice. Okay?”
“You’re a virgin?” You muttered, blinking slightly.
“Aren’t you?”
“Ah,” you quickly looked away, biting your bottom lip. “Not… exactly.”
It was silent.
Too silent.
“Kota…?”
The sound of fabric tearing caused you to cry out in shock. You looked over to see Kota focused solely on your legs. Your boxers were torn open, the cool air teasing your hole. Embarrassment shot through your body when you realized Kota would have a perfect view of a certain something in your ass.
Finally, your little secret was revealed.
“(Name)…” Kota chuckled, his voice deep. His index finger circled around your sensitive rim. Your body shook from the touch. “Is this a butt plug?”
So, it wasn’t as if you expected sex today. You had just wanted to be a little… adventurous today. After your exam you had actually come home first before going back out to buy the food and beer. Just for fun.
It was a small plug. Only stretched you a little bit to where you could feel it if you shifted just right. But other than that it didn’t feel like anything was inside you.
Really the only thing you expected tonight was using your dildo late at night as you imagined Kota fucking you instead. Luck was really on your side today.
“Did you wear this all day? Even when you took your exam?” Kota grasped the edge of the plug, slowly tugging it out. You gasped—tugging at the restraints around your wrists. “Did you masturbate like a pervert, hoping no one would notice you rocking in the chair, trying to focus on the exam while making sure the plug hit your prostate?”
With a simple shift, the tip of the plug pressed directly on your prostate. A loud moan left your throat. You wanted to tell him that he was wrong. That he was making stuff up. Degrading you.
But the continuous, slow rub against your prostate took over your thoughts. All you could focus on was gasping and moaning in response. Nothing else could escape your lips. Your cock twitched. It was still covered inside your tight boxers.
“Kota,” you mewled.
“Such a slut. Is that why you’re so flashy?” He asked, pressing down on your prostate. “You want everyone’s attention on you. Not just your looks but also from your sex appeal? So perverted, Togami (Name).”
You sniffled. Your wrists tried to break free from the belt but somehow it was wrapped tightly. You could only bring your hands down to try and cover your face from Kota’s intense stare.
“Am I not enough?” Kota moved up, his body now towering over you. His free hand grasped your wrists and tugged your arms to rest above your head once more. “Do you need everyone else’s attention? I’m not enough for you?”
You quickly shook your head. The words escaped you—only broken wet moans leaving your parted lips.
“Fine.” An almost pained laugh left Kota. “They can look…” he leaned down, his breath teasing your face. “But you’ll always be mine. Only I can see you, touch you, and ruin you, do you understand?”
Kota pulled back when you didn’t respond. His glare sharp as he roughly pulled the butt plug out. He tossed it behind himself. “Answer me with words.”
“Mhm, ngh,” you nodded your head. It was hard to speak, your throat was already dry. You haven’t even been fucked yet and you already felt tired. “Yes.”
“Good girl.”
You let out a shuddered moan. Your legs wrapping around Kota’s waist. It felt so sinful for you to be practically nude while Kota was still dressed. He was wearing a black sweater and black pants—his usual winter clothing.
“You’re perfect for me, (Name)… I don’t even need to prepare you.” Kota unbuttoned his pants. His gaze focused solely on you. “I won’t be nice. I’m going to fuck you and if you manage to cum, good. If not…” his voice trailed off.
The thought that he wasn’t even going to try and make sure you would come too. To just use you for his own pleasure… made your whole body shiver.
Shit, you were really learning new things about yourself.
Kota was never known for being particularly nice. Sure he did nice things for you but that never meant he wasn’t a little rude to you still. Even if you were his favorite person. He had no issue degrading you. And it was shocking to yourself that you didn’t mind it at all.
He didn’t fuck you nice and slow. He didn’t slowly ease inside you or anything like that. Your hole was still dripping from the lube and allowed for a semi easy entrance. Though his cock was bigger than your small butt plug.
Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. The stretch felt otherworldly. Kota grasped your face, pushing your head down into the pillow as he began thrusting in an easy rhythm.
The slap of skin filled the room. Your gasps and moans came out in rough staccato. Toes curling as you bite your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.
“K-Kota…” you cried out.
Kota pushed your head further into the pillow as his thrusts began to pick up speed. He was unforgiving—obviously chasing his own orgasm. True to his words he didn’t aim for your prostate nor did he touch your cock.
He was fucking you got his own pleasure.
“Mhm?” He grunted out. His thumb brushing against your lips, pushing them apart. “Does it feel good? Are you enjoying yourself?”
Each thrust sent a shock throughout your body. The sound of skin slapping, bed creaking from each thrust into your tight heat. It was sending you into a frenzy. You could’ve sworn that he was purposely avoiding your prostate. Just barely teasing it to cause a shiver in your body before ignoring it once more.
It was degrading. He was treating you like a toy.
You smiled slightly, eyes glancing up at Kota. He was a sight to behold. His eyes almost fully covered from his long bangs. He was sweating but still hadn’t made the effort to take off his sweater.
The jeans rubbed against your ass, chafing the skin. You’d certainly cry about it later but now it only served to make you moan. Every little thing he did that only served to please himself and not you… made your toes curl.
“Hey,” Kota cut in. “I asked if you’re enjoying it?” His voice deep and held an air of dominance.
A strained laugh left you, punched out in tandem with a particularly harsh thrust that almost sent you hitting the headboard. Your bottom lip was cut. A little bit of blood coated both lips and some on your teeth.
“Yeah,” you breathed out. Your eyes struggled to stay open, fingers curling to grip the pillow beneath you for a sense of purchase. “Love it so much.” An almost exasperated laugh left you.
Kota’s thrusts slowed down. His grip on your face almost loosened. He certainly didn’t expect such an answer from you. The willingness to accept his behavior as if it was a normal thing. A thing that you readily craved and enjoyed.
A perverted smirk pulled on his lips.
It was one of the widest smirks you’ve ever seen from him. With his eyes practically hidden behind his bangs—his smirk was the only thing you could use as a way to see what he was thinking. With that smile alone you knew he was happy.
Proud even.
This… was exactly what he wanted.
And how lucky was he that you wanted it just like him.
The last of his thrusts were almost cruel. He positioned his hips so his cock would tease your prostate. Barely a touch that was enough to even count as anything. You almost cried at the teasing—it was too much.
Your cock was weeping in your boxers. But you didn’t beg for Kota to start pleasuring you as well. No you enjoyed how he was fucking you. This was too fun. Better than anything you could’ve originally imagined.
Kota released his grip on your face, both hands reaching to grab your waist. He held your body still against the bed. Keeping you still as he delivered his last, harsh, heavy hitting thrusts into your ass. Each thrust earning a loud accompanying cry from you.
Hot wet cum released inside you. The fact that he didn’t even ask if he could only made you shivered in delight. A weak gasp left you. Kota spanked your ass as he pulled out. The cum slowly seeping out of your hole.
“You look beautiful like this.” Kota hummed, “next time I want to see you in full makeup when I fuck you.” He said. He grabbed your boxers, tugging them off when he stopped.
A soft humorless laugh left him.
“You actually came?”
Two fingers touched the lower half of your stomach. White cum leaking from your cock. Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment. You didn’t expect that this would lead you to cumming in your boxers.
But here you were.
“Of course a slut like you would come untouched.” Kota leaned over you, gently freeing your wrists from the belt. He captured your lips into a hungry kiss—not allowing you to take any sense of control.
pulling on his hair when he’s fucking you, just grabbing a handful of those soft strands and giving a sharp tug, watching his head tip back and the softest groan escape his flushed lips.
pull more, he’s going to fuck you harder.
maybe pull his hair when he’s going down on you, use it to pull his face up and take a good look at his mug shining with your juices.
or just pull his hair when you want his attention. tangle your fingers in those silky locks and hold him in place, watch him pout and whine and struggle and pain himself even more but he loves the hurt, just as much as he loves you dragging him in by his hair to devour his mouth ♡
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summary: He blackmailed you into joining his group of popular kids, and... nothing bad happened? Yandere! Popular! OC x F! Reader
✧ note: I just read a few pieces with this trope, so I wanted to try writing one myself.
