ᴘʀɪᴠᴀᴛᴇ ꜱʜᴏᴡ
Chapter Eighteen
Giyuu Tomioka x Reader
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Plot: Chapter Seventeen
A/n: It’s coming out late, very sorry. But I did some self care today. Anyways, uh…idk to tell you to goon or get the tissues? Maybe call the authorities? Giyuu crazy. Good luck. 🖤
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Cw: SMUT, NSFW, Sadness, heartbreak, breakup, crying, loneliness, emotional dependency, porn addiction, not the healthiest coping mechanisms or relationships, possessiveness, masturbation, sex toys, orgasm denial,multiple orgasms, praise, light degradation, obsessive behavior, coercive behaviors (dubcon…in a way), intense emotions, sexual vulnerability, mutual pining. Let me know if I forgot any!
Current Timline: Five days after the breakup.
Eventually, Obanai pulls away.
Your body feels colder without him there.
Empty.
His hands drag down his face as he leans back against the couch. His eyes are red. Yours probably aren’t much better. Your chest still feels tight. Your pulse still hasn’t completely settled.
For several minutes, neither of you say a word.
The movie continues playing somewhere in the background.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters suddenly, wiping at his eyes.
The apology sits between you.
You stare at your hands for a second before lifting your gaze back to him. “Me too.”
Obanai moves his eyes to the television. “We can’t do that again.”
You nod. “Yeah.”
Your stomach twists anyway.
Because part of you already misses it.
Not the kiss.
The feeling.
The brief moment where you weren’t alone.
The brief moment when you felt worth something.
“We can’t tell anybody about that either.” He sighs, almost wincing.
“Probably for the best.”
He leans closer. “We had a moment. A really confusing moment. That’s it.”
You nod again. “Right. Right.”
This feels rehearsed, like you’re both reading from the same script.
Obanai reaches for the remote. “Let’s just watch a stupid movie.”
You don’t argue.
You’re too tired to argue.
Too tired to unpack whatever just happened.
Too tired to examine why the thought of being alone tonight sounds unbearable.
Instead, you scoot closer until your shoulder brushes his. Your head settles carefully against him.
He doesn’t move away.
Neither of you acknowledge it.
Just two people trying to survive the night.
Trying to borrow warmth from each other.
Even if it isn’t real.
Even if neither of you knows what to call it.
The movie plays.
The room darkens.
At some point your eyes start burning.
At some point your thoughts become slower.
At some point exhaustion wins.
You wake to sunlight pressing through the gaps in your curtains.
Your neck hurts.
Your mouth feels dry.
Something heavy is draped across your legs.
Then reality returns.
The couch.
The blanket tangled around your knees.
Obanai asleep beside you.
The television glowing softly across the room.
‘Are you still watching?’
Apparently fucking not.
The ice cream has melted completely on the coffee table.
You rub at your eyes and sit up slowly. Your joints protest immediately. Your arm in your cast feels weak and heavy.
You’re starting to get annoyed with it.
Beside you, Obanai groans awake. His arms stretch over his head.
“Fuck.” He says, voice full of sleep and deeper than usual.
You glance over. “What?”
He points toward the ice cream. “We wasted it.”
A laugh slips out before you can stop it. The first genuine one in days. You think at-least, because it surprises you enough that you blink afterward.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to crash.”
Obanai shrugs. “It’s fine.”
Then he drops back against the couch and closes his eyes again.
He’s honestly onsidering going back to sleep.
“Best sleep I’ve gotten in days.” He murmurs.
Something softens inside you.
You relate to that. You relate too much.
You can’t remember the last time you slept through the night.
Every evening since the breakup has felt the same.
Laying in bed.
Checking your phone.
Telling yourself not to check it again.
Checking it anyway.
“Same.” The admission leaves your mouth accidentally.
Obanai opens one eye.
Neither of you say anything else.
There isn’t much left to say.
You push yourself upright anyway. “Want coffee?”
Obanai perks up immediately. “Sure. But you’re paying.”
You snort. “Duh. I offered.”
“Good. It’s not a date.”
