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asterias-record-shop · 11 months

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╭════• ೋ•✧๑♡๑✧•ೋ •═══╮

— fuck his brains out

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In which you pretend not to know your boyfriend is Kick-Ass. maybe OOC characters, I got a little carried away, and maybe mixed timeline, I haven't watched the movies in a while... Also, Dave x Mean! reader because who doesn't love that?

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“I think Kick-Ass is hotter,” you look over at Dave, licking your ice cream almost teasingly. “If I had the chance, I’d fuck his brains out.”

Dave blushed madly, rubbing his cheeks before you stand and tug on his arm. “Dave, I think we should start heading out. You’re walking me home, right?”

Dave nodded quickly, as you thought that it was best because you had been taking care of him since his injury or said that because it had been a while. “Y-Yeah! I will, I’m coming.”

He waved at his friends as you tugged him out, throwing away the napkin that previously held your ice cream cone away. “I mean it,” you said abruptly, smiling over as you held his hand. “I would fuck him so hard he wouldn’t be able to talk.”

“W-Would you?” Dave finally speaks, looking over at you as you smiled.

“Hell yeah I would.”

Later that night, Mindy stared at him as he fixed his mask. “This isn’t a good idea, Dave."

In all seriousness, he really thought she would fight him to make him stay. What he was doing was stupid, but he was about to get laid. By you. The most beautiful girl in the world.

"This," he grinned back at her. "Is an amazing idea. I'm going to get laid so fucking hard."

"What if she wants to take off your mask?"

"She won't."

"What if she recognizes your voice?"

He paused, then smiled. "When I'm nervous, my voice gets higher. She won't recognize it. I'll see you later!"

He ran out, quickly going to your home. How was he going to get in? Would he sneak in through the window you always had unlocked that was right next to your dresser? Or would he throw rocks at your window, begging for you to let him up so you could fuck him?

He started to panic, how the hell would he sneak into your house?

In nervousness, he paced in the back alleyway behind your house before his phone buzzed, your name blaring on the screen.

Y/N 8:57PM come in through the window ;)

It made him pause before he looked at your window, gasping as you stared at him with your body lit in light of your bedside lamp. He could see your bright smile as you gave him a small wave, a gulp echoing through the alley as you opened up the window a bit and leave it open with a hairbrush.

He inhaled deeply as he slowly jumped over the fence, climbing up the tree that led up to the window, easily slipping through after pushing it up before carefully pushing it down. He gasped as he looked back, staring at his reflection through the mirror from where you sat in front of your vanity.

"It's slightly... perverted to sneak into a woman's house, right?" Your fingers rubbed moisturizer into your face like he had seen you do in the nights he slept over. "Dave knows that, but I'm assuming Kick-Ass doesn't."

Dave cleared his throat, pushing his hands to cover the front of his suit, specifically over his crotch. He loved it when you said his name. "I-I uhm... you know Dave as well? I know Dave too."

He watched as you giggled. "I do know Dave, very well. But something's telling me you know him a little better than I do."

He swallowed, humming before making his voice deeper. “I-I’ve known Dave a long time… Y/N.”

“Have you now?” You stood, slowly walking over and swaying your beautiful hips before you stood in front of him. “How long?”

“M-My whole life.”

You giggled as he slowly stepped forward to meet you in the middle, your fingers trailing down his chest as you pressed firm kisses wherever your fingers went and you slowly got down on your knees, your skimpy lingerie-like pajamas. "Did Dave ever tell you what I want to do to you, Kick-Ass? Hm?"

He whimpers, his false persona of confidence never even giving the chance to rise as you kissed over the bulge that he tried to hide. "H-He did... oh fuck, he did."

"Oh, well he didn't have to tell you, right? You knew it because you are Dave, right?" You licked over the material of his suit.

His head lulled back as he nodded, groaning. "R-Right, fucking hell, please! Please, please don't stop."

You scoffed as you stood, pressing your finger to his chest. "I knew it! I knew it, you bastard, why would you keep that from me?! Did you like me gushing over your alter ego?!"

He gasped as you shoved him, a groan falling from your lips. "What? No! No, of course not!"

"For fuck's sake, Dave! What, you're such a virgin that you loved the thought of some girl talking about her fantasies with your alter ego?! Fuck you!" You groaned as you sat on your bed, covering your face to hold back your smile. This had to work.

"No! No, of course not, of course not! I'm sorry, I am so sorry," he whined as he kneeled in front of you, holding your knees. "Please, you have to understand..." He takes off his mask, whimpering as he stared up at you. "I did it to keep you safe. I didn't... I don't want you to be a target."

You inhale deeply as you pulled your hands away from your face, glaring down at him. "You promise?"

"I promise."

He inhaled deeply as you squeezed his face, raising a brow. "Well then, what are you going to do to make it up to me?"

He paused, clearing his throat as you ran your fingers through his hair. "Wh-Whatever you want me to," he whispers, swallowing loudly. "Whatever you want me to do."

Oh, you knew it would work.

Maybe that's how Dave got here, laying on his back as he sobbed underneath your touch, the vibrating cock ring settled right at his base and your tongue licking at his tip, lapping and sucking teasingly. You giggled as he squirmed underneath your touch, your hand pumping him slowly. "I don't know if you've done enough to cum, Dave. I don't think... you've made it up to me."

He whined, shaking his head as he covered his mouth. "No, no please! I'll do anything you want, just please! I need- I need to cum inside of you."

You hummed teasingly, pursing your lips. "Inside of me? You want to ask that much of me? Do you think that you've done enough to get the pleasure of cumming inside of me?"

"Yes!" He whined loudly, groaning. "Yes! Yes, I'll make you feel good, I promise!"

You hummed, pumping him even harder. "No... I don't think you can. A virgin like you? Please."

"I promise! I promise I will, I promise." He whimpered, his hips bucking into the air.

He probably could, to be honest. His cock was bigger than you could ever imagine, his girth barely able to fit into your mouth without making your jaw ache and could barely go down your throat without choking. He had the prettiest dick you'd ever seen, definitely the biggest and girthiest too, just because the last few guys you saw were fucking assholes.

"Maybe I will let you cum inside of me," you mused, humming as you sucked on his tip to make loud popping sound echo across the room. "Maybe, if I'm feeling... nice."

He whined, nodding desperately. "Fuck, please! Please, I'll do anything!"

"Where do you want to cum inside of me, baby? Dave knows I'm on birth control, but does Kick-Ass?" You giggle, rubbing his thighs as you gagged on his cock.

"C-Can I cum i-in your... in your-?"

"You can't even say it, can you?" You giggled as you switched the ring into the highest power, humming. "You want to cum... inside of me, right? That narrows things down a little bit... you want to cum inside my mouth? Or... my ass, that's going to take a minute though. Maybe my pussy? Hm? It's already stretched out for you, Dave. Inside my pussy, inside of my cunt?"

"Y-Your cunt! I want... I want to cum inside of your cunt."

You giggled. "Just don't cum as soon as I take this ring off, alright?"

He let out a loud whimper, nodding as you slowly slip it off, putting it into your mouth to suck loudly, groaning as his taste filled your mouth. He groaned as you take it from your mouth, straddling his hips and holding his cock up. You could feel your eyes roll back, humming as he whimpered. "I-I'm close, I'm so close!"

You giggled as you sunk down onto him, yelling out as he screamed out, groaning with a strong buck of his hips to bottom out inside of you and his cum filling up your stomach. You gasped loudly, whimpering as you held onto his chest, your nails digging into his skin. "H-How are you still cumming?!"

"I-I can't stop," he groaned flipping you over to hold your thighs as he pressed his face into your neck, thrusting his hips. Your eyes rolled back, groaning loudly as the loud slaps of skin against skin filled your room. "Fuck, you feel so fucking good! Better than I could ever imagine, fuck!"

You whined as your nails dug into his back, Dave pulling away for just a second with a grin. "Who's fucking who's brains out now?"

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#asterias-record-shop #with love asteria ♡#kick-ass #kick ass #dave lizewski #dave lizewski x reader #aaron taylor johnson #dave lizewski imagine #dave lizewski x you #dave lizewski smut #dave lizewski x fem! reader #dave lizewski x fem! reader smut

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kimchikrust · 2 months

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She's Breaking News

Lately, you’ve been on the news, and while Katsuki wouldn’t typically care, your recent popularity affects him more than he’d like.

You’re rising in the ranks quickly for a newly licensed Pro. Up-and-coming rookie, and a woman on top of that, so the whole region knows about your masked persona. Unfortunately for Katsuki, you’re fast approaching the top ten and coming after his spot in the top five.

He can tell you're formidable from the footage of your endeavors released to the public, and if this were high school, he’d be demanding to spar and test your skills.

But you didn’t attend UA; you’re a transfer from North America. You held no torch for the citizens of Japan. Your position was merely a job that took you away from home. So why was Katsuki fuming over the latest front page in the paper?

FOREIGN HERO, HERE TO STAY

Katsuki had yet to work with you on any assignments. His job as a more seasoned residential hero was to remain on-call at all times and begin developing relationships with others – networking for a longstanding career as a Pro. He didn’t plan to ever cross paths with you.

“Why are you such a hater, Kat?” Eijirou sighs heavily one day. They were sharing an elevator, and Eijirou brought you up. Katsuki rolls his eyes in a display of exhaust.

“She’s a shiny new hero for the fanatics to fixate on,” the explosion hero grumbles, unable to mask his bitterness. “She ain’t that impressive.”

“We’ve watched the same footage,” Eijirou points out with a smile dancing over his lips. “She’s efficient and packs a punch. I think I read that she’s on the shorter side too; you can’t tell from the pictures-”

“I couldn’t care less, Eiji,” Katsuki murmurs, rubbing his palm over his face and breathing in relief at the elevator’s final chime.

They called you the Sentinel in the States, and your moniker followed you to Japan. The Sentinel, Katsuki harrumphed. Did he consider your hero name ironic – a shorter-than-average American woman considered a soldier to Japan?

“What a joke,” Katsuki said as he watched your recent battle play on the screen over the bar.

“Sorry, Kachan,” Izuku panted, colliding into the counter in a rush. “Have you been waiting long?”

“Yeah, but don’t sweat it,” he grumbled, sipping his fruity horoyoi can. “You come from work?”

“How’d you know?” Izuku bashfully scratched the back of his head as he slid onto his reserved stool.

“You’re still wearing your boots.” Katsuki glanced down at the massive accessories on his friend’s feet with an amused glint. Izuku’s face grew bright red at the realization.

“Oh, wow. That’s embarrassing.”

Katsuki pondered, waiting for Izuku to settle into his seat and order his drink. “How was she?”

“How was who? Ochako?” Ochako was Izuku’s partner since their days at UA. Izuku’s favorite pastime was fanboying over his Pro-Hero girlfriend, but sometimes his efforts were overzealous.

“No, you crazy bastard,” Katsuki chastised. “Sentinel. You fought with her today, didn’t you?”

Izuku looks at him curiously. “I didn’t really fight with her. They called us both in, but she handled the situation alone. Handled it well, if I’m being honest.”

Katsuki hummed in displeasure, and his childhood friend saw it for what it was.

“I heard from Kirishima that you’re holding a grudge against her,” Izuku mentioned innocently. “From what I can tell, she doesn’t care too much about the rankings.”

“Doesn’t matter. The woman is still rising in the ranks like she could give a fuck, and that’s a threat to my number one spot.”

“Not yours yet, Kachan,” Izuku muses, graciously accepting his drink from the bartender. “There are other contenders you should be more worried about.”

“Oh yeah?” Katsuki couldn’t bite back his smile as he cut a glance at his old friend’s chipper expression. “You threatening me, shrimp?”

“I certainly won’t make it easy for you.” Izuku shrugs, taking a sip from his drink.

They called you the Dimension Hero after you released information on your quirk to the public. It was in an interview that the Hero Commission set up, linking your appearance to their credit. A nameless interviewer innocently asked the details of her power, only to discover another trait Japan could love about you.

From the footage of your battles throughout your career, Katsuki made connections to your quirk and fighting style. You fought with constructs for the most part. When you activate your quirk in battle, your body glows a soft purple – an excess of power drawn from ‘another dimension’ (a tidbit that sparked a lively audience amidst the public).

“Like I’m stupid enough to believe that,” Katsuki mumbled after watching the interview.

You revealed that drawing power from this pocket dimension gave you an upper hand against opponents. With the ability to access a seemingly unlimited energy source, Katsuki couldn’t fathom the drawbacks of your quirk.

It sounded like bullshit.

The first time he meets you, it’s after witnessing your quirk in action. Katsuki, in his hero suit, spectates from the rooftops while you’re pursuing a villain.

While you’ve had your Pro-Hero license for a while, you were still new to the landscape in Japan. That much is evident to Katsuki when you lose the villain in the unfamiliar industrial terrain. He could’ve left the job to you, let you lose the suspect, and taken a hit to your popularity. But it didn’t feel right to leave you scrambling. Katsuki’s job as a Pro was to help people, and he took his career seriously.

It’s easy for a resident hero to navigate the streets, quickly taking a shortcut to cut off the villain. The suspect unfortunately doesn’t realize he’s trapped – too fearful of the woman on his tail – and Katsuki takes the opportunity to fire at his feet, sending the man flying into the side of the building.

Katsuki waits as the man takes one look at him, standing tall and menacing in his costume, and rightfully surrenders.

“Your first smart decision today,” he says with an amused huff, preparing himself for meeting you.

“You got him,” you pant in pleasant surprise when you arrive at the scene. You look at him in exhausted awe and breathe, “Awesome.”

Awesome? He rolls his eyes as your resemblance to his moronic friends is uncanny.

You eye the culprit sitting on the ground and look around. “Where’s the other one?” Katsuki frowns. Wasn’t there only one?

Suddenly, a chill ran down his spine, and his instincts roared in the back of his conscience. There’s a figure taking advantage of his lax state and attacking from behind, and there’s no time for Katsuki to dodge, so he prepares himself to take a hit.

Before it landed, a hole ripped through the air before Katsuki and the accomplice fell in with a panicked cry. By the wall, a second hole reveals the suspect flying out against the concrete, successfully incapacitating him.

“Thanks for the assist,” you say sincerely to the Explosion Hero.

“No problem,” Katsuki murmurs, casting his eyes down.

When you don’t say anything in response, he decides to introduce himself – as a coworker.

“I’m Dynamight.” He watches your eyes shine your signature purple and conjure cuffs on the beaten-down criminals.

“I know,” you laugh gently, scratching the back of your arm as you stretch it over your chest. “Your friends admire you a lot.”

Exchanging words with you for the first time didn’t turn out as Katsuki imagined. His ears glowing bright red, his palms sweating, and he’s a flustered wreck.

“Those idiots,” he mumbles with a growl, halfheartedly cussing out Eijirou’s big mouth. “Don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“So, you’re not the hater?” You ask him dryly, and Katsuki can understand your sarcasm. “You can tell your friends I’m grateful the high and mighty helped me today.”

