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wandasaura · 9 months ago

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SEE WHATS UNDER THAT ATTITUDE

summary — wanda intends to keep the promise she made to you, but that doesn’t mean you won’t have to work to earn it

warning(s) — established relationship, married wandanat, heavy on the mommy kink, subspace, entrance of the oral fixation, degradation, praise, dumbification, light humiliation, fingering, ¿light nipple torture?, definitely nipple stimulation, teasing, edging, orgasm control, mention of orgasm denial, begging, crying, fake sympathy, biting, oral sex, overstimulation, forced orgasm, aftercare, men/minors dni

authors note — there are some russian exchanges between wandanat toward the beginning, i’ll add translations for at the end but if they’re not correct, blame google translate. this was highly requested so i hope it’s everything you’ve been waiting for!

you are in love universe

♥️⊹ ˚ . 18+, men/minors dni ⁺ 𓈒 ꒰💌꒱ ♡ ･ mommy maximoff

The bed had been abandoned when you finally came to consciousness. The room was dark, the blinds drawn over the windows and blocking out sunlight, but the peaks of gold that kissed the trim around the windowsill was enough to gauge how late in the morning it was. The first sensation that crossed your mind was the lingering ache on the skin where Wanda’s had unforgivingly struck you half a hundred times, the second sensation that registered was the soft throb in your core that had been left unsatisfied hours earlier. A quiet whine rolled past your lips, filling the silent room with sound that was left unanswered. Your head still felt like it was filled with cotton, thoughts still hazy and disoriented.

Leaving the bedroom behind was a decision made lightly, but the absence of blankets over your shoulders felt like the cruelest punishment as you descended toward the living room. Wanda didn’t work in the office on Friday’s, or at least she tried not to most weeks. Typical Friday’s were spent in quiet company, if Natasha’s stories proved truthful, but the few times you’d spent the day in Westview had come with silence from the redhead who spent hours holed up in her office. It hadn't occurred to you then that she busied herself to avoid you, but with the only indication of her presence in the house coming from the laugh track behind some old eighties sitcom, you realized this was more typical of her routine.

Your footsteps were soft; careful and easy. It wasn’t intentional, nothing felt intentional in this state, but the sweetness of your mood could not be pushed further than soft taps of naked skin and quiet hums that tried to be words but fell flat. Wanda’s head craned in the direction of the stairs when she’d first heard the door creak on its hinges, counting down the seconds until you came into view. It was late, late enough for breakfast to have been eaten and dishes to have been washed, but even one glimpse at you could tell that you were still beneath the confines of subspace. She wasn’t surprised, slightly concerned, but not entirely surprised. She had pushed you farther than anyone ever had last night, careful of boundaries that had been set but still firm with her hand and treatment. She had forced you into submission in a manner that was unkind and dominant, she was not expecting you to stumble down the stairs in a clear state of mind, but the sight of your naked chest still bare of a shirt indicated just how far deep you were.

“Hi, sweetheart.” She smiled at you warmly, and you frowned in confusion when she didn’t incline her head toward the couch. You needed her to tell you what to do, wanted her to keep her grip on the reins and hold them tightly. Sensing your distress at this new sense of control, Wanda frowned realizing that her soft approach would not work you through this limbo. “Come here, baby.” The permission to approach that you had been waiting for finally came, and your feet that wouldn’t carry you forward without it started to move toward her again.

You stood in front of her with a silent question in mind, but Wanda was not willing to budge without the presence of your words. She needed to get you up, and coddling you was only a recipe for disaster. “Is there something you need, sweetheart?” Her approach was gentle, yet firm. Any harder and she would find the opposite effect of what she intended.

You nodded pleadingly, fingers coming up to sit in your mouth the same way hers had been last night. The sensation wasn’t the same, not even close, and that seemed to be too much to handle at this moment because tears that Wanda would deem ‘crocodile tears’ glimmered in your eyes. Even as your reserve crumbled, fingers falling back down to your sides and curling into the soft cotton of Natasha’s sleep shorts, she didn’t waver.

“Words, honey. I know you know how to use them. You used them very well last night.” Wanda tutted, shaking her head at your behavior dismissively. Your mouth opened and closed as you shifted through the haze in your thoughts attempting to string together a coherent sentence that articulated your wants to her.

When no more than a single word came to mind, you decided that had to be good enough, and nimbly you forced it past your chapped lips and into the space between your bodies, hoping it was loud enough to reach her ears, “Hold.”

A smile pulled at the corners of Wanda’s lips and she nodded at you encouragingly. “Of course I’ll hold you, sweetheart.” She pulled her arms away from the closed off position she had been maintaining, opening her posture up for your added weight.

You settled contently against her chest, your legs thrown over her hips. The position allowed relief to come to the sore skin on your bottom, and you hummed in satisfaction at the newfound release. Wanda laughed softly when a look of blissful realization settled on your dazed features, and her nails took full advantage of your exposed back as she placed feather light scratches to your spine. Natasha was fond of being held like this after an intense session, so it was no shock that you had come to like it too. Your head fell onto Wanda’s shoulder, just above the place where her heart sat.

“Nat!” Wanda called for her wife; said wife that you had yet to locate as the rest of the house sat in perfect silence. Natasha wasn’t a loud person, quite quiet actually, but there hadn’t even been an inkling in your mind that she lingered somewhere close, just barely out of sight. Your thoughts had been a one track road to Wanda, but at the call of Natasha’s name you were desperate for her all the same.

You picked your head up from Wanda’s shoulder, searching the room for any trace of Natasha that you could have possibly missed. Wanda smiled at your clear adoration for her wife, but guided your head back down to her chest when she noticed the thick haze coming over your eyes once more. She hadn’t had the pleasure of treating anyone with such tender dominance in years. Natasha was hard to break down to this point, her unwillingness to fully submit a persistent mental barrier, and Wanda was thankful to be useful in this way.

When Natasha appeared, blue light glasses keeping red hair from falling into her eyes, you realized that the reason she had been so hard to spot was because she was hidden away in the dining room, a place the couple rarely sat if it wasn’t for a meal.

“Yeah?” She asked, clearly confused about why Wanda had called for her instead of seeking her out physically, but when her eyes trailed to find her wife’s, she noticed your position against the Sokovian’s chest and a smug smirk pulled at her lips. Even if the bet hadn’t been made, she had still won. “Ona vse yeshche daleko vnizu, da?”

Wanda nodded her head at the question asked in Russian, her hand resuming its delicate scratching along your back. You hadn’t realized you had missed the feeling until it reappeared higher up your spine, but when it did and you weren’t expecting it, you shivered away instinctively. Wanda didn’t take your initial flinch as a reason to stop, and you were thankful because when she persisted, you melted into the touch. “Da, ty poydesh' za odnoy iz svoikh tolstovok? V obozrimom budushchem ya budu zapert zdes'.”

It could have been hours that you sat in silence with Wanda, or it could have been minutes, you honestly weren’t too sure about the passing of time around you, but you knew that you felt cared for, and you knew that you felt loved. You hadn’t understood the words that had been spoken in Russian over top of your head, but when Natasha had let her feet carry her upstairs and into the bedroom, you realized they’d been about you. The hoodie she came down with was soft, and Wanda had helped you into it with a practiced ease. That had been the most movement that had come from you, but Wanda didn’t make a fuss about your chosen stillness. She merely set her eyes on the reruns of old sitcoms, and occasionally whispered something sweet to you that required no verbal response. Somewhere in that mix, you had begun to bite at her shoulder, content to find that the sensation was the same pleasurable one you had found last night, and she hadn’t stopped you from further discovering it. It was when your head had finally cleared that you recognized the signs of hunger in your belly, remembering that dinner had been all but forgotten about last night, and when you pulled away from Wanda, her first instinct was to guide you right back down.

“I’m hungry.” You had protested her guidance, pushing against the hand that cradled the back of your head tenderly until she finally allowed you to sit straight up like you wanted.

“You back with me, dorogaya?” She double-checked, not wanting to blindly take your first coherent sentence as proof that you were fully functioning. She wanted to avoid a subdrop, knowing that it was a less than pleasurable experience and had caused Natasha a thick bout of depressive thoughts the one and only time she had failed to communicate her needs before they spiraled into darkness.

“Yeah.” Despite the clearness of your head, your words were still soft. The only time you ever came across harshly was when you tried to go toe to toe with Wanda. The redhead smiled at your affirmation, guiding you off her lap but not fully releasing control over to you just yet. She grabbed your hand, leading you into the kitchen where pots and pans dried on the mat beside the sink. You pouted, realizing that either her or Natasha had made pancakes and eggs for breakfast, and neither had woken you up to join in on the fun. “You had pancakes without me?” Was the first question that rolled off your tongue, and Wanda shook her head in bemusement that pancakes were your only concern.

“Your body needed the rest, moya lyubov’. I can make you some now if you want.” Wanda suggested, helping you up onto the counter despite your proven capability to do it yourself just fine. You didn’t shrug off her help, rather leaned into it, and pulled her in close when she dared to try and step away. You dropped your head onto her shoulder, feeling a desperate need to have her close. And again if she minded, she didn’t show it.

“I want cereal.” You decided, knowing that the women had cheerios shoved in the back of the pantry beside an unopened box of popcorn that you couldn’t quite place who it had been bought for. You didn’t know why they even bothered to buy anything that came in a box, considering in the near year that you had been frequenting the Maximoff residence you hadn’t seen them eat anything that wasn’t made on the stove, but right now it sounded like the perfect source of energy.

“That’s all?” Wanda frowned, prying your face away from her shoulder and forcing you to look into her eyes. You melted into her touch when she set her gaze on you firmly, pliant and willing in her grip. You hummed, your tongue poking out and swiping at the pad of her thumb that sat within licking distance on your cheeks. “That’s not going away anytime soon, huh?” Wanda laughed softly, pulling her hands away before you could get any bolder. She’d had her suspicions about your oral fixation, something was always in your mouth whether you realized it or not, it was truly only a matter of time before you realized how fun it was to have one of them between your teeth.

“Please?” You pouted, making puppy eyes at the pantry where the box of cheerios remained hidden. Wanda relented, her green eyes rolling backward into her head.

“You’re eating dinner tonight, milaya moya.” You merely shrugged at the compromise, simply glad to have gotten your way for now at the very least. She tapped your thigh in warning of her approaching absence, and though you had expected it to come if you wanted your cheerios, a whine still fell from your lips when she pulled away, instantly missing the warmth she provided.

You’d started to slip down from the counter when Wanda turned back around, only halfway to a pantry before you’d decided she’d been gone long enough. “Stay there, Mommy didn’t tell you that you could move.” The firmness that you had sought for earlier sent a rush of something different through your body hearing it now, but still eager to comply with her demands, you scooted back up onto the counter and tried your best to ignore the lingering ache in your untouched clit. You remembered her promise, remembered how she had so cruelly worked you up and left you dry. You didn’t think you could go another night with the sticky feeling between your thighs.

“Do you want milk with your cheerios, detka?” Wanda asked, her voice slightly muffled by the walls of the pantry that she had disappeared into. You nodded your head, forgetting that she couldn’t see you, but decided that you would just wait until she reappeared to tell her what you wanted. Words still felt too hard to grasp, and secretly you adored this special treatment that you’d never received before. When Wanda stepped out of the pantry, the familiar yellow box now in her hands, she asked again. “Do you want milk, honey?”

You nodded softly, pulling at the string of Natasha’s hoodie though you found them rather boring. You let your feet kick against the cabinet doors beneath where you sat, trying to occupy your attention with something other than the need in your core, having a feeling it wouldn’t be satisfied until you got something into your belly.

It was warm, too warm to be wearing a hoodie but in your foggy mindset and rush to find her, you had forgotten about the fact that you remained only half dressed. You sighed, pulling at the long sleeves until they came to your biceps, but even that couldn’t help you entirely.

“Words, honey.” Wanda reminded you firmly, and you kicked the cabinets beneath you rather harshly in response. You wanted her close to you, and yet she was standing halfway across the kitchen with her recently freed hands on her hips. The box of cheerios was placed on the island countertop, awaiting your direction of adding milk or a bowl or now. Wanda raised a daring brow, tilting her head to the side in a manner that was admittedly intimidating. “We aren’t going to go through this again, milaya. Do you want your cheerios with milk? Yes or no?”

