#it's not even like it's bad. it is good like i do get it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dyingswanpavlova · 2 days ago

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"Your girl" - Part 14 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: Life with him is really good...Right?

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder/gore/death, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation and low self-esteem, mentions of sexual activities, loss of identity, threatening, penetration, breeding kink, degradation kink, cockwarming, edging, overstimulation, sleepy sex (both consent!), not beta-read, if I've missed any warnings or tags please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

Life was good.

Uncharacteristically so even.

There was still a tiny part of you that was tense around him and that was for various reasons. One of them being, that you never really knew when his evil persona would take over. So far you could tell, albeit roughly, but there were always moments, when he would simply snap and there was nothing you could do about it. Was that a problem? Probably, but not to you, anyways. Why? Because life was good.

The little trip to the balcony hadn’t been a one-time thing. In fact, it happened more and more regular. Not only to get naughty, because he was a freak, who liked the thought of possibly getting caught – but also because, as he said, you’ve been such a good girl for me all this time. And I told you, sweet girl, I don’t want to keep you locked away. I just needed to make sure you’re mine.

That you were. Quite obviously.

That one time when you told him you wanted to leave, it had been exactly that. One time. The reasons for that outburst were in the past so far. There were still moments when you feared punishment and rightfully so. But to your great relief, you were both learning.

You were learning not to expect a painful blow, whenever you went out of your way to speak your mind (which wasn’t quite as often as you wished, but you were getting there). Slow and steady.

And he? He was learning, too. He was learning to leave you be and control the wild beast that lived inside his mind and soul. The darkness that surrounded him became lighter every day or so it felt to you. Of course he wouldn’t let you downright insult him, without at least some punishment in sight. But he was working on himself and his behavior. He didn’t hurt you without a reason. He didn’t hurt severely. And on some lucky days, he didn’t hurt you at all.

Slow and steady.

What was probably the greatest part of it all, it felt like a relationship. A real one. Two people who shared a life together, doing all kinds of things, sharing an intimate relation, but most importantly, you talked.

You talked a lot.

And now it wasn’t only through games and the fear of punishment. It wasn’t even only you who was forced to talk. No, he talked as well. The important things were still a big issue, obviously. He didn’t have a name, an identity or a past, when it came to you. But you had the great, undying hope that one day he would trust you. Trust you enough to let you know who he was and where he came from, what made him who he was and what was truly important to him.

Sometimes you’d get those tiny, little flickers that shone through his façade, his tight mask. The moments when the look in his eyes became faraway and distant, when his voice became softer and the tension in his body gave way to something quiet. Maybe one day that would be the version of him that you would get. Entirely and without question. Without the filter to rule out his emotions for him.

Until then, though, you would make do with what you had. And what did you have?

His favorite movie? The good, the bad and the ugly. What a question. Actually, anything with Clint Eastwood in it. Haven’t you seen the man?

His favorite musician? Ennio Morricone. Did you watch that scene in Inglourious Basterds, right before the Bear Jew comes out of the cave? That scene – and that composition – it’s reason enough to watch the movie. Aside from all the Nazis getting burned, of course.

His favorite food? Tteokbokki. But they have to be spicy enough to make your tongue fall off.

You smirked to yourself as you stood by the stove, slowly stirring the rice cakes in a black pan. He was talking movies all the time and that was a language you understood well.

In a minute you needed to add the spices and that disturbingly hot, red sauce. It was something you had cooked before, back in England. You had been scrolling aimlessly through one of your countless apps, which you normally used so you wouldn’t have to think and there you found some recipe that had been viral for a while. A Korean recipe with rice cakes in a sauce, topped with sesame and green onions. It had been quite the ordeal to find rice cakes back where you lived, but when you finally did and you tasted the recipe you had so carefully and lovingly prepared, you found it was worth it. It had actually been the first step into the life you were now living.

South-Korea, you had thought. Why not?

You poured the sauce in and wanted to try it, but decided against it in the end. You’d spend the next hour trying to soothe the pain in your mouth with bread and milk. With a soft sigh, you turned off the stove and served the food on two plates. You set the table with the gentle precision of a lovely homemaker. Even the napkins were folded prettily, giving the whole scene the last touch it needed to come off as…thoughtful.

Of course you never mentioned to him that you knew the dish. He had mostly likely thought it was just another Korean word he threw around and you’d forget immediately. And you had made no attempts to make him believe differently. So, when you began to cook this, it was with the intention to surprise him. A short glance at the clock showed you that it was almost ten in the evening, so he would most likely be home soon.

Home. What an odd thought.

You sighed again and washed your hands. A lecture you had to learn only once before in your life – spicy food didn’t quite match well with eyes.

You glanced around the kitchen once more, half-expecting him to be late. After he luckily gave you the books back, you asked yourself if you should go and read something, until he arrived, but that question answered itself, the moment you heard the door creak open. A nervous smile grew on your face and you nibbled on your lower lip. For some reason, a part of you was still afraid. A tiny bit, at least. It was like you expected him to punish you for good things. For being affectionate or caring.

But the moment you saw his head perk through the door, you knew you wouldn’t get punished tonight. Well, at least not, until you gave him a reason to…or asked him to.

His face lit up in surprised delight, his brows furrowed in a mixture of disbelief and confusion.

“Hello?” He murmured as he stepped closer and set the briefcase down on a chair. Your smile grew somewhat and you folded your hands behind your back.

“Hey.” You took a step closer and tilted your head to the side. “I made dinner.”

“I can see that.” He glanced at the lovely decorated kitchen table. You had put in quite some effort, looking through all the drawers until you found a tablecloth, lit some candles and then there was his favorite food. He looked from the table to you and smiled.

“And what exactly did I do to deserve this?” He raised a brow in suspicion. You returned the smile.

“I just felt like it.”

“So, you know Tteokbokki!”

You laughed quietly. “We’ll see about that. You should try it first.”

He hummed softly and stepped closer. You expected him to head for the sink and wash his hands, which he most definitely would, but before that, he stepped close to you, so close that you felt the warmth radiating off him and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. Then your cheek and then your lips.

You closed eyes and leaned into the kiss, immediately aching for more. But a second later he pulled his head back and smiled again.

“I just know I’m going to love it. Thank you.”

You felt yourself blush and so you averted your gaze. He finished up getting ready and then pulled out your chair for you, like the gentleman he was, or well, he could be.

The both of you settled down and you kept a keen eye on him to check his reaction, the second he brought the fork to his lips. You half-expected him to recoil in disgust, but instead, his brows furrowed and he hummed in approval.

“This is perfect.”

You scoffed in amusement. “Stop bullshitting me.”

“No, I mean it. It’s perfectly spicy, just the way I like it. And it’s homemade. Do you know how much that me-“ He stopped himself and cleared his throat. The filter. “I really love it. Thank you.” He squeezed your hand under the table.

You smiled again and leaned back in your chair, taking a moment to simply watch him eat.

When he saw you were staring at him, he cocked a brow. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Now it’s you bullshitting me, huh?”

That made you laugh. God, how beautiful this was. Just simple, plain banter. Back and forth, like normal couples shared. You loved it.

You loved him.

When you laughed, a cocky grin grew on his face. “Mhm. I still have it in me, don’t I?”

You smirked. “Oh, shut up. For an old man.”

His grin widened and he picked up the fork, bringing it to your lips. Wordlessly, you parted them and took the food in your mouth. It was painful, of course, but you tried to keep a strong façade. And failed.

He laughed and held out a glass with milk to you, of which you took a big, grateful sip.

“Why are you making it, if you can’t even eat it?”

“You like it.”

He hummed softly. “And you remembered.”

“It’s not that hard. I collect the few things I know about you like postage stamps.”

He snorted. “Oh, so now we collect stamps, do we?”

You grinned cheekily and gently nudged his shoulder. “Eat your abnormal spicy food and shush.”

He shot you another smirk and eyed you up and down for a moment. It left you feeling oddly comfortable.

“You’re beautiful.” He mumbled before he took another bite. Your brows shot up and you titled your head to the side. You were better now, when it came to this. Compliments and accepting them. After all, he had no reason to lie to you whatsoever, now, did he?

“Thank you. But why are you saying that?” Not as good as you thought, but better.

He brows furrowed. “And why wouldn’t I?”

You shrugged and he shot you a long, suspicious look. “I’m not taking it back.”

That made you laugh again. He sounded like petulant child and you loved him even more when he was like this. Just…easy.

Easy to love.

“Why are you laughing at me?” He joined your laughter.

You smirked and took another sip of your milk. “If you can’t tell, it’s already too late.”

Days passed, weeks even, and life was still good. Very much so.

Every now and then you would ask yourself, when will things take a dark turn again? You couldn’t help yourself. These first few weeks were stuck in your mind like a nightmare you hardly remembered and yet felt in every inch of your body. Even when you didn’t...

Your body remembered.

He had that in him. That dark, that evil. It would undoubtedly come out again at some point. That’s why you always tried to remind yourself, not to dive too deep into what you called your perfect world. At some point, you’d surely be in pain again.

Though, you had to admit, you were hardly in pain nowadays. Your mysterious man was a gentle man, when he wanted to be and that happened more and more these days. Whenever he came home, he’d make a habit of kissing you and asking you about your day. His smile came out, more and more often. On very rare occasions, when you got really lucky, you even heard him laugh. And not the mock-kind of laugh he’d have so well-rehearsed in his repertoire of masks, he had for the world to see, but the real kind. A sound so unbridled and genuine, so warm and endearing, it made something inside of you ache. Why was it so rare?

Of course he still hurt you sometimes, but that was more of a consented kind of thing. In most cases.

Whenever he decided it was time for you to cockwarm him, for example. God, you hated, when he did. Because you loved it.

You loved the feeling of having him inside you on any occasion, really. Sometimes he’d be reading the newspaper and have you on his lap, his free hand on your hip to hold you perfectly still. You always asked yourself, how on earth did he manage to read like that, without even cocking an eye brow, while you were nearly fainting in agony, because all you wanted was for him to move?

On other nights, and you were ashamed to admit how much you enjoyed it, you’d even sleep like that. You’d lay either facing away or facing him, but often clenched around him. He’d nuzzle his face in your hair and after a while he’d usually drift off like that, his breathing slowly soothing down to a soft sound. Sometimes, when he’d wake up in the middle of the night, you felt him move and grind his hips against yours, giving you the friction you so desperately desired. Sometimes it happened quickly, sometimes it took a few hours and sometimes it didn’t happen at all. But when it did and when it did take hours to get to that point, you’d normally be half-asleep and yet desperate. The second you felt him move inside you, it was as though a switch got flipped. You became needy and…

Wicked.

For you, it didn’t matter how many times he fucked you. How many times he made you cum. When you felt him like that, you needed him. Ardently.

But in most cases you managed to be good for him, just like he asked you to. Good and perfectly still. When you did, you got rewarded. Which, in most cases, consisted of him going down on you and making you feel things with his tongue that made your toes curl and your breath stutter. He made you cum so good that you nearly forgot your own name.

At times, you did forget it. But odd enough, you didn’t really miss it. Names weren’t important. Not with him.

And then there were those other times. The times, when you got too needy, too desperate and, despite your better will, you found yourself moving against him, desperate for any kind of friction. That was when you got punished still.

Sometimes with a firm slap to get you back on track. That wasn’t enough to make you forget about your need for him though. Normally, you’d just fall back into the same pattern, given enough time. And after a while, he got more creative with his punishments. When he realized that pain was something that you were rather immune to, compared to other things, you were fucked.

Quite literally.

When you moved and disobeyed his orders not to…

He fucked you. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Not at all, actually.

That was until…

You came. You came every time with him, which was something you had highly doubted, before you started this thing between you. But to your surprise, you were more than relaxed with him. And so you came.

But he didn’t stop there. No, it was a punishment after all, right?

So, he kept fucking into you, like a feral animal. Even after you came and the pleasure quickly shifted into overstimulation. You got so sensitive, it was close to painful. But he kept going.

And then, oh God, you’d come again. Of course you did. He was good at what he was doing. You came again, shuddering and gasping.

And he still wouldn’t stop.

Even when your body arched into the air and you tried to get away from him, all desperate, he’d continue fucking you, until your mind was a mess and all you could do was stutter and whimper, cry even.

It was one of his favorite ways to punish you.

When he didn’t keep you on edge or withdrew your release for the time being, he made you cum until you begged him to stop, sobbing and whimpering.

Oh, the crying turned him on, you could tell. Because it normally ended with him filling you up to the brim. And then he’d go back to sleep, wouldn’t he? With his length still buried deep inside to keep warm.

Let’s just hope you learned your lesson now, darling. I’d hate to punish you again.

He had done exactly that the night before and so you found yourself lying on the sofa, feeling sore and exhausted. When he came home that night, you were still passed out on the couch, too sleepy to even open your eyes. He regarded your broken frame with a warm, yet subtle smile and set his briefcase down. He took a few slow steps closer and watched over you for a long moment, before he reached for the nearby blanket and pulled it up to your shoulders. You weren’t really fast asleep, just somewhere in-between, so you felt his knuckles gently caress your cheek. You mumbled something in response and you heard the way he smiled, before he vanished to the bathroom and you heard the way the water got turned on.

After a while you slowly blinked your eyes open and yawned. When you saw the blanket, a smile crept onto your face and you hugged the material tightly to your body. Slowly and carefully, you sat up and rubbed your eyes, before you decided to try and cook something for a change. You got better and better at it, considering how little you knew about the Korean cuisine. Yet you had to admit, it seemed healthier than anything you had ever eaten back home.

When you couldn’t think of anything, you decided to be safe and went for Bibimbap. It was a mixture of near everything and also the fastest thing you could think of. But before you even started, you went back to your room to grab a claw clip for your hair. You swiftly did it up and made your way through the hallway, when you saw that the door to his bedroom stood open. You saw his white shirt splayed out on the bed and you just knew it smelled like him. You bit your lip as you slowly tiptoed inside and picked the shirt up, only to bury your face in the material and inhale softly.

If this wasn’t home, what would ever be?

You hummed softly to yourself, before you swiftly slid off your caramel colored skirt and your black tank top, to put his button down shirt on instead. The material hugged your body like a gentle hug and you smiled to yourself as you rolled the sleeves up in the way he would. Of course the shirt looked fairly huge on you. You took a long glance at the big mirror and smirked. It looked like a dress on you, albeit a short one. You twirled around like a ballerina and took in the way your thighs were barely covered by the material. That gave you a wicked idea.

Of course your body was begging you to leave it be, especially after last night, but the devil inside your mind forced you to keep the shirt on and make your way back to the kitchen.

In the meantime, he had finished his shower and now he sat on the couch, with the newspaper in his hand. He wore a pair of grey sweatpants (the damned bastard) and a black shirt. His hair was still damp and hung loosely into his face. He looked delicious.

When he heard you approach, he looked up, ready to greet you, when he hesitated. His gaze roamed up and down your body in a way that made you bite back a smirk.

“Hello, darling.” He murmured, without ever looking up at your face.

“Why, hello.” You purred cheerfully and approached him with slow, tiptoed steps. His gaze wandered up your legs and torso, until he finally met your gaze.

“You look…”

“I thought it suits me better than you.” You teased.

His lips curved up into a slow smile. “I can’t disagree.” He took your hand, ready to pull you onto his lap. But after last night, you felt in dire need to take some action and control.

Not, that you didn’t somehow enjoy it. But still.

You briefly squeezed his hand, before you pulled yours away. You gave him a quick peck on the lips, then took a step back.

“I’ll go cook.”

His brows shot up. “I can-“

“No.”

You hid your smirk, until you had your back facing him. With quick, measured steps, you disappeared into the kitchen, all the while pretending not to hear his frustrated groan.

The next few minutes went by rather quickly. You did a great job cooking up some ingredients and even an egg, Sunny Side Up. You quickly set the table and eventually left some rice on the stove, to slowly simmer. With a soft, exaggerated sigh you made your way back to the living room.

“It’s almost done.” You murmured as you slowly approached him. When you looked at him, you deliberately missed his face and his expression became more and more dour.

“Good. I was thinking-“

“I nearly finished my book.” You interrupted him in a sweet voice, as you sat down on his lap, causing him to freeze for a moment. It only took him a second to relax, though he seemed to have forgotten that you had interrupted him and what he even intended to say in the first place.

“That’s…good.” He murmured.

“Just two more pages. I’ll finish it quickly, before dinner, okay?”

He cocked a brow and shrugged slowly. “Sure. Suit yourself.”

His shirt rode up your thighs and revealed more and more of your skin to his gaze. He didn’t even try to be secretive about it, he was straight-up ogling you. All the while you buried your nose in your book, without reading a single word. You had to save up all your energy as not to smile.

His fingertips brushed over the skin of your thigh and you did your best to keep your expression neutral. And he, he was just…

“Are you-“

“Oh God, I didn’t see that twist coming.” You closed the book and sighed. Then you shot him an innocent look and smiled. “That was a really good book.”

You leaned back against his chest and kept up your innocent façade, all the while the look in his eyes equaled that of a bear with his fish.

“You really-“

“I’d better go and get myself another one. I’m sure the rice needs a few more minutes.”

His hand ended up in the middle of the air, while you practically jumped off of his lap. He let out a soft grunt of frustration, while you slowly swayed your way back to the bookshelf. Of course your hips swayed along and obviously his gaze did the same.

You held a finger against your lips, pretending to think, while you slowly went about the rows and rows of books. And then, what a coincidence, a book in the last row caught your attention. You smiled and bent down, pretending to read.

At the same time, his patience snapped. When his shirt rode up further, exposing just a hint of your rear to him, he let out a low growl.

“That’s enough.” He hissed. You smirked, before you slowly turned and replaced the smirk with innocent surprise.

“What? What’s enough?”

“Oh, stop this.” He slammed the newspaper down on the coffee table and stood up in a swift movement. “Stop acting all innocent. You’ve been parading around here, half-naked and ready to…”

“To what?” You murmured and tilted your head to the side in feigned curiosity. He growled again and ran a hand over his chin. Only then did you see the obvious tent in his grey sweatpants. It cost you half your life not to look down there and trust your peripheral view.

“Don’t play dumb.” He murmured. “Get over here. Now.”

You licked your lips. “But the rice-“

“Now!”

That made you laugh and there went your innocent act out of the window.

“You minx! You’re doing this on purpose!”

You chuckled. “Well…”

The look on his face was near rabid. Only the foam was missing.

“I’ll forgive you this once, if you’ll be a good girl for me and get your ass over here.”

You smirked and took a step back, circling the sofa. “And if I don’t?

He hissed in response. “You don’t want to test me today.”

And for some inexplicable reason, right then and there, you weren’t scared. That tiny part of your brain that had continued to keep up the fear, albeit briefly and barely, was completely silent. And you knew he wasn’t going to hurt you, no matter what you did.

“Make me then.”

His eyes widened and he tilted his chin up. “Oh, that’s a mistake.”

You grinned. “Oh, that’s a mistake.” You mocked his voice.

With a movement so quick that it almost made you wince, he jumped over the back of the couch and stood before you, eyeing you like a predator. You let out a soft shriek and turned on your heel, running and laughing, without looking over your shoulder.

It took him only a second to put his hand on your shoulder, but it took you only a second to shrug him off and circle the coffee table.

“That all you got, old man?”

You could have sworn you saw his lip twitch, but that would have been too easy. He tried hard to keep his expression serious.

“Grew a backbone, did you?”

You raised a brow and smirked. “Oh, boo-hoo. Did I hurt you, oppa?” You hinted a mocking curtsy.

“Oh, you just wait!” He rushed to catch you from one side, but you quickly ran the other way. When he tried the other way, you went the other way, yet again. He gave a frustrated growl.

“What now, hm?” You smirked. “Giving up already?”

He gave you a long, wild look. For a moment you almost thought he was indeed giving up, but then he rushed forward and kicked the table out of the way. It rolled over and crashed against the wall loudly. Your eyes widened in surprise and you took a step back, but before you knew it, your back was already pressed against the wall and you had to tilt your head back to stare up at him.

“You caught me.” You whispered.

He clenched his jaw and reached out a hand. You were sure. You were still sure, that you were safe.

And then…

His hand slowly tangled in your hair and gently grasped the back of your neck. He leaned down so that your lips nearly met.

“I caught you.” He whispered back, before he captured your lips in a bruising kiss.

And you let the rice burn.

A few days later, you couldn’t even tell which day it was, because every day was but a collection of memories you kept replaying in your head, he was off to work.

And to no one’s great surprise, you missed him.

Every waking moment without him was empty. The emptiness was so intense, it left you nearly suffocating. All the while, all you could do was wait. Wait and eat. Wait and sleep. Wait and read.

Sometimes, you wrote. You remembered that one time you told him about your greatest dream.

To become an author one day. You didn’t even care, if anyone knew your real name, you just wanted to touch people with your words. Like the Bronte-sisters.

Ellis Bell, huh? And who would you be?

Hana, maybe. The thought made you equally as sad as it filled you with hope.

But that was about all you did. And after hours and hours, the day neared its end. Eventually it was far past eleven, so you were sure he would be late tonight. Of course you were concerned. As you always were. You had no idea what his job was, but you could tell it was dangerous.

The man in his clean suit and a briefcase full of secrets.

When it got closer to midnight and he still wasn’t back, you decided to distract yourself, by getting yourself ready. You changed into a beautiful, white negligee with a neckline made of pretty, see-through lace. You loved it. The silk made you feel like you were the most beautiful girl on earth. And you were sure, once he saw you in it, he would totally destroy it. Chew it off or tear it down, whatever worked faster.