✧ cw: blackmail/coercion, one bloody beatdown, background family stuff (mentioned, not detailed), swearing, some concerning tendencies.
═══════════
"Look what I've got." He holds up a photo that captures your family's mess, waving it like a hundred-dollar bill in front of a desperate beggar. He's cornered you in the one place you usually find some peace from the swarm of hormone-charged teenagers.
A bastard is still a bastard whether he's popular or handsome, and this one is painfully childish. "What do you want?" You snap your lunchbox shut and snatch the photo, which he lets go of without a fight. Of course he has copies.
"Join my group for lunch in the cafeteria tomorrow." He stands there now, weight shifted onto one leg, hands shoved in his pockets.
Hellishly suspicious. Threatening you out of nowhere, acting like you're already friends, assuming you won't notice how strange that is? He's probably in the middle of some game of truth or dare, and tomorrow he'll find a way to humiliate you. (Or maybe that's just you, having read too much fiction, and he genuinely wants to be friends. Hmm. No. This is too contrived to pass as "making friends.")
"Yeah, and then you'll dump your lunch on my shirt or something, and everyone will laugh at me." You go back to packing your things, trying to think of a way out of this.
"Ugh, what kind of delinquent still does that these days? I could trash your locker instead, and everyone would say you had it coming." Look at that. He actually huffs with pride, as if he isn't some psycho straight out of a horror show. "Whatever. Just show up tomorrow. It's not like you have a choice." He shrugs and walks off.
Should you tell a teacher? The police? Chances are you'd end up in trouble too and get expelled in the end, or at best your quiet school life would curdle into being the kid labeled a troublemaker, rumors trailing you even after graduation. Sounds like reporting this to the authorities just makes everything worse….
You blow out a long breath. Life is really exhausting, isn't it? You stare up at a sky that knows nothing.
────────
"Let's meet again, sweetheart." Your school's cheerleader captain blows you an air kiss and throws in a wink as the two of you split up in the hallway. You wave back, trying to shake the faint daze of realizing nothing truly awful has happened, except that they've all gotten… friendly? Maybe just more stares, more attention. Beyond that, not much.
"See, not so bad, right?" The one who's been dragging you along, insisting on walking you to your next class, tilts his head with an air of total innocence. You don't answer, just keep walking, and let him fall into step beside you.
He lets your silence slide and keeps going. "Come again tomorrow."
You click your tongue. "Should I?" Why keep playing along at all? Who knows if they're just waiting for you to feel like you belong before they turn around and stab you in the back.
"Yeah. If you want that photo deleted." As if he isn't going to keep it forever anyway.
"You're going to keep holding that over me." The words come out in one breath, your voice kept low. You try to walk faster.
He matches your pace easily. "I'll delete it after six months. Until then, you just have to listen to me nicely."
You roll your eyes and scoff. "So I'm your slave from now on, is that it? You should've said so yesterday."
"That's a cruel way to put it. Haven't the others been treating you well? Besides, they don't know anything about the photo." You stop walking and turn to actually look at him. His expression seems innocent. He's already been watching you.
"What do you actually want?" You clench your fists, holding yourself back from punching his stupid face.
"You'll have to figure that out yourself." He muses over his own answer, and just as you're about to kick him in the groin, he stops you by raising a finger, like he's offering some kind of pinky promise. "I promise I'll delete it after those six months, if you behave." Okay. What kind of nonsense is this?
You don't answer and keep walking. Luckily your classroom is only a few steps away, and freedom from this misery.