You glare at him as you disappear into your bedroom.
The mirror catches your reflection as you walk past.
You almost flinch because you don’t recognize yourself.
You look exhausted.
Just… worn down.
As if somebody unplugged you six days ago and forgot to plug you back in.
He did.
You wash your face, brush your teeth, fix your hair, go through the motions. There’s no other choice. It’s mundane but mundane is normal.
But you’re not normal.
You swear that you’re rotting from the inside.
But it gives your hands something to do while your brain continues circling the same thoughts it’s been trapped inside all week.
What is he doing right now?
Does he miss you?
Has he regretted it?
Has he ate anything?
If you got into another accident would he come back?
By the time you step back into the living room, Obanai is waiting by the door.
“Can we stop by my place first?” he asks. “I need clothes.”
“Yeah.”You grab your bag. “Just don’t take forever.”
His car is exactly what you’d expect from him.
If you knew him as well as you do.
Fast food bags shoved into corners.
Receipts on the floor.
Dust coating the dashboard.
Something sticky lurking inside one of the cup holders.
You decide not to touch anything.
A song starts blasting through the speakers immediately. The bass is so heavy his speakers rattle.
Your face twists.
Obanai notices instantly. “What?”
“This is terrible.”
“It isn’t.”
“It absolutely is, what even is this?”
He turns it up. “Machine Gun Kelly.”
You groan dramatically and lean your head against the window.
Thank God you didn’t sleep with him.
You silently pray for Mitsuri.
Obanai is not unattractive.
You really care about him.
But the music alone would’ve ended the relationship by now.
You stare out the window, watching cars pass.
And despite Obanai being right there beside you, your thoughts drift somewhere else entirely.
Back to a man thousands of miles away.
Like they always do.
God.
Maybe if you convince yourself to hate him, this will be easier. Except you don’t know how to do that. You don’t even have a valid reason to.
You wait in the car while Obanai disappears into his apartment.
You pull your phone out before you even realize you’re doing it.
Your thumb unlocks the screen.
Your eyes search for Giyuu’s name automatically.
Nothing.
A stupid part of you still expects to wake up and discover this entire thing was some misunderstanding.
That he’ll text.
That he’ll call.
That he’ll realize he made a mistake.
Six days later and apparently you’re still an idiot.
He’s not coming back.
Maybe that is why you should hate him.
A notification catches your attention before you can spiral any further.
@Rainbowdemon: Saw your post! Hope you’re okay! Let me know if you need anything or if you’re down to collab!
You stare at it for a moment.
The message isn’t unusual.
He’s done this before.
Creators collaborate all the time.
The drivers door suddenly swings open.
You nearly drop your phone.
Obanai slides into the seat wearing black sweatpants and an oversized band shirt.
Nothing like the polished version of him from work.
Nothing like the version most people know.
“Ready?” He asks, buckling his seat belt.
You lock your phone. “Sure.”
The café doesn’t familiar.
It smells nostalgic— which makes you feel hollow.
Coffee.
Vanilla.
Fresh pastries.
The sort of smell that should feel comforting. Instead it just reminds you how tired you are. It reminds you of how much you miss Mitsuri.
You order your drink, pay, and follow Obanai to a table near the window.
The cup sits between your hands.
You stare down into it, stirring absentmindedly.
Then stirring again, watching the swirl.
Your thoughts drift.
Not toward Obanai.
Not toward work.
Not toward the stack of laundry currently sitting in your bedroom.
Toward Giyuu.
Again.
You wonder if he’s working.
You wonder if he’s sleeping.
You wonder if he’s sitting in his apartment feeling just as miserable as you are.
Or if he’s fine.
“You’ve been stirring that for like three minutes.” Obanai utters, snapping you out of your thoughts.
You blink. “Hm?”
Obanai points toward your cup. “You’re thinking about something.”
Your fingers tighten slightly around the cardboard sleeve. “Yeah.”
“Share.”His foot nudges yours underneath the table.
You stare at the coffee for another second. “There’s this creator.”
Obanai leans back. “Okay.”