“Tell them yourself,” Katsuki retorts, crossing his gauntlets over his chest. “I suspect they like you more than me at this point.”

You only smile in jest. “Can you blame them?”

Your fluency in Japanese is laughable, but the enthusiasm is there, Katsuki notes. He watches as you pull out your phone and tap away at it while two suspects are in custody before you.

“Shouldn’t you be taking these guys in?” he remarks, nodding in their direction.

“I’m looking up the nearest station. I don’t have the best sense of direction in newer areas.”

“Radio dispatch,” he says, because it’s protocol, and you should know that by now.

You sigh in frustration as if you’ve explained yourself several times before.

“I haven’t received a radio yet. I think it involves some hazing from people in the Commission,” you say passively, pocketing your phone once you’ve pinned the location. “But it doesn’t matter because I don’t need it.”

“What ar-”

You don’t wait for Katsuki to understand before clasping your hands together in a prayer. In the next second, a vast hole rips open again, and Katsuki can’t make out what’s on the other side – like a purple-tinted mirror that reflects what’s in front of it. You don’t waste time to grab the men and shove them through with aggression.

“I can handle filing the report, and I won’t forget to mention Lord Explosion God Dynamight made his appearance,” you tell him, stepping towards the portal. There’s a playful smile on your lips, and Katsuki can’t know if you’re joking. “I’ll see you around.”

You step through, and you and the portal disappear like you were never there with him.

He still doesn’t know much about you, and if anything, that interaction only confused him more. But he knows you must have looked him up to call him his official hero title.

He finishes the rest of his patrol without issue, wondering what he’d find the news saying next.

#Katsuki is a nerd #he's so adorable #bakugo katuski #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader

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catscidr · 2 months

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// genshin men as podcast hosts //

i don't have anything to say for myself i just thought this was really funny LMAO suddenly thought about this in the shower like a week ago nd i couldn't stop giggling to myself ( ´艸｀) cw: crack, wrote this with a modern au in mind (unless there's podcasts in teyvat.......) includes: alhaitham, ayato, pantalone, tartaglia, kaeya, albedo, cyno, heizou, lyney, venti, dottore, itto, kaveh, kazuha, wriothesley

the satirical Chad Alpha Sigma Male ↳alhaitham, ayato, pantalone, tartaglia, kaeya

Whether they’re giving ridiculous financial advice, telling people how to get women to like them or spouting absurd political takes, they somehow have a loyal fanbase. They’re always playing up the Sigma Male persona for the sake of satire but, because this is the internet, people take them seriously.

They'll say something nonsensical like “you should treat women like you treat your nonstick frying pans” and their listeners will eat it up, praising them for such a smart analogy when, in reality, their podcast setup consists of their laptop and a mic set up at their kitchen table and they just laid eyes on a skillet while they were rambling about nothing in particular. Doesn’t matter how they speak either; they could have a typical, exaggerated youtuber accent or always speak in a deadpan tone- people will still take what they say at face value and miss the irony and satire.

Seeing people argue online entertains them, though. Plus they make good money

the one that always has homoerotic tension with their guests (no homo tho) ↳albedo, cyno, heizou, lyney, venti

Their podcast isn’t organized, they kind of just ramble about whatever topic comes to mind. There’s no theme, no plan when they start recording- they basically just have a conversation with whoever they’re recording with and see where it goes. Sometimes they could be cracking jokes about the corniest things (___er? i hardly know her!) or they’ll be having deep conversations about their childhood and why they turned out this way.

OR. They’ll chat with their guest and turn what they say into a dumb sex joke, even if it’s a stretch. Podcast episodes with them are always hilarious to listen to, the kind that you can’t listen to in public because you’ll end up holding in your laughter and making yourself look like a Fool.

They have the best vibes, too; listening to them and their guest makes you feel like you’re a part of the recording session, even if you can’t respond to them

has THE most outlandish storytimes ↳ dottore, itto, kaveh, kazuha, wriothesley

Every single podcast episode with them is absolutely unhinged. They’ll start the recording with their intro, and then they’ll hit you with the most insane storytime opener. There’s no line to cross either; it doesn’t matter what kind of story they have in store, they will talk about it (and make it funny, even if it might not be). One time when they uploaded one of their podcast episodes to YouTube it ended up getting age-restricted in the first five minutes.

They’re the kind of host that can captivate anyone when they’re telling a story, whether they’re speaking in an extremely animated manner or in a convincingly serious tone. Whenever they have special guests over, they make it an unspoken challenge to one-up eachother on who has the craziest story to tell (most of the time they’re the winner).

Their podcast is the kind of thing you listen to while you’re getting ready in the morning... though it might not be the best idea because 9 times out of 10, you stop in your tracks to stare at your laptop screen in disbelief to listen to them talk about the time they accidentally set off the fire alarm in a retirement home and what happened in consequence to that

#genshin x reader #alhaitham x reader #ayato x reader #pantalone x reader #tartaglia x reader #kaeya x reader #albedo x reader #cyno x reader #heizou x reader #lyney x reader #venti x reader #dottore x reader #itto x reader #kaveh x reader #kazuha x reader #wriothesley x reader #୧ ‧₊˚cat's work!

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merakiui · 6 months

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long-distance love.

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, phone sex, obsession, power imbalance, kidnapping, implied (cyber)stalking, non-con touching, characters written as 18+ note - sea witch, the magicord mod you've had intimate online relations with, is closer than you thought.

Sea Witch is a busy man.

His weekly schedules are almost always packed to bursting, each event meticulously arranged into open slots as if aiming to form a perfect puzzle. Times never conflict; he’s particular about how he spends his hours, and very rarely does he allow himself a break. It has always been work, work, work. He’s one of the city’s most affluent, eligible bachelors and yet he’s married to his business. Those who lust after him think it’s a wasteful shame. Azul finds it to be a relief far greater than any he’s ever known. He will never compromise the enterprise he’s built from the ground up just because of some flimsy, fickle feelings.

Originally, he had no interest in Magicord, a messaging platform that grants people from all over the world the chance to congregate on specific servers for mutual interests like anime and gaming. He only downloaded it because Idia Shroud, a fellow friend and business partner, lived and breathed the app, his online presence so profound it was almost like a second home. He’d swipe away notifications from his actual messaging app, too busy in a voice call with his group of dungeon raiders to bother answering important calls.

So he resolved to get on Idia’s level in hopes of improving communication. Although Idia’s level, as Azul often noted, was not exactly a place he wanted to be. While Magicord could be used for business purposes, that wasn’t what drew people in. Azul of all people knew very well which target audiences were being reached with apps like Magicord, and he was not one of them.

“To think I’d stoop as low as this,” Azul had once groused over a phone call with Idia, who was giving him quite a lengthy, not-very-needed-but-also-very-much-needed rundown on Magicord’s inner workings. “I hardly have time to play games, let alone socialize on this…app.”

“Aren’t you always going on about how adaptable you are?” Idia sniped back, not in the mood for normie criticism. The sound of clacking keys could be heard on his end. “And you’re the one who asked. Kinda defeats the purpose of learning if you’re just gonna complain.”

Azul rolled his eyes. “I fail to see the logic in downloading another app just to ensure my messages reach you. Honestly, you ought to start checking your email. Or, at the very least, go through your missed call and text logs.”

Alas, Idia had been stubbornly adamant about his preferences and so, much to his displeasure, Azul was forced to undergo something of a Magicord Training Camp until he emerged a pro. And being a pro meant knowing how to navigate his own profile and toggle between that and Idia’s, which was really the only tip he needed because that was all he’d use the app for.

But Azul has always had an innate itch for wanting to know something from top to bottom, inside-out, and the idea of not knowing every little detail about Magicord drove him insane. If there was an opportunity he could capitalize on, why should he risk squandering it with his elementary-level knowledge? So he spent his rare slivers of free time playing around in there, creating a server and wondering who could ever become so attached to an app when the world beyond the screen was filled with just as many, if not more, social encounters.

His introverted side understood the appeal. In fact, he loved the idea of hiding behind a manufactured persona online. He didn’t have to be Azul Ashengrotto on Magicord. Rather, he could rid himself of his dislikable traits and become an entity—an idea or a concept—rather than a flawed man who others might scrutinize ruthlessly.

So he became Sea Witch, and within just a week he’d constructed quite the comfortable server. The invite link was spread throughout the various branches of Mostro. It would provide employees with an online sanctuary, where they could easily connect should doing so in person prove complicated (as had been the case regarding Idia, which was the sole reason he’d even poured so much time into this effort). Most of all, it gave Azul the chance to keep watch from afar, silently sitting in wait and curating a collection of mostly unimportant intel. Mere gossip, if anything.

But gossip is just as good as the next scandal. He likes to be prepared, a razored edge on all sides.

As far as the company was concerned, no one knew who this Sea Witch character was and no one knew who spread the link. And as far as individual employees knew, this was likely just some overworked intern’s labor of love—a well-crafted server intended to function as a digital gathering place for those exhausted after a long day. And that was mostly true, but all of the potential blackmail he could gather, the information he could glean, and even the people he could keep a closer eye on in an online setting—all of that paled in comparison to the real prize he’d attained. This was of great importance. It was something that altered the course of his life, opened his eyes to the brilliant beauty of a first love.

It was there in that undersea-themed haven where he met you, the one who would add flavorful spice to the once bland, boring meal that was his life. And just after a few weeks of simple, cordial conversation, he realized a single taste of your kind companionship wouldn’t be enough to sate him.

Greedy to a fault, Azul wanted you in your entirety.

Which brings him to the present, where he’s currently leaning back into the expensive leather of his driver’s seat. He’s parked on a silent strip of road, in a more residential part of the city. It’s not very busy here, and his windows are tinted to avoid immediate recognition. Rush hour won’t hit until later, and he’s not due for any conferences. He has time. Plenty of it to spare on this little excursion.

“I wanna meet you, Sea Witch,” you admit, nearly whining through the phone. “Where’re you from? Maybe we’re in the same area.”

Azul smiles at your impatience. You just can’t get enough of him, can you?

Every weekend, you hop into a VC with him and chat for hours on end. At first he simply provided a listening ear when you wished to rant through text or call. You’d voice all sorts of complaints. Azul filed them away in the event that they might be useful in the future, initially intending to use such information to ruin you should you prove to be someone worth ruining. But the more he spent listening and scrawling notes on blank paper, the more he realized you were just overworked and struggling financially.

Upon making these connections and learning all sorts of facts from you regarding your life beyond Magicord, he felt compelled to help. Out of the goodness of his heart, of course, ever the benevolent saint. And you weren’t complaining when he offered to pay you for your time. In exchange for two hours of conversation, he’d provide you with the funds you needed to afford your necessities.

Somehow, throughout many months of give and take—with his giving being on the jaw-droppingly exorbitant side, always one to top his own ludicrous generosity—your hours-long conversations would sink beneath the surface of mere companionship. It was one-sided intimacy. Azul was careful with what he shared, building a mostly secretive profile for himself. He didn’t want to risk tarnishing your fondness for Sea Witch by sharing details that felt more like Azul and less like the effortlessly funny, charming, and eloquent Magicord mod you’d originally made contact with.

You didn’t seem to worry about compromising your own privacy, easily divulging a variety of fun tidbits about your life. You’d share the tiniest of details and he’d eat it up every time, hungering for more than just crumbs. That time you sent him a photo of the octopus macarons you’d bought from a local bakery because you were thinking of him? He remembers it well, and he’s constantly reminded of it when you text him about things you did over the weekend or hobbies you basked in. Sending photos of your houseplants, asking him for his opinion on clothes you were hoping to buy (which he was always more than willing to sponsor; all you needed to do was send the link and he’d purchase it), and even trusting him enough to fall asleep in the VC with him (arguably one of his favorite things about your unique relationship).

And he called it unique not because it was a bad sort of strange. Rather, it was unique in the refreshing sense. He’d never had an online friend before, let alone someone who would so willingly and readily indulge him. Granted, this willingness stemmed from the deal he’d cut with you and so you were really only doing these things for your own gain. But then so was he. It was a relationship built upon necessity. You needed money to survive, and he needed you.

So it was okay to fall into sleazy fantasies. It was all an act anyway, and it wasn’t like you judged him or his preferences. At least, not outright. If you did, it was silent. You were considerate and sweet; and you really did consider him a friend. Or so he hoped. If your casual conversations were any proof, it was obvious there was some sort of enjoyment and trust there.

Friendship or something more, he would have you. Whether that meant in the safety of his pocket, enclosed within his mobile phone forever, or in his penthouse, tucked away in his bedroom—he’d have you.

“I’m from a city, yes,” he answers, purposely cryptic.

“Obviously. Come onnn, Witchy. Don’t you wanna meet me, too?”

“I do, and one day we’ll meet. I promise.”

He listens to your irritated groan and his cock twitches in his slacks. Good god, your voice is a blessing—more heavenly than a cherubic choir.

“One day isn’t today, though.”

“Perhaps not.” He speaks to distract you from the rustling fabric of his pressed suit as his hand strays further. He spies his reflection in the rearview mirror, notes the flash in his irises. If only you were here, sitting beside him in the passenger seat. If only he could slide his own seat as far back as it would go, lie still and serene, and let you climb into his lap to spear yourself on his erection. Genuine leather be damned. He wanted your scent, your essence, your everything engraved into the very interior. “Humor me—if we were to meet right now, what would you like to do?”

“Mm, I’d want to get a good look at the man I’ve been talking to for nine months now.”

“Oh, you’ve kept track?”

“You haven’t?” Your laughter is fluffy and light—authentic amusement. “And I’d want to memorize your face so that I’ll never forget it.”

“May I ask why?”

“Because I’m so curious! You know what I look like—”

“Not entirely,” he interjects, sly and silver-tongued. “You’re a portrait half-finished in my mind. Not yet sketched to completion.”

And it’s true. From your shoulders down, you are a faceless beauty. He’s seen you nearly naked and fully clothed, in frills and lace, in latex and ribbons, in satin and chiffon. And yet, for all of the skin you’ve shown, he can’t place a face (or a real name, for that matter) to your body.

“Okay, poet,” you tease, and he’s already palming himself through the fine fabric of his trousers. “But I’ve still never seen an inch of you. You’ve never even sent a dick pic.”

“You’ve never asked.”

“Can I have one now?”

“Nice try.”

“Asshole!” you gripe, clicking your tongue in disappointment. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“I’m aware,” he hums, squeezing himself, his breath coming out faint and haggard.

Yeah, he’s the worst. But then you’re the best at eliciting these sorts of reactions from him. The effect you have on him is utterly enthralling. Your ability to reduce him to a pliable puddle in just a few words—a mere few lighthearted, hollow insults—is truly impressive. He’d feel ashamed of himself if it wasn’t so good.

“You’re probably not even that big.”

“Would you like an exact measurement?”