“Yes.” You sighed, deflating on the counter as you itched to get down and cling onto her. You couldn’t comprehend the rush of feelings that overwhelmed your brain in the moment, but it felt like every choice you were forced to make only drove you farther and farther from a position of sanity. You wanted her to decide, wanted her to talk you through every process and choice. You were never this needy, never this dependent on somebody else, but the taste of total submission that you had been given was like a drug elementary schools never warned you about tasting.

“Good girl.” Wanda praised your willingness to comply, already maneuvering around the kitchen to acquire a bowl and the gallon milk from the fridge. You shone beneath her words, a shy smile gracing your lips as you tilted your head down toward your lap and tried to hide the flush on your cheeks. Wanda wasn’t blind to your reaction, but she spared you the embarrassment of knowing you’d been caught.

“Where’s Natty?” You whispered, suddenly realizing the woman was displaced from the pair of you, which was a rarity if you ever knew one. She had been in the dining room before, but now she was gone and yet her laptop remained on the table, the only object in the room that wasn’t in its perfect place.

Wanda smiled softly at your concern, a tad surprised it had taken you this long to realize that the Russian was missing. She didn’t let you dwell in that confusion, wanting your mind focused on one thing and one thing only; her. “Pepper faxed her over some files. Nothing you need to worry about, malyshka. Come eat.”

You wiggled down from the counter with a distinctive delicacy, a stark contrast to the usual faith you put into your ankles. Wanda appreciated your carefulness, smiling at you with unspoken praise that you had no time to hide from before she saw your faintest blush. Unlike every day that had come before this one, Wanda sat down at the island instead of gravitating toward the dining room. You brightened at the prospect of eating here, clamoring into her lap because there was absolutely no chance that you were sitting on your own. It seemed she hadn’t expected you to, because her arm tangled around your waist and her hand found its place on your thigh, dangerously close to where you wanted her most, but still too far away.

“Mommy promised you a reward, didn’t she?” Wanda hummed, her voice laced with a sultry silkness that would’ve been enough to have you weak in the knees on it’s own, but the deadly combination of her lust and her hot breath fanning across the shell of your ear, which Natasha had discovered was incredibly sensitive, was enough to completely melt your self restraint down to nothing.

A gasp fell from your lips, your head tilting to the side and allowing her lips all the room she needed to explore your unmarked skin. Your eyes fluttered closed, thoughts of cheerios dissipating. “Mommy.” You pleaded with her, hoping that she would relent in her teasing measures.

Her wet lips trailed down the side neck, and in the same second cold fingers bearing rings more expensive than you could even fathom moved the collar of Natasha’s hoodie out of her way. The caress of her lips didn’t last long, because as quickly as she’d began to suck a hickey on your collar bone that was sure to last at least a couple of days, she pulled away and the fingers still on your right thigh pinched the warm skin experimentally. “Eat. What Mommy does to your body is none of your concern, little girl.”

A guttural moan left your lips at her dismission, and although your brain was officially nothing but mush between bones, your trembling hand reached out for the spoon. The first mouthful of cheerios was rewarded by her fingers moving toward your core, the second by a sharp nip at the base of your neck. Every bite was followed by pleasure, and by the sixth, it was getting harder to think about anything other than release.

The lack of panties between your thighs had made access to your core disturbingly easy, and when you faltered on the seventh bite of cereal, your pulsing clit was pinched harshly between fingers that were still surprisingly cold. Your hips twitched in her lap, your head falling back onto her shoulder as you surrendered to the pleasure the sharp sensation had provided. Wanda hummed, taking your body's reaction into account for a later date.

“You’re not cumming until you finish eating. I suggest you keep going unless you want to find out how cruel I can be, malyshka.” It wasn’t a threat, but rather a promise, and you whimpered pathetically at the sharp bite to her words that satisfied every craving in your body.

“Mommy.” You pleaded when a single one of her deliciously slender fingers threatened to penetrate your weeping hole, toying with the wetness that had already dampened the pajama shorts on your hips.

“Shh, Mommy’s playing.” Wanda redirected your attention to the bowl of cereal that had become soggy in the minutes it had taken you to even make the smallest dent. You swallowed down a cry of frustration at her unwillingness to fold, but raised the spoon to your lips and forced your mouth to comply with her demands.

Every bite felt heavy and horrible against your tongue, but you somehow managed to persevere, even as her fingers wandered beneath the thick fabric of the hoodie and sought out to find your nipples that had been ignored thus far. At the first brush of her metal rings against your flushed skin you gasped, thankful that you had held off on taking another bite of your lunch because otherwise you would have choked.

“Such pretty sounds, milaya.” Wanda cooed, her lips back against the shell of your ear. Her tongue dared to lick at the skin of your neck, a stream of cold air sending shivers and shocks of pleasure shooting down your spine. “Do you like it when Mommy touches you? Huh? Do you like it when I play with this desperate little pussy however I please?”

“Please.” You writhed in pleasure, your eyes screwed shut impossibly tight. The single finger buried deep within your walls had quickly become two, and they curled against your softest spot with accuracy that should’ve concerned you had you been any more coherent than you were. Her pace was teasing, slow and unfulfilling, but that was entirely the point. “M-Mommy please!”

“Mommy’s not going to tell you no again. Little girls don’t get to make decisions. Little girls wait for Mommy to give them permission, and until she does so, they take what they’re offered.” You cried out in painful pleasure when Wanda sadistically twisted your nipple between her fingers, the sensation shooting right down to your core that wept around her fingers and squeezed them tight. “You can do that, can’t you? Be good for Mommy? Or are you just a dumb little baby?”

“I-I can! I can!” Despite the desperate need for more of anything she was willing to give you, your body tried pleadingly to arch away from her touch when your nipples became too sensitive to handle the sting she caused unforgivingly.

“How do you want Mommy to make you cum? With my fingers, or maybe my mouth? Do you want me to fuck this slutty cunt with a strap-on, are is that too much for my little baby to handle? Oh I bet you're so sensitive, kotenok. Nobody’s ever denied this pretty pussy before, have they?” Wanda’s fingers pointedly avoided your clit, and you're absolutely certain that one accidental touch would have you falling over the edge and into blinding pleasure.

“No!” You sobbed in frustration, your hips meeting her thrusts and she let you, knowing nothing she did would send you over that sought after edge until she let her fingers brush against your pulsing bundle of nerves. She had you right where she wanted you, right where you needed to be, even if you hadn’t realized this was the treatment you’d been wanting just yet.

“Oh, my poor girl. You still have so much to learn.” Wanda cooed though her sympathy was anything but genuine. You pushed the bowl away from you, shaking your head desperately, just needing her to take care of you. “You did so good.” Wanda kissed the side of your head, but her actions contradicted the praise she had fleetingly bestowed upon you. Her fingers left your aching core, effectively edging you as if that had been her goal all along. She smears strings of your arousal against the insides of your sensitive thighs, drying her fingers on your skin. You cried out at the loss of pleasure, desperately grabbing her wrist and attempting to draw it back closer, but she didn’t allow you to win. “I’m not taking you in the kitchen, milaya. You deserve better than that.”

She guided you to your feet easily, a firm hand on your back the only thing that kept you upright when your knees threatened to buckle beneath your full weight. You grabbed at her hand desperately, wanting to keep her close as she led you through the house and up the stairs. Throughout the journey, her lips had found entertainment in seeking out soft spots on your neck that had been otherwise neglected in the kitchen. A shaky moan fell from off the tip of your tongue when her teeth nipped at the edge of your jaw, and in that moment you had forgotten how to walk as you stood stock still and stiff as a board in the middle of the stairs, leaning backward into her touch pleading for more.

“Keep going. Mommy will take care of you soon.” Wanda coaxed, and desperate to listen, you complied with the request, hoping that this time around, soon actually meant what it was supposed to.

When you passed by Natasha’s office, where you suspected the woman had migrated to work on the files that Pepper had sent over, the door was closed and light peaked out from the cracks between floor and white oak. You barely had time to pout about her absence before Wanda was pulling you in the direction of the bedroom, simultaneously making quick work of getting you free of the clothes that you drowned in so cutely. Though Natasha wasn’t much taller than you, the woman had a bad habit of buying clothes three sizes too big if they weren’t going to be worn with the intention of maintaining professional appearances. Despite how you had grown to be too hot in the hoodie that covered your torso, the initial absence of it had caused a rush of cold to assault your spine and you shivered beneath Wanda’s heavy hands. Your shorts were the last thing to fall to the floor in a heap.

“So pretty, malyskha.” Wanda praised your fully naked body, running a single feather light touch down the front of you, starting just below your chin, down between the valley of your breasts, and stopped only just before your throbbing clit begging for release. You gasped and moaned at the ticklish sensations she so easily provoked, chasing her touch when it vanished too quickly. “So responsive too. Mommy’s going to have so much fun playing with you.”

“Please!” You sobbed, wide eyes filled with desperation and need that only she could quench. Your hands trembling with lust and pent up frustration pulled at the hem of the old t-shirt adorning her body, attempting to get rid of it the same way she had done for you.

Complying with your request, not willing to sacrifice her own desperation to fully get her hands on you any longer then she already had, Wanda stripped out of her shorts and t-shirt with ease. One too many office quickies with Natasha had forced her to become sufficient with the act of undressing, and the skills, though rusty from lack of recent use, hadn’t failed her now despite the months it had been since she’d last taken her insatiable wife on the couch in her corporate office. When she was naked, every inch of her skin available for your eyes to admire for the very first time, she leaned in to meet your lips with a kiss that was softer than she had been all day. The single action had eased your anxious thoughts, and you leaned into the embrace just as easily as she had.

When her lips separated from yours, swollen and pink and wet with your saliva, her hand reached up to grab your chin and force your eyes on hers. “I expect you to use your safewords if you need to. This is not about me, this is about you. Do you understand me, milaya?”

“Yes.” You breathed out desperately, your hands settling on her hips, pulling them closer when you felt like she was too far away.

“Good. Get on the bed.” She grinned sadistically down at you, taking full advantage of the few inches she had over you. There was something dark in her eyes, something you had only gotten the shortest glimpse of last night, and you swallowed thickly as the promise of feeling her touch on your body for hours after this moment ended, but you complied with her request just as quickly as it came. There was no way you were going to go against her now, not when she had so carefully unraveled your brain and you were finally on the cusp of getting what you had long since sought after and been promised.

You scrambled onto the center of the bed the Sokovian shared every night with the Russian, laying flush on your back with your elbows propping up your torso. Your eyes trailed Wanda’s every movement as she disappeared into the closet without a single spoken word, but knowing what lies within the four walls of the walk-in, you could only anticipate what she returned with. Desperately you rubbed your thighs together, gathering that she wouldn’t take kindly to your hand relieving the ache she created and single-handedly wanted to soothe. It hadn’t been more than three minutes before she returned, and you noted that between her legs was the presence of something pink. Her hands carried the cooling lotion she’d used last night, and the red strap-on that Natasha had pounded you with weeks ago in her office. A stuttered moan filled the quiet of the master bedroom, and ever so seductively Wanda crawled over your body on the bed, close enough for her nipples to drag against your skin, but far enough away for her lips to ghost over yours.

“Have you decided how you want me to use you, dorogaya?” She laid her accent on thicker than you had ever heard, straddling your hips as her arms sat on either side of your head, trapping you beneath her.

You nodded frantically, forcing your eyes to stay locked on hers, wanting to remember every inch of her face in this moment in case it was the only time you’d see it. “I want– I want your mouth. A-and your fingers.”

“Both?” Wanda teased, her eyes glowing with dominance. “What a greedy girl. I suppose I can give you both, but it won’t come without a price. Are you willing to pay, milaya?”

You nodded your head frantically, desperate to give her whatever she wanted from you. That seemed to please Wanda, who smirked down at you before her lips ghosted over your lips and trailed down your neck that craned instantaneously in response. Her tongue licked a bold stripe over the center of your neck, and just when you’d anticipated her to keep moving lower, she trailed back up again. This was the price, you realized quickly. She was going to tease you until you broke completely, and there was nothing you could do about it, nothing you wanted to do about it.