Not to be left behind, he digs something out of his pocket and presses a folded piece of paper into your palm. "Here. Don't forget." Then he strolls off, waving and calling out loud enough that even more eyes turn your way.
────────
"Raining, huh. Want a ride?" You're about to pop open your folding umbrella on the front steps for the walk home when you find him standing beside you, spinning his car keys around one finger. His laid-back manner never changes, not even with rain coming down outside like a typhoon.
"Not driving the others home first?" Even as you consider taking him up on it, you don't close the umbrella. Just in case you decide to turn him down, or in case you say yes and still need it on the way to his car.
"Nah, let them figure it out. Maybe later, so I can get them to owe me drinks." Before you can call him out on the habit, he's already slipped himself under your umbrella. "So?"
"You're still asking when you've already decided to steal my umbrella?" His hand has wrapped over yours where it grips the handle. You just let go, and he takes it with a look far too pleased for someone merely holding it for the two of you.
Like a proper gentleman, he lets his own shoulder get a little wet, tilting the umbrella to keep you covered, then opens the car door while still holding it over your head, before folding it shut and tucking it into the door pocket. You've ridden in this car enough times to know exactly where he keeps his towel. You pop open the glove box and hand it to him.
He thanks you easily and takes it, then attacks his damp hair with the towel, ruffling it with such theatrical vigor that you scold him and the two of you end up laughing together. Then he goes quiet all at once, as if remembering something. He pops open the armrest compartment and holds out what you assume is a flash drive.
"Here… that photo. Sorry, for being a bastard about it." You take the flash drive, a little stunned to realize it's already been almost six months, and that you've been having so much fun you'd forgotten the whole reason you ended up with these friends in the first place.
Six months isn't exactly short, but it isn't long either. Still, at least now you know they've genuinely been trying to be your friends, rather than setting up some cruel trap that would scar you for life. You huff, amused despite yourself. "Well. As long as you know you were wrong. I'd say you owe me about seven lunches for it."
"Even if it's a hundred, just say the word." He starts the car.
"Show-off." You give him a look that says exactly how shameless he is about money.
"Isn't it natural for a guy to want to look cool in front of someone he likes?" There he goes again, throwing you a signal, though he keeps the tone joking. Whatever he wants, whether he means to keep playing games like this or let it turn serious somewhere down the road, it isn't as if this catch game of his is something you can actually win over.
Still, you aren't about to let him off the hook. "If anyone else heard you say that, they'd kill your vibe and call you a boi-failure. Remember the spicy noodles that—"
"Hey! That came out of my nose because I choked, and it was way too spicy!" He clears his throat loudly, scraping together what little dignity he has left, which has probably shrunk to the size of an acorn by the time you're done wrecking his hair with the towel. In moments like this, he looks boyish, nothing like his usual playboy resting face.
Maybe the only thing you still regret is how your old friends, the ones who used to be with you, have drifted away like you were some kind of germ. To this day, you still don't know what you did wrong to make them leave.
────────
To be fair, what do you really know about him? His antics, his place in the school’s social hierarchy, his hobbies, his family situation, and what he’s like when it’s just the two of you?
"Stop it. If you keep beating on them, they might actually die." He's already dropped you off and, just like he said, is driving the rest of your mutual friends—the popular kids home too, except he happens to swing by an alley and takes so long that the friend riding along gets out to check on him.
"Ah, sorry. Almost done here." That's all he says, tossing a couple of limp bodies toward the dumpster and the still-damp corner of the alley. Lucky for him, he's worn dark clothes today, or the blood splatter would show clearly. Unfortunately, that does nothing about the smell.
"What is it this time? Aren't you overdoing it a little?" Overdoing it, apparently, only applies to the bodies he's beaten, not to what's spilled from the victims' bags: books, a phone with its screen cracked. He can throw a punch, sure, but he prefers to keep things tidy.