You did your hair down (it was slowly growing back and you barely thought back to the dreadful day that he cut it) and took a last glance at your appearance in the mirror. You smiled at yourself, something you rarely did, and eventually made your way back to his bedroom to surprise him. On his bed, wearing nothing but the negligee and a pair of…

Where were the handcuffs? You frowned as you glanced around and didn’t immediately find them. You bent down to look under the bed, but still no cuffs in sight. Your frown deepened and you gave another quick onceover, before you decided that they most likely were in the wardrobe.

You opened it and knelt down, finding the knife and several guns in the process. The small shudder brought you back to reality and you exhaled softly, before you sat back and looked at the countless weapons. Had he ever killed someone with them? Most likely.

But for a strange, inexplicable reason, you didn’t really care. Not really. Because it wasn’t real. Not then, not there, not in that moment. What was real, was him and his…

Desires.

You opened your mouth and closed it, before your fingers slowly closed around a small handgun. You swallowed thickly and carefully held it up, only to realize it was far heavier than you always assumed. The material felt cold and wrong in your hand.

Your mind involuntarily wandered back to the day he pressed one of them against your temple or…his. You closed your eyes. The thought of him…

Him…

With a shuddery gasp, the gun slipped through your fingers and landed on the carpet.

There was no thought more painful than that one. You couldn’t lose him. Not ever.

You loved him. And you loved him far too much.

Enough, to be what he wanted.

Enough, to give in to his desires.

You took another deep breath and picked up the gun again, determined to take it back to bed with you. You wanted to surprise him, right?

All you had to do beforehand was to make sure that it wasn’t loaded.

A frown formed on your face, when you realized you didn’t even know how to do that. The thought of accidentally shooting yourself, while waiting for him to come home…It didn’t sound all too appealing, though it did sound like something that could happen to you.

You sighed and already gave up the thought of ever finding the cuffs, when you caught sight of something else instead. It was far in the back of the wardrobe and you were sure, for some reason, you weren’t supposed to see it.

Of course you weren’t supposed to touch his gun, either, but you felt he would forgive you, once he realized you were slowly submitting to his every desire.

Even if it meant him fucking you, while he held a gun to your head. In your mouth…Or, God help you, somewhere else.

You were twisted. You were sure you were. Because you felt it. You felt how the thought did things to you.

But for now you tried to push the thought aside and instead glanced back at the box.

Then again, what terrible thing could be inside there?

Someone’s teeth maybe?

Your soft smile disappeared the second you realized it was possible. You nearly recoiled in disgust. But then you realized, you had to know.

It couldn’t be teeth. It was too sick. Too deranged.

Too…him?

No. No, no, no.

As if in a trance, you picked up the light, wooden box and took off the lid.

No teeth inside. Only…

Fuck.

What was in there was so much worse than teeth.

Your forehead creased into a small frown, which grew further with every second.

And suddenly you felt nauseous.

No.

Oh, no.

You nearly dropped the box and backed away like you’d been struck, the moment you heard it.

“Goddamn it." He sighed impatiently and the door slowly closed behind him. "You weren’t supposed to see that.”

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Tag list 1:

@mitsuki-dreamfree @kpopsmutty69 @heroine-chique @vkeyy @mizuwki @blu-brrys @z0mbi345 @yourpointbreak @ayieayee @freddyzeppsworld @lola11111111 @indifitel6661 @salesmanlover08 @laurenbenoit70 @lalalaa2210 @lila-marshal @auspicious-lilana @0-aubrie0 @lovelyaegyo @theredvelvetbitch @violentbluess @muriels-lover @dorayakissu @eviebuggg @muchwita @ririgy @strxlemon @obsessedwthdilfs @kiwilov3 @misty-q

Author's note: Did I lately mention that I love you, guys?

Ps. The Tteokbokki and the teasing were anon requests! I loved them and I hope I did them justice!

611 notes · View notes

imsofreakingtired · 3 days ago

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GREY HAIRED SEVI MY BELOVED

thank you @demothers-empty-blog for putting this idea into my head. it has taken over my soul. i need to see her healthy and happy and aging so bad it's a carnal need

~~~

it's early in the morning. you watch drowsily from the bed as Sevika stands in front of the mirror, checking over her reflection as she pulls on her cloak. she frowns at herself, pushes the hair out of her eyes. she catches your gaze in the mirror's surface. you're watching her softly as you always do - how could you not? she's beautiful no matter the time of day. then out of the blue she says, "i should dye my hair."

"huh."

she smiles wryly. "i mean, i'm really starting to show my age, aren't i?"

you raise yourself from the bed. "sevika," you say. "as your wife, i say this with the utmost love and adoration. touch your hair and you die."

she turns around, raising an eyebrow at you. "you don't want me to get rid of the grey?"

you climb out of bed and walk over to her. you tenderly arrange her short bangs over her forehead. streaks of grey matching the stormy color of her eyes.

"they're the most beautiful part of you and i would kiss each individual strand if i could."

she laughs. "that's a bit much."

"yeah, well, you married a bit much."

"damn right i did." she pulls you close. "gimme a kiss to get me through the day."

she kisses your smiling mouth, but before she can deepen the embrace you pull away and push her head down toward your face so you can kiss her hair.

"don't even think about dyeing it," you say. "promise me."

"if you like it so damn much," she pretends to grumble, "i promise."

"good. now go knock 'em dead at the council, baby."

~~~

note: impromptu fluff drabble before the avalanche of angst ye be warned <33

#DO IT #DO IT RIOT #SHOW US OLDER SEVIKA #WTF DOES MONEY MATTER WHEN MY MENTAL HEALTH IS ON THE LINE 🙏#sevika #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika headcanon #sevika x you #sevika fluff

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urdreamgirls-dreamgirl · 3 days ago

Text

part one

“so how was your first day?” robin asks steve as he slides onto the barstool next to her and chrissy.

“it actually wasn’t that bad,” steve shrugs before taking a long pull from the freshly opened bottle the bartender slides his way.

“it wasn’t that bad?” chrissy asks, incredulous. “so he didn’t make you go to the erewhon all the way across town? the one he goes to because selena gomez was seen there once?”

“that’s why he made me go there?”

“yeah, he really likes that one movie she’s in.”

steve thinks for a moment. “the dead don’t die?”

“no, the one with the dancing,” chrissy snorts.

steve makes a face and then shrugs again. “i made him his breakfast, i drove him around, i organized his tshirt closet… pretty standard stuff for an assistant.”

“you organized his tshirt closet? what the fuck does that even mean?” robin asks, laughing.

“exactly what it sounds like,” steve grins at her. “anyway, really, it wasn’t that bad. sure, he’s insufferable but not anything i couldn’t handle. don’t worry about it.”

“well, thanks for doing this,” chrissy says. “vickie handled it for a while, but i guess once you’ve been fired twelve times in the course of six months, you have to draw a boundary with the thirteenth.”

“it’s really not a big deal, it’s not like i’m doing it for free,” steve responds. “the money is more than worth it.”

“still, i know how he can be. but he’s really not so bad. once he’s… comfortable.” chrissy frowns.

“whatever,” steve shrugs for a third time. “i’m just here for the cash.” he winks and gives her a reassuring smile.

~*~

the next morning, steve pulls up to eddie’s huge beverly hills mansion bright and early, just as he had yesterday. he punches in the gate code, waves to the security guy on duty, and makes his way inside to the kitchen.

eddie storms in while steve is halfway through cooking another omelette, this time with tomatoes and onions and freshly grated cheddar cheese.

“i don’t care, wheeler, i’m not making a fucking appearance and i’m definitely not doing it with him,” eddie snarls into the phone pressed to his face. he hasn’t seemed to notice that steve’s in his house again.

eddie waits for whoever it is on the phone to speak before he says, “well maybe i don’t want to fix it. maybe this is it,” and then hangs up the phone. he lets out a frustrated little scream before he turns to leave the kitchen, finally noticing steve by the stove. “you’re back,” he says, voice monotone.

“i’m back,” steve smiles, sliding the plate full of food across the large island toward him. eddie looks down at it like he’s surprised. “eat,” steve tells him.

“another sweater vest?” eddie sneers instead of picking up his fork.

“i like them,” steve shrugs, still smiling.

eddie rolls his eyes. “whatever,” he mutters and then picks up the plate and retreats from the kitchen.

~*~

eddie is deeply annoyed by how good steve’s omelettes are. he practically licks the plate clean when he’s finished, which only serves to make his bad mood worse.

“can i take your plate?” steve asks from the doorway of the living room.

“jesus christ, man, wear a fucking bell,” eddie grumbles before holding out the plate, forcing steve to walk across the room to the couch and take it from him.

“i’ll remember to announce myself from now on,” steve replies. “chrissy just called; you have another meeting with the pr team this afternoon. we’ll leave here in about an hour.”

eddie doesn’t respond and steve goes quietly back to the kitchen.

~*~

eddie tries to confuse steve with the directions to nancy’s office again, mostly just to annoy him since the car has a built in gps. steve ignores eddie, leaving him to play on his phone in the back seat. the windows are tinted dark, just how eddie likes it & it lulls him into a false sense of security to where he’s almost relaxed by the time they get to nancy’s office.

the meeting is a fucking drag. it’s just a rehashing of the morning’s phone call and eddie had already made himself perfectly clear. he’s not willing to fix anything. nancy and chrissy try to double-team him, begging him to think about the tour & the album roll-out & the rest of the band. the entertainment blogs are running wild with the rumors circulating about the other night and now they’re digging up shit that he wishes would stay buried.

“absolutely fucking not,” eddie spits out. “i refuse to be fucking cordial with that moron.”

“fine,” nancy says finally. “i guess we’re done here then.” she gets up from the head of the conference room table and leaves through the big glass doors and the rest of her team takes that as their cue to leave, too.

chrissy levels him with a look, waiting until the last intern has left the room before speaking.

“eddie, i know you’re pissed right now. trust me, i would be too,” she says, using that tone eddie always hates—the one that makes it sound like she’s trying to placate a rabid dog. “but the label has invested a lot of money into you and they need you to put in some work right now. take a minute, take a breath, and then we’ll talk again. but we need to respond; we can figure out what that looks like. i’ll talk to nance… maybe we don’t need a joint appearance. maybe you can just make a statement.”

eddie knows there are a ton of people relying on this tour & this upcoming album. he knows the band doesn’t deserve the hit from this. but what is there to even say? he’s just so fucking angry about it.

“fine. i’ll make an appearance. but i won’t, under any circumstances, be seen with him,” eddie tells her firmly. he slides his sunglasses back onto his face before pushing himself out of his chair and making his way over to the door. “just tell me when and where. and make sure nancy doesn’t make me sound like a fucking idiot.”

“great,” chrissy smiles so bright she looks like a teenager again. “i’ll talk to nancy. we’ll figure it out.”

any reassurance eddie feels is washed away by a renewed sense of annoyance when he sees steve waiting for him in the lobby, still wearing his pastel yellow sweater vest, drinking a purple smoothie from a straw and scrolling on his phone. he’s laughing at something on the screen and the sunlight comes through the huge front windows just right, making him glow golden, and eddie just feels something inside him twist unpleasantly.

steve looks up then to see eddie coming, but eddie breezes past him to the sidewalk. steve jumps up to follow, handing the valet their ticket. when the car finally pulls up, eddie says, “no liquids in the car,” before sliding into the back seat.

he sees steve shrug before smiling at the valet and handing him his half empty smoothie to dispose of and a tip.

the car ride home is silent. eddie practically leaps from the car before it’s even come to a stop when they pull into the driveway. there are packages on the table in the foyer, likely brought in by the security guy at the gate. “grab those,” eddie tells steve with a wave of his hand.

steve follows eddie into the kitchen, arms laden with paper bags and boxes. most of it, eddie knows, is free product and merch, stuff he never uses and mostly stuff he doesn’t even want. steve places the packages on the counter and watches as eddie sifts through them, clearly looking for something.

“do you want lunch?” steve asks. eddie ignores him, finally finding the package he’d ordered earlier today. he flings it across the kitchen island toward steve on the other side.

steve catches the package in his hands and arches an eyebrow.

“open it,” eddie tells him, nodding at paper wrapping. he opens the fridge to pull out a bottle of water and takes a long sip as he watches steve’s fingers tear at the brown paper.

once the package is open, steve huffs out a laugh, barely a breath, before holding up a bright pink cat collar with a tiny bell attached. he shakes it in the air, making the bell tinkle. the collar clearly will not fit him.

“fuck you, man,” steve says, still smiling.

“fuck you, too,” eddie says.

and then he leaves the kitchen.

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #steddie fanfic #eddie munson #steddie fanfiction #steddie blurb #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie drabble #pre steddie #rockstar eddie munson #personal assistant steve harrington #part two

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animamii · 1 day ago

Text

"Fushiguro, that's your girl?" One of Toji's block mates asks, eyeing one of the many pictures Toji had of you taped to the slate gray brick wall. It was a simple picture, your hair was wavy in this one, a cute dimply smile, lashes curled as you looked all natural. But god, were you still stunning. Toji looks up from the thing he was doing, sitting in the steel chair that was bolted down to the floor.

"Yup, that's my ol' lady," looking up at the picture he can't help but proudly smile. Toji's wall is covered in pictures. Of you, of Megumi. The whole family. Cute pictures you took with each other before he got locked up. It was his motivation to stay straight while being inside. To remind him of what's waiting for him when he gets out.

The block mate lets out a low whistle, nodding approvingly as he leans back against the cold wall. “Damn. She bad.” His celly's eyes roam over the pictures. Ones where you're dressed up all pretty, makeup done perfectly. Ones where you're wrapped around one of Toji's arms, looking up at him with all the adoration in the world. Even the ones that show just a little too much, which Toji keeps right next to where he lays his head.

Toji chuckles, shaking his head. “Watch it.” There’s no real threat in his voice, but there’s an edge of warning that makes the other guy hold his hands up in surrender.

“Ain’t mean no disrespect, Fushiguro,” he says, still looking at the pictures. “Just sayin’. You lucky.”

Toji doesn’t need to be told that. He already knows. It’s what gets him through the long nights, the endless hum of fluorescent lights, the hostility of the barbed wire that separates him from the outside. Knowing you're out there, waiting, is the only thing that keeps him from losing his damn mind.

He leans back against the desk he sits in front of, arms folding across his broad chest, eyes fixed on the pictures. His ol’ lady. His girl. His anchor in a life that never gave him much stability.

A slow smirk tugs at his lips. He can still hear your voice, that soft, teasing lilt whenever you’d call him by his full name just to mess with him. “Toji Fushiguro,” you’d say, dragging it out, pretending to scold him, even though your eyes always gave you away. He lived for those moments.

“Bet she writin’ you, huh?” the block mate asks. “You get letters?”

Toji nods. “Every week.” And he does. Neatly folded pages that smell like you, inked with words that remind him that he’s still human. That he’s still yours. That he still has something waiting for him beyond these walls. But god, does he miss you.

“Damn,” the block mate mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. “Every week? That’s real love right there.”

Toji just smirks again, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper, edges worn from being opened and closed too many times. He doesn’t even need to read it again—he’s already memorized every damn word—but still, he unfolds it, running a calloused thumb over the handwriting. Your handwriting.

Hey, baby. I know you hate when I get all mushy, but I don’t care. I miss you. I miss you so much it drives me crazy sometimes. But I’ll wait. However long it takes, I’ll wait. You better be eating, staying out of trouble, and keeping that smart-ass mouth in check. (Okay, maybe not too much. You know I love that about you.)

Toji chuckles to himself, shaking his head. Yeah, you knew him too damn well.

Megumi misses you too, even if he acts all tough about it. You should’ve seen his face when I told him your letter came. He’s just like you, y’know? Won’t say how he really feels, but it’s all there in his eyes.

Toji swallows hard, jaw clenching. Megumi. His kid. Another reason for pushing through this hellhole. He pictures him—too serious for his own good, but with those same sharp blue eyes. His boy.

“Yo, Fushiguro,” another voice calls out, snapping him from his thoughts. One of the guards. “Mail just came in.”

Toji is already up before the guy even finishes his sentence, heart pounding just a little faster. The guard hands the baby pink envelope with a lazy flick of the wrist, and Toji snatches it up quick, already recognizing the familiar scrawl of his name across the front.

His block mate lets out a laugh. “Man, look at you. Actin’ like a kid on Christmas.” Toji was always stoic, kept to himself and never showed much emotion. But hey, you always brought it out of him and he wasn't gonna front or hold a facade when it came to how he felt about you.

Toji doesn’t respond. He just sits back down, thumbs sliding under the flap of the envelope, tearing it open like it’s the only thing keeping him breathing in this godforsaken place. The first thing that falls out is a polaroid. His breath catches. It’s you.

You're sitting by a window, sunlight spilling over your skin, that soft, gentle smile on your lips. His girl. His sweetheart. Looking at him like she sees something in him that even he has trouble believing in sometimes. And just like that, the walls of the prison don’t feel so damn suffocating. He’s got something to hold onto.

Toji runs a thumb over the polaroid, like he could somehow feel you through it. The picture is warm, soft, a stark contrast to the cold steel and concrete around him. He exhales through his nose, staring at it for a long moment before finally unfolding the letter.

Your words hit him like they always do—gentle, teasing, but full of something deeper. Something that reminds him why he’s still holding on.

Hey, baby. I hope you’re not making the guards’ lives too hard. (Who am I kidding? I know you are.) It’s been getting colder here. I keep stealing your hoodie, the one you always say is yours but smells like me now. Tough luck, Fushiguro, it’s mine until you come back and take it from me.

Toji smirks, shaking his head. She’s gonna pay for that one.

Megumi’s been doing good in school, but I had to threaten to ground him just to get him to eat something other than instant ramen. He’s stubborn, just like his old man.

His smirk fades a little. He can picture it—Megumi sitting at the dinner table, arms crossed, trying to act like he doesn’t care. Just like Toji used to. The guilt settles in his chest, heavy and unshakable. He just wishes he could be there. For the both of you.

We miss you. I miss you.

He stops, lingering on that line. Simple, but enough to send a slow ache through his ribs.

I don’t care how long it takes. You come back to me, Toji. We’re waiting.

Toji exhales sharply, pressing the paper between his fingers, his grip a little too tight.

“Damn,” his block mate mutters, watching him. “She really ridin’ for you, huh?”

Toji just nods. He doesn’t need to say anything. He folds the letter carefully, tucking it away with the others. Getting up, he sticks some tape of the back of the polaroid, putting it up next to the rest of the pictures. Then he leans back in his chair, looking up at the mosaic of pictures you send him.

Yeah. She’s waiting. And he sure as hell isn’t gonna let her down.

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mulloey · 3 days ago

Text

distracted

bad students must face the consequences of their behaviour. it doesn’t matter who your boyfriend is.

words: 2.9k

part of my february festival event

join my taglist

warnings: dom!professors matz x sub!student reader, teacher-student relationship (hongjoong x you), power dynamics, threesome, punishment, spanking with ruler, very light anal play, face fucking, double penetration (mouth & pussy), under-negotiated kink, unprotected sex, sir kink, degradation, light dumbification etc

i am not responsible for the content you consume.

“What is this?”

He waves the sheet in front of your face indignantly and you recognise it instantly as the test you’d taken last week; the red D scrawled in the top corner gives you away and you huff. “How did you even—”

“Seonghwa,” he says, cutting you off. You’d roll your eyes if you thought you’d get away with it right now.

You knew it was a bad idea, really, dating Hongjoong; he may not have been your professor, but he is a professor, so you should’ve figured he’d be in cahoots with your teachers. It’s not like discretion was a massive concern, anyway; your relationship is an open secret among the staff. It’s technically not allowed, but you’re a grad student, an independent adult and your parents donate enough money to the school that neither of you would be in too much trouble if anyone did find out anyway. So you suppose you shouldn’t be surprised that, when you turned in a piss-poor exam, Seonghwa had run off tattling to your boyfriend. Dickhead.

“I was just having a bad day,” you say. “I studied, really. I don't know what happened.”

Neither of you believe that, but you push your lips into a pout and do your best to look contrite—to play the sweet, innocent girl your boyfriend loves to ruin.

“Joong…” You try to sound scared but you both know you’re not; there’s nothing he could do to you that you wouldn’t enjoy, after all. You’re just as sick as each other.

Hongjoong chuckles, clicking his tongue. He looks thoughtful for a moment, like he’s pretending to be conflicted over whether to punish you or not, but he’s not very good at hiding his excitement. The regretful sigh he lets out when he makes his decision is laughably disingenuous. “Bad girl,” he says, shaking his head. “You know I can’t let you get away with this, sweetheart.”

You open your mouth to respond but he doesn’t give you time; he shoves you down harshly, bending you over his desk so your ass is sticking up in the air. It’s a familiar position that you’ve found yourself in time and time again since you met him and you body prepares itself automatically; expecting him to spank you, you stick your ass up higher and wait with bated breath for the first blow. It doesn’t come. You crane your head around, confused. “Joong, what—” Oh.

You don’t need to finish the question; standing behind you, next to Hongjoong, is the very man who’d got you in this predicament in the first place— your medieval history professor, Park Seonghwa himself. He tilts his head, smiling sweetly. “Good afternoon.”

Your jaw drops. You hadn’t expected this—when did he even come in, anyway? “Joong—”

“You think we didn’t notice how you look at him?” Your boyfriend asks coolly. It’s only because of the cock in his hand, hard and already leaking, that you’re not worried he’s mad at you; no, he loves this. You should’ve known.

