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osamucide · 1 month ago

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BITCHBOY ⊹

ALL I WANT IN THIS WHOLE WIDE WORLD IS TO BE YOUR BITCHBOY . . . ft. Osamu Dazai

wc: ~6.8k

cw: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. icky pervy stoner roommate!Dazai <333 also pathetic wet cat mess of a man Dazai, afab+gn!reader, established roommate relationship, no established romantic relationship, implied bi!Dazai if you squint, referenced whore!Dazai, weed smoking+intox/noncon (reader says "stop" once and he does not stop), dubcon (becomes 'consenual' but Dazai's coercive+they're high), noncon elements can be interpreted (esp at the end) to be roleplay with prior consent! dirty talk, shotgunning, fingering, squirting, kissing, penetration, creampie, insulting nicknames (Dazai receiving), biting, this is depraved and I will answer for it on judgement day

reid: he’s all i think about.

tags: @kalsplace

You’re grumbling under your breath when you’re about to cross the threshold to your apartment because, as if the rest of your day hadn’t been annoying enough, your stupid key decides to give you extra trouble—as of late, it’s not working unless you jam it in the lock at a very specific angle and jiggle violently until just before you’re sure the knob will fall off, all whilst cursing your landlord’s neglect of the crummy old building like some enchantment or spell that ties the whole rage-inducing, access-granting ritual together.

Couldn’t your good-for-nothing roommate hear you struggling with it?

“Hey, sorry,” he chirps too brightly for the evening hour, floating out of his room as you shut the door behind you with a sigh—ever the mind reader. You forego your eye-roll this time; you’re convinced that one of these days they’ll get stuck in your skull what with how much you do it. You hear Dazai sauntering toward you as you’re shrugging your jacket off, hanging it up, tossing your bag on the table. “Was busy.”

You’re ready to turn and scowl at him, but when you face him, he’s waggling the little pipe in your face—the green one with blue flecks in the glass, undoubtedly what he was busy with while you broke into your own home—and you won’t admit that you already feel your irritation start to melt away when it slides from his fingertips to yours. You clutch it, latch onto the mouthpiece, and watch as the brunette flicks the flame out and lights you up.

You exhale gratefully, take one more pull, and hand the glowing bowl back for him to catch the remainder of before he lights it again. “Thank you," you croak before short cough leaves you. “Was real close to bitching you out for not leaving the door unlocked.”

Dazai blows his smoke directly back in your face with a small grin. “Redeemed by my weed once again.”

You chuckle and wave it away, making a point of sliding by him and toward your room to change. You need to unwind a second before dealing with him for the rest of the night. “‘S’all that ever redeems you. Crack a window, will ya?”

It’s really not a bad arrangement to have a live-in pot dealer—that’s basically what Dazai is and has been as long as you’ve roomed with him. Sure, he's also a pain in your ass; the man can hardly cook, you had to show him how to use the washing machine in the common area when you first moved in, and only a bit ago, after almost half a year of sharing a living space, have you convinced him to keep his mess of discarded socks and food packaging contained within his bedroom. It took a lot of harsh reprimanding about how you're not his parent and he's not your teenage son for you to realize it'd be a little of his own medicine to get him to start taking you seriously. Leaving your empty takeout box on the coffee table right where he liked to eat his, tossing your sweatshirt over his spot on the couch and refusing to move it for days—he took the message, albeit smugly, after that, and hasn't given you trouble since.

Even despite being a pain in the ass, though, especially now that he at least cleans up after himself, you have to admit you don't hate his presence in your home and in your life. You chalk it up to how infuriatingly charming he can be—you know he's a detective, and he's certainly got talents for sniffing out your emotions, solving your day-to-day problems, and smooth-talking, but all of that falls under being nosy and weird when he tries to guilt you into praising him for it. If he was any less annoying, you'd maybe even admit to yourself that he's kind of attractive; only physically, of course, which you've known since the day you met him, but any other way he might be—retaining a heavy air of mystery in spite of how bubbly he is, occasionally inviting you out drinking (mostly so you can drag him home once he overdoes it), smoking you up without asking for money—is just so overshadowed by what a fucking weirdo he is. You can’t separate it.

He certainly keeps you on your toes.

That’s really the worst thing about him. You know you’ll exit your room to grab your leftovers from the fridge and he’ll be pestering you to watch some movie with him—probably one of his cringy rom-coms (the fact that he watches and unironically enjoys them serving only marginally to make him a little more of an interesting character) during which he'll sling his feet across your lap or curl up into you so he can pinch your side once or twice just for your reaction, leaving you red in the face and mildly irritated while he giggles condescendingly at you. But as you always do, you think as you sigh and lift the hem of your sweater to curl it over and off, you’ll concede.

Your head’s caught in your sleep shirt when you hear your door creak open.

“Um, privacy?” you half-yelp—something you’re still figuring your way around with him. You jump out of line of the door as you poke your head through the neckline to shoot him that glare you saved from moments earlier.

Dazai just snickers, eyes wide and innocent. You're naked from the waist down. “Could’ve locked it.”

“As if that would stop you,” you snap back, stretching the hem over your thighs and ass as you skitter awkwardly back over to the edge of your bed where a pair of comfy shorts lay. “Get out!”

“Will you hurry up and put your pants on? I got My Big Fat Greek Wedding locked and loaded.”

“Yes, yes, just get out.”

He’s still snickering when he disappears behind the door. He doesn’t shut it all the way, and you mutter freak beneath your breath, secretly hoping he hears you.

You tug your shorts on and meander back out as the intro rolls, set on your leftover homemade tonkatsu; as you settle cross-legged with your plate on the couch, Dazai reaches over and plucks a piece of cabbage off it.

You side eye him as you chew. He’s already occupying himself with packing another bowl—he must've finished the first one himself. You'd half-expect him to reach for one of the prerolls he keeps in the coffee table drawer so as not to have to go to the trouble again, but he does.

“You eat yet?” you ask carefully.

He shakes his head as he uses the butt of the lighter to press it down. Of course not. Even weed doesn’t make him eat. You’ve expressed concern over his eating habits before, but he always dismisses you with a hum and that smug smile.

You make a point of tearing the remainder of your cutlet in half with your utensils. When he reaches out to pass you the pipe, you reach back, chopsticks pinching a hefty piece of pork.

Dazai raises his eyebrows at you.

You raise yours in reply, as if to say, take it, or I’m not smoking anymore with you.

So he does, reluctance veiled thinly by amusement. You know him well enough by now; or, you think you do, at least. As he chews, he balances the chopsticks back on your plate and turns to you with the lighter, curling his own legs beneath himself.

Only satisfied when he swallows, you set your plate aside, face him, and press the pipe to your lips again, looking to him. To his pretty brown eyes that search you owlishly, that you swear sparkle with a little more vigor after even the smallest bit of sustenance enters his system. Maybe you should just leave him to starve, but then where would you get your weed? You’re an idiot, you’d say if you weren’t waiting on his flame.

But before he can light it for you, he pulls the lighter away, and you chase it with a soft hey—he’s grinning at you again, like a devil, like always.

“You always do that, you know?” he asks.

“Do what?” you mumble impatiently against the piece.

He gives in and dips the flame down into the bowl; you inhale deep, flower crackling softly as you do, and he only answers when the smoke’s halfway down your throat.

“Look up at me all cute like that every time I light it for you.” Those brown eyes bore into yours and you become aware all too quick of the fact that you do—you do indeed peer up at him through your lashes; your eyes water as smoke burns your throat and you blink away, trying not to cough out your hit at how he’s gazing at you, but he doesn’t stop there.

He would never stop there.

“Makes me think bad things.”

So you cough out your hit anyway.

“Oh, yeah?” you ask, choked, face red from more than just the sting of the weed. You busy yourself with pulling another hit while it’s still lit.

“Mhm,” he agrees. “Lots of ‘em.”

Your head swims now—you’ve built up a decent tolerance from living with him, but forgetting to breathe at his words and zeroing the huge puff you take next surely doesn’t help. You cough again, and nothing leaves your lungs this time as you debate whether to take his challenge.

Another thing you’ve learned about Dazai—he loves to fluster people. If living with him wasn't enough proof, you’ve seen him do it millions of times to pretty bartenders, or on the off-chance his partner from work joins you drinking; off-chance, truly, because Kunikida already has to put up with Dazai all day at the office, and anything more than what’s required of him might be better off called torture rather than fun. And beyond loving it, Dazai demonstrates it like a long-honed skill—the exploitation of people’s humiliation, the monopolization on people’s most sensitive spots. He had previous work in it, he’s said, but you can’t imagine what job could possibly entail all that. You think he just doesn’t know when to shut his mouth—no, he’s smart enough to know when to; he just doesn’t like to. He’s what most people would refer to as an asshole.

And yet, you find yourself torn between feeling disgusted and entertained by him all the same. Although you often find yourself the victim of his little mind games, you’re not above jabbing back at him. What does that make you, you wonder? The question briefly crosses your mind, but you shake it off as, in your buzz, you swat away the bait; decidedly, you’d rather watch My Big Fat Greek Wedding in peace, finish your tonkatsu, and then go to bed tonight.

“You’re gross.” The scoff you let out sounds more like a chuckle.

Dazai tilts his head, flicking the lighter for you again; he sparks the bowl as he watches you, as if in exceptional contemplation, and you make a point not to do it again—you inhale and gaze straight down at the flame.

