Chapter Text
Perhaps it was wrong of him to fantasize about you like that. You were his first friend, the first person to show concern for him and the first person to not judge him for his morbidly self-obsessed ambition. But how could he help himself when you leave yourself bear for him.
It wasn’t on purpose, but surely you’ve known by now the effect you have on him. The subtle touches here and there, the motherly gesture of pressing his head against your chest never failed to give him a hard on. He imagined burying his fingers in your supple flesh. Oh, how soft and heavenly it must feel to just lay down and relax while your fingers run through his hair as he sucks on your rose bud nipples.
It was quite innocent at first, the need to be more intimate with you. Wanting to hold you close, keep you protected and hidden from the rest of the world. But he never realized just who you were until those pages of your life fluttered as he used Heaven’s Door.
“Rope bunny?” He was quite confused at first. A seemingly innocent term, who was he to know it was quite perverted. That you were so perverted. It shifted his entire image of you. The portraits he drew of him kissing your lips, cradling your face in his hands, it had all morphed into a sick and insatiable fantasy of you tied up with delicate pink ropes (he thought it would complement your innocent facade), neck collared and mouth stuffed with his fingers.
“Kinky girl.” He unknowingly whispered while completing his latest lust-filled sketch. A lewd illustration of you on your knees and stomach with your hands tied behind your back, and pussy glistening with your slick - he liked to think it was because of him. His pants began to tighten, cock awakening as he drew in the details.
How your tangled hair would splay across your back, red imprints of his hand on your ass. It was almost done. He glanced at the unfinished chapter of Pink Dark Boy. Once again you’ve proved to be a good distraction.
Luckily for you, you were a really hot distraction, so he’d like to keep you around as long as he could. It was evident in the way he gulped or choked down whatever was caught in his throat whenever he watched your skirt flutter as you walked past him. Or how the flesh of your thighs spilled out of your stockings. He especially loved the lacy, baby pink ones you wore.
It did not betray who you really were, but it helped you keep your image as the innocent and naive one. Hmm, perhaps he should add some discarded lingerie to his drawing. His left hand had made its way to his pants, palming his bulge to relieve some of the pent up tension. However, it only proved to be more uncomfortable when he felt te first bead of pre-cum bead out and seep into his boxers.
Sighing, he dropped his pencil, unzipped his pants and pulled his boxers down. His fully erect cock sprang up, bouncing against his stomach before settling down. He gripped the base with his right hand, his other hand occupied with keeping his painting up right so he could see how you looked.
He imagined it was you running your delicate fingers up and down his dick. Your freshly painted nails would look so good against his skin. “Fuuuuck-“ he huffed out, running his thumb across his slit and swiping his pre-cum.
He wondered what it would feel like to fuck your tits. How good your skin would look splattered with his cum. Or how it must feel to stuff himself down your throat, feeling it bulge and constrict as you gagged around his girth. How cute you would look beneath him, full and bloated with his cock, face wet with tears. How you would beg for him to make you cum. But he wouldn’t let you.
No, he can’t let bad girls cum. If you wanted to come so badly, you’d arrive while he was jerking off to your picture and offer to help him. He’d let you cum then. But you’re not here. And he’s alone as he desperately fucked his fist while moaning your name like a bitch in heat. You reduced him, the great Rohan Kishibe, to this. He could feel himself coming closer and closer to the edge of release, feeling his balls tighten and the knot in his stomach snap.
The waves of his orgasm crashed onto him and he bucked his hips off the chair, thighs stuttering, splattering the paper with his sticky, white cum. Slumping back down, he looked at his now ruined picture. ‘Maybe it looks better like this.’ After all, this might be the closest he can get to seeing you covered in his cum.