“Wouldn’t it be better to measure it in person? See how many inches I could fit inside. I’ve been practicing with that dildo you sent me—the one shaped like a tentacle,” you purr, frustratingly coy. He wants your sinful lips wrapped around his dick right now—wants to fuck your throat sore and raw. Wants nothing more than to spill heavy and hot on your tongue so you’ll taste him for days. “If we met up, we could make that happen. Sooo, where’s my Sea Witch from? What part of the world?”

“Patience, angelfish.”

Even though he says so, he’s practically vibrating with excitement as he worries his bottom lip between his teeth. Soon. So soon. Very, very soon.

And then…

He imagines you rolling your eyes with your next words. “Fine, fine. I’ll be patient. But that’s not gonna stop me from fantasizing.”

“Well, what do you think I look like?”

“Now isn’t that a fun question?” You mull it over. He can tell because you mutter a variety of ums and hmms in that soft, sweet voice of yours. “I think you’re tall and you have a handsome face that matches your equally handsome voice.”

“Yeah?” he encourages, undoing the belt, button, and zip on his pants one-handed. “What else?”

Your giggles filter into his ears, seeming closer than they actually are due to the wireless earbuds he’s wearing. “From what I’ve gathered, you seem to have expensive tastes.”

Sitting in his lavish, one-of-a-kind, custom-made sports car, Azul thinks you would be correct.

“I wonder what gave it away…” he drawls, his voice creeping an octave lower.

He places his phone in the cup holder, reaching to open the glove compartment and retrieving a tiny bottle of lube. Squirting a scant amount on his palm, he fishes himself, throbbing and pathetically hard, out of his boxers. His slick hand is a warm, welcome embrace around his silky-smooth shaft. He sucks in a breath through grit teeth, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Mhm, I wonder. It’s not the fact that you told me I should just buy a designer bag for work when I asked for recommendations. And it’s certainly not your ability to get me lots of nice gifts as if it’s nothing. So maybe it’s just your excessive generosity that makes you seem so rich?”

“Sure, we’ll go with that.”

“Speaking of that, what do you do for a living?”

“Guess.”

“Okay, Mr. Mysterious… Um… Hm. I think you’re a pilot.”

The whiplash that assumption brings is so seismically jarring he thinks he might go flaccid. Gripping himself with renewed vigor, he slides his fist along his length, slow and perfunctory, picturing you under his desk, your mouth open wide to receive him…

“A pilot… Mm, no, not quite.”

“Aw. My second guess was gonna be a contract killer. They make lots of money.”

“You have quite the wild imagination, angelfish. Even if I was one, do you think I’d admit that to you?”

“Maybe,” you tease. He pictures your smirk as it twists your perfect, pretty lips into something wicked. “For the right price, yeah?”

“Oh? Do elaborate.”

Please. Please keep going. Don’t stop talking. I need to hear you, closer, louder, clearer… More.

“What sort of price would I have to pay to get Sea Witch to spill his secrets?” you muse, your voice a tantalizing curl of syllables, but he suspects you already know the answer to your hypothetical. “I can’t offer you money, so you’d have to settle for something a little more…physical.”

He shivers, nodding his agreement even though you can’t see it. “Physical’s good,” he mumbles, foregoing eloquence in favor of filth. “Much better than—mm—than money…”

“Yeah? All right. Let’s see… You’re well-off and you might or might not be a contract killer. Do you wear suits?”

“I do.”

“Ooh, so you’re one of those contract killers.”

Azul can’t help it; he laughs, the sound tumbling out in a breathy gasp. “I prefer looking nice at all times.”

Languidly, his hand continues its idle pumping. He cracks his eyes open to peer at the pre-cum beading at the tip.

“Even if you’re just going to get messy?”

“Explicate the situation that’s leading me to soil my clothes. Details, angelfish.”

“Well, if you’re a killer who wears suits, you wouldn’t like even the smallest stain. It ruins your image, but if it was me…” You pause, probably for effect, and it works. His back arches with anticipation, fingers closing tighter. “You’d make an exception.”

“I would,” he admits far too quickly. “Always.”

“So you really would out yourself as a killer if I spread my legs for you?”

“No, but I’d let you dirty my suits.”

“Good. They’ll look better on the floor anyway.”

His breath hitches. Fuck, your every word is a siren’s song, leading him deeper into mist-clouded waters. He’d keep you pinned on his cock all day if he could. Why should you continue to work your mundane job when you could spend your precious hours with him instead? He’ll be your job. Seven days a week, during each of the breaks he’ll pencil into his schedules, you can visit him and he can empty all of his stress into you. And you’ll take it because you’re such an obedient sweetheart for him, always so ready to please your master.

He prays you can’t hear the salacious squelch of skin on skin as he works himself towards the edge, but a nastier part of him wants you to listen in so you’ll be reminded that this is your fault. No one else can possibly make him this messy. No one else is capable of rendering him a clumsy, lovestruck fool. You’re probably well aware of these facts, having brought him to this same edge numerous times in the past. Sometimes you would reach that tipping point alongside him, your gasps and groans joining his in an obscene duet.

Neither of you decided upon today’s development, but he thinks—knows—you’re intentionally stringing him along. You want this as much as he does.

“So was I right? You’re totally a contract killer?”

“I’m a businessman, angelfish,” he corrects, a silly, drunken smile softening his jaw. You make him feel so stupid, so warm and fond.

“So basically the same thing. Just as ruthless, no?”

“Please, you wound me. I’m always kind.”

“Ah, so there are others who get this treatment? And I thought I was the only one…”

“You are. No one could ever compare to you.”

He intends to tack my love onto the sentence’s end, but he stops himself. You’re not his love. Not really. You’re his angelfish, sure, but that’s different. That’s just a pet name befitting the aquatic theme he masquerades behind. And you’re not really Azul’s. You’re Sea Witch’s.

It’s Sea Witch you know and love. Beyond that, Azul is just Azul. And he’s nothing like the ideal he’s cultivated on Magicord.

He sighs and forces himself out of the turbulent trenches of his withering self-esteem. Now is not the time to contemplate which version of himself you’d be more preferential to.

You’ll have no choice but to love the real him. Soon.

“Really? I feel so special.” Impressed, you whistle and add, “I’ve gotta make you feel special, too.”

“You already have—”

“Not inside the VC. Come on, Sea Witch, don’t you wanna meet me?”

“I do. I really do,” he babbles dumbly, grinding his thumb into his slit and smearing pre-cum. He grits his teeth and tamps down a colorful word. How he yearns for this to be your hand wrapped around his length, tugging him to that far-off finish line. “I want nothing more than to—t-than to see you, all of you, in person…”

“So what’s stopping you? I could do a lot more in person than I can over the phone.” He has a smart reply for that, but it sticks in his throat. Pitifully, like the rightful debauched mess he is, he groans, low and guttural. “Let me turn the question on you, Sea Witch. If we were to meet today, what would you like to do to me?”

So many things, he thinks, a litany of smutty imagery flickering through his head.

But Sea Witch is classy (most days) and today is one of those instances. Or at least he’s going to make an attempt, however weak it may be.

“Take you to dinner,” he mumbles, executing jerky, quick motions in a daze, his cock weeping for release. He throws his head back, peers up at the interior roof of his car, and inhales sharply. “Take you all over the city if it pleases… I’d spoil you with so much finery—dress you up and then tear every article off…”

“And then?”

“And—god, fuck—wanna be inside you, angelfish… So badly—need you so badly. I wanna feel you and kiss you and hold you.”

He’s unraveling, strings pulled taut and fraying to extremity. Azul bucks into his hand and imagines it’s you, tight and warm, a sweet, snug embrace. He opens and closes his mouth, intending to beg you for more, but all that slips out are the tiniest huffs and grunts. He’s so wrapped up in his own ardor that he almost misses your quiet pants, every breath squeezed out of you as if you’re struggling to withhold your gratuitous moans. And it’s deplorable, really, the way his ears prick at these muffled sounds, the way his cock stands rigidly at attention, the way he’s falling through fragments of filthy fantasies, each one so close and yet impossibly far.

“I want you, too,” you mewl, tone wavering between shameless thrill and some sort of seventh heaven.

He wonders what you’re using to pleasure yourself. Are your fingers, slick and curled, rubbing up against those perfect, pretty spots that have you seeing stars? Or are you using the toys he purchased for your enjoyment? Maybe you’re lowering yourself onto the dildo right now, gummy walls clenching around girthy silicone. And maybe you’re tugging at your nipples, massaging them between the pads of your fingers, or maybe you’ve swapped skin-to-skin for a bullet vibrator instead.

Maybe—just maybe—it’s the mere thought of him that sets your flesh aflame with an intoxicating desire.

“And I want you—” you gasp, and his mind travels to all of the risqué photos you’ve sent, each one saved in a password-protected album on his phone— “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything before. I want you to show me that no one else can compare to you. I want you to—mmh, hah—to hold me down in bed and fuck me until my legs are sore and I can’t walk.”

I will, he thinks, lashes fluttering on his cheekbones. He strokes himself quickly, chest heaving, tongue near-lolling out of his mouth as he pants like a hound in heat. I’ll do all of that and so much more. I’ll fuck every coherent thought out of your pretty head, keep you just smart enough to rely on me, turn you into the prettiest sea flower who’ll only blossom for me.

“I promise, angelfish. I promise I’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted,” he vows, his nerves alight with lustful delight, “and you’ll never know misfortune again.”

“I—oh! I’m close, so close! Please, Sea Witch! Please don’t stop. Please fill me up and make me yours!”

The sheer vulgarity twined through amatory vehemence, coupled with his own hurried pace, has him tumbling down the slope, arousal peaking and spilling over in thick, creamy spurts. He has half a mind to catch his spend before it can ruin the pristine interior of his car, and he blinks down at the semen sullying his palm. Idly, he rubs his fingers together to test the viscosity, wondering how his fluids would look on your face, your stomach, your ass—or even pooling out of your hole in plentiful amounts.

That fantasy is enough to send blood rushing right back to his softening cock, and he wills those thoughts away with logic—complex calculations and the financial forecast for Mostro. There will be plenty of time to indulge in sexual cravings later. He reminds himself of this while he tamps down his zeal, his heart relaxing in his ribs as he sits with the slowly ebbing aftershocks of orgasm.

You seem to be doing much the same, for you’ve gone perfectly quiet.

“Everything all right, angelfish?” he whispers after a few minutes, his breath now evened out.

“Mm, yeah. All good over here. Messy, but good.”

“I’m comforted knowing we’re in the same boat.” He chuckles while fumbling to dig a cotton handkerchief from the depths of his suit jacket. He cleans the cum and residual lube from off his hands and dick before neatly tucking himself away. Soon, there will be no need for this charade. Soon, he can adore all of you from beyond the screen. “Angelfish, there’s something I’d like to tell you.”

“What’s up?” you murmur, your own voice settling into its usual cheery cadence. He suspects you’re just putting on an act to sound happier. That will change when you’re reunited in person because it will be real. Because there will be no point in pretending through the phone.

“Well…” Azul smiles, folds and unfolds the sodden handkerchief, and then straightens his posture. He should be on his way now. “Ah, it’s nothing. Never mind it. I’ll tell you later.”

“Whaaat? But you’ve made me so curious now. Don’t just leave me in suspense!”

“Then I’m afraid you’ll have to remain in that suspense indefinitely.”

“Ugh. You’re so annoying sometimes.”

He knows you don’t mean that.

“I’ll tell you soon, angelfish. Exercise a little patience. There’s no rush.”

“Easy for you to say. You know what it is.”

“That I do, yes.” He hums, considering his next words. “Would it help if I left you with a word of advice?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything.”

“Um. Okay, sure. Hit me. What’s your advice?”

Azul buckles himself in, starting his car via push button. It rumbles to life, smooth and steady. “Don’t fight so much, my dear.”

“Don’t what? Sea Witch, what are you talking—”

Your words are interrupted with a startled yelp. Azul listens to the struggle as if it’s a podcast enjoyed at sunrise. Things are toppled in the chaos; something shatters. He catches the beginnings of a blood-curdling shriek before it’s swiftly silenced. There’s more muffled scuffling before, eventually, absolute peace.

It’s broken by Floyd’s petulant whine. “Maaan, Shrimpy was so difficult. Thought you said they were easy, Azul.”

“Understandably so,” comes Jade’s astute reply. “We did catch them when they were most vulnerable.”

Floyd hums his agreement. “Y’know, Jade, Shrimpy’s kinda cute…”

“They are, aren’t they, Floyd?”

“Whatever you’re thinking, perish it right now,” Azul hisses, features twisting into something dark. “Keep your slimy mitts off of my angelfish.”

There’s an unsettling silence. Azul rolls his eyes. They’re fishing for a reaction he refuses to give.

“Clean up whatever mess you’ve made.” He takes his car out of park and eases into drive. “And don’t let anyone see you. It’ll be a hell of a pain if neighbors make unnecessary reports.”

“Yeah, yeah. Heard ya loud and clear.”

“Very well. Farewell for now.”

The call is cut. Azul grips the steering wheel, smug.

Soon waits for him on the horizon. He will not be a minute late.

You wake on a bed, in a spacious bedroom with exquisite floor-to-ceiling windows, many stories up in the clouds. A brightly lit cityscape sprawls beyond the confines of this room, illuminated with the deceptive shine of promise and success. At first it looks foreign. But then you recognize notable buildings, each standing tall and proud amidst the rest, and it occurs to you that you’re in a stranger’s home, in the heart of the big city.

The room itself is plainly colored; it reminds you of a hotel or a room you might find in a real estate catalogue. Perplexed, you sit up and take pause as your unfamiliar surroundings prove to be more frightful than your own confusion.

Pasted to the walls are various printed screenshots from Magicord, each one detailing a conversation of sorts. You stare at the wall behind you, the one in which the bed is currently pushed against, and peer closer at the contents of these messages.

They’re all from you.

Endearing terms you’ve called him in passing. Gentle insults. Lewd flirts. Vents and rants. Photos you’ve sent of very insignificant things—houseplants, meals, clothes. And then there are the photos of your body in skimpy lingerie and cosplay, all taped to the wall like this is some abstract museum of the digital you. The you who, despite being honest most of the time, took solace in the world of Magicord. The you who’d grown close with the mod from that whimsical ocean-themed server. The you who is now trapped, your ankle enclosed in a cuff. There’s a lead that only allows you to meander into the attached bathroom if you so please, and you suspect it’ll pull taut if you try to leave the room.

“What the fuck?” you mutter, your stomach twisting with disgust.

You look down at your clothes—you’re in someone’s collared shirt, intentionally designed to be oversized so that it drapes like a nightgown—and horror prickles your skin.

And then he arrives.

He’s dressed casually in black slacks and a simple white dress shirt, primly tucked in with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. You stare for a long moment, studying his features as his familiarity dawns. Your mouth falls open in a muted scream.

He smiles sweetly, stepping further into the amber glow from the bedside lamps. “It’s nice to formally meet you. I’m Sea Witch.”