“This guy keeps asking me to collaborate.”
“Okay…”
“The money would be really good.”
His eyebrows lift at that. “How good?”
You let out a small laugh. “Good enough that I’m considering it.”
“And?”
You sigh. “He’d fly me out. Pay for my lodging.”
Obanai nods. “Still not hearing the problem.”
“I’m single now.” You say it like it’s something to proud of.
It tastes sour.
You hate saying that.
You hate hearing that.
You hate that it’s true.
Obanai notices the way your expression changes. “But?”
You look away. “I don’t know if I actually want to.”
The thought feels ridiculous.
You need the money.
You know you do.
Your bills certainly know you do.
But every time you picture yourself actually saying yes, something inside your body rejects it.
This guy isn’t ugly or disgusting.
He’s actually very handsome, even Giyuu seemed interested in him.
Fuck. Stop thinking about him.
“If the money’s good, what’s stopping you?” Obanai’s voice is muffled by the one in your head.
You don’t answer.
You know exactly what’s stopping you.
He knows what’s stopping you.
A man in Japan.
A breakup that should already be over.
Hope that should already be dead.
“Is he a popular creator?” Obanai asks.
You nod. “He has like a hundred thousand more followers than me.”
That earns a laugh. “Then do it.”
You roll your eyes. “It’s not that simple.”
“It kind of is.”He takes a sip of his drink. “If Giyuu sees it, he’ll probably want to throw himself into traffic.”
Something sparks deep inside your chest.
Hot.
Sharp.
Hideous.
You immediately hate it, you don’t really want to hurt him.
You still love him.
Despite everything.
Despite how angry you are.
Despite how badly he hurt you.
Despite how often you’ve cried this week.
The other part of you?
The wounded part.
The selfish part.
The part that’s been left alone to pick up the pieces.
It whispers: ‘Good.’
“You think so?” you ask, shifting slightly.
Obanai lowers his eyes at you. “Absolutely. As a man, I’m telling you.”
You look down into your drink.
Maybe.
When Obanai drops you off, you dread going into your apartment.
The second the door closes behind you, you want to just collapse onto the floor. There isn’t anything stopping you now.
No television.
No conversation.
No distraction.
Just you.
You kick off your shoes and collapse face first onto your bed.
Your phone lands beside you.
You just stare.
Your eyes burn.
Your chest aches.
Your stomach hurts.
You miss him.
So fucking much.
You might throw yourself into traffic.
You know it’s nine o’clock at night for Giyuu.
Normally you’d know exactly what he was doing.
Working.
Answering messages.
Making a late dinner.
Watching something.
Now you have no idea.
The distance somehow feels larger after the breakup too.
He stretched the ocean between you.
You roll onto your back and grab your phone.
The screen illuminates your face.
You open your messages.
Your conversation with ‘Rainbowdemon’ sits waiting.
You: How much would I get from this?
The response comes quickly:
Shocking numbers.
Percentages.
Travel expenses paid for.
An extra room that he has.
Platforms to post it on.
It’s a simple invitation.
You read through everything twice.
Then a third time.
Once you realize that he estimates you’ll make triple your monthly income, your eyes widen.
You: Holy shit.
@Rainbowdemon: Does that mean you’re down?
You stare at the screen.
Triple your income.
That’s almost life-changing money.
Your thumb hovers over the keyboard.
You don’t know how to respond or what to say.
Another notification appears at the top of your screen.
Everything inside you freezes.
Your heart.
Your thoughts.
Your breathing.
@Salmondaikonsimp;
‘Payment received.’
I want a Private Show.
Your stomach drops.
You genuinely wonder if you’re hallucinating again.
You’ve actually gone insane.
Then another message arrives.
@salmondaikonsimp:
‘Payment received.’
Do you think I’m joking?
Your pulse starts racing.
You can feel it in your throat.
In your wrists.
In your fingertips.
You sit up and then lay back down.
You don’t know what to do with yourself.
You don’t know what to do with the butterflies and doom that fills your entire body.
You: You literally broke up with me.