“You don’t wanna hear what it makes me think about?” he asks cutely, unwilling to let you get away just yet.

You ignore the slight flush undoubtedly on your own face as you slip the bowl back to him; doubly so, you try not to watch the way his lips wrap around the mouthpiece.

But right now, you can’t seem to help that your bleary-eyed attention is on him. Just as he exhales, you remember you haven’t replied.

You’re not quick enough. He doesn’t take your silence as an invitation; it’s an opportunity. You see it in his smirk, just a second too late.

“Makes me think about how pretty you’d be looking up at me like that from your knees.”

He’s good at his games—he invents them, after all. But you’d be damned if he thought you wouldn’t shut him down when you weren’t in the mood.

“Yeah, no, don’t particularly wanna hear about it, thanks.”

This might be a new low, even for him, you think. Who the fuck just says shit like that?

When you think about it a second longer, though, he really hasn’t brought anyone home to fuck obnoxiously (a boundary you were quick to set with him) in at least a couple weeks, so maybe he’s just pent up. Either way, his comment makes you wrinkle your nose, furrow your brow—hopefully negating the pink inevitably tinting your cheeks. Fucking weirdo.

“N’ now you’re blushing all cute, too,” he observes; you scoff again, more pointedly this time. “Thinkin’ about it?”

As if, you want to say, but the words get stuck against the roof of your dry mouth, so you conjure up some of your spit, swallow it down, and hope he doesn’t notice—but it’s Dazai; he will—that your high's settling onto your shoulders swiftly. He’s pointing the bowl back at you, and as you grab it robotically, you’re still trying to speak—a sure sign you should both shut up and keep your places on opposite ends of the couch and watch the movie and finish the tonkatsu, but instead you just balk. No matter what you do, you play right into his hands—that’s how it happens all too often, and you certainly won’t learn now or anytime when his weed’s coursing up to your brain and back down to your thumping heart. Dazai lights your next hit for you, laughing like it’s all some big joke, and maybe it is—maybe you’ll blow your smoke in his face this time and pick up your tonkatsu and shut up and just watch the damn movie.

As if you’d ever be so lucky with his antics.

You’re shaking your head in near-awe when you pass it back to him once more.

“I mean, we basically kiss through this thing all the time,” he says like it’s relevant, waving the pipe about. “I don’t think it’d be so weird if we fucked. Or if you sucked me off, at least.”

“It—it would totally be weird, Osamu,” and when you speak his name so lightly, blinking at trying to muster up your own laughter as a defense mechanism, his sight flickers up to yours. “That doesn’t even—I’m not sucking your dick.”

“Shame,” he purrs. “‘Cause I know how pretty you’d look. Your lips all wet and pouted against my t—”

“Oh, my god, shut up.” Now you laugh, out of pure disbelief at how far he’s taking it. He pokes at the tail end of what’s left in the bowl and chuckles, too, seemingly ready to let it go now that he has you laughing. "You're horrible."

The more you let him talk about it, the more you entertain him, maybe you can let it peter out.

“What about me? Do I look pretty when I do it?” he asks, batting his lashes as he pulls another hit off the pipe.

“Sure, yeah, whatever,” you let your laughter idle as he doesn't tear his gaze away from you. He looks pretty. Whatever. You cross your arms as you feel the familiar tingle of your high behind your eyes.

“Would I look pretty on my knees?” he prods.

You could slap him—if nothing else, just to make his face burn half as much as you know yours is. When he sets the bowl and lighter aside and goes back to observing you, eyes low-lidded and red, chin rested on his hands, propped up by his elbows on his crossed legs, you have half a mind to shrink away from him—but you keep cool, even if the way you're at eye level with his searing stare feels a little too intimate.

You mirror his position. “Hmm, I don't know.” You steal his thoughtful tilt, too, and tack on, “Maybe if you were begging like a little bitch.”

You're prepared for him to laugh tauntingly again and then let this die where it stands because he got a reaction out of you, right? That’s always what he’s looking for, so it’s about time he goes back to his corner of the couch where you'll bully him into a few more bites of tonkatsu.

But he stays locked onto you, quietly.

And then he's shifting forward off the couch and down to the ground.

“Osamu—”

“Uh-uh,” he chides you softly, crawling to situate himself directly in front of your figure. Looking up at you all cute. “I’m gonna be the one begging, remember?”

Your disbelief swirls with refusal as he paws at the hem of your shorts as if to say, turn, please, and fuck—what can you do other than turn red as a rose as he grabs your ankles, unfurls your legs, and props his chin on the cushion between your thighs? You feel alarmingly higher, blearier when his fingers creep up beneath the fabric, slowly, looking at you as if for reassurance.

“We're not—you can quit fooling around, seriously.” You want to laugh again but it comes out deadpan, strict; you feel heavier with each landing of his fingertips against your skin, and he just keeps looking up at you. Cute. Pretty. Taking it too far.

“I want to,” he mumbles, retracting his hands only for them to find your hips, your waistband. “Come on. ‘Wanted you so bad for so long. I know you want me, too,” he speaks your name slyly, quietly, and it prompts your breath to quicken a little; he traces circles into your hipbones with his thumbs, toys with the elastic at your waist, snapping it softly, and you squirm. “Please?”

For so long? you think. How long?

“I—I'm not high enough for this, Osamu,” you try to joke, but he just twists around to the coffee table drawer for one of those prerolls and his lighter.

“I can get you higher,” he offers—tone still much too innocent, motives still haphazardly veiled by what a big jokester he is, and he sticks the joint between his lips and lights it.

Before you can coherently protest, he rises, supporting himself on your thigh with one hand and removing the joint from his mouth full of smoke; when he leans into you, you catch his wrist to keep him from ashing on the back of the couch, grab his face in a half-attempt to stop him in his tracks—but ultimately, when his mouth meets yours, you open for him.

The plume of smoke he shotguns into your mouth is thick; you breathe it in. His palm like a brand against your thigh.

And he doesn’t stop.

“Osamu,” you whine against his lips, still mushing his face away and hating how your dry throat roughens your voice. He just kisses you, kisses you, and your fingers find the pulse point in his wrist—he’s a decent kisser, you think, at the very least. You have half a mind to let your fingers slide to the mess of brown hair beyond the apples of his sharp cheekbones, and—

You backtrack in your mind. You’re actually probably too high for this.

You have to detest the way it feels so heavenly when he squeezes the fat of your thigh, dodges your lips, and works steadily in a line from the corner of your mouth to your jaw, all tongue and teeth in his pursuit. You have to detest it. Fucking weirdo, you repeat in your mind. The joint burns between his fingers. You snatch it from his grasp and pull your head back, raising your feet to kick him weakly in the abdomen, and he relents—your toes feel asleep when they hit the carpet again, and you hoard the joint between your fuzzy fingers when he reaches for it back.

“Osamu,” you say again, stern, eyes wide. The weed. You're high. You're both high, and this is weird. He’s just your weirdo roommate and you got home wanting to end your stressful day without complicating anything else in your life today.

So why, when he looks at you like you’re a caged animal that’s just as afraid of him and he is of you and works the joint from your fingers to take another drag, do you let him cup your face and exhale more smoke down your throat?

Why do you chase his lips when he blissfully, needily, sinks to his knees once again and starts to traverse beneath your shorts?

With the right focus of mind, like staring at your hand when you’re spinning and convincing yourself that the world around you is actually moving and you’re staying still, you can almost pretend he’s a stranger—some sexy, enchanting stranger that you met on the train home after your shit day, meant to relate to you with docile nods and hums as you air your grievances about work or school or whatever, meant to kiss it off you like it’s just a little bit of dirt.

Getting out of your shorts is like getting out of second skin. You're taking another hit, unwise or not, because it's back in your hand and you don't know what else to do; you watch him in your haze with a mix of anticipation and distrust, but right now, anticipation is winning by a small margin. You’re high, you tell yourself—twitching already, in that way that has nothing to do with desire but rather just means you've smoked a little too much too quickly, and the idea that Dazai might still fake you out and send you to bed feeling half-hot and bothered, half-violated, with no pants on and a near-empty stomach bobs around in your inhibited brain—again, you expect him to laugh, say you’re fried, clap you on the shoulder and tell you it's a joke but he doesn’t, he cranes for a hit from the joint and you hold it to his lips shakily and he touches you on the exhale, the pads of two of his fingers nestling carefully between your folds over your underwear and when he brushes your clit it’s—

Fuck, it’s electric.

“Osamu, stop,” you say, hoarse and abrupt, grabbing his wrist. "I'm—"

“What?” he asks, teasing lilt to his tone. Beneath your hand his thumb comes up to replace his fingers, to loop circles around you, and you're shuddering, back bowing, and he's grinning at you wickedly.

“I—I'm high,” you admit, voice feeling thick, soupy as it leaves your throat.

“So? Me too.” He blinks at you, slow like a cat, in a way that you're pretty sure he's still mocking the way you apparently always flutter your gaze at him when he lights you up. “‘S the best way to do it.”

“Yeah, but—”

He doesn't interrupt you with but what?

And yet, you still don't finish your sentence.

You glance down to where he’s rubbing you gently, where you hold him at bay—where you could yank his arm and twist it uncomfortably if you really did want him to stop but the longer he circles over the fabric that’s growing increasingly, alarmingly wetter, the more you melt away from yourself and you think, fuck, he really is gorgeous as he’s resting his cheek against the inside of your thigh.