“Is that why you failed?” Seonghwa asks. “Too busy dreaming about me bending you over your desk? You have a boyfriend; an esteemed colleague of mine, in fact.” His tone is chiding and you feel yourself flush.

Hongjoong snorts almost petulantly. “As if she cares about that.”

“No?” Seonghwa asks. “What does she care about, then?”

“Pull her panties down and find out.”

Your cunt throbs painfully at the surety of the demand and the dark look in Seonghwa’s eyes as he obliges without hesitation. He doesn’t ask permission before he touches you—he already has it from the one who matters, after all—but when he pushes your skirt up your back, his hands still momentarily; you smile into the wood as you realise what they’re both looking at—the white, lacy panties sitting snugly across your pert cheeks.

“Well, isn’t that a sight.” Seonghwa’s voice is hoarse and affected as he rubs a hand across the delicate material. You feel yourself tense under his touch, the unfamiliar feeling of his skin on yours, and he gently pinches the soft flesh. “Relax,” he mumbles. “Be good, yeah? I won’t hurt you, I’ll be gentle.”

A sweet sounding lie; you can tell from the heaviness of his hand as it comes to rest on your ass that he has no such intentions. He fingers softly at the lace of your panties, sighing ruefully. “These really are beautiful,” he muses. “I hate to have to take them down like this, but bad students have to learn, don’t they?”

“They certainly do.” You crane your neck to follow your boyfriend’s voice and find him leaning against the wall behind Seonghwa, staring you down with familiarly cold eyes. He cocks an eyebrow when you finally catch his gaze. “Got something to say, precious?”

“No, sir,” you whisper.

“Turn around, then,” he smiles. “I’m just here to watch.”

You turn back, though more so he doesn’t see you roll your eyes than out of a desire to obey him. Seonghwa has carefully shimmied your panties down to the middle of your thighs and the cold air of the office bites at your sensitive pussy.

“Spread your legs,” he says. “Show me how wet you are.“

Blushing furiously, you part your legs, spreading them as far as you can without snapping the panties bunched around your thighs. Seonghwa hums, running a long finger through your wet folds. The touch is unexpected but Hongjoong’s trained you well enough that you manage to stay still despite your surprise. You whine a little when he pulls away and you hear both men chuckle.

“Professor Kim,” Seonghwa says. His voice has a new quality; delicate and flirtatious as he addresses your boyfriend. “Come and taste how wet she is.”

You hear Hongjoong approach the elder and try to move around to see it, but Seonghwa’s firm hand on your neck holds you still. “I don’t think so, bad girl,” he tuts. “Only good little girls get to watch. Keep still.”

“Good call,” Hongjoong purrs. “She’s always loved seeing me with other people. Little pervert would probably start humping the table if she saw me doing this.”

You hear the wet, lewd sounds of Hongjoong sucking at Seonghwa’s finger, lapping up your juices with a noise of pleasure. “Delicious little slut,” he chuckles. “Let’s get her properly disciplined so we can play with her how she wants.”

Somehow you hear the wide grin in Seonghwa’s voice as Hongjoong backs away. “I quite agree.”

His hands rests on your ass again, squeezing it softly. “This is what’s gonna happen, little one. You got a 48 on my exam, didn’t you?”

You’re almost embarrassed to hear the number and you know Hongjoong is too. “Yes,” you whisper.

“Yes, Professor will do,” he says. “You’re not my friend, sweetheart. You’re just a wayward student being put back on the right path.”

Shame courses through you but it would be a lie to say it’s anything but thrilling. “Yes, professor,” you whisper.

He taps your ass appreciatively. “Good girl. So, you got a 48 on my exam. What was the pass mark?”

“60, Professor,” you mumble.

“Now that’s not very hard to achieve, is it Professor Kim?”

“It’s not. The pass marks in my class are higher, in fact.”

You want to roll your eyes at their smug, jovial tones but you’re too aroused now to do anything but anticipate.

“A pathetic score, really.” Seonghwa’s voice is closer than ever and you feel his presence just inches away. “Especially for such a bright young woman. I think you need to learn to separate your head—” he gathers a piece of your hair, gently folding it behind your ear “—and your pussy, hm?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Good.“ Something long and thin taps at your bare skin and you recognise it instantly—the wooden ruler Hongjoong keeps in his desk drawer for when he’s feeling particularly on-the-nose about the taboo nature of your relationship.

“I’m going to hit you with this twelve times,” Seonghwa purrs. “For each of the marks you easily could have gotten if you hadn’t been too busy imagining my cock in your mouth. Yeah?”

You nod, feeling yourself pulse. “Yes, Professor.”

“Repeat after me, alright?” The first hit is quick and sharp, spread over your ass and it makes you gasp. Seonghwa chuckles and rubs the reddening flesh before he grabs your hair, yanking your head back to whisper in your ear. “One,” he says. “I’m sorry for being such a slut, Professor.”

You repeat it quietly and he tuts. “Louder than that, love. I’m sure your boyfriend wants to know you’re learning your lesson.”

You oblige, repeating it louder and he makes a noise of satisfaction before the ruler comes down again, this time at the tops of your thighs. “Two,” he says. “I’m sorry for thinking with my pussy instead of my head.”

“Two, I’m… I’m sorry for thinking with my pussy instead of my head.”

The next hit lands in the same spot. “Three. I’m sorry for dripping over Professor Kim’s desk just from being spanked.”

You blush in embarrassment; you’d half hoped he wouldn’t notice, but that was a tall order anyway. When it comes to Hongjoong and anything to do with him, you’ve never been subtle.

The next hits follow the same pattern, spread across your ass and thighs with each one making you gasp louder than the last.

“Four. I’m sorry for making Professor Park waste his time disciplining me.”

“Five. I’m sorry for daydreaming about choking on another man’s cock.”

“Six. I’m sorry for being arrogant enough to think I’d get away with such an embarrassing performance.”

The last one hits you right on your dripping pussy, making you scream and he grabs your hair, spinning you around to face him and your boyfriend; your eyes hone in on Hongjoong’s cock, pulsing in his hands before Seonghwa forces your attention back to him. “Twelve,” he growls. “I’m sorry for being such a cockwhore that I’m making Professor Park break his rule about sleeping with students.”

You can’t help but grin as you repeat his words, feeling proud. Of course, you knew from the moment you turned around and saw him standing there what was going to happen, but it’s nice to hear it from him. He smiles, grasping your neck gently. “Did you like that?” He asks. “Getting spanked by your professor while your boyfriend jerks off to it?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I liked it.”

“Well, now that you’ve learnt your lesson,” he says, “I think it’s time you got fucked, no?”

You nod and turn to your boyfriend; he tilts his head, nodding towards his hard cock. “You know what to do,” he says.

“Yes, sir.” You sink to your knees, staring up at Seonghwa and sending him a teasing smile before crawling towards Hongjoong. You open your mouth, letting him push his dick inside; after all this time together, he doesn’t need to ease you into it anymore and can go straight to fucking your mouth and you take it diligently, opening your throat the way he’s trained you to. You hear Seonghwa whistle, admiring.

“She sucks cock like a fucking pro,” he laughs; the arousal in his voice is thick and unmistakable. “You’ve trained her well, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong laughs too, patting your head. “I had an excellent student,” he grins. You smile around him at the praise and he curses. “You’re too good at this, babe, Jesus. Gonna cum before I even fuck you.”

He thrusts into your mouth a few more times before pulling out abruptly, shoving you off of him and in an instant Seonghwa’s hands are in your hair as he pulls you to your feet and shoves you back over the desk. You collide painfully with the wood but you barely notice; you’re used to being manhandled by now, and it only makes you more excited.

Large hands you recognise as Seonghwa’s grab your ass cheeks, pulling them apart slowly; the air hits your exposed holes and makes you jump in surprise but you quickly regain your composure. As you still yourself again you feel Hongjoong’s finger running gently across your asshole, almost like he’s inspecting it, before it slides down to toy with your pussy.

“Hm…” Seonghwa’s voice is teasing. “What’s your favourite hole of hers, Professor Kim?”

“What a question,” Hongjoong chuckles and you hear the smile in his voice. His finger prods gently at your rim, making you tense unconsciously and he tuts, lightly slapping the tight little hole. It’s a subtle, painless chastisement but it makes you whine all the same. “Now, now, kitty cat,” he chuckles. “I didn’t train you to squirm, did I?”

“No, sir,” you mumble.

“Good,” he says. “To answer your question, Hwa, I’d have to say her pussy. I love her ass, of course, but nothing compares to the way that little cunt clings to my dick like it’s just begging for a baby.”

“Well that does sound nice.” Seonghwa’s hands leave your ass, returning to your pussy to spread you open. “It looks snug,” he says. “What do you think, little one? Want your professor to breed you?”

It takes you a moment for your brain to catch up with the rest of you and you frown in confusion. “I- you mean you, Professor Park?” You ask. It comes out as more of a strangled cry; your head is a mess of arousal and you barely even register what he’s saying to you, let alone comprehend it fully.

He laughs, patting your soft skin gently. “Yes, perhaps I should be more clear. It must be confusing to be bending over in front of two of your teachers.”

Your face burns at the obvious mockery; the degrading, sneering tone of his voice but you say nothing. Seonghwa hums. “So?” He asks sweetly. “You want me in your cunt, baby girl?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please, Professor.”

“There’s those manners,” he praises.

He keeps a firm grip on your hips as he slides in from behind; the feeling of his skin against your still burning ass is uncomfortable, but the way his cock is stretching you as he buries himself inside you is the only thing your brain can process right now.

He’s just as big as Hongjoong, maybe a little bigger, but his thrusts are more fluid and controlled; where Hongjoong fucks you like an animal hungry for more, Seonghwa fucks you with precision; with intention. His hands on your hips are firm yet gentle and the way he finds you in your deepest places has your head spinning with euphoria. “Jesus,” he curses. “Pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

You open your mouth to respond, barely getting a whine out before you feel hands in your hair, yanking at it to pull you forward. Hongjoong comes into view on the other side of the desk, his dick somehow still hard as he feeds it into your mouth. “There you go,” he coos. “Keep it hard, baby.”

You nod as best as you can and the friction against his dick makes your boyfriend groan. “Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re so fucking good with cock you could make me cum on accident.”

The feeling of two dicks inside you makes it hard to focus on either one; let alone to begin to process the filthy words they spit down at you. Intesd you close your eyes, letting the tears fall as Hongjoong starts to fuck your throat again; you’re limp against the desk now, held up solely by the wood and by the two men using you to satisfy themselves. “Oh shit,” Hongjoong says, seeing your dazed expression. “Baby’s gone dumb already.” He strokes your hair gently, a small comfort between punishing thrusts. “You okay, little dove?”

You groan in response, unable to do much else; it makes them laugh and Seonghwa pats your ass affectionately. “You’re doing so well,” he says. “I’m almost there, sweetheart. Gonna fill you up real nice, yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” you gasp.

The feeling of Seonghwa’s thrusts growing faster and harder and more desperate is overwhelming; coupled with the sensation of Hongjoong’s cock hitting the back of your throat again and again, it’s almost unbearable. Your fingers claw against the wood, surely leaving marks but you don’t care; you feel unlike you ever have before, stuffed full and used by two of the most attractive men you’ve ever even imagined.

You’re in so deep that you don’t even realise it’s over until the emptiness of your mouth and cunt becomes obvious; you feel cum leaking from your hole, a wet substance dripping down the desk and only when you look closer do you figure out what it is—squirt. You squirted. You squirted all over your boyfriend’s desk with another man’s cock in your pussy and you’ve never been more fucked out and satisfied than you are now.

When you stand up fully your legs, numbed and weakened by their abuse, start to give out but Hongjoong is there in an instant; he catches you in his arms, lowering himself to the ground so he can cradle you in his lap. You’re faintly aware of Seonghwa’s voice and strong hands stroking your hair before he’s gone, and it’s just you and Hongjoong.

“Good girl,” he mutters. “You took that so well.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” he smiles. “I only hope your performance in Professor Park’s class improves soon. Otherwise he’ll have to tutor you if you want to keep your spot in his class.”

Your heart jumps. “What?”

“Uni rules,” he shrugs, appearing nonchalant but the knowing smile on his face tells all. “If you fail two exams in a row, that’s what happens.”

You don’t know why he seems so surprised when you turn up in his office a month later with a D-minus and an already leaking pussy. He always knew you were insatiable.

Lucky for you, so are they.

—

comments/reblogs appreciated! i’m not sure im super happy with the ending but we move. let me know your thoughts! love🖤🖤🖤

ateez taglist: @pixie0627 @hon3ysun @bbdeongi @hwaromi @tangerineastronaut @fancypeacepersona @aloevendetta (unable to tag: @lemonkait00 @mylovelymito)

february festival taglist: @hohongsan @nopension

#ateez smut #ateez hard hours #kpop smut #ateez x reader #ateez hard thoughts #hongjoong smut #seonghwa smut #matz smut #matz x reader #poly ateez #mulloey writes #mulloey events

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themidnightcrimson · 2 days ago

Text

she's my collar ࿏ wm

summary: in which you make wanda wait to get what she so desperately needs.

words: 4.5k

warnings: top!wanda, power bottom!reader, dubcon, enhanced strap, cumstrap, orgasm denial, teasing, grinding, use of leash and collar, slight breeding kink, please wanda let me make you beg to fuck me pleaseee i cant oauidsuhfwoierhoquihr

this fic is for 18+ only. minors dni. read with discretion.

masterlist.

You knew that her mind wasn’t there all night. Distracted she was, eyes empty yet darkly full like the face of the moon, bouncing around the room with a blankness, but when they caught you… When they caught you, her pupils swarmed like a wolf’s, olive green irises hazy under dim light.

Of course, you recognized that look on her face—that look of pure desperation, of pure carnivorous need for you, nervous and impatient and dialed and lustrous. Wanda was not good at hiding it, not in the least bit. You could see right through her, which was something she was not used to, for in her view it was always the other way around. You could not boast her telekinetic powers, yet you flipped through the pages of her brain like a mastermind, fingers dog-earing the pages you knew tortured her most.

Wanda licked her lips discreetly, casting a shine on their soft pink surface. This was an act easily overlooked by everyone else at the table, but you knew exactly what it meant. It meant that she was getting needier and needier for you, getting so riled up to the point of near drooling. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, took a rushed sip of her drink and nearly spilled it. She’d been like this all night, ever since you leaned up on those little tiptoes of yours and whispered something so disgustingly unrepeatable in her ear in that innocent little voice you knew she loved.

It also didn’t help that now your foot was reaching under the table and massaging her enhanced cock over her pants. Wanda’s face twitched each time you stroked your foot up the inside of her thigh and right to the bulge in her crotch, the hard flat of your shoe digging as delicately as it could onto her.

You were sitting at a table surrounded by Wanda’s friends, all caught up in their own conversation, all completely unaware of the torture you were mercilessly laying on Wanda under the table.

Red hair curtaining her face and darkening her eyes, Wanda leaned her elbow on the table and rubbed her fist over her mouth, letting her teeth graze her knuckles. The great thing, and the twisted thing about it, was that Wanda could stop you if she wanted to. She was taller than you, stronger than you, undoubtedly more powerful than you. Wanda’s magic allowed her the ability to do whatever she wanted to you, or to anyone, for that matter. Most people feared her and avoided ticking her off like their lives depended on it because if she was in a bad mood, it certainly could.

Wanda could control your mind and make you stop. She could simply reach down and push your foot off her. You weren’t forcing anything on her.

She liked it.

You realized early on in your relationship that although Wanda puts up a front of nonchalant dominance and power, there was a part deep inside her that fed off the opposite. With you, and only you, Wanda let herself have no power. She let herself be vulnerable, be manipulated, be used. She let you have all the control. Only you.

And with that power she gave you, came great responsibility. And you used it to the best of your ability to absolutely positively torture the fuck out of this woman at every chance you got.

A grin shocked your face when Wanda’s face started to turn noticeably red. She squirmed in her chair as everyone else continued with their conversations and their eating and drinking, while Wanda’s cock bulged painfully at the fabric of her pants. She cursed herself for wearing sweatpants even though all her friends demanded that they dress cozy for their little casual dinner.

Wanda’s green eyes slowly rose to you, and there was a mix of desperation in them and also a tint of red. A warning.

You laughed out loud.

The red in her eyes faded as she looked around to make sure no one heard you laugh, a look of defeat coming over her face before that desperation came back again. Please stop, she communicated to you in your mind, her tender voice ricocheting off the walls of your brain. You winced a little—it still stung every time she used her powers on you after not using them for a while. She rarely did.

Why? you responded in your head, focusing all your energy on making your inner voice loud enough for her to hear. You could always feel it when she was inside your head. She didn’t like the power it gave her, so she rarely used it, but there was always a slight buzzing in your head when Wanda was in it. I love seeing you get so needy for me. What, you don’t like it?

You dug your shoe harder into her, and she almost squeaked.

I can’t… It almost hurts… Please- Everyone’s here- In public- It feels too good- I need you…

Wanda was losing her train of thought, her ideas coming out in punctuated, nearly incoherent sentences in your head. You smirked—she was going fuzzy for you. That was exactly where you wanted her.

Finally, you slowly released your foot from her crotch, letting your shoe drag along the inside of her leg until you finally dropped it. Wanda sighed in relief and took another shaky sip of her drink to cover it. Turning slightly away from everyone, she fiddled with the fabric of her pants, trying to cover the hard-on you’d mercilessly given her.

When dinner ended and your friends finally all got in their cars and left the restaurant parking lot that was now empty beside Wanda’s car, Wanda was on you.

Hands grabbing your hips, Wanda pushed you against the side of her car, instantly pressing her body onto you. You felt her cock against your hip, still hard, getting harder. She dug her hips against you as her lips devoured yours, slowly letting herself start to grind on you.

“Mmm-Wanda,” you murmured into her mouth before she shoved her tongue into yours, grinding herself so much onto you that she was basically humping you against her car in this empty parking lot. “Wanda, stop.”

“Mmmh-mmh,” she hummed into your mouth, panting breathlessly, her hands going to your jeans and trying to tug them down.

“Wanda, no,” you said with a laugh, using firm grip to shove her hands away from you. You knew that if you weren’t firm with her, she would fuck you right here in this public lot against her car. The thought was hot, but the federal offense wasn’t.

“Please,” she begged, pulling your hand down to her crotch and making you feel her. “I need you. It hurts. Pleaseeeee.” She went in for a kiss again, but you gently pushed her face away from yours.

“You have to wait until we get home, baby,” you told her, watching her eyes immediately widen in disbelief. To be fair, it was a half hour drive home.

“What?! No, please, just suck me off in the car,” she exclaimed, pushing herself harder onto you. As insistent as she was, that was exactly what you wanted her to be when you were building her up all through dinner.

“Nuh-uh, get in the car. You have to wait until we get home,” you said firmly, giving her some gentle taps on her cheek and ignoring the incredibly pouty look on her face as you made your way to the passenger side of the car.

Huffing, Wanda obeyed and got in the driver’s seat. You knew it was evil, physically working her up for hours just to make her wait even longer for release, but as much as she huffed and groaned, it only made her all the more desperate for you.

࿏

Your hand on Wanda’s shoulder pushed her onto the couch of the little apartment you shared. It was a cozy place which Wanda let you have full control over decorating, though you embedded a touch of her in everything. The wallpaper, appearing to be a pretty white and red floral pattern, was actually encrypted with runes. The couch, a nostalgic green and yellow plaid, was actually the same pattern as the shirt Wanda was wearing when you first met. All the kitchen spatulas and ladles were red silicone after her signature color, and watercolor paintings of different kinds of witches hung on the walls. It was your sacred space together.

Wanda landed on the couch with a huff, and you immediately straddled her, throwing one leg over her lap and nestling down as you held your hand behind your back. Wanda perked when she heard a familiar metal clink coming from behind you when you sat down on her. Smirking, you brought your hand in front of you, revealing the pair of handcuffs.

“Baby, no,” she instantly growled, her hands grabbing your wrists. She hated when you cuffed her so that she couldn’t touch you, not for the lack of control, but because not touching you was incredibly hard for her.

“Baby, yes,” you responded with a smirk, waiting for her to let go of your wrists so you could do what you needed to do. When she didn’t, you merely lifted your brow, eyes hardening.

Wanda looked at you with pleading in her eyes which also flickered to the silver shine of the handcuffs, her wrists buzzing as they remembered the cold, hard embrace of them. Finally, she gave in, slowly letting go of your wrists.

“That’s it,” you whispered with a sharp grin. “You listen so well.”

Wanda’s soft cheeks blushed a gentle maroon as she instinctively put her wrists behind her back and leaned forward, letting her chin rest on your shoulder. You could feel how warm her body was, so close to you.

Leaning forward, you cuffed her wrists behind her back and guided her to sit back against the couch properly. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” you asked in an innocent tone as you moved to get up, letting your knee brush the thing in her pants that indeed was very hard.

The maroon in her cheeks deepened. Wanda watched you, her red hair slightly covering her lips which were already agape and letting out measured, heavy breaths. You stood before her, letting your knees touch her bent ones, and pulled your shirt over your head. Wanda’s eyes followed you the way a lion follows its prey, tracking every little movement, totally locked in for the kill, nostrils flaring with the scent of blood. There was no mistaking that where dominance lacked in Wanda, lust replaced it. If you didn’t make her follow your rules, you were sure she would be fucking you every minute of the day with her enhanced strap.