But that’s not what’s shocking about this. The real shock—the thing that has your brain stumbling in an effort to put the pieces together before the picture can crumble—is far more jarring than the kidnapping and the captivity. You find your voice then, and before you can stop yourself the words are falling out in a hurry.

“CEO Ashengrotto?!”

Sea Witch—CEO Ashengrotto—stiffens, his brows furrowing immediately. He gives you a sharp, dangerous look. A look that seems to radiate one unspoken question: Where did you hear that name?

“You… You’re A-Azul Ashengrotto,” you continue, swallowing thick trepidation. “CEO of Mostro. You opened a new restaurant last year—Crave, right? And the menu features celebrity favorites—celebrities like Vil Schoenheit and Neige LeBlanche.”

He laughs his disbelief, carding a hand through soft, silvery locks. “How…do you know this?”

“I work there. You visited once with your secretary for quality checks. We even crossed paths.”

Azul gawks, realizes he’s gawking, and clears his throat. “I… I see. Well.” He inhales, holds his breath for three seconds, and exhales. “This makes things rather…awkward.”

“When you said businessman, I didn’t think… I mean, how was I supposed to know? Your voice sounds so different over call than it does in interviews.”

“Of course it does! I never use the same inflection for those things.”

This cannot be real, you think, watching him flounder anxiously. Azul Ashengrotto is Sea Witch. This whole time… Nine entire months… I was talking to the CEO—to the city’s most popular bachelor—and I didn’t even know it. They write articles about this guy! He’s all over the TV! How did I never realize?

And then a very mortifying thought worms its way in: Oh my God. We both know each other’s preferences. He saw so much of me—more than I’d ever want him to see—and I heard too many private things during our calls…

“Let’s just…” You rub circles into your temples to quell the incoming migraine. “Let’s never talk about this again. You can buy my silence and I’ll move on with my life. I’ll even forget all of…” You glance at the Magicord conversations stuck to the wall and then the chain binding your ankle. “All of this…stuff. We’ll agree to call it a misunderstanding and life will be good, yeah?”

The bargain doesn’t seem to reach him. He continues to stare at you, his eyes glazed with an emotion you can’t place. Whatever it is, it’s stormy and dark. You don’t like it, and you shrink away when he steps closer.

“All this time you were right under my nose…”

Azul climbs onto the bed with you, the mattress depressing under the additional weight. Framed by the hypnotic radiance of the skyscrapers climbing heavenward, he’s certainly earned his place in every celebrity gossip magazine you’ve ever read. Articles debating whether he’s secretly committed to a relationship. Articles theorizing what his life plans may have in store for him. Articles discussing whether he’ll ever get married, if he’ll remain single for the rest of his life, if he’ll ever open his heart to the many people who hope to earn his romantic affections.

No one knows it—how could they when he’s so tight-lipped with the paparazzi?—but you are the secret variable the articles have yet to discover. You are the covert partner, the one who has won his heart, the one who now sits shackled on his bed.

What sort of tabloid journalist could ever spin this story?

You scoot further up the bed, your back pressing against the ornately extravagant headboard. Your knees are pulled into your chest, a futile attempt at protection.

“All this time you were so close to me…” He marvels at this, his baby blue hues locked permanently on you. “And neither of us knew. I could’ve had you much sooner had I just realized…”

You blink at him, your heart sinking with every passing second. “Mr. Ashengrotto, what do you mean by that?”

A pout tugs at perfect, pretty lips. “Why so formal, angelfish? We’re much closer than that, surely.” His hands settle upon your knees, gently pulling them apart. Your blood curdles with fear. “There’s no need to be so tense. It’s only me.”

“No… Please wait. Hold on!”

“Hm? If I’m not mistaken, this is what you want. You were rather vocal about your desires. You’ve always been. So why are you looking at me like that? I’m not scary, am I?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Please let me go…”

He clicks his tongue in disapproval, his tone patient despite the subject. “You know I can’t do that.”

“But you… You kidnapped me! Y-You had those guys hiding in my home and they…” You shake your head, unable to describe the sheer terror that had overwhelmed you when those creepy twins descended. Hopeless, you open your eyes to give him your most despairing look. Tears brim in your eyes, threatening to fall at the slightest prodding.

“Oh, my dear, did they scare you? They’re brutes who know nothing of how to treat a person with adequate care. You needn’t worry anymore. I’m here for you.” He cups your face in a fond hold, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your cheek. “Don’t cry, angelfish. You’re in good hands—my hands. And have they not been the most generous?”

“You’re crazy. Obsessed! How can you think any of this is okay? Look around at the walls! You’ve pasted our conversations everywhere—they’re practically the wallpaper!”

“What of it?” His hand slides down to grip your chin, forcing you to meet him at eye level. “I love you. I have for months now. And if those are the ways you choose to classify my care, so be it.”

Tear trails trace down your face. He leans in to kiss the rivers away, but they morph into the saltiest of seas.

“You may not approve of my affections right this very moment. You may hate me, think I’m monstrous, a culmination of all things foul, but you will love me. In due time, my dear. And when you do, the world will open and the chain will come off and you will know freedom under my roof.”

He has the gall to worship you with a loving smile. It poisons you with newly brewing abhorrence.

“So cry your heart out. Scream and kick up a fit. Do what you must. And when the floods subside, we can learn to love one another. Both at our best and our worst, within and beyond Magicord.”

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul #yandere azul x reader #n/sfw

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ellebakers · 11 months

Text

☆ Too bad | Part one

Ethan Landry x reader

Summary : Ethan hates your new boyfriend. Luckily he has a knife and a phone.

Warning(s) : Death + Blood + Mention of sex.

You had been lying, naked, under Bradley your boyfriend for six months, his hands wandering along your body when your phone started ringing. Your lips parted and you groaned as you answered.

"Hello ?"

"Y/n, where are you ?"

Your best friend, Ethan sounded annoyed.

"I'm at Brad’s, why ?"

"We were supposed to study together, I've been waiting for you at the library for an hour."

You hit your forehead, how could you forget? But watching Bradley lower his mouth between your legs you remember.

"Damn, I'm so sorry e. Brad needed my help." You gasped when without warning, he thrust his tongue inside you.

"But-"

Your back was arching, but it was out of the question for you to get licked while on the phone with your best friend.

"Look, the test is in two weeks, we'll study later, bye." And you hung up, or so you thought. But the truth is that in the rush, you didn't check to see if you had hung up.

That's why Ethan found himself sitting on one of the sofas in the library with his headphones listening to you moan.

Bradley continued to devour you harder and harder. Knowing what turned him on, you tugged his hair lightly, making him groan against your pussy.

"Damn. Baby I'm close."

That's when your boyfriend stopped, you were about to ask him why, but he sat down and took you on top of him. "I want you to ride me."

You bit your lip, nodding. "With pleasure."

And in one movement you're impaled on his hard cock. You opened your mouth wide, the pleasure being intense, then you started to move your body, Tommy groaned, took one of your nipples in his mouth and sucked it.

You hadn't noticed, you were so taken by the wave of pleasure that washed over you, but Bradley knew that Ethan was listening, he also knew that your best friend had a crush on you, that's why he discreetly took your phone and put the call into FaceTime mode, revealing Ethan's red face.

Brad smiled at him while thinking show time.

"Sweetheart, you're so tight."

Your moans were pornographic.

"Look at you, all wet. Your nipples are so hard, I could cum just looking at them."

"Brad-I'll-oh shit, I'm going to cum."

"Go ahead baby, cum and scream my name." And in a stronger thrust you cried his name while cumming on his cock. Bradley hung up on Ethan's face, then he cum inside you.

After both of you took a shower, you went home and fell asleep peacefully.

But, it was going to be a long night for Bradley.

———☆ ★ ❀ ✿ ♡ ☆ ★ ❀ ✿ ———

Bradley was watching Evil Dead when his phone rang, without bothering to look who was calling him, he picked it up.

"Hello ? "

"Hello, Bradley."

The voice was deep and unrecognizable, Bradley frowned and looked at his screen.

"Who is this ?"

"Guess."

He sneered. "Y/n ?"

"Oh no, I'm much less hot than your girlfriend."

"So who are you ?"

"I'm a little curious, by the way, do you like the movie ?"

"What movie ?"

"Evil Dead."

Bradley froze. "How do you know ?"

"I know, because I'm at your house."

Bradley paused the movie and went to check that the doors were locked. He brought his phone up to his ear again.

"You couldn't come in without me seeing you."

The persona laughed coldly. "Maybe I came when you were taking a shower after fucking your girlfriend on your fucking couch."

Bradley stopped in front of his bedroom door. "Ethan is it you ?"

He didn't let the person answer and laughed "Damn it's you ! So did you like my little video huh ? You want to know something."

He paused, then whispered. "I fuck her like this every day."

The caller's breathing became heavy.

"You could never fuck her like that. You really thought I wasn't going to notice the way you looked at her. I know you want her but she's my girl."

He wanted to piss off Ethan and it worked, but his reaction was different than he expected, in a soft voice he told him.

"But if I kill you, she'll come cry to me. I'll wait as long as it takes and when she's ready I'll fuck her and believe me she won't have to fake it. With Me."

"Damn! You'll never get it, you're just a little bitch, she'll never want to-" Bradley didn't have time to finish his sentence, Ethan, dressed in ghostface came up behind him and slit his throat. He watches your boyfriend fall to the ground choking on his own blood. He got on top of Bradley and removed his mask, his face dripping with sweat he smiled at his victim and whispered to him. "I'll say goodbye to her for you." Then he repeatedly stabbed Bradley in the face with his knife.

After draining Bradley of his blood he got up and admired his work. Without your boyfriend in the running, you'll be his and his alone.

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #scream vi #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry x you #scream #scream x reader

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pedgito · 3 months

Text

MILLER'S GIRL ✎ SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter Three: Forbidden Fruit

Chapter Summary: Mr. Miller receives your assignment in it's full detailed exposé and despite his reaction, doesn't seem as pleased as you anticipated. It leads to a tense interaction that lands you in his office with more questions and confusion. [4k]

[student/teacher relationship, age gap, no outbreak, power dynamic]

Chapter Warnings: fem!reader, professor!joel miller (his teacher persona is v different from outside of the classroom, so if he seems slightly ooc....close your eyes), dom!joel, sub!reader, reader is a little obsessed with joel (and delusional), background tess x joel, inappropriate relationships/actions, masturbation (m), confrontations, joel manhandling reader (kinda roughly), panty ripping, one (1) forbidden kiss

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Joel takes the plunge into the assignments the following night—it was a small class so he knew it wouldn’t take a large chunk of time, a couple hours at the end of his day and he’d have it out of the way and grades posted before the following morning. It was always easier to do things this way, hidden away in his office to force his focus and block out the rest of what was going on.

He flies through the assignments with a detailed precision, giving proper and full notes on things he thinks the students could work on or tweak, give some personal thoughts on creativity, and allow some encouragement where it was needed.

But, your name sits in the bottom of his inbox, bold lettered and unread—he saved it for last.

He could lie and say he didn’t do it on purpose, but he’s come to thoroughly enjoy your writing, so he pushes it off until it’s the final thing he has to grade that night. He knows Tess should be arriving home soon, so despite his want to give you his full, undivided attention—he intends to give it a quick skim.

Joel knows there’s no real notes he can give you. You always had a clear idea on your work, so meticulously planned out that it reminded him of himself in a way.

He takes a sip of the quickly dissipating bourbon in the cup sitting on his desk, ice clinking against the glass as he clicks on your essay and watches it expand onto the screen.

He likes to jot down his thoughts on paper as he goes, making it easier to format and type as he replies—he grips the pencil tight, reading the title of your essay.

ill-suited innocence

In a crowd she finds herself searching, looking for him. Days and days of tense glances and inappropriate thoughts—he must share them too? While she can’t be bothered by the fantasy of mythical creatures and things that only made sense in fiction, she did believe in the fantasy of wanting what she couldn’t have. Him.

Much older, wiser—grim around the eyes and a deep sorrow that burrowed its way into his chest and made home. He couldn’t fix himself, but she could. At least, she thinks she could.

Joel straightened his back, leaning into the screen to assure himself he wasn’t misreading. It was…an interesting take on the assignment he gave you, but he’ll bite. He’s used to your stuff being a little more unorthodox.

Something along the lines of forbidden fantasy? A tale of love? It wasn’t his particular choice of fiction but he wasn’t opposed to it. He squints, reading more.

He drops the pencil for a moment

Their lives mundane and unassuming, they traverse through life with little enjoyment. Two sides of the same coin and he was too oblivious to realize. He offered smiles and kind words, guidance that seemed from a good place but only allowed her to feel more misdirection. He was an enigma, difficult to decipher and she craved him.

And though he tries to fight whatever attraction he may feel, she can see it in his tense gaze. The lingering touches he leaves on her body. Secret meetings, talks that allowed themselves to be more deep than should be allowed. He was allowing her in little by little but she needed more.

She just had to ask, so she did.

Joel feels a tightening deep in his gut that wasn’t there before, reading between the lines of text and allowing faint glimpses of memories with you to match themselves with the words—his brow furrowing under the guise of…anger? No, frustration. He shouldn’t be equating his perfectly…appropriate relationship with you to this. In fact, it shouldn’t cross his mind. But, it does.

All of this from a dream? He could lie and say he wasn't intrigued, but that wasn't the case.

Joel doesn’t expect the full 180 turn as he glances down at the chunk of text that follows.

“You’re my student,” He whispers to her, “I can’t allow this.”

She bites at her lip, noticing the subtle click of his heels as they hit the floor, back them against his desk as she takes a seat, plastic cup full of pencils falling to the floor but neither of their eyes leaving each other.

“You can,” She encourages, “I’m hardly a student anymore. I’m a friend. We’re friends, right?”

And given his ability to let her in so easily, he also considered her a friend. Naively. He’s gotten himself into this position and he can’t find a reason to not give her what she wants—what he wants.

He captures her lips in a searing kiss, much less polite than a friend would, her fingers quickly undoing his belt—

Joel feels his cock hardening under the confines of his slacks, clearing his throat slightly. He should stop reading—he knows he should. The glaringly obvious lines being crossed are blurred for a moment. He shouldn’t have led you on like this, allowed you to cook up some depraved illusion of what you thought things could be.

Because they couldn’t. That wasn’t what this was. Joel had told himself over and over—he was helping. He didn’t think you’d take advantage of the scenario like this. Still, he finds himself loosening the buckle of his belt as well, unzipping his pants enough that he can stuff his hand into the tight space between his bare cock and briefs, palming himself impatiently.

And he skims—words sticking and fading in his mind. It starts of with a slow, sensual make out and a messily described handjob that has his cocking throbbing with every tight stroke he pulls at his shaft, eventually tired of fighting the tight space he’s allowed with his slacks making it impossible to move, he leans back and pulls his cock out far enough that he has free, unrestrained range. The bourbon glass leaves a sweat ring on the oak of his desk but Joel can’t be bothered, he scrolls down further, taking in the last few scenes that allowed him a full idea of just what exactly you thought was going on between the both of you. Or, what you wanted to happen.