"One of those guys got a little too close to her. I couldn't just let that slide." He brushes off his hands like there's dust on them, though they're scraped red and raw. It has to sting, but he lets it be for now. "I wonder what she'd do if she saw my hands like this."
His friend huffs, annoyed at how easily his mood shifts the moment you come up in conversation, and grumbles at him, "she probably will just scold you for being a bad dog."
He should snap back at being called a dog, but if it comes from you, he supposes it isn't so bad.
—
Bonus:
The piece of paper he gave you: his number with a note saying, “Save it and text me back ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎”
Your best friend calls, voice raw, and you realize he’s jerking off to you. The call spirals into a dirty, tense back-and-forth—him confessing all the nasty things he wants to do to you, you teasing between sweet and cruel, letting him see just enough to break him. He cums hard for you, then you make him listen while you play with yourself and orgasm. At the very end, you drop the sweetest bomb—and hang up, leaving him ruined, obsessed, and wanting more.
★2,827 words, old story, smut/explicit sexual content(18+), lots of dirty talk, masturbation, praise & a tiny bit of degradation, pet name/name calling (e.g, ma/mama, baby, sweetheart, honey¹, and slut¹), you're a little mean but he likes it, etc★
★18+ 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝑫𝒐 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕★
"Hello?" you call, picking up on the third ring. The room is quiet, the only light the coming from your amber lamp and the blue glow from your screen reflecting off your freshly done nails.
"H-hey," his voice scrapes out on the other end. It’s a wrecked sound—ragged, breathless, and vibrating with an intensity that makes your stomach flip.
Your brows pull tight, a slow worry already beginning to tug at your lips. "Are you okay? You sound... off."
You picture him for a second. Maybe he’s sweaty from a run, his chest heaving under a thin t-shirt. Or maybe he’s been lugging another Amazon dresser for that old lady down the block—always the good guy, always helping somebody. But as you listen to the heavy, rhythmic hitch in his breathing, you realize you’re wrong.
Right now, your best friend is laid out on his bed, the sheets a mess beneath him. His sweatpants and boxers are shoved down to his mid-thighs, his brown skin damp and glowing in the dim light of his room. His stomach is corded, muscles tightening and rippling with every long, desperate drag of his fist. His dick is a dark, heavy weight in his hand—slick, flushed, and dripping through his fingers.
He’s slowly but firmly stroking himself to the thought—and now the sweet, taunting sound—of your voice. Precum is already smeared over his knuckles, his thumb rolling lazy over his slit before pressing harder, coaxing a deep, guttural grunt from his throat.
"Mgh—nothing. Just... talk to me," he rasps, the friction of his hand audible through the speaker.
Your frown deepens, your heart is starting to race. "Why? What’s wrong, baby?"
The pet name slips out easy, unthinking. But the effect is immediate—he moans low, a broken, helpless sound, like you’d reached through the line and wrapped your hand around him yourself. He lives for when your voice turns soft like this, when you stop clowning him and get sweet. His fist moves quicker now, his hips pushing up into his palm, seeking the friction he can’t get enough of.
"I'm fine, I promise. Just keep talking. Please."
You fall quiet for a beat, leaning back against your headboard. You listen harder. You hear the wet, squelching sounds of his grip. The sharp little hitches of breath. The low, animalistic sound he makes when his fist squeezes tighter at the base.
And it clicks.
"...You’re jerking off."
Silence. Just the heavy, frantic sound of his breathing. Then a broken, self-deprecating laugh. "Yeah. M'sorry. Can’t stop. Not when it’s you."
Your breath stutters, a prickle of heat blooming low in your belly. "You’re getting off to me? On the damn phone?"
"Every time," he admits, his voice rough and needy, but with a sudden edge of raw honesty. He wants you to know. He wants you to feel the weight of it. "Think about you all the time. That mouth. Those tits. The way your ass looks in those shorts." His pace picks up, the slick, lewd sounds of his hand working his dick filling the line. "Fuck, I’d do anything to see you ride me, just once. Just to see what that look on your face is like when I’m deep inside you."