While you had spent working Wanda up all night, you had also worked up yourself. You could feel the wetness in your underwear as you stripped down to wearing only those lacy black panties, your clothes and bra left discarded on the carpet at Wanda’s feet. She was pitching a tent now, squirming at the mere sight of you. You’d trained her so well.

“I can’t recall you ever being this whiny,” you chuckled as you slowly and gracefully got back on Wanda’s lap, your core buzzing with the new exposure. As you straddled her, you let your buzzing core line with her crotch, settling down on her bulge and sighing deeply with satisfaction. Wanda made an incoherent noise and twitched, squirming more as you sat right on her strap. With the pressure, you could feel even more how wet you were at the center, your closeness with Wanda now increased with the absence of another layer.

Wanda, distracted from your slight as she struggled to remain calm with the incredible warmth of you directly on her, let her eyes graze over your bare chest. Her arms twitched behind her, cuffs clinking, and you couldn’t help but laugh at her obvious attempt to touch you before remembering she was tied. She let out a groan that escalated into another whine.

“See? Whiny thing,” you remarked. Letting your fingers tangle in Wanda’s hair, admiring just how pretty she was, you suddenly rolled your hips over her with the perfect amount of pressure. Wanda gasped, the cuffs clinking harder as her body jerked in an instinct to grab your hips. Chuckling, you rolled your hips again, feeling through the thin fabric of your panties and the soft fabric of Wanda’s sweatpants as your clit rubbed onto the hardness of her cock. Wetness gushed more out of you.

“Fuck, baby,” Wanda whined as you began to grind down on her cock, the mere image of your nearly naked body straddling her lap, your back arching just right, your tits so near to her face, would have been enough for her to get the release she desperately needed if you were not denying her of it.

And God how pretty she looked. Her green eyes so full of shadow now, brimming with lust, staring up at you from under her brows, something between a lip bite and a smirk on her face. Her red hair fell more in front of her face now, shadowing it further, brows creasing with frustration. That was what you desired most about Wanda—how deeply and with fiery passion she desired you right back.

A moan escaped your lips as you watched her, how worked up she was, the way she was trying not to buck her hips up to meet your grinding, her cock warm and twitchy under the tense fabric of her pants as you rolled your clit over it, feeling your folds slip together with how wet you were now. Torturing her, teasing her.

“I’m gonna—”

“No,” you instantly denied her, feeling her cock bulge more underneath your slit. “You’re not allowed.”

“But—” Wanda tried to argue breathily, her voice raspy and heavy, brows still creased with frustration.

“Hold it,” you demanded, letting your fingers tug harshly at her hair. “Be a good girl for me and hold it. You can wait, can’t you? Is this all it takes to make you spill?”

The whine that escaped from that woman’s lips was enough to push you three steps closer to the edge.

“I-I’ve been waiting all night,” she groaned, closing her eyes now, squeezing them shut hard. She looked so cute, wincing, gritting her teeth together, the cuffs clinking wildly as she squirmed and tried to not buck her hips into you.

“You can wait longer,” you harshly spat, breath heavy as you grinded yourself more wildly, bouncing on her bulge, tugging hard at her soft hair. “Fuck… fuck…” Your stomach tightened, hole clenching around nothing as you finally reached your orgasm.

Wanda threw her head back and squeezed her eyes shut, teeth clenching so hard that sharp pains erupted in her jaws, as she used every ounce of strength in her to not cum. She was desperate for release, but she was more desperate to obey you and please you.

Nosediving into Wanda’s neck, you inhaled her glorious scent as you came down from your high, moaning softly in her ear that burned at the sound, slowing your hips down. She whined pathetically in your ear, practically trembling under you.

Pulling away, you got up slightly and saw that there was now a large dark wet spot right on Wanda’s crotch. First thinking she had cum without telling you but then remembering that she would never do that without telling you, you realized it was your wetness that had seeped through your underwear, mixed with a little bit of her precum helplessly leaking in her pants. Clear strings kept you connected to the wet spot as you lifted, standing up from her lap.

Wanda already looked like she was in incredible pain. Her lips were ajar, head leaning against the couch cushion, her crotch still bulged now with a pathetic wet spot on it.

“You’re pathetic,” you told her with a chuckle as you kicked your pants down your legs and to the floor. Wanda peaked at this, sitting up a little better.

“I need to be inside you,” she told you directly. Just because Wanda submitted to you did not make her unable to be lustfully honest with you. “It hurts, baby, I need to be inside.”

Heat washed over you at her declaration of need for you, hitting you right in your clit that was still throbbing. As much as you loved torturing her endlessly, you also always anticipated finally giving her what she wanted.

But you weren’t quite done yet.

Going closer to her, you uncuffed the handcuffs and instead pulled something else out of the drawer of the end table.

Wanda’s leash and collar.

An excellent scarlet leather, her leash and collar were tools you rarely used, but when you did, it made Wanda weak. She was already practically drooling as you clipped the collar around her pretty neck and clipped the leash to the ring at the front, letting the cold metal chain of the leash zip through your hands as you tugged on it, forcing Wanda’s head closer to you.

But now Wanda’s hands were free, and they were all over you. Grabbing at your tits, your hardened nipples, scratching your waist, groping your hips. Her eyes stared up at you blankly as you held the leash in your hand.

Power. Control. Authority. These were things that no one had ever been able to boast having over Wanda. She was always the one with the power.

Except with you. You now controlled her, leather and chain in palm, collar digging at the tenderness of her neck.

Smirking, you leaned down and pressed a soft, gentle kiss on Wanda’s lips before you slowly laid down on the other end of the couch, legs spread open, pussy red and glistening.

“C’mere,” was all you had to say, and Wanda was already lowering herself between your legs, frantically pushing down her sweatpants to reveal her scarlet enhanced strap that bounced and poked at your inner thigh.

“Wait,” you ordered right as she started to line herself up with you. She stopped, eyes snapping up at you impatiently but also expectantly, ready to take your orders but overwhelmed with physical need. “Beg,” you whispered, tugging on the leash in your hand, causing Wanda’s head to jerk forward. “I want you to beg for my pussy.”

Wanda melted, lowering herself down so she was closer to you. “Please,” she started, her hand coming to rest on your neck gently. “Please let me have your pussy.” Nearly panting, she left a hot kiss at the corner of your jaw. “Please let me fuck you. I need your pussy. I need to be inside you. Please let me.” There was pain in her voice, her cock poking again at your inner thigh, nearly hot to the touch from the intensity of the magic flowing within her. “Please, please, please.” She left rushed, heavy kisses all up and down your jaw, her hands slipping under you to grab at your ass, her hips trembling between your open legs. Your hole ached for her.

“Fine,” you whispered, turning your face to nip at the tip of her ear, causing her to yelp. “Fuck me, pathetic thing.”

With a groan of excitement, Wanda grabbed her cock and lined it with your entrance, recklessly snapping her hips forward to shove herself inside you. Though she was large enough to still stretch you, she slipped in with ease from how wet your cunt already was. Her cock filled you, swarming all the way inside until she landed at your cervix, causing you to yell out and throw your head back in a mix of pleasure and pain.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, her face feeling hot with embarrassment as she laid it on your cool chest. “Fuck, sorry,” she apologized as she started to wildly fuck you, every inch of her cock burying deep inside you. Since she was so large, she usually started off slow with you, but she was giving you every bit of her, her cock going as deep as it could physically go inside you. You could feel her in your lower belly, rearranging your guts as she pumped inside you with chaotic rhythm.

There was hardly any trace of rhythm as Wanda plowed herself inside you, gently biting at the skin of your chest and digging her nails into your hips to keep you still. You were sure that if you tried to leave now, Wanda might murder you whether or not on accident. Though she submitted to you, she took absolute hold of you once you gave yourself to her.

A shriek of pain escaped your lips, your hands scratching hard at Wanda’s warm back under her shirt. Her sweatpants were shrugged at her knees, her ass bare in the air as it plowed between your legs. The couch squeaked shamefully under the weight of your bodies. Her leash bounced against her chest, the other end held loosely in your palm still.

“Sorry,” Wanda mumbled over and over each time you made a noise of pain, but she made no effort to slow down until her hips started to catch. Wanda’s moans turned higher in pitch as she buried her face into your neck and suddenly stopped, pulling her cock out of you and hovering her hips completely still between your legs.

Catching your breath, you tried to turn your head to look at Wanda, but her face was buried in your neck. She was even holding her breath.

“Wanda, what’s wrong?” you asked with concern, tugging softly at her leash which made her let out a little hum.

“I… I have to stop for a second,” she breathed hard into your neck finally.

“Why?”

“Because I—I keep—I keep almost cumming.”

Your lips twirled into a curl as the woman trembled on top of you.

“Keep going,” you firmly demanded.

Wanda made no movement, only shifted her face in your neck. “I just need a—”

“No.” With a harsh tug on her leash, Wanda lifted her head and looked at you, eyes crazed. “I said keep going.”

Wanda made a face in argument, but you locked your legs around her hips and forced her down between your legs again, reaching down and grabbing her cock with your hand.

“Ah!” Wanda started as you basically forced her back inside you, sighing at the stretch as she filled you again.

Wanda hung her head and made no movement, breathing hard in an obvious effort to control herself. With how sensitive her enhanced strap was, even feeling the pressure of your tight cunt around her was too much to bear.

“Fuck me,” you demanded, yanking harder again at her leash and letting it slap against her. The skin of her neck around the collar was starting to blush red.

Taking a deep breath, Wanda slowly rolled her hips and pumped herself in and out of you, simultaneously letting out a whine. “Please, can I please c—”

“No,” you responded, grabbing her hips and forcing her to go faster. “You can’t cum until I say you can, and you can’t stop, either.”

Biting her lip so hard it turned white and squeezing her eyes shut, Wanda fucked you painfully. While it hurt her to hold back her orgasm that had been a long time coming all night, she was completely lost in total pleasure. You felt so wet and warm around her, so tight and welcoming, your walls clenching around her shaft. She was obsessed with you and being inside you. It was her favorite place to be, yet it was where she had the least control.

“Faster,” you demanded, and Wanda attempted to pick up her speed, but every single movement was an offensive attack on her control. She was almost pale, trembling above you and not daring to open her eyes in fear that the sight of you would make her spill.

Growing impatient, you grunt and push her away, her cock leaving you with a wet pop. Confused, Wanda let you grab her and push her to the ground, forcing her to sit against the bottom part of the couch as you found yourself straddling her again. Lining your entrance with her tip, you gave Wanda no time to prepare as you slammed yourself down on her strap, tugging her leash at the same time.

“Fuck!” Wanda yelled out as you fucked yourself onto her on the floor, bouncing up and down on her cock that now hammered harshly inside you. Wanda’s nails dug hard into your sides, drawing blood, but you continued forcing every inch of her cock inside you with sickeningly wet sloshing noises.

“Baby, baby, baby, baby,” Wanda breathed, panting, eyes closed. She started to push at your hips, kicking her legs and trying to get you off of her. “Baby, I can’t stop it, I can’t stop.” She pushed hard at you to get you off her, and you knew it was because she had to ask to cum inside you, and if you decided to deny her, there was no way she’d be able to stop herself. And oh, how Wanda wanted so badly to be good for you.

You’d only let Wanda do it inside once before, knowing the value of the reward that you so often hung over her head during sex. You would promise to let her cum inside then shove her off you at the last moment, forcing her to cum all over your stomach or tits instead.

Licking your teeth with your tongue, you cradled the back of Wanda’s head, leash held taut in your hand, and came close to her face to whisper, “Cum inside me.”

Wanda’s eyes snapped open, and as if your words were a remote control to the machine of her body, she released.

Expletives came rushing out of Wanda’s mouth one after the other, most of them mostly incoherent from the incessant moan that escaped her throat. Wanda’s cock finally bulged one last time before unloading inside you, her hot cum shooting deep in your tummy. You forced yourself down as far as possible on her cock so that her cum would go deep inside you, biting down on her trembling shoulder as she filled you up with a seemingly endless amount of cum.

It was several moments before Wanda was able to finally compose herself, head thrown back against the seat of the couch, her body basically limp. The skin around her collar was deep red now from how much you had tugged on the leash.

As much as you loved seeing Wanda being torturously teased, seeing her wonderfully relieved was almost equal in beauty. She was so relaxed now, a stupid smile on her slightly sweaty face, her cock gleefully limp inside you, her cum nestled in your tummy.

Humming, you kissed her neck and whispered, “You like cumming in my unprotected cunt, don’t you?”

If possible, Wanda’s skin blushed harder as she slowly nodded, her hands gently rubbing up and down your waist.

You grazed your smirking lips against her ear. “Wanna do it again?”

With that, her strap stiffened inside you.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #lesbian #marvel #lgbt #dark!fic #dark!wanda #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x reader #power bottom #themidnightcrimson #elizabeth olsen #sub top

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a-mint-bear · 2 days ago

Text

Comfort Object

Male Yandere x Reader

You see a really weird "job" post online, and the money seems too good to be true. But you aren't really in a position where you can turn it down...

You hope it doesn't get weird.

---

It was a very… concerning “job” posting.

But desperate times, and all that.

It had shown up about a week ago, and it wasn’t hard to see why no one had taken the poster up on it as of yet.

Bedmate Needed

● 11 pm to 6 am

● $25/hour up front

● Riverside Motel

● Room 44

● Not a sex thing

The last note seemed tacked on in a later edit, but it was still… not great.

You’d have to be either a gullible idiot or a desperate one to go for a job like this. Unfortunately, you were the latter. Very much so.

You couldn’t take another night on the street. It was getting so cold out. The promise of a warm bed was almost enough to lure you in on its own. But the money… 175 bucks just to sleep in the same bed as some internet creep?

Despite the clarification in the post, this had to be a sex thing, right?

You hadn’t gone that far, despite everything. It’s not like you hadn’t considered it… but the thought was too terrifying. Making yourself completely vulnerable to a stranger that could just decide you were less than a person and do whatever they wanted to you? You had to draw the line somewhere.

But at this point, you weren’t sure that there was a line you weren’t willing to cross anymore.

. . .

The Motel wasn’t the seediest you’d ever seen around town but it wasn’t a place you would’ve voluntarily stayed at even two months ago. Back when you had options.

Creepy post guy opened the door after a couple of knocks, with an awkward, pregnant pause between them. He wasn’t quite what you expected for an internet creep, but he was still a sight to see.

Really bad posture and dark, greasy-looking hair, with the darkest circles under his eyes you’d ever seen. He looked like he was about to pass out at any second, but he held it together long enough to gesture you into the room.

“Hey…” His voice was low but he sounded nervous. And so, so tired. “You’re… You’re a little early. That’s…that’s fine. Uh, come in.”

You felt his eyes on you as you passed him, and it didn’t help your anxiousness. Not one bit.

“Hey so, I-I really…I uh, need a shower.” He stumbled over his words with a breathy, nervous laugh. “Unless you wanna sleep next to a… fuckin’ sweaty mess all night. Do you wanna go first or…?”

You must’ve looked nervous because his eyes went wider, digging into his pocket.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to… Oh, uh…here.” He nodded, pressing the money into your hand. “Up front, just… just like I said. You just…just seemed like you maybe sorta needed one too.”

Some part of you must’ve still had an ounce of pride left because your whole body felt on fire with shame, embarrassment so consuming that you froze up. It had been a couple of days…

He just looked away, seeming like he was embarrassed himself.

“I w-wasn’t gonna like… try to join you or peep on you or nothin’!” He tried to assure you, eyes darting in a panic and talking a bit too fast. “If I, like, go first? I won’t get mad if you change your mind and leave… I get it. I’m not gonna like… go after you or call the cops or nothin’ like that. I just…”

He stared at the floor, nails digging into his arm as he seemed like he was having trouble breathing.

“I really… I really need this.” He was so quiet, but his voice was so desperate.

You couldn’t really be considering this, could you?

He seemed more like a weird, awkward, sad guy than a real danger or some kind of pervert.

And you really did need a hot shower.

It seemed like a safer bet to have him go first, if you were really going through with this. And it would give you a chance to look around the room for a spot to tuck away your pocket knife, just in case.

When he was in the shower, you did just that. The spot between the mattress and bed frame would be easy to grab at if things got hinky.

If things got all touchy-feely, as you suspected they would, him finding that on you or leaving it in your pocket when your clothes got tossed wherever would be really inconvenient.

Steam rolled out of the bathroom when he stepped out, shirtless but with sweatpants and a towel around his neck. He was thin, almost alarmingly so, but you could still see muscle, enough to pose a problem should he decide to overpower you.

This was your last chance to back out, before you’d be vulnerable to this odd stranger.

But even if you left, the money wouldn’t last long, and it’s not like you had any other options.

You were so grateful that the motel tub wasn’t disgusting, but you would’ve gotten clean regardless. Two days worth of sweat and funk was washed away and it felt so heavenly… But it was hard to relax when you were trying to stay hyper alert of any noise that could be that man trying to get in or even eavesdrop.

But…

Nothing.

You finished your shower and brushed your teeth, doing everything you could to feel clean that a motel bathroom could provide. And there was no sign of the guy.

But you had to go back out there eventually. You supposed you could lock yourself in here and get a full night’s sleep indoors, even if it was on the floor of a motel bathroom with your back against the door, but part of you just said “fuck it” and warily peeked around the doorway into the bedroom.

The lights in the room were dim, but warm. He was sitting on the end of the bed, one knee tucked into his chest, staring at the tv as the bright colors of a nightly talk show reflected in his eyes, but something told you he wasn’t really watching. His eyes met yours and you froze.

“It’s almost eleven…” He mumbled, his head resting awkwardly on his shoulder. His hand ghosted over the spot on the bed next to him. “… Will... will you stay?”

So many thoughts raced through your head. What would happen if you laid down beside him? You could probably deal with sex… even if it felt a bit wrong. But if he wanted to hurt you?

Your brain reminded you:

What do you really have to lose?

When you told him you would stay, sitting next to him, you could see him relax. Just a bit.

“If you still want to leave-”

But you cut him off, almost afraid he would talk you out of it after you’d made up your mind.

Avoiding his stare, you told him you had nowhere to go.

The bed was cold, it might take a bit to warm up with the two of you in it, but it was the least of your concerns at that moment.

“So it’s...” He’d spoken up so suddenly, you hoped he didn’t see you flinch. He was staring at the ceiling, seeming just a tiny bit calmer. “... it’s fine if you just… lay there or h-hold onto me, or play on your phone or whatever, anything is fine. Just… just don’t leave ‘til mornin’. Okay?”

A worrying pause, but you told him you understood.

And that was that. He laid next to you unmoving for almost an hour before you had the nerve to move at all, shifting slowly to your side to face him.

His eyes were shut, his breathing even, but somehow you knew he was still awake. It was like he was trying to sleep but it just wasn’t coming to him. He looked so worn down, like he could just keel over any second. It definitely made him less intimidating, but you weren’t letting your guard down, no matter how much your body was screaming at you to just let go.

Despite your better judgement, you wondered if he really was being genuine about this not being a sex thing. It was a relief, sure, but it just raised more questions.

Why were you here?

. . .

You’d stopped looking at the bedside clock a while ago. It had to have been hours by then.

Your anxiety and dread somehow felt quieter under the lull of impending sleep. Despite everything, your body was at least grateful for a warm bed and hot shower, and if you didn’t sleep there now, you didn’t know when you’d be able to sleep somewhere warm any time soon.

Every moment that ticked by, you felt your resolve slipping. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, just to let go… This whole situation was weird, but you just wanted to sleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He hoped against everything that he would just fall asleep.

Just this once, he didn’t want to have to follow through with it. But he was so damn tired. There was this ache behind his eyes that he could feel in his bones, his mind never stopped racing…

He could feel your body heat in the bed next to him. You had either been very scared or very considerate, you’d only moved once since you laid down with him.

He hated that he had to do this. He felt sorry for you, he really did. But it was drowned out by the buzzing in the back of his brain. The constant whispers in his ear.

There had been so many before now, it was a miracle he hadn’t gotten caught. But this was a huge, dangerous city. Everyone in it was just a blip to anyone paying attention.

He could feel their skin under his palms buzzing at the back of his brain. How their eyes stared into his, burning with betrayal, fear, helplessness. How he saw them fade away.

How it was the only thing that worked to let him finally sleep. The only thing that quieted the whispers, at least for a little bit.

Some booked it after getting the money. Some just showed up and straight-up robbed him. Some tried to leave in the middle of the night, thinking he was asleep. But if they stayed and fell asleep, that was that.

He told himself that he gave them all a chance.

If you managed to stay up all night, you’d be safe. But he really needed this… It was already day three, and he’d never made it past day five without completely losing it. Trying to fight this, it was too hard. The longer he stayed awake, trying to avoid what had to happen, the worse he felt. The louder the voice got. The deeper the ache in his bones. But the more often he did it, the easier it got. And that was worse in a different way.

It was wrong. He wasn’t so deep in it that he couldn’t see that. The morning after, he always hated himself and what he did.

But as the days went on, it would all creep back in. And doing it again felt less and less horrifying to him.

You were scared. He could tell. And you had every reason to be, he told himself. But it just meant it would take you longer to fall asleep.

He could wait all night. And if you made it the full seven hours, you weren’t what he needed. You’d be free from him, from this. Hopefully you wouldn’t come back, no matter how badly you needed the money.

He wondered what you meant by having nowhere to go.

But he tried not to wonder too much. It would make this harder.