“Scoot forward f’me, please?” he almost whines; his voice changes, stricter when he says, “And stop letting that burn. Smoke it.”

And you comply, shuffling your hips forward and placing the filter between your teeth.

Dazai looks up at you. All cute. Heavy-lidded, red-eyed. Hungry.

And you look back, apprehension sparking but then fading with each drove of smoke you inhale. Heavy-lidded, red-eyed. All cute.

“Let me taste you, please,” he almost whispers. You almost find yourself a little endeared by his pointed pleases.

“This is fucking absurd,” you croak, but your resolve is leaving you. He’s a little blurry. “You’re such a sicko.”

His smile widens against the word. Sicko. Almost like he’s pleased to hear it leave your mouth. “Surprised it took you this long to figure out, baby.”

His touch is impatient and restless and crawling as your underwear goes, too—and you don’t appreciate how good it felt when his thumb was on your clit until it’s back again and you’re slipping the joint out of your mouth to let you jaw fall slack; you tangle a hand up in that messy hair that is much softer than you could’ve imagined and all but yank him back toward your cunt.

“Please,” you echo him, finally. “It felt so good—do it again.”

“That’s it, baby,” he encourages you in your whimpering, fingers prodding at your hole and tongue landing a feather-light lick to your wetness. “I know you want it.”

The sounds are lewd. Disgusting, really—fitting for how he’s acting. Dazai swirls his tongue in circles around your clit as he works his middle and ring fingers into you; cracked gasps leave you at the intrusion, and you can’t keep your eyes open when he curls them upward ever so slightly as he makes out with your clit. If you were sober you’d, of course, be embarrassed at how you’re already gushing for him, but all your mushy brain can think about right now is the sparks bolting to your otherwise-numb fingers and toes with each suction of his pretty pink lips against you—isn’t this wrong? Shouldn’t you feel weird? Yeah, probably—but you’re forgetting why, and you’re forgetting to care.

He hums against you and it sends a shockwave throughout your already-vibrating body; the moan you release into the air is like song, even to yourself. Is he really good at this, you wonder, or is it the weed?

Oh right, the weed. The weed, the weed, the weed.

You pull his mouth off you, almost dropping the joint that’s not much of a joint anymore—only the filter remains.

“I don’t think this is—”

Fuck, you keep going back and forth. You keep breaching the surface just for him to tug you beneath the water again and convince you the drowning feels nice. And it does, for a few seconds—until it starts burning your lungs to a crisp again, at which point you tear away from him kick up, and in the moments you spend sucking in air you don’t get how he stays beneath for so long, like it’s nothing, how he doesn’t stop—he doesn’t stop, his fingers still curling inside of you, and you’re going under again to the sound of his voice.

You feel suffocated. More delirious by the second. It’s nice.

“You already told me it feels good,” he mumbles against you, lapping at you, and you’re letting up on his hair, letting him become a weight again where you should float.

And the lack of oxygen must be getting to your brain because, even though you still don’t think you want to drown, you cease your kicking. For the last time.

“Osamu,” you cry. It sounds like a moan. It might be.

“I know, I’m such a sicko.” There’s no remorse in his words; there can’t be, not when he’s still curling up into your g-spot in just the way that makes you croon his name again—undoubtedly a moan this time—but when he comes into focus again, he looks so apologetic. “You can say it again, baby. It’s okay.”

“S—sicko,” you mutter disapprovingly, but rolling your hips all the same.

He smiles. Soft, kind, apologetic.

You’re scared to move. You know if you do, you’ll both be able to see the wet stain collecting beneath you on the cushion. You feel it.

So you barrage him with more.

“You—you’re a fucking pervert. You’re disgusting.” You feel wetness on your face, too. You deduce that it’s from how perfect his fingers feel inside you, goading that warm slick out of you and into his palm, onto the couch; regardless, you don't stop berating him, your tone harshly contrasting your wriggling hips. “You disgust me.”

“I think you like it.” He presses up, hard, and you gush, gasping. A short, clear spurt narrowly misses his face; he leans back down to lick it off, off the cushion, off your thighs, off your crying cunt. “I think you like how nasty I am.”

“Disgusting,” you whisper. “Disgusting. You're disgusting.” It’s a little chant you hold onto as he rises again to kiss you, messily—a means to replace his lips with his wet fingers, shoving them past your lips and against your tongue where you lap at them instinctually, like you’ve been waiting for it. It’s so wrong to be tasting yourself on his fingers, but your eyes roll back anyway, just to lurch forward as his hand retracts and you find him grinning once more as he slips his sweatpants and boxers down in one swipe. “You’re disgusting.”

“You’re disgusting,” Dazai mocks, giggling. “You just tasted how fucking wet you are.”

“Osamu,” you whine as he kicks his garments aside; you begin to draw your feet up, your knees to your chin, but his hands, stronger than you anticipate, pry you open and flip you to your back and he grins, biting into his bottom lip all the while. Why, you wonder, when the dim living room light glints off his teeth as he situates himself between your legs and leans down to cage you in between his arms, do your hips hitch toward his? Why are you so adamant to deny him?

“You gonna say it again? C’mon, I love hearing my name,” he breathes, ducking down to lick across your jawline. “But I love when you call me those words. Say it again. Tell me how nasty I am.”

“You’re the worst,” you groan, but it sounds comical, even to your own ears, because you’re scratching at his shoulders in a way that draws him closer to you rather than further away.

“More, baby,” Dazai hums into your neck, reaching down to swirl his tip against your wetness. When you feel him, you jump.

It feels good. It feels even better than his thumb and you don’t know if you’re still on your way up but you feel higher and higher by the second and the instinct to push him off is slipping further beyond your grasp. When he pulls back to watch your mouth fall open as he rubs himself into you, you almost let the word pretty slip past your lips—he looks so pretty, tongue flicking, eyes dark, and you catch yourself with your lower lip between your teeth, reflecting the desperation he conceals in everything but his words.

Pretty isn’t what he wants right now, though—and suddenly you feel compelled to give him what he wants, if only it means he’ll keep touching you like this.

“S’fucking nasty—degenerate fucking freak—” you eek out; you don’t know much longer you can tiptoe the line between repulsion and sheer need, but you’re tilting further and further with each circle of his dick and you can tell he’s getting off on the way you’re lurching into him now, running toward his touch instead of away from it.

You think you need him to fuck you, now, or you’ll cry.

“Osamu, please,” you continue, sounding on the verge of tears now—where you should’ve been before, when you genuinely wanted him off you, yes. You wanted him off of you before. Didn’t you? There was a time, a mere few minutes ago, when his fingers in your skin and his animalistic gaze were revolting. Right?

“What’re you beggin’ me for?” Dazai asks like he doesn’t know. He knows. He knows what you don’t want to admit to yourself and he’s going to dangle it over your head, he’s going to rub it in your face, he’s going to make you answer through your hazy high that he never should’ve come onto you through to begin with, and you’re going to give him what he wants—you always give him what he wants, even if you don’t mean to, even if you don’t want to, but now you think you want to. You want to, because it feels so good, and he’s slowing down, he’s stopping and when he takes his hand away to swipe his thumb across your chin, pull your lip from between your teeth and work your mouth open with his fingers again, the loss almost hurts. You want it. You want to.

It’s going to hurt even more to say it, but you want it. And before you can even get it out, before the words even hit what little air is between your lips and his, Dazai looks thrilled at what you say next.

“Please, fuck me,” you whisper.

“Well, since you’re asking so nicely—” He reaches back down, but the smugness doesn’t waver; his tip catches on your entrance—emitting a lewd squelch that should make you cringe but instead prompts your lip to fly between your teeth again—and you hook your tingling feet behind his back, legs astride his waist as you're pushing his bangs from his face all in one motion. “I guess I’ll fuck you, pretty baby.”

"Yes," the dreaded word falls from your lips when he finally works his way into you, past that tight ring of muscle, to nestle snugly inside you until the head of his cock kisses your cervix.

The noise you draw from him—something between a sigh and a moan—is heavenly. His nose nuzzles the trail he licked across your jaw before and you find your hands linked behind his neck, urging him down, onto you, into you—and when he recoils his hips to thrust back in again, quick and short, you keen against him, pathetically, in a way your past self—the one from four or five touches ago—would hate you for.

You should hate how gross this is. How gross he is for this.

But you don't, and you're not going to torture yourself with asking why anymore.

The friction inside you doesn't feel comparable to anything; for the first time in a second, you feel grateful for the weed pulsing through you. You let your eyes roll back and flutter shut without consequence.

Dazai moves against you like water. Water you're content to drown in this time; his touch doesn't crawl anymore as much as it seems to soothe and as he picks up his pace, brings a hand to your cheek to wake you back up, pull you back above the surface.

"You sound s'fuckin cute," he sighs; those eyes, predatory before, are now just brown and melty, honey-colored backgrounded with red fog, not so searching as much as they seem attentive, not making you feel so uncomfortably vulnerable as they do softly seen. He thinks you sound cute. You giggle through the unrivaled pleasure, giggling through your own moans which hit your ears and do sound cute—sound especially cute woven through his.

"Y'sound... so," you start, "so fucking—unh, Osamu, don't stop!"