He allows himself a moment to slip out of his headspace and imagine, selfishly.

Bent over the desk, items scattered to the floor he pulled at her skirt, something she wore necessarily—easy access, she whispered against his lips before he bent her fully over the desk, chest pressed against the solid wood.

Joel imagines it vividly, his breath quickening as he tugs at his cock in rough, fast strokes and pictures it—you, bent over his desk and your ass presented to him like a prize and how good it would feel to squeeze the flesh between his hands. He knows your sounds would be sweet, divine, and it drives him wild.

He’s thought about you before like this, hand wrapped around his cock, but never in full detail as you’d written out.

And then he slips his cock inside of her, a small gasp of, “Just like that, professor.” falling from her lips and it only spurs Joel deeper into his despair, tugging himself until he feels his orgasm creeping up on him, a churning in his gut that feels too good to quit and he reads out the last few lines, as he comes deep inside of, recklessly and without much decision making.

He thought you were smarter than this. Expected more out of you.

There’s a creak of a floorboard down the hall that sends his world crashing down on him, dampening his orgasm almost immediately as he scrambles to shove himself back inside of his slacks, buttoning and buckling his belt hastily as he clicks out of his browsers and feigns exhaustion, Tess’s fingers curling around the doorknob as she peeks her head in, watching as Joel’s fingers circled the glass of liquor.

God, he hates her.

Not you. Tess.

He figured his reasoning was valid, but truthfully—he just couldn’t stand her any longer. He's been battling the decision to go through with his divorce, but this seemed like as big a sign as ever. It's the unbridled rage he was tired of harboring around her, trying to act like things were fine.

Nothing was fine and his life was imploding.

He was lusting after a student and worse, he know you were after him—actively, clear in the boldness you showed through your assignment.

He thinks back briefly on the video call that he shouldn’t have allowed, your question that seemed…vague but unassuming. Had you planned this the entire time?

Was he just that stupid to not see it?

“Coming to bed tonight?” Tess asks hesitantly.

Joel offers a clear and concise, “No.”

He wasn’t sure if he could even sleep, contemplating over how to handle this…situation.

He couldn’t allow it to stray further.

It would damage his career and ruin his life.

But truthfully, he felt like he’d already reached that point, so what did he have to lose?

You wake up on Monday with a deep pit in your chest, knowing that grades were posted that morning. You knew it was a risk, being so open with him—but he couldn’t fail you. You followed the parameters of the assignment and made sure to clear the few questions you had with him.

Part of you is expecting another email from his private account, wondering his thoughts beyond what he would address appropriately. But, the moment your eyes drag along the screen, still blurry from sleep, you feel your heart stop.

0/100. A complete failure.

No comment besides—Rewrite and resend immediately. No extension. Due by the end of the day.

Your jaw clenches in frustration.

Oh, you were not being ignored that easily.

You storm into his room later that day during your free hour for lunch, knowing he’d be saddled up at his desk eating his own lunch.

You couldn’t even think about eating, full of anger and annoyance that kept you full and ready to strike. He can hear your footsteps before you approach and is wiping at his mouth with a napkin when you stop at his desk.

He holds a hand up, face steely and emotionless.

For a moment, you think he might break. Crack a smile and say it was an excuse to get you here.

Instead, he has your essay printed out and ready to shove at you, your fingers curling around the stack and crinkling the edges.

“You can’t fail me,” You start tensely, “I did your stupid assignment and I followed the steps you asked for.”

“I expect a new one by the end of the day. Appropriate to the topic. End of discussion.”

You scoff, not daring to look at the glaring zero he drew out on the paper just to prove a point. It lands in the trash as you throw it down, “No.”

Joel’s chair squeaks as he rises and it startles you slightly, and suddenly he’s invading your space, the muscles in his neck tightening as he pointed an accusatory finger at the trashed papers.

“In what situation did you think any of that was appropriate to write and send to your professor?” Joel asks, noting the way you blink quickly, backing away slightly.

He almost…feels bad? No. He quickly wipes the thought away as more anger crosses your face, eyes dilating in rage.

You lean in slightly, thankful that the halls were quiet around this time of day and that you had closed the door behind you.

“You started this,” You argue, “You crossed that line when you messaged me on a private email. Telling me that you liked the time we spent together. I’m your student—maybe you should’ve taken that into account first.”

His fist clenched at his side, almost to restrain himself, knowing he’d rather shove that finger into your chest and blame you. But, you were both to blame. And he even more so. Still, he doubles down.

“Rewrite it or I’ll fail you for the entire semester.”

Your mouth gapes open, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“That’s…completely unfair.” You settle, voice softer as you drop the act. “I just—”

“Rewrite it.” Joel responds firmly.

“Mr. Miller—” You begin, trying to find a feasible way to get him to listen.

“Or I fail you.” He says with finality. “You’re lucky I don’t take this to the board.”

Which, he never would. He’s just as much at fault. But, he’s taking his frustration out on you. An easy target, slim pickings.

You weren’t playing into that though, not now.

“You won’t,” You challenge him, “because if you do—I can assure you, you won’t appreciate the results.”

It was a threat. Cold and plain.

“Rewrite it,” He reiterates again, his voice softer now. “I have to submit these assignments at the end of the semester and if—that cannot be in there. I need a real essay. Real. Not some fucking delusion.”

It’s the first time he’s talked so…out of term. It feels like him, the real Mr. Miller.

Fine—you’ll write the goddamn essay as he intended. You roll your eyes and Joel relaxes slightly, seeing your defeat as you settle your shoulders back.

“I want it on my desk by the end of day.”

Sure, you could manage that.

If anything, it gave you more of an excuse to drag out his torture a little longer.

You spend the entirety of his class working out a new essay, bullshitting your way through an hour of class and typing up something feasible enough to get you a decent grade, knowing that his views of you were already tainted. But, that didn’t matter.

You had plans.

When evening rolls around and classes are finally done for the day, you make the long trek across campus to his class, finding it empty but spotting the light in his private office is still on, a low and muted orange that shined through the window. You approach slowly and knock on the door, hearing his muffled greeting on the other side.

You peek inside, noting his position as he rests with his fist pressed against the side of his face, seemingly nursing a headache as he rubs the fingers of his free hand over his forehead and sighs, closing his laptop as you hold out the small stack of papers for him to grab. He does, skimming through it briefly. You toss your bag off your shoulder and rest it in a nearby chair, standing quietly.

“Something bothering you?” You ask politely, hands crossed over your front as fiddled idly with your fingers, “Mr. Miller?”

He looks up tensely, eyes darkened and foreboding.

“What did you mean earlier?” He asks suddenly, reading your essay with a careful eye. Scribbling something down before he pushes it away, fingers clasped together under his chin as he gives you his full attention. “That I wouldn’t…appreciate the results?”

“Oh, that was—”

A threat. He knows it. You know it.

And he voices it.

“It was a threat, wasn’t it?” He asks coarsely, his voice sounding rough.

He seemed worse for wear, with good reason.

The dignified squeak of his chair is like deja-vu but you don’t back away this time, turning to him as he rounds his desk—his tie is gone, starch pressed shirt unbuttoned to a dangerous degree and his belt is missing, your eyes tracking it in a nearby corner where it’s slung over an empty chair.

He allowed you in here, the small glimpse of his relaxed state. He wasn’t shutting you out necessarily, which was good. But, you still felt unwanted. It was almost like he was dangling a myriad of fruit in front of you, ripe for the taking, but riddled with poison. Forbidden.

“No—”

He grabs your wrist suddenly, tight and gasp-inducing as he pulls it up until it’s level between you both, right at chest level and you’re waiting for him to let go, but he doesn’t.

“Tell. The. Truth.” He says pointedly, a small jerk of your arm with every syllable as he pulls you undoubtedly closer, “I want to hear it.”

Instead of admitting that you did openly threaten him, you switch gears.

“What? That I want you to fuck me?” You ask innocently, pulling your wrist away harshly. “Joel, come on—don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.”

His name is like a gut-punch, a reminder that he gave you that information under the idea that you would keep it safe, but now you were using it against him.

“Don’t—” He warns and your hands press into his crisp button-up, scrunching the fabric in an effort to wrinkle it, feeling the solid press of muscle under your hands that makes your mouth water, eyes widening slightly at the touch and for a split second, he allows it.

He had to escape the situation before he acted on something he would regret.

“Get out.” Joel responds through gritted teeth, shoving your hands away harshly and in turn, forcing you back a few steps with the urgency of it. “Now.”

Still, you step closer, chest against chest as you can feel the distinct bulge in his slacks against your front, tongue clicking in your mouth as you cocked your head to the side mockingly, a finger tracing along the buttons of his shirt until you can curl the tip of it around the hem of his pants.

“You can do it, you know,” You offer, “You could fuck me right now and I wouldn’t tell a soul, not even your wife—or…ex-wife? I’m not sure since you never wear your ring.”

Fuck this and her smart ass mouth, Joel thinks.

Joel’s nostrils flare and he snaps, backing you into the wall by his hand pressed against your chest, the bookshelf beside you shaking with the force. His hands creep up your neck, pressing rigid against the skin and he keeps you there, trapped.

“I can feel it,” You tease through strained vocal cords, his finger squeezing against your neck–not quite cutting off air flow, but the pressure is there and you feel it. It makes your head swim, squirming against his hold as he shifts closer, body pressed against your own firmly, “is that why you asked me to turn the paper in by the end of the day? You wanted me here, didn’t you? I guess my essay did strike a nerve after all.”

The laugh that follows is sickening, a grin appearing under his sneer. His fingers move up a few inches to grip your face. Hard. Squeezing until he feels the solid press of your cheekbones under his thumb and he speaks, so quietly into the space you can barely hear him, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Your eyes drift to his, his head tilting up slightly away from your ear that he had whispered into and there’s glint in your eye. It’s exactly what you wanted. You wanted to burrow yourself under his skin so he couldn't get rid of you.

He feels your fingers continue to trace along the seam of his shirt, tracing over the bumps of the material until you meet his slacks, pressing your palm flat over his cock, hardened under the material and straining–and he can’t help the way his breath intakes sharply, the full body restraint it takes to not rut into your hand. He knows he has the upper hand here, but with the small amount of effort it takes to break his revere for himself, he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up.

“I would,” You nod slowly, eyebrows furrowing as he tightens his grip with your admittance and in turn, you squeeze him just a little harder. He hisses and leans in, letting go of your face to return to your neck–he isn’t squeezing this time, but his hand is a solid presence. You move, he moves. And if he doesn’t like how you move, you would end up exactly where he wants you to, “Come on, Joel. You read all about it. I can do so much more than whatever your wife is doing—isn’t that why you reached out to me?”

“Don’t—stop saying my name.” He warns, trying to keep what little line of professionalism he had between you there, unblurred. “I reached out to help. As your mentor.”

“Well, I’m sure there’s a few things you could teach me.” You say sweetly, the deft sound of his zipper being undone by your hand, popping the button on his pants, “Joel, please.”

He stops your hand in it’s decent, fingers tracing along the hem of his underwear before he’s gripping your arm and turning you with little resistance on your end, front pressed harshly against the stucco wall, a sharp gasp emitting from your throat as he crowds you in again, whispering harshly into your ear, “Mr. Miller. Not Joel. You don’t get that privilege. And stop talking about my fucking wife.”

You moan brokenly at the feeling of his cock pressed against your ass, skirt riding up your thighs and you were sure—positive that Joel could see the fabric of your underwear clinging to your hips from how high up and mused your skirt was now, but he can’t take his eyes of your face, anger emitting from his own and suffocating you like a blanket.

You were pressing his buttons just right and he hated it.

“So, no marital troubles then?” You pester him and he shuts you up immediately, palm covering your mouth tightly as his free hand grips at the hem of your underwear at your hip and tugs—yep, he saw them. Some soft color, all lacy, meant to be attention-grabbing. And if Joel couldn’t have you the way he truly desires, he’d make you wish you could have it even worse than he wanted it. “You—huh, you can’t even wear your wedding ring, Mr. Miller—don’t lie to me.”

He pulls at the material of your panties until they’re riding up your ass slightly, pulled tighter against your cunt and the drag of the material against your clit is almost unexpected. He’s pointedly avoiding touching you so intimately, teetering on the edge of not enough and too much.

“You thought it would be that easy?” Joel asks testingly, jerking your head slightly when you don’t answer. You figured it was redundant but clearly not. You mumble against his hand, overwhelmed by his touch that all you can do is nod, forehead pressed against the wall as he breathes down your neck. “You’re mistaken.”

There’s a distinct rip of fabric as he removes his hand from your mouth quickly using his hands to grip your panties in tight fists, tearing it apart as it falls from your body and you think he might just do it—shove his slacks just far enough down his thighs and slip inside of you, bring an end to all of your suffering.

And his own.

Instead his fingers tighten around your forearm, spinning you in his hold and shoving the ripped fabric into your hand, leaving you bare under your skirt and exposed and Joel doesn’t mistake the wetness on the material. His fingers linger over your palm and you scoff, adjusting your skirt and slightly skewed shirt.

“Keep them,” You challenge, shoving the material into his chest before he allows them to drop to the floor, eyes trailing your departing figure as you reach for your discarded bag, “a gift for your wife—you know, the one who you avoided to spend time with me. Right?”

You want the words to linger and sting, bag slung lazily around your shoulder as you depart for the door, ignoring the quickly approaching footsteps. Joel, unbeknownst to you, had already pocketed your panties, torn to shreds in the pocket of his slacks. But, the words cut deep and he can’t leave things like this and allow you the final word.

Joel yanks the strap of your bag and backs you against the office door, the wood rattling against your conjoined weight as his lips press against yours in haste, messy and uncoordinated but your brain quickly assess what’s happening and joins, your lips parting to allow his eager tongue into your mouth. His kiss is biting and furious, mean and full of nothing but tense emotion. It’s months of suffocated lust pouring into you, out of him, and you swallow it down eagerly. His hand holds your chin forcefully, sloppy exchanges of spit and forceful bites, a battle for dominance that Joel quickly won out on.

And you think that maybe that comment was the final straw, that he might just give you what you want, but your delicate moan that slips into his mouth as chase him, his head pulling back slightly at the noise—it had him falling back to reality, right on his ass.

There wasn’t any line left to cross anymore. He’d obliterated it.

“Don’t threaten me again,” He warns, “ever.”

There’s one solid shove against the door as your head hits the surface gently, his touch quickly dissipating and his disheveled appearance a tell-tale sign in your mind. He was fighting his own battle and losing terribly.

“Of course,” You agree sardonically, “Mr. Miller.”

The silent click of the door is deafening and Joel retreats to his desk, punching a fist into the solid wood, the papers of your assignment flying to the floor. He can't be bothered to pick them up or even allow them the proper glance they deserve.

Because you—in his mind, don't deserve it.

And he's not going to give you that satisfaction.

