hellooo fellow tumblr users. first time on this app hopefully i don’t disappoint… anywhooo, first fic hope you like. roommate denji lololol
He knew it the second he closed the door behind him and stepped into your room, heart hammering like he was about to rob a bank instead of just… borrowing something. Something small. Something soft.
It wasn’t like he planned on it. Not really. He was just looking for the charger he left in there last night—or that’s what he told himself, anyway. But the second he saw your laundry basket, half-full and a little messy, something short-circuited in his brain.
Lacy. Black. Still warm, maybe. Definitely yours.
Denji stared for a full minute before he caved like the pathetic dog he was. He reached in, grabbed the pair with shaking hands, and held it to his nose.
The scent was fucking intoxicating. Not perfume—just you. Skin. Warmth. He groaned before he even realized it, his free hand already slipping into the waistband of his sweats.
His knees hit the side of their bed. Fuck, it smelled like you too. Your sheets. Your pillow. Your everything. It wasn’t fair.
He’d been thinking about you for weeks now—dreaming about you sprawled out. All he got was stolen glances and dirty laundry.
And yet here he was, rutting against your goddamn comforter, your underwear pressed to his face like a pervert. Like a freak. Like the filth he was.
“Mmh—shit…” he muttered, low and desperate, hips stuttering.
And that’s exactly when the door creaked open.
Wide-eyed. Caught mid-stroke, hand buried in his pants, mouth parted like a dog that just got kicked. Your voice hit his ears like a gunshot.
“…What the fuck are you doing?”
Time slowed. The underwear dropped from his hand. His brain screamed for a lie, but his dick? Still hard. Still out. Still very, very obvious.
The silence was unbearable.
You just stood there. Looking at him.
Not yelling. Not… anything. Just looking.
His mouth opened, trying to spit out some kind of excuse—something, anything that made this seem less deranged.
But then your voice cut through the air, calm. Unnervingly cool.
“You just gonna stand there?”
His brain short-circuited. “What?”
You took a step closer, slow, deliberate.
“You made the mess. Clean it up.”
His eyes darted down, confused. He followed your gaze—oh. Shit. He’d definitely left a little something on the edge of the comforter.
He stumbled forward, still half-hard, heart racing.
“Right! Right, yeah—I-I got it, I’ll grab some tissues or like, a towel or something—”
He stopped dead in his tracks.
You didn’t move, but your voice sharpened just slightly—commanding. You pointed at the bed.
Then—oh god. Then you pointed at your mouth.
Just looked him in the eye.
Denji’s brain was going haywire. He must’ve passed out and started hallucinating. There’s no way this was real. No way you were actually telling him to—?
“You want me to lick that up?” he asked, voice cracking somewhere between disbelief and raw, desperate arousal.
He dropped to his knees without thinking.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “Okay. Shit. I’ll do it. I’ll fucking do anything.”
His face hovered just above the spot he’d marked, the scent of you mixed with him hitting his nose like a drug. Embarrassment and arousal tangled in his gut.
He looked up at you one last time, checking if this was a trap, a joke, anything.
But all he saw in your eyes was impatience. Expectation.
“You’re so fucking mean,” he whispered, before lowering his mouth to the stain.
His tongue dragged across the fabric, slow and unsure at first, like he was waiting for someone stop him.
He glanced up. You were still standing there—arms crossed, one hip cocked, watching him like he was something beneath you. Like you were bored.
That made it worse. Made it better.
His cheeks were flushed, red creeping up his neck, hair sticking to his forehead from the heat building under his skin.
“You’re really making me do this, huh…” he mumbled, eyes flickering to yours.
Nothing. Not a word. Just a little tilt of your head. Like, keep going.
Denji swallowed hard and licked again. Sloppier this time. On purpose. Maybe you’d like it more. Maybe you’d touch him if he did it right.
He looked up, eyes wide and needy. “You’re so mean,” he whispered again, lower this time. Hoarse.
You leaned forward a little, finally speaking.
That nearly made him moan. The humiliation of it all. The way you said it so flat, like he was pathetic. Like he’d earned this.
His hand twitched toward his dick again, instinctual. He didn’t even realize he was touching himself until you spoke again—sharper, clipped.