Her teeth nipped and bit at your skin that had been dampened by her tongue, but she made no efforts to mark you entirely. She wasn’t interested in wasting time on leaving hickeys that would fade in days, much rather devoting her efforts and energy into making you squirm beneath her with sensations that were intense, but not strong enough to cause real pleasure. Your clit throbbed in tune with her ministrations, your entrance pulse at the emptiness. It was only when you’d started to grow accustomed to the feeling of her tongue lapping at your neck did she move lower, plush lips wrapping around your nipple and creating a ruthless seal of suction. Your back arched into her, your fingers that had been fisting the comforter shot toward her back, and blunt nails that had been bitten down to numbs scratched mercilessly at her skin.

Wanda hummed in satisfaction at your reaction, her teeth tugging at your sensitive bud between her lips while her fingers worked on your other. She pulled teasingly, pinched evilly, and twisted when you just didn’t seem to be enjoying it as much as she wanted you to. Her goal was to have you screaming, crying out for a god that she didn’t believe to exist. There was no god in the master bedroom of the Maximoff residence, only a Sokovian lawyer consumed by nearly a year's worth of pent up lust and frustration. When she was satisfied that she had punished your right nipple enough for the time being, not wanting to cause you an exceeding amount of pain though there didn’t even seem to be a glimpse of it on your scrunched up and sweaty face, she moved her mouth to the left, and replaced what was lost by cruel fingers.

“I wonder how long it would take for you to cum from just this.” Wanda released your nipple with a pop, speaking softly into the silence that was only attempted to be filled by the low buzz of the vibrator between her legs and your moans of intense pleasure. “Mommy’ll have to test that one day.”

Unable to handle her teasing for another minute longer, you sobbed out in desperate need for something more, and the fingers that had successfully marked angry red lines into the once untouched skin of her back moved up to grab handfuls of her auburn hair. “Please. P-Please. Please. I need y-your mouth. I need– I need– Mommy, pozhaluysta!”

Wanda froze at the trace of Russian that fell from your lips in a desperate attempt to persuade her into folding before she was willing. She hated to admit that it worked, and that before you could even continue to beg for mercy, her lips were kissing a wet trail down your belly until they fell firmly around your clit. A broad stripe was licked across your core, wetness collected on the tip of her tongue that she swallowed down with a needy moan of her own. A single hand reached between her legs and increased the speed of the vibrator that had been set at a teasing pace since she’d first grabbed it in the closet.

“Okay baby. Okay. Let Mommy take care of you, no more teasing. We're all done with that.” She cooed, not giving you a single second to doubt her promise before her fingers were falling into your glistening folds just as easily as they had in the kitchen. You gasped at the initial stretch of two cold digits working you open, but her mouth distracted you when she took your clit between her teeth and tauntingly bit at your pleading bundle of nerves. The fingers coiled around strands of pin straight dyed hair pulled her closer, and your hips had adopted a mind of their own as you rocked against her face with a feverish need. Curses and moans tumbled past your lips in incoherent bundles, and just as she felt your walls clenching around her curled up fingers with the telltale indication of an approaching orgasm, the vibrator between her legs brought her to the same pace. “Hold it. Hold it for Mommy, baby.”

You shook your head, fingers pulling her head even closer. “I can’t! Can’t, Mommy! C-Can’t.” The movements of your hips had become jerky and unpredictable, but before you could hurt yourself or her, Wanda’s hand that wasn’t buried between your legs forced you still and compliant. “I-I’m gonna– Mommy!”

“Cum for me, malyshka. Make a mess all over Mommy’s face.” Wanda’s words of encouragement thrummed against your clit, and with permission to finally unravel beneath her hands, you let the coil burning in your lower belly snap with a blinding white rush of pleasure. Her fingers didn’t stop until you were trying to push them away, and even once they left her tongue remained. Your exhausted body writhed beneath the too intense to bare pleasure, and your whines of sensitivity mixed with hers. You were actively aware of how she was moaning against your core, her hot breath an additional sensation that was quick to make you overly stimulated despite how long you’d sought for this. Her hips grinded against the blankets between her thighs, but they came to a stuttering stop seconds after your own hips tensed and stilled on their own accord. Despite her own end of pleasure, fingers sticky with your arousal pulling the toy out from her own entrance, her tongue was relentless against yours. “Shhh, let Mommy clean you up.”

“Too much!” You cried out, going limp beneath her wandering hands, but she didn’t let up, and that coil had formed again quickly in combination with her double-downed efforts and your existing sensitivity. Wanda remained dutiful, and her tongue was undoubtedly skilled as she pulled yet another orgasm from you in a matter of minutes. This time, she did pull away, leaving a single soft kiss against your abused clit before the touch was completely gone.

“You did so good for me, moya lyubov’. Mommy’s so proud of you.” Wanda peppered your face with kisses, touching every inch of available skin with her lips drenched in cum. You giggled at the sensation, pushing her away when your cheeks began to ache from smiling so hard. She fell onto her side beside you in the bed, arms looping around your waist and pulling you into her chest firmly. Her fingers dug into your hips, keeping you flush against her front, and the words she let meet your ears had melted your heart in seconds. “My girl.”

“Mmm.” You sighed contently, snuggling into her with no intentions of moving away anytime soon. “Hi.” You looked up into her eyes, a drunken smile pulling the corners of your lips upward.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Wanda giggled, taking your face into her hands and pressing a sweet kiss to the crease between your eyebrows. “What’s that thinking face for?”

You shook your head, humming softly as you further melted into the soft bed beneath you. When her hands trailed away from where they cupped your cheeks, you took one of them between your own hands, spinning the rings adorning her fingers around her knuckles. “Not thinking. Just… happy.”

Wanda smiled, rubbing the pad of her thumb across the only expanse of your palm that she could reach with the way you were grasping her hand so possessively. “Yeah? I’m glad you’re happy, sweetheart. I’m happy too.”

“Your bed is comfy.” You grinned at her, bringing your fingers up to trace across her lips that had kissed every inch of your skin so intimately and passionately. You shrieked in laughter when she snapped her teeth at you, just barely catching the tip of your finger before you pulled it protectively into your chest.

“I never would’ve guessed you find my bed comfy, little one.” Wanda teased, because obviously she knew that you did. You weren’t subtle with the ways you all but threw yourself into it whenever you were given the chance. Her sage eyes trailed behind you when she saw the slightest shift of light beneath the closed door, a shadow unwilling to enter looming behind it. “Stop hovering and just come in, Natalia.” Wanda called out to her wife, though her eyes briefly flickered down to your face when your teeth found a place around her fingers in the handful of seconds that she had been distracted. Wanda only shook her head in amusement, overly fond of your new habit.

“Well if this isn’t my new favorite sight.” Natasha smirked her eyes trailing over both naked bodies in the center of her bed. Setting two bottles of chilled water down on her nightstand before she let her weight shift the bed, there was a silent conversation shared between the two lawyers with nothing more than eye contact and inclines of heads. Natasha’s hand brushed strands of hair away from your face that was practically smothered into Wanda’s naked chest, and she rolled her eyes adoringly when she found that you were chewing on her wife’s fingers like a puppy. “Still feeling kinda floaty, detka?” The Russian hummed, easing her body down against the headboard so that she didn’t have to remain kneeling beside you.

Unwillingly to let Wanda’s fingers fall from your mouth, you mumbled around them carefully, not wanting to accidentally hurt her and lose this new privilege. “No.”

“You wanna let Daddy put some more lotion on you then? It’s looking kinda red, moya lyubov’.” Natasha’s fingers tangled into the baby hairs at the nape of your neck, and she pulled at them tenderly the way she knows you like when you need a minute to decompress but don’t want to be alone. A quiet sigh slips past your lips, but it’s muffled by Wanda’s fingers before either one of them have the chance to hear it fully, though they’ve grown quite used to your muffled words and sounds seeing as half the strings on their hoodie are marked with indents of your teeth. The Sokovian teasingly wiggles the digits against your tongue, only to be met with you biting down on them in an attempt to get her to stop teasing you.

“No biting.” She reprimands, though the sharp sensation hadn’t hurt her. You amend the mistake with a well intended suckle, shuffling even closer to her chest until the swell of her breasts blocked out the impeding sunlight. “Come here, baby.” Wanda gently coaxed you fully on top of her body, your sensitive chests pressing together in a way that makes you whine. “You’re sensitive, I know. But, Daddy’s going to put some more lotion on your ass. We don’t want it to really start hurting.”

When Natasha first laid her hands on your ass, the cooling lotion significantly colder than you had been expecting had caused your entire body to stiffen. Your teeth nervously gnawed at Wanda’s fingers, your tongue flicking across the band of her engagement ring. Her soft assurances calmed you effectively, and with reassurances of it being just Natty that touched and her hands would warm up soon, you began to relax into the sensation.

When the Russian was done, she left a lingering kiss to the end of your spine, her lips trailing up the dip in your back until she pressed them against your shoulder blades. “Good girl.” Natasha praised you promisingly before she fell flush against the mattress and let herself sink in beside you and Wanda, her files forgotten about for the foreseeable future.

Ona vse yeshche daleko vnizu, da? — she's still pretty far down, huh?

Da, ty poydesh' za odnoy iz svoikh tolstovok? V obozrimom budushchem ya budu zapert zdes'. — yeah, will you go get one of your hoodies? i'll be trapped here for the foreseeable future.

pozhaluysta — please

#wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #dom!natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff fluff #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #dom!wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fluff #wandanat #wandanat x reader #dom!wandanat x reader #wandanat smut #wandanat fluff #series: you are in love #minors dni ৎ୭

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pricegouge · 3 months ago

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Thinking about them cumming in readers underwear and having her wear it around

I feel like Price would love the claiming aspect of it but I think Ghost or Gaz would just be annoyed the underwear is in the way of easy access

I feel like Johnny would enjoy huffing and licking them😌

-🫀

Never enough that they're gross, is it? They just gotta make doll a mess, too.

Cw: dubcon. Squirting. Gaz calls it piss so take that as you will. No ageplay here but the panties are cutesy and reader doesn't like it. Cum play/implied eating. Extremely light spit kink. Degradation. Praise, but not for reader. Cuckolding? Free use. Please lmk if I forgot anything this is way too long and way too nasty.

It's rare that Kyle initiates so you should've known he was up to something when he pulled you in close for a kiss. He's so good at it though that you forgot to be suspicious, just reveled in his soft lips and warm hands until he got your bottoms off, slid a finger under the scalloped edging of your panties. "These are cute," he said with a sly grin and you might've rolled your eyes, if you didn't know what it would earn you.

Cute was one word for them, you supposed. Borderline childish would be another. They're not egregious. Pale blue cotton briefs with white clouds dotting them. The trim is minimal, doesn't even scratch at your skin, thankfully, but it's the only thing about them that could possibly be construed as a concession to maturity. Still, you thank him for the compliment instead of telling him how they make you feel completely sexless. You move to take them off for him but his hand catches your wrist, uses his grip to turn you over onto all fours.

"Let's leave 'em on, luv," he hums and you bite back a sigh. At least in this position you don't really have to see them, you think, but he makes it hard to ignore their presence when he starts rubbing his leaky cock into the fabric of your gusset. "Fuck, that's hot," he groans, but doesn't take his time to enjoy it, slotting his cock under the hem so he can rub himself between your cheeks instead.

It's the noises he makes that get you wet more than anything, the soft huffs when his sensitive head catches on the edging and the tiny, shaky moans he lets loose every time you feel the warmth of his precum bloom across your skin. He can see it, no doubt - the pale fabric clinging to his cock as it begins to soak. He knows instinctively when you start to leak, long fingers wrapping around your hip to rub your pussy through the thin layer. The cotton feels different when it's coated with your juices - almost softer when he works it against your clit. He teases you about it, about how he doesn't even need to touch your pussy properly to get you soaked. You can't really argue with him so you don't, shame licking up your spine when he slots his cock into you unexpectedly - bottoming out in one slow thrust as he keeps working your clit with that rough scrape of fabric and you can't help it, your release soaking you both as it drips down your legs.

"Shit," Gaz growls, his cock pushed out of your cunt by how hard you try to squeeze him. He slots himself between your cheeks again, free hand laying flat over your ass to give himself something to thrust between. When he cums, he pulls back enough that you can feel it drip onto the rim of your hole, hot and slick where he works his tip against it. It catches once and you squirm away, prompting Kyle to crack you on the ass. It stings, the wet material of your panties doing nothing to help. You yelp, but remain obediently still for him as he winds himself down until he sighs, borderline affectionate.

