Mini fic ideaaa!!!!!! Can you do a shy!reader x Dazai, where he uses different methods to tease them so he can see them get really shy and blushy. You can make this nsfw towards of it or smth if you wanna too, anything is cool!!
Sorry for how nondescripted this is. Idk what else to add and thought it would be a silly idea lolol.
Anyways!! Thank you!! And feel free to ignore!
𝒮o 𝒮hy~
⌯⌲ i’d say i’m in a mood for some smut. who better than with the man whore himself? ꉂ(˵˃ ∩∩ ˂˵) 18+ smut warning: gn, afab!reader; talkative, mean pervzai; fingering; semi-public; light dacryphilia~
Dazai has a hobby that keeps him immensely busy, occupying his time on the daily, and it is none other than finding every which way to make you shy, flustered, and embarrassed. Nothing gets him going more than seeing your cute cheeks puff out and get bright pink, your hands coming up to shield your face, and trying to hide away in a corner or under your desk. He’d be lying if he said seeing you get like this also didn’t turn him on — only a bit, he’s not a total monster. However, with all that teasing to you, it inadvertently teases him, and his garbage brain is filled with different methods to make you blushing and crying in whatever way he can.
His head rests on his folded arms, sitting quietly at his desk, gaze on you from across the way, watching you closely while you type away on your laptop. You’ve been on edge since walking in the room, him sensing it from where he sat, and he hasn’t been trying to fluster you nearly as much as he usually does — but now, he’s bored. Thoughtfully, his teeth come down to his bottom lip, brows twitching together briefly, his mind running circles about how extra cute you look today and how badly he’d love nothing more than to finally have his way with you. He can’t help it: every time he sees you looking up at him with flushed cheeks and big, innocent, glassy eyes, it fuels him to be meaner and think of what is the best way to lure you into his bed. He thinks about you constantly, to a point of sinful insanity, and only so much jerking off to thoughts of you will get him by before he snaps.
He sits himself upright, spine straightening as he stretches his arms, coming off as nonchalant, but Kunikida’s brow raises at the suspicion that his partner’s up to no good — especially given it’s an unusually quiet day at the agency, the perfect time to get caught up on all the reports he knows won’t be completed. Dazai gets to his feet, walking toward you, similar to a snake approaching a bunny, and you’re too engrossed in your work to hear his heavy, calculated steps. You barely notice when lips are near your ear, the hushed whisper sending chills and goosebumps up and down your skin, and your fingers falter.
“My, my, darling,” he purrs, one hand flat-palmed to the surface while the other holds onto the back of your chair. “Don’t you look heavenly today?” He compliments, seeing in real time the blood rushing to the surface, and it is taking a lot for him to not make any immediate reactions. “Tell me, angel, would a guy like me be saved if someone like you were to give me a kiss?” Your heart skips several beats, head whipping in his direction to face him, and he is staring down at you already with his infamously charming smirk, and pupils engulfing his darkened irises.
“Wh-What?” You squeak. You heard him, you heard him loud and clear. You just cannot believe he said that to you. His smirk transitions into a smile, teeth showing, but it isn’t… friendly. You blink once, hands now trapped between your thighs, and he lowers himself down some to be eye-level. He’s very close; it’s as if everyone else in the room went on pause, leaving you two alone to interact, and your heart can’t take it.
“Or would it better to be baptized by you instead, hm?” His head cocks, and you look at him with puzzled curiosity.
“I-I don’t understand?” You tell him honestly, but his tone and the way he’s acting is enough to tell you he’s trying to tease you into flustered submission. And it’s working. He suddenly bats his lashes at you, hand subtly sliding down from the desk surface to your knee, ghosting up your thigh, then gently brushing between your legs, making you jump in surprise and close your thighs tighter.
“I think my salvation is right here,” he tells you, and you, dumbly, glance down where he had touched, then back to his dangerously lustful eyes, head resting down on his arm, and you squeak. Hands fly up to cover your furiously red cheeks, and he is already stifling his laughter. You spin around in your seat, to get away from him, shaking your head in your hands and lightly tapping your feet on the floor from embarrassment, and he buries his face more in the crook of his elbow to not disturb anyone else with more laughing — only to have Fukuzawa catch you two and barking the order at Dazai to ‘leave the poor thing alone’.
