#i'm NOT a white collar anymore

[companionwolf]

I was trying to figure out ideas for a zine (I guess me, CL, P2, and Wolf make them now?) but, uh, just kinda ended up drawing myself... whoops.

[env0]

In the words of the wonderful @rileylou99

[tomwambsmilk]

What are some of the characteristics of these white middle class men you speak of or how do you know someone is middle class? and why would prestige tv cater to only this dempgrpahic?

This is honestly a great question, and one that's surprisingly difficult to answer in a concise way. I've done my best, but in case you don't want to read, the TL;DR is: HBO (a cable frontrunner who defined the strategy for other competitors who emerged later) intentionally catered to men in its early (pre-prestige) days because they knew the networks were intentionally catering to women. This meant that when it shifted into prestige TV in the late 90s, the existing subscriber base was middle-class white men. It's first big flagship "prestige TV" drama, The Sopranos, appealed heavily to that demo and was wildly commercially successful. The Wire, while airing at the same time with equal critical acclaim, did not appeal to that demo and actively critiqued societal structures which benefitted that demo, and flopped both commercially and in the awards circuit. These two shows came very early in the "Prestige TV era", and execs took note of their respective receptions; consequently, much of the prestige TV which came after was selected with that middle-class white male demo in mind.

Longer explanation below the cut:

I should first clarify that when I say "Prestige TV" I'm using it more in the academic sense, of referring to a specific type of television which emerged in the "Prestige TV era", also called the "Second Golden Age" (around 1999-2020, although the precise end date depends on who you ask). A large range of shows fall into that category, but the common characteristics include heavy serialization (ie an emphasis on long-form storytelling, rather than standalone episodes), morally ambiguous characters, complex plots, diverse perspectives, and "R-rated" content. It's pretty widely agreed that this era was "kicked off" by The Sopranos; if I had to list other key Prestige TV/Second Golden Age shows, I'd probably default to the other eleven Alan Sepinwall analyzes in The Revolution Was Televised, his book about how television changed during the Prestige TV era (those eleven are: Oz, The Wire, Deadwood, The Shield, Lost, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, 24, Battlestar Galactica, Friday Night Lights, Mad Men, and Breaking Bad. Not all of those are commonly thought of as Prestige TV, because that label is now so removed from its source that it's only applied to a very narrow subsection of shows, but they are Prestige TV in the proper academic sense because of the impact they had on the era).

Not all of those shows were targeted at middle-class white men, and it wasn't my intention to suggest that every individual Prestige TV show is. But generally speaking, with only a few exceptions, the shows that defined the Prestige TV era and had the most commercial success while airing were the ones which appealed to that white, male, middle-class demo. And that's not a demo HBO picked up accidentally. It was explicitly built into their early strategies to go after that demographic, and so that was the demographic that had access to Prestige TV before people thought of it as Prestige TV, which means their opinions did a lot to influence how it developed.

HBO's primary strategy for survival in its early years, especially before other cable networks emerged, was differentiation. The problem they faced was there was lots of television that people could watch for free on network TV, and there wasn't the same distaste for advertising we have now which might have pushed people to pay for a subscription. Their solution was to try and target the people who a) had disposable income, and b) were dissatisfied with what was on the networks. Studio execs knew that the primary target market network execs had in mind when they were buying shows was middle-class white women, because that's the demo that their advertisers wanted to hit. Obviously, the definition of middle-class is contentious now, but I'm using it to mean people with disposable income, which is what made them attractive; white, because the middle class was disproportionately white, and also because network TV was trying to target a generic default 'American' audience, which to their minds was white; and women because advertisers believed women made most of the household purchasing decisions. HBO also needed people with disposable income, so it also targeted middle-class whites by default. However, the main place it decided to differentiate was by going after men, in an extremely intentional programming strategy developed by HBO CEO Michael Fuchs. Sheila Nevins, who was in charge of documentary programming, developed several documentary series, called, respectively, Real Sex, G-String Divas, Cathouse, and Sex Bytes, intentionally to try and cater to men - and it worked! Subscriber numbers increased in droves. And sure, we don't definitively know most of those subscribers were men. But... anecdotally, and in terms of the extremely limited market data we do have, the evidence for those subscribers and viewers being mostly men is quite strong.

White middle-class men weren't by any means the only group they targeted; another part of HBO's strategy was to create a wide variety of content catered to many different groups of people. But those white middle-class men became the most reliable paying subscribers, so HBO's content strategy leaned heavily on catering to their tastes to bring in funding they could use for "brand projects" - weightier, more artistic projects that improved HBO's brand image. When competitors like Showtime emerged, they developed their own spins on HBO's strategy; they targeted their markets in different ways, but ultimately everyone was trying to appeal to the groups who were unsatisfied with network TV, and everyone wanted the white middle-class male subscriber's dollar because it was considered the most "reliable". That demo essentially became to cable TV what advertisers were to network TV.

To trace cable TV's history from the 70s to The Sopranos would take a while and also involve spending more time talking about boxing and Mike Tyson than you would expect. HBO continued to stick to this strategy of differentiation and slowly achieved more market dominance. Ultimately, that brought HBO a combination of funding and creative respect that allowed them to gamble on The Sopranos, a show that several networks passed on before it was pitched to HBO, who ordered the pilot, only to have it perform extremely poorly in the test screening. So poorly that no sane executive would have ordered more episodes.

Except.