You roll over when he climbs off you, eager to clean yourself up after the mess he's made but Kyle grabs your hands yet again and tuts at you. "Told you they're cute. Leave 'em on."

He takes some pity when you wrinkle your nose, kneeling before you to soak up most of the mess from your legs and tummy with the soiled blanket. You thank him prettily, hoping if you appease him he'll leave sooner and you can change out of your panties, but Gaz doesn't even seem to listen, pulling a big sharpie out of his pocket instead of acknowledging you.

"What're you -?"

The felt tip is surprisingly cool when it meets your skin. Gaz's handwriting is neat, making it easy for you to read as he scrawls the word 'cumdump' across your belly. You gape down at him, and the bastard has the audacity to wink as he etches a singular tally mark into your thigh.

"Gaz!" you shriek, testing your limits, but he just laughs, throwing your pants at you.

"You keep those on. And you keep this," he wags the marker at you, "in your pocket, yeah? Make sure everyone adds to your little collection."

You're shaking your head before you can even think it through and Gaz pinches the fat on the back of your thigh aggressively.

"You will, because I'm going to be checking throughout the day to make sure, and if you're not wearing them, or if they're not getting messier, I'm gonna make you lick them clean," he promises. "Dried, tacky cum, piss stains and all."

"That's not fair," you gripe, already pulling your pants on. "I can't control whether or not the others wanna fuck me."

"Well then I guess you better be sweet on 'em, hm?"

***

The panties are absurdly uncomfortable. With your pants on, the thick spend doesn't dry out as easily as you'd hoped it would and worse, the possibility that anyone could potentially smell your wet cunt makes your face heat - makes you drip like a faucet, honestly, but in the end, it's not the smell that does you in.

You hadn't considered the jeans Gaz had thrown at you for longer than it took to ascertain you (blessedly) wouldn't be wearing a skirt today. When you'd pulled them on, you'd felt nothing but relief for how well-covered you were, not wanting to wander the warehouse in something they could easily push aside because they often did, and if you weren't allowed to clean yourself up after, it would've been a complete nightmare. But in your short-lived elation, you'd failed to notice how pale the wash of the jeans was, how easily wet marks would show.

Simon notices before you do, stalking silently behind you as you move about the small kitchen making sandwiches. No warning, he grabs you by the seat of your pants, big hand worming its way between your thighs to rub thick fingers along the seam of your crotch. His voice is a low pur when he rumbles in your ear, "Need help with that, pet?"

It should shock you - would've even just a few months ago. You've grown used to them now, no longer surprised when they accost you like this. It's one of the few reasons you're allowed to handle butter knives now - because you don't spin around, brandishing it at him wildly.

"No thanks, almost done here," you tell him, calmly assembling the last sandwich. John's, to be eaten later when he was off the phone.

Simon just chuckles, a little mean. "Not what I meant."

This time, when he pushes his fingers against your seam, you can feel how wet it is against your own skin. You squawk, your first instinct to apologize for some reason. Simon shushes your stuttering with a kiss, his tongue hot and wet even through the material of his mask.

Simon doesn't usually like a show. Normally, he'll sequester you in a back room, or seek you out in your own when the others have all gone to bed. He changes his tune when his hands get a little too busy, tug your hem up just enough that he catches a glimpse of the ink that stains your skin. He frowns, backing up enough he can read Gaz's mark properly while you sit there and squirm.

You don't make it to a back room.

"Fuckin' slag," Simon hisses, shoving your jeans down your hips. His fingers find the band of your briefs, pull as if he intends to tear them.

"Wait!" you plead, fingers wrapping around his wrist as if you have any chance of stopping him. It does give him pause, though, more curious as to what could possibly be so important it made you forget your place. "Gaz said I had to leave those on."

The band snaps against your skin when Simon releases it, but he cocks his head at you, undecided. "And why the fuck do I care what Gaz wants?"

"Please, he said he'd make me lick them clean if I took them off."

Expression still thoughtful, Simon pulls at the band again until he can inspect the gusset, eyes glinting when he looks back up at you. "Not seeing a downside for me."

Shit. "I'll let you add to my tally." 'Let' is a strong word and you both know it, though Simon likely doesn't know Gaz expected you to have it added anyway.

"Not much of a cumdump," Simon points out, thumb brushing the single mark on your thigh.

You bat your eyes at him, overselling but desperate to appeal to his good side. You really don't want to clean these off. "Help me out then?"

He fucks your thighs. Stood up in the kitchen and squeezing him as best you can, you end up having to hold onto his burly biceps for dear life as he rocks you against his heavy cock, spilling into your panties without so much as a pinch to your clit.

***

You're back in your room when Gaz finds you. He pulls your pants off and inspects your underwear much like Simon had, grinning up at you when he says he's just checking. He spits in them before he lets you pull them back into place.

***

"Johnny, don't, Gaz said to keep them on." The worst thing about Soap was how little he listened. The best thing was that you were generally allowed to slap his hands away from you, so long as John or Simon didn't see. Johnny himself never seemed to mind too much, always bouncing back. Overeager.

"But she's so wet, bonnie. Can smell her. Need a taste."

You were, was the worst of it. Leaking like a sieve ever since Simon had left you wanting. It was why you'd retired to your gross little room, too embarrassed to be seen with such an obvious, growing wet spot on your crotch. Suddenly, it's hard to remember why letting Johnny lick you clean is a bad idea. "Well, maybe if you slide them to the side?"

You barely have time to register his movements, he's on you so fast.

The first pass of his tongue is so slick you almost don't feel it beyond the intense heat. Johnny moans, smacks his lips like a child enjoying a cookie, and then dives back in so enthusiastically you can't help but grip his hair, holding him in place as he immediately starts in on the messiest technique he can manage, pulling your slick from you with a cupped tongue just so he can rub his raw stubble against your sticky skin. He moans when you do, breath humid and hot against your skin. You hold your panties off to the side for him, the wetness there dragging against the crease of your hip. It's all so messy, but you can't help rocking your hips up to meet Johnny's tongue, groaning in frustration when he pulls away and -

"Nobody ever teach you how a cumdump works, boy?"

John. He's holding Soap up by the back of his shirt, as if the massive man was nothing more than a spitting kitten, his eyes heavy on the mess between your legs.

"Sir -."

"Supposed to add to it, Soap, not clean it up." A heavy palm guides Johnny to the floor, patting him affectionately when he settles on his knees, eyes darting nervously between you and the captain. "All that spit, just watering down Gaz's collection."

"Wasnae -."

"Quiet. You watch now, yeah? Show you how to treat a fucking whore."

You know better than to gripe about his words, so you don't. And you know better than to fight him when he snaps your panties back into place, so you let him. Johnny, however, doesn't know better than to whine when John's fingers find your clit, start rubbing the soaked fabric against your neglected nub much like Gaz had earlier. You bite your tongue, but Johnny doesn't - a sharp huff drawing John's attention away for just a moment.

"Don't wanna hear it, Soap."

"Sir, can ah -?"

"No."

This time Johnny's whine coincides with John's thumb dropping lower, dipping the fabric of your panties into your pussy experimentally. Your breath stutters, loud enough that John's eyes snap to your face. Cold, hard. Unsympathetic. He speaks to Johnny but he never looks away from you.

"Behave and I'll let you lick them clean after."

You perk up, the possibility of your punishment being taken from you by the captain - who Gaz could not reproach - making you just as eager to please as Soap himself was. Though you were a little better about hiding it than the man who thanked John repeatedly from his place on the floor.

"Thank ye, cap. Thank ye -."

"That's enough."

"Aye, sir."

Finally, John's focus returns to his actions, watching almost reverently as you soak the material even more. Quietly, as if he doesn't want Soap to hear, he rumbles at you about getting them good and wet and you nod, eager to let Johnny take your punishment.

And then he slaps your mound lightly, breaking the nearly intimate spell between you. "But we have to show the boy how to treat a slut like you, don't we? Which means you're gonna cum on my cock, or not at all."

You groan in frustration, laying back limply as John clutches the gusset of your panties and pulls them aside (hypocrite). He doesn't bother working you open, knows exactly what state you've been left in by the slick that squelches between his fingers where he fists your briefs. Still, John's big, and the stretch leaves you breathless enough you feel punched out, hollow when he gives you no time to adjust before drawing out again, slamming back into you even more brutally.

True to his word, John does not work to bring you pleasure. The way he fucks you is efficient at best, downright punishing at worst. Regardless, worked up as you are, you find your release when his knuckles graze your clit accidentally, and John laughs at you cruelly as you fall apart beneath him.

"Knew you were a fucking slag," he grunts, pulling out and fisting his cock until he paints your pussy, rocking against it a few times just to make you both twitch in overstimulation.

It takes you both a moment to realize the slick sounds don't stop when he does, and a quick glance at Johnny tells you why when you find him fucking his own fist, face twisted in pleasure as he eyes your soaked pussy.

"You waste that on the floor and I'll make you lick that up too," John growls, and suddenly you're being manhandled to the ground, spread open in front of Soap while John holds your legs open.

The chords of Soap's neck jump when he cums, pumping himself directly onto the front of your panties.

"Good boy, Soap. Just like that," John rumbles. Your gut twists, unexpectedly jealous. "See how much better it is when you don't worry about her pleasure?"

"Aye, sir," Johnny pants, looking dazed enough to agree with anything.

"That's right, cause she's just our little cumdump, isn't she?" He makes you jump when he slaps you pussy for emphasis before hooking his fingers under the band of your panties, sliding them down.

"Ready for your reward?"

#ran out of steam toward the end sorry #asks #haul #🫀 anon

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poppy-metal · 4 months ago

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the boys not men……. thinking….. having the most traumatic break up of your life and deciding you have to reconnect with nature so you go to stay with your relative who owns a ranch out in the country. art works there as a farmhand, your uncles right hand man. worked there since he was a boy, grew into a man. a real fine man with a long strong body accustomed to hard labour, made by it and for it. he don’t think nothing of you when you first come in. city girl, spoiled, precious. hair too nice, nails too pretty. he don’t think much of city girls. you’re pretty. very. but pretty won’t pay the bills, and he’s not risking his lively hood on you. you’re miserable. inconsolable. you thought your ex was the love of your life. you don’t speak to anyone for the first few days, your uncle just happy to have you around, so art only catches glimpses of you off the veranda, wrapped in a shawl, looking forlorn like a lady in the old black and white pictures they play at the drive in. each time you lock eyes you turn with a flourish and go inside, like you were always a figment of his imagination and you were never really there. just a pretty ghost. as the days go by your uncle introduces the two of you, telling art to show you the ropes of what he does. good to keep busy he says. art holds out his long hand for you to shake, and you take it gingerly, but his fingers grip your hand tight enough that you grip his back and really shake. an electric chill runs through you. over the next few days, art tries to teach you things but you periodically break down, over something in some convoluted way relating back to your ex. arts surprisingly good at comforting you, but that’s not what he really wants to do. he wants to show you that men, real men, don’t make girls like you cry. from sadness at least.

RAHHHHHHH need country art on his knees eating my cunt the way none of those city boys do - long laps to your pussy like he's truly enjoying himself down there and he is - broad shoulders holding your legs apart on either side of him - he makes you watch the way his lips seal around your pussy - can fit the whole thing in his mouth - lips and all - makes you leak into mouth an embarrassing amount, but he just sucks it down. languidly and lazy like he has all the time in the world to spend between your legs - eating you until you're all puffy and swollen and your little clit is damn near ready to fall off she's so sore from his tongue running circles over her again and again -

you think you're done when he's made you cum twice down his throat - when the tears staining your cheeks aren't from your dumb ex back home but from how good art donaldsons mouth is - but he tells you that's just the beginning, sweetheart. licks you off his lips like you're honey and kisses your tremblin' thigh.

"nowhere near done with you," is what he says, dragging your legs off his work bench, until your ass is hanging off the edge. forces you to wrap them around his trim waist as he reaches down to unbuckle his belt. the heat in his eyes enough to melt your body right to liquid. "got something else this little pussy needs." and you've never been impressed by a cock until you'd seen his. flushed and hard in his hand - pink tipped and swollen. you think he had it about right, you do need him - how is it that he knows what you need better than you ever could? is that what makes him a man?

regardless - you're biting your lip and watching him feed himself inside you - your tender cunt sensitive but greedy to pull him in - "just like that." he groans when the head slips in, slick and easy - "look at you take it - you ever wanted a dick this much?"

and you have to be honest. you haven't. and so you shake your head and he groans - and you whine when he rocks even deeper - sinks more inside. the spread of him so thick inside you. fuller than you've ever been before. makes your toes curl right up.

