#Friendship: More Bounce Per Ounce | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

widowsofchaos · 4 years ago

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ill wind

summary: A drunken one-night stand takes a turn. pairings: dark!Wanda x black!reader x dark!Natasha warnings: (malevolent advantage of alcohol consumption, power manipulation, dub non-con/smut) I hope ya’ll enjoy! <3 ao3 a/n: Written for @that-damn-girl ‘s PRIDE challenge. Chose a scenario prompt “drunken one night stand” with my two of my fav marvel women. Many apologies for being rusty at my writing! Beta: by the beautiful @imanuglywombat Thank you, Laura for being such a great friend & for proof-reading! Thank you for the amazing commentary, you’ve been such a huge help on this fic! Xoxo psa: I had to repost this story again due to the original post being reported by tumblr for adult content, so here it is once again! Also, a big thanks to everyone liking this fic, I didn’t realize it would be a fan favorite until I kept getting tagged by other writers’ answering asks of readers asking about it! It means a lot, thank you!!

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A surge of throbbing pain hits your head.

Somber shades of yellow and white marinate into a dewy flourish; trying to break through your fluttering lids. Three hearts beating under smooth silk sheets, limbs entangled, a blooming migraine bestows your crown.

A cheeky god who’s shit-eating grin is flashing before your squinting eyes, you huffed. Serves me right, I guess, you mulled. The rowdy tyke biting more than she can chew.

Your hooded eyes sharply scan the bedroom, realization hits like a freight train – this isn’t your room. It’s familiar to memory, your mouth curves into a frown, you rub your eyes roughly. Trying to clear your vision, studying your surroundings thoroughly. Powering through blurry perception, your senses are a bit irregular, groggy.

You attempt to twist your body, metal clanks against the skin of your back. Nerves frigid at the slender-shaped leather sensation, your breathing is shallow, your brain is driving into overdrive, grasping at the assumption that it’s a belt; the horizontal form, and the shape of metal is a big clue of it’s identification.

The slick leather sliding against the nape of your back, traveling against the slope of your lower spine, regarding the patterns of the buckle that grazed against your ass.

Peering out of your blurry haze, your moist skin recognizes the flood of body heat.

Overwhelmed by your flush state, your crown shifts down and you almost choke on your spit and you almost choke on your spit. On your right, lying peacefully on her back is the Slovakian witch herself, Wanda. On your left, her face half-smooshed in the pillow, the Russian beauty herself, Natasha.

Anxiety rolls off of you in waves. Naked, and satiated with pouty sleepy lips – yourself bare as the day you were born. Arm draped gracefully over her face, the twinkle of a glimmering rock adorning Wanda’s left palm mockingly winks at you.

Whining very lowly, you leisurely twist your head to face Nat, curled near her head was another shiny rock snickering at you. “Fuck.” You cringe. Biting the bullet, you navigate through the migraine, bent elbows dig into the mattress, lifting your head up, weak fingers grip the sheets to cover your indecency.

On the floor, spews of clothes are scattered – your Alice Cooper shirt, your lace black thong, your denim shorts, your strapless bra – along with other familiar articles of clothing. A red string thong, a pair of high-waisted blue panties, a black button clad blouse, a leather skirt, – it was an Armageddon of fabric.

As your brain fizzles to calculate your escape, a featherlight fingertip grazes and tickles your neck, you gasped at the intrusion. Your head snaps to your left, green orbs pierce through you, “Hey.”, it was sultry, yet raspy.

A twinge at your core – no, no, no – this can’t happen. Becoming a homewrecker isn’t on your bucket list. “Hey – um, I don’t fully remember–” You were stuttering, never have you lost your cool. “I – fuck.” Your eyes downcast from Natasha’s intense stare and shame seeping through your bones; a dark chuckle erupts from her.

“It’s okay.” She cuts you off, with her knuckles caressing your cheek. “No need to be worried – or scared”, a feral grin, all fangs. Your mouth gaps opened, and closed like a blubbering fish. “I’m so sorry, Nat.” A bit breathless, tears form in your eyes.

Your head running miles per hour, tongue thickened with sincerity – worried that you definitely ruined one of your best friendships.

“I shouldn’t be here.” Your fumes are running on auto-pilot. A coy flutter of her lashes, “Why are you sorry? You weren’t saying that last night.” Your chin wobbles, “Excuse me?” A devilish smirk dons her mouth, you can tell she’s entertained by your confusion.

Natasha’s calm stature, coolly lifting herself by the elbows to sit against the headboard, bare milky breasts bounce free from the blanket – it throws you for a loop.

“Whatever I said last night –” Your fidgety fingers grip your messy curls, seeking an ounce of control, “–I was drunk. I – can’t remember. I know I probably said some stupid shit.” You harshly bite your bottom lip, drawing some droplet of blood through split skin, “Not at all, miláčik.” A soft Slovakian timber looms behind you, your entire body stiffens.

French manicured nails graze your tender shoulder blade, weaving a hiss through your teeth. Crudely tracing red claw marks, a shiver crawls through your spine; Wanda stifles a chuckle. “No need to worry, Y/n.” A peck on your shoulder, you gasp, flinching a bit away from her lips.

“No, this is so wrong. I ruined everything – I – need to go.” You stutter, averting your teary gaze away from both women. Fumbling and shaky hands tugging off the sheets, embarrassment surges inside of you due to your bareness.

Covering your breasts with your arms in shame, a disappointed sigh can be heard, a whizz of mesmerizing magenta energy floats and surrounds you. Your brain becomes fuzzy – dizzy numbness infiltrates you. Brown orbs criss-cross, a force heaves on your chest, pushing your body forcefully against the mattress – an ungraceful huff escapes you.

“Oh miláčik, you’re not going anywhere.” Wanda whispers, her knuckles softly caressing your cheek. “I–” Your mouth gapes to speak but you are cut off, “Quiet.” Natasha sternly demands, trimmed brows pinch menacingly. Wanda’s slender fingers flicker hairs-away from your lips; muting you.

“Do I really need to refresh your memory? Or do you want Wanda to just show you?” Natasha pucker lips sporting a faded tint of pink – a hint of last night’s rendezvous. Something is different in their eyes now; something darker. It nerves you, a force is weighing on your chest slightly more — leaving you gasping a bit.

You nod your head in Wanda’s direction, peering through squinted glossy eyes. Wanda’s open palm waves over your face, a flared energy of fluid orchid pink and creamy white whisk in a blurry mix.

Transporting your subconscious through a tunnel of faded memories – a film reel of the past — neon rainbows of worldly splendor travel around you. Kaleidoscope splendor.

Through a murky veil, your airy presence arrives at the living area — Stark’s late night party from last night in full swing. You are befuddled yet amazed beyond belief. The scents of alcohol roars in your nostrils and the crisp clear cadence of your tipsy friends flow through your eardrums – goofing off, and chatting – you can feel the atmosphere differently on your skin.

The chilled air that flows from the open balcony imbibes your flesh, goosebumps littering your translucent skin in its wake; your breath hitches at the tingles soaring through your body.

The powerful gifts Wanda possesses never fails to impress you.

Nimble feet waltz through the hallway, reaching to the common area, it felt as if another unknown force was guiding you – searching for your past self. Assuming by this time of the party you were already impaired off your ass. Your silent steps were transparent, featherily light against the flooring; the cool sensation grazing your toes.

The cheers rising in volume, the coil of anxiety curling in the pit of your belly. Forcing yourself to cease your pace, nerves overriding. Afraid to face the truth – realization that you slipped. How easy of you fall into their bed, like a slithering snake. Tears formed at the brims of your eyes – wiping the droplets away by the back of your palms.

A push collided against your back, an ungraceful yelp escaped you as you toppled over – your entire form floating, twirling a bit. Wiggling legs falter mid-air, hovering over the ground; trying to find your bearings. A force guiding you towards the common area. The aroma of liquor tickles your nostrils and boisterous laughter rings in your ears.