He could hear your breathing getting slower, your body relaxing into the bed. You wouldn’t last much longer.

His eyes shot open when he felt you suddenly touch him, tucking your forehead into his shoulder. You weren’t quite asleep, a cuddler? He almost laughed to himself when half-asleep you looked a bit frustrated, like it wasn’t enough.

You muttered something about being cold, lazily scooting your body closer to him up the bed. He felt his breath catch when suddenly, his head was pulled to you, tucked into your chest as your arm circled him. He was suddenly the little spoon, but facing you. He could hear your heartbeat.

He wanted to say something, wake you up or wriggle free to make what he had to do easier on you when you fell asleep. He felt a hand in his hair, playing with it and idle gentle nails on his scalp.

It was… nice. Everything felt calm, the buzzing and horrible thoughts were still there but they were being drowned out by the warmth of your skin, the thump of your heart in his ear.

You were mumbling something. He held his breath, trying to hear.

You told him, or whoever you were dreaming about, maybe even no one at all, that he was okay. That he was safe.

He couldn’t keep his eyes open. Something was different this time. He felt all his control slipping away, and for once, he wasn’t scared.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You woke to a sunbeam across your face, and the strange man in your arms, sound asleep. According to your phone, it was 10 am. You were grateful for the extra hours in a warm bed, but would he be mad? Did he have somewhere to be?

You couldn’t remember anything past drifting off next to him, but the two of you were tangled together, he seemed so comfortable.

Now that it was over, and your anxieties were much quieter, you really got a good look at the guy. He wasn’t… unattractive, you supposed. He was all elbows and ribs but laying against your chest made him look so soft and harmless.

Wasn’t the worst way you’d ever made 175 bucks.

You wondered if he’d shell out the extra 100, or if that would be pushing your luck.

Either way, it would be best to wake him up.

Gently scratching at his scalp, you told him it was getting late.

You watched as his eyes struggled to open, and for a few calm moments, he just laid against you. After a beat, he gasped and jolted up, head swiveling around the room in a panic.

“I…” He seemed really out of it, almost scared. “I actually…”

He stared at you, eyes wide. You told him it was ten in the morning, hoping everything was okay and if it wasn’t, that he wouldn’t take it out on you.

He grabbed you by the shoulders, and for a moment you were sure something bad was going to happen, but somehow, it was even worse.

He was crying.

Breaking down, sobbing hard as he just kept staring at you. Even with the odd night you’d just had, this was somehow the weirdest part.

Despite yourself, you asked him if he was okay. He pulled himself together and you were startled again when he touched your face, his thumb gently grazing your cheek. It was tender and sweet, and it was freaking you out a little. Just a tad.

“You… It was you…”

All you could think to ask was if you should get going, maybe trying to make it seem like you had someplace to be, or were at least trying to be considerate of his time. But it didn’t seem like he was taking the hint.

He grabbed your hands in his, the sudden contact made you jump. He pulled them to his chest, he was too close. The way he was looking at you…

“Can we… Can we do this again? Like tonight? Please?” He was practically begging, the look in his eyes changing. That nervous, achingly tired gaze was hopeful. And so warm.

“You can have the room, if that’s what you need!” he offered, maybe somehow having picked up on your current situation. “I can pay more too. Just p-please…”

He held your palm to his cheek, staring up at you.

“I need you.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a bit of a different one from me, but i kind of liked how it turned out

that feeling when your new yandere was totally gonna off you but you were just too comfy

he's never gonna let you go. you're the only thing keepin him from killing again, ya know?

i don't have a ton of yanderes that actually kill, as odd as that seems. but this guy is one of them

he's not supposed to be a huge commentary on any particular mental health conditions, i did a bit of "research" into psychosis induced insomnia (using that term VERY loosely), but like does he hear voices because he can't sleep, or can he not sleep because he hears voices? who can say? certainly not I, the dummy who made him

i wrote this one pretty much right after my last big deadline ended, but it got reworked a bit cause it just needed some tweaks:

the yandere started out as tired but crass, kind of a dick, and when he switched after that good night's sleep it felt off. It felt more interesting if he was a bit pathetic and creepy, it felt like less of a red flag for the reader to stick around

the reader was originally going to be a straight up s*x worker that got hired by the yandere for him to kill, but it didn't really feel like my place to make that commentary on violence against s*x workers or to more or less soften it with a yandere love interest. it just didn't feel right for something so unserious

but ive been having horrible writer's block lately, so i thought i'd finally put this one out. i need to read/play some yandere stuff and get inspired. let me know if you have any recommendations y'all ✌️

#yandere #yandere boy #yandere male #male yandere #male yandere x reader #male yandere oc #male yandere x you #minty writing #yandere x darling #yandere boyfriend #genderless reader #gender neutral reader #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #male yandere x y/n #yandere oc x reader #male yandere x gn reader #male yandere x gender neutral reader

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vifilms · 2 days ago

Text

❝ FWB!ABBY HEADCANONS ❞

word count: 2k+

content warning. eighteen+, minors dni, strap!sex, scissorcity, just a lot of p*rn written out, but omgee i'm writing foir abby again? am i returning home? me saying that when all my long fics are about a certain pink-haired butch.

masterlist.

fwb!abby who is a star-athlete, potentially a hockey player because c’mon, look at her. it starts right before the end of last season. there used to be a trio, three girls who grew up together, forever inseparable. but with a nasty fall out of abby’s break up with your best friend — you picked a side. not that anyone would believe you, but it was innocent. purely innocent.

fwb!abby who keeps you close throughout the breakup, she leans on you when she emotionally breaks, when she doesn’t want to be alone; you’re right there for her. ready to help her in whatever way you can. maybe it was naive of you to expect it to be nothing more and it’s exactly how you end up here — abby’s hand shoves down your skirt as she presses you against the locker room right after the most important game of the season. it could be how good your ass looked in the soft fabric, she couldn’t help herself.

“mhm, how long have you been thinking about this?” gently, abby asks. “pretty girl, wanna have your fill so bad, huh?”

all she does is tease. it’s all abby wants to do, pull those god-given moans from your lips and your whines are nothing but a symphony to her ears. but all of this is very wrong. in your bones, with every pint of blood pumping to your veins, it feels like something forbidden. even if you aren’t friends anymore, even if she hates you for siding with abby, you can’t help but love the way she strokes your puffy lips with a flick of her wrist.

you groan as she slips a single finger inside you, whining at the welcomed intrusion. abby knows this is a slippery slope as much as you, maybe even more. it’s not lost on her what would happen if anyone were to find out, but especially your ex-best friend were to find out you loved getting fucked by her ex.

“shut up and fuck me, yeah? you don't need to know any of that—” you shriek as she slips another inside you, effectively stretching you out as she pumps your slick, back into you as it drips over her fingers like fresh honey.

“what was that, princess?” abby tilts her head to the side as she presses on your clit with the pad of her thumb.

“nothing, i—”

“hm, right. i guess the rumors are true.”

“what rumors?”

abby doesn’t provide any response as she fucks you into the stars, each thrust of her fingers effectively shutting you up from saying anything else. as you cry out for a release, she places deliberate kisses along your neck, her hot breath swarms goosebumps along your skin as your hips buck into her body.

“heard a few…one from your roommate in particular.”

oh fuck.

the little shit knows.

“what did you, f-fuck, hear?” abby chuckles when you can’t keep your thoughts straight. you’re close and she knows it as well when she presses her lip to your ear, it’s intentional, the cocky little shit knows just what you like.

the first time she’s touched you and you’re already melting in her warm and needy hands.

the sultry tone in her voice will haunt you whenever you sleep, you’ll see her in your dreams, those taunting pair of blues, the scarred cheek you love but she hates. when she says the words you fear, for some reason it sends you over the edge.

“i heard you like moaning my name when you get yourself off, so why don’t you put on a show for me, princess?”

fwb!abby who thinks about you, slumped against the lockers trying to catch your breath. the mantras of her name don’t leave her mind, how pathetic did it make her she couldn’t stop thinking of you. how you couldn’t escape her mind, even during practice, those stupid whimpers wouldn’t leave her. her mind can’t escape that night, the endorphins pounding her skull as she fucked you into oblivion. the secret you held close to your heart raw and exposed as you released over her pumping fingers — it all felt a little too real. a little too perfect.

fwb!abby who tries to play it cool whenever you’re around. abby knows it’s her best shot of forgetting what happened, slipping back into normalcy. but what she doesn’t expect? how jealous she feels when she sees you chatting up one of her teammates. she suspects you might be doing the same, trying to find a distraction, anything and anyone to stop your mind from thinking of it. it’s the secret she holds close to her as she deciphers on why her blood couldn’t seem to stop boiling. she hadn’t been this possessed, the need for her sweet salvations to be found on each roll of her tongue. it’s agony as she watches you leave with them, but she just sips on her beer, calling it night at the same time as you. but her sheets will be ice while yours will be kept especially warm.

the first thought entering your mind, this isn’t as good. she doesn’t touch you the way abby did, fuck, this girl’s mouth is eager to devour you, every drop not being wasted but you just pretend it’s abby. even if you feel slimy, a bit dirty, but it gets you where you need to be.

when you ride the plastic cock, invisioning abby holding your hips, guiding them as you slide down and fuck yourself, chasing the high she gave you just a few weeks ago but you see golden-waves flowing on your navy-blue cotton sheets. your mind drifts to how the blue in the sheets would bring out abby’s eyes, how she might look up at you while you fuck her like it’s your right to.

as if she belongs to you.

the more you think of her, the easier it becomes to find your release, it comes to you quickly as you moan; you chase the high. but it still doesn’t feel as good as last time — not when you don’t have her whispering in your ear. telling you just how much you need it, whispering your dirty secrets like an oath. a string for her to pull, only one tug needed until you come apart for her like it’s the only purpose you have in life; you’re just here to please abby anderson.

fwb!abby who doesn’t see you for a week straight. you’re avoiding her with all of you might. even going as far as missing one of her games which you never do. it pisses her off to no end and the final straw is her teammate talking about how much the two of you can’t stop fucking. yeah, god, she’s so perfect. sweetest i've ever tasted. it’s said in passing, quietly to one of her friends, not meant for abby. slamming the locker form, she sets her sights on you. she’s ending whatever the fuck this is.

the knock on your door is harsh, spinning you out of your thoughts as you open the door to find her completely outraged. abby might as well be a bull with her nostrils flared, puffing out smoke as she only sees through a tunnel vision of red. you know why she’s upset, and you’re sure she’s heard about just who you have been spending your time with, making this all the more messy.

“ashton? fucking ashton?” abby burls straight past the entrance, shoulder checking you in the process.

“why does it matter if it’s her? or anyone? why do you care all of a sudden?” you go back to cleaning, as if you don’t have a very enraged woman standing in front of you. you try not to think of her sweet vanilla scent mixed with mahogany. the way she filled you up perfectly.

“i don’t care.” abby nods as she showcases a bitter smirk.

fwb!abby who has you pinned against the wall with her strong frame, pelvis pressed against hers, still sweaty from practice as she has you pinned against the wall. you’re not sure who kissed first, who grabbed the other closer, but she has you turned around, fingers plunging knuckle deep as she reminds you of that night. writhing against her as she whispers in her ear, “next time you crawl in her bed, remember this, when she’s failing to make you come apart. remember how easy it is for me.”

fwb!abby who brings you back to her apartment. her lips pull the air from your lungs, suffocating you but lighting you ablaze. like a lioness when she paws at you, nearly ripping your closes to shreds with the claws she has buried in you so deep. abby is cocky about it as you pull off her clothes just the same, desperate, needy — with a angelic glint in your eyes she’ll have nightmares about.

“princess, it will stay between us. alright?” abby groans as her baby blue dildo slips inside you. watching her defined abdomen clenched as she pushes, fully tilted inside you. “promise.”

another secret to holster, keeping close enough to keep but not close enough where it would seep into your skin, surely to infect whatever she so craved to do. you expect everything to be a little rough, a means to an end — just a way for the both of you to fuck this out of your system — but abby’s delicate. doing her best not to completely lose it.

you feel full as she hesitates to move, watching your face contort in divine pleasure, the way you try to move your hips, but her hands keep you in place for a moment longer.

“baby, please, shit i need your—” a groan leaves your mouth as abby moves, thrusting her cock inside you.

“yeah, you need it, princess?”

it feels condescending, the stupid pet name is being thrown at you as a way to incite raw need, to instill such a primal emotion, and you feel it stirring the pits of your stomach. with each heartbeat, your chest flutters.

your mind shuts off, all the worries that infect your mind like a disease, every reason that tells you this is a god-awful, terrifyingly horrible idea. there’s too many webs, you’re bound to be trapped up in her, with no way to come out of it. it’s the only truth settled within your soul but then she’s fucking you. it’s hard but slow.

she’s taking her time, building you up so she has you right towards the edge. all you do is wrap your legs around her, bringing her close to you, her temple kissing yours as she loses herself inside you. it’s all more than you expected, quiet whimpers echo in her bedroom, her sanctuary she’s coaxed you into.

“you look so hot taking my cock, pretty girl. fuck, it’s like it was made just for you but i have an appetite for something else.”

you whimper as abby removes herself and the harness secured on her hips, until you feel her blonde bush and aching lips slide over yours. the woman above you can’t help but chuckle as your eyes roll back into your skull, a leg thrown over her toned shoulder as she slides perfectly against you.

“you—” you gasp as she pushes her hips faster, you have no choice but to buck against her. “a-abs, oh shit, oh my fucking god.”

quickly, you’re losing it as abby is being loud. “right in front of me all this time, fuck!”

almost comes across as animalistic as she grunts, fucking your faster than anyone ever has, you’re so close when she grips your chin, demanding you to open. sliding her fingers inside of your mouth as you suck off your cum. effectively shutting you up in the process.

“yeah, it’s too much, huh? are you sure you can take it, princess?” you nod your head as one thrust sends you over the end, your body twitching as you come. she soothes you through it, whispering your name over and over in your ear and it goes straight to your cunt. it’s too much but she eventually stops but you still feel her against you. everything becomes sticky and warm.

the blunt of her nails begin to scrape lightly over the skin of your abdomen, enjoying how much your body twitches. you’re sensitive and abby chuckles.

“whenever you wanna fuck princess, just give me a call.” and after, she whispers so quietly you almost miss it, “i’ll gladly make this pussy mine any day of the week.”

#❝ ⋮ ⌗ ┆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬 ❞#i’m backkkkkk #abby is calling me home chat #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x fem!reader #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson smut #abby x reader #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson tlou2 #fwb!abby

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v6quewrlds · 14 hours ago

Text

imagine giving joe a hickey.

author's note⠀⁎⠀requested by @lovelyburrow, some sub!joe undertones (my bad)

Joe was always very selective about PDA. He liked to keep his relationship with you private. It was something sacred to him, not to be shared with the prying eyes of the public or his even teammates. So, when he felt the warmth of your lips on his neck the night before, he didn't think much of it. He had no idea the kisses and nips to his neck would lead him to this.

He entered the hotel conference room, finding Ja'Marr sitting alone as players and coaches began to file in. Sam soon joined them, plopping down next to Joe with an smoothie in hand. The room filled with the low hum of male voices and the occasional burst of laughter as the Bearcats game from that afternoon replayed on the TV screens around the room.

Ja'Marr leaned over, peering at Joe's neck. "Yo, what's that on your neck?" He pointed to his neck, his eyes squinting at the sight before him.

Joe's hand shot up to cover the spot. "What are you talking about?"

"You've got a hickey the size of a quarter, bro," Sam said, his eyes wide as he brought a fist up to cover his mouth, his shoulders shaking with a deep laugh. Ja'Marr's laugh boomed through the room as Joe's eyebrows furrowed, a blush creeping up his neck. He glanced around, hoping no one else had noticed.

"What?" Joe murmured, self-consciously touching the spot.

"Come on, Joe, let's see," Ja'Marr prodded, reaching for his phone to snap a picture.

Joe slapped his hand away, "Fuck no. You're not putting that anywhere," he hissed, his cheeks burning.

Sam leaned back in his chair, grinning. "Looks like someone had a good night."

"Or a good morning," Ja'Marr piped up, still chuckling. "Did your girl sneak in before you came down?"

Joe sighed flipping his camera to selfie mode, dropping his hand, and turning his head to show the offending spot. It was definitely a hickey, a dark, round bruise that stood out against his skin. "No," he muttered, "It's from last night."

Sam leaned in to get a better look. "Damn, she wasn't playing around." He took a sip of his smoothie, pulling back with a smirk when Joe sent him a glare.

Ja'Marr chuckled. "You ain't have to stunt on us like this. Good for you, Joey B."

Joe silently thanked the heavens when Zac stood up at the front of the room, calling for the team's attention. The teasing subsided, but the guys couldn't resist throwing a few more jabs under their breath as they turned their focus to their coach. The meeting dragged on, Joe's thoughts consumed by the unwelcome brand on his neck.

Later that evening, Joe fell back against the crisp hotel sheets. His mind was racing with thoughts of how to cover the hickey before the game tomorrow. He picked up his phone and called you, hoping you would have some kind of ingenious solution. Your face filled the screen, your tired smile brightening at the sight of him.

"Hey, babe," you said, your voice warm and unassuming. "How's the hotel?"

"It's fine," Joe replied, his tone flat. He felt his annoyance rise as he thought about the hickey. "But I've got a problem." He turned his head slightly, showing you the reddish blemish that was beginning to purple around the outer edges.

Your eyes lit up with amusement. "Oh," you giggled. "Is that from last night?"

Joe rolled his eyes. "Yes, it is, and it's not funny."

You couldn't help but laugh, your eyes sparkling. "Well, you never told me to take it easy," you said, your voice teasing. "I got a little carried away. That's not a crime."

Joe felt his own smile tugging at his lips despite his embarrassment. "It's not funny," he said, trying to keep his tone serious, but failing. "What am I gonna do?"

Your laughter subsided, your expression turning thoughtful. "Makeup?" you suggested. "You can get some concealer to cover it up before the game."

"Makeup?" Joe echoed, his disbelief clear. "You want me to wear makeup?"

Your smile grew. "Well, not exactly. You don't have to go full glam. Just a little dab of concealer to even out the skin tone."

Joe groaned, rubbing a hand through his damp hair with a scowl. "Where am I gonna get makeup from? Won't it melt off from the sweat anyway?"

Your eyes danced with amusement. "Well, I guess you gotta own it, Burrow. Maybe it'll be your new good luck charm," you said, leaning closer to the camera to kiss the screen. "From me to you."

Joe couldn't argue with your logic, though the thought of walking onto the field with a glaring hickey didn't sit well with his image. He sighed, nodding. "Alright, I'll figure it out. Thanks for the support," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Anytime," you said, your laughter bubbling up again. "Good luck tomorrow. Love you."

Joe couldn't help but smile back. "Love you too." He ended the call, feeling a bit more at ease despite the looming embarrassment of tomorrow. He decided to take your advice and own the hickey. It was a small price to pay for how down bad he was for you. Plus, he had to admit, the idea of you leaving your mark on him was kind of hot.

His confidence lasted until the next afternoon, when Joe found himself in the locker room, surrounded by his teammates and their knowing glances. He felt like he had a neon sign pointing at his neck. The guys didn't let up, making hushed comments and sharing smirks every time he looked their way. It was clear that the news had spread through the team like wildfire. Joe tried to ignore them, focusing on his preparations for the game. But as he pulled on his jersey, the fabric brushed against the tender spot, a stark reminder of his predicament.

He stepped onto the field for warm-ups, the cool air hitting his bare neck. The stadium lights seemed to highlight the hickey even more. Joe felt his jaw clench and his face grow hot, but he forced a straight face as he threw the ball around. He had a game to play, a job to do, and he wasn't about to let a little thing like a hickey throw him off his game.

By the time he returned home that night, a win tucked under his belt, Joe was exhausted. He was looking forward to cuddling with you and forgetting about the long weekend. But the moment he walked through the door, you were trying to suppress your amusement, your eyes dancing every time you looked at him.

"Okay," Joe sighed, his chest deflating beneath your head as he exhaled deeply. "What are you smiling about?"

You couldn't hold it in any longer, bursting into a fit of giggles. "You looked so grumpy all game," you exclaimed, poking his chest playfully. "You were trending on Twitter again."

Joe groaned, his hand sliding from his neck to his face. "I know," he said, his voice muffled by his palm. "Couldn't believe it when Sam told me."

You sat up, your laughter fading into a gentle smile as you reached over to trace the hickey with your finger. "You looked like a spoiled toddler," you said, your eyes sparkling with affection. "It's kind of cute, you know."

Joe rolled his eyes, his irritation from the day melting away. "Cute is not the word I would've chosen," he muttered, but he couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I can't believe you did this to me. Destroyed my neck like a chew toy."

You leaned in to kiss him, your eyes gleaming with mischief. "Could've stopped me," you whispered, your breath warm against his skin. "But you didn't."

Joe chuckled despite his feigned annoyance. "I guess I was a little preoccupied," he admitted, his voice low.

"A little?" you teased, your eyes twinkling. "I think you liked being my chew toy."

Joe's cheeks flushed, and he couldn't help but laugh. "Okay," he conceded. "Maybe a little."

You leaned back, your expression satisfied. "So, you're not mad at me?"

Joe sighed, his annoyance giving way to a fond smile. "Mad? Nah, I can't be mad at you," he said, pulling you closer. "It's just, you know how I feel about PDA. It's all over the internet now."