You bite your lip, your pulse kicking against your throat. "That’s disgusting. Using my voice to get your nut. You’re nasty."
He groans like you’ve just blessed him with a touch. "Yeah, I know. But you're all I think about... you’re the only thing that gets me this hard."
"That's nice, honey. But you really shouldn't think of me like that... you know we're just friends," you murmur, your own hand sliding down to rest heavy on your thigh, the silk of your shorts cool against your palm.
"Don’t say that." His tone cuts sharp now, all the nice playfulness you've come to love is gone. "I’m not your fucking friend. You call me every day. You tell me you love me. I told you from the start—I’m not your friend." His breath hitches, the wet sounds of his fist speeding up, becoming more frantic. "You let me talk to you like this. And you let me—You let me be in your life knowing how I feel about you."
Your acrylic nail drags slow across your bottom lip. "Maybe. But I can't give you what you want, and I do love you, but don't throw it in my face," you drawl, a cruel, satisfied smirk pulling at your mouth.
"It’s kinda sad. Stroking your dick to a girl you’ll never have. We'll never be together. I’ll never let you fuck me. All you get is your hand."
He chokes out a moan, his hips snapping up into his fist with a raw, mechanical rhythm. "Yeah? Then give me something else. Show me. Facetime me, ma. Please."
You hesitate, the heat pooling heavy and agonizing between your thighs. Then, you click over.
The screen flickers to life. His camera is shaking, his breath filling the dark room. Sweat beads at his temples, his face flushed a deep, beautiful bronze, his lips parted. You know that tremor in the camera—it’s the force of his fist moving fast.
"Thank you," he exhales, the word almost reverent as he takes in your appearance.
"Hi, baby. Let me see your face," you don't ask it like a question. You order it.
He obeys instantly. His face fills the screen, his jaw tight and corded, his sharp fade a bit messy from the heat and the friction.
"You look good," you compliment, but the little laugh that follows makes it sting.
"Keep talking." He’s close, you can hear the strain in his voice. "Don't stop."
"I want to see."
He blinks, his eyes glazed and dark. "What?"
"I'm not repeating myself."
He lets out a breathless, desperate laugh, knowing your patience is thin. "Take your shirt off then. Let me see what I'm working for."
You narrow your eyes at the audacity, but you reach down and tug the pajama top off anyway. Your lace bra catches the light, the fabric straining against the fullness of your breasts. You don’t cover yourself; he’s seen you in less, and you want him to see exactly what he’s missing.
"Fuck," he groans, a sound of pure, unadulterated pain. He flips the camera.
Your breath catches. Your mouth goes dry. His dick is a complete mess—his fist is working tight and fast, the dark, veined length of him glistening with pre-cum. White streaks of cum are already dried tacky over his thighs from previous rounds, and his stomach is flexing with every pull. His abs are glistening, his skin slick with sweat. His thumb smears a fresh bead of precum over the flushed, velvet head until it gleams, dripping onto his knuckles.
You bite your lip hard, heat twisting through your belly, your shorts already sticking damp between your thighs.
His moan rips through the line, a guttural, animal sound.
You whisper his name, your voice low, trembling, and possessive. "... I really want you in my mouth."
His head snaps back against the pillow, a broken curse ripped from his lungs. "If I had you here? I’d fuck that throat till you cried. Till you gagged around me and begged for air. I’d hold your head and make you take every fucking inch."
You hum, a low, taunting vibration. "You’re not tough enough for that."
That pulls a dark, dangerous laugh from him. His hand works faster, the veins straining down his forearm. "Say that shit again. I’d hold your face down and shove my dick so deep you’ll feel me in your chest. I’ll make you swallow every drop."
Your thighs squeeze together, wetness soaking through the crotch of your shorts. "All talk. You’d fold the second it touched my tongue."