He chuckles now, low and breathy, and you push his hair back from his face again; his eyes roll back when you do it, and you just do it over, over, over, drawing clipped groans out of him, stealing the words from his throat as he steals yours and you tug, you tug on his hair and the moan he lets out, broken between thrusts, is so raw and laced with need that you moan in reply, clenching around him because, fuck, he sounds so cute, too. "Wanted this for so long, baby. Pussy feels s—so much fuckin' better than I could've imagined."

"How long?" you finally poke back—you want to know. You want to know how long he's been holed up in the mess of his room, jerking off to the thought of his cute little roommate finally falling between his fingers—you want to know how bad he's wanted this, and if getting you high out of your mind just to get it was worth it. You focus your voice to ask him. "How long you wanted this, 'Samu?"

"So long—since—" he gasps, fucking into you harder, faster, deeper; you tug his hair again, exposing his neck, and yank him down to sink your teeth into his neck. You need the reprieve as he starts hammering against the deepest parts of you, eliciting wet smack! after smack! from between your writhing bodies. You jostle beneath him as he finds his breath; "Since I fuckin' met you. Always wanted you."

"Yeah?" You mean it to be a teasing little rhetorical question but it comes out more like encouragement amidst the bliss radiating from your cunt throughout your whole body, but you find it in you to continue— "You been—you been thinkin' of me under you like this? Like the sicko you are?"

Unbelievably faster and harder. You choke on a scream; Dazai's grunting above you, and it hits you that those names really do spur him on. You're far from offending him—you're bringing him closer and closer to filling you up with each and every insult and jab you throw his way and if you were any less cockdrunk you'd be hurling even more barbs at him about how that makes him so much worse, so much more gross but it just spurs you on, too, right now—and you realize, when he looks at you with those fucking eyes again how bad you want him, how bad you've wanted him, too, for so long; you couldn't—wouldn't admit it because he's just your weirdo roommate but really, maybe that's what you love about him. You certainly love the way he makes your toes curl when he reaches down to play with your clit again. You cry out against him.

"Osamu, fuck!"

"Say it again," he begs you, pretty brown eyes glassy as they fall shut, as the tip of his nose touches yours. "Say it again, please, baby."

You know what he wants.

"F—fucking pervert," you huff, doing everything you can to hold onto the rope that's uncoiling rapidly inside you, coming further and further undone with each slam of his hips into your ass. "Ah—you're disgusting. Disgusting."

You fall back on your mantra and it has his thumb moving faster, harder, just like his thrusts, just like his voice, even if it sounds unconvincing through the shockwaves of pleasure; you feel it, the unraveling, it's washing up on you so quickly, so much quicker than it should be at the hands of your weirdo roommate.

"Don't stop," he pleads like he's not the one fucking you to orgasm; you see white, you feel as light as air—god, has cumming always felt like this? Shouldn't you hate it? Shouldn't you hate that it might never feel like this again?

You do, you do—you hate weed and you hate sex and you hate your weirdo roommate Osamu Dazai for coaxing the most mind-blowing climax you've ever felt out of you, but you don't hate any of those things, not really; you hate that it's never felt like this before, and that it can again if only you can push your pride down for a few more moments and call him a—

"Freak—gonna—gonna cum in me?" you goad, breathless, lucky for speech as he fucks you through the otherworldly high, as you clamp down on him and screw your eyes shut until you can keep going. "Gonna fill me up like the nasty motherfucker you are?"

"Ngh—yeah, yeah, yeah...!"

Dazai, in all his depraved beauty, fucks his fat load into you mercilessly; you twitch, shake beneath him, driving strained sobs from his chest and talking him through with soft yeahs, want y'r cum, filthy fucking sicko freak, you disgust me. He loves it. He falls apart, and you tug on his hair once more as he slows, as he spills out of you, as he looks at you with so much adoration in his eyes.

"You—" Dazai's breathless, heaving. "You're amazing."

You giggle again, wiggling a bit and trapping him further close to you, fingers in the hair at the base of his neck. Soft. You don't feel any less high; just blissed out. "You're cute."

"Knew you thought so," he sighs, lopsided smile coming back; you don't know where in the pleasure he'd lost it, but its return has you tilting your chin up to kiss him once more. Soft. Gentle, sweet, no tongue; not gross, not hungry, just sweet. Satisfied.

"But you're still weird," you tease against his lips. Sly.

When Dazai pulls back, the hunger in those eyes sparks again.

"Want me to show you how weird I can get?" he threatens.

"I dare you," you taunt back.

And he grins, fully and wickedly, once more; you can count on it. He'll show you, alright.

#i want to first thank italics. id be nowhere without italics #dazai x reader #dazai smut #bsd x reader #bsd smut #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs smut #nnnsfw.ᐟ #mdni #with love—reid

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earlysunshines · 8 months ago

Text

killshot

im nayeon x fem!reader ; smut!!

synopsis: your roommate is aware that you hate her and she likes irritating you but oh no she just now realizes you’re hot and wants you so bad

warnings: kinda porn w no plot ; smut!!! ; mentions of alcohol ; hate fucking(???) ; degradation kinda ; insulting each other as they fuck yesss ; face riding ; comp sci major!reader *shivers and shakes* ; fwb-ish but not really ; nayeon is umm lowk manipulative but only if you squint , maybe? ; not proofread as always

wc: 5.1k

a/n: computer science major slander (i'm jealous) and also i don’t like the pacing but oh well maybe u guys will (i'd be such a great writer if i weren’t lazy af... )

with a groan, you lift yourself off the bed after hearing a loud thud. tiredly, you blindly reach for your phone and check for the time with squinted eyes: 1:04am.

a low “fuck” leaves your lips while you struggle to sit up, still hearing the impact of bodies crashing against the walls and the faint sounds of a woman and man groaning through the bedroom door.

nayeon is home.

this is a bi-weekly occurrence; your roommate nayeon stumbles into the apartment all hot and heavy from the alcohol that was in her system, and then you can hear her getting all intimate—against your will—with some random person she’s found at the various clubs she cycles through. to be completely honest, you don’t care for her midnight rendezvous, just as long as they don’t bother you.

however, this night she’s bothered you greatly; you’re fucking irritated.

just when you had finally sought solace in the arms of sleep after hours of laboring over a project, your few minutes of rest are abruptly shattered by the intrusion of nayeon. —all drunk and insatiable—who’s barging into your room whilst some average guy latches onto her neck. he doesn’t look like he knows what he’s doing, but it doesn’t matter because nayeon’s senses are too fucked to really pay attention to that.

“get the hell out of my room.” you yell angrily towards the two. to say you were annoyed would be an overwhelming understatement, you were furious.

“ah—fuck, sorry y/n,” she responds, voice all airy and light whilst the man’s hand slides down to play with the edge of her dress. “wrong room baby, let’s go.” she says whilst pushing the man off her a bit, much to his dismay.

they both leave the room, still attached to each other with their hands roaming and gripping at anything. to make matters even worse; they didn’t close the door behind them.

“fucking whore.” you scoff, falling back down on your bed and groaning.

im nayeon is an indescribable pain in your ass and unfortunately, she also happens to be your roommate.

for the most part, you generally pride yourself on your composure and tolerance, but living with nayeon has truly put your patience to the test. she's irresponsible and unreliable, which regularly pushes you to your limits. you find yourself frustrated sharing an apartment with someone who’s always falling hort of your expectations. she's falling far from them, really, and it’s almost impressive.

she has a knack for disappearing into the lurking in the apartment while you're away, often entertaining friends and leaving behind a mess in her wake. the audacity she possesses to neglect simple chores like doing the dishes or tidying up after herself borders on infuriating, you’re fighting the urge to bodyslam her into the mattress sometimes. it's as though she expects the cleaning fairy to magically swoop in and restore order while you're left to pick up the pieces of her irresponsibility, maybe she thinks you’re the fucking cleaning fairy.

living with her was hell, you don’t even know how she managed to keep up with her courses and stay sane with how she lived her life. she was a pretentious, sassy little thorn stuck in your skin.

but still, there are two things that keep you tethered to the apartment, even if it's a bit embarrassing to admit on factor. one: the rent is cheaper, and your shared living space is nice. two: nayeon’s fucking hot.

the truth is: nayeon is the epitome of physical allure, the hottest person you've ever laid eyes on. as much as you resent her for her shortcomings, you find yourself unable to ignore the pull of her undeniable visuals, which whispers against the urge to pack your bags and leave.

you despised the stupid allure of her face, the way her figure teased and tempted, and the fact that she held the power to have you on your knees if she poked you in the right ways. it grated on your nerves to know that you weren't the only one drawn to her; half the campus seemed to be either enamored with her, aspiring to be her, or eager to get into her pants. and she wielded her beauty like a weapon, using her "pretty privilege" to her advantage.

the feeling you had towards her was bitter, but the attraction you had made things complicated.

it was easy to mask your little attraction for your pretentious roommate with annoyed comments and irritated glares, but deep inside you wanted her in ways that you could never admit out loud. countless daydreams and very questionable thoughts about her invaded your mind at the worst times possible, espeically when she was near.

your irritation mixed with attraction was mutual. nayeon felt the same way about you; what a match.

at first, nayeon found herself irritated by your stuck-up demeanor and seemingly perfect self. your involvement in various extracurricular activities, dedication to your studies, and honestly majoring in computer science major as a whole contributed to her initial impression of you as someone who had it all together. it was a stark contrast to her own carefree attitude and laid-back approach to everything, which built friction between the two of you.