"and you won't again." art tells you. "cause whenever you need it, you come to me. understand?"

this pussy is his to take care of from now on, he says, and you can do nothing but nod and let widen your legs to allow him even deeper inside yourself - ready to give him whatever he wants of you, if it means he'll keep making you feel this fucking good.

#ask #frens <3 #art donaldson smut

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inkyquince · 2 months ago

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I think whats best about Briar is that they would pretend to be the perfect gentleman towards you. Charming and soft spoken and easy smiles and intelligent. Maybe a bit dominant, taking charge of certain things, like being the one to cook and holding the spoon for you to taste from etc. Being oh so respectful and sweet and good about you being a virgin and never pushing boundaries....

cw. SUPER dubcon throughout, boundaries ignored, reader is pushed more and more, briar being mean. Deep throating and over stimulation and hint at being forced into prostitution at the end. Briar is hinted to be possessive, if a bit yandere, with his thoughts about reader leaving him.

Then the second you're willing to give over all your virginities, that is all thrown out the window.

Maybe you quietly offer to give him a hand job, and little do you know that that's the day you loose everything.

He shows you how to grip his cock, by the base and then rub along the shaft. Squeezing the head, motioning for you to speed up, to (to your surprise) press against his slit with your nail, precum slipping free.

Within a few minutes he's talked you into giving him head. Just a taste, Briar says. Then he has his cock down your throat, your nose in his nicely trimmed pubes, Spit streaked across your lips and chin.

You hasn't planned on it, but it doesn't matter what you want now, his cockhead is hammering the back of your throat, while he murmurs that he's just teaching you to deep throat, you have to know what pleases men immediately.

His fingers slip down to grope your crotch. Either slipping into your underwear and pinching your clit, using his forefinger and middle finger to clamp the sides before using his thumb to rub it cruelly, not allowing you to wiggle away. Or your poor cock, freed from the confines of your trousers. The head gripped tightly and thumb nail pressed into the slit, just like he had just shown you how to do for him. Your balls squeezed in his palm, weighing them like you were a prize bull.

Then your poor hole. You hadn't planned to give him your virginity, but he's taking it. Spitting on your hole, you cock drunk from the way his was lodged in your throat and your most sensitive areas played with. You could whine and whisper for a break and he murmurs no, no, you're doing this for him now. Show him how good you are.

Your hole stretched out, and he doesn't pause. Briar pushes all the way in, making you take his cock to the hilt. Stuffed. Tight around him. Forcing you to ride him, pushing your limits each time.

"Ride from your knees, slut." He rasps, taking a break from biting at your chest and nipples. "Lean against me and ride. You're a natural."

If you think it won't go further, you're wrong. The first time you get oral in your life is 3 minutes after he's cum in your hole, ignoring your hiccups for a condom. He drags your body closer, and makes you sit on his face.

You'd thought your first time being sucked and licked would be gentle and sweet and letting you get used to it, but Briar wants you on his face. Clit ruthlessly sucked with two fingers buried in your ass already. Your poor rim licked and cleaned free of his own cum as he resumes jerking your cock, just before he forces your hips up so your cock falls against his face. He deep throats it no problem, gripping your ass to force you to fuck his mouth.

He leaves you quivering on your couch, a kiss to the neck and shoulder when he goes to get you a tea.

Briar likes doing this. Just in case you get it into your pretty head to leave him, so he can at least turn you into one of his workers, already used to the treatment you were going to get from his customers.

#briar the brothel owner #dol #nsft #quincewrites #degrees of lewdity

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 22 days ago

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Just One Reason: Happiest Time of Year

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

masterlist - to be added

Summary: A chance encounter at the sandwich shop doesn’t end how you expect.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You put the phone down. You don’t even have the energy to be disappointed, because you’re not surprised. You don’t have hope left to be let down. You blow out between your lips and hang your head, holding it as you rest your elbows on your legs.

Right. There’s nothing left. You can’t ever accept that but you also can’t change that. Yet what is really the twist of the knife is that you’re not getting your money back. It’s the beginning of December and you’re dirt poor. Literally. Everything you have is now in the ground.

Well, at least you don’t have any gifts to buy. You roll your eyes back before another deluge of tears can flow over. You throw yourself back against the couch and sigh.

“So, how did that go?” Lloyd gives you a start as his timbre slices through the tension.

“How everything’s been going,” you sit up, embarrassed, unsure of how long he’s been there. “So, not well, but nothing I can do but keep going forward. If that’s even possible.”

“Mm, I’m sorry, toots,” he hums.

You stand and shrug. “I think I’m just going to go be alone.”

He nods as he watches you curl around the couch and cross the room. He doesn’t move from the doorway, “shoot, I never seen you like. I never imagined you so down. I wish I could do something to cheer you up.”

“You’ve done enough,” you insist. “Really. I mean, if I can’t get out of here quick enough, there’s a shelter--”

“A shelter? No, no, you stay here as long as you need to,” he shows his palms. “Oh, wait, I got an idea. Something to distract you, huh?”

“I don’t know,” you drone.

“Tell me you’re not tired of wearing my handmedowns,” he tugs on the borrowed pullover and you shy away.

“Better than nothing,” you say.

“Right, well, I like that about you, tootsie roll. Easy to please, but you gotta start knowing your worth. You deserve better. So how about it, we can go for a shopping spree?”

You blink at him. “Lloyd, I can’t. I don’t--”

“Merry Christmas. Consider it my gift to you.”

“Christmas...”

“Nothing wrong with an early present,” he smirks. “Come on.”

“But... I can’t pay you back. I can’t even get you a gift.” You deflate, “without my laptop, I don’t even have a job.”

“Add that to the list,” he ticks the air with his finger. “Your gift to me will be coming with me. So, let’s go.”

You stare at him. You can’t say no. Not after everything. He’s all you have left and he’s so nice. That man you saw shouting in a sandwich shop turned out to be so much different than you expected. For once, a bad thing ended up better.

“Right, sure. Let’s go hit a Walmart,” you force a smile. It’s less than genuine. It hurts your cheeks and your heart. Your eyes sting.

“Walmart? Pfft, forget that noise,” he grabs onto your wrist and pulls you through the doorway. “Coat, boots, tie em up tight. We’re gonna be doing a lot of walking.”

❄️

You rub your hands together as you cross the lot towards the mall. As you near the doors, the glass reflects you. You see yourself next to Lloyd. You see how much you don’t belong, not just him, but there.

As always, his hair is perfect quaffed. Combed neatly with the sides trimmed close. And he wears a stylish coat, not a practical one. His leather boots give him little traction and he grabs your shoulder as he slips on a patch of ice.

“Woah, you okay?” You grab his elbow to steady him. You’re not much help.

“Good,” he snorts. “Got you to hold me up.”

You scoff, “whatever.”

“Almost got you,” he teases.

“Almost got me what?” You wonder.

“Smiling. For real this time,” he says. “I’ll get there.”

He reaches for the door and opens it for you. You thank him as you step through. It feels overly polite, especially for him. He follows you inside and the warmth trapped in the crowded mall hits you like as wall. Your shivering is quickly replaced with a sheen of sweat.

You remove your gloves, then your hat. The only things you have that are yours are your outerwear; only what you wore on that horrible night. You sniff and look around. The other shoppers gab and giggle and you just want to melt onto the floor with the thawed snow.

“Oh, first thing’s first, lattes,” Lloyd grabs your hand and drags you towards the open front of the cafe.

“Lloyd.”

“Look, they have a candy cane one. Gotta try it. Tis the season, right?”

“That’s nice, but really, it’s fine. We should just get what we need,” you say.

“We need lattes,” he insists as he stops in the queue.

“Alright,” you surrender. You’re not going to argue. You have no place to. He's doing something nice, you shouldn’t be such a dark cloud.

The cafe is as busy as the rest of the place. You’re not surprised. It’s that time of year. There’s jingling music, bright signs declaring outrageous sales, and tinsel all around.

Lloyd clucks, “jeez, sure taking their time.”

“It’s packed,” you say softly. “Gotta be patient, I guess.”

“Mm, guess you’re right.” He taps his toe and puts his hands on his hips.

You glance over at him as he stares over the heads of the girls in front of you. They narrow as he watches the barista chatter to a coworker as she refills the whipped cream dispenser. He sighs. For a moment, you see the man you first met in that shop, yelling about a wrap.

“Would be fast if they stopped yapping,” he mutters under his breath.

“Lloyd,” you chide gently, “if it’s too much of a wait, we can skip it.”

“No, I want a latte. You need a latte. You deserve one,” he snips. “You should be spoiled, tootsie. You’ve lost so much, you should get one thing you want.”

It hits you like a slap. ‘Lost so much...’ If only he knew how much. Like really knew how much it hurts. You lower your chin and shudder out a breath. You’re dizzy from all the people and the noise and the smell of cinnamon.

“Hey, uh, do you mind if I sit down?” You ask breathily.

“Yeah, that’s fine, but... are you okay?” His forehead lines with concern.

“It’s... yeah, just realise I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“No? I told you to help yourself.” He arches a brow.

“Yeah, I just forgot. Lot on my mind,” you nod and look away. “I see a table in the corner. I just need to rest my legs.”

“Sure, sweetie,” he reaches and runs his hand down your arm, a gesture that surprises you.

You watch his touch fall past your sleeve and you cautiously back away. He turns his attention back to the counter and his throat bobs as he moves forward with the line. You retreat and claim the small table in the corner.

It isn’t just the crowd or the music or the cheer, it’s that he’s not there. Your dad isn’t there. You might not be alone and you owe Lloyd that but you are in agony. You just want him back.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #series #drabble #just one reason #the gray man

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joannasteez · 7 months ago

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strong!

pairing: roman reigns x black reader warning: explicit sexual content after the "read more". degradation and pain kinks! talks of roman losing the undisputed title (a sore spot for some of you lol) authors: fic based on this post. nothing else really. give it a like, a reblog and a comment. let me know what you think! word count: 1300 tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @thesamoanqueen @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @spritelucozade (others who have been asked to be tagged, your tag wasn’t popping up. not sure why)

the shameless scent of iron bothers him. blood about his nose. smearing through the delicate trim of his mustache. the cultivation of such a great mountain of hubris, shattered. undone and red, dripping easy to taint his tongue.

the roar of the crowd deafens his ears. his skin slippery from sweat and his muscles tight with pain from the labor of a great defending and the cold. he lays there, pinned and defeated. a rapturous celebration about him, bright and lively but not for him. his stomach twisting sickly.

the walk is long and silent. his ears ringing and split with an inward disdain. you sit comfortably in his dressing room. a disinterest in your eyes that sinks his heart. and all the words that refuse to pass through such pretty lips speak sharply to him still, through distinctive cuts about his face and taut reddened skin. an examination of him filled with pity. roman's stomach flips again, disturbed. he shuffles to a chair. breathy and his body loosely plopping against the seat. wallowing. you won't speak and he's wallowing. he feels bile in his throat. his eyes squeezing. an unceremonious rise before it falls back to the pit of his stomach.

a tissue paper tears. wet and dabbing at where he bleeds. your eyes falling over him as you stand between the wide stretch of his legs.

"you're bleeding...", you state. fingers curling in viciously to hold his jaw still, a harsh maneuvering that forces his eyes to meet you. softly dabbing stains of blood caked in his mustache still. the contrast making him weary. lightheaded. "...and without a title. what do you have to say for yourself?"

a ball forms in his throat. feverish heat over his skin. a stabbing pain behind the eyes that makes him bristle silently. of all the times to be so recklessly emotional. why now? why here? under such a thick blanket of silence and the scrutiny of your gaze. he was strong. he's still strong! so why does this feel like a great diminishing. a breaking from which he can not return whole again. your grip growing tighter. nails warring against the tenderness of overly worked skin. a stinging behind the thickness of his beard. water pooling steadily in his eyes.

small and defeated. barely registrable. "i'm sorry".

you near. perfume sweetening the iron scent in his nose. your breath warm over him. "speak. clearly".