He groans, deep and pained. "God, you drive me fucking insane." His breath stutters, then—"Take your bra off for me. Now."
You tilt your head, slow and teasing. "You want a show?"
"Take it off." His voice is rough, a plea threaded with a hard command.
You hook your fingers into the lace, slipping it down your shoulders, letting it fall. Your breasts sit full and heavy in the camera’s glow, your nipples tight and peaked in the cool air.
He chokes on his own breath. "God, look at you. Perfect. Fucking perfect."
Your fingers lift, tugging lightly at one nipple, rolling it between your fingers. "Like this, baby?"
His hand drags hard down his dick, the slick sound of it filling your ears. "Yeah—play with them for me. Pinch ‘em. Roll ‘em." His eyes roll back for a second, his mouth slack. "Fuck—I wanna cum all over those tits. Paint you, watch it drip down your stomach. You’d look so good messy with my cum."
You coo, your voice dirty and soft. "Yeah, baby? You wanna ruin me like that? Wanna cover me ‘cause I’m yours?" You pinch harder, moaning low. "Mmh, I’d let you do it however you want."
His hips jerk up into his fist, his cock flushed dark, thick, and veined. The head is shiny with slick, and your eyes stay locked on it, transfixed by the weight of him in his palm.
You whisper, almost reverent. "I can’t stop watching your hands. They're so big and veiny. So strong. You're twitching in your grip—look at you, baby. All that for me."
He groans raggedly, his fist slapping wetly down the length of his shaft. "All for you. Always for you." His voice cracks, desperate. "Squeeze 'em, touch your tits harder. Let me see you play with those pretty nipples."
You squeeze your breast, pinch your nipple harder, tugging it until you gasp, your eyes locked on his fist pumping. The sound of it—wet, obscene, skin slapping skin—is the only thing in the world.
"Fuck," he grits out, his voice frayed. "I’d drag you down and smear every drop over you. I wanna fill you up."
You laugh softly, mean but sweet. "Yeah? You’d mark me up? Cover me so everybody knows this pussy’s yours? Even though you’ll never get to fuck it?"
He groans, almost breaking under the weight of the tease. "Stop—don’t say that. I’d fuck you stupid, ma. I’d split you open. Make you cry for me."
You hum, stroking your breast with slow, deliberate circles. "I bet you would. But right now? All you’ve got is your hand. And me watching."
His grip tightens, his strokes becoming rough and fast. His stomach flexes, his breath tearing ragged from his chest. You lean close to the screen, your voice low and syrup-thick.
"Cum for me, baby."
He moans, a high, guttural sound.
"Yeah," you coax, squeeze your breast, shifting them again, "make a mess for me. Let me see you shoot it all over yourself. Come on. Show me how much you want me."
"Fuck—" His hips stutter up into his fist. Precum spills slick down his shaft, his knuckles shiny and wet.
"Begging you, sweetheart," you whisper, cruel and filthy. "Paint yourself for me. Cover that stomach, those big hands—show me what I do to you."
He chokes, his eyes squeezing shut, his jaw locked tight as his body begins to coil for the release. "M’close—oh fuck, I’m gonna—"
"Do it," you purr, sharp and commanding. "Cum for me, baby. Now."
His whole body jerks. A shout rips from his throat, raw and primal, as thick, hot ropes of cum spill over his hand, his chest, dripping down his stomach in heavy white streaks. He pumps through the release, groaning brokenly, the cum splattering messy and hot across his skin.
You sigh, watching the way it looks against his skin, your voice turning sweet again. "That’s it. Good boy. Look at that dick, dripping for me. You made such a mess."
He’s panting, ruined, his hand still twitching around his softening length. "Fuck... fuck, I love you."
You tilt the camera, watching him still sprawled—sweat dripping, stomach streaked with cum, hand twitching.
"Mmh," you hum, soft and wicked, "look what you did, baby. Got me all wet."
His head snaps up, eyes heavy but blazing. "Show me."