(nayeon could never do all of that, study for hours and keep her shit together. and god, especially watching you type for two hours straight already made her head swirl. how does someone do that without losing their shit? she wonders if you’re okay)

from nayeon's perspective, you were nothing more than a stuck-up bitch in her shared home, always fussing over cleanliness like a relentless clean freak. it striked a nerve every time you scolded her for leaving behind a couple of dishes or a few stray bottles of alcohol. if it bothered you so much, why not just pick up after yourself instead of constantly complaining?

despite the irritation you stirred within her, nayeon couldn't deny the undeniable truth: you were actually pretty cute for a nerdy, uptight roommate. in fact, she'd even go as far as to admit that you were pretty hot.

nayeon has seen the people in the computer science department, most of them are men who look like they’ve never spoken to a woman or gone outside for more than thirty minutes a day. you on the other hand were quite the sight, someone nayeon would describe as “eye candy.”

and yeah, she kind of overlooked the fact that you were her type after you had yelled at her so much, but then there was this one little moment that changed her mind. maybe she could tolerate you more.

(maybe nayeon had to put looks first in this case.)

some thursday afternoon, while you typically would be found either buried in books at the library or enjoying the afternoon at a café, nayeon found herself in a predicament—she couldn't find one of her favorite t-shirts. with frustration growing, she decided to take matters into her own hands and went into your room to see if it had somehow ended up there, given that you were supposed to be out.

to her surprise, she discovered that you were most definitely home, a fact that caught her completely off guard—especially when you’re home in your room, in the middle of taking your pants off.

she barges into your room to see you with your shirt off and the fly of your pants down, revealing some of the logo of your victoria’s secret underwear. your cheeks flush a dark hue of red when you realize she’s invaded your privacy, and you quickly cover your chest—which, is already covered since you have a bra on, but god is this whole situation embarrassing.

after you literally push her out the door—slamming it shut with embarrassment—nayeon stands outside the door with a newfound interest.

nayeon couldn't fathom that someone who dedicated their sanity to lines of numbers and letters on a screen could look so good. there was something mesmerizing about the subtle groove tracing down your stomach, hinting at the definition of your abs, or the glimpse of your bicep as you hastily covered yourself and scolded her for intruding, maybe even the hint of muscle on your shoulders. whatever it was—all nayeon knew was that the little mishap of you not locking the door and giving her the chance see you like that piqued her interest without doubt.

and after seeing you half naked? the image of you, with your shirt off and the hint of your physique tantalizingly on display? holy shit you had her fantasizing a little (a lot) more than she already had been; she needed some of her fantasies to come true.

your roommate had already been attentive to your quick—and evident—glances on her body and her lips. she also noted the subtle bite of your lips when she swayed by, your eyes barely caught her, but she noticed it all. getting her fantasies to become a reality seemed easy enough—probably—and she was determined to make it all happen.

she knew she already had you starting to wrap around her finger, just by those observations, so it should be easy enough to get you hot and heavy, right?

“oh look who’s finally fucking awake.” you mutter, turning around to see the hungover, marked up woman emerging from the hall.

nayeon rolls her eyes at you like always and simply responds, “oh shut up, don’t be a drag.”

“i’m a drag? i’m not the one barging in at one in the morning the same night my roommate stays up to actually do their school shit. not only that, but that fucking guy—”

“was a terrible kisser,” nayeon cuts you off, pinching the bridge of her nose. “i kicked him out so can you please just—”

“no!” you scoff, surprising nayeon with this burst of anger. you’re much more irritated than usual, which is weird. nayeon suspects that it’s because she’s never accidentally stumbled into your room, and to be fair; this was kind of intentional.

you see, nayeon thought that if she could make you a little jealous, it’d increase the chances of you intervening. just what she wanted.

“i couldn’t fucking sleep and i have a really important assessment today.”

“yeah yeah, move over i need some tea.” nayeon says tiredly. upon hearing her response, you clench your jaw tightly and lean against the marble counter, gripping it with one hand tightly to suppress your annoyance.

your roommate looks at you and a laugh slips out accidentally. after hearing that, there's probably a vein visible on your forehead, maybe your neck—somewhere.

that was your last straw.

angrily, you lift yourself off the counter and swiftly advance towards nayeon, pinning her against the fridge with force. the impact reverberates through her as her back meets the cold surface, while you lean in closer, your eyes narrowing with intensity.

now, this should not be turning nayeon on—she’s going to blame it on her hangover and whatnot, and maybe the fact that whoever that guy was and whatever he did didn’t really satitate her—but it does.

with barely an inch of space separating you, your height advantage allows you to tilt your head down, locking eyes with nayeon with a glare. the tension crackles between you like a firework, it’s thick and palpable, your look shows restrained anger. despite how furious you look, there's an unexpected allure to you, drawing nayeon in even as she senses the little reprimanding you’ll give her.

“don’t give me that fucking attitude nayeon. you’re fucking unbelievable, you’re a fucking slut, you know?”

“yeah?” she says, a smirk tugging at her pretty, plump lips.

you feel your body tense as soon as you start to take in the proximity of the two of you. gulping lightly, you move yourself away just an inch, but nayeon pauses you, pinching your collar.

“oh don’t get so timid now, you were just fuming earlier pretty.” she laughs. “keep going. this is cute, i like this. what did you call me again?”

as nayeon's eyes flicker from yours to your lips and back again, the tension between you is like pushing down on a spring, and it’s about to pop back up any moment. sensing an opportunity, nayeon skillfully navigates her way out of the looming scolding, her allure becoming a potent weapon against your mood. she begins to weave her charm, coaxing a reluctant softening in your expression. despite your initial anger, you find yourself drawn to her, you can’t let yourself slip up, not now, not when she’s the reason you might fail your assessment.

“you’re— you’re so... fucking irritating…” you mumble the last part of your sentence, voice getting smaller. you push yourself away from her and shake your head, trying to conceal your blush. nayeon giggles before going back to making her tea, the tension in the air like an invisible weight pressing down on you, and this whole morning might just completely flatten you down from how distracting it’ll be the whole day.

nayeon’s relieved, at least you’re not scolding her while she dips her chamomile bag in and out her little mug of hot water.

the day is filled with the events of the morning, with you struggling to finish various lines of code because the feeling of nayeon toying with your collar lingers, and nayeon trying to force the thought of you finally snapping in her head.

seems like the two of you are trying to avoid the same thought, despite how badly you two want it.

it's palpable that there’s something in the air that needs to be swatted away, and nayeon knows you’re too much of a coward to really do anything about it, so she’ll figure somethign out.

one thing about im nayeon: she always gets her way, no questions asked, no matter what it takes.

nayeon finds you on the couch typing away later that night, probably doing some homework.

nayeon plops down next to you, intending to tease and push you over the edge. you turn your head after feeling the cushions under you shift, immediately grimacing once you see your roommate.

“what do you want?”

“what, i can’t sit next to my roommate?” nayeon questions, “i’m just going to watch tv, if you don’t like it you can leave.”

“whore.” you mutter under your breath, quiet enough so she doesn’t catch what you say.

your roommate lounges lazily on the couch and rests her head against the armrest. as she reclined, her hair spilled over, framing her face like a halo. nayeon's gaze wandered lazily around the room before settling on the tv, and with a languid movement, she turned to lay fully, bending her legs so they didn't intrude into your personal space.

your jaw tensed, a visceral reaction to the sight before you. the light from the tv in the dimmed room accentuated the allure of nayeon's figure. you couldn't help but steal a glance, your attention momentarily torn away from your screen by the annoyingly captivating vision in your periphery.

casual sweatpants adorned her figure, the looseness of the bottoms from brandy allowing for comfort yet teasingly hinting at the eye-catching curves of her terribly alluring figure beneath. the fit of her tank top—cropped just enough to expose a sliver of her toned midriff—effortlessly made your gaze linger. the fabric clung to her silhouette in all the right places, revealing the subtle contours that sent a subtle jolt through the room and your veins. you completely forgot about pretending to be irritated in that brief trance.

the tank top, snug against her skin, revealed a gentle dip of her collarbone, an enticing invitation that you took note of. the image staying in your head even as your attention returned to your screen. a flush settled on your cheeks as you tried to focus again. the ambiance of the room, however, remained penetrated with the downplayed sensuality that lingered in the air. you huff lowly. she's winning whatever game this is without even trying.

after typing at your laptop for a bit, you hear the faint sound of people talking in the background. you look up from the screen and see some show playing, then turn to see nayeon’s head turned toward the tv.

shaking your head, you redirect your attention back to the assignment in front of you; the task is quite easy, but it’s insanely tedious and for some strange reason nayeon’s presence isn’t helping you.

nayeon shifts on the couch and sits upright against the cushion, you don’t bat an eye. your roommate is sick of you being academic, she’s bored and wants your attention. needs it, maybe.

“when’s that due?”

without turning your head, you respond, “next week.”

“why do it now?”

“why do you care?” your tone is impatient. “and besides, it’s better to get things done earlier.”