Easily you found past you hanging off of Thor’s extended bicep – like a monkey climbing a damn oak tree. You attempted to face-palm yourself, but your hand went straight through your ghostly face. It was free reign to wonder about the compound.

Fascinated to just linger around, seemingly waiting for your own mistake to be replayed for you. In the corner, you see Sam and Clint chuckling like a couple of knuckle-heads at you trying to bounce off of Thor. It was odd, you felt like you were in the film Ghost.

Wandering among friends, they walk right through your invisible disembodied form. In the corner, you see Bucky and Steve smooching on the couch, stealing cheeky kisses – a bit tipsy chuckles from Thor’s ale.

Your drunken form catches your eye, incoherent words to Thor, Sam, and Clint --- most likely you’re telling them that you were gonna rest for a bit. You saw your past self flop ungracefully on the couch, your eyes wearily fluttering open and shut.

Two shadows peer upon your body and you almost choke on your own spit. Wanda and Natasha sat on both sides of you, petting your hair and caressing your cheeks. Delirious you were, you slurred a hello. You squinted darkly at Natasha’s palm – it was a flask in her grasp.

Taunting you with a shake, promising more alien ale, in exchange to ‘hang out with us’; Wanda’s fingertips grazing your temples, snickering lowly. You are frozen in your spot as if the soles of your feet grew roots planting in the flooring. Deceit. It was a simple trick dealt by your own hand, your own inebriation used against you.

For a millisecond, you feel it was your own fault – following the wolves in sheep’s clothing. Aided by the sneaky claws of Wanda, and Natasha; trolling towards the elevator. Your breathing is sharpening, choppy pants squeezed from your lungs. The walls of the living area began shaking as if an earthquake was occurring.

Your subconscious begins deteriorating piece by piece. Vibrations begin surging throughout your body and in a glimpse, you see every member of your team in a mid-frozen state.

But in a flash, you see Bucky and Steve grinning with toothy Cheshire Cat smiles – following the direction of their gaze, staring at Wanda and Natasha dragging you away. It gives you a weird uncertain vibe, making you shiver.

The walls of the compound begin to crumble upon you. Vibrations surge throughout your body, almost losing your balance on your toes. You hold onto yourself, hugging your head in your arms. An efflux of bursting colors blinds you, swirling and erupting upon you. A force pushing you through the familiar tunnel of mist.

Deafening white noise pound in your ears, as if you are breaking through the ocean surface – wheezing for air, a heavy weight crawling off your chest. The blurry veil clears, your vision sharpens to see Wanda and Natasha hovering over you, smiling like the cats that got the cream. “You tricked me,” You stammered, fuming with rage but a flailing thread of humiliation.

Wanda clicked her tongue, wagging her finger at you – scolding you like a child. “We didn’t trick you. You came willingly. Right, Nattie?” Wanda cooed to Natasha, dreamily gazing at her. Natasha hummed, “Indeed, Maxie. All we did was follow –” the tip of Natasha’s finger softly grazed Wanda’s chin upward, a slow turn back to you, “--- You lead the way.”

“I was fucking drunk. I don’t even remember shit! You took advantage of me!” You barked, green and hazy blue hues darken. Natasha’s palm grips your jaw, emanating an ow from you – a bruising touch.

“Would you like Wanda to give you a repeat of it? I must warn you –” She leaned forward, lips almost brushing yours, “–you were very loud, and wet.” Nat’s voice was laced with malice.

“No.” A muffled whine slip from puckered lips pinched between her fingers. “You know – we could just give her a demonstration.” Wanda purrs, delicate hands find your body; snagging the sheets off your body, Natasha groans at the sight of your bare breasts.

Bending forward Wanda’s pink tongue darts from her plump lips, licking long strides against your dewy skin. Starting at the navel, her tongue traveling up to the valley of your plush breasts.

Cowering thighs clench shut, “Nuh uh, none of that.” Wanda’s sing-song reprimand makes you twitch at the pit of your belly. A fiery carmine mist infiltrates the air, twirling presence swirls around your crotch, and thighs – the force snatches your legs spread eagle-wide.

“You have no clue how long we have wanted you, huh?” Natasha coos crudely as your thighs slowly lift upwards, slowly your thighs lifted upwards, your kneecaps coming to rest against your supple breasts.

“You’re soaked, miláčik.” Wanda’s body glides with smooth precision, downward like agile feline; legs dangle in the air, ankles locked. Comfortably tucked between your legs like it was her rightful reign. Inhaling your sweet tangy scent emanating from your glistening cunt, her pink tongue darting out to lick her bottom lip. Long strides stroking inside your wet folds, shamelessly delving between short-fuzz mound.

“Delicious. Like a peach.” Tip of her moist tongue, twirling on your clit, “Hmph – fuck.” Your eyes fluttered to the back of your skull. Natasha licks a trail of warm saliva from your lush breast to your baring neck.

Suckling on your pulse point, you gasp a breathy groan. Teeth nip and scrape the skin ravenously, baring her fangs --- resembling her infamous Araneae emblem.

Sweet kisses to your collarbone, teeth nibble at your brown nipples, tantalizing tugging on the sensitive flesh – red nails painfully scraping into your ass cheeks, whimpers slither pathetically from your lips. Mewls from Natasha, a click of her tongue, tsking you as if you were a cat, a mere pet to play with. Your lips form into a thin line, forbidding any involuntary moans to slip.

“Twah. Don’t hold back those sweet noises, baby.” Wanda lulling you, following with a salacious bite on your inner thigh, you yelp trailing into a pathetic moan as she licks against the mark. “We had you singing like a canary last night,” Natasha speaks huskily against your cheek, nibbling a bit. “You may be restraining, trying to be quiet. But you’re just one loud girl, just like your mind.” Natasha said lowly, your dazed eyes trying to concrete.

“Loud thoughts, and vivid fantasies.” Wanda’s lips pucker to suckle throbbing clit. You grunt, Natasha pinches your nipple — earning a squeal from you. It was painfully delicious — you can’t lie — your body definitely can’t hide the fact. “There you are, darling.” Natasha’s voice drips with husky lust, a second twist.

You yelp, your head tilts back and strains against the pillow — welcoming the sting whole-heartedly. Natasha cups your breast jiggling it a bit; flicks her tongue against the erected nipple and suckles it in her entire mouth. Your whole breast devoured, you hiss, peeking through your lashes — it was sinful how her pink saliva glossed lips engulf your tit.

How her tongue lapped at your nipple with such hunger. Worships you into the cave of her mouth. Her sneaky fingers snatch the other one — twisting and twirling mercilessly between her finger-tips. It’s sloppy, filthy, and fucking dirty — and wrong. You feel as if you could pass out. The soppy slurps from Natasha and the leg-shaky clit bites from Wanda were pushing over the edge.

You push your waist up and down, riding Wanda’s tongue; for a moment you lose yourself. Her hot tongue gliding between your velvet folds, how her tongue coats in your essence.

Wanda’s soft palms glide against the curves of your thighs, her nails scraping against the flesh. You jolt as she swats against your underthighs. Harsh painful slaps, as she eats you out. The heat of the slaps is scorching in your pores, adding salt to the wound — Wanda digs nails a bit more to relish in your squirming.

“Ow.” It’s small, but it’s heard. Wanda removes her lips from your pearl, you pitifully whine — frantically, you hoist your head to glare at her. A trail of white saliva connects from her bottom lip to your clit, she twirls her tongue in a languid twirl; collecting all of it.

Licks her upper lip, like a feline just drank the dairy. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Wanda smacks your glistening cunt, a wicked snicker. You wail, it’s a tug of war for you. You don’t want to be here, getting eaten the day-lights out of you, and your tits suckled.

You need time to decompress on the fact, you had sex with two of your best friends — who are married. Who you had the biggest crushes on – but you can’t risk losing a full-fledged friendship over lust.

Two sets of slender fingers plunge inside you, snapping you out of your thoughts, as the pad of Wanda’s thumb rubs manic circle motions on your throbbing clit.