@salmondaikonsimp: I didn’t unsubscribe.
A very Giyuu response.
You hate that it makes your mouth twitch.
@Salmondaikonsimp: How much do you want?
You close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to calm down, think rationally.
This isn’t about money.
It never was.
You should say no.
You should ignore him.
You should protect yourself.
Instead your brain starts betraying you.
What if he wants to talk?
What if he apologizes?
What if he’s been miserable too?
What if he’s regretted it every single day?
Hope slips through the crack before you can stop it.
You: Give me a minute. I’ll call.
@salmondaikonsimp: What are you so busy with?
You roll your eyes but your heart races harder.
You: Nothing. I just got home.
@Salmondaikonsimp: It’s 9:00 in the morning for you.
Somehow that annoys you and touches you somewhere deep.
He remembers things.
The small things.
The stupid things.
The things nobody else knows.
You: I had a night with my friend.
@salmondaikonsimp: What friend?
Your eyebrows lift.
You: Giyuu, you are not my boyfriend anymore.
@salmondaikonsimp: Fine. Just call me.
Your stomach flips.
You throw your phone onto the bed.
You immediately grab your laptop and a lingerie set, slipping it on. Then you sit and open your make up bag.
You’ve done this hundreds of times before.
The routine should feel normal.
So why do your hands shake?
You notice when your mascara wand pauses halfway through application.
You notice when you spend too long fixing a piece of hair.
You notice when you change your mind about lipstick twice.
You don’t want to look like you care.
You don’t want to look like you’ve been crying over him either.
Don’t give him that satisfaction.
Make him sit in his mess.
By the time you’re finished, your pulse is still racing, your hands are still shaking, your stomach is in knots.
Your laptop sits open on the bed and your ring light glows softly.
You stare at the screen and inhale slowly.
The call button waits beneath your cursor.
You press it.
The ringing barely lasts and the screen flickers.
Your body goes into overdrive.
Giyuu appears.
Already waiting.
Already looking at you.
Already shirtless.
Glasses on.
Hair loose and damp.
And… his bed isn’t made.
The slightest crack.
“Take that off.” He demands, his voice just as deep as you remember it.
You touch your wrist nervously, unable to form words.
“Don’t be nervous.” He says, adjusting his camera.
Adjusting it downward.
To his lap.
To his hand wrapped around his cock.
You move. But your fingers freeze against the lace strap.
The camera captures every twitch of your hesitation, every shallow breath.
You can see the muscles in his forearm working as he strokes himself, slow, the head of his cock leaking against his palm.
"Now." He says it softer.
His jaw tightens behind his glasses. "Please."
You pull the strap down your shoulder. The fabric drags against your nipples, which are already hard.
He still has this effect on you.
It only gets worse when you see his eyes track your movements. You watch his throat bob as your bra falls away.
You notice his hand speed up when you push your panties down your hips.
"Spread your legs." He's leaning closer to the screen, you can see the tension in him and his pupils blown wide. "Let me see what belongs to me.”
You open your knees hesitantly. The air hits your wet cunt. You hate how your hips tilt automatically toward the camera, toward him, toward the man who has taken your heart.
"Touch yourself." His voice is wrecked already, breath coming faster.
Your hand moves so fast you hardly register it.
You slide two fingers through your slit, gathering the wetness, circling your clit with a pressure that makes your hips buck up.
Giyuu moans, low and punched-out, when you push one finger inside.
"Fuck." He spits out the word, his hips jerking upward into his fist. "I miss that sound. I miss hearing how wet you get for me."
You add another finger, stretching yourself more and fucking into your own hand with a rhythm that matches his strokes.
The sound of it fills your room.
Wet schlicks coming from you and you can hear him too. The slap of his balls against his skin through your speakers.
"God. You’re gonna fucking destroy me.” He whines, his eyes rolling back.
You close your eyes, too blissed out to think straight.
“Look at me." He commands weakly.
When your eyes snap to the screen his gaze is burning, pinned to where your fingers disappear inside yourself.
"Keep— keep looking. Don't you…don’t you— dare look away from me princess.” He barely gets the words out.