He choked. “I’m gonna die.”
You just raised your foot and pressed it lightly to his shoulder, pushing him back down—back toward the mess.
He leaned forward again, mouth open, tongue back on the fabric like a dog trying to earn scraps.
His hips were twitching involuntarily now. He was humping the air like an animal, whimpering as he licked up his own cum off your sheets, still fully clothed, painfully hard, and completely fucking wrecked.
You were so calm. So still.
He hated it. He loved it.
“Are you… are you gonna touch me?” he asked, breathless. “Or am I just gonna keep licking like a loser?”
You tapped your finger on your chin, pretending to think.
“Might let you hump my leg if you do it better.”
Denji nearly blacked out on the spot.
He looked up, tongue still pressed against the spot on your sheets where he’d made the mess—his mess—and his brain short-circuited for the hundredth time that night.
“F-For real?” he stammered, lips wet, eyes already glassy.
Didn’t say yes. Didn’t say no.
Just raised your foot again, toe nudging his chin up like he was nothing but a needy little mutt waiting for a command.
“You look like you need it.”
God, he did. He really fucking did.
His whole body was buzzing, sweaty and hot and aching under the weight of how fucking turned on he was. His boxers were soaked through, his dick was drooling like it had a mind of its own, and his pride? Shattered. Burned. Gone.
He practically crawled to you like a dog—slow, shaking, eyes wide and pleading.
“Please,” he muttered, voice cracking. “Please, I’ll—I’ll be good. I’ll hump it real good, I swear.”
You rolled your eyes like he was pathetic. Because he was.
Then you stuck one leg out, planting your foot firmly on the floor. Your thigh, smooth and bare, waited like a throne he wasn’t good enough to sit on.
“Go ahead then,” you said, dry and cruel.
He straddled your thigh, grinding against it with his whole body trembling. His clothed cock throbbed against the fabric of your skin, and he whined like he was about to lose his mind.
“Oh fuck—thank you—shit—” he babbled, rutting against your thigh like an animal, hips jerking in quick, pathetic thrusts. “You’re so—I’m gonna—please don’t stop me—”
Didn’t help. Didn’t kiss him. Didn’t even touch him.
Just let him use your leg like a toy. Like he didn’t deserve more.
He kept going, humping harder, tongue hanging out of his mouth, sweat dripping off his chin. Your thigh flexed a little and he nearly lost it on the spot.
“Feels so good—feels so good—” he whined.
You finally looked down at him, eyes heavy with amusement.
“You’re making a mess on me.”
“S-Sorry! I—I can clean it—again—”
“With what?” You asked, arching a brow.
He looked up, dazed. Dumb.
His hips stuttered. His legs shook. His whole body collapsed forward, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, whimpering, grinding out short, frantic little thrusts as he teetered on the edge.
“Can I—can I cum?” he asked, muffled against your skin. “Please lemme cum. I’ll lick it up, I swear—”
You hadn’t even touched him. Hadn’t kissed him, hadn’t even spared him a single kind stroke. Just let him rut against you like a dog in heat while you barely reacted. That made it worse. That made it so much worse.
He whimpered again—high, strangled.
“I’ll do anything,” he panted. “Please—”
His body still pulsed with every heartbeat.
Your voice didn’t change. Still calm. Still amused.
He sat there, frozen, cock twitching in his pants, soaked through with his own pre, aching so bad it hurt to breathe. The pressure was unbearable.
The command hit him like a slap.
He clenched his fists, trembling all over. His whole body screamed to keep moving, to finish, to do anything for release—but you didn’t budge.
You just leaned back slightly in your seat and crossed your legs, the one he’d been humping shifting beneath him.
“You said you’d do anything,” you murmured, lips barely curled. “So be good. Be patient.”
Denji let out the softest whine. Almost a sob.
“Y-You’re so mean,” he choked. “You’re so fucking mean.”
You dragged your fingers slowly—lazily—across the edge of your thigh, right where he’d been a second ago. Teasing.
“Mean?” you said, blinking at him with mock offense. “But I let you hump me. You should be grateful.”
He nodded so fast. Like an idiot.