“nerd.” nayeon sighs. she scoots over and peers at your screen, putting her hand down beside you to prop herself up and when she leans over, her boob smushes against your arm a little.

you glare at her. “aren’t you usually out? it’s a friday night.”

she shrugs. “didn’t feel like it.” and after she scans the screen one more time, she leans away (to your dismay) and continues on with whatever drama she had been watching.

the thought of her boob being smushed against you lingers, embarassingly it’s almost tattooed in your mind for the next half an hour.

when you finish your assignment, that’s when you let out a big, hefty breath and close your laptop.

nayeon's annoyingly melodic giggle dances in the air as you sink into the plush couch, surrendering to its embrace that eases the pain in your shoulders. after savoring your few seconds of tranquility, your thoughts drift to the comfort awaiting you in your bedroom, your bed, peace and quiet, being enveloped by the blanket.

as you start to stand up, a delicate yet firm grip clings to your forearm, delaying your departure. nayeon's touch, like a sirens call, invites you to linger, gently coaxing you to stay a little longer.

she bats her eyelashes at you. “stay here.”

you brows knit. “why would i stay with you?”

“watching shows alone is boring, and i know your ass isn’t going anywhere tonight.”

you groan in response and decide to give in—you might as well lounge on the couch for a bit—earning a smug smile from your roommate. she unpauses her show and you allow yourself to ease into the cushion, then watch with her (against your will), only to immediately tense up at the scene that unravels before your eyes.

two girls appear on screen, and they’re kissing each other.

they’re close, kissing, and then fifteen seconds pass and boom—they’re eating each other’s mouths sloppily, groaning and everything, tongue and all. you shift in your seat when you feel a weird pulse down at your core.

“y/n,” nayeon starts, “have you ever even kissed someone?”

“of course i have.” you respond, crossing your arms.

nayeon turns her head in surprise and tilts her head. “seriously?”

“yes, is it that surprising?”

“well, you’re always cooped up in the house and whatnot… didn’t think you had any game.”

“i hooked up with someone last month for your information. i'm not a homebody.”

“yeah? sure, you did.” she laughs, shaking her head. you roll your eyes at her.

“fuck you.” you mutter, keeping your eyes on the tv and watching the two girls undress each other. “do you always watch shit like this?”

“why, does it turn you on or something?” nayeon asks, shifting closer to you. a lump forms in your throat.

you shoot a quick glare at her and lie, “no.”

nayeon laughs in amusement after pink dusts your cheeks. “you seem pretty flustered baby.”

what the fuck?

as you meet her gaze, a wave of surprise washes over you, mirroring the hunger that burns in her eyes. nayeon's laughter tumbles from her lips, enchanting and playful, as she places her hand delicately on the couch. leaning towards you, she ignites a spark that makes your heart skip a beat. feeling a sudden urge to be closer, you subtly shift in your seat, captivated by the exhilarating simplicity of the moment and giving into nayeon’s intentions.

“i don’t believe you.” she says.

“what?”

“you’ve never kissed someone, hell, like you could even fuck someone.”

“excuse me?”

she just laughs at the mix of emotions coming from you; your cheeks are dusted pink, but your tone and expression displays that regular irritated look of yours.

then she bites the corner of her lip, finally easing into the reason she even bothered you in the first place. she leans a little closer, lips hovering near your ear lobe, and giggles again.

“how about you prove that you’ve fucked someone, hm?” nayeon suggests, raising her brows. “that you even can.”

your breath trembles slightly, you’re stiff in your place.

“if it’ll shut you up then... fine.”

she clicks her tongue, then pulls away from your ear. now she’s looking at you with a shit eating grin, you want to wipe it off her face.

the air stilled, your breath shook, and nayeon’s hand inches to your forearm. her other hand grabs the collar of your shirt, pulling you in and your lips meet in the middle.

she tastes like cherry, well, her lip gloss does.

your hand finds its way to the back of her neck, pushing her deeper into you so your lips can hungrily slide and suck and gosh, everything, all of the above, both a and c, you name it.

the last thing you had on your mind for the friday night was kissing your roommate aggressively. initially, you were just going to finish the assignment and take a nap or something, but this? it’s much better than what you had planned originally.

nayeon practically takes your breath away after simply kissing you, just the way your lips lock makes you greedy. you groan accidentally, embarassed until you have nayeon groaning into you too, even louder for that matter.

you pull away for a brief moment, voice a little shaky and out of breath. “is this why you bothered me? are you that horny that you wanted me to fuck you?”

“oh shut up, it’s not like you’re against it.” nayeon’s right, you’re not. not in the slightest.

“fuck you” is uttered from your lips before you crash your lips against her again, taking the air from her lungs again.

the kissing quickly escalates and your tongues are in each other’s mouths. you’re both unashamedly moaning and groaning into each other carelessly, it’s funny how quickly everything escalated within seconds, the boundaries between whatever you two had dissolved like sugar in boiling water. you shift yourselves over so that nayeon is under you, both your knees on either side of her legs. you reach over for the remote to pause the two girls who were mirroring the two of you—well, the two of you started going at it after they did so maybe it was the two of you mirroring them.

each subsequent kiss felt as electrifying as the crackle of sparks dancing in a bonfire. the more nayeon deepened the kiss the more it drove you crazy, irrationally enough to continue kissing her and slip your hands under her shirt.

nayeon sighs blissfully as you kiss down her neck, her fingers tangle with your hair while she claws at it aggressively, and still, the pain from her grabbing your hair only turns you on more.

“fuck,” she groans when you suck on her neck, sinking her nails into your tricep.

“slut.” you mutter, smirking against her. “so easy to rile up.”

unashamedly, nayeon begs and begs for you until you’re biting down on her skin, repeatedly uttering your name until you’re leaving marks that’ll have her friends wondering who ruined her this time—and this time, it’s not some person she’s run into at the bar while tipsy.

still, she could get drunk just off of you.

you start to undress her, starting with her top and taking a moment to gaze at her undeniably alluring figure. strands of hair just barely stick to her forehead as she gazes at you breathlessly with eyes full of lust. she moves her slender fingers to work at the edge of your shirt, urging you to take that stupid t-shirt you have on off so she can get a sight of your surprisingly exciting figure. maybe she’ll get a better, longer view of what she had seen that night she walked in on you changing.

“fuck, why have you been hiding this?” she mutters, sliding her hand down your side. “god you fucking bitch.”

“if i didn’t you’d be all over me, you fucking horny mess.” you spit back harshly, but the way you moan when nayeon latches her lips onto your neck completely rids of that fake, irritated tone of yours.

nayeon ends up on top of you in a matter of seconds, thenyou’re groping her ass shamelessly as you two devour each other’s mouths again. hands tug at whatever else covers your bodies until it’s just the two of you skin to skin. everything that had just happened in the span of ten minutes was for sure ten times better than whatever else had been going on in the movie.

you can feel her grinding desperately against your thigh as you kiss her, feeling the moisture from her needy cunt that dampens your once-dry upper leg. you palm her breasts blindly and feel her gasp against you, and then nayeon forgets how to breath when you press your thigh up and against her, adding more stimulus.

she moans frustratedly, the feeling of just your thigh against her throbbing pussy is far from what she needs. so, she’s putting her hand on the middle of your chest and pushing you down to lay flat on your back. she bites her lip blatantly before lifting her hips away from your skin.

you furrow your brows in confusion and begin, “what are you—”

“shut up,” she grunts, shoving one hand in your head and gripping your hair so rough that you whimper. she shifts over so that her pussy is directly above your mouth and orders: “just eat, bitch.”

this is something you can’t argue with her about, and fuck you’re hungry.

there’s a meal waiting for you that you’ve been craving, you can’t just lay there and starve.

eagerly, you lift your head up a bit to meet the aching in between her legs; she’s so wet and you’re definitely teasing her about this later—but who knows how long it will take until it’s later.

she moans louder than ever and it surprises the both of you, it only leaves you wanting more of her, wanting to hear her when she’s at her limit. your nails sink into the flesh of her thigh as you devour ravenously, taking note of what makes her twitch more and what earns lewder noises. what earns noises that turn you on more than ever.

it doesn’t surprise you how shameless she is during sex—clearly, she isn’t ashamed of seducing her roommate—the way she rides your face so desperately gives you enough to know how she is.

nayeon likes when you suck on her clit, she grips your hair tighter with each “pop” sound that’s made after you release the suction. she’s easy to read, her cunt is easy to adjust to.

“fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” nayeon moans, leaning back little while she continues to ride, head tilted back and face almost parallel to the ceiling. “god-- fuck, oh my—shit, keep going,”

you can see her tits from your view, nipples all perked up while you grip onto her thighs tighter, feeling her shake in your grasp.

nayeon's like an alarm clock, ticking and ticking away until the alarm rings, her cry echoing through the room, hand gripping at your hair tighter than ever as her head falls back. you continue to savor her arousal even after she came, earning little whines and whispers of your name.

“oh, y/n, just like that...”

you're doing all the work now, which only helps with your aversion towards her, but still, you’ve made her moan, cry—all of the above, so at least there’s something to use against her.

and then she lifts herself off of you, letting your head rest back against the seat of the couch so you can catch your breath.

when she looks down, all she can make out through fuzzy vision and overwhelmed senses is the puff of your lips, hooded eyes, and fucked up hair; everything about the sight of you is a product of her desires, a fantasy that’s been lingering in her mind now come true.

“slut,” you mutter, almost breathlessly. “you’re really loud, you know.”

“fuck you.”

“already did.” you retort, giggling. “let’s go for another.”