“Get out of your pretty head, miláčik.” Tears form at the brims of your eyes, shaking it no — you can’t risk losing this friendship. “Do you really think you can bypass a spy and a telepath?” Natasha’s voice was like a crackling fire, dragging you out of your conflicted thoughts.

“Did you think we wouldn’t see how you gaze at us, huh? All those thoughts swarming in there?” Her index gently taps the center of your forehead. It was difficult to fully concrete or even speak coherent words as Wanda was teasingly inserting her fingers in and out of your wet cavern; ceasing her thumb a bit.

Speechless — what could you say to that? “Worried on becoming a homewrecker?” You were stuttering a bit, you still needed space to adjust, what if this doesn’t work out, and you were stuck in the awkward middle? “I–I need some time —” Natasha’s eyes darken, refusing to accept your rejection. You didn’t even have the proper choice — you didn’t have a choice.

It was a drunken one — barely a choice filled with manipulation and trickery. “No.” She hisses, gripping your jaw, you whine lowly in your throat at her harsh grasp.

Without wavering her eyes from yours, as she steals a bruising kiss. Wanda’s eyes ignite to fiery red, hitting your sweet spot hard, and brutal. You shriek, trying to worm yourself from Wanda’s grasp — but no success. Wanda’s mist restricts and pins you against the bed, her jaw tightens and clicks.

“You can’t escape us. We want you just as bad as you want us.” Wanda’s viscous fingers split you open, squelching; not once allowing a second of adjusting. As if her powers were electric at the tips of her witchy fingers, you felt a zap inside you. Oh, how a wicked bulb lits upon her head. “I have an idea.” Wanda hums with an evil smirk, stopping her actions.

“I don’t even have to touch you to make you cum.” Wanda guides Natasha away from your aching body by the shoulder. Her slim fingers contort as she sits on her knees, red energy emits, and swirls from her hands.

Manipulating your senses, fire brewing at your nerve endings, unadulterated ecstasy brimming at the pores. Wails leave you like hymns, your lips forming into an O; eyes pinched shut as your back arches off the mattress.

Hissing through your teeth — it’s electric. Enthralling as you twitch under Wanda’s command. Jittery spasms as a coil at the pit of your belly began twirling bigger, and bigger. “She’s getting close. I can smell it on her.” Natasha whispers, her breasts heaving a bit from her chest swelling from excitement, her smug smile curling from her lips.

“I can feel her energy. It’s heavy and intoxicating.” Wanda’s head was in a haze, as she connected with your spirit, along with Natasha’s. A connection. To intertwine — but not for herself, with extra concentration, it is sizzling erotic as Natasha’s charka intertwine with Wanda’s as it chokes your inner essence.

Wanda’s fingers pinching in the air, weaving your life-force, your hips bucking into the air, as your impending orgasm is roaring — your pussy is swollen and soaking. Your soppy hole clenches and pulsates against an enigmatic fullness, Wanda exploring yet violating your cavern — touching against your moist walls, your clit throbbing and hot.

“Fuck — I — I need to c–cum!” Sputtering over your blubbering lips, a snarl rumbles in Wanda’s chest, as she hovered a bit by the knees, the power over three energies was carnal.

Natasha’s head tilts backward, her fiery hair curtaining her face, her baby-hairs sticking against her forehead from brewing sweat; pinching her nipples painfully between her fingertips, groping her breasts in the cups of her palms. “I need to feel her cunt against mine.” Her voice is hardened and desperate.

Natasha’s head snaps upward, staring directly at your sweltering face, the greenery in her pupils darken and dilate.

A growl seethes from Natasha’s wet lips, low and dangerous. Your muscles shake; pleasure engulfing your limbs, weakly trapped in this mystic force, forced to enjoy Wanda’s manipulation. Moving like rivers upon your skin, unraveling waves washing over you — suffocating, painfully sweet.

Despite Wanda taking unbridled control, ravaging your body as if she owns it, weaving pleasure from you as if she knows your body from the inside out, as if she knows every sweet-spot, and tick inside you for years — there is a layer of gentility. Impulsive, yet soft. A tender lover, a pinch to savor.

Groans, grunts, and high-pitched moans echo as corrupted sympathies and bounce against the wall pavements, ringing in your ears. Flushed cheeks, sepia skin now tinted with pinkish shades spreading throughout your body.

Bliss swelling and sealing in your limber legs, aching in the best possible way. Cattle-wails of desperation, a dribble of cum trails between your wet folds and between your cheeks hitting your puckered asshole.

Wanda’s witchy slender fingers fiddle, makeshift claws to create more pressure — releasing more telepathic vitality for Natasha and yourself to ride out your orgasms.

With a flicker of Wanda’s index finger – maneuvering to the form of a pistol – a trigger, a jolt of energy bolts at your navel. A bullet. You convulse, airy pants, your torso heaving with your thighs quaking in its tight hold.

A snap bursts within you, your eyes opening widely, translucent colors combust upon your vision — worldly satisfaction manifesting into reality. In unison, all three souls unleash guttural moans.

Wanda’s fingers tremble, sucking in breath through her teeth, her energy fading into thin air, retreating back into her palms. A sharp guttural groan spilt from Natasha, a skin-peeling frenzy; basking in the astral aura that is the Slovakian witch. Your thighs collapse down debilitating from your torso.

Almost falling like an empty sack, Natasha tries to steady her breathing, as she loses herself completely at the heightened senses of her orgasm. It was such a sight, heaving over, crooked elbows denting against the mattress — on all fours, her spine heaving upward as tremors convulsed.

Never have you ever seen Natasha lose her stature in all the years of knowing her, ever so the chilling demure nature — only in your wildest fantasies have you dreamt of Natasha torn at the seams.

At the corners of her jaw, was tinged pale pink upon a damp milky surface, with her glossy eyes, adding to the primal gaze. Zoned out, peering through her lashes, her eyes are feral. Unhinged, ready for the kill.

“Keep her legs open.” Natasha hisses, nostrils flaring. Wanda slithers away, wobbling a bit by her knee-caps. Humming with a knowing smirk at Natasha, licking her upper lip with her pink tongue – she knows what Natasha wants. “I want her mouth.” Wanda snickers, a glint of mischief at her eye. Hastening breath fans over your bare shoulder, from her button nose against your sculpted collarbone.

Choking a bit, gasping for a full breath to tame your heightened nerve endings; your mouth parted. Gulping back your dry throat.

Wanda clicks her tongue, her nimble fingers trace the lines of your lips. “Keep that mouth open, dove. I’m going to quench your thirst.” Sneaky mind-reader. Sultry thick accent spells you for a momentary lapse.

“Please, wait. Give me a momen — aggh!” A plea falling on deaf ears is strangled into a wanton cry. Your hands shake, hugging yourself against your chest, arms crossing; trying to comfort yourself.

A painful slap against your clit, over-sensitive and squirming. Heat blooming throughout your hooded clit. “I don’t think so. We’ll stop when we say, got it?” Natasha snipes.

A pregnant pause.

Smack.

“Understood?” Natasha barks again, with a vengeful clap of her hand — as if it possesses the power of a god, unmerciful; but worships you in the smooth rubs on the stinging flesh. Your lips parting into a moan, a few sniffles muffled — it’s whiny and pathetic.

“Don’t cry. We’ll make you feel good again. Don’t you want that?” Wanda’s lips hover over you, against your cheeks, her teeth slightly grazing against your skin. A bite at your inner thigh, a warning. Natasha’s more aggressive. Wild, impatient, and just savage to devour you, for you to comply with their demands.

“Yes. Just wait, I’m sensitive.” You needed a reprieve, a breather from the intense third-eye cosmic orgasm you just had a few minutes ago. “No time to waste.” Wanda perks, a soft kiss on your lips. The witch balances herself over your head, trapping your skull between her thighs. Above your lips was her peach-fuzz cunt, dripping and inviting.

