can i request a masami fic where reader is like constantly thinking about masami and trying to be soooo normal about it but is actually kinda obsessive but they do end up together somehow and then reader figures out masami matches his freak and they fuck nasty about it 🤭 thank uuuu
— freak like me
masami (all(h)ours) | male reader
warnings: smut, bottom reader, power play, switch dynamics, rough, throat grabbing one time, mutual obsession
(y/n) had a problem. A tall, dark haired, sharp-tongued problem with silver piercings and a smirk like he knew what you dreamed about at night.
Masami.
It was stupid how often he thought about him. The way he rolled his eyes during interviews. The cocky tilt of his head when he danced. How effortlessly he took control of a room like everyone else was just background noise.
(y/n) hated him for it.
Wanted him for it.
Thought about him too much, too hard, too often.
And Masami knew. That was the worst part.
He caught the way Masami’s eyes lingered just a beat too long when they passed each other backstage. The way his tongue would swipe across his bottom lip when (y/n) spoke a little too softly, like he was imagining what (y/n) sounded like underneath him.
But nothing ever happened.
Until tonight.
They were alone in the practice room, after hours. Just them and the mirrored walls. Masami’s tank top hung loose, exposing collarbone, sweat, muscles. His joggers rode low, teasing the sharp lines of his hips. He looked like sin.
(y/n) was trying not to stare. He failed.
“You gonna keep undressing me with your eyes or just say what you want, (y/n)?” Masami said lazily, running a hand through damp hair.
(y/n)’s jaw tensed. “You wish I wanted you.”
Masami stepped closer, their chests almost touching. “Don’t lie to me,” he murmured. “You’ve been looking at me like you wanna ruin me.”
“And you look like you’d let me.”
Masami grinned. “Let you?” He grabbed (y/n) by the collar and pushed him hard against the mirror. “You’ve got the wrong idea, sweetheart. I take what I want.”
(y/n)’s breath hitched. just for a second, but he shoved back, slamming Masami against the mirrored wall in turn. “Then take it,” he whispered.
And just like that, they snapped.
Clothes ripped, hands everywhere. (y/n)’s shirt hit the floor, followed by Masami’s joggers. They were bare-chested, breathing heavy, lips inches apart, cocks hard and leaking between them as they fought for control, grabbing, grinding, biting.
Masami was first to take the upper hand.
He grabbed (y/n)’s wrists and spun him toward the mirror, pressing his chest against his back, grinding up against him with a slow roll of his hips. “Been dying to see you fall apart,” he rasped into (y/n)’s ear. “Gonna make you look at yourself while I fuck you.”
(y/n) hissed, but didn’t resist, not yet. He watched Masami through the mirror, lips parted, eyes hungry.
“Condom,” (y/n) said, voice low and shaky. “Bag.”
Masami grabbed it, tore one open with his teeth, and sheathed himself. He spat into his palm, slicked his cock, and dragged it between (y/n)’s cheeks. “This what you wanted, huh?” he taunted. “Me inside you, fucking you raw against the glass?”
(y/n) gritted his teeth. “Stop talking and do it.”
Masami slammed in. No warning.
(y/n)’s knees buckled, his hands slapping against the mirror as he let out a strangled sound, half pain, half pleasure. Masami didn’t stop. He gripped (y/n)’s hips and fucked into him hard, fast, brutal. His breath was hot against (y/n)’s neck, teeth scraping skin, leaving bruises just to mark him.
“You feel so fucking good,” Masami groaned. “So tight around me. Bet you dream about this, don’t you?”
(y/n) couldn’t answer. Could barely think. His reflection looked desperate, mouth open, eyes glassy, back arching with every thrust.
Masami reached around to stroke him, rough and fast. “Gonna come just like this. Like a needy little slut.”
And (y/n) did, shuddering hard, choking out Masami’s name, body clenching around his cock.
But he wasn’t done.
The second Masami pulled out, (y/n) spun around, grabbed him by the throat, and pushed him down to the floor.
“My turn,” (y/n) panted, pupils blown wide. “You think you’re the only freak here?”
Masami smirked, challenging. “Show me.”
(y/n) straddled him, tore the condom off, and gripped his cock, still wet and twitching. He spat on it, stroked it once, then sank down in one smooth, brutal motion.
Masami groaned, hands flying to (y/n)’s hips.
“Don’t touch,” (y/n) snapped.
Masami chuckled, breathless. “Controlling little bitch.”
“You like it.”
(y/n) rode him hard. Hips snapping, body flexing, head thrown back in pure, filthy bliss. Masami bucked up beneath him, teeth clenched, eyes locked on (y/n)’s chest as he bounced, sweat-slick and moaning.
“I knew you were like this,” Masami rasped. “Knew you were just as fucked up as me.”
(y/n) leaned down, lips brushing his. “Takes one to know one.”
And then he kissed him, hot and open-mouthed, biting at his lip, just as Masami came with a desperate groan, pulling (y/n) down with him.
They collapsed together, breathing hard, tangled limbs and bruised skin and matching smirks.
Finally, Masami muttered, “I told you I’d take what I wanted.”
