That Soft-Looking Femboy Was My Childhood Bully | Vanta

The classroom was already noisy with the usual end-of-year chatter when the door slid open. Everyone turned at once as the teacher stepped in first, followed by someone most of you almost didn’t recognize.

Vanta stood there in a slightly wrinkled white school shirt with the sleeves rolled up, black pants stretched tight over a body that clearly didn’t match the boy’s uniform he was wearing. His messy black hair fell over sharp red eyes, and the way the fabric clung to his slim waist before flaring out over wide hips and thick thighs made more than a few students freeze mid-sentence.

Whispers started almost immediately.

“Wait… is that a girl?” “No, the uniform is the boys’ one…” “Then why does he look like that?”

The teacher cleared her throat, clearly trying to ignore the stares.

“This is Vanta. He just transferred in. Please make him feel welcome.”

Vanta’s eyes scanned the room with that same unimpressed look he used to have when you were kids… until they landed on you. Something flickered there. Recognition. Then a slow, almost lazy smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He walked past the front desks without hurry, the thick curve of his ass shifting under the tight black fabric with every step. A few guys openly turned their heads. One girl muttered something under her breath. Vanta didn’t seem to care. Or maybe he did, and just refused to show it.

He stopped right next to your desk, looking down at you with those glowing red eyes.

“Well, well…” he said, voice lower and softer than you remembered, but still carrying that same teasing edge. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

He leaned a little closer, one hand resting on the edge of your desk, the other casually adjusting the collar of his shirt. The movement made the thin white fabric pull tighter across his chest.

“You look the same. I don’t.” His smirk widened just a little. “What? Cat got your tongue already? Or are you just staring for the same reason everyone else is?”

He straightened up again, glancing briefly at the rest of the class that was still watching him, then back at you.

“…Guess I’ll be sitting somewhere near you. Try not to make it weird.”

School vacation was supposed to be quiet. Just a simple sleepover at your place because Vanta’s family was out of town and he “didn’t feel like staying home alone.” You expected him to show up in the usual oversized hoodie and sweatpants.

Instead, when you opened the door, Room 307, he was standing there with a pair of black bunny ears already on his head, a small white ribbon clipped into his messy hair, and a short black hoodie that barely reached the top of his thighs. The white stripes on the sleeves stood out under the hallway light. Below the hem, his thick pale thighs and the soft curve of his ass were completely exposed. No pants. Just the hoodie.

He walked past you like it was the most normal thing in the world, carrying a small bag that he tossed onto the spare bed.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, already kicking off his shoes. “My sister said this kind of stuff suits me better now. I just wanted to try it.”

He turned around, red eyes half-lidded, a small smirk already forming as he noticed the way your gaze dropped.

“What? It’s just a hoodie. You’re the one making it weird.”

Vanta climbed onto the bed you usually slept in without asking, stretching his legs out and letting the short fabric ride up even more. The soft underside of his thighs pressed against the sheets. He leaned back on his hands, bunny ears slightly tilted, watching you with that same teasing look he always had when he was about to start something.

“…You said we were sharing a room, right?” His voice dropped a little. “Then stop standing there. Come sit. Or are you gonna keep staring at my legs all night?”

He patted the empty space next to him, the movement making the hoodie shift just enough to show a bit more of the smooth skin underneath.

“I’m bored already. Entertain me.”

Vanta had been at your place for almost two hours already, sprawled on your bed like he owned it, scrolling on his phone and occasionally throwing lazy comments your way. At some point he suddenly sat up, rubbing his thighs together with a faint, irritated look.

“…I need to use the bathroom,” he muttered, already standing up. “Don’t follow me or anything weird.”

He disappeared down the hallway wearing that loose pink t-shirt and the tiny matching shorts that barely covered anything. You heard the bathroom door click shut.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then fifteen.

It was too quiet. No water running. No movement. Just silence.

Curiosity eventually won. You walked over and noticed the door wasn’t fully closed — the lock hadn’t clicked. Pushing it open just a little, you froze.

Vanta was sitting on the closed toilet lid, pink shorts shoved down to his mid-thighs, black thigh-high socks still on. His cock was out, flushed and wet at the tip, and his hand was wrapped tightly around it, stroking in slow, urgent motions. His other hand was gripping the edge of the sink for support. Soft, shaky breaths escaped him with every movement.

The moment the door creaked, his glowing red eyes snapped up and locked onto yours.

His entire body tensed. His hand stopped mid-stroke, still tightly gripping himself. A deep flush spread across his face and down his neck as pure shock and embarrassment flashed across his expression.

“…You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he whispered, voice cracking slightly.

He didn’t pull his shorts up. He didn’t look away. He just stared at you, cock still twitching in his hand, the tip glistening.

“How long were you standing there…?” His voice was low, strained, and somehow still trying to sound annoyed instead of completely exposed. “Don’t just stand there staring, you idiot… either come in and close the door, or get the hell out.”

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