You're nodding, whimpering, hips rolling upward as your thumb presses hard against your clit.
He’s so hot.
He’s so consuming.
You missed him so much.
You don’t want to think about the consequences.
You just want to feel loved by him again.
“Giyuu…”You say out his name, your fingers moving faster.
“Say my name again. Say it like I’m there.”
“Giyuu!” You cry out his name, staring into the camera as the pleasure builds.
The pleasure that is building too sharp, too immediate, and too fast. You want to slow down, want to make this last, but you need him so bad.
He knows your body too well.
"Stop." The word snaps out sharp and desperate from him. "Don't cum yet. Hold it."
Your hand freezes. Your whole body screams at you for it, your walls clenching around your fingers.
"Giyuu, I can't—"
"You can." He's stroking himself faster now, precum smearing down his length. "Because…cause—“ He gasps. “I haven't seen you in six days. I nee—need to hear you beg first. I fucked up…I need you to make me suffer for it…I can’t cum yet.” He lets out a broken whimper.
Your thighs are shaking. Your vision blurs at the edges. "Please, I need to…I missed you.”
"I missed you." He leans back, glasses slipping down his nose, his voice dropping lower. "Get your toy. The pink one. It’s glass.“
You whine but you move, reaching toward your nightstand with trembling fingers. You pull out the glass toy.
"Spit on it." He watches every movement, hand slowing, eyes hungry and devastated. "Pretend it's my cock."
You spit on it and suck on it. Tasting the glass, then drag it through your folds until it's slick with your arousal.
The moment the tip presses against your entrance, your eyes roll back.
"Slow." He grits out, his hand tightening around his cock. "Work it in slow. I want to watch your face when it stretches you."
You push. The stretch is perfect and overwhelming, your sensitive pussy fluttering around it inch by inch.
A sob tears out of your throat when it's finally seated deep. The curve pressing against that spot inside you that makes your toes curl.
"Move it." He says with a sharp breath, his hips jerking up into his fist. "Fuck yourself like I would."
You pull it out and push it back in, slow at first. Then faster.
You can almost feel the way he filled you full of his cum and then continued, again and again.
The thought only pushes you further and you set a brutal pace, your mouth falling open on endless moans.
"Look at you." Giyuu's voice is thin, reverent, and somehow miserable. "Look at what I threw away. The way you take it. The way you need it.” His voice cracks. “I've…I’ve been jerking off to your old videos every night and— and it's nothing compared to this.” He moans softly, his head tilting back and then snapping forward. “Nothing compared to seeing you in—in real-time, watching you fuck yourself because…cause I told you to."
You're so close now, your cheeks flushing, your body shuddering, your pussy dripping for him.
“I’m— I’m gonna—“
"I miss your voice." He cuts in, stroking faster, eyes glued to where the toy disappears inside you. "I miss how you sound when you first wake up. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He mumbles, his voice getting rough and breathless. “I— I miss how you laugh at stupid shit. I miss the way you look when you're concentrating. I miss your…shit…your hands. I miss the way you smell. I miss—fuck—I miss being inside you.“
You don’t know if you should stop.
If you should cry.
If you should confess how much you’ve missed him too.
If you should release.
Your orgasm is building anyway, unstoppable, a wave threatening to knock you down. You’re a whimpering mess, you don’t even notice the tears that have started to stream down your cheeks.
"Don't." He hisses, sitting up straighter. "Hold it. Do it for me."
"I can't—“ You're sobbing now, body trembling uncontrollably. "Please, Giyuu—“
"Hold it." He's begging too. “Just a little longer. Let me see you suffer for me. Let me see what I did to you."
Your free hand, even through a cast, claws at the sheets. Your hips roll, trying to stop, trying to hold back the tidal wave.
But your body betrays you, walls clenching, pleasure taking over.
"Cum for me." He commands through a moan. "Break for me princess."
You explode.
Your back arches off the bed, body tingling, your mouth open on a scream that tears your throat raw. The sensation rips through you endlessly, your cunt clamps down on the toy so hard your thighs cramp. You can feel yourself gushing around the glass, can hear the wet sounds amplify as your body squirms.