It's unprofessional, but he'll allow it this once. It only takes a few quick clicks and he's adjusting the assignment out for your new one.

Poof. Gone. Like it never existed.

But, the grade is unchanging and he knows that will make things tremendously worse, but he can't be bothered to care anymore.

You'd be back and that's exactly what he wants.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #professor!joel miller #tlou fanfic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #my writing #pedro pascal characters

365 notes · View notes

plutopitou · 6 months

Text

◇ Wash your mouth out with soap

bakugou katsuki x reader

wc: 1.1k | fluff, angst if you squint

Katsuki’s been criticized since he was a teenager about his brash personality, taking a toll on his mentality. But even from a distance he can see your brazen heart waiting for him, always.

This is slightly rewritten and reposted but enjoy luv u

Katsuki always had a mouth on him. Since the day you first saw his stone face on tv yelling at an interviewer in highschool, he’d grown to be known as the verbally abrasive hero- not that it mattered to him much at that time, anyway.

His mother had tried everything as the child grew up. The traditional hitting with her slipper, washing out his mouth with soap for ten minutes per cuss word; it proved to be unsuccessful and a distorted form of punishment that left a distinct scar in his memories.

“Pro Hero Dynamight verbally attacks civillian after villain attack!”

You look up to see the news headline pass through the screen with exclusive footage of your boyfriend getting into some verbal spew with a civilian, both covered in dust with a collapsed building in the background.

An ambulance pulls up to tend to the man’s injuries as Katsuki bitterly walks away from him before barking an unbleeped “Go fuck yourself”.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his quick outburst as the channel rushes back to the flabbergasted news anchor not expecting his foul retort, undoubtedly questioning his qualifications to be a true hero. You’re swift to turn off the TV and focus on something else.

Katsuki’s persona he was given was not something unfamiliar or a wedge between the both of you. You vividly remembered your first awkward date with eachother. How after every minute you couldn’t count on one hand how many times he was vulgar the more drinks he threw back to ease his anxieties.

People always questioned how could you ever date someone like him. The hero with not just an explosive quirk but an explosive personality that just seemed to be distasteful and rude- how could any sane person stand to be with someone like him?

However, other people’s view of him was the farthest of himself.

The clock hits five minutes to midnight before the apartment door opens, a rustling noise emerging through with heavy footsteps. You close your laptop and look over at your boyfriend tossing his backpack to the side and hanging up his keys.

“‘M home.” Muttered from an annoyed expression. Katsuki’s brows are furrowed down as he pulls his sweatshirt off, his long sleeved hero shirt hugging his muscles from underneath.

Getting up from your seat near the kitchen, you eagerly prance to his fatigued spirit. You gently push back his blond hair, cupping his hot cheeks, planting a sweet kiss where he needed it most. He can feel his unsavory mood melt away as you pull away with nothing less than a pretty smile on your face. “I missed you.” You stated delicately.

His face slowly softens, muttering how much he missed you as well. “I was gonna call you when I got a chance, but fuckin’ assholes held me up today.” He breathes out, the distaste from the events you saw earlier leaked ferociously from his words. “Some man got pissed ‘cause I didn’t get his stupid phone while saving him from a collapsed building.. ungrateful ass just causin’ a scene in front of the press, per usual.”

You watch his features tense from how much he’s holding back letting himself become irritated again about the spew earlier- you can see through his emotions better than the finest telescope. It was the first quality he noticed when he first met you.

When he talked you paid attention to every word; not in a way of faux admiration because he was a famous hero, but in genuine care of what he had to say. You didn’t get upset when he would swear a lame joke, instead you laughed like a rhythmic lullaby to his ears.

Since starting UA, all eyes were on the best in the school and he was always watched and criticized the most. His track record of saving civilians since he got his hero license didn’t matter, it was always going to be about how he’s perceived by the public from the way the media spins narratives about him. He would never admit how much it hurt, he’d rather let Deku continue to be number one than do than let society know they can wear him down.

Katsuki couldn’t advert his gaze as you started to run hot water in the shower for him. You come back and are immediately grasped into his frame. The living room is dimly lit as you slowly sway with the tempo of his warm, mellow nature.

“Shower with me?” He whispers.

You look up from his chest, chin near his heartbeat. “Already did earlier, but you go ahead and ill set the bed up for you?”

The room smelled fresh with cool air and candles as the window curtain wisps with the melody of the breeze. Katsuki walks in shirtless with fresh sweatpants. His hair is limp and damp, skin smelling fresh and old scars on his chest and back able to breathe.

He groans lightly as he lays on his chest, head resting on his hands facing the window as you drip oil on his aching back; hands tracing down the tense cords of muscle and up his neck. Every push he releases a breath, unpacking all the negative emotion from the past twelve hours like therapy.

You loved to just stand and work magic on his body than in a sexual type of passion. It was the way you stared at the shape of the body he’d built himself since he was in school, the divots that are reminiscent of a smooth mountainous landscape. How an hour in you couldn’t tell if he was asleep the way his mouth is slightly open and his brows are straight and relaxed.

It was always a struggle to hold back the tears when he can safely sleep. You keep them back before he ever sees them; because if there was one thing you knew about Katsuki, it’s that he hates seeing someone feel bad for him.

Luckily for you, he never sees it, just feels it.

Katsuki took the hits and fall into his body without delay. There was no hesitation about it as one glance down at the grooves of pink skin peppered over his build can confirm it. It wasn’t something he regret, just something he pondered on.

You both found yourselves to fall into this routine a couple times a week when you see your boyfriend’s shoulders droop just a little lower than usual, when his gaze was just a bit more sheen with distance. It’s been years since the last war, but he was still stuck on the one inside himsef. It made your chest ache.

Outside the room he lays in he was known to be a foul-mouthed man with too much power than he knew to deal with.

You push down the curve of his back with the heel of your palm in the thought.

You wished it was that simple.

He was a young hero stuck with the weight of a cruel world on his back.

You finish kneading his muscular frame, your hands hot of every drip of emotion soaked up like a sponge in water. Turning to leave, you’re stopped with a pull at your hand.

Katsuki slowly pulls your body into his seated embrance. Your delicate fingers find his hair, rubbing down his soft back as his breath his head lays against your stomach, hands leaving ghost touches against your chilled back.

The warmth of his hands find your chin, pulling you down to his level. Your lips lightly brush over eachother before he presses his against yours gently. “I love you, you know..” He mumbles a centimeter away.

Your eyes flutter open, sweeping past the smell scar against his face to his red ones sweet with honey. “Of course I know, loser.”

In a second you’re flown to your back, Katsuki hovering over you playfully as you laugh in surprise.

Those people just wouldn’t get it.

I noticed i lose a bit of followers when I dont post for a bit or just unactive- im always here but inspiration is always a process for me to fully conjure up something as small as a 1k fic.

Please don’t be disappointed, I will try and get better with activity <3

Please like, follow, and reblog ʕ⁎̯͡⁎ʔ༄

#boku no academia #bnha fluff #bnha angst #bnha #bnha oneshots #bnha leaks #bnha fic #mha #my hero acedamia #bnha imagines #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x y/n #katsuki bakugou x you #pitou.writes #pitou.fics #bnha fanfiction

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nytb · 6 months

Text

Punch after punch

Click here first <3

A born and raised Zaragozan, surrounded by boxing for her whole life, Y/N. A cocky persona, an undefeated record - everyone wanted to take her down, but Alexia only desired to be taken out by the Spaniard.

Both stars met at Mapi's new apartment festivities - that woman always had an excuse to throw a dinner party. After many attempts to turn the invite down, Y/N caved - Mapi was one of her childhood friends, that meant a lot to Y/N.

Little did the boxing star know, it was a setup.

Mapi had been led down the "it could turn out to be the romantic story everyone dreams of" road. Alexia had her way with words, sweetening a manipulation scheme into a cute little invite to the dinner party a certain Y/N would happen to attend.

To be completely honest, Alexia had been pining over the boxer for a while now. In Spain, any female athlete that rises to the top that fast is going to show up on people's radars.

In Alexia's case, Y/N's first appearance in the midfielder's life was through an iPhone screen - a pool party at a rooftop in Zaragoza, both Y/N and Mapi's home-town. The boxer was the center of the party, women practically threw themselves at her at any possibility - but Y/N remained respectful, putting space between anyone who so much as dared to approach her body.

That detail was engraved in Alexia's mind - well that and her body. Boxers are known to have the body everyone dreams of, especially during fighting season.

Alexia had made it her mission to be one of the first people to show up, something that alerted Mapi - the midfielder loved to be fashionably late, to be the center of attention when she arrived anywhere.

As people showed up, Alexia's demeanor changed. Person after person walked through the door, Y/N was nowhere in sight. Was she a no show? Was her word worth nothing?

That was until high pitch squeaks came from the door. Y/N had arrived and the dinner guests knew it. The boxer, now tangled with two beautiful women on her neck as they welcomed her, didn't even fight against the invasion of her private space.

Odd - that's all that Alexia allowed herself to think of the situation, jealousy wasn't yet an option.

As Y/N made her way to the terrace, where Mapi was entertaining her Norwegian girlfriend's friends, Alexia made it her mission to stay on the sidelines. She wasn't about to be caught gravelling for someone's attention.

"I see you still love throwing parties" Y/N hugged Mapi, everyone around them eyeing the boxer up and down.

Tight T-Shirt, ripped Jeans, simple sneakers. A simple fit but paired with a godlike physique could be the downfall of anyone.

"And I see that you're still a workaholic" the defender replies "Didn't even have time to dry your hair or is this a quick visit?" she questions.

The boxer was quick to reply "Do you really think that I would do that to you?"

"Wouldn't be the first time"

Mapi had grown accustomed to the little time Y/N had for friends or family.

"In my defense" Y/N started "That time I didn't know that it was a stay over party" she joked.

"Let me introduce you" Mapi grabbed Y/N and threw her to the wolves. "Seeing as how this might be my only chance, it's your time to meet everyone" she laughed mischievously.

As the party went on, Alexia - still holding on to the not catching me groveling tactic - decided that enough was enough.

Making her way to the terrace, hoping to come up with a good excuse to leave the party early, Alexia was snatched by a tall Norwegian.

"Everything ok?" Ingrid questioned, full worry on display.

"Oh yeah yeah..." the midfielder replied, clearly her excuse was still being workshopped in her head "I - I don't.. "

The Norwegian cut her off "I think that the excuse you're looking for is over there" pointing to a corner of the terrace.

Y/N, sat on the floor, leaning back on her arms behind her back. All alone.

"Go" Ingrid surely knew something. "Don't think that you insisting on joining a random dinner party went unnoticed by me" she smiled.

Fuck.

"How- " the midfielder began to question only to be cut off again "Go quickly, I'm pretty sure that someone else is eyeing her, so don't waste your chance" and with a smirk and a quick turn of her hips Ingrid was off, back to her girlfriend's arms.

"Not like the noise?" Alexia asked as she joined Y/N's side.

"More like I would rather be sleeping and not have hawks eyeing me down like I'm their next prey" the boxer replied.

"Wha-"

"Oh, you're doing it too" Apparently everyone is cutting Alexia off tonight.

"I see that you didn't need me to introduce you girls" Mapi jokes, clearly not knowing how sour the introduction had gotten.

"Actually, I wanted to go say bye to you" Alexia hugged Mapi "I have to go, you know- stuff" the midfielder didn't even try to come up with an excuse.

"That was odd" the defender turned to see how Alexia was actually leaving. "I feel like I missed something" she scratched the back of her head, clearly puzzled by the interaction.

"Yup, my fault" Y/N stood up. "I'll go fix it, see you later" the boxer excused herself, picking up her pace to not be stopped by any guests as she made her way to the door.

Apartments having an underground parking was never this useful, even if Alexia wanted to leave, she wouldn't be able to do so before being seen by Y/N.

"Hey" the boxer exclaimed, hoping to catch Alexia's attention. "Sorry about that" she excused herself, clearly acknowledging that she was an utter dick to the midfielder previously "Tough day at work" she approached quickly.

"We all have those" Alexia replied, cold voice, standoffish. "Not really a good excuse though"

"Yeah because your having stuff to do was a good excuse" Y/N joked, it falling flat as Alexia didn't seem the slightest bit amused by the comment.

"Maybe we don't all eye you like hawks" the midfielder attacked back.

"Maybe I want you to"

"Hello, I'm Alexia and I have stuff to do" the midfielder mocked the boxer's previous failed introduction as she turned her back to the boxer, reaching for her car's door, wanting to flee whatever was happening.

"No" Y/N kept the midfielder's car closed, now positioned at an arm's reach between the boxer and her own car "Not going anywhere until I at least get your phone number"

The midfielder turned around "Has this move actually ever worked?" she scoffed.

"Maybe its the first time that I try it"

"You should try harder, this isn't going to work on me"

"So there is something that would work on you?" The boxer smirked, slowly entering Alexia's personal space. Slowly forcing the midfielder's back against her own car, the midfielder allowed whatever was happening.

"I thought that you liked keeping your personal space - private"

"Scared of what happens when I don't?" the boxer questioned, whispering mere inches away from Alexia's lips.

"No" a whisper that came off like a soft moan slipped her mouth.

"So if I kiss you, right here" the boxer graced Alexia's bottom lip with her thumb, pulling her closer "You wouldn't fight it?"

The midfielder's hands slid to the boxer's abdomen "You missed your chance", she whispered against Y/N's lips.

"Are you sure about that?" Y/N looked at the midfielder up and down, hunger in her eyes "Because your body says differently"

"And what are you going to do about it?"

"Maybe I would start by kissing you" the boxer pinned Alexia's hips with her own "I would start here" she whispers against the midfielder's neck, Alexia throws her head back from sheer pleasure. "Maybe I would lift you up into my arms, place you on the bonnet of your car" Y/N kept Alexia fantasizing "I would devour you right here - " her hands hover against the midfielder's body and before she could finish her sentence Alexia pounces.

Bringing the boxer's lips against her own, digging her nails into Y/N's lower back.

That's when Y/N took back control of the situation, pinning the midfielder against the car, holding the midfielder's head firmly in place as she worked her mouth.

The kiss quickly turned rough as Y/N picked up the pace, slipping her tongue into the midfielder's mouth as Alexia's quiet moans turned louder.

Y/N's mouth went straight to the midfielder's neck, gently nibbling at it as she picked the midfielder up off the ground. Alexia's ankles locking behind the boxer's back, bringing her even closer to her body.

"More" she begs and Y/N obliges, laying her on Alexia's bonnet, just like she promised. Tugging at the midfielder's dress, slowly lifting it while she deepened the kiss.

"More" Alexia moaned.

"Command me" Y/N nibbled at the midfielder's ear "Tell me what you want"

"You" she begged "Here, right now"

That was all it took. Y/N grabs Alexia's body and places her lower, letting her legs dangle from the bonnet. Settling herself on her knees Y/N devoured the midfielder, at first slowly, gently licking her from entrance to clit, reaching up to play with her nipples but as Alexia begged for more Y/N obliged.