♡
Later in the day, you make the mistake of going to the supply closet to gather inventory; another mistake, you didn’t check to see if anyone was following you. Lead scratches along the pad of paper in your hands too, engrossed with counting staplers and boxes of pens or pencils to notice the door has closed behind you.
A voice drifts and curls around your brain, the same set of lips from earlier pressing to the shell of your ear, and the grip on your pencil is airtight. “Hello, my darling angel. Would you like some help?” Dazai has his hands behind his back for now, but his body is still close to yours, eyes scanning the sheet in front of you, before flitting to the side of your face. You naively thought Fukuzawa being the one to say something to your colleague would have been enough to get him to leave you alone. Alas, here you are, quite literally caged in the supply closet with the most agile cobra at the agency. “Why’d you stop? Distracted?” His hand then languidly comes out, purposefully using his middle and ring finger to slide down the sheet, acting as if he is helping you do actual work. Your body is trembling with flustered anxiousness, face warm, and you can’t bring yourself to say anything. However, in a moment of weakness, your eyes are trained on his long fingers, elegantly laid out on the page, following the outline of veins and knuckles protruding from his skin, and your breath catches in your throat when a guilt-ridden thought enters your brain about him using them on you.
With the forced proximity, he can hear and see every breath, twitch, and hesitancy you make. “What is it?” He feigns sympathy and concern, his fingers not stopping their movements as they trail along the inside of your wrist and up your forearm. “Am I upsetting you again?” Oh, so he really does do all of that on purpose. You falter, the touch electrifying, but ultimately shake your head. “We’re alone for a bit, would you like me to make it up to you for all the previous times I made you all cute and flustered?” He asks, reaching your inner elbow, and continuing upward toward your chest. Which is practically heaving from all the contact and the enclosed space and his breath tickling your neck when he speaks and the question he just proposed. The rational part of you knows what he means, the other part that is completely fried from the situation is clueless.
Though, you still ask: “H-How are you gonna do that?” Your voice is embarrassingly pitched, squeaky, hands shaking and having to hug the pad to your stomach to steady them. You’re incredibly flustered, the dim light not doing much to hide it, and he takes that as an opportunity to dare sneaking a small kiss under your lobe.
“How about…” His hands reach around your front, gingerly removing your stuff from yours, which only makes them fly up to your face, and then his palms lay flat on your stomach, slipping under your button-up. Fingers dangerously close to the button of your slacks. “I show you just a touch of what I’m capable of. And if you want more, you can go home with me?” His tone flips, pressing your hips back, and you’re stock-still, feverishly shaking your head because you don’t know what else to do. His lips curl up, devious, nose gingerly nudging into your jaw. “Do you want me to stop, angel?” He whispers, fingertip lightly tracing your belly button — causing your stomach to tense.
“You… You wanna do something… here?” You murmur, peeking between your fingers to only see the shadow of you two casted faintly on the shelves, and his head slowly nods.
“Don’t make me say it,” his voice is gravely now, growing impatient, and slips his hand down further to begin undoing your pants. Your head is spinning, dizzy in place and grateful he has such a strong grip on you or you’d be falling forward from your quaking knees. “I’ll do all the work for you. Just stay in here with me, looking oh so pretty, and let me tease you the entire time.” He requests, toying with the band of your underwear, and you hug yourself, at a loss for words, and think to yourself.
He hasn’t gone too far, you can stop him and he would step away, I hope. But, on the other hand, you do find him extremely handsome, and while the attention he gives you is strictly to put you into an absolute tizzy, you like it nonetheless. He’s approaching you, wanting to touch you, telling you you’re pretty, calling you sweet nicknames, saying you’re his, and inviting you back to his place. It honestly feels as though all of your dreams are coming true, all he’s asking is to still be allowed to tease you while staying trapped in this makeshift cage with him.
Your hesitancy is making him waver, hands beginning to withdraw, actual concern shrouding him that he took all of this too far, and some clarity is crashing back into his brain that he stuffed you in the supply closet. At work. And is begging to do whatever it is you’d let him.
“O-Okay,” you nod, squeezing your eyes shut. “Just… Just don’t be too mean.” You plead, feet shuffling underneath you, and he blinks. Stunned. Shaking it out in the same breath as his fingers resume their trail along your pelvis and dipping under the fabric. Fingertips carefully brush your lips, stopping momentarily at how soaked they are, and shuddered breaths escape from your trembling mouth while his breathing has become irregular.