You shrugged, kissing away his pout. "Well, at least your fangirls know you're taken," you said, planting another kiss on the bruised spot.

Joe grimaced, but couldn't help but feel a warmth spread through him at your touch. "Very funny," he said, his tone laced with affection.

"You have a pretty neck," you whispered playfully, your hand moving to his neck again as your eyes darted over his skin as if examining where you could stake your claim next. "You want another one?"

Joe rolled his eyes but didn't stop you. Your touch was gentle and loving, a welcome contrast from the rough teasing from his teammates. "Just don't make it any bigger," he said, his voice a mix of exasperation and resignation.

#&. joey b.#joe burrow #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow smut

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yandere-daydreams · 3 days ago

Text

Title: Good Dog.

Pairing: Yandere!SatoSugu x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 5.5k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Pet Play, Wildly Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Bondage, Revoked Consent, Kidnapping, Manipulation, and Rough Sex. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

About half an hour into your first date, Suguru told you that he was an animal trainer.

He mentioned it offhandedly, filling in a blank you hadn’t thought to ask about, but anything more interesting than ‘financial manager’ or ‘digital entrepreneur’ would’ve caught your attention. “It’s nothing exciting,” he explained, smirking at your eagerness to pry. “Dogs and cats, not lions and tigers. It’s a good gig, if you’ve got the patience for it.”

About three hours later, after a main course, a round of drinks, dessert, a second round of drinks, and your waiter politely clearing his throat as he dropped an unrequested, but well-deserved check onto the corner of your table, Suguru asked if you’d like to come back to his place for a drink. You laughed, propping your chin on your fist. “I don’t know,” you started, a teasing drawl in your voice. “You’re sure you’re not one of those charming serial killers, right?”

His eyes darted to the side, his smile quirking. “…if I said I was, would you still come home with me?”

You were on your feet by the time he finished. “I guess I’ll just have to risk it.”

Ten minutes later, you were in the passenger seat of Suguru’s car as he pulled into a sprawling, rustically ornate villa. You fought the urge to whistle as his headlights fell onto outermost facade. You should’ve guessed from the restaurant, but still, you would’ve been impressed by a more-or-less furnished apartment. A countryside mansion was something you hadn’t even known to hope for.

It was only as you pried open your door, one foot already on the ground, that he told you he had a dog.

“You probably won’t meet him,” he shrugged, rounding the hood of the car to your side. An arm was extended and accepted – the gravel driveway quickly proving too much for your pin-prick heels. “Satoru’s a little shy around new people.”

“Satoru,” You repeated, more to yourself than to him. What a strange name for a dog. Must’ve been a purebred. “That’s too bad. I was looking forward to seeing your training skills up close.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry.” He rested a hand on your elbow, squeezing gently. “You’ll get a chance to.”

Admittedly, there wasn’t a lot of blood left in your head to think with, after that.

Your feet had left the ground entirely by the time you reached the porch. Suguru had no problem carrying you, and not having to worry about pesky inconveniences like putting one foot in front of the other meant you had more time to string your arms around his neck and run your fingers through his hair as you divided your attention between his mouth and his throat. You kept yourself occupied, pressing open-mouthed kisses into the latter as he struggled with the lock and stumbled over the threshold. Your back hit a wall before the door was shut, but you were beyond the point of caring, by then.

One of the many things you liked about Suguru was his size. Standing up, he was about a head or so taller than you, and bent over you like this, supporting you with little more than the tension of his body pressed into yours, he seemed to eclipse you entirely; dark hair cutting off your vision, large hands wrapping around your thighs, teeth that were more similar to the fangs of some great, terrible animal than anything human ghosting over the curve of your throat. You felt his chest slot against yours, pinning you against the wall as distracted fingers fumbled with the zipper of your dress, and his head dipped, mouth latching onto the slope of your shoulder in a slow, bruising love-bite. The process was painstaking and noisy, the joint sounds of his breathy moans and your whimpers enough to fill the entryway twice-over. Really, it was a wonder you managed to hear the footsteps at all.

It wasn’t that your attention drifted, just that you couldn’t stop yourself from acting on reflex. You heard padding footsteps, the metal ting, ting, ting of swinging tags, and raised your head, unconsciously searching for a dog, a pet, an animal. And, in a way, you found one. Honestly, it took you a beat too long to realize that what you were looking at wasn’t an animal – lean and pale, peering tentatively around the corner as he made his way down the staircase that led further into the villa. White leather faded into pale skin, crossing over his chest and wrapping around his thighs, supporting a pair of white thigh-high socks and matching paw-shaped mittens. The second worst part was his face; bisected by a titanium muzzle in the shape of a snout. Two white dog ears, the same color as his other accessories, framed his expression on either side, bouncing slightly as he walked.

The absolute worst part was, of course, the erect and leaking cock between his legs.

Suguru must’ve felt you go rigid. With an irritated groan, he pulled away, lowering you gently back onto your feet. He noticed the strange, naked man just as quickly, acknowledging him with a roll of his eyes. You were quickly abandoned in favor of lowering himself to one knee and cupping the naked man’s face, who panted happily in response.

“Satoru,” Suguru mumbled, carding his fingers through the man’s bone-white hair. “I thought you were going to be good and stay upstairs, for now?”

There was a non-verbal response, mostly tail wagging and clipped barks, and you stared blankly at the drooling, leaking man. At Satoru.

You might’ve said something – about a cigarette, or fresh air. You’d never know. You were on the other side of the door before the sound of your own voice could catch you, trudging stiffly to the end of the driveway.

You needed to get out of here. You wanted to get out of here. You kept one arm crossed over your chest while your free hand shot for your phone, a list of a dozen identical rideshare apps already flitting through your mind. You were cursing the lack of available drivers (why hadn’t you noticed how remote this place was earlier?) when you heard gravel crunching under rushed footsteps, Suguru’s airy laugh.

“I know, I know,” he started, while you were still glaring at your phone. “I’m an asshole.”

Colorful language, but not the type you would’ve opted to use, at the moment. “You told me you had a dog.”

“Oh, god, I did, didn’t I?” There was another laugh, a quick shake of his head, like he didn’t fully remember something he’d said all of three minutes ago. “I’m sorry – I just get into character. It’s hard not to, after a few months.”

You didn’t relax, but you didn’t bristle, either. Suguru took the opportunity to go on. “Look, whatever you’re thinking, it’s not like that. I didn’t lie to you about anything. I really am a trainer, and this really is my place. Satoru’s my client.”

You paid him a wary glance. “Client?”

“Mhm. CEOs and rich fuckers with a lot of power and a lot of money to throw around like to turn their brain off, every now and then. Since they can’t risk anyone they’ve been seen with going to the tabloids, people like me get brought in to—” He paused, shrugged. “—help them relax, I guess.”

“You expect me to believe that guy’s a CEO?”

His wry grin widened, sharpened. “Have you heard of the Gojo clan?”

Of course you had. The Gojo clan owned half of every business in Japan. The Gojo clan had enough property to build their own continent.. The Gojo clan--

You pursed your lips. Slowly, deliberately, your phone was powered off and slid back into your pocket, any other plans you might’ve had for it immediately forgotten.

“No.”

“Yes.” And then, with a note of pride in his voice, “Satoru’s the scion.”

“And he pays you to…”

“Pretend he’s a dog,” Suguru picked up, unflinchingly. “Or a cat. Or a maid. It’s pretty flexible. The costumes get a little out of hand, sometimes.”

You’d noticed. “And to lure women back to his mansion and… what? Have sex with them while he watches?”

There was another airy laugh, this one less apologetic than the first. “No, no, it’s not like that. Satoru’s not the voyeur type, and I don’t like sharing the spotlight. I let him know I was bringing someone over, but he probably thought it’d be funny to scare you – catch us both off-guard, y’know?” He flashed you a smile. “I promise, you’re here because I want you to be. That’s it.”

It was a little insulting, honestly – just how unfaltering he was. Part of you felt offended, like he’d accused you of overreacting, but another, quieter, more base faction chided you for being over-dramatic, for storming out like a child having a temper-tantrum. Because it had been childish, hadn’t it been? For as much as he’d surprised you, Satoru hadn’t seemed to be under any kind of duress, and it wasn’t like Suguru had fundamentally changed sometime in the past few minutes. Looking at him now, with his easy smile and tired eyes, it was impossible not to recognize the man who’d come up to you in your favorite coffee shop, practically tripping over your name; the man you’d spent nearly four hours talking to tonight, and enjoyed every second of it.

“…’caught off guard’ is kind of an understatement,” you mumbled, letting your shoulders slump.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I must’ve forgotten he was coming over tonight. I should’ve been more thoughtful.” His shoulders fell. “If you want to call it here, I get it. Just let me grab my keys – I don’t want you in a stranger’s car so late at night.”

It took you a few seconds to find your voice, but when you did respond, it was with a valiant effort to mirror his easy charm. Admittedly, it didn’t come as naturally to you. “And if I don’t want to call it here?”

Suguru seemed to appreciate the effort. “Then I’d ask for a couple minutes to tell Satoru to fuck off,” he started, slowly, his arm finding it way around your waist. He pulled you into his chest, and you let him. “And make sure I’m all yours.”

It was humiliating – how quickly you cracked. As soon as he finished, you sighed, shaking your head. “No, no, you shouldn’t have to do that. I really should apologize to him.” Suguru hummed curiously, and you clarified. “For running out like that, I mean. It might’ve been a little rude.”

Suguru chuckled, kissing your forehead. “If you say so, sweetheart.”

He held your hand as he led you back inside, the door left ajar from your hasty exit. Satoru was waiting in the entryway - still uncomfortable exposed, but sitting cross-legged with Suguru’s jacket draped over his shoulders. You made a point of keeping your eyes on his collarbones or above, just in case.

“’toru,” Suguru called, affection thick and honey-sweet in his tone. Immediately, Satoru perked up, ambling to his feet, and you did your best not to flinch as you noticed his height, his piercing eyes, the sculpted muscle wrapped around his arms and legs. There was no scenario wherein you would’ve been nonplussed to find out your date was engaging with niche, dubiously sexual roleplay with the heir to the largest trust fund on this side of the planet, but having a less imposing image to associate with that realization might’ve helped to soften the edge.

“I want you to meet (Y/n),” he went on, the embodiment of nonchalance. You straightened, and Satoru cocked his head to the side, evaluating you. What he was looking for, you couldn’t imagine. You wished he would take off that muzzle – at least, then, you might be able to find something a little more human in his expression. “And (Y/n),” Suguru paused, nudging your side. “This is my puppy, Satoru. The one I told you about.”

You forced yourself to smile. Satoru stared at you for a long second before bowing his head, and you took the signal – bringing your hand up to pet him the same way Suguru had, watching as he melted into your palm. It was a little too easy to let the last of your anxiety wash away, an odd sort of confidence taking its place. This wasn’t so bad, not when you knew what to expect. Maybe you’d ask Suguru if Satoru had any friends with similar interests and similar numbers in their bank accounts.

“Suguru didn’t mention how pretty you were.” You let your voice lilt up into that light, cloying sort of baby-talk. With the way they were both acting, it was a little hard to remember you weren’t talking to an actual dog. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

“Careful, now. He’ll get a big head.” He squeezed your hand gently and tugged you towards the staircase. “C’mon – I know where we can get a little privacy.”

Satoru whined, but didn’t attempt to follow you as Suguru guided you up a spiraling set of stairs and into a long, blank hallway. Suguru’s home (Satoru’s home? Their home?) was remarkable unlived in, intentional decoration sparse and the clutter of everyday life entirely absent. It might’ve been off-putting if you’d been able to focus on it, but Suguru seemed eager to distract you, pawing at your waist and stealing kisses every few steps. You counted doors half-heatedly as you passed, and somewhere between eighteen and twenty-three, Suguru pulled one open and ushered you inside.

The bedroom was less non-descript. A king-sized, four-posted bed dominated the space, the sheets a sea of red satin to contrast the black, void walls. The bare necessities were littered sporadically throughout the room – a half-empty glass of water on a bedside table, a white towel hanging from the knob of the closet door, etc. The messiness was almost calculated, things left out on purpose to feign disregard. The only thing that seemed genuinely out of place was the long, braided cord looped around the upper right bedpost, so well-used that it’d ground into and softened the wood underneath. Suguru didn’t seem to notice it, so you decided against saying anything. If you were lucky, it could be useful later on.

It wasn’t like you had much of a chance to talk, anyway. There was a specific sort of fragile, uneasy tension between you and Suguru, and it never seemed to last very long when you two were alone together. The door was shouldered closed hastily, and then, his hands were on your hips, his mouth on the side of your neck. “I’ve been looking forward to this.” And then, with an airy chuckle, a nip to the corner of your jaw, “Thought I was going to have to bend you over in that fucking coffee shop.”

The humiliating part was, had he asked, you probably would have. There was no reason he should have to know that, though. “I’d say to buy my dinner first, but—” His teeth digging into the curve of your throat, a hitch in your breath. You forced out a chirping laugh as he sucked and lapped at your neck. “—I guess you beat me to it, huh?”

Suguru’s only response was a low grown, ten fingers burrowed into your waist. You started to shrug off your jacket, but Suguru was just a little faster, just a little more eager; jerking the article down with one hand while the other wrapped around your midriff. You’d known how big he was, loved the way his body measured up to yours, and yet, you couldn’t seem to suppress the little gasp that escaped your lips as you were pulled off of your feet and thrown onto the center of his bed, to ignore the fear that knotted in your chest as he loomed at the foot of the bed – hastily dragging his shirt over his head. You watched him undress with a lazy type of indulgence, more than happy to sit back and enjoy a free show. Honestly, you’d almost forgotten you were supposed to be a part of the entertainment by the time he propped a knee on the mattress and let the full weight of his attention fall onto you.

Against your better judgement, you thought about Satoru as Suguru climbed into the space between your spread legs. You couldn’t seem to imagine how he and Satoru fit together, not that you were very inclined to. It was hard to picture either one of them as very submissive; Satoru with his menacing height and bright, vigilant eyes, or Suguru with his easy smile and feline arrogance. You’d assumed it was a fetish, but you could’ve wrong, right? You’d heard of people who make paperclip chains and chew paper to relieve stress – when you weren’t actively looking at a grown man pretend to be a dog, it really didn’t seem that much stranger.

“Where do you think you’re going, pretty girl?”

Suguru’s voice, deep and saccharine, brought you back to the present. You blinked up at him, smiling. “’m right here.”

“Good girl.” Muscular thighs straddled your waist, and you whined, reaching towards him. Suguru only caught your hands in his, intertwining your fingers with his own. “Do you trust me?”

“I don’t know. You never did tell me if you were a serial killer.”

“And it didn’t stop you from coming home with me.” He squeezed gently. “Which means you do trust me – whether or not you should.”

You hummed, and that was all the confirmation he needed. Your wrists were gathered in one hand while the other reached for the black cord – not as forgotten as you’d thought. Suguru worked quickly, but deftly. A snug slip-knot soon bound your wrists above your head, and you fought the temptation to test the binding’s strength and ruin the moment. It felt slack enough, and more importantly, Suguru was already shifting, moving, gliding a hand down the length of your throat, your chest, before finally cupping your breast, groping harshly.

Unable to do much of anything else, you arched into his touch, earning a breath of a laugh from Suguru. Dark hair veiled his face as he dipped his head, lips sealing around the bud of your nipple. It seemed to be less for your pleasure and more for his entertainment – the way he sucked with such a deliberate amount of force, how slowly he drew the flat of his tongue over your skin, the feather-slight pressure of his teeth against tender flesh. The stimulation was thick and aching, simmering where it should’ve sparked. You might’ve complained if his hand hadn’t wandered to your sex, two think fingers tracing over your slit and gathering the slick that’d been building up since he invited back to his place. Calling you ‘wet’ would’ve been the understatement of the century – you were soaked. Suguru seemed to know that, too.

He lifted his head, grinning as he pulled you into a deep kiss. By the time he drew back, your lungs throbbed in your chest and he’d been reduced to muttering. “And here I was, so scared that you’d try to run away.” The heel of his palm ground into your clit, drawing out a moan muffled only by his proximity. “No, you were never going to leave before you got what you came for, were you?”

You shook your head, bucking into his hand, but Suguru only clicked his tongue. There was another open-mouthed kiss to the curve of your neck (his favorite spot, it seemed), then another the tender flesh just above your collarbone. “You have to tell me what you want, baby. Nicely.”

Two fingers slipped under your panties and into your tight heat, scissoring apart as you moaned and squirmed underneath him. “Please,” you managed, your voice reduced to a pitchy, wavering drawl. “Please, please fuck me, Suguru.”

“That’s my girl.” You felt his fingers curl inside of you and protested with a mewling whine. When Suguru did draw back, it was only to bring his palm down on your cunt in an open-handed spank that left your skin burning and sparks racing straight to your core. You swallowed down any lingering complaints as he fucked you open on three thick digits, focusing the brunt of his energy on thrusting into you with as much depth and as much force as possible with the occasional curl or split of his fingers, whenever you threatened to adjust to his erratic rhythm. Making you cum was a secondary goal; something to be considered, but not planned around. Judging by his brutal pace, the way his dark eyes stayed fixed on your expression, he was more interested in seeing just how long it took to take you apart.

It was a shame you couldn’t hold on longer, really. Suguru might’ve been patience incarnate, but you’d never had that level of self-control. It took less than a minute of his calloused fingers rubbing against the seizing walls of your cunt, of his palm grinding sloppily into your clit before you were clawing at the cord around your wrists, clenching your eyes shut, snapping your thighs together around his forearm as you came undone from seconds of his harsh stimulation. Of course, Suguru nursed you through your climax and of course, he waited until you were coherent enough to hear the humiliatingly wet noise of your cunt clenching around his digits as he drew back. Your reward came in the form of a moment to breathe, a lingering kiss pressed into the inside of your knee as he lowered himself into the space between your legs. His remaining clothes were dealt with hastily – pulled out of the way where they couldn’t be easily discarded – and before long, you felt the blunt tip of his cock tracing over your entrance, his arousal mixing with the aftermath of your climax. Beyond the use of words, you did your best to grind against him and pulled at your restraints, putting up a laughable imitation of a struggle. The corner of Suguru’s lips turned upward. With one hand wrapped around his base and the other planted on your hip, he eased into you, fitting his body against yours until he’d bottomed out.

Immediately, it was too much.

Suguru caught on quickly, too. “This is what you asked for.” Four fingers rapped against your side as he started to move, limiting himself to short, shallow thrusts. You clenched your eyes shut, digging your nails into your palms and muttering distant, abstract curses between moans. Suguru let out a pitying hum. “You’re not allowed to change your mind now, princess. Not after begging so prettily.”

As if you could. As if you’d have any reason to. It felt like he was trying to fuck your throat through your pussy; his hips grating against yours as he pulled out to the tip only to rut back in. It was less the friction that got to you and more the pressure – filling you entirely, battering against your walls, weighing down your body where it was pinned under his. His hands hooked the underside of your thighs and hauled your legs upward, pressing your knees closer to your chest than the mattress. The stretch was incredible, nearly enough to break you. It took everything you had just to open your eyes and stare blissfully at Suguru, his dark hair dripping over his face and pooling around his shoulders, his eyes narrowed into clever, condescending slits. You could see a smirk shining through his slack-lipped groaning, and over his shoulder, something white bobbed—

Something white.

Satoru.

Against your will, your attention slipped away from Suguru and onto him. You could only make out his upper body, but even that was more than you wanted to see. The bedroom door had been nudged open, and Satoru leaned against the frame, head cocked to the side and glassy blue eyes fixed on the bed. One of his arms was angled strangely, reaching for something below his navel, and you swore, even with the sound of Suguru’s skin crashing into yours, you could hear him panting. You’d assume that the muzzle would’ve done more to muffle it, but guess not.

You didn’t say anything, but the horror written across your expression was obvious. Suguru slowed, then stopped entirely, scowling as he looked over his shoulder to follow your gaze. His reaction was reserved, minimal. A sigh of a scoff, a slight shake of his head. You waited for him to get angry, to tell Satoru to leave, or better yet, to panic, to throw a sheet over your body and do anything but let his pervert of an employer keep jerking off to your exposed, vulnerable form. Instead, he only straightened, pulling to the side as if to show that much more of you off. “Your turn already, puppy?”

Satoru didn’t nod, didn’t respond, and Suguru didn’t wait for him to. Whatever mutual understanding they had between them didn’t need to be spoken aloud; it was enough for Satoru to step forward and Suguru, half-swallowing a moan, to pull out of your cunt. You couldn’t help but feel relieved, your point of connection having abruptly gone cold.

That relief was quickly replaced by stiff, frigid dread as Satoru shuffled forward, into your direct line of sight. Most of his get-up had been abandoned, leaving only his ears, pawed gloves, and of course, that terrible muzzle. Somehow, the subtractions seemed to make him less human – like he’d gone from a man pretending to be a dog to a dog pretending to be a man. Suguru didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t seem to care. There was one more squeeze to your thigh, and then Satoru was pulling himself to the headboard, positioning himself beside you. Unceremoniously, you were turned onto your stomach, your bound wrists positioned awkwardly above your head and your elbow prodding into the mattress. Your ass was dragged upward, your knees forced underneath you. Unsure of whether trying to kick out would salvage what was left of your remaining dignity or humiliate you further, you held the position.