“oh so now look who’s a horny mess.” nayeon responds, moving over to sit on your lap.

you sit up, holding yourself up with your hands placed behind you. “you just never shut up, do you?”

nayeon smiles before tracing her finger along your skin. “do you me want to?”

you look at her amusingly before shifting positions so she’s laying down flat on her back, with you hovering above. the two of you kiss again, nayeon savoring a the traces of arousal off you, a muffled hum of delight vibrating against your locked lips.

she pulls away, thumbing your nipple and making you groan surprisingly. you pull away to glare at her.

nayeon laughs, “wow, you’re so--”

you cut her off by shoving your ring and middle finger in her mouth, she almost gags, but the way she sucks obediently is enough to tell you that she’s enjoying this.

“you just never shut up,”

in response, she moans with your fingers still in your mouth, right before you pull them out, skin coated with her saliva.

you bring your fingers down to her cunt, teasing her folds.

“let’s change that.”

#miinatozakiii #twice x reader #kpop x reader #twice imagines #nayeon x reader #im nayeon #im nayeon x reader #twice smut #twice nayeon

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reallyromealone · 4 months ago

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Request where alpha ran and omega reader are expecting a child?

Title: peanut butter squares

Fandom: Tokyo revengers

Characters: ran Haitani, Rindō Haitani mentioned

Fic type: fluff

Pairings: ran x male reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, omegaverse, light sexual innuendos, swearing, mpreg, Omega male reader

Notes: I just want to mention to everyone you can request gn and ftm readers right?

Summary: who knew peanut butter squares could induce pregnancy

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

If there was one thing Ran Haitani couldn't stand, it was being woken up, especially after work.

But something he hated more was not having his mate in his arms while sleeping, his beloved Omega was going to give birth any week now and Ran didn't want him out of his line of sight whatsoever. Grumling, the Alpha pushed back bis long hair out of his face to go hunting for his mate, wearing nothing but a loose pair of briefs that hung barely under his v-line. Kanto paid well, so well that the Alpha could afford the nicest things for his mate, an accudental pregnancy nothing for him to worry about.

Especially with all the baby proofing they did, he had to admit watching his brother struggle for ten minutes to open a cabinet was pretty funny. Six bedrooms and a room for (name)s hobbies and a closet for Ran, everything was perfect... Mostly.

The Alpha was looking into mansions outside of the city for the pups, a nice backyard and maybe a pool so they could learn to swim... God if you spoke to him two years ago and told him these were things he was considering he would have shattered your kneecaps.

He couldn't help but watch with pure love and adoration in his eyes while his mate made what seemed to be peanut butter squares with honey and hot sauce? He wasn't gonna just his mates food choices, he was making sure their babies were fed after all.

"Oh did I wake you?" (Name) Broke the man's thoughts with a sweet expression and crumbs on his lips "you weren't there with me, sweetness" Ran sauntered over and wrapped his lanky arms around his mate, large hands cupping the omegas round belly before kissing him "the baby wanted a snack" (name) took another bite and then offered some to Ran who snuggled into his beloveds neck "nah baby, you have that... Gotta make sure our kids are well fed right?" A good save because ran did not want to ingest that, it was too late to put his butt through that pain.

"Finish that up, get a drink and get your fine ass back in bed" Ran ordered his mate while kissing up his neck and licking his scent gland, the other whining "I heard fucking can induce labor" what? His mate knocked up with his kids wearing nothing but one of rans shirts was hot as hell!

"Baby, you better enjoy my ass while you can because after I give birth you aren't coming near me with a ten foot pole"

"I got a ten foot po--"' you know I'm not feeling it after all tonight" (name) said simply while water leaked down his legs "Babe go get the go bag"

(Name) Had never seen a man nice that fast, the Omega watching amused while eating the treats he made, realizing he should put sweatpants on before going and maybe grab Ran clothes.

Well, time for the worst pain in his life times two.

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x male reader #tokyo revengers fluff #male reader #omegaverse #bonten x reader #omega male reader #x male reader #anime x male reader #ran x reader #ran x male reader

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partycatty · 1 year ago

Text

i was sent an incredibly delicious prompt to use, and i just can't resist it omg. requester wanted to be anonymous, but just know i appreciate u! i won't lie, i ran into so many blocks trying to get this out. writing is hard :( i ended up taking a couple creative liberties anon i hope that's okay

bi-han > new tricks

johnny cage's girlfriend catches him cheating, so she tries to get back at him using bi-han. it's all fun and games, until something new starts to blossom.

warnings: u get cheated on, THIS IS NSFW, author struggles to write johnny in a bad light bc of their favoritism /j, accidental bottom bi-han

notes: i'm rubbing my hands together like a little fly rn, also bi-han's betrayal doesn't happen in this case, also also yes i made a gif of johnny getting his shit rocked for this fic thumbnail

masterlist <3

PART 2 !!!!

•you and johnny got together following the end of the storyline's events. he charmed you to holy hell and back with those dumb sunglasses and pickup lines at the academy. he was a sweetheart at first, love-bombing you endlessly until you accepted his thirtieth relationship proposal. deciding to stop dragging him along like a lost puppy, you finally said yes, and off you went to date a movie star!

•the change from being nobody to somebody was JARRING. suddenly, cameras were up your ass all the time, and you caught yourself staring out of your apartment window on multiple occasions to see people scurry away when they're spotted.

•even so, you can't lie. the parties that celebrities hold rival outworld's temptations. especially if johnny is hosting. despite downsizing from his mega mansion, his new home was still expansive enough to hold a large number of people. and boy did he take advantage of the space.

•everyone was a few drinks deep, you yourself were a little buzzed but with the intention of loosening up and socializing. johnny however, seems to have other intentions.

•johnny is canonically a recovering alcoholic. he'd indulge in a girly drink every now and then, maybe some whiskey on a really shitty day. but today, he must have combined the two flavors of vice and was now fitting his clothed dick into some random C-list actress's ass, grinding to the music. his sunglasses sloppily clung onto his nose and his face was flushed. drunk or not, he was dry humping some random broad at his own damn party, with you only a few feet away.

•you want to scream so bad, to tear her bleached blonde hair to the ground and beat her, and then johnny. but all you can do is stand there horrified, that is, until johnny looks up from his buried face in her neck and makes eye contact with you, eyes wide.

•"babe — goddamnit — babe!" johnny slurs out, holding your arms tight on his balcony. "it's not... fuck. it's just fun! it's a party! lighten up!"

•after a drunken back and forth, johnny eventually throws his hands in the air and tells you to fuck off because he can find better at that very party. although you heavily disagreed, the conversation abruptly ended when you slurred something back along the lines of "you want some other bitch? have 'em then!" officially ending your relationship and storming out of the party.

•the following few days were rough on your heart, and majority of the time your bed was occupied and loud sobs echoed across your walls. you could've had it all, dammit, and this dickhead just threw you away like nothing! he thinks he can just score any woman he wants, whenever he wants. even if he learned his lesson from cris, his playboy attitude runs in his veins. it's not something he's gonna shake easily, and you were a victim to his unchanging behavior.

•back to living with nothing, you decided to retreat to the one place you knew you were wanted; the lin kuei compound. bi-han, kuai liang and tomas respected your strength when it came to fighting against evil and welcomed you like their own.

•after about three days of living on the lin kuei's land, you check social media. you went ghost online after the breakup since the paparazzi and article rats were prowling the internet (and your home) for details about your breakup with the A-Lister. checking social media proved to be a stupid move, because almost instantly your feed was flooding with photos and videos of your ex-boyfriend partying on yachts and posing with models. he's really out here posting like he's not damaged in the slightest, but literally everyone and their mother can read the post a little deeper and see he's compensating for losing you. you were mature, well-spoken, and well respected, and he was still trying to get his shit together after everything that happened. you were just another crack in his shittily held together glass. and it was time to get back at him.

•it starts off innocently enough, you snap quick photos of the grandmaster when he's not looking, showing only his veiny arms and a hint of his blue uniform. you'd post it to your story to pretend to soft launch this new "boyfriend," linking a romantic song to the post and letting people run wild. this proved effective immediately, as you noticed that "UgotCAGEd" with the little verified mark would view your story almost the exact moment it'd go up. you knew that he knew exactly who was in the photo, and it just had to have been driving him up a wall. he even tried to combat this by posting more and more, each setting getting more lavish and sexy than the last. if anything, johnny was a chronic 1-upper. but you couldn't just post blurry pictures of bi-han forever. this needed to cut deep.

•and you were going to play this stupid game, because if he goes low, you go in the TRENCHES.

•"grandmaster sub-zero, i-i have a favor to ask you," you politely ask, bowing once before smiling up at bi-han. "i have a plan. a... ridiculous one. but it needs your help."

•"you want us to fake partnership?" bi-han asks you, trying to summarize your lengthy explanation. "go ask kuai liang. or tomas. they need something to do these days, with shang tsung imprisoned. i'm busy."

•"it can't be them, it has to be you," you respectfully protest, putting your hands in a prayer position to beg for his help. "johnny is... jealous of you. it would be most effective. and i'll be forever in your debt." bi-han's eyes momentarily widen at your insistence. your desperation for his help caught him a little off guard.

•it's true. johnny was jealous ever since he got his shit kicked in when they first met. they were never really huge fans of each other since then. standing in front of him now, it's easy to understand how bi-han was so superior. his emotions never took control, he was a powerful leader for his clan, and his furrowed brows and gravely voice rumbled inside of your chest... jesus, now that you're getting a good look, he's actually pretty hot. oh, no.