A tiny voice at the back of your head informing you that this is beyond wrong, red flags and alarm bells ringing that the circumstances after this will be catastrophic.

Fingers sliding in your curls, glides open-palm against your head, “C’mon, dove. Open wide. We know you’ve dreamt of having a taste. Don’t be shy now. You weren’t last night.” Wanda’s clutch shifted into an iron grip, pain over-riding your humiliation.

“Loud, wet — very eager to please, to impress.” Natasha kept listing off how you acted in bed, closing your eyes shut in embarrassment. What if this is just a tryst? A mere game for a married couple to spice their sex life? Years worth of emotional baggage and scars begin surfacing to your murky mind. A good lay.

And when Wanda and Natasha are done with you without a second thought, using your body after a good late night and morning fuck, despite questionable undertones --- confusion.

Your body yearns for their touch, going against your better judgement; it’s best to sit down and discuss this like rational adults. Another part of you wants to claw at both of them, for lying to you. Using Thor’s ale against you to lure you to the lion’s den. What if after this, they don’t want you? A mind-game to throw you off. Fearing to lose a friendship over a momentary lapse of hot sex.

Restricting back burning tears, ‘very eager to please, to impress.’ That’s you, always ready to bend over to get people to like you — it even transcended into your sex life. Motivated by liquor and you lost yourself to lust and temptation, although these two used your drunk state against you. A humiliating sight you probably were.

“Get out of your head, miláčik.” You sigh, slowly opening your eyes. Your breath hitches, Wanda stares down at you with sympathetic hues. “We’re not going to throw you away. We’re not going anywhere.” Relenting her harsh grip, the pads of her fingers soothe the remaining ache.

“You’re ours.” Firm and demanding. Natasha spreads your weak legs open once again, positioning herself to sit interlocked with you. Natasha hums, “Don’t even think of leaving us. You know we’re capable of catching you. Chain you to the bed if we have to.” Her cunt against yours, clit to clit.

You can feel the wet slick that coated between her asscheeks, a slip n’ slide as her ass sprawled against your wet thigh. Her fingers clawing against your thigh to top it over her leg. Quaking a bit, a shiver crawls up your spine.

The insanity of it all, you just wanna hide away. “Be good, miláčik.” Wanda descends upon your face, her natural essence wafting deeply in your airways — flooding your senses. You shouldn’t be thriving off of this sex but it was hot and incredible.

Wanda comfortably situates herself as if she sits on a throne —- as if she owns you. Your protests are muffled into mumbles, as your lips wrap around her swollen snatch. Your nose nestled against her short curls, the tender skin was like silk against your palate.

A crude shift from Natasha’s waist, a strident thrust as she begins tribbing you, you are moaning against Wanda, herself shuddering as her hips sway up and down upon your cheeks.

Vulgar Russian curses heave from Wanda’s lips, high-pitched and transcending into orgasmic nirvana. Natasha is growling — slipping into Russian curses and wanton moans — taking what’s hers as she keeps riding herself on you. Sucking through your teeth, you nibble on Wanda’s clit, and tugging her slippery labia between sucked in lips.

Vociferous wails and whimpers, a cadence of sticky slick mixing from one cunt to another. A lubricant that was chafing against flesh. The lewd differences between these two women is clear as day.

Wanda is the bright sunny day and Natasha is the inky night. Soft is Wanda in shades and colors; with benevolent timbre. Amorous is Natasha but in darker tints, with a reserved mask; with raspy timbre. Both ravenous for control. The pinnacles of what many women strive to be with superior intellect, beauty, and brawns.

Being the gay bottom you are, it’s no surprise for you to be charmed by such powerful women. After many hookups with women over the years, this was the most intense and enthralling one yet.

Years of crushing on them from afar has led up to this. Fresh-faced and more enchanting than before, Wanda sighs in content and victory, as she gawks down at you from her tottering head. Her tousled tresses curtaining her cheeks, riding with more enthusiasm as your lashes flutter. With a dominant drive, Natasha’s groans as she’s close to cum.

Her wetness and yours adds to the sensation on your clit. All three bodies fumbling at bit from the brutal-pace of face-fucking and cunt riding. The headboard hits the wall a bit, matching the frenetic grinding of skin to skin.

Shedding their heroic femme skins and turning into savages. Nasty. Filthy. Corrupt. Your fingernails dredge into Wanda’s femurs, prowling skyward the sweaty region of her hips, to the toned plains of her tummy to finally the mountain peaks of bosoms.

Pinching her pink nipples between your fingers to the point of making her yelp, it was an unspoken incentive for her to ride your mouth harder. Teeth tenderly gnashing inside her pussy lips.

Ragged murmurs, clipped curses, and taunts – You like it? Yeah, you were made to be under us, withering, and shaking. You want me to cum all over your face, pretty girl? Have Natasha drown your pussy with her cum? Yeah, dove, I can feel your clit pulse against mine!

Shocked silence as your astonished eyes widen, your mouth is flooded with cum. Rendered speechless, airy gasps from Wanda and Natasha is still upon your cunt, small mewls from her, now beyond sloppy and wet; a mixture of your cum and hers. Natasha’s hips juddering against yours, riding the last of her orgasm.

“What a good dove, we have,” Natasha speaks through the thick silence. Wanda hoists herself up by the knees, as you gasp for more air — your entire mouth now glistening with her fluid.

“Yes, she’s so good. Took everything we gave her like a good girl.” Wanda coos at you, hooded lids with a sultry curve of her lashes flutter at you; jolting away as she laid back on the bed with a wheezing breath. Regaining her composure, her dainty fingertips graze against your sweaty forehead to flip curls that strayed on your eye-lids. It was intimate, too intimate — it is the touch of a lover.

Natasha releases your leg, it was a bit strained from her fingernails and tight grip. Her hands cup your tummy, kissing by the navel; as she repositions herself by your side, mimicking her wife’s action. Caressing hands on your arms, dainty fingers soothing against your breasts, and shushing your rapid breaths.

Sandwiching you between themselves, a sudden direction on your belly was taken. Both Wanda and Natasha soothe the smooth clammy skin, with curling smirks that were both devilish yet attractive.

With a silent conversation that you aren’t privy to, confused as they both looked at each other with knowing gloating stares. Wanda takes her own pillow and fluffs it between her hands, as Natasha upraises your curved hips. Once again, you’re left in the dark, thrusted back into demoralization and bewilderment.

Is this it? Now that this married couple — who you idolized, and cherished this friendship with — has had their fill, who are you to them? Words birthed during the mist of lust are empty promises most of the time. Is this friendship over? Do you even have the mental capacity to continue this friendship after this tirade?

Bone-shattering orgasm after orgasm was ripped from you, and yes, it was amazing to the core, but there was a part of you in the midst of clouded hazy sex, that you didn’t want it. To be touched, you just wanted some space to recollect and process your feelings about this entire messy ordeal. You’re not sure what you want really out of life --- especially out of a polygamorous relationship.

What does this say about Natasha and Wanda?

This was a scene contrasting their usual masks of personalities, yet it molds and blends into their psyches just accordingly. It’s terrifying.

You stiffen at the revelation, serrated images were slowly circulating around your mind like the stingers of raging wasps; the small brushes of knuckles against yours, the over-friendly back massages, the persistent need to have you in their presence at all times that was mislabeled ‘just to hang out’ and ‘we miss our best friend.’ And with your yearning affection, it was easy to follow the wolves to the den for the slaughter.

Facades of kind smiles, words of advice, late-night talks that delved into and entrusted girl nights — was something darker, something sinister boiling underneath the surface.

Palms driven with cursory attached upon your arms, gripping and digging; it is demanding. Scooping underneath your bum, open palms gripping your globes, and heaving upward so your hips are positioned in the air. Wanda grabs an extra plush pillow, and Natasha maneuvers your bottom down on the pillow.

“What are you two doing now?” You are a bit irritated – tone clipped – at your running-at-a-mile per second thoughts, and sore at the muscles.