“I am! I’m grateful! I’m—I’d kiss your foot if you let me cum—please—”
“Aw,” you cooed. “But kissing my foot sounds like a reward. You’re not there yet.”
He stared at you with red, watery eyes, lips trembling, sweat dripping off his chin. He looked like a broken toy. A kicked puppy.
You just sighed, bored, like you were watching a commercial you’d seen a hundred times.
“Lie down. On your back.”
Denji obeyed immediately, collapsing flat on the floor with his legs spread, dick straining in his sweats, eyes blown wide with hope. You stood over him, foot between his legs, looking down like he was nothing.
You stepped forward, pressing the tip of your shoe gently against his twitching cock.
“Now stay there. And beg me not to leave.”
His brain was fucking scrambled. All he could feel was the ache between his legs and the heat spreading across his face.
Your shoe finally, finally, pressed just a little harder between his legs.
“You think you deserve it now?”
He nodded. Too fast. Too eager. His hips bucked upward.
“Yes. Yes, please, I’ve been so good—“
“No,” you cut in, expression hardening slightly. “Good boys don’t hump without asking.”
Denji’s whole body flinched as if you’d slapped him.
“I’ll beg—I’ll do anything.”
You crouched down over him now, finally touching him—but only with your hand under his chin, lifting his flushed face up to yours
He obeyed so fast it was embarrassing. Lips parted, tongue slightly out, eyes wide like he was waiting for a treat.
You smirked. Shifted forward.
Not fully—just enough that your heat hovered right over his mouth. Enough for him to feel you. Smell you. But not taste.
Denji let out a muffled groan beneath you.
“Nuh-uh,” you said, rocking your hips forward just enough to make him twitch. “No licking yet.”
He whimpered beneath you, hands still flat above his head, entire body tensed like a loaded spring.
“Fuckfuckfuck,” he muttered under his breath, muffled by your thighs. “I can’t—I’m gonna cum in my pants—”
You ground down just once, slowly, and his whole body spasmed. His hips bucked upward on instinct before he caught himself, biting back a whimper that vibrated against you.
Denji was shaking now, eyes rolling back slightly, tongue twitching as he tried not to move even an inch, terrified that if he did, you’d stop.
“Say thank you,” you whispered.
“T-Thank you—” he gasped. “Thank you thank you thank you—”
You lowered your hips slowly until your heat finally met his mouth, soft and wet and so warm, and he moaned like you’d blessed him. Tongue immediately working like a starving man, licking, trying to please you with every trembling breath he had left.
“That’s better,” you murmured, head tilted back. “Use that mouth.”
Denji moaned into you like it was a prayer.
And still—no touching. His cock throbbed in his pants, untouched, leaking, crying for friction. He was aching so bad it felt like punishment. But his mouth stayed locked on you like he was hypnotized, completely devoted, grinding out soft, broken whimpers into your skin.
“Don’t cum,” you warned. “Not ‘til I—“ A slight hesitation, a small gasp. “Not ‘til I say.”
Denji was a mess beneath you—lips wet, eyes glassy, tongue still worshiping you with soft licks like you were the only thing keeping him alive.
You watched him squirm, riding that cute little mouth at your own pace, hips rolling slowly like you had all the time in the world. His arms were twitching above his head, his fists clenched like he was holding back an earthquake.
You looked down at him. Smiled.
“You’re kinda cute sometimes.”
His eyes fluttered. A whimper escaped his throat, muffled and pleading, like your words had physically hurt him.
You laughed, soft and breathy, and reached down to ruffle his messy blond hair, tugging it between your fingers like he was your pet.
He nodded fast. Eager. Mindless.
Your hand fisted his hair, just enough to make him whimper.
“Uh uh. Toys don’t move.”
“Toys don’t nod. Toys don’t speak. Toys don’t cum.”
He let out the weakest little gasp under you, eyes wide like a kicked puppy, tongue still trembling against your heat.
You shifted forward again, smothering him just a little deeper, and he moaned like a man dying of thirst with water dripping into his mouth.
You moaned, soft and pleased, grinding down gently until your thighs trembled. And then—only then—did you tilt your hips back and let him breathe.