“Awh~,” he suddenly croons, a wicked grin forming that you should be grateful you aren’t able to see. “You’re so wet right now. You do like me teasing you, don’t you angel?” You shake your head on instinct, still hugging yourself tight as your nails dig into your upper arms, but he can feel the evidence that you’re lying. “C’mon, tell me you love it when I tease you.” He eggs on, fingers easily slipping down to gently caress your folds, and another short breath pitches out of you, hand flying up to cover your mouth. They’re cold. He hums, gingerly removing your hand, holding both of your wrists in it, then presses a gentle kiss to your scorching cheek.
“Now, now,” he goes on, the pad of his middle finger now languidly, leisurely circling your clit, and your thighs clamp around his hand on instinct as you suck in your lips to prevent crying out. “So shy~.” He chuckles, holding you tight to his body, not allowing you to escape, and continues his attentive movements while he peppers more kisses down the side of your neck. “I bet you make the cutest noises when something’s inside you.” He fantasizes it now, tongue acting on its own as it lolls out to lick its way back up behind your ear, and that is what makes you finally utter out a tiny, squeaky whimper.
“Mean…” You squirm, hips moving on accident to ride out on his finger, the swollen bud catching on the callouses, and another cute but hushed whine slips out at the feeling.
“I am mean, angel,” he agrees, his pointer and ring spreading you further apart to focus on your clit, still taken aback by how turned on you are. “Do you like to imagine me, when you’re all alone in your room, touching yourself, wishing I was there?” He taunts, projecting, but he notices then your cheeks worsen in color, hands wriggling in his hold from the accusation, and his dick twitches in his pants. Oh, you’re a filthy angel. “Go ahead, you can tell me.” He pushes, laughing at you as you struggle, yanking your head away so he can’t see you, and more squeaks and whimpers and tiny whines slip out as he intensifies his ministrations.
“I-I…” You whine again, but this time in frustration because you didn’t think he would ever know you do fantasize about him sometimes, and he doesn’t know you feel so terribly after. “I’m sorry.” You want to hide behind your hands, shield yourself from his reaction, a deed that would usually upset others if they found out. Dazai is different though; he isn’t like the “usual others”, which in some ways can be fun. Like this instance.
He chuckles, hiding his face in your neck, never stopping on paying attention to your aching clit, the overbearing sensation sending you into orbit already. “So you do masturbate to me.” He says, point blank, and your eyes are squeezing shut again from hearing it out loud. “How dirty. Such a dirt, dirty, dirty thing you are, my darling.” He taunts, getting mean, everything going to his sick head. He finally releases your hands, watching them fly up to cover your beet-red face, and light pants fall from your lips. He hums, pleased, more than satisfied, deciding his fingers need more to do as they slide down to above your hole, carefully tapping on it then encircling it. A gasp hiccups out of you, and you can’t help wondering why no one has bothered to look for you two.
“May I share a secret?” He muses, abruptly withdrawing his hands to walk in front of you, his fingers up on display for you to see them glistening. You glance between them and his strange expression, eyes not on you, and you nod slowly. They dart then toward your typical shy state before going back to admiring the mess he made of you already, prominent on his skin, and licks his lips. “I touch myself to you too.” He spills, the secret whispered, as if worried someone’s on the other side listening. Eyes widen between your fingers, not sure if you should be flattered, then watch as he brings his digits into his mouth to greedily suck on. They release from his lips with a soft pop! then one points to the ground. “Pants off.” You’re paralyzed with the lascivious images of him sprawled out on his futon, cock out with his hand wrapped around it, tugging and stroking it with his pretty eyes closed and mouth moaning your name, and your own eyes threaten to roll back at the thought. Lashes flutter, going back to shielding your face so he doesn’t see, but with how observant he is, he noticed before you did.
“I guess I’ll have to really do all the work,” he mutters, hands working quick to slip your pants and underwear off in one fell swoop, then hooks his arm up under your thighs to lift you off the ground. You gasp, scrambling to grab onto his shirt collar, just to be met with his expression changed entirely, eyes now dark, empty voids, and your back shoved up to the shelves as they dig into your skin. “Don’t be too loud.” He instructs, voice dropped, and you stare at him wide-eyed, clueless, and one of his arms holds you securely in place while the other slinks back between your bodies. “Unless you want everyone to know I’m finger fucking you in the supply closet?” You vigorously shake your head, gripping his shirt, preparing yourself, and he just stares at you. Waiting. For what, you don’t know.