“Hush, you’ll see.” Wanda snickers, as she plushes the pillow underneath your bum. Natasha gingerly holds you down as Wanda dashes to the nearby bedside drawer. Her open-palms caress your belly, ogling with much affection and pride.

“I can’t wait.” A soft smooch above your located uterus. Anxiety filling your veins at the unknown, you begin wiggling in Natasha’s tight hold. Wondering what in the fuck, she meant. “Relax. Let it happen.” Natasha’s words were not settling your nerves, it only makes the panic hitch.

In Wanda’s palm was a turkey-baster, filled to the brim with white sloshing liquid. Eyeing the baster with pure excitement shining in her eyes, her eyes nearly criss-cross as she inspects the foreign fluid almost oozing out of its confinement.

“Perfectly curated semen for the perfect womb.” A bulb breaks and explodes in your head — emptying your dome into nothingness — thrashing in Natasha’s lethal lock. She sighs with a disapproving shake of the head, stretching your arms into a pretzel lock against your chest; painting brown skin in splotches of lavender hand-prints.

Whilst Natasha confines your fore-arms in her restraints for hands, putting weight on your upper body into the bed; Wanda’s eyes glow with fury, once again forcing down your legs. “Relax, dove. This is what we wanted with you for so long. Don’t you want to be with us?” Wanda seethes with a crooked grin, as she leers down at your shaking body.

How she revels in your weak state under her touch. Makes her urges to fuck you with her strap and make you scream like the perfect little bitch you are. Their perfect dove.

“Why?” A watery cry, before succumbing to your fate — who are you to fight against a powerful telekinetic, and one of the world’s greatest retired assassins? The only outcome would be death.

“Because we love you. You’re the one to carry our baby. I can just —” Natasha groans, her eyes rolling back in yearning. “– imagine your belly swollen, waddling bare-foot. Breast-feeding — fuck — you’re already breath-taking, miláčik, but God, you’re going to give us heart-attacks.” Her voice drops an octave lower. Natasha leans her head lower, a kiss on the crease between your brows.

Your body shivers as you feel the chilled tip of the turkey-baster nearing your gaping hole, you begin weeping quietly.

Wanda shushes you, “It’s okay, milacik. You’re going to be a great mommy. Three mommies and two daddies. The baby will be the most beloved and protected little one.” A warm smile graces Wanda’s rosy cheeks. Three mommies? A dream of having a family now enforced upon you, this is a clusterfuck. Firstly, tricked by your own drunken state, second, pinned down for morning sex, and now you’re going to be impregnated by a fucking baster?

Wait --- two daddies?

“Two daddies? What? Wait, who’s the father?” You shrill, your head struggling to peak down at Wanda as she paused mid-way from inserting the cum; your eyes wild and glossy. Wanda chuckles, it sounds genuine — it’s anything but.

“Not just one father, miláčik. Our dutiful Captain and Sergeant.”

You feel light-headed, a hay fever flooding your dome. The tips of your ears feel hot, your head flops back down onto the pillow with a fluffy thud.

An incoherent whisper. “What was that, dove?” Natasha’s thumb rubbing your wrists, coaxing you to speak up. “How is that possible?” You wept, fresh tears coating your face.

“Anything is possible with modern enhanced technology. Now a baby can be genetically linked to two fathers. Isn’t that marvelous?” Wanda gleamed a cheeky smile, her eyes twinkling with unnerving mirth. “Why Steve and Bucky? Do they know what you’re doing?” You almost choke on a strained whine, your face scrunching up tightly.

Praying that Steve and Bucky didn’t have any involvement, nor a speck of encouragement of this insanity. “Of course, they know. We all made the plans together.” Wanda’s hand rubs your thigh to calm you but it only adds to your fright.

“Steve and Bucky are ready to settle down, they always dreamt of having kids. They love you and know you would be the perfect mother to their child. Our child. We’re all going to be one happy family.” And without any moment to spare, Wanda gently thrusts the baster inside of you, squeezing the silicone bulb firmly. You gasp as you felt every drop paint your walls white, drowning inside you.

You twitch in discomfort, your head thrashing side to side, your cheeks hitting the wrinkled sheets. Mutely screaming, teeth gnashing at the air, refusing to accept the inevitable. Natasha peppers your face with kisses to calm you down.

Whispering declarations of love, you restrain any more tears to escape. Wanda cups your belly, it was very subtly swelled from the massive load. “Look how much went inside, Nattie.” Wanda alleviating your distress by small circular motions.

Natasha halts her kisses. She titters a bit, “Well, I’m not surprised. Two enhanced soldiers will deliver a copious amount of cum.” Natasha joins in on the soothing strokes by her fingers. A splotchy memory of Steve and Bucky wickedly smiling while your drunk-self was dragged away to your fate.

Betrayal.

Two people you trusted for years – who you considered close friends — played a role in this capture of enforcing a life of motherhood upon you. You didn’t realize lone tears were trickling down your face until you felt a thumb wipe away.

“Don’t fret, milacik. This will be good for you. For all of us. We know what you need.” Wanda kisses your waist and travels upward your chest in a trail of kisses; as she climbs on you, cuddling by your side, wrapping her arm around your hips, and a leg around yours.

“We’ll treat you so well. Like a queen.” Natasha loosens her grip on your arms, easing the aches in your muscles, but detaining you, to ensure you won’t escape from their grasp. Natasha plants a leg over your legs, positioning next to Wanda’s, sandwiched, and suffocating.

Laxing your body from stiffening under their touch, just trying to mindlessly drift into an impending hazy slumber. “Let’s rest. We’ll tell Bucky and Steve the good news later.” Natasha says in a lulling tone, as both women cuddle to squeeze much closer to you as if they want to reside underneath your skin — tightly, and smothering.

Sedately, your eyes close. Tentatively, their breathing morphs into your focal point, to hear Natasha’s and Wanda’s settle into steady rest. Urgently needing your privacy in sound, and body --- away from nosey intruding psychic.

As you lay there, mute and digesting the perverse treachery like a dry pill ripping down your throat, your tongue weighing heavy, barely registering reality.

Murky thoughts try to align in correction, not to bemoan over the guile that is Natasha and Wanda that was akin to pistoling barrage upon your spirit.

The soft fabric of the pudgy pillow wedged underneath you was burning against your bum, an indicia that could compel an unsought future. The tact to force maternity upon your life, your womb is now without doubt, fertilizing soldier swimmers.

What can you do now? How can you battle against the odds of the inevitable? Cuffed emotionally, and intimately by ex-friends deformed into duplicitous lovers who are now dead to you, and buried in deep, fresh graves in the crevices of your heart.

You must learn from the suffering, and brace the ugliness of being a fool. Your shudder, and bite back a sob as jagged remnants began floating behind your lids of last-night that was thick of debauched moans as slim fingers plunging into your cavern; it was a fleeting splash of excitement but it simmered and dwindled into a piercing ache in your chest.

It was euphoric, but not simply euphoric, there was fear and confusion intertwined too. For many years, you had grappled many weights of trauma, but you couldn’t stomach two damaged hearts.

Love me, love my dog — or so the saying goes. Can you handle being a mother? Are you even capable of being a good mother? You almost snort at the ridiculous notion.

What if aborti--- Jesus, you wouldn’t be able to go far with that option. It’s not even a fucking option. ‘Not with these two.’ You internally huff.

So you’ll wait. Wait it out, move in silence, map out your next course of action. Figure out escapes, leaving behind your life as an Avenger, and the only family you’ve ever had — just be quiet, comply and wait.

All you could do is wait.