You smirk, slipping your hand under the waistband of your shorts, dragging the damp fabric aside. Glossy, honey-thick strings pull as you spread yourself open, the phone angled just enough to flash him a glimpse of your soaking wet center. "See that? All for you."
He groans, his chest heaving. "Touch it for me. Play with yourself—please, ma."
Your laugh is low and cruel. "Not a chance. You already got your show."
His jaw tightens, his voice rough. "Don't play with me. You don't let me watch, I'll make you beg next time. I'll make you sorry."
You lean close to the screen, your smirk sharp and triumphant. "Try me. You don't scare me, baby. I said no."
His fist curls against his stomach, frustration pouring through the camera. "Then... at least—fuck—at least let me listen. Please. Let me hear it."
You bite your lip, dragging your fingers slow through your slickness, making yourself whimper. "You’re nasty."
"Yeah," he rasps, desperate. "For you. Only for you."
You sigh, soft and sweet, pressing two fingers against your clit until your hips twitch. "Fine. You can listen. But that’s it. Just your ears."
Your moans slip out, low and syrupy, filling the line. His breath shudders at the sound, ruined but hungry again. Your fingers circle your clit, the wet, squelching sounds of your own pleasure bleeding into the line. You bite your lip, letting a whimper slip, knowing he’s eating every sound alive.
"That’s it," he rasps, his voice still raw from cumming. "Rub that pretty pussy for me. God, I wanna be there so bad—wanna hold your thighs open and eat you till you’re crying."
Your head tips back, your breath shaky. "Mghn—You talk so nasty, baby."
"You don’t even know," he grits out. "I’d spread you out and pound that pussy till you scream. I’d fuck you till you smell like me. I'd never let you leave the bed."
A moan rips out of you, high and breathless. Your fingers circle faster, your hips rolling up off the bed as the tension coils.
"You like that?" he groans. "Knowing how bad I want you? Tell me you’ll give it up one day. Tell me I’ll get to fuck you for real."
Your laugh cuts sharp and shaky. "N-No, baby. You’ll never have me like that."
He curses, a guttural sound of frustration. "Fuck. You’re killing me, ma."
Your moans rise, sharper now, your body coiling tight. "Keep talking. Don't stop."
He obeys, his voice a low, gravelly anchor. "I’d hold your hips down. Spit in your mouth while I fuck you raw. Fill you up and make you go for hours."
That does it—your back arches, your thighs clenching tight as your orgasm rips through you. A sharp cry tears from your throat, your fingers working frantically over your clit as waves of pleasure slam through your body. You gasp his name, shuddering and trembling, your juices dripping messy against your hand.
He groans raggedly, listening to the sound of your break like it’s gospel. "That’s it—fuck, that’s it. Cum for me. Good girl. Good fucking girl."
You collapse back, chest heaving, sweat dampening your skin. You let out a low, satisfied hum. "Oh, shit... see what you did? You made me cum, handsome."
His breath hitches on the other end, broken and reverent. "...I’d do anything to see that."
Your breathing slows, your chest still rising and falling heavy. Your fingers slip from your soaked folds, leaving a wet sheen on your thighs. The line is quiet except for the sound of you both catching your breath.
He’s the first to break it, his voice ragged. "Man... I swear, one day—"
You cut him off with a sweet, dismissive little laugh, curling back into your pillow and pulling the covers up. "Shh. Don’t start again."
The silence stretches, thick and heavy with the things he wants to say. You can feel the ache in his voice, how close he is to spilling confessions you aren't ready to hear. So you give him something else. Something cruel, but honest.
"Thank you," you murmur, soft and sweet. Almost tender. "I love you so much, baby."
The phone goes quiet. You can picture him—eyes wide, lips parted, his heart clenching around those words. You know exactly what you’ve done to him.
You smile to yourself, curling the blanket over your bare chest. "Good night."
And you hang up before he can even find his voice to answer.