Rough licks, putting pressure on her clit before introducing a finger into the midfielder and as she moaned, rolling her hips as she looked for a release of pleasure.

"Still." Y/N ordered "Stay. Still." She punctuated every word.

For a minute she followed the instructions given to her but as Y/N introduced a second finger into the midfielder she broke. Grabbing the boxer's hand that was previously stimulating her hard nipple, playing with it between thumb and forefinger.

Y/N stopped, lifting herself off the ground and hovering over Alexia. Keeping the midfielder's hands pinned against the bonnet, grabbing her wrists.

"I told you to stay still" Y/N groaned, pure lust displayed in Alexia's beautiful hazel eyes, mirroring her own. As the midfielder reached up, trying to pounce, taking advantage of how close the midfielder was, Y/N pinned her harder.

"No" Y/N muttered "That's not how this works"

The boxer grabbed Alexia's hips, leading the midfielder onto her feet. "You get what I give you" Y/N commanded "Now turn around"

Alexia didn't fight it, quickly turning on her feet and as Y/N pulled her flush against her body she moaned.

The boxer's hands travel down Alexia's body as she sucks on her neck, nibbles her ear, releases the midfielder's hair from the loose bun.

A quick attack as from one second to the next Y/N bit Alexia's neck, this time roughly, as she inserted a finger into the midfielder making her moan in the process. Her head flew back giving Y/N even more access to her neck and as she grabbed the boxer's hair, Y/N attacked her mouth.

Her tongue slips into Alexia's mouth, in total sync with her finger as she adds another. The midfielder's hips rolled again but this time Y/N pinned her hard against her body, not allowing the midfielder to move a single inch.

"Still" Y/N repeated.

Alexia moaned, each time louder as Y/N brought her close to release.

"Let go" the boxer ordered and seconds later Alexia crumbled, coming on Y/N's fingers, her hips shuddering. A loud moan threatens to leave her lips as Y/N muffles the sound with a deep kiss, this time softer. "Beautiful"

#woso imagine #woso #woso x reader #woso fanfics #fc barcelona woso #fc barcelona femeni #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas woso

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ohcaptains · 4 days

Note

more directive!abby when?🤷‍♀️👀no pressure take your time babe

detective!abby keeps me up at night.

she used to be a detective in a big city, but a particular grim case made her leave for a southern county, where she usually deals with petty theft and break ins.

she grew up in a small town like this. one where everybody knew who she was before she did, so she’s respectful, but stern. barely smiles — not a hint of happiness on that woman’s face. sure, she joshes around with her team, but never enough for them to invite her out for drinks. never enough to call them friends.

she’s the only woman on the team — bar the receptionist at the station, and sandra, who works in the evidence room — so when you join, fresh out of the academy, she’s not sure how to take you.

the team treat you more like a daughter than a cop. what’s worse, is that you grew up here, so everybody knows you. abby has to withstand your fathers demands that she’ll take care of his daughter, as if you didn’t finish top of your class. as if she hasn’t seen you during shooting practice.

as if she hasn’t seen you take down a man twice your size.

she lives in the town that bares memories of you. visits your family’s diner — a place she frequents regularly — and sees framed photos of you. black and white shots of your christening, your confirmation, the white dress you’re donning frilly and freyed from the generations of use.

little berkshire county, they call you. before it eventually whittles down to berkshire county, then just county. or kid.

darlin’.

abby partners you with old man tommy, hoping his gruff exterior and general hatred of the world will make the teasing stop, but even tommy is sweet on you.

“she used to work here, before she went to the academy,” tommy says. abby’s second in command looks around the diner — at your father cleaning the countertop.

“her family are legend here,” he trails. abby frowns. “what aren’t you telling me?”

tommy just shrugs.

“she’s a big girl tommy, just because you can’t get the image of her toothless and babbiling out of your mind.”

“i ain’t say that. and i don’t see her like that.” he uses the back of his hand to wipe ketchup from his mouth. “i treat her like everyone else.”

abby sees you, in a way the guys can’t. sees the faux sweetness. sees the venom under your smile — the hard glint to your soft eyes. the way you use the perception of you to your advantage. the way you have male suspects wrapped around your finger.

abby never had that advantage. she’s far too big and gruff to be gentle, and your sickly sweet persona grates on her, until there’s a murder in back beaufort.

until you’re the first on scene, and she hears your voice, clipped through the radio. cracking, trying to stay steady. when she arrives, you’re leaning against the squad car, smoking one of tommy’s southern tipps. arms wrapped around your body, protecting yourself from the chill of the night. she catches your eye, and that sweet glint is gone, replaced with a glazed over tint.

abby knows that look all too well. she fights the urge to feel sorry for you. remembers no one gave her sympathy when she found her first body. remembers her detective in charges’ words — they’ll never respect you if they see you break.

when she gets your account, you rattle off the words quickly, as if you’ve rehersed them. kept them fresh — remembered your training. as you describe the scene, abby sees your eyes start squint. she keeps her face hard.

“don’t,” she orders, causing you to flinch. you look at her with big, wet eyes.

“not yet,” she continues, flipping over the page in her notepad. you seem to understand, because you look away and sniff. when you look back to her, she steeles you with her hard gaze, “wait until they can’t see you.”

when abby gets home that night, she fights the urge to call. her fingers twitch around her phone, and she spends ten minutes staring at your contact screen. eventually, she goes to sleep, and tries not to think about the blank look you guised after her words. tries not to think about the way your shakey, blood covered fingers held the cigarette to your lips.

tries not to feel anything.

this is the job you signed up for, so why does abby feel bad?

#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x female reader #detective!abby #ask #anon #abby anderson drabble #abby anderson x you #abby anderson fanfic #my writing

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onlyseokmins · 1 year

Text

needy • j.w.w.

Pairing: jeon wonwoo x afab!reader

Genres: smut (minors dni!), established relationship!au

Warnings: swearing, teasing, dirty talk, unrealistic amt of orgasms heh, male masturbation, mentions of car sex, fingering (fem. receiving), phone sex but not like you think, messy oral (fem. receiving), safe sex 🫡, wonu's a bit of a perv tbh and reader loves puts up w/ it, mentions of children but not like really lmao, mentions of (cock)roaches, wonu in glasses and needy = double kill imho, ft. some of the boys being intrusive tbh haha, POSSESSION, and a good amt of noisy sex hahah lmk if i missed anything!

WC: 4.9k

A/N: well it's finally my first wonu fic :3 after hoarding so many in the drafts bc I always feel like I can't write him too well, I had to take the plunge since it's a dear request from my lovely @wonuhour ❤️ I really hope you enjoy this 🤞🏼 no taglist as this is a request so I hope y'all read this but sending some love to my fav wonwoorideul @wonwussy bc she said I could tag her mwah. I think I held my head 5 times while editing this haha...

It's late when you step out into the night's cool air, a sigh of relief at finally being freed from the corporate building where you work. Pulling out your phone from the bag slung across your shoulder, your face lights up just like the screen when you focus on two distinct notifications on it.

1 missed call — hubby ♡

1 new voicemail — hubby ♡

"Hey, baby. You're probably dealing with those idiots right now but by the time you're listening to this, you should be on your way back home to me."

Wonwoo's deep voice is always so soothing, filling your body with inexplicably warm, fuzzy feelings that trail from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. The knowledge that he pays attention to even the minute details you think he might not care about in trivial, daily conversations or complaints makes your heart flutter with joy.

Your husband has always had that effect on you. He's aware you aren't able to pick up and it's not like he expects you to do so. Wonwoo simply leaves a voice message, knowing it will provide you comfort on your walk to the car and subsequent drive home until you can seek real solace in his embrace.

And maybe — just maybe — he calls to simply hear your pretty voice that plays on the answering machine because he misses you during your long shift. The embarrassed giggle when you mess up and stumble across your words during the recording. Never bothering to go back to change or fix it because it makes the corners of Wonwoo's mouth perk up, breaking his usual stoic expression. At least according to what Mingyu's let slip.

Which is hilarious in and of itself because your husband is anything but poker face when in your presence. His friends tease, saying he's become a different man because of you — following you around and acting like a lovesick puppy rather than his normal, self-acclaimed dignified cat persona. But you deny it. He's always been the same person with you and maybe that's just because you're meant to be.

"Be safe on your way home. Remember to lock the doors when you're inside, although I know you will 'cause how many times have you accidentally locked me out when you've beat me back to the car first?" He lets out a strangely breathy laugh, one that you mimic in fondness at the past memory and simply of him, doing exactly as he says as you shut the driver seat's door. "Miss you so, so much today. Even more than usual, baby. 'specially that sweet pussy of yours."

Nothing — not even Mingyu's weird trait of being privy and somehow knowing or aware of way too much in your relationship — could have prepared you for those words. You're extremely grateful you're inside your car right now. Not fearing other people overhearing but because you would've collapsed right on the sidewalk in public. Victim to your husband's seductive desperation.

"Can't stop thinking 'bout it. How pretty it looks, how good you taste, how perfect you always feel wrapped around me."

Your head falls back against the headrest, the hand holding your phone drops onto your thigh, and your mouth and eyes widen together in awe. The wireless buds fit snugly inside your ears allow you to pick up on the underlying slick sounds as he speaks. Your mouth waters, a sweep of electrifying energy causing the hairs on your arms to raise.

Fuck. He's stroking that gorgeous thick cock of his. Because he yearns so much for you.

"'round my fingers, my dick, my tongue… so soft and wet and tight… mhm, oh god — what a messy little thing. And your lips too, wanna kiss you so bad. For hours, non-stop."

People like to make assumptions about your relationship. Things like how Wonwoo must be the calm and collected one, the domineering and composed person within your dynamics. It's annoying but you can't really blame them — it's human nature after all. While they aren't entirely wrong, it's not like they're right either.

On the occasions when your husband's lust for you outweighs his level-headedness, he loses all reason. Not above begging, whining, or babbling nonsense, his neediness becomes next level. You're so caught up in thinking about the exact man you're supposed to be listening to, you realize you've nearly missed most of the words he's spouting in his gravelly voice. You rewind the playback.

"… to stop thinkin' 'bout it or I'll want you even more. Wanna ruin you. Destroy you. Worship you. Ah… you're in your car, aren't you love? Please tell me you are, 'member when I slipped a finger inside last week on our way home from the mall? Then two. Then three. Had to make sure my pretty baby's pussy was stuffed nice and full. It's what you deserve, after all."

His lazy drawl and filthy words make your thighs clench. He knows it too. "Bet you're squeezing those luscious legs of yours together… ah, what I wouldn't give to have them around me instead…" A laugh again, almost a wheeze, like the air's being sucked out of his lungs at the thought. Many thoughts. "Made such a mess that day… hngh, almost wrecked the car over how wrecked you were, baby."

You glance at the empty passenger seat out of the corner of your eye. Almost shamefully, like a curious nun side-eyes a sinner sitting in church. Wonwoo's skillful and long, bony fingers buried inside your cunt — to no surprise — had you a writhing mess, an insane orgasm ripped from your body. You were afraid the upholstery was ruined because of it, the car still smelling like sex and preventing you from offering your sulky neighbor Seungcheol a lift this week.

"Bastard," you mutter affectionately and roll your eyes at your next statement, pretending as if he can hear you. "Like you weren't just as wrecked that I had to suck you off as soon as we parked and then rushed inside since you didn't wanna cum in my mouth."

"Ahhhhh, shoot…!"

As if he can hear your words, a particularly loud moan followed by a string of curses falls out of your husband's mouth. You are just able to hear the sped up sounds of him rutting more urgently against his palm. The visual of his large hands looking much smaller when wrapped around his huge cock floods your mind, wondering if he's tightened his grasp to better resemble it to drilling deep inside of your warmth instead of his hand. Eyebrows creasing together, biting down on his bottom lip before his mouth opens again in another moan that fills your ears at the right time.

The familiar creak of his home office chair causes a devious smirk to grace your face. He hasn't realized in his lust-driven state that he'd given away how desperate he really was to be fucking into his fist between freelance projects. More than likely frustrated when something wasn't encoding right after hours of staring at the screen but it was most probable that Wonwoo was simply down bad.

Achingly missing his partner when you weren't around to rub his shoulders, bring him some tea, lighten up the mood with a bad joke, or even try and help point out a possible error with a fresh set of eyes. Even nicer, sit on his lap all pretty to keep his cock all warm and coated in wetness or get on your knees beneath his desk and try to keep quiet while you take him down your throat.

You were always a bit on the noisy side. Even now, you can't help but let out a whimper at how uncomfortable your nipples feel poking against your bra. Dampening your panties, poor clit already puffy and throbbing unstimulated.

The Wonwoo in your imagination has his head thrown back, throat presented prettily that you wish you could actually mark up. In-tune with what he sounds like when he's about to come undone, you listen intently to your husband's stifled groans and harsh pants in anticipation. Holding your breath, hoping he's so lost in bliss that he won't leave you hanging.

Like a lifeline, a muttered "fuck, baby," as if he's really right there with you in the car as his deep moan fills your ears just like it does in-person. Imaginary Wonwoo drops his head back down and the hungry look in his dark brown eyes causes your hips to involuntarily twitch, thighs trembling. Shockingly, you don't orgasm from that alone but you sure as hell were on the brink of doing so.

For a finale, your husband stays on the line while he catches his breath and your dirty mind wanders once more. Hard not to when you hear the wet sounds of his hand still rubbing his cock. A whimper of "hm, just like that," and a hiss because he's sensitive makes your head spin, cunt clenching sadly around nothing. A sob practically leaves your chest at the absolute want to milk him dry just as he wishes at that moment.

"Miss you so much. Need to eat out my precious baby. Mhm, I just know that sopping cunt is begging for me to lick it up…"

The scratch of tissues being pulled out of their holder is enough of an attempt to tug you out of the foggy cloud of lust. You lick your lips.

"… so come and hurry home safely, love."

You do — so close to cumming untouched — but you stave off the feeling, speeding home somehow without crashing. For all your car has put up with, you're honestly surprised it hasn't given out on you in revenge. But that's neither here nor there at the moment, stumbling out of the vehicle once you arrive home and scrambling faster than a marathon-runner to get inside.

It would be a lie to say you weren't disappointed with how quiet and dark it is. Quietly setting your bag down, you stand with your back pressed against the front door. Almost expecting your husband to appear out of the shadows and pounce on you.

It's happened before. You can proudly declare with your whole chest that you've fucked on every surface of this lovely little house purchased in the third year of your marriage.

Instead, something brushes against your leg and you bend down to pick up your daughter. She hangs pliantly as you gently wiggle her and whisper, "Where's your daddy?"

The cat replies with a plaintive meow. You smile when she twitches her tail, stalking off towards the direction of the living room. Wonwoo likes to teasingly say she takes after you with a distinct cat-titude despite the fact that he naturally happens to be the more dedicated caretaker between the two of you. Mingyu was always needlessly curious which one of you another cat would take after — or worse, if you had actual children.