#apridec1 #buckybarnesplumwhore wrote this #dark natasha romanoff #dark wanda maximoff #dark natasha x reader #dark wanda x reader #dark natasha romanoff x reader #dark wanda maximoff x reader #dark marvel #scarletwidow #wlw

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flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash · 7 years ago

Text

Irresistible Danger - Part 43

Synopsis: After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)

Masterlist: http://flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash.tumblr.com/post/145984606962/irresistible-danger-masterlist-negan-x-reader

Characters: Negan x female reader

Words: 3,056

Warnings: nsfw, swearing, fluff

Be Honest With Me

You marched to Negan’s room, your mind racing and so focused on the questions swirling around in it, that you hardly even remembered going up the stairs and walking down the hall. In fact, it almost seemed as if you had just suddenly appeared in front of his door, and before you knew it, your hand was raising to knock on the solid wood. After hearing his muffled, ‘come in,’ you turned the knob and opened the door, stepping inside.

He was sitting at his desk, black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose and papers spread out all across the gleaming surface of the desk, most likely full of inventory lists and numbers from the recent run. He glanced up sternly, for just a moment, before refocusing on the papers in front of him. He had obviously been expecting someone else, because his eyes widened in surprise and jerked back up to latch onto your own, before his lips stretched into a genuine smile of greeting. You couldn’t help but smile back, a warm, fuzzy feeling starting up in your chest that only added to the confusing plethora of feelings bouncing around inside you.

Hesitantly closing the door, you stepped further into the room. Negan pulled the glasses off and set them on the desk, before pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. The chair squeaked across the floor, as he pushed it back with his legs and stood up.

He wasn’t wearing his gloves or scarf, and the leather jacket was draped across the back of the chair, leaving his upper body clad in only a grey t-shirt. It took a great deal of willpower not to openly stare at the way the shirt clung to his torso and arms, a teasing reminder of all the tan flesh and tattooed muscles you now knew were hiding under there, thanks to the front row show you had gotten in his room, the other day. Instead, you let your eyes drift for just a moment, before locking them back up on his face. You could think about his body, later. Right now, you needed to know what was going on in his mind.

His gaze flickered down to the book in your hands, and his grin widened, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he looked at you expectantly, eyes twinkling in amusement. He knew how excited you’d be about the book, how you had never expected to own a copy of it, again. The knot in your chest tightened, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh, cry, or curse him for being so incredibly thoughtful.

The realization hit that neither one of you had said a word to the other, since you walked in the door. And, despite Negan’s usual love of hearing his own voice, the two of you had been communicating strictly with nonverbals...and had understood each other, perfectly.

All of a sudden, you felt shy and uncertain, almost out of your depth, being here. Flustered by the clusterfuck of thoughts racing through your head, you held up the book, and asked, “Where the heck did you find a copy of this?”

His grin stayed in place, as he strolled slowly around the side of the desk, before leaning back against the front of it, a few feet away from you. “Turns out Gregory has a pretty extensive library. I was perusing the shelves while he stammered around, trying to kiss my ass, when they caught my eye.”

“They?” Your eyes widened in excitement, all other important questions being temporarily pushed to the side, as you hopefully asked, “Did he have the entire series?”

Negan ran his tongue across his lower lip, then tucked it into his cheek and showcased his pearly whites. “Maybe,” he teased. “Let’s say he did have them all…what would you be willing to wager for them?”

You felt the first embers of desire start to burn in your stomach, at his words. This was not the path you had wanted the conversation to go, but damn, it was tempting to just ease into flirty banter with him and forget all the questions you had been bottling up. No, this is what always happens. You get distracted by his charm, and don’t get any of the answers you’re hoping for, your brain chimed in, tapping its foot impatiently.

Giving a mental shake, you steeled your shoulders, and said, “Perhaps we can make a wager, later. I’m more curious to know what made you bring the books back, in the first place.”

Giving a noncommittal shrug, he tried to play off your question, by dismissively saying, “I saw them, I grabbed them. Simple as that.”

“But why did you grab them,” you pressed.

Squinting his eyes at your insistence, as if trying to figure out where you were going with this, he replied, “Does it matter?”

Giving an exasperated huff, you waved the book in front of you. “Of course it matters, Negan.”

He looked both confused and annoyed at your interrogation, as well as surprised at you saying his name with such force. You were probably coming across a little more aggressive than would be effective with him, but at this point, you didn’t care. You were sliding down a slippery slope with him, and were looking for some type of lifeline to slow down your descent, before you crashed into the bottom and ended up hurt.

“Chill out, doll, before you give yourself a fucking aneurysm,” he said, the length of his body still reclining casually, despite the intensity of his expression.

You gave a small snort of false amusement. Chill out…that was rich, coming from him, the king of no chill.

You wanted to ask him about not sleeping with his wives, but were certain it would only cause him to shut down and not answer you, not to mention he’d want to know where you’d gotten that information. And what if he denied it? Then you’d really look like a fool. No, it was best to stick to the safer topic of the books.

“I am chill. All I did was ask a simple question: why you brought back the books. You’re the one who’s evading whatever the answer is.”

“And I did give you a fucking answer, doll. I said I saw them, and therefore, I grabbed them.”

Ignoring his shitty excuse of a reply, you tried another tactic. “I’m just curious as to why you went out of your way to grab them for me, when you didn’t have to. It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, because I do. But it doesn’t make sense, why I would get a gift like this, without having to use my points or work for it.”

You knew you were probably starting to sound like a petulant child at this point, but to be fair, so was he. You knew that his answer wasn’t the full truth, that there was more to it, and you were done with accepting his vague, sugar-coated answers to all of your serious questions.

He almost looked uncomfortable at being put on the spot like this, his gaze avoiding yours in favor of staring off to the side. He hadn’t been expecting an interrogation to go along with the book, and you wondered if he now regretted the kind gesture. Giving a huff, he ran a hand along the back of his neck. “Does there have to be a reason for me giving you a damn gift?”

“Yes,” you responded softly, then steeled your shoulders, and said more firmly, “Yes, there does, at this point. I need to know what is going on here. Are we…friends? Friends who exchange books and play chess and go berry picking together?”

He took a step towards you. “I think it’s safe to say that most people don’t kiss their friend goodbye, before leaving their room,” he said, in reference to the last time you were here.

“Maybe I do,” you said stubbornly.

“Well, I sure fuckin’ don’t,” he quipped.

You had already known that kissing him was a huge deal, especially since you were supposedly the only one who had gotten away with doing so, but his words still caused your subconscious to swell with joy.

“So, if we’re not friends, then what are we? Technically, you’re my boss here, since you run the Sanctuary. But, last time I checked, employees definitely aren’t supposed to kiss their boss.”

You knew that you were baiting him, that this whole conversation was borderline ridiculous, but it seemed to be the only way to discuss the topic with him, without scaring him off…without scaring you off, as well. Directly coming out and asking if you were in a relationship was too intimidating. It would cause you to feel too vulnerable, put you at risk to be laughed at by him, or told you were a fool. So, instead, you were ruling out other potential labels, in an effort to make more sense of what was going on, to force him to acknowledge what was going on.

He hadn’t said anything in response to your boss comment, and was just staring at you neutrally, trying not to give away what he was thinking. However, you focused in on his eyes, looking for any flicker or indicator as to his thoughts, as you said, “So, we’ve ruled out friendship and a strictly professional relationship. And I sure as hell am not one of your wives…so where does that leave us?”

Still no reaction, so you pressed harder. “Perhaps, I’m more like a companion for hire, then? You pay me with books or a watch, in exchange for my company…” You stared upwards thoughtfully, acting as if you were thinking out loud, contemplating the idea. “Although, that would mean I’m almost like a female escort, or even a hook-”

You were cut off from finishing that thought by him interrupting in a voice that was low and almost a snarl.

“Don’t you even fucking think of calling yourself that.”

Now you were finally getting a reaction. His eyes had lit up and were blazing warmly at you, not at his full-anger glow, more annoyed or frustrated. And his mouth had tightened into a thin line, showcasing his displeasure with your words.

You felt a tiny ounce of relief, that he had reacted so negatively to that last idea. It wasn’t that you saw his wives as sex workers, per se, although the idea that they had (previously, at least) exchanged sex and companionship with Negan for a lap of luxury screamed “sugar daddy”, at the very least. And that was not the type of arrangement you wanted from him, no matter how nice the watch or amazing the books.