"im sorry", roman chokes. the syllables awkward and new off his tongue.

a mirthless smile takes your lips. forming more and more disgusted by the second. "are you crying?", words like nails screwing into him. feeling worser than simple little drips of blood. "if you're gonna lose, at least do it well".

you discard the tissue. stalk back to him with less venom in your eyes. taking his face to hold in your hands. the warmth in your palms uncomfortable. a cross examination done by the slipping over of your stare. an appraisal. your thumbs running over the freckled apple of his cheeks to assess. not to dote. like the inspection of a beaten trophy, to gauge how much he'd fallen into lack luster. your knee slips in to rest between the thick stretch of his thighs, pressing firm into the unsoftened way of his crotch. a slim sort of panic undulating over his skin. remembering the pierce in of your nails. the stinging it brought his skin. he much prefer that than you holding him with such fragility.

he was strong. he is strong! he can bare the pain. he was made to last.

"my pitiful little loser", you tease. kissing along his face. a trail from his forehead down till you rest soft lips at the corner of his mouth. never giving him the satisfaction. giggling in his ear.

the tips of his ears grow warm. probably red. "don't say that", he breaks. voice horse and tired. groaning as you take his face to grip again. the feed in of it into his skin tightening the space in his tactical cargo pants.

"why?", fingers combing through wild hair to rough backwards. leaning over him. knee roughed into the ache of his dick. the spinning chair singing with a short creak as the back of it bends to take the weight of both your bodies. "that's what you are no? or are my eyes and ears mistaken? is your name cody rhodes?"

soft pretty lips around another mans name. his chest tight. his breath heavy. panicked and vexed and excited. "don't say his-"

your knee presses in. forcing a grunt from his chest. your eyelashes fanning beautiful as your lips twist scornfully. "you don't have ground to stand on..", the seam of your lips faint over his. "...to tell me who i can and can't evoke. four years of good work", the displeasure rife on your tongue. "great work, gone because of some petulant playground bullshit revenge. are you happy with yourself at least?"

roman feels high. like he can barely breathe. stomach coiling steady with a burning sort of ache. hands tingling with need. resigned to touching the handles of the chair instead.

"no", he gives. a whisper.

your brows pull. disbelief. your body standing straighter, your knee still pressed into him. his hips canting with ill-control. desperate for friction. "no?", your hand mushing his head. "no?!", sharper. angrier. "you did all that shit with a steal chair and you're not even happy? real shameful shit".

roman's naked chest rises and falls. heavy breaths and pleading eyes. his pants too tight now for comfort. stomach twisting about horribly. his cock throbbing in his pants.

your fingers slip delicate over his zipper. a slow release of it along with the buttons. the warmth in your hand gracious as you reach and fondle your way in his underwear. seeking the hard heat of him with your knee still pressed into his balls. his eyes dim and weary. "maybe the top of the mountain was too high for you", you give. an easy go of words at the corner of his mouth. a slight tremble in him as he spits over your hand, feeling you work him thoroughly with a sweet twisting in your wrist. "maybe winning for so long was too much", voice pitying. babied and teasing. like he was small and unfit. "you rather suffer without a crown, than bare the weight".

a string of spit from your lips to the reddened tip of his cock makes a greater mess of him. the grip in your palm tighter by the second. warm and unrelenting. the base of his core nearly undone.

"its easier being a coward than enduring".

his head shakes. he was strong. he is strong! perfectly made to endure. "i held it for four years".

you laugh. he moans. his jaw lax and his muscles burning. "and now you're a loser", your thumb circling sweetly at his tip. his hips awkwardly rocking into the press of your knee. "the people saw you bleed. they saw you fail. main event status revoked".

his fingers grow more weary. for the title. for a microphone to plead his case. for the supple touch of your skin. anything but the cold metal of this chair.

"need to touch you". he pleads. desperate. nearly undone.

"you don't deserve it", you clip. nearly kissing him. he can feel it. the hesitation of your lips. full and soft. hovering over dangerously. "be happy i'm giving you this".

"please".

his spine throbs hard. a harsh rut in his hips as you stroke him tight.

"you gonna finish? or is that gonna be a dud too".

and the relief is sweet. an unloading of his shoulders. bursting and full of heat as he comes against your hand. "go ahead", you relent. and his arms work swiftly. embracing your body as his damp face falls into your belly. lightly trembling. groans tumbling off his lips.

he was strong. 1300 plus days. he is strong! made to last.

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns fic #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns imagine #roman reigns smut #joannasteez

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mystardustmelodyyy · 15 days ago

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@remotewatch HQ’s Election Countdown Day 6: Law Students

Hand to god, it began purely as an academic partnership. Splitting note-taking responsibilities and checking each other’s work, that sort of thing. Sure, Jack was absurdly pretty, but the addictive spike in positive instructor feedback after you’d been reviewing each other’s writing for a bit had much more to do with it. When you started fucking after your study sessions, then before, then doing as much as you could before the ten minute break timer went off between subject blocs, it was pretty easy to justify. Literally getting fucked to sleep six nights a week made it nigh impossible to stay up worrying about what concepts would screw you over on an exam. The more time you spent letting Jack’s tongue lave over you and the longer you let him say he needed to coax you on his fingers before stretching you out over his dick like taffy, the more you struggled to worry about much of anything.

If you had to put a date on it, Halloween was around when you realized a change was going to be necessary.

The whole night had actually been going swimmingly: an Anything But Human dress code for your friends’ potluck was by far the least contrived of the season, and you’d started designing your honeybee costume the second you got wind of it. At your request that he please select a corporeal, non political costume for one party, Jack grabbed some wire, pliers, and black yarn from your craft basket and whipped up a cat ear headband to match the first all black outfit his eyes landed on before he’d headed over.

You, on the other hand, spent the last hour leading up to the party thoroughly saturating two powder puffs in gold spray glitter for your behind the knee curbiculae, leaving him to meticulously glue gold rhinestone smatterings to the black velvet of your dress and taking care to push his head back whenever it dipped too close to the fresh E6000.

Things only started to go south when you had to bend down to draw on Jack’s whiskers with your eyeliner. His patience lasted almost long enough for you to reapply your lipstick and kiss the tip of his nose pink before one finger was curling under your swooping low, gold marabou-trimmed neckline.

“I’m glad I didn’t let you talk me into going commando with a catsuit-“ he murmured, nuzzling his nose over your chest “it would be a real problem when you look this good.”

Soon enough, your legs were hooked securely over his shoulders and any lingering stressors were steadily eroded away with each full-weighted, eyelid-fluttering thrust of Jack’s hips.

When you eventually get out the door, it’s already sunset, and the fading daylight reveals comically dense patches of your pollen glitter reaching from Jack’s shoulders clear down to his navel. That good for nothing spray adhesive hadn’t held shit in place; you’d be amazed to discover any sparkle left behind your knees the way he’s bathed in it.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about! We look like a couple of perverts, and we’re late!” you frantically swat at his chest trying to clear some of the glitter, only working it deeper into the weave of his sweater.

“We’ll fit right in!”

“No, I’m serious! We really need to set some ground rules or something because this is getting ridiculous.”

✨✨✨✨✨

I’m sure you’ve all seen these by now 🤭. I know we talk a lot of the Harris Walz campaign specifically but Jack makes a good point- there are so many other candidates and propositions on your ballot that are just as important. For example, it is vital for us to secure as many GOP seats as possible. Vote.org has a great feature where you can enter your information and get a preview of your ballot to prep for when you vote for real.

Stay informed and stay mobilized, my beautiful heauxs! 👏🏽🩵💋

#jack schlossberg x reader #election countdown #their cohort is lowkey clutching their pearls #jack schlossberg

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toxicanonymity · 2 years ago

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Silence can never be bought, only rented.

pt. 2 of 6, 2.5k | dbf!Joel x fem!reader | 18+

picks up after Pt 1 . Story Master List

Joel Miller List

“You’re right, it’s gettin’ hot." he starts unbuckling his belt and your heart skips a beat. As he pulls his tight jeans down over his bulge, his boxers start to come with them, revealing a small, circular scar, then a sliver of neatly trimmed salt and pepper hair. The glimpse makes your knees weak.

Thank you @dark-scape for the mini mood boards!

Warnings/notes: no-outbreak AU. Reader confident in string bikini, there may be more to joel than meets the eye. Legal age gap. Masturbation. cumshot. Kinda dom reader. i don't know all triggers, not used to detailed warnings in my usual fandoms sorry

NEXT: PART 3

Catch up on Part 1

-----

It's June in Texas. You packed your swimsuit this weekend. You don't know why Joel would wear a jacket in this weather anyway. Hopefully he doesn't fuck your stepmother while he's breaking it off. In the big scheme of things, one more time wouldn't make much of a difference. It's more about the fact that he's your property now.

Back at your friend's place, you plug in your phone across the room while you settle in to watch another movie. Her new sound system is badass, so you don't hear it when your phone rings, but she does.

She’s a lot closer to it than you are, so you tell her she can send it to voicemail. She leans over and looks at the screen.

“Joel." Her eyes widen. "DILF Joel??”

You scrunch your face up. “Gross, he's like 50.”

“Okay, what does non-DILF Joel want?” She rightfully uses finger quotes around "non." In the back of your mind, you always knew Joel was hot. It turns out, you had no idea.

You sigh, “Probably just checking on me while my Dad is away.” You're tempted to tell her–at least the part where Joel is fucking your stepmother–but for now, you don't. You enjoy being the only one who knows and could ruin both of them.

“So why not answer?”

“Guess I just don’t feel like talking.”

She looks at you sympathetically. She knows why you came home this weekend. You needed a change of scenery after things got messy with a guy you were seeing. “I get it,” she says. “But I promise you’re gonna be over him before you know it. Then on to the next,” she smiles.

If only it were that easy. You really don’t feel like going back and facing life. Technically Chad is right, you never defined your relationship or agreed to be exclusive. But you spent so much time together, and he said he loved you. You know he’s a chode and not at all worth your tears. You just hate feeling so powerless. On the plus side, you've barely thought about Chad at all since the moment you first saw Joel's truck this weekend.

Your phone dings. Your friend looks at it.

“Who leaves voicemail?” she asks. It dings again and her face gets serious. "Oh, shit. You should really call him. He said Trouble."

"That's just what he calls me." You suppress a smirk at the nominal determinism.

"Oh, yeah. Ugh. I hate that I'm gonna miss the HOG barbecue this year. "

HOG. . . Hot Old Guy. She really tickles herself pink with that. Your dad and Joel cook out at Joel's pool every independence day with a couple of other friends, and you normally bring her.

Your phone dings again. She looks at the screen and side-eyes it.

"What?" You ask

"You should block Chad."

You feel a rush of satisfaction followed by shame as you eagerly go over and look at the phone.

Chad: miss u already.

In a way, it’s the best possible message, but seeing the dumb way he writes, your shame is replaced by anger.

"God what an asshole," you fume. You don't respond.

You finish watching the movie, and eventually start catching up on Joel's texts. Come out and talk to me for one minute. A pit forms in your stomach. He was here? Are you that predictable?

When it's time to leave and you get to your car, there's a note. It's the same one you left on Joel's truck, the one that said You're sick. There's a response scrawled under your writing:

You have no idea.

Your heart races as you look around the street. How dare he? And why are your cheeks burning?

You start driving back to your apartment. It’s well under two hours away, it's still afternoon, and you don’t know what you'll do with the day when you get back. Laundry, you guess. You can hardly bear the thought of being back there alone with your thoughts.

Instead of 35 South to San Antonio, you find yourself on Joel's street. Joel is a successful contractor and has a nice house. Comically high-security, too. Today, the gate is already disarmed, so you don't have to put in the code or talk to him. You park in his big wraparound driveway, grab your bag, and head around back. The pool gate is disarmed, too. You enter the code to the pool house door.

When you walk in, the air conditioning blasts on and it's freezing. Kind of obnoxious in a state with a power grid crisis. You throw your stuff down on the big couch, not bothering to go any further. You strip down to your underwear, ass facing the window. Then you put your swimsuit cover-up over your underwear. Feigning modesty, you take your underwear out from under the cover-up and replace it with your two-piece.

When you come out, Joel is sitting in a zero gravity lounge chair across the pool in front of the big glass windows of his house. When you see him, your heart skips a beat, even though it’s no surprise. It’s like when you’ve been thinking about someone so much they practically become a celebrity in your mind, even if they don’t deserve it.