This time, the way you jerked and thrashed against your restraints wasn’t playful. The knot had been loose enough to slip a few minutes ago, but as soon as you exerted any real amount of force, it seemed to constrict; soft rope digging into your wrists, cutting off your circulation. You felt the mattress dip behind you, heard Satoru’s rhythmic panting through the metal of his mask. Desperately, you looked to Suguru.

“R-red,” you stammered, hoping the edge in your voice would make up for the lack of an established safe-word. “Black. Pineapple. Stop. I’m not good with this, Suguru.”

Satoru’s knees on either side of yours, the dull head of drooling cock against your ass. You felt Satoru’s tip drag over the curve of your ass, streaking your skin with arousal. Suguru hummed. “But, you’ll grin and bear it, won’t you? ‘toru’s been looking forward to this all day.”

It was awful, how little his tone had changed. If it hadn’t been for the spare man now looming over you, the terror forming knots in your chest, you would’ve thought he was still making mindless dirty talk.

“I never—” Your voice caught in your throat as Satoru whined, needy and keening. Animalistic. “I don’t want to do this.”

His attention flitted between you and Satoru, never quite landing on either. “You’ll come around,” he decided, eventually. “Just like Satoru did.”

Something cold and stiff stabbed into the center of your back. At first, you wondered if that was what fear – true fear – always felt like, made more vivid by tangible betrayal and the sudden awareness of your own stupidity, but then, you realized it was only the lower edge of Satoru’s muzzle digging into your skin as he laid himself over you, and that made more sense.

Satoru was not like his owner. Suguru hadn’t been gentle, but Satoru seemed to operate on something deeper, something baser, something that didn’t give him time to breathe between forcing his cock into your sensitive cunt and his first thrust. Actually, calling it a thrust at all might’ve been too generous – he never seemed to want to pull away from you, only rut deeper, only grinding against your ass as he moaned and whined and drooled against your neck. Eventually, his chest pressed into your back, his head falling over your shoulder. You tried not to look at him, to disassociate where you couldn’t physically separate, but it would’ve been impossible to block out the way his prying eyes seared into your skin. “So pretty.” The metal distorted the exact shape of his tone, but something cloying made it through the fog. “Been waiting forever for Suguru to pick. Knew it had to be you, though. It was always gonna be you.”

You didn’t respond, but Suguru did – laughing brightly. While Satoru did his best to beat your pussy into the shape of his cock, Suguru swung his legs off the side of the bed, turning away from you as he fetched something out of the nearest bedside table. “I’m sorry,” he said, straightening back up. “I knew Satoru needed someone to keep him company while I was away, but I couldn’t bring home just any stray – he’d tear them to pieces. You were perfect, but holding ‘toru off for the months it took to prepare…” He trailed off, smiling fondly. “He’s overeager at the best of times. You can imagine what it was like – trying to tell him he had to wait to meet his kitten.”

He was lying. He was lying and he wasn’t even trying to hide it. You hadn’t known Suguru for months, you’d known him for days. There’d been a meet-cute and everything – you’d stayed at your favorite café for an hour longer than you could really afford to just to catch his eye, and he’d stuttered the first time he’d said your---

Your name.

He’d known your name.

The stabbing sensation was back. You didn’t think it was Satoru, this time.

You opened your mouth – maybe to sob, maybe to scream – but all that came out was a fractured, airy squeak. Satoru’s dick twitched inside of you, and suddenly, you were aware of just how erratic his pace had grown, just how stifling the heat rolling off of him had gotten. You clenched your eyes shut a moment before it happened, keeping them that way as something too terrible to name was pumped into you in hot, smoldering strokes. When the last spark of his climax faded, Satoru went limp against you, cuddling into your back, but Suguru was quick to chide him with a click of his tongue.

“Bad puppy.” You saw him reach for Satoru’s head, hear something metallic and taut click out of place. “Clean up your mess. Then, we’ll have you meet your kitten properly.”

Satoru grumbled, but didn’t disobey. Dragging your unresponsive body onto its side, he nestled his head between your thighs and dragged the flat of his tongue over your slit, lapping up the remnants just beginning to drip down your thighs with a tired sort of enthusiasm. Suguru shook his head wistfully. “He can be such a brat, but he means well. Ah – can you pick your head up for me, baby?”

When you failed to so much as try, Suguru cooed. “I guess you wouldn’t be.” And then, cupping your cheek, “You’re going to be a delicate little thing, aren’t you?”

“…I’m not a thing,” you spat, but it didn’t matter. He was already fitting something onto your head – a headband, the weight balanced by two off-set ears near the rounded peak. The collar was next, heavy and decorated with bows and ribbons that scratched at your throat. You were struck with the inexplicable and irresistible urge to try to claw it off, but your bound hands saved you from the humiliation.

It took you a few seconds to put a name to the last item. Made of a pale pink leather, it had an odd shape – like a cup someone had accidently made wider than it was tall. Studded straps stretched from each corner of the opening, and Suguru’s hand fell away from your cheek as he fitted it to your lower face, The upper strap was pulled tight, then the lower, until the leather pressed snugly into your skin. You started to open your mouth, but shut it just as quickly.

You should never have bothered to wonder. There was only ever one thing it could possibly be.

A muzzle.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #yandere geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #yandere gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #yandere satosugu

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prettygirl-gabi · 2 days ago

Text

Title: Slicked Back & Smitten

Rating: Mature Audiences

Warning: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, spicy, wlw smut, mirror sex, Paige's biceps, paige fucking you while having you in a headlock, !top paige, !bottom reader, light oral (fem reseving), !purple strap Paige, !slick back ponytail P (yes this deserves a warning), fluff

Paring: Paige Bueckers x fem reader

Fandom: Uconn's Women's basketbal

Summary: Slicked Back ponytail P... and she's swollen in the right places too... oh you're down bad baby

Tag: @elliesglock , @elalfywhore , @paxaz535

The morning of the UConn vs. Butler game was absolute chaos. With a 1 p.m. tip-off, I had been up at the ass crack of dawn, running errands before heading to the arena. Meanwhile, Paige was at home, usually getting her game day braids done by Kayla—her routine, her thing.

Except today, Kayla couldn’t do them she was getting over being sick, didn't wanna risk Paige getting sick.

And I? I was too busy being the responsible, errand-running girlfriend to even offer to do them myself.

So, Paige had to figure something out.

By the time I arrived at the arena, the team was already warming up. I greeted a few of the staff members before spotting Kayla on the sidelines, watching the girls get their final shots up before tip-off.

"Did you see what she did?" Kayla asked as I approached.

I was confused. "Who?"

Kayla gave me a look. "Your girlfriend."

I turned my head, scanning the court until my eyes landed on Paige in her love, Abby warm up. And, oh, did my jaw practically drop.

Instead of her signature game day braids, she had done a sleek middle-part ponytail. The gel, the clean parting, the way the ponytail laid so perfectly down her back—it was… different. It was… distracting.

I bit the inside of my cheek, shifting on my feet. "Yeah… I see her."

Kayla snickered, nudging me. "She look good, huh?"

I exhaled sharply, eyes still glued to Paige as she moved across the court, completely unaware of the effect she was having on me. The slick back? The way it emphasized her face, her jawline, her everything? Yeah, it was bad for me.

"Kayla," I started, voice low. "I don’t think you should do her braids next game either."

Kayla howled. "Oh, nah, you down bad!"

I rolled my eyes, pretending like I wasn’t already making plans to personally ensure Paige never wore braids again.

———

The first half of the game was a problem.

Paige was playing out of her mind. She was dropping dimes, hitting threes, getting to the basket with ease—and she looked damn good doing it.

I was trying to focus on the actual game, trying not to be the most obvious girlfriend ever, but every time she drove to the rim, her ponytail swung just right, her edges still perfectly laid despite how much she was sweating.

It was a crisis.

By halftime, I had reached my breaking point.

Sitting in the stands, I pulled my phone out, thumbs flying across the screen as I sent a text Paige wouldn’t see until later.

Me: You need to put me in a headlock when we get back home.

Me: And I need you to consider this slick back ponytail as your new game day hair. Like… permanently.

I hit send, exhaling as I locked my phone. Out of sight, out of mind. I just needed to get through the rest of the game without combusting.

———

Paige didn’t see the message until hours later.

After the game, she had her usual post-game press conference, with Kk and Azzii answering questions about UConn’s dominant win, her own performance, and how it felt playing without her signature braids.

Then came the locker room celebrations, the team hyping each other up, the post-game shower, and finally—finally—Paige was back at our shared off-campus apartment.

Freshly showered, she walked into the bedroom with a towel around her neck, only in her black Nike sports bra and grey boxers sitting perfectly on her waist line, scrolling through her phone finally checking all her notifications.

I was sitting on the bed, scrolling mindlessly myself, until I saw her pause.

Her head tilted. "What the hell?"

I tried to act innocent. "What?"

Paige turned her phone towards me, revealing my very suggestive text from earlier. "This," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Headlock? Really?"

I shrugged, unbothered. "You read it. You know what I said."

She huffed out a laugh, tossing her phone onto the nightstand before crawling onto the bed. She hovered over me, arms on either side of my head, that damn ponytail still sleek even after her shower.

"So," Paige mused, voice dropping slightly. "You liked the ponytail, huh?"

I reached up, running my fingers over the base of it where she had secured it with a black hair tie. "Liked? Understatement."

Paige smirked, dipping down to press a lingering kiss to my jaw. "Liked it enough to text me during halftime about puttin yo ass in a headlock?"

I exhaled sharply. "I was having a moment."

She kissed the corner of my mouth, teasing me. "Mhm. And what kind of headlock we talking about?"

I rolled my eyes, pushing her lightly. "Don’t play with me, Bueckers."

Paige chuckled, finally kissing me for real, slow and deep, before pulling back just enough to rest her forehead against mine. "So… ponytail again next game?"

I nodded immediately. "Absolutely, baby it’s your secret weapon."

She smirked, leaned closer, her lips brushing against my ear as she whispered, "Anything for you, baby. Especially when I get to have my way with you afterward."

I shivered at her words, my heart racing with anticipation. There was something intoxicating about the way she claimed me, the way she took charge. I loved every moment of it, even if it made me feel vulnerable.

Paige stood up suddenly, her playful demeanor shifting into something more commanding. “Come here,” she instructed, her voice firm yet sultry. I followed her, curiosity piqued, as she led me to the full-length mirror on the wall, right next to the bed.

“Look at yourself,” she murmured, her fingers brushing against my neck as she turned me to face the glass. I could see the reflection of us, a flush creeping across my cheeks. “You’re beautiful,” she said, her voice dropping to a low whisper. “But I want you to see what I see.”

Before I could respond, she slowly pulling my satan mini sleep dress, off revealing my body to herself as if she was claming a prize. My heart raced as I realized her intentions. “Paige…” I started, but her smirk silenced me.

“Shh,” she said, a playful glint in her eye. “Trust me, watch me the whole time, ma. ” She walked to the other bed side table to pull out the purple stap, taking the boxers off and expertly securing it around her waist.

I watched her through the Mirror not taking my eyes of her once.

“Now,” she said, walking back to me and now her breath warm against my neck, “I want you to look at yourself in the mirror and think about how good you can be for me.”

She wrapped her strong arms around me, pulling me back against her chest, and I found my breath catching in my throat as I felt her biceps flex around my head.

“Paige, I—”

“Good girls do what they’re told,” she interrupted playfully, flexing her biceps around my chin so I could look up see my own reflection. “Look at you. So pretty, so willing. You’re perfect just like this.”

I gazed into the mirror, my heart pounding as I saw the way she held me—her strength juxtaposed against my vulnerability. I felt a rush of heat surge through me.

“Tell me what you see,” Paige urged, her voice steady yet sultry. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I see…” I hesitated, caught between the thrill of her hold and the desire to please her. “I see… me. I see us.”

“Good girl,” she praised, her voice dripping with satisfaction. I could feel the tension in her body, the way she leaned into me, the heat radiating off her. “Now, tell me how much you want me.”

“I want you, Paige,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. The honesty of my desire sent a thrill through me, igniting a fire that burned deep within. “I want you to fuck me.”

“See? Was that so hard?” she teased, her lips brushing against my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “You’re learning.”

Paige turned me slightly, enough that I could see her in the mirror too. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she gazed down at me, and I felt a rush of exhilaration at being at her mercy. “Now, I want you to remember this moment. How it feels to be my good girl.”

With that, she pressed her lips against mine, capturing me in a kiss that was both sweet and demanding. I melted against her, surrendering fully to the sensation of her body against mine. Each kiss deepened my desire, igniting a passion that coursed through my veins.

“Look at us,” she murmured between kisses, her voice low and seductive. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. Together, we create magic.”

Once back on the bed she had me face down ass up, still facibg the mirror.

I gasped as she took her tongue and gave my much needy pussy attention, “You’re so beautiful like this,” she whispered, her breath warm against my thigh just before kissing and biting at it. “I want to make you feel everything.”

After a few mins of practically making out with my pussy, Paige, pulling me up by my hair before locking my head in her biceps again, her lips brushing against my ear as she trailed kisses along my jawline and neck. I could feel her warmth, her desire, and it sent waves of pleasure coursing through me. “Tell me how it feels, and don't be quiet about it either, baby” she instructed, her voice a tantalizing whisper.

“Good,” I breathed, my heart racing. “It feels so good.”

“Good girls deserve to be rewarded,” she replied, her lips curling into a smirk. “And you’ve been so very good, so keep watching in the mirror for me, yeah mamas”

She guided my gaze back to the mirror, forcing me to watch as she explored my body, her hands roaming, her kisses igniting every nerve. “Look at how much you crave this,” she teased, her voice a sultry melody. “You want to be my good girl, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I gasped, the thrill of her words sending me spiraling deeper into desire.

“Then let’s make this a night to remember,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief and passion.

Before I could fully process her movements, she had me pinned, face down ass up into the satan sheets, every inch of my body electrified by her touch. The strap slid deeper, an intoxicating sensation that made my heart race and my mind spin.

I could feel every pulse, every inch of her as she filled me, her confidence radiating through the air. Letting out a groan as if she could actually feel me clenching around her. “Fuck, baby you takin my dick so good. Pussy just swallowin me whole, shit.”

“Paige…” I managed to whisper, but the words were swallowed by the thick tension that hung between us. My body was responding, every nerve ending alive with the thrill of the moment. She held me captive, and I was more than willing to surrender.

Her fingers tangled in my hair, guiding me as she thrust deeper, the rhythm slow at first but building in intensity. I could hear her breathing, a mix of pleasure and desire, and it sent a shiver down my spine. “You’re so perfect for me,” she murmured, a sultry smile playing on her lips. “I could do this forever.”

With every thrust, she drew me closer to a precipice I had only ever dreamed of. The world outside faded away; there was nothing but the two of us, lost in our own universe. I could feel the heat pooling within me, a delicious tension building that threatened to consume us both.

“God, you feel so good,” she breathed, her voice thick with desire. “I want you to look in the mirror when you cum f'me. Watch yourself fall apart on my shit, ma.”

I surrendered completely, allowing myself to be swept up in the waves of pleasure she was creating. The way she moved, the way she filled me—it was intoxicating. I could feel every inch of her, the connection between us palpable, electric. It was as if we were two bodies entwined in a dance as old as time, a rhythm that only we could hear.

“Paige, I…” My words faltered as she hit a spot that made my entire body quiver. I could feel the tension building, spiraling higher and higher until it felt like I might burst.

“Shh, just look in the mirror and feel,” she whispered, her breath hot against my ear. “I’ve got you.”

Her words were like a spell, wrapping around me and pulling me deeper into the moment. I lost myself completely, every thought dissolving into a haze of pure ecstasy. Looking into the mirror watching with way she had my arms pinned behind my back, the determination on her face to make me feel so full. Watching the way my juices leaked on the bed, the way the base of the strap milky white from the way she was pounding me into the bed. The world outside ceased to exist; all that mattered was the connection between us, the way she moved, the way she touched me.

As she pushed deeper, I could feel the heat rising more and more, the pressure building within me. I was teetering on the edge, and I could sense that she was too. And as a last minute act she put me in a headlock again, hips still hitting all the right spot. “Yes, just like that, watch yourself f'me” she urged, her voice a low, sultry whisper. “Let go for me. Yeah ma, cum on my dick.”

With a final thrust, everything exploded, watching myself fall apart on the purple strap. I felt the world around me shatter into a million pieces, the sensation overwhelming and all-consuming. Waves of pleasure crashed over me, leaving me breathless and trembling.

“Just like that, baby. That’s it,” Paige encouraged, her voice a sultry murmur that was so encouraging that I could cum again. “You’re so beautiful when you cum, f'me baby.”

I could hardly respond, lost in the aftershocks of pleasure that coursed through me. I felt her slow down, her movements becoming gentle as she brought me back down from the high. My head resting back on her shoulder for a few seconds before I look at our sweat, cum dripping bodies, in awe

“Are you okay?” she asked, concern flickering in her eyes as they met mine through the mirror.

I nodded, still catching my breath. “More than okay,” I whispered, a smile breaking across my face. “That was incredible.”

Her lips curled into a playful grin, and I could see the satisfaction shining in her eyes. “I’m glad to hear that. But I’m not done with you yet.”

Before I could fully comprehend her words, she shifted her body, and mine her movements fluid and graceful. The strap was still there, a reminder of the connection we shared, and as she positioned herself above me, as I am now on my back, I felt the excitement build once more.

“Just relax and enjoy the ride,” she said, her voice low and enticing.

With that, she began to move again, her body rocking against mine in a way that sent shivers coursing through me. Every thrust was deliberate, every movement intentional, and I could feel myself responding, eager to meet her rhythm.

“God, you’re amazing,” she breathed, her eyes locked onto mine. The intensity of her gaze sent another wave of heat through me, igniting the fire that had only just begun to simmer.

“Paige, you have no idea…” I gasped, my hands finding their way to her hips, guiding her as I tried to keep up with her pace.

We were lost in each other, the world outside fading away once more. The tension built again, a delicious spiral that threatened to consume us both. I could feel the heat rising, the pressure coiling within me, and I knew we were nearing the edge once more.

“Just a little more,” she urged, her breath coming in quick gasps as she pushed herself closer, her voice laced with urgency. “I want to feel you again.”

With her words, I was gone, the tension breaking like a dam as the pleasure rushed over me once more. I could feel her reach her peak too, our bodies connected in a way that felt transcendent.

As we collapsed together, breathless and spent, I couldn’t help but smile. In that moment, everything felt right. We were two souls intertwined, lost in the heat of desire and the sweetness of connection.

“Wow,” I managed to say, a laugh escaping my lips. “What just happened?”

Paige chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. “Just a little magic,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And I think we should do it again.”

I grinned, my heart racing at the thought. “I’m all in.”

---

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-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

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bueckets · 2 days ago

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Textbook Chemistry | Preview

Pairing: paige x tutor!reader

Description: What you thought would look good on your resume turns out to be a weekly exercise in restraint, where Paige Bueckers treats biology like a game she can win through sheer charm, and you try—try—not to let her get under your skin. She’s got no notes, no shame, and apparently no real fear of academic failure, just endless confidence and a talent for turning even the most basic study session into getting under your skin—in all the right ways.

Preview WC: 3.1k

The library is way too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your own breathing sound deafening, where every shuffle of paper or tap of a pen echoes like a gunshot. It’s the kind of silence that should be perfect for studying. Should be.

Except Paige Bueckers is sitting across from you, and Paige Bueckers doesn’t give a single shit about studying.

Instead, she’s leaned back in her chair like she’s lounging courtside instead of being one bad test score away from academic probation. She’s got her long legs stretched out beneath the table, sneakers tapping lazily against the floor. Her hoodie—way too oversized for someone whose entire existence is dedicated to agility and precision—is slouching off one shoulder, and she’s twirling a pen between her fingers like she’s dribbling down the court with a shot clock winding down. The sleeves are bunched up just enough to show her forearms, strong and lined with faint muscle from years of training, but the only thing working right now is her mouth.

Grinning. Smirking. Teasing. Doing everything but reading the goddamn textbook in front of her.

“Alright, Paige,” you sigh, pushing your notes toward her for what has to be the third time. “We need to focus. You will fail this class if you don’t start studying.”

Paige doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t move an inch beyond a lazy stretch that makes her hoodie ride up just slightly, flashing the waistband of her shorts. Her smirk deepens like she can feel you noticing.

“Yeah,” she drawls, tilting her head, “but then I’d have to take it again next semester. Which means more quality time with my favorite tutor.”

You stare at her. She stares back. The kind of look that feels like a staredown before tip-off except way less athletic and way more are you seriously this insufferable?

She holds the eye contact, easy as anything, while you struggle to remind yourself that she is only your student, not a professional flirt sent to ruin your life. Her eyes gleam in the dim library lighting, playful and sharp at the same time. Her lashes are unfairly long, brushing against her cheeks when she finally blinks.

Your heart rate picks up. Not from that. From the academic crisis happening right now. Obviously.

“You’re not failing on purpose, right?” You narrow your eyes suspiciously.

Paige tilts her head, pretending to ponder, lips pursing slightly. “Hmm. No, but if I did, would that be kinda cute?”

You groan dramatically, dragging a hand down your face. “I am this close to committing academic misconduct and just taking the test for you.”

Paige gasps. Actually gasps, pressing a hand to her chest in faux offense. “Wow. I knew med school was intense, but I didn’t realize you were out here ready to commit federal crimes.”

“That’s it,” you announce, pushing back from the table. “I’m done. I quit. Find someone else to teach you about mitochondria.”