“So...then, what am I to you?” you asked.

Realizing that you weren’t going to let the topic go, you could practically feel the frustration vibrating off of him. You were surprised that he hadn’t started pacing at this point, but a glance downwards showed that his hands had a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the desk at either side of his hips. You were pretty certain that that grip was all that was keeping him from gesturing wildly and doing the expected pacing.

“What do you fucking want from me, doll?” he said, his voice sounding strangled and almost pleading. “What answer are you hoping to hear?”

“I don’t want a certain answer. I just want the truth,” you simply stated.

He let go of the desk and stood up to his full height, hands coming up from his sides as he harshly waved one in front of himself. You had finally chipped away at his armor, and now that chip was allowing him to finally crack open, and say what he was really feeling.

“The truth?! The fucking truth is that the second I saw those books on Gregory’s shelf, I thought of you. Of how fucking excited you’d be, if you were there to see them, too. I didn’t stop to think if you deserved them or had enough fucking points for them, or any of that other bullshit. I just grabbed them, because I knew that they’d make you happy. And, apparently, seeing you happy makes me feel fucking happy, as well. Your smile over a book or some berries or a watch is a bright spot in this otherwise fucking depressing place.”

“And as far as ‘what you are’...I don’t fucking know,” he growled, running a hand through his hair, causing a few pieces to stand up and ruffle his otherwise polished exterior. “Unlike every other fucking person in this place, you don’t fit into any of the categories I have set up. You’re not a wife, you’re not a Savior, and you’re not just a worker who makes points. You’re a goddamn enigma, and I don’t have a label or category for you. You’re just...you’re just you.”

He finished the last sentence on a harsh exhale, his arms coming back down at his sides, as he seemed to deflate in front of you at the admission. Meanwhile, you were frozen in place, both your brain and subconscious working overtime to process his words. You had wanted his honesty, and he had given it to you. And his response was more than you had hoped for. The fact that he saw you for who you were, as an individual, was huge. You weren’t just a means to an end, or someone who served a specific purpose for his community. You were without a label, a round peg who didn’t fit into any of the square hole categories he had set up to keep everyone at an emotional distance. It felt as though someone had finally pulled the veil from over your eyes, and let the sun shine through. And the sun was telling you that this man in front of you cared about your happiness and well-being, not because it benefited him in any way, but just because he wanted to see you happy.

Oblivious to the epiphany happening in your brain, Negan looked bemused by your extended silence, hands dangling at his sides as he stared at you with uncertainty swirling across his face. “So, there’s the truth. Is that what you wanted to fucking hear?”

You silently stared at him for a few more long moments, before giving a nod and moving forward. Not stopping until you were close enough to reach out and put your free hand on his chest, you tossed the book on the desk behind him and raised up on tiptoe. A whispered, ‘yes,’ left your lips, right before they sealed onto his own.

He was frozen for a moment, most likely in surprise, but he recovered quickly. His arms came around your waist, as he pulled you in closer, the length of your body molded into his tall, warm frame. He leaned back into the desk again, bringing you with him, so that your pelvis was nestled into the cradle of his thighs. His lips moved lazily over your own, as if he had all the time in the world. The hand on his chest curled, your fingers clinging to the fabric of his shirt to help anchor you, before the emotions in your chest caused you to float up to the ceiling like a balloon.

Slowly pulling back from the kiss, you gazed up at him, taking in his handsome face. You smiled and reached up with your other hand to smooth down the pieces of hair that were still sticking up, before running your hand down over the side of his face, your nails scratching through his beard, causing his eyes to flutter slightly.

“I’m not quite sure what I said right, but doll, remind me to keep saying it, if this is the fucking result,” he purred, chuckling when you rolled your eyes with a smile.

Leaning forward, you meant to kiss him again, to shut him up before he said something else and ruined the moment. However, the moment didn’t need Negan to ruin it, since the knock at the door did a perfectly good job on its own.

Freezing, you gave a loud sigh, before letting your head fall forward, your forehead thunking into his chest. “You have got to be kidding me,” you whispered, the words semi-muffled against his shirt.

“Ah, shit. Sorry, doll. I told Simon to come up after he finished dinner, so we could go over the run and how things went here, while I was gone. I thought you were him knocking, earlier.”

Taking a deep breath, you lifted your head and looked up at him. He leaned down and gave you a soft peck, before his arms left your waist, allowing you to take a step back from him. You instantly felt cold and bereft from no longer being pressed against him, and your subconscious was throwing a temper tantrum at being interrupted, while your brain practically dragged it away from Negan.

Grabbing the book from his desk, you turned and walked across the room, towards the door. Feeling bold, you glanced back at him and said, “So, is there any free time on your busy schedule that I can claim in the near future?”

His lips quirked upwards on one side, and he replied, “Fuck yeah, there is. How about I clear my schedule tomorrow evening, and we have dinner up here? Whatever time works best for you, chef.”

Grinning, you said, “I should be able to do that, I’ll bring two trays around, say, 7 o'clock?”

“It’s a date,” he quipped, just as another knock sounded on the door.

Turning, you grabbed the knob and opened the door, unsurprised to see a smiling Simon on the other side. He looked completely unfazed to see you there, which actually made you more uncomfortable, rather than less so.

“Hey, there,” he greeted with a small wave. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?’

“No, of course not,” you said, perhaps a bit too hastily. Darting past him, and out into the hallway, you gave a quick, “Have a good evening,” before starting down the hall.

It wasn’t until you were almost back to your room, that what Negan said had really sunk in.

He had called it a date.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

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whatliesabove-blog1 · 7 years ago

Text

small, quiet room

A/N: I’ve always been a fan of the Jonathan Is Hopper’s Son conspiracy, and thought I’d contribute! I estimate this being around 15 chapters total, give or take, and it can also be found on ao3 here :)

Chapter one

Hawkins, seventeen years ago

Pacing back and forth in her bathroom, Joyce Horowitz fidgets, hands wringing uneasily in front of her. This is ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous and she can't believe she's here right now, her entire future resting on a piece of plastic. She hasn't so much as looked at it since she put it on the counter. The time isn't up yet but she's been steadfastly keeping her gaze anywhere else, as if it'll just go away if she ignores it hard enough.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

She pauses for a moment, chews anxiously at a nail that's already been bitten to a nub. Her stomach is in knots, her heart in her throat, and she swears she can feel the blood rushing in her ears.

This really wasn't supposed to happen.

It hadn't been planned, obviously, but she supposes that's how it's always been between the two of them. Their friendship wasn't planned, instead forged through witty banter and disagreeable grunts over shared cigarettes. It developed over the course of a few months and a few months turned into a few years. It's unconventional at best. They run—or ran, technically, because graduation is over and done with—in different circles, their paths only really crossing under the bleachers between fifth and sixth period and at the occasional party or football game.

In spite of herself, she chuckles at the memory of the first time they'd run into each other under those bleachers. She was ditching Chemistry, content to just sit under there until the teachers stopped wondering where she was so she could make a run for it. She'd heard a rush of rustling footsteps and panicked, thought a teacher caught on to her hide out. Instead, he appeared, all out of breath and eyes wide as he caught sight of her.

"What are you doing under here, Horowitz?" he'd asked, stepping into the space without a second thought.

"What I assume you're doing under here."

"Unless you're under here to sneak a smoke, you're wrong," he'd said, digging a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and placing it between his teeth. Lighting it up, he'd taken a long drag.

Joyce had barely let him enjoy it before she'd plucked it from his fingers, nearly snatching it clean from his mouth, and shoved it between her lips. She'd inhaled deeply, coughed—unfiltered, of course—and taken one last puff. Her face had broken into a smirk at the shocked look on his face, the wide eyes, and she simply passed it back.

"Thanks."

Placing it back between his teeth, he'd tilted his head at her. "Might've been wrong about you, Horowitz."

"Maybe so."

And graduation. Graduation is the reason she's even in this predicament.