You bring your bag out to the deck and sit across the pool from him. He’s wearing the same tight, blue t-shirt and jeans. Now he has on Ray Bans and flip flops instead of boots.

You slather your sunscreen on as he watches. He doesn't bother pretending not to watch. You slip your hands inside the cups of your bikini top, lotioning up your breasts. He adjusts himself, which sends a tingling rush to your core.

Once your sunscreen is dry, you wade into the pool. You walk around aimlessly, then swim over to his side, keeping your head above water. When you get to the edge, you rest your forearms on the deck, then put your head down on the crook of your arm and float your legs behind you.

“Come to give me my jacket?” he asks.

“I don’t know how you’re wearing jeans, much less a jacket." You lift your head to look at him.

“You’re right, it’s gettin’ hot." he starts unbuckling his belt and your heart skips a beat.

He stands up, and as he's pulling his tight jeans down over his bulge, his boxers start to come with them, revealing a small, circular scar, then a sliver of neatly trimmed salt and pepper hair. The glimpse makes your knees weak. He pulls the elastic waistband up and leaves the boxers on. He sits down again and crosses his ankles.

You ask, “How’d it go?”

“Oh, about how you’d expect.”

“How long were you fucking her?”

“Does it matter?”

“You’re gonna tell me everything I ask.”

“Few months. Look, Trouble, I’m human at best. She came onto me.”

“Knew you’d say that.”

“What if I could prove it?”

You don’t say anything. He takes out his phone and scrolls for a while, then brings it to the edge of the pool. You watch his heavy quads quake with each step but avert your eyes while he bends his knees. You have no interest in seeing his balls or anyone else’s. His boxers tighten around his muscular thighs as he sits down and lowers his feet into the pool right next to you.

“There,” he says, handing you his phone. You can barely see in the sunlight and don’t really care who initiated it anyway.

“Why don’t you just get a girlfriend?” you ask.

“You wanna set me up?” he smiles. “Got any single friends?”

“Why don’t you ask Sarah? She’s older than me.”

He grabs his chest like you shot him. Sweat is blotching his softwash t-shirt already.

You hand his phone back.

"There's one inside for you," he says. "It's on the counter." He gestures through the window.

"One what?"

"iPhone pro. Since you can't seem to answer whatever piece of crap you're using."

"What do I need an iphone pro for?"

"They didn't have the regular one in blue."

Your favorite color is a nice touch, but an iPhone isn't going to make this all go away.

"How’s it goin’ with what’s his name?”

“Chad? It’s not.” You hate him for bringing up Chad. You harden your face, but it isn't convincing.

Joel nods regretfully and there's a long moment of silence.

“You’re better than him, Trouble."

You don't say anything.

"Shit, you can have any guy you want.”

You can't see his eyes behind his shades, but something in his voice tells you how hungrily he's looking at you.

You still don't say anything.

Joel stretches his leg and the top of his foot grazes your quad, then your inner thigh. All your blood rushes to your loins. You don't move. He strokes your other inner thigh with the arch of his foot, getting a little higher with each pass. A tent forms in his boxers and he adjusts himself again.

“See what you do to guys?” The top of his foot brushes your crotch and you throb. When he tries to slip a toe inside the fabric, you float out of reach.

“You’re not a guy, you're a grown man.”

"Exactly. And he's just a guy."

"A grown man and a pervert." A wave of anger hits you when you remember your stepmother. "And apparently you'll fuck anything."

If he's still listening, he ignores it.

“God damn. Look at you.” He shamelessly palms himself over his boxers and suddenly his body is the only thing on your mind again: The way his naked ass flexed while he looked at you. The length of his cock slamming into her when he came. And now it's right there for your taking. Your core churns needily, slickening itself for what it desperately wants. Too bad he doesn't deserve it.

“Yeah. . . ” Your hands slowly reach behind your back to unfasten your top as you sink down into the water. "Look at me," you echo as you take the halter over your head.

You lie back with your nipples above the water line, lazily floating and barely pushing yourself around in the water, watching him watch you.

He takes a deep breath and his lips part. He digs the heel of his palm into his boxers. You grip the deck with one hand. You hover just far away enough that he can't touch you. He picks up his phone, swipes it, puts it down. He exhales through pursed lips and adjusts himself again.

"Take it out," you tell him, then lean back, jutting your tits into the air again.

"Yes ma'am," he growls.

He reaches into his boxers and holds his hard cock with the tip pointed toward you.

"The whole thing." You nod at it.

He pulls the fabric back.

"Now take your hands away."

"God almighty," he groans as he complies. He sits back with his hands on the pool deck.

Big mistake if your goal is to stay in control. This is going to take more restraint than you thought.

"Take off your sunglasses," you demand.

The sky is getting cloudy enough. He complies.

It’s the only cock you’ve ever seen that actually makes you salivate. Thick, slightly tapered, circumcised, prominent tip. Salt and pepper peeking out from the fabric and creeping up the base. You recall for the hundredth time how he felt pressed up against you by your car the night before.

Your nipples harden and his cock bounces on its own. He inhales deeply through his nose, his chest stretching his sweaty t-shirt. You wet your lips and he exhales loudly. You approach his knees and rest your hands on his thighs, letting your nipples graze his shins. His phone buzzes and he ignores it.

A bead of precum grows at the head of his cock. He clenches his jaw.

“Go ahead,” you tell him as you back away. He gathers the precum with his thumb and begins to stroke himself slowly. He’s proportional - His massive hand is a good fit.

“I’m gonna put this back on in two minutes,” you tell him, dangling your swimsuit top in your hand.

He shakes his head slowly. “Yeah, you would.”

He looks down at himself then back up at you. His eyes darken. The vein on his hand makes you weak - his big, masculine hand wrapped around his thick cock. . .

His breath becomes ragged, his eyelids get heavy.

You disappear below the water, and when you resurface, you come to the edge of the pool between his legs. You plant your hands just above his knees and inhale his musk from several inches away as you watch.

“Thirsty?” he breathes.

“Hell no. Just wanna see what a sicko's cum looks like.”

He smirks, then it fades. The dark, hungry look on his face makes you breathe heavier, throb harder, and twitch.

His ass clenches and he points the tip directly at your neck, then he groans as a hot, white rope meets your collarbone and the halter tie. A few more ropes gurgle into his fist.

“Gross,” you say. But you ache for him so badly. “You know, a gentleman always asks.”

“I'm a sicko, remember?" He dips his hand in the pool, shakes it around, then wipes his hands on his boxers and puts his dick away. "Give me a minute."

You dip your head under the halter tie of your bikini top to put it back on, but you let it float, not covering your breasts. He pushes himself up and grabs his phone. He looks at it and says under his breath, "gotcha, pendejo.” Then tells you, "I've gotta make a call." He pulls on his jeans but leaves them unbuckled. Somehow, that’s even hotter than his pantsless look, but you’re miffed that he got dressed so quickly.

You would've made him take off his shirt, but you love the way it stretches with every move he makes. Half of it is dark with sweat now. His back is a sight to behold as he walks over to the watertight, faux wicker box with the dry towels. You squeeze your thighs together and clench around nothing.

He pulls out two perfectly folded towels and you wonder out loud, "Are you fucking your maid, too?"

"Not this one," he says matter of factly. He drops a towel on the deck near you, then goes into the house.

He stands in his large window, spreads his feet as he does something on his phone, then looks at you as a water jet blasts into your thigh right at crotch level.

How devious of him.

You shift your hips slightly, just like he knew you would, and try to manage your best poker face as you let the jetstream carry you over the edge. You close your eyes before they roll back in your head. Your core implodes and your whole body pulses as a much-needed orgasm is wrenched out of you. Your mouth falls slack and you open your eyes in time to see him watching you with his phone to his ear. He smirks as the jetstream fades, then walks away.

You lay your head in the crook of your arm and let your bikini float near your breasts as you recover, with the occasional aftershock. Then, you hear his truck start up and drive away. Asshole.

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tojigasm · 5 months ago

Note

I just wanted to do more on the trimming butcher's beard cause it's so cute and fluffy and amazing. So like. Here's a lil story for youuuuu

It was easy to forget how quickly his beard grew in. At least it was until he stopped trimming it back. Growing uneven and scraggly. Leaving an ungodly amount of beard burn on your chin, neck, and even your thighs.

You had had enough. Buying cream to soothe the aching burn he left after each heated make out session was getting to be expensive enough you considered cutting him off.

So here you were, sat neatly in his lap, thighs bracketing his hips as he sat on the closed toilet lid. A straight razor to clean up the edges that had crawled up his cheeks. Anytime you pulled away to wipe off the hairs from the blade he playfully nipped at your fingers holding the skin taught.

"So good to me doll, cleaning me up" he said, chapped lips pressing a kiss to the small bite he had made. Holding perfectly still as you moved to the other side.

"It's more for my own health than your cleaner look," you muttered, always careful as you set aside the blade. The loud buzzing fills your ears and the vibrations from the trimmer, making your fingers numb after a second. After making sure for the third time you were using the right guard, you started on the coarse stragglers.

"It's not that bad," he said through gritted teeth, trying not to move too much. Still as a statue aside from the lazy rubbing and massaging of his hands along your ass and thighs. Almost kneading like a cat as he let you clean him up.

Maybe ten minutes later of careful cleaning up did you get off his lap, letting him look in the mirror. Grunting in approval as he brushing his fingers through it a few times.

"Looks wonderful, angel." he said, giving you a chaste kiss before leaving you to clean up the bathroom. Bastard.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

#billy butcher #billy butcher x reader #the boys #the boys tv

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21wanderer · 7 months ago

Text

Seen after class

It was Friday at 15:40, end of the day – the students poured from the room into the hallways, passing by Jamie, the captain of the swimming team, who waited patiently outside.

“Hey Jamie!” “Wassup Jamie?” some of the students shouted as they passed by him, already out of earshot before Jamie could answer. He just stood and smiled, waiting for the classroom to be completely empty.

“Hello Jamie”, Mr. Larson replied, “please come in,” he gesticulated as Jamie entered the now-empty classroom.

As soon as Jamie slammed the door shut behind him, he quickly, but quietly locked the door.

“Hi Larson”, Jamie said softly with a smirk, Larson reciprocated the look. The student and professor leaned in on each other, then their lips met in a kiss. Their romance intensified, they embraced and held each other tightly, their puffer jackets creaking loudly, as they ran their hands all over each other.

Still with their arms wrapped around each other, Jamie looked insatiably into the professor’s eyes and asked: “Are you ready for our trip?”

“Absolutely,” Larson answered playfully, “the car is packed and waiting.”

”Say… before we go… Do you wanna swap?” Jamie asked with a grin, placing his hand on Larson’s stubble.

”Swap?” Larson repeated and after a moment of thought he continued, “sure.” He reached for the door making sure it was completely locked, before he unzipped the puffer jacket, he’d just put on.

Jamie did the same. They then took off their shirts, trying their best not to get carried away, as they both showcased their tight and trimmed torsos.

---

Harry had always fantasized about dating Jamie, the captain of the swimming team, whereas his boyfriend David had always found the slightly more mature Mr. Larson very attractive. And when the two had discovered a way to become someone else, they leapt at it, deciding it would be satisfying to become the people, who their partner desired the most… at least desired on a physical level.

Harry had slithered into Larson to fulfil David’s desire, and David had slithered into Jamie to fulfil his. They had taken over their lives, but had adapted to their new identities, finding it oddly easy to step into the roles of professor and elite athlete respectively. To them it was little more than a theatrical performance, but they enjoyed every bit of it.

---

Their skins stretched and contorted in unnatural ways until their upper bodies had completed separated from what was hiding beneath.

With an almost unreal *schlorp* the skins of the two men came off. Harry and David, while soaked in sweat, smiled to each other, it seemed like an eternity since, they had actually seen their true selves.

The two nobodies exchanged the lifeless torsos of Jamie and Mr. Larson, then began pulling on their new identities, pushing their heads up through the necks and forcing their arms into the vacant skins’.

Once settled with their new torsos, all the features in place. Harry ran a finger up Jamie’s muscular arm and up his neck to his face, which he now was all in possession of.

”Nice,” he said with Jamie’s voice, “very nice.”

There was definitely something thrilling about being the guy you wanted to date, rather than having someone else be him. It was obvious that David was in agreement, caressing Larson’s more mature body.

”Wanna swap bottoms too?” the new Jamie asked.