Before you can recover…
Before you can even catch your breath…
his voice cuts through the haze:
"Don't stop."
You shake your head, oversensitive. "I can't—it's too much!”
"Don't. Stop." He's stroking himself faster, his hair falling into his face. "I—I didn't say you could stop. Fuck— fuck yourself through it. Make it hurt."
You pull the toy out and push it back in and the sensation is overwhelming, too much.
You cry out, more tears streaming down your face, your body trying to squirm away from the stimulation but your hand keeps moving.
"Good girl." He grits out, watching you fall apart for him. "You’re so perfect. Taking it. So fucking desperate for me you'd ruin yourself.” He winces, throwing his head back. “I miss that. I miss how desperate you get. How you turn into this—this mess—for me.“
"Baby—“ Your voice is barely human, just a weak mumble.
"I miss your personality." He continues, hand flying over his cock. "I miss how fucking funny you are. How…how you make me feel like I'm worth something. How you look at me like I'm not broken.” Tears fall from his eyes now. “I miss waking up to you. I miss your texts. I miss— miss knowing you're there. I miss—fuck—I miss everything. Miss you so fuuuucking much.” He gasps, shaking his head.
You're close again, or maybe you never stopped being close.
A cycle of pleasure bleeding into pain bleeding into pleasure until you can't tell the difference.
Your body is jerking uncontrollably, the toy still pumping in and out, your clit throbbing.
"Stop." His voice comes again suddenly.
Your hand stops, sore, the toy still buried deep.
"Take it out." He's about to cum, you can tell, his stomach muscles contracting, his thighs shaking. "Show me. Show me how empty you are."
You pull it out with a wet sound that makes you both moan in sync. Your cunt clenches around nothing.
"Touch your clit." His voice is barely there, shredded. "Lightly. I want to see you squirt for me."
You do it.
One feather-light touch and your whole body goes rigid, your mouth open on silent sounds.
"Faster." He chokes out, stroking himself brutally fast now, his cock glistening with his own arousal.
"Please—“ You're begging, sobbing, your finger circling your oversensitive clit, your body trying to curl in on itself. "Giyuu, I want you, I need you inside me—“
"I know." He's crying more, tears falling down his jaw. "I know y/n. I need you too. I've been dying without you. I—I— I just jerk off and cry. I need you so bad it feels like I'm dying."
You nod frantically, more tears spilling from your eyes, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” You babble and whisper.
He cums.
It hits him hard, his spine snapping straight, head dropping back, a guttural shout that turns into you ‘’I love you,’ leaving his lips, over and over.
You watch intensely as streams of white paint his chest, his stomach, his hand, endless pulses that make his whole body shake.
But he doesn't stop stroking.
Not for a second.
Like he couldn’t stop if he tried.
"Again. More." He gasps, still hard, still crying. "Get the toy. Put it back in. I'm not done. I'm not fucking done." His shaking his head, his voice faltering as sobs take over.
"Giyuu…”You're shaking your head with him, every nerve ending in your body screaming. "Let’s just talk. We can talk. I can't—“
"You can." He leans forward, his glasses reflecting your ruined face back at you. "Because I'm going to keep going until you forgive me. Until you let me come back. Until you believe that I'm yours. Until you hate me. Until you’re disgusted with me. Until you love me. Completely. Desperately. Always."
He strokes himself slowly, still watching you with those blown-pupil eyes.
But he’s not making any sense.
He’s contradicting himself.
He’s not thinking straight.
"Fuck yourself." He whispers. "Make yourself cum again. And again. Until I'm done proving how much I need you."
Your hand moves.
You hate yourself for if.
But you love him.
You fuck yourself until you can't see, can't breathe, can't think.
And he watches.
He watches every second, cumming twice more, three times, until he's dry.
He still begs everytime.
"Don't stop."
"Don't ever stop.”
“I need this. I need you. Please. Please."
“I love you.”
You give him everything.
Until you're both broken.
Until you're both whole.