You barely make it an inch before Paige reaches across the table and hooks two fingers around your wrist, tugging you back down like you weigh nothing. Her grip is firm, all strength and control—like she’s grabbing a rebound, like she’s got her hands on the game ball in overtime. Your pulse jumps again, this time definitely because of that.

Her fingers linger for a second longer than necessary before she releases you. But she’s still watching you, expression softening just slightly around the edges. “C’mon, stay,” she says, voice lower now, like a secret. “I promise I’ll actually pay attention this time.”

You cross your arms. “Oh? And what changed?”

She leans forward this time, elbows on the table, chin propped on one hand. The lighting catches the sharp angles of her cheekbones, the curve of her jaw. She’s smiling, but it’s something different now—something slower.

“Figured out that if I fail,” she murmurs, eyes locked on yours, “I won’t have an excuse to see you anymore.”

Your brain does a full system reboot. Error. What the fuck did she just say?

“Wh—Paige.”

She just winks, sinking her teeth iinto her bottom lip for half a second before her grin spreads, slow and satisfied. “What? That was cute, right?”

You grab your pen and point it at her accusingly. “You are so goddamn lucky you’re good at basketball, because if you had to rely on your brain—”

“I’d still get by,” she interrupts smoothly, shooting finger guns at you. “People tend to go easy on the charming ones.”

Your mouth actually falls open. Not on purpose—just an involuntary reaction to the sheer, unbelievable audacity of this girl. She’s failing biology, hasn’t written down a single note, and still has the goddamn nerve of a mathlete coasting through an easy A.

You snap your jaw shut, you refuse to let her see how flustered you are. You refuse. “Okay, charming one, then explain the process of cellular respiration.”

Paige squints, lips pressing together as she sucks in a breath through her teeth, nose scrunching like she’s really trying to make something shake in that head of hers. “Uh… it’s when cells… respire?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, inhaling slowly through your teeth. “We are so, so fucking doomed.”

She just laughs, kicking her feet out beneath the table, accidentally knocking her knee against yours. “Relax,” she says, her grin widening. “You love tutoring me.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah,” she nods, completely sure of herself. “You totally have a little crush on me.”

You let out a dry, incredulous laugh—one of those sharp, breathy ones, all eyebrows raised and head bobbing. “Yeah, sure.”

She shrugs, tapping a finger against the open page of her biology textbook like she might actually start paying attention. Then, without looking up—

“Nah, I know.”

You blink. Paige blinks back.

The air between you tightens like a taut shoelace, pulling, pulling—dangerously close to snapping. You could be the bigger person here. You could roll your eyes, let it go, return to the noble pursuit of keeping Paige Bueckers from academically imploding.

But something about the way she’s looking at you—too smug, too sure—strikes a competitive nerve in you. And you’re not about to lose anything to her. Not a game, not a staredown, and sure as hell not a battle of wits.

So you shift in your chair, tilting your head, letting your lips curl just slightly. “Oh, you know?”

Paige leans back again, arms crossed, shoulders loose. She’s cocky, sure, but there’s something anticipatory in her gaze—like she knows you’re about to challenge her and she’s thrilled about it.

“Mhm.” She nods, casual as ever. “Crystal clear.”

You hum, feigning thoughtfulness, tapping a finger against the open textbook. “Wow. Must be nice. I thought you struggled with retention, but here you are, remembering things that have literally never been said.”

She gasps. “Rude.”

“You’ll get over it,” you deadpan.

Paige, of course, does not let it go. She tips her chin up, meeting your gaze with something wicked and playful tangled in the blue of her eyes. “Okay, fine. You don’t have a little crush on me.”

You exhale, relieved.

“But you definitely think about me when I’m not around.”

Your breath catches. Paige sees it. Her grin stretches wider, knowing, smug.

Oh, you are not letting her have this.

You scoff, shifting back in your chair, fighting the warmth creeping up your spine. “Paige, you are in my life solely because you can’t pass basic biology. I think about you in the same way people think about a fire alarm that won’t stop beeping.”

“Ah, so constantly?”

You scowl.

She beams.

“That’s fair,” Paige shrugs, stretching her arms over her head, and the movement makes her hoodie ride up again, flashing a sliver of tanned stomach. “I am pretty unforgettable. Even when I’m annoying.”

“Especially when you’re annoying,” you mutter.

Paige smirks, but then, as if sensing your growing frustration, she sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes and dragging her textbook closer. “Alright, fine. I’ll study.”

You narrow your eyes. “For real?”

She winks. “Scout’s honor.”

“Paige, you were never a scout.”

“Prove it.”

You sigh but relent, watching as she flips open the book and actually—miraculously—starts reading the page in front of her. You take a sip of your now-cold coffee, reveling in the small victory.

For a blissful forty-five seconds, Paige is silent. Then—

“So, like,” she starts, “mitochondria. That’s the powerhouse of the cell, right?”

You pause. Blink. Lower your coffee. “Yes?”

Paige throws her hands in the air. “Let’s gooo. I’m a genius.”

You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Paige, you have three weeks until your exam. We need to cover way more than that.”

“Okay, okay,” she soothes, putting her hands up in surrender. “Next question.”

You flip to another page, glancing up briefly to make sure she’s paying attention.

She’s not.

She’s looking at you.

You pause, caught off guard by the way she’s watching you—not with teasing amusement or lazy smugness, but with something softer. Warmer. Curious.

“Paige,” you warn, shifting uncomfortably.

She blinks, then grins again, but there’s something slightly less sharp about it now. “Nothing, nothing,” she mutters, shaking her head, flipping a page in her book. “Just thinking.”

You hesitate, unsure if you want to ask, what about? But you don’t.

Instead, you clear your throat, turning your attention back to the book. “Okay. Explain the process of osmosis.”

Paige tilts her head dramatically. “Is that, like, when you just chil through life and things come to you naturally?”

“Oh my god, no,” you deadpan.

She grins. “Damn. Thought I was onto something.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “We are so fucked.”

Paige just laughs, bright and easy. “Nah. You’d never let me fail.”

She says it like it’s a fact. Like she knows, without a doubt, that you’d never let hers fall behind.

And the worst part is she’s most definitely right.

She twirls her pen between her fingers, spinning it effortlessly like a basketball rolling off the tips of her hands. It’s hypnotizing, actually—the smooth rotations, the lazy way her fingers flick with just enough control to keep it from dropping. She’s been doing this for the last ten minutes, and not once has she even pretended to read the page in front of her.

Meanwhile, you’re hunched over your notes, taking deep, steadying breaths. You tell yourself you won’t let her test your patience today. You won’t get dragged into her game. You won’t—

“Paige,” you say, voice strained.

“Hm?” she replies, still flipping her pen effortlessly.

“Please read.”

Paige hums noncommittally. Turns a page without reading it.

You inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth. “Paige.”

She finally looks up, resting her chin on her palm, eyes bright with amusement. “What? I’m absorbing information. Through osmosis.”

You close your eyes, count to three. Consider what your life would be like if you had literally any other tutoring assignment.

“You are so lucky you’re athletic,” you mutter, flipping the page back to where she was actually supposed to start reading. “C’mon. Photosynthesis. What do you know?”

Paige stretches her arms behind her head, her hoodie riding up slightly—distractingly—before she drops back down with a smirk, looking at you like she’s about to deliver the most groundbreaking scientific revelation of all time.

“Plants… make food?”

Your eyelid twitches.

“Correct,” you deadpan. “And they do that through—”

“The power of love,” Paige interrupts, placing a hand over her chest. “And sunlight.”

You grip the edge of the table. Consider flipping it over. “Yes. Because that’s what biology is. Disney magic and good vibes.”

Paige grins. “Exactly.”

You open your mouth—probably to unleash a scathing lecture about the sanctity of science—when a shadow hovers at the edge of the table. You glance up—because you always have to glance up when people stop by your study sessions with Paige—and find a girl, probably a freshman, clutching her phone like it’s a sacred artifact.

She shifts on her feet, looking like she’s debating whether she should even speak to Paige. You can already see where this is going.

“Uh, sorry to interrupt,” the girl says, eyes darting between you and Paige, before ultimately landing—unsurprisingly—on Paige. “Could I, um, get a picture? If that’s okay?”

Paige doesn’t miss a beat. She shifts effortlessly from Slacker Paige to Cool Superstar Paige, flashing an easy grin as she leans back in her chair like she expected this. Like this is as common as someone asking her to pass the salt at dinner.

“Of course,” she says, voice warm, inviting, polished. She stands smoothly, rolling her shoulders back, exuding that same relaxed confidence she has right before sinking a step-back three.

You, meanwhile, remain seated, taking a slow sip of your coffee, already resigned to your fate as Paige Bueckers’ unofficial designated library bodyguard.

It’s routine at this point. The public adoration, the excited stammering, the sheepish thank you so much before they rush off like they just met royalty. And then Paige slides back into her chair, knocking her knee against yours like she doesn’t have an entire fan club scattered across campus.

“Where were we?” she asks casually, flipping her pen again.

You don’t even blink. “You were pretending to study, and I was contemplating my life choices.”

Paige snorts. But before she can respond, another person approaches.

You glance up again, already prepared, already so tired.

This time, it’s a guy—tall, student-athlete vibes, definitely not looking at you.

“Hey, sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly nervous despite the fact that Paige is already smiling at him like they’re old friends. “Could I get a picture real quick?”

Paige grins. “Yeah, of course.”

You take another sip of your coffee. Stare blankly into the abyss.

Same process. Paige stands, poses, flashes her million-dollar smile. The guy stammers out a thanks and hurries off.

You exhale. Set your coffee down. “You done?”

Paige barely has time to smirk before two more people shuffle up, practically vibrating with excitement.

She notices your unimpressed expression and loses it, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “Okay, now it’s funny,” she murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Now it’s funny?” you echo flatly.

She grins. “Yeah. You look miserable.”

You scowl. Paige beams.

Another five minutes pass before the final wave of admirers disperse, and Paige—finally—sinks back into her chair, looking far too pleased with herself.

“I should start charging,” she jokes.

You arch a brow. “Should I start charging? I’m the one sitting here like an unpaid security detail.”

Paige grins, drumming her fingers against the table. “You could be my manager, you know. We’d be an iconic duo.”

You scoff. “We’re not even an iconic study group.”

“Yet,” she corrects.

You roll your eyes but, reluctantly, glance at the time. The session should go another thirty minutes, but between Paige’s inability to focus and her impromptu meet-and-greet, you’re pretty much out of patience.

“Fine,” you sigh, shutting your book. “We’ll pick this up next time.”

Paige fist-pumps like she just nailed a game-winner. “Let’s go.”

You raise a hand. “But—”

Paige groans.

“You actually have to study next time,” you warn, pointing a finger at her like a parent scolding a child. “No excuses. No distractions. No impromptu fan club meetings.”

Paige nods solemnly. “Of course. One hundred percent. Fully locked in.”

You squint at her. “You’re lying to my face.”

She grins. “Yeah. But I did it really well.”

You let out a slow breath, collecting your things, already knowing that next time will be just as chaotic. But, somehow, you don’t hate the idea.

You barely make it two steps out of the library before Paige falls into step beside you, hands tucked into the front pocket of her hoodie, head tilted toward you like she’s waiting for something.

You don’t say anything.

Neither does she.

But she’s still there, walking at your exact pace, still spinning that damn pen between her fingers like she’s making it her personal mission to erode the last of your patience.

After half a block of this nonsense, you finally huff. “Why are you still here?”

Paige smirks, eyes twinkling. “Wow. I thought we were friends, and you hit me with why are you still here? I think I need to sit down. That was devastating.”

You resist the urge to shove her into a trash can. “You should sit down. With a biology textbook.”

“That,” she sighs dramatically, “sounds like a you problem.”

You groan, but the corners of your lips twitch—just slightly.

She glances at you again, side-eyeing, like she’s waiting for you to say something else. You don’t. So, instead, she nudges your arm with her elbow.

“You heading back to your dorm?”

“Yep,” you say, adjusting the strap of your bag. “Where some people go to actually study.”

Paige grins. “Fun. I was gonna hit the gym.”

You pretend to be shocked. “No way. The gym? You? Unheard of.”

She chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. Crazy concept. Gotta keep these knees in top shape so I can keep playing dumb for you in the library.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips do twitch again.

When you reach the intersection where you usually part ways, Paige hesitates—just slightly. Her foot taps against the pavement, and she glances at you, like there’s something she wants to say but doesn’t.

But then the crosswalk light changes, and she just flashes her usual grin. “Alright, I’ll see you next time. Can’t wait to waste more of your valuable time.”

You shake your head, already walking away. “You are a waste of my valuable time.”

Paige calls after you, voice dripping with smug amusement. “Admit it! You’d be bored as hell without me!”

You don’t respond. Maybe, just maybe, she has a point.

Comment below for taglist. Thank you for reading.

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ghouljams · 3 days ago

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Ghoul i’m so sorry, this AU has taken over my brain and i can’t stop thinking about this you said:

Sitting in your slick for the rest of the night? If you're that excited for it he can leave a load in them.

like it’s stuck in my mind.

your dad has fucked the 141 over yet again, not only that, fucking asshole is there at the ceremony that takes place when the task force miraculously comes back from a death trap mission.

funny thing is, it’s not just dad there, you are too.

anyway, i’ll say it quick before i black out and write way too much: ghost pulls you to the bathroom, ruins both you and your underwear with his load just in time. as soon as you’re out you’re pulled along by your dad.

because now you have to go up to the stage to stand pretty beside your dad while he gives his speech.

and ghost has to hold back from having the cheshire cat grin because the whole time you feel his cum spill out of you and onto your already debased underwear.

- Morph

You're so fucking wet when he tugs your panties down, it makes him puff out his chest, victorious. You must be so used to being fucked every time you see him that your body responds easily now. Not that Ghost particularly cares, he's rough fitting his thick cock against your cunt and filling you quick. He wraps a hand over your lips to stifle the moan that threatens to burst free. He's got to be quick, your father (and the press) will wonder where you've gone, not to mention he's supposed to be on stage himself. Honestly this is going better than he expected it would. Humiliating you, and your father, is his favorite past time, and now he gets to do it in front of an audience.

Of course he'll leave you with come staining your panties, pasting them against your cunt like a terrible bandage as he pulls your skirt back over your ass. He gives you a neat slap on your backside when you leave the little bathroom he'd dragged you into. He can't wait to see you squirming on stage, maybe someone will ask you what's wrong and you'll have to lie. Oh it's too good a show to miss.

Except you're perfect the entire ceremony, smiling amicably and standing politely still with only the occasional shift in weight that anyone would blame on your high heels. It pisses him off. You should be as uncomfortable as he is in this bloody dress uniform, and you're simply not. You didn't even seem surprised to see him when he'd grabbed you.

It's only when Price comes back to the 141 during the post awards cocktail hour and clears his throat that Ghost feels some internal weight shift.

"So," Price says over the rim of his glass, "'O else is fucking the girl?" It's only too bad that the sergeants both stiffen at the same moment Ghost does.

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #sorry ghost did you think you were the only person in the taskforce that hated that man?

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imsofreakingtired · 3 days ago

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sevika gets drunk and ends up forgetting about her own wife and ends up in the brothel, and reader end up knowing all, but dont have courage enough to confront her, but she noticed the changes on your behavior like, dont wanting kisses often, dont wanting to cudlle at nigh or worried when she tells you that she have to work and etc.

(I am obsseeeed how you write angst, mwah mwah)

- 🧸

ohh absolutely. i love that idea<3 also tysmm!

leave you with nothing

content warning(s): idiot lesbians (slight angst) (not too bad i swear)

"are you sick of me? would you like to be? i'm trying to tell you something something that i've already said"

~~~

i think she would get drunk only when work was really stressing her out. or if her sense of self-worth is just at an all-time low (i’m thinking of the time silco dead up ordered her to help with a dead body, which was shocking even to renni, who was literally the mother of the victim.) when she feels trapped, hopeless, powerless, like the enterprise isn’t getting zaun anywhere closer to its ultimate goal. she doesn’t want to confide in you about this, she wants to keep up a front of stoic confidence to you, because she’s afraid if she reveals herself to be vulnerable you will leave her.

so she drinks her troubles away and tells herself she’ll clear everything up to you in the morning if you ask why she came home late, she tells herself she’ll just play a round of cards or two with her drinking mates, that you’ll never know the difference (never thinks she’s more sober than when she’s stinking drunk.)

one drink leads to another and she’s vaguely aware of her desire for something else that night - a woman’s touch, a woman’s voice, someone to hold her and tell her she is doing alright. she’s too drunk to remember where she’s felt this before, who has held her like this, and all she is aware of is an all-consuming loneliness that threatens to devour her alive. she’s thrown back into the old days before she met you, when all that awaited her after a hard day’s work was an empty apartment strewn with emptier liquor bottles. she doesn’t want to go back to this home.

so she makes her way to babette’s, incredibly calm and collected—she’s good at playing sober when she wants to, and babette is surprised to see her check in— isn’t she married? — but she asks no questions and Sevika sees a woman who kind of looks like you. the eyes. the shape of the face. the hips, the way she moves in the dusky light. she picks her immediately.

she’s too drunk to care about how it might look, asking the woman if it’s alright if she just lay with her head in the woman’s lap. telling her to stroke her hair and let her sleep for a while. even on the walk here she was hot with desire, but now she just wants to rest and hear the pretty words you would whisper in her ear when you thought she was asleep.

she comes home at around 4 in the morning and promptly passes out on the couch, not even bothering to change. smelling of someone else’s perfume. you find her there in the morning and she doesn’t remember a single thing except that the coins in her pocket are gone.

you know the signs; you’re not stupid, but you don’t want to think the worst. until you overhear Chuck talking to some of the patrons at the last drop.

“yeah, Sevika was here, swept the table and then left in the middle of the round talking about Babette’s.” “Babette’s?? doesn’t she have a wife?”

you wander through the rooms in a daze for the rest of the day as you wait for Sevika to come home. you’re furious at first, then you’re cold with dread. was it you? had you done something wrong to make her want something else, someone else?

you don’t want to confront her, you’ve convinced yourself by now that whatever it was, it must have been something you did wrong, and even though you can’t think of a single time Sevika seemed angry or even unhappy with you, you can’t bring yourself to start the conversation.

she comes home tired and her eyes light up when she sees you. when she tries to kiss you, you turn your face away. her hand reaches for your waist, you dodge her touch.

“baby, what’s with you?” she asks. “i smell funny or what?”

yeah, you smell of babette’s. you smell of liquor. you smell of lies.

“nothing. i’m tired. you want dinner?”

“i ate already,” she says. “i’m going to bed.”

okay, so we’re playing ignorant, you think. two can play at that game.

as the days go on you avoid her more and more. you still clean up after her in the apartment, cook her meals, wash and mend her clothes as usual. but you don’t stay up waiting for her to come home, and you don’t let her kiss you in bed. Sevika’s at a complete loss—she’s never seen you this way before. unlike you, she’d never wonder if maybe she were at fault. if she feels she hasn’t done wrong, she’d stick to that conviction to the bitter end. but it exasperates her, the way you elude her touches, answer her with monosyllables, stare at her with a strange apprehension in your eyes when you think she isn’t looking.

“i’m working late tonight,” she tells you one day. “don’t wait up.”

you feel your heart drop. she’s already a regular for someone at babette’s, you know it.

“what time do you think you’ll be back?” you ask, a little too quickly.

she looks at you oddly. you’ve never asked her this before. “i’ll be back when i’m back.” her brows furrow in concern. “why, is something wrong?”

“no,” you say.

after she leaves you pace the apartment for about an hour before making up your mind and running out into the street. hood over your face so you won’t be recognized, you run straight to Babette’s and burst through the doors, ignoring the strange looks you receive. no one deters you—you were also a frequent patron before you met Sevika, but you see the workers look at you and whisper to one another. it only confirms your suspicions. you reach Babette’s office and she looks up at you in surprise.

“can i help you, hon?”

“Sevika,” you say breathlessly. “how many times has she checked in here?”

her brows lift. she checks her records. “i don’t do this for anyone, you know - confidential information. but since you’re her wife…”

“how many times, please?”

she looks up at you. “just once. a month ago. she seemed inebriated. stayed only for two hours.”

just once? and drunk? Sevika, drunk? you couldn’t imagine it if you tried.

you walk back out of the brothel, barely thinking of where you’re going, barely thinking at all, when you hear a familiar voice call out your name.

Sevika’s walking swiftly down the street towards you, her eyes dark.

“what are you doing here?” she asks, grabbing your wrist.

“what am I doing here?” you shoot back. “i’m here finding out what you were doing here!”

she looks up at the sign of Babette’s place, as if she can’t understand what you mean. “i haven’t stepped foot in this place,” she growls.

“Babette’s records say otherwise.” your voice is cold.

then it all comes back to her at once. Sevika’s lips part slightly as she recalls that night, the desperation, the way she had lain in another woman’s lap.

“baby,” she says. “listen.”

“i’m done listening,” you snap, and turn on your heel. you walk away from her, leaving her behind on the street outside Babette’s.

~~~

note: pt. 2 is here!

~~~

taglist~ @notlores @demothers-empty-blog @theyluvbix @archangeldyke-all @prettyinpink69 @beatdariceee @sevikaaaalover @intrnetrbl @00valentina-writes00 @zelluna @mamas-evil-hag @sevikassluttywaist @justhereforsubsevika

#sevika #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika fanfic #sevika headcanon #sevika angst #sevika x you #sevika x female reader #song: lovers rock by tv girl

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