He gasped like he’d been underwater for minutes. His face was soaked. His lips were red. And his cock—oh god, it was pulsing through his sweats like it had a heartbeat of its own.
You reached down and ran your fingers lightly over his waistband.
He looked up at you, trembling.
“Mmhm. I mean, you’re still messy. But…”
You leaned in close, lips brushing his ear.
He shuddered. Almost came.
“So tell me,” you purred. “What do you want?”
Denji choked. His hands were shaking.
“Y-You. I want you. Please—”
He whimpered. Tears welled in his eyes.
You finally slipped your fingers into his waistband, pressing against the slick head of his cock through his boxers, and he arched like he was electrocuted.
“Shh,” you whispered. “Then be still.”
And you stroked him once.
“You’re not cumming,” you warned. “You’re too cute when I tease you.”
Denji nodded—then immediately whimpered at himself and clamped down his whole body, remembering:
He didn’t know how long he’d been laying there.
Time didn’t exist when you were above him like that, hands soft but commanding, voice low and syrupy like you knew you had him on a string.
Denji’s chest was heaving. His thighs twitched where they lay open. His arms had gone numb from holding them still, fists clenched like he was bracing for an explosion.
He whimpered—just enough to keep you happy. Not a word. Not a twitch. His mouth was parted, red and wet, chest rising like he’d run miles.
You smiled like you were proud of yourself. Or maybe of him. Or both.
You leaned over his lap again and dragged your fingers down the thick bulge in his pants—slow—and the noise he made was so high it didn’t even sound human. He was shaking. Hips twitching like his body was betraying him.
“Still leaking,” you said mockingly, fingers lifting to reveal his boxers had a dark, wet spot spreading across the front. “That’s, like, the third time. What a mess.”
Denji whimpered again, barely biting back a sob. He didn’t even care how pathetic he looked anymore. He just wanted your hands. Your praise. You.
But all you did was sit back on her heels, smug, and hum.
“I should just leave you like this.”
He jerked—eyes wide, stomach sinking.
“Toys don’t need to cum, right?” you teased, lips tugging into a cruel smile.
His head shook without thinking.
Your smile dropped. Slowly.
Denji froze in horror. He wanted to cry. He almost did.
“I—I didn’t mean to—I just—”
You put a finger to his lips.
“You’re lucky you’re so cute like this”
And then, finally, you leaned in close. Pressed your hand against the soaked bulge between his legs. And whispered:
“But I also like watching you fall apart.”
He whimpered like a kicked puppy. So desperate. So soft.
You watched him squirm for a moment, studied the way his eyes glistened, the way his lips trembled, the way his hips were practically vibrating with need—but still didn’t move.
Your voice dropped to something gentle.
His head jerked up, confused.
“You really have been good,” you said, with a sudden warmth that didn’t feel like a tease.
You leaned down. Kissed the corner of his mouth. Just once. Just soft enough to make his breath catch.
He stared at you. Frozen.
“Go ahead,” you murmured. “I’m sorry for being mean. You’re just too cute. You’ve earned it.”
He lunged at you, desperate, mouth finding your neck, your chest, your lips, hands flying to your waist like he thought you’d disappear. He whined against your skin like he was starving. His hips rutted up without restraint, grinding shamelessly into your thigh.
You didn’t stop him. You just laughed—softly. Letting him crawl into your lap.
You stroked his hair gently while he trembled in your arms, wet and needy and moaning into your skin, grinding like he was going to cry from the pleasure.
And just when he looked up—eyes wide, cheeks flushed, lips swollen—you smiled at him and said:
“You’re such a good boy.”
Denji came in his boxers like he’d been waiting his whole life for that line.
He buried his face in your neck, crying and gasping, still rutting weakly even after the release left him twitching.
You looked down at the mess he’d made of his underwear, still for a moment. Then laughed. A genuine laugh.
Denji met your eyes after a moment, confused. Embarrassed. As if he were asking what was so funny.
“You didn’t even get inside of me before you came.” You lifted a hand to stroke his hair, still giggling. “Even after I’d given you permission.”
His dick hadn’t softened in the slightest post-orgasm. He didn’t think it ever would. “…Can I still…?”
All you did was smile. Sincerely.
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