“P-Please?” You tremble out, hips shifting in place, and his middle finger traces your hole again.
“Very good,” he taunts, his stare shifting, and his head tilts. “Do you like being cornered in here with me? Having me touch you while the others are on the other side? They might still hear you.” He rushes all of this out in succession, your eyebrows knitting together, confused between this apparent revelation you didn’t think of and his fingers tending to your dripping entrance. “I think you’re secretly a cute little pervert.” He states, blunt, and for some reason, that sort of upsets you. However, he can feel your muscles pulsing, and he simply smirks.
“Don’t look at me like that. I already know I’m a pervert,” he admits, his finger carefully dipping in then pulling out, your bottom lip shaking as you look up at him. Eyes suddenly glassy, and he might actually be in heaven. “You’re one too. Touching yourself to the thought of me. Letting me mess with you all the time. Getting so turned on from it.” Two fingers curl in this time, stilled, and you hold onto him for dear life, shaking your head at all of his — correct — accusations. “Letting me finger you in the closet. You probably want someone to find us, don’t you?” You haven’t stopped shaking your head, a small sniffling sound triggering him, and his smile is all fangs.
“N-No, that’s not true!” You fight back, albeit weak, and he can hear it in the back of your throat: you’re about to cry.
“It is,” he decides for you, his fingers plunging in deeper, already finding your G-spot, and pressing upward. You gasp, burying your face in his neck, inhaling his cologne and the smell of fresh linen from his clean gauze and uniform, the comfort in it short lived. His free hand comes up easily, gripping your hair at the roots as gently as he can, then yanking your head back so he can see your face, fingertips petting beautifully along your insides. You sniff again, mouth shuddering, and he nods with a faux sweet smile. “You’re a little pervert.” He teases. “You probably peek in my dorm window too.” Now this he knows is baseless, but you’re right there, edging him with your unshed tears; he’ll say anything to make them fall.
“No!” You want to hide again, but you have to hold onto him, and he is holding your head in place, so all you can do is squeeze your eyes shut; fresh, hot tears stream down your equally flaming cheeks, and that relieves a weight on him he didn’t know he was carrying. “N-No, I don’t do that!” You quietly lament, scratching at his clothes, and he lets out a dreamy sigh.
“I guess I wouldn’t know,” he continues with what you both know is a blatant lie, his fingers now making slow movements, plunging in and out of you, listening to your silent cries and punched, squeaking moans, and he hasn’t had this much fun with a partner in ages. “You play off being innocent so well. And I would never think to check behind my curtain to see you standing there watching me with your hand in your pants.” You try shaking your head, more tears spilling through your wet lashes, mind confused from your body, and his fingers are driving you insane. He is being so mean, the meanest he’s ever been with you, and your hiccuping moans are driving him to continue while salty tears keep flowing. “Dirty, dirty, dirty little pervert~.” He sings, nudging his nose with yours, curling his fingertips up again to caress your overly swollen spot, and you dare to open your eyes, to look at him through blurring slits, and your heart melts at the sight: his cheeks are now stained with a dark maroon you’ve never seen, his once startling glare is deteriorated to a loving obsessive gaze, and his tongue is playfully poking out between his teeth. His words may be harsh, but at least you know he doesn’t actually mean it. I hope.
He hums softly, tongue lapping up from your jaw to your cheek at your tears, fingers alternating from pumping in and out of you at a tantalizingly, toe-curling, euphoric pace that makes you feel every pulsing tendon and flex of his knuckles, to a gentle caress on your G-spot that makes your tear-filled eyes roll back, whimpers filling the supply closet, and the utterly lewd, slippery motions of his fingers audible — bringing the blush rushing back to your cheeks that left for a brief moment.
“That’s it. Relax, angel, let me take care of you,” he coos, brushing your hair back as your head falls, your attempts at hiding your pleasure gone as soft moans enter his ears, leaning down to plant sloppy, wet kisses on your exposed neck while his fingers continue filling every inch of your hole, walls clenching around them, not wanting to let him go. “You sound amazing.” He compliments against your skin, your mind lost elsewhere, transported to a different plane of existence, one only he can take you from the wonderful attention he pays you alone. Another lingering kiss is left behind on your throat, right in the center, it bobbing up and down when you swallow, and a soft sigh leaves your lips when his fingers rub back and forth behind your clit. “Forgotten all about being crammed in the supply closet at work. Look at you, practically on cloud nine.” And I put you there. He admires you, ignoring the sudden ache in his arms from holding you and not changing movements, too enthralled with pleasing you.