That wouldn't happen for quite a bit, trailing behind the true ruler of the household and watching as she climbs up onto her expensive cat-tree to sulk. Wonwoo must not have given her enough attention today. Demonstrated by the angry way she squints toward the open doorway of the study illuminated by the blue glow of your husband's computer.

"Daddy's in rare form today," you try and explain, rubbing in between her ears and she purrs in response. "Don't worry, Mommy will go and fix him so he ultra dotes on you like the little princess he thinks you are."

You make a kissy face in her direction because she is a precious royalty. Then you're approaching the study where deep grunts and muttered curses can be heard among a furious clacking of keyboard keys.

"On your left — no, Mingyu… your other left!"

Crossing your arms, you pout. You'd be lying if gamer Wonwoo wasn't unfairly attractive — jawline clenched as he barks out orders into his headset, the computer screen graphics reflecting off his glasses. A stark contrast to the ratty hoodie and old man slippers he's wearing, angrily slapping his feet on the ground when Seokmin accidentally pressed the wrong button and self-destructs.

You're glad he's blowing off some steam and stress with the boys. Though you had once asked why he didn't bother watching porn on his expensive and impressive set-up. Flattered when he admitted that having you as the real deal beat anything he could ever try to search for.

Now you're not as sure, though. He seems rather content and preoccupied after working you all up with that damn voicemail of his. With a flounce, you turn to head to the shower as your husband rages over Chan mistakenly shooting at the wrong team. Meeting a feline gaze on the way to the bathroom that shares your same sentiment of disdain.

Sticky, ruined panties cause a glare and another pout to adorn your face once the water is turned on to heat up. One Wonwoo might find cute. If he could see it. You nearly jump out of your skin when there's a knock on the door, so soft it almost sounds like a bump.

A certain kitty often bangs against doors just to startle her owners but she's also good at opening them too. When it remains shut and you hear a low call of your name rather than spooky silence, a pleading meow, or it flying open, you let out a breath of relief. Trying not to appear too eager, you crack the door open just enough to narrow one eye at your husband.

"Hi, baby."

"Hey."

Long gone is his cozy hoodie, though his black sweatpants remain on. Displaying lean, upper body muscles to ogle and pert nipples that could poke you in the eyeball with how near he is. Pushing up his glasses, he raises his eyebrows when you don't make an effort to move.

"You don't normally knock."

"I wasn't sure if it was you or our little mischief maker in here."

"Uh-huh, and who says I'm not mischievous as well?" You turn around but leave the door ajar and he takes that as an invitation to come in.

"No one's ever said you weren't," Wonwoo reassures but frowns, "no welcome home kiss?"

"You know, little miss mischief maker seemed pretty miffed, did daddy not pay enough attention to her today? That's unlike you."

"Mhm, was busier than I thought today. Had a lot on my mind… work and all that. Absolutely drowning in it."

"Is that so? She seems pretty upset so be sure you make it up to her."

It's like a cat-and-mouse game, though who's who is really the question. Maybe you're both cats in a stand-off. You know Wonwoo would never not truly attend to your beloved pet. You fight back a smirk, able to feel his heated gaze trail down your back and focus on your ass that you jut out on purpose to check the water temperature. A rush of fresh arousal surges through your system.

"Yeah?" Your husband's hand shoots out past yours to turn the shower off, ignoring your protest. "I think I upset another kitten too." Spinning you around so his damp thumb can pull at your bottom lip as you flutter your eyelashes at him.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not a cat. And I'm most certainly not upset."

He pecks at your lips almost condescendingly. "Sure, baby. You shouldn't be, you know, with the nice present I left for your pleasure after work."

You let out an elated sigh as he holds your face still and peppers kisses all over, trailing down to focus on your neck so you can speak. "If that's your idea of a nice gift, I'd hate to see what a bad one is."

"You didn't like it?" Somehow Wonwoo's eyes manage to sparkle when he looks up at you with a whine, pausing his kisses down the valley between your breasts. His other hand sneakily reaches in between your legs and he smiles against your skin. "Or did you like it too much? Don't think I've ever gotten you a bad gift, baby."

Slender fingers play with your messy wetness, sliding back and forth languidly without rush. You struggle to clear your mind to ask with sarcasm, "Wh-what about that st-stupid cockroach plushie?"

"It was cute. Just like you."

"That's it, I'm getting a shower."

"I don't think so." Wonwoo's free hand flies to splay out on your back, preventing you from moving and pressing your body even closer to his.

You purse your lips, brown eyes locking in on them immediately. "You think I'm on the same level as cockroaches."

"Only like the super cute, not-real ones."

"…We're filing for divorce right after I clean up."

"Mhm, but I'm not done with you yet so it'd be a waste of water. Besides, you hate showering together."

You can't help but grind down against his stationary palm, wishing he'd just slip a finger inside. "Because… no one's getting clean… if you're in there with me."

"Exactly," he's entranced by how much of your arousal continues to coat his hand. Cock twitching with the ache to be where his fingers are instead. "You know the drill, baby. Besides, I'm aware of how much you like it when I'm wearing my glasses."

"Wonwoo…"

He hushes your moan with a smirk and another kiss to your irresistible lips. "Yeah, lovely. It's okay, I'll give you what you want. And what I want too."

Surely, you would've bashed your head open on the tile floors had it not been for the support of the countertop you'd braced your palm on. Legs as shaky as a newborn fawn with how long you've been buzzing with desire. Especially when your husband backs away to withdraw his hand, ravenously slurping up your essence with a blissed out face. An appreciative, low grunt as he licked his fingers clean, dark gaze not straying away from your naked body before him.

"Shouldn't have done the laundry, silly baby. How else am I supposed to control myself without any sort of relief to get me through the day?"

Your jaw drops. "Pervert!"

"Know you like it." He ignores the light slap to his shoulder that bears no malice, finding zero resistance when he tugs you by the hand to drag you into the bedroom. "You love when I'm this desperate for you. Can't get anything done, can't think of anything else… all you, you, and you. And this greedy pussy."

Your back's resting on the mattress before you can blink. Wonwoo sits and parts your legs, taking in the delectable sight of your puffy cunt that spreads open to seep more arousal. Asking to be taken care of and filled.

"Just look at it, how could I not desire it every moment of the day?" A kiss is pressed against your left ankle. "When it's just as perfect as you?" Another to the side of your knee cap. "And so fuckin' addictive." He switches to the right to suck the skin on your thigh. "Absoluting begging to be filled up so prettily whenever I want."

It's a mix between a scream and groan of frustration that leaves your throat when your husband lightly smooches right above your hip crease before licking the salt off your skin. He's so close to where you want him and he grins at your patient façade slowly slipping. His tongue pokes out, just grazing the left side of your pussy.

"Wonwoo…!"

He is rarely this talkative, either he truly missed you or this is a new form of torture.

A pointer finger taps your pubic bone and drags downward, lifting away before it hits your clit. "And all mine," he growls out before devouring your cunt like you want.

Your husband eats you out like a starved man. Ravenous in all the best ways. Your hips can't help but jerk in time with the movements of his tongue lapping at your inner walls and cleaning up the gracious amounts of slick you've created. Whines leaving your mouth at how good it feels, fingers anxiously threading through his curls and making them even messier. Your legs wrap around his neck as you somehow bring his head even closer to drown inside your scent, your taste, and your wet heat.

Wonwoo revels in it.

Normally, he would have more control. More strictness, more fortitude. But he's so far gone, appreciative growls that could rival the best-selling vibrator on the market shake you to your very core. The frames of his glasses dig into your thighs but you don't even feel them with the intense amount of pleasure from Wonwoo's thumb playing with your clit. His nose occasionally adds to the mind-dumbing feeling by nuzzling against it when he shakes his head with vigor.

You have no choice but to hurdle towards a fast orgasm like a dam breaking. Unintentionally locking his neck in a position that might've snapped it if his face wasn't pressed so close and into your spasming hole. Screaming his name as you tear at hair strands a bit too viciously. Wonwoo takes it all in stride, too obsessed with prolonging that delightful peak of yours to care.

Only when your legs loosen up does he back away, pride filling his chest as he takes in your shaking form. Pushing up foggy lenses, he licks his lips slowly. The damp spot shining on his chin and nose is enough of a damning visual — one that's real and touchable, not of your imagination this time — for a tiny tremor to run through your thighs again.

Wonwoo's sore jaw drops. "Baby, did you… did you just cum again?" The cool air away from your cunt clears his vision so he can marvel at the soiled wet patch on your shared blankets. A mumbled curse leaves his mouth.

You're a vision. Strewn across the bed, skin shining with sweat while your disheveled husband is the epitome of sex. He cracks his neck, stretching his jaw.

Thinking.

Contemplating.

"Just from that? Hah, what am I going to do with you?"

"Fuck me," you moan and bring your legs that feel like Jello up to your chest. Squeezing your breasts between your thighs, you pout at him and flutter your lashes. A perfect look for a vixen, pleading yet sultry. "Please."

"Shit… can't tell if you're being bad or good. Augh, the things you do to me."

"'m good, s'good for you. Want you s'bad."

Blabbering, you watch through bleary eyes at the rapid speed he tears off his sweatpants and manage to spread your legs even farther with how numb they feel when he climbs over top of you. Lenses flash in the light at the same time as a foil wrapper before he rips it, hissing in sensitivity to slide the condom on. You're thrilled when the heavy tip of his cock slaps against your prepped pussy, ready for him to lose all rationale. You're sorely disappointed to find out your husband has a pending question for you.

"Then why didn't you greet me when you came home? Hm? Pretty baby sulking in the bathroom 'cause I was gaming with the boys?"

"Ahhh…" you shake your head urgently, nails lightly scratching his biceps, and hips lifting off the bed in a sly effort to slip his dick inside. "No…"

Wonwoo clicks his tongue, halting your movements. "No? I need complete answers, love."

You need him to lose control. Fighting back a sob, you try to shake off your fucked-out state and reply to him properly. "Wanted to shower 'nd then come in no panties, sit… on your lap."

"Yeah? Pretty baby was gonna keep me nice and warm in that snug pussy? Like we always do?"

"Mhm," tears are streaming down your cheeks at this point, "maybe… maybe suck you off."

"Oh, wanted to choke on my cock so all those losers could hear those greedy gags of yours?"

All you can do is nod deliriously because his thick length is hot and hard. Laying outside your lower stomach exactly like it would if it was buried within you.

Wonwoo snarls. "I think the fuck not. Absolutely not. Only I'm allowed to hear your pretty noises. Only me." He huffs, easing the tip inside finally, grunting at how you're already clamping around him like a vice. "You're made for me. All mine. No one else."

The last three syllables are punctuated by experimental, shallow thrusts to open you up for him. Your tongues tangle together as he continues to rock his hips forward, splitting you open until your pelvises kiss.

"That's it, baby. That's the sweet cunt I've been waiting for all day, dreaming of. There it is, shit! Whose pussy does this belong to?"

"Yours… hgnh, all yours… yours, yours yours…!"

"That's right, that's fuckin' right."

His glasses slide down the bridge of his nose but are pushed up by your own nose when you pull him by the neck to shut him up. Barely kissing anymore, it's an open-mouthed entanglement of debauchery. Neither of your moans get any quieter, especially when he rasps in your ear to make as much noise as possible because no one's around to listen.

Wonwoo's thrusts are sharp when he does pull out a little bit. But he doesn't want to leave your warmth for even one moment, mainly grinding as deep as he can into your fluttering hole and stimulating your clit. His hands tug at your nipples, alternating between squishing and squeezing at your tender breasts. Your legs splay compliantly out at the side, letting your husband use you to his content because that's what both of your goals tonight were.

You're shamelessly screaming when his tip touches that bundle of nerves and you're afraid you might actually black out when he continues to hit it with scary precision.

"Gonna… be the death… of me."

Peering at you over his glasses, he smirks at your weak complaint. "Says the one… that's gonna snap off my dick… shit, lovey, stop tightening up so much!"

"Can't help it, feels so good."

"I know, baby," he pants out and kisses your cheek, "I know so just bare with me a bit more." Relief floods him momentarily when your gummy walls loosen their iron grip around his cock. "That's it."

Pulling out of your squelching pussy before you can clamp around him again with only the head wrapped around so prettily by your puffy lips, he has to pause to admire it. Then he slams inside so deep that you can't help but hit that intense climax while he's still stuffing the rest of his length back in.

He coos in his low voice, coaxing you through it with an almost cruel swivel of his hips. "You can give me one more, right? I know you can, you're so good for me."

You really don't know if you could but the minute you lock eyes with him, the feral need and want in them that takes your breath away is enough. It's tinier than all the ones prior but it pleases a fucked out Wonwoo. In seconds, he's spilling his seed into the condom, still nestled within your spasming walls.

"There it is, cream on my cock, love. Yeah, there we go… fuck, baby..." he pants, a telltale sign, "that's it... so perfect."

To say you're exhausted would be an understatement. You might've actually passed out because when you come to, your husband has already wiped you down and pulled the blankets over your naked body. You weren't cold at all before but now that the tidal wave of lust has ebbed away, a chill is settling in. Your cat has snuck into the bedroom too, curled up and purring at the end of the bed on top of the stuffed cockroach plushie.

"Wonwoo?"

"Right here, love." He's laying on top of the covers and wearing his sweats again. His glasses are on the nightstand, head propped up on one hand to stare affectionately at you. "Feel okay?"

"Yeah but I'm glad I'm off for the rest of the week. You fucked the life out of me."

A smug grin graces his face. "Yeah I know. Which is why I don't understand why you just didn't wait to do laundry tomorrow or something."

"Not this again. How old are you?"

"Old enough to know what will prevent me from blowing out your back all the time." He's ready to continue with a good defense but pauses at the smile you're trying to hide. "Wait… did you do that on purpose?" When you don't reply, he groans your name. "You did, didn't you?"

"We all have our little tricks," a finger traces down his exposed pecs, "although I didn't expect such a needy voicemail on my way home, it turned out just as planned."

He halts your wrist when you start journeying down his abs. "Not in front of the child, please."

"I'm too tired to do anything scandalous," you laugh and flip your aching body over to the other side. "Wake me up in a half hour so I can shower. Alone."

"I can't believe I was set up." Disbelief drips from his tone as he sets a timer on his phone but he reaches over you to turn off the light, pressing a kiss to your ear. "Well-played though. You have a lot of free time to make up for your misbehavior, don't you baby?"

"Mhm-hm."

Wonwoo can't see the second victorious smile hidden in the darkness. Really. You're just too smart, knowing your husband so well to get what you want.

Mingyu would be proud. And grossed out.

#ez.creates #svt smut #seventeen smut #kpop smut #Smut #jeon wonwoo smut #wonwoo smut #Svthub #luana 🌙#ez.mootz #I misspelled my url in the header at first it was so funny 💀 onlyseokins #1k 🌟#svt.smut

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