Okay, maybe not graduation per se, but the graduation party Karen had thrown—that is absolutely responsible. She was supposed to spend an hour there max, spend some time hanging out to placate her friend’s pleading, but suffice to say she had stayed longer.

Hopper showed up, much to her initial surprise, and made a quip about how they have to stop running into each other like this. Save for the bleachers, the last three times they've seen each other were at separate end of the year parties.

"Save me from the piranhas?" he'd asked, gesturing vaguely to the table with the drinks. "Pick your poison."

Joyce had rolled her eyes. "You're such a big shot," she'd teased. Truthfully there were a number of girls eyeing him, but making fun of him and his inflated ego was all a part of their relationship.

After they had their drinks they tried, to no avail, to find somewhere semi-quiet to hang out. Everywhere they turned there were drunk students stumbling all over the place, others running haphazardly throughout Karen's house.

"Car?"

She'd followed him to his dad's car and filed into the passenger seat. They'd talked, had one or two more drinks (after Hop had graciously gone inside and gotten them both refills so she could avoid their drunk classmates), and the conversation turned to their post-graduation plans. He told her a few of his long-term plans a while ago, but some things have changed, some timelines had to be rearranged.

"I don't know yet," she'd told him. There were thoughts, but no plans.

They were quiet after, because they both knew he was going off to Vietnam.

She'd brazenly put a hand on his thigh. "You'll be okay, Hop."

"Yeah," he'd nodded, somewhat unconvincingly. "Yeah."

It's all a blur now, but somehow one lingering glance had turned into a kiss—she couldn't tell you who leaned in first, but she'd place her money on Hopper—and a kiss had turned into tearing each other's clothes off in the backseat.

The quiet ding breaks her from her thoughts and just like that the amusement is gone, replaced once more with a bundle of nerves. She taps her fingers against her thigh, closes her eyes, and forces herself to take a breath.

Get yourself together, Joyce, she tells herself. It's probably negative.

The late period and constant throwing up tells her that's wishful thinking, but she's also been stressed with the prospect of getting a job after graduation. Stress takes a toll on the body and could very easily mimic the same symptoms.

Yeah, stress.

With every ounce of courage she can muster she steels herself, forcibly drags her feet across the tile floor and stands in front of the sink. Still she stares straight ahead, at her own reflection instead of the tiny plastic stick sitting atop a paper towel.

"On the count of three," she whispers to herself with a reassuring nod. "One."

She takes a breath.

"Two."

Her eyes close, knuckles going white where they grip onto the edge of the counter top.

"Three."

Biting back the anxiety curling around her ribs, her head dips, eyes trailing to the offending object. With shaky hands she picks it up, stares at the results.

"Shit."

Joyce's fingers thrum nervously in front of her, knees bouncing beneath the tabletop. It's been about a week since she took the test and her entire body is still on edge, the initial shock giving way to something like panic.

"What was so urgent?" Karen says as soon as she slides into the booth, looking expectantly at her friend.

The burger joint is practically empty, but that's not exactly surprising for 11am on a Sunday. It's precisely why she's chosen to meet here in the first place; very few people to hear what she has to say. And good burgers.

When she doesn't say anything, Karen snaps her fingers. "Joyce," she says, and the girl in question blinks, stares at her. "What are we doing here?"

"I'm hungry."

She's already ordered and she gives a small smile to the waitress who brings her food over. Joyce already knew Karen wouldn't want anything from here this early, and so she'd just gotten herself a burger and fries.

"It's not even noon," Karen says, eyeing her suspiciously.

Joyce shrugs. "You're allowed to be hungry before noon, Karen."

"Yes,” she say slowly, “but you never choose burgers and fries for your breakfast."

"Lunch."

"Whatever." She waves a dismissive hand, then points a finger. "Something's up."

Joyce chews slowly, keeps her eyes downcast, purposely looking anywhere but at her friend. She brought her here to tell her, knows she has to tell her—has to tell someone, because it's driving her nearly insane—but she can't seem to spit it out.

Placing her burger back onto the plate, she brings a napkin up to her mouth, deliberately making all of her moves painfully slow.

"You're stalling," Karen says. One look at Joyce's face tells her something really is up, and this isn't just some breakfast-lunch outing between friends. "Come on, Joyce, whatever it is it can't be that bad."

Joyce huffs, lips curling into a sardonic smile. Taking a long, deep breath, she faces her friend, finally makes eye contact.

"I'm pregnant."

Karen's eyes nearly bulge out of her head, mouth hanging open. "Shit, maybe it is that bad," she gapes, back-peddling at the look on Joyce's face. "I'm sorry, I'm just—I'm surprised. Joyce Horowitz, I never..."

"Yeah, me either," she grumbles, shoving a french fry into her mouth.

"Who? Lonnie?"

She grimaces. "Hopper..."

"Jim Hopper," Karen says slowly, waits for her nod of confirmation. As if there are any other Hoppers they know. "When?"

"Your graduation party, so really, I have you to thank for this."

Her friend holds her hands up. "Hey now, I told you to have a little fun, not to go shack up with Jim Hopper in, what, the backseat of his car?"

"Stop saying his name like that," Joyce mutters, but doesn't deny that it was in the backseat of his car. Technically it was the backseat of his dad's car, but she feels the distinction would be pointless right now.

"Like what?"

"Like he's the worst possible guy I could've slept with."

"You're right," Karen amends. "That would be Lonnie and you've already slept with him."

Joyce groans, drops her head into her open palms.

"What are you going to do about him, by the way? 'Hey, I know we're back together and everything but I'm having another guy's baby'?"

"No," she says, leaning back in her seat. "I'm gonna... I'm gonna tell him it's his."

Karen blinks. "I'm sorry, what?"

"We got back together a few days after graduation, after he apologized for being an ass." She ignores Karen's eye roll; she knows how she feels about her boyfriend. "We went back to his place and we... he was drunk and fell asleep before anything happened, but enough happened that I know I can convince him we slept together."

"I don't know if I'm hearing you correctly. I mean, Joyce... what about Jim?"

Her chest tightens at the mention of his name. "What about him?"

"You're not going to tell him?"

Joyce purses her lips, plucking another fry from her plate as her knees continue to bounce. "He's in Vietnam, Karen. He's gone," she says. With each word that comes out of her mouth she's justifying this, trying to reassure herself that this is the right choice. "Besides, he might—he might not come back."

"Joyce."

"He might not," she repeats, even if it nearly takes the breath from her throat. She and Hopper may have an unconventional friendship but it was a friendship nonetheless and she wants him to return in one piece. "And even if he does, he'll be some big shot cop in a city. He told me a while ago, before Vietnam, that that was what he hoped would happen. What am I supposed to do, show up at his house with a baby as a welcome home present?"

"When his going away gift was a nice fuck, I mean..."

"Karen."

The girl sighs, nods at her. "I just want to make sure you've thought this through, that's all," she says, and Joyce relaxes, offers her a smile.

"I have," she says, and it's only a half-lie.

"Okay then." Karen lets it drop, and then she sees her lips curl into a smile. "So, how was he?"

Joyce laughs with a shake of her head. "Karen," she squeaks, looking around to make sure none of the other patrons can hear their conversation. Thankfully, they're all too far away and engrossed in their own meals. Karen gives her an imploring look and she rolls her eyes. "Good, okay?"

She feels lighter having told someone. Of course, she hasn't told her parents, or Lonnie, or anyone other than Karen, but having even one person know seems to take a little of the burden from her shoulders.

Her thoughts go back to Jim Hopper, who's currently serving overseas while she sits in a diner, carrying the child he'll never know about. Her hands unconsciously slide to her stomach, fingers splayed over the still-flat skin.

Taking one final steeling breath, she tells herself this is for the best.

#jopper #joyce x hopper #joyce byers #jim hopper #hope you guys enjoy!#(i've seen so many different iterations of timelines so yes it is purposely vague bc i know the years don't really align with Canon)

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