Your walls pulse around his fingers, making his eyes glance down to see your clit throbbing, and he chuckles to himself as he presses up on that spot again. Your hips buck upward, thighs trembling around his sides, and your head is resting back on a pile of wrapped printer paper. He pushes his fingers in deeper, to his knuckles, and your foot twitches as his thumb presses down on your clit. Those all consuming voids ogle and gawk at you, him now panting and breathing heavy as he takes in the rise and fall of your chest while you struggle to breathe properly, the way your tummy tenses and relaxes with every stroke of his lithe digits, every circle of that sensitive bud, and you’re clawing at the fabric of his clothes like prey trying to free themselves.
“Ah, fuck, I wish I could take pictures of you like this,” he pants, head ducking down again to feverishly, desperately nip and maul your neck, teeth grazing and plush pink lips cushioning the pain. Your hushed sounds keep him going, fuel to his fire, wanting so badly to make you gush.
“D-Dazai…” You whimper, fingers finding his hair and wrapping yourself around his body so you can cling to him.
“I know,” he hushes you, curling at his knuckles just enough to caress and pet and bully your G-spot, fingertips applying the perfect amount of pressure to ignite your abdomen, and his thumb catches the right angle to shoot tingles up and down your limbs, paralyzing you into a pit of desire and lust and want and insanity. He pants into the crook of your neck, falling down into that same abyss with you, all because he is making you feel this way. His eyes spin in his sockets behind is screwed tight lids, tongue poking out to prod at your pulse, and everything is making you feel as though you’re floating.
“K-Kiss me,” you quietly ask, eyes hazing when he looks up at you, startled by the demand. “Gonna come, kiss me.” You whisper, nails lightly digging into his scalp, cheeks painted red and pink, lips parted from your own panting as you try to conceal the moans you would much rather be letting out. He doesn’t hesitate further after seeing you like this, his mouth hungry and tired, practically engulfing yours as his tongue is already shooting down your throat, fingers nonstop inside of you, and your body is shaking against the shelves.
Your hands clamor for him, unable to breathe, one gripping his hair like a vice while the other is clinging to his vest, both of your moans passing into one another’s opened mouths, teeth gnashing at each other, and your tongue is somehow now in his. Letting him suck on it while your legs tremor around his waist, your orgasm rushing and tearing its way through you, his kisses doing absolutely nothing to silence you as you let out panicked squeaks and whimpers, your tongue stuck between his lips, and an incredibly new sensation is happening alongside your normal release.
He groans from deep within his chest, feeling the strings of your squirting trickle down his fingers and palm, your eyes going cross before rolling back. He lets you go, watching your head drop down on the paper once more, mouth agape, body limp, and you haven’t finished. Fingers decide to pump in and out of you again, thumb frantic on your poor, overstimulated clit, and the grasp you had on him previously is dulling as your fingers loosen off of the fabric and arms now dangle down at your sides. He laughs at you again, shoving them as deep as they will go, watching your back arch with the movement, before aggressively yanking them out with one last gush hitting on his pants.
“Look at the mess you made,” he tsks, lightly shaking his head as he eyes the multiple dark spots on his clothes. “Well, everyone’s going to know what you did now.” You slow blink, elsewhere entirely, not hearing a word he says and letting him move you around like a rag doll. He helps you stand upright and grabs your underwear, glancing at them for a beat too long before guiding your feet to step into them, then does the same with your pants. As he fastens the button, he examines your state, cocking his head. “Hey, angel. How are you doing?” He very carefully pats the side of your face, making your eyes — still very much dazed — glide in his direction.
“I-I finished,” you mumble, and a dark eyebrow arches at that with a puzzled but amused smirk.
“You did, all over me,” he tells you, gesturing to his ruined bandages and sullied slacks. Your line of sight trails and follows, the blush coming on instinct, but you don’t have much else of a reaction aside from looking like you’re about to fall over and take a nap. His hands steady you, since you’re wobbling, and you sigh. That’s what he meant by baptised.
“Whoopsie.”
i hope this was okay~ i got a little feral
- ghxst
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