•"this is ridiculous," bi-han groans, trying to angle himself just right in the selfie. he stands behind you, hand wrapped around your neck as you try to angle the photo just right to where it only gives a tease of his face in the mirror's reflection. "how long does one photo take?"

•"it has to be perfect," you reply, eyes focused on your phone as you wiggle it in different directions to get the best possible view. "crouch down a little more, so more of your jawline shows."

•he leans down, and his breath fans across your neck and ear as he sighs in frustration. you can't deny the little tingle it made you feel inside. but hey, anyone would be nervous if a brick wall like bi-han was in breathing vicinity...

•you snap the photo, seemingly satisfied but now fighting a flustered expression. when you look it over, you realize no, this isn't enough. johnny would leak his own sex tape with a model to beat you at this stupid game, and while you weren't necessarily ready to start blowing the ninja, you knew you needed to get one step ahead.

•"can we take... one more?" you ask sheepishly, already trying to put into words what exactly you're going to ask from this expressionless man.

•"only if it's quick," he replies with a frown, crossing his arms.

•you take a deep breath, spinning to face him and nearly chest to chest from the tightness of the small bedroom you were given.

•pointing to your bed, bi-han almost instantly understands. his lips turn into a thin line as his cheeks are brushed with warmth, warmth that he tries to conceal from you with his hand as he rubs his face.

•he sits himself on the bed, propped up on his elbows with a knowing look in his eye. it's difficult to maintain eye contact as you crawl onto the edge of the bed, hesitant to do what you wanted. for a moment, you want to pull away and trash your entire plan. there's no way you were about to climb up and sit on a ninja grandmaster's lap as revenge against your movie star ex. how in the genuine hell did you end up in this situation??

•"come on, woman," bi-han grumbles, sitting up for a moment to abruptly wrap his hands around your hips and pulling you to sit atop his lap. you tense up, realizing you're now straddling him... and lowkey, he looks good under you. he also just manhandled you. hm. curious.

•you try to shift yourself to comfortably rest on his hips before seeming satisfied with the position. shakily, you reach up to snap a selfie, one that conceals his face but shows you sticking your tongue out and flipping the bird.

•and then you felt it.

•at first, it went unnoticed due to your nerves about the uncharacteristic closeness. but, once you settled to snap the photo, you realized that... bi-han was rock fucking hard underneath you. you weren't sure if you should acknowledge it, but regardless, it felt so perfectly sized against your clothed folds, and you make your interest unintentionally obvious when you let out a nervous whimper. bi-han's eyes remained trained onto yours with a hint of hunger in his low-lidded gaze. even though he wanted to initially hide the boner, it was now abundantly obvious and he felt a surge of confidence gauging your reaction. the hands that rested on your hips tightened, his cold fingers digging into your flesh.

•"you feel that?" he grumbles out, his body feeling suddenly incredibly hot against yours. you swallow and nod. as you do, his firm grip starts to rock your hips back and forth against his cock, the friction of the fabric dividing you two sending you wild already. "whose is bigger?"

•"...yours," you answer breathlessly, allowing yourself to be controlled by the cryomancer's hands. your confession was true, too. johnny's dick was long and lean, but bi-han's.... lord. it felt thick. even through layers of clothes it felt like it could tear you down the middle if he pounded hard enough. a new part of you wanted to find out.

•with a sudden haste, bi-han hikes up your skirt and top, holding the clothes bunched around your waist as he abruptly gives you even closer contact to his cock. you could feel it twitch and throb, and every part of you wanted to sink it into your throat to see how well it hugs your mouth's fleshy walls. his hands crawl underneath the bunched up clothes and settle on your hips, this time directly gripping the plush of them.

•a shiver shot down your spine, both with sudden arousal and the frosty trails on your body from his fingertips. even if he wouldn't admit it, he was just as excited as you were. he let out a low growl feeling your pussy leak through your panties and dampen his dick.

•"i hated the way he looked at you," he'd grumble, eyes fixated on the friction he was creating by manhandling your frame to grind against his. "wanted you all to myself — ngh —"

•you wanted so badly to stop and unpack that wild, sudden confession, but you were already fiending for his popsicle like a motherfucker. through your hazy vision, you see bi-han lock eyes with you, a devilish glint present. he reaches between the two of you and palms himself while you try to relieve the pressure on your clit using the back of his hand.

•finally fed up with the foreplay, bi-han pushes you off of him, making you elevate your body on your knees. he tugs his shirt up and his pants down. his member springs free from the tight constraints, and lord help us all, it's as long and thick as it felt through the pants.

•"you wish to get back at that pompous wannabe?" he asks, voice dangerously husky. "get to it then." obeying like a dog, you settle between his parted legs. still holding his dick, he slaps it against your cheek expectantly.

•the tension, the hunger, and the high emotions overtook your strength to remain proper in front of the grandmaster as you eagerly licked at the base of his shaft, trailing kisses all the way to the warm tip. once you feel properly sure of his size, you slowly but surely sink him into your mouth, barely able to get his dick deep enough without causing a strain on your jaw muscles. bi-han tries to keep his arousal under wraps, but when he feels you hollow out your cheeks to give him the greatest pleasure possible, he lets out a little whine of surprise, though it still sounds more animalistic due to his grumbly voice.

•you hold this position for a moment, letting your warmth completely encapsulate his freezing body. you were starting to see stars in the corner of your eyes before bi-han harshly pulls you up by your hair, making you sputter for breath. a thin trail of saliva follows your lips as he raises your head.

•"wait," he commands breathlessly, fumbling with his other hand to find your phone that was discarded onto the mattress. when he does find it, he struggles even more, mind blank from horniness and also his unfamiliarity with smart devices. you chuckle to yourself, climbing back up to his chest and weaving your way between his arms to show him how to record a video. when it's finally figured out, you crawl back down to where you were and grab his cock with a full hand, stroking it lazily. he winces.

•"sensitive already?" you ask in a low tone, giggling to yourself. bi-han didn't have much time to relieve his sexual desires, so it's no wonder that the slightest bit of head nearly sends this man flying to the moon. "i expected more from you, grandmaster—"

•"—shut the fuck up," he replies sternly, not finding your teasing all too funny. "i'll silence that whore mouth."

•woah

•and with that, he holds the phone up, angled downward at you as you angle your lips on his tip again. he grabs the fistful of your hair and sinks you down once more, this time holding you in place. you barely had time to get some air in before getting your throat thoroughly plugged. you put your hands on his thighs to ensure you'd stay upright, but always sure to look at the camera as you gag and drool.

•"that's more like it," he'll purr, pushing your hair from your face as he holds you still. he then directs his voice to the camera. "how about that, cage? taught your dog some new tricks. i'd say she's exceeding expectations."

•when he finally lets you breathe, you only get a couple gasps before willingly taking his cock again, this time bobbing rhythmically. bi-han, as a ninja, is incredibly good at staying silent, so all he can do is let out occasional exhales and sharp intakes of breath as you suck him off.

•you're sure to put on more of a show than usual for the video, looking into the camera with a sultry smile even with your lips stretched out to accommodate for his giant dick. you've got an expression that says "fuck you."

•when bi-han has enough of your pace, he starts to buck his hips into your throat, creating a nasty gargling sound in the back of your head that would be otherwise nauseating. you're surprised he's not ripping the hair straight from your scalp as he death grips a fistful. frosty hands grip the sheets, solidifying them with a thin sheet of ice as he nears the edge. his body can't decide between lurching forward and arching back as you make him cum.

•he's a silent orgasm-haver. bi-han bites down hard on his lower lip as he releases, clenching his eyes shut and knitting his brows together. and boy, does he love to ride the high of fucking your face. he loves it even more knowing he'll have an audience.

•he wanted to cum into your mouth so badly, but even he knew better. he had to make the money shot something memorable. cum painted your face beautifully, dripping down your cheeks and catching in your eyebrows. there was even a thick streak starting from your hairline. with no time to ever do this himself, his jizz accumulated within him for quite some time, now soaking your entire face.

•bi-han stops the video, but only to snap photos of your messied, flushed face. gripping your cheeks to hold you in place, he's sure to make sure every drop of cum is within camera shot as he catches his breath.

•you swipe a glob of his load from your forehead and stick your finger in your mouth, tasting his arousal for you with a smirk.

•"definitely sending that to him," you giggle as he tucks his dick back into his pants. "i'm in your debt, bi-han." normally, he would've protested the use of his first name from an associate of liu kang, but he was too high from his orgasm to really give a shit. instead, he grumbles a small "mhm," and nods, fighting a little smirk himself.

•he stands up and grabs a loose towel, holding up your face more sweetly this time as he wipes you clean. the gesture was oddly soothing. he seemed like a pump and dump kind of man, and he probably is! but you're touching a sweet spot he didn't know he even had. even so, he's silent, never once communicating this and instead expressing it through the minor gesture.

•a relationship doesn't quite blossom yet, but the sexual tension between you two is now incredibly obvious to the lin kuei. his gaze lingers, as does yours. the touches during training last a moment longer. your silly little plan of making johnny angry seemed to have blossomed a new... situationship? we'll unpack that some other time.

•the following morning, your phone rings. it's johnny.

•"DID YOU BLOW THE FUCKING ICE NINJA?!"

#mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat #johnny cage #johnny cage x reader #mk1 #bi han #bi han x reader #johnny cage smut #sub zero #sub zero x reader #bi han smut

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