”Nah, that can wait,” said the new Larson, who were pulling on his shirt again. “Besides… isn’t it an arousing thought to be… you know… by yourself, so to speak?”

Jamie grinned, his lower half was still Mr. Larson’s, so he definitely got what David/Larson was thinking of.

“Alright then, but we’ll have to get to that, once we get to the hotel,” the new Jamie said as he pulled on Jamie’s t-shirt and jacket, zipping it up.

“See you out front in 5 minutes,” the new Jamie said with a wink and left the room.

Walking through the hallways was definitely different being a star athlete, compared to being a professor, the other jocks waving and shouting at him, passing him hi-fives and compliments as he made his way to the parking lot, where ‘Mr. Larson’ would pick him up for an unforgettable weekend. And as he walked, he began to wonder… Would people notice, that he was wearing Larson’s jeans?

#male body transformation #male transformation #male bodysuit #male body suit #male skinsuit #body suit tf #male body swap #bodysuit #body swap #body switch #clothes swap #male masking #mask transformation

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writeforfandoms · 1 year ago

Text

Born for Greatness 5

Find the series masterlist

In which Logan makes his grand entrance (and there is a lot less bloodshed than most of you seem prepped for). Some discussions are had.

Side note: JTF2 is a Canadian special forces unit. Also, I’m thinking of writing a side chapter that is just Logan and the 141 pack. Thoughts?

Warnings: Swearing, Logan is a jerk, Price needs a warning label, world building, shifter behavior, pack cuddles.

Word count: 2.2k

Eventual John Price x f!reader

The plane landed back in England and you leaned back a bit, watching the pack. Soap was glued to one side of you, Gaz napping on your other side. Price was watching all three of you, something undeniably soft in his gaze.

You hadn't forgotten about Logan, but you hadn't expected him to find you so bloody fast.

You got to put your things down in your room, at least, before Price was knocking on your door, expression thunderous.

"Who did you tell about this base?" He asked in a low snarl.

"No one," you snapped, frowning. "Signed too damn many NDAs to tell anyone."

"Then why do you have a visitor at the gate?"

You froze. "Oh hell," you breathed. "That bastard!" You stepped around Price and took off towards the gate, barely paying attention as the pack all gathered behind you.

Sure enough, Logan stood on the other side of the gate, smirking, all 5’6” of him in jeans and a flannel, duffel bag dropped at his side. But his hair was a little shorter than the last time you’d seen him, and his beard was nicely trimmed.

“I told you not to come,” you growled, ignoring the gate guard and striding straight up to Logan.

“Good to see you too, kid.” His smirk widened as he looked past you. “That them?”

You finally turned to find the pack had followed you and had settled into a loose cluster behind you. You hissed out a breath.

“It doesn’t matter because you are going home.”

“Aw, but I came all the way out here just for you, kid.” Logan’s grin reached shit-eating proportions.

“You are not supposed to be here,” you growled, narrowing your eyes at Logan. “And I don’t just mean because I told you not to.”

“Been here once before.” Logan shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “Seen him before, too.” He nodded to Ghost. When you turned to look, Ghost returned the nod.

“...What?” You felt like he’d pulled a rug from under you.

“Few years back,” Logan said, tipping his head as he looked up at the bigger shifter. “You lot needed help finding someone.”

“Right.” Ghost huffed what might have been a laugh. “Good to see you again.”

“When was this?” You frowned a little as you looked at Logan.

“You were down south,” he said, scratching his chin slowly. “The pack in Ohio, I think it was.”

“And you worked together?” Price looked at Ghost to confirm.

“Joint op with JTF2,” Ghost confirmed with a solid nod.

Soap whistled lowly. “Now that’s not easy to get into,” he said, looking at Logan with new respect.

“Mmhm.” Logan grinned. “Now, you gonna invite me onto base, or we gonna shoot the shit out here?”

You hung your head with a low groan before you looked back at Price. It was his call, his territory.

Price clenched his jaw briefly but nodded. “Be welcome on my territory.”

“Gonna introduce me?” Logan drawled, one finger hooking through your belt loop before you could escape.

You looked up at the sky for a moment. Looked like rain. You wouldn’t mind a good soak right then. “Logan, that is Alpha Price, Ghost you apparently know, and those two are Soap and Gaz. This is Logan, the longest-running pain in my ass.”

“Say, you wouldn’t happen to be her wolverine friend, would you?” Gaz stepped closer, eyes bright with curiosity.

“Talkin’ about me, kid?” Logan smirked, looking far too amused.

“I hate you,” you grumbled, hunching your shoulders. “I’m gonna go find something tall to throw myself off of now.”

“Good luck, have fun.”

You gave up, jogging ahead to catch up to Price as the other three hung back with Logan. “I swear I didn’t ask him to come here, or tell him where I even was.”

“I know,” Price murmured soothingly. One hand touched yours. “If he’s JTF2, he’s got his own resources.”

“He’s quasi-retired. Which I’m sure is why he was able to drop everything and fly out here.” You rubbed a hand over your face. You should never have called him.

“Hey.” Price’s hand fit warm over the back of your neck. “You’re fine. Don’t stress about it.”

You sighed, some of the tension running out of your shoulders. “Yeah, alright.” You drew in a deep breath. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

Price shrugged, his thumb gently smoothing over the back of your neck. “Today’s an off day since we just got back. I’ll probably be working on paperwork, but they’re free to do whatever they want.”

“Right.” You pursed your lips. You could find places to hide on base and be out of the way. “I’ll stop bothering you, then.”

“Not bothering me.” He glanced at you, eyes dark, hand squeezing the back of your neck lightly. “Stop worrying.”

“It is literally my job to worry.”

“Then maybe you need a day off.” He stopped outside one of the buildings, hand shifting just a little lower to squeeze again. Your eyes slid half-closed in pleasure, and his lips quirked. “You know where my office is?”

“Nope.” You blinked slowly at him.

“Ask one of them. I’ll be there all day if you need anything.” He ducked his head a little to meet your eyes for a moment before he released you and walked away.

You blinked after him and then turned to find four shifters all watching you curiously. You warmed and flapped your hands at them. “Shoo, you hooligans. Go cause chaos somewhere else.” And you promptly fled.

You ended up on top of the barracks (and briefly told yourself to talk to someone about this habit of going high places when in distress). The sky was still threatening rain, but so far activity on the base hadn’t ceased.

Soft swearing made you finally look away from the view, spotting Logan climbing up onto the roof. He shot a mistrustful look at the sky before he walked over and sat next to you.

“So?”

“So what?” you asked, looking back out over the base.

“You like them.” He nudged you, just once.

You blew out a sigh. You could try to lie, or deflect. But it wouldn’t work for long. Logan knew all your tells. “I do.”

“So make it work.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It’s never that simple.” Logan snorted. “Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

You glowered at him and then gave up, sighing and looking away again. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. Besides, I have no idea how they feel.”

“Don’t you?” Logan looped his arm over your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “Or are you just ignoring signals?”

“Stop being so damn perceptive,” you growled.

“Well, no snowbanks to throw you into here,” Logan rumbled. “This is my next best bet.”

You groaned. “You’re a menace.”

“And you’re stubborn, makes us even.”

The first fat drop of rain landed right on top of your head, followed immediately by one landing on your nose.

“Aw, fuck,” Logan grumbled. “Weather here is still shit.”

You snorted, getting to your feet. “You live in Canada.”

“And?”

“You have snow at least half the year!”

“Snow is easy. This is just wet.” Logan motioned you to go down first, keeping a close eye on you. You got down to the ground with no issues and moved out of the way so Logan could get down too, grimacing at the pull of wet clothes. It had gone from threatening to downpour in less than a minute.

“Did they give you a room yet?” you asked, jogging to the door to the barracks and heading inside.

“Nah, mentioned something about it.” Logan shrugged, unconcerned, following you.

“Guess we’re going back to mine, then.” You led the way, unlocking the door and letting him in first. Not that there was much to see.

“You don’t travel with any pictures?” He frowned a little, gaze darting around the room.

“No. Usually I try to give my full attention to the pack I’m working with.” You pulled out a clean top and dry sweatpants. “Besides, I talk to people almost every day.”

Logan grumbled, displeased, but changed as well. His duffel bag had been left in your room, although you weren’t sure if it was a joke, an easy place to put it temporarily, or because someone had assumed something about the nature of your relationship.

With the both of you in dry clothes, you debated what else to do now. You hadn’t exactly come equipped to entertain, after all.

A knock on your door made you blink, but you pulled it open to see Soap and Gaz.

“Movie day?” Gaz asked with a hopeful smile.

“Alright,” you agreed. “You okay if he tags along? He gets bored on his own.” You jerked a thumb back over your shoulder at Logan.

“Watch it, kid,” he grumbled without any heat.

“Sure.” Soap grinned. “More the merrier. I’ll drag LT in later.”

You snorted softly but followed Gaz to the rec room. Soap and Gaz immediately ensconced you between them on the couch, and Logan chuckled as he settled in a chair.

“You two are menaces,” you said without heat, letting Gaz spread a blanket over the three of you. But you forced yourself to look at them a little more closely, to actually note how they behaved and their body language. While neither of them really fussed, they both paid attention to you, and to have you squished between them like this? This was a definite sign of favor, of acceptance, only enhanced by how relaxed they both were with you.

Almost reflexively, you wanted to pull away, to hide. To protect yourself from the inevitable hurt. But you forced yourself to pause, to breathe through it. You relaxed back into the couch, breathing slowly.

Soap made a pleased noise and cuddled in closer to you. Touch was important to pack, and cuddle times like this, or even sleeping together in a pile, was not unusual. But it also was another sign that he wanted you here.

Maybe even for longer than just this job.

You met Logan’s eyes across the room, knowing you were showing your internal struggle. He just smiled a little, almost the softest expression you’d ever seen on his face, and very intentionally closed his eyes. One of the biggest signs of trust from a shifter.

You swallowed hard and relaxed between Gaz and Soap, warm and comfortable and comforted.

Sometime after the first movie, Ghost settled in the room. In a chair, of course, away from the pile of you on the couch. Gaz freed himself enough to start texting someone rapidly, glancing at you a few times.

“What are you planning?” you asked him quietly, eyes narrowing a little.

“Nothing,” he immediately protested. “Well. Nothing bad.” He met your gaze for a long moment before he looked back at his phone. You blinked, startled. He… Had he just…? No. No way.

His little noise of triumph distracted you, and he hopped to his feet.

“Back in a mo,” he said before darting out of the room.

“You have any idea what he’s planning?” you asked Soap, taking the chance to get up and bring back water for everyone. Ghost blinked when you set his down in front of him, apparently surprised.

“Not really.” Soap grinned and took his, watching you go back for snacks. “Ye ken we can get our own, aye?”

“Oh hush. You’re always hungry.” You threw a protein bar at his head.

“You’re not wrong about that.”

You jumped at Price’s voice behind you, in the doorway. You turned to find a very amused Price standing there, a smug-looking Gaz behind him.

“You’re a menace,” you grumbled without heat. “Giving up on the paperwork for the day?”

“Something like that.” He glanced around the room before refocusing on you.

You tossed Ghost a snack and chucked one at Logan too before you dropped a few more on the table in front of the couch and sat back down. Soap plastered himself to your side again, looking smug.

“Are we finishing this movie or starting something else?” you asked, giving everyone time to settle down.

But you were surprised when Price dropped down next to you instead of Gaz. He leaned back into the couch, big and warm, his arm draped across the back of the couch. You swallowed hard, trying to focus on the screen even as a playful bout of bantering went straight over your head.

You hadn’t spent a lot of time with Price, and him being this close was… distracting. More than you had accounted for. Especially since he was relaxed, at ease. This close, that lovely rumbling laugh could be felt and heard.

This was dangerous. You needed to go, needed to get out before you got in too deep–

Logan caught your eye across the room, holding your gaze. You stilled. He breathed in deliberately slowly, not looking away, almost forcing you to follow along until the urge to flee vanished. Then he blinked and looked away.

“Alright there?” Price asked quietly, though you were well aware everyone in the room could hear him.

“Yeah.” Your lips quirked into something close to a smile as you leaned back and just a little bit into him, already steadier. “I’m good.”

Nobody but you noticed the smug smirk on Logan’s face.

#born for greatness #john price x reader #john price x you #f!reader

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