The head of HBO at the time, Chris Albrecht (considered by many to be the 'godfather of prestige tv'), heavily related to Tony Soprano, and he felt that his (very male) social networks also would. He's quoted as repeatedly saying, "The only difference between Tony Soprano and every guy I know is that he's the don of New Jersey." Which might sound like hyperbole, but.... In that history of HBO we skipped over there is also a long and unsettling history of misogyny and violence (including sexual violence) sanctioned and covered up by the network which, even by our desensitized modern standards, I actually found pretty shocking. It's bad, y'all. Chris Albrecht (and his fellow execs) didn't relate to Tony despite the violence of the show and his anger issues - they related to him because of it. The most famous incident concerning Albrecht specifically involves him strangling a female subordinate during a disagreement in her office, an allegation which led to HBO paying her a $400,000 settlement. And that's unfortunately not an outlier. (By the way, Albrecht objected to one of Sopranos most famous season 1 episodes, "College", because he felt Tony strangling another character to death would make him 'too unlikable', and viewers wouldn't be able to 'see his humour and charm').

Of course, The Sopranos turned out to be a massive hit, and deservedly so. But I think it's notable that its first season was only ordered because a small group of male executives steeped in violence, misogyny, and toxic masculinity personally related to Tony. And it's also worth noting that at the time, Tony Soprano was often compared to Mike Tyson, who many consider to be HBO's "first antihero". HBO was very involved in his career largely because the controversy around him brought in that middle-class male demo; Tony Soprano was considered to be a continuation of that strategy.

(To be clear, not all men who liked The Sopranos liked it for those reasons. But if we want to get in the weeds about it, HBO catered not just to men in general, but in a very particular way, to the subsection of men who did).

Another thing to note is that part of the success of The Sopranos was the way it catered to the anxieties of the now-shrinking middle class. When the series aired, the stock market was booming, but a spree of mega-mergers and consolidations resulted in record layoffs. CEO pay was skyrocketing while median family income was dropping, and the "middle class" that HBO had always catered to (bc of the disposable income) was disappearing. At its core, The Sopranos was very much about the anxiety which surrounds a way of life disappearing; consequently, the middle-class demo HBO had worked so hard to cultivate was immediately hooked. And yeah, a lot of them were no longer middle-class, strictly speaking. But HBO was still very much trying to cater to, for example, white-collar workers who recently fell out of that income bracket, rather than blue-collar workers or lower income brackets.

Let's also look at The Wire, a show essentially pitched as an audience bait-and-switch. Creator David Simon wanted it to look like a standard-issue broadcast police procedural, like pretty much every TV network had. But what would make it different is that, as the show developed, it would become increasingly subversive - instead of wondering "whether the bad guys would get caught", he wanted the audience to wonder "who the real bad guys are, and whether catching them means anything at all". In his pitch to HBO, he wrote: "You will not be stealing market share from the networks by only venturing into worlds where they can't; you will be stealing it by taking their worlds and transforming them with honesty and wit and a darker, cynical, and more piercing viewpoint than they would undertake."

While The Wire is textbook Prestige TV, it actually didn't hit that middle-class white male demo. David Simon wasn't concerned with hitting demos or relatability; he wanted to create a far-ranging critique of the police system, neo-liberalism, and capitalism. These were topics that simply didn't resonate with the demographic HBO had built up in its subscriber base, many of whom were quite happy with the police system, neo-liberalism, and capitalism, since they were benefitting pretty heavily from it. The only subscriber demo it did consistently hit was critics, academics, and journalists. And even then - despite its massive critical acclaim, The Wire was heavily snubbed in the awards circuit. The awards snubs are especially telling, given how much the critics claimed to love the show, calling it "Dickensian" - a lot of these people were the same ones voting in the Emmys, so what gives? A lot of people have spent a lot of time trying to figure it out, and what they keep coming back to time and time again is that the majority of the cast of The Wire was black. (It's also worth noting that the original plans for season 1 involved killing off the character of Kima Greggs, a black lesbian, until executive Carolyn Strauss pushed - hard - to reverse the decision, on the grounds that HBO's programming was already too white, male, and heterosexual. Greggs eventually went on to become a particular favourite of the show's extremely small fanbase, which I think is indicative of the kind of demographic the show picked up.) The response was so disappointing that it was nearly cancelled several times; in the first near-cancellation, Albrecht joked that he'd heard from "all 250 of the viewers".

These are just two shows, obviously. But they're two shows that came very early in the era, and so heavily influenced what came after. The Sopranos especially redefined what TV could be; it proved that morally complex, serialized stories with antihero protagonists had a market - and the limitations on network television meant that market could only be reached by cable networks like HBO, which had built up a specific sort of subscriber base. We have to make a distinction between what David Chase wanted to communicate with The Sopranos and why it succeeded the way that it did. Chase didn't set out to create a show that would resonate with white middle-class men, but he did, and it was wildly successful. David Simon's show, while equally critically acclaimed and airing in largely the same time period, did not resonate with white middle-class men, and it never achieved the sort of viewer ratings during its run that other shows of comparable quality did. Studio execs inside and outside of HBO saw that and took note.

Again, the decisions that go into the creation of TV shows are extremely complex, and to say "all Prestige TV is targeted at white middle-class men" is a huge oversimplification. There's a lot more to the history of HBO than just Sopranos and The Wire. But a reliance on that demo, and an active desire to cater to their interests, has heavily defined the kinds of shows which are considered to be Prestige TV, as well as the kinds of shows that cable TV studios are willing to put money into developing. If you want to really examine the context that the "Second Golden Age" is rooted in, you have to be willing to grapple with that history.

[die-auster]

Some "if Yue is alive and went travelling with the Gaang" designs

With a ton of text about cultural inspiration.

The main book 2 look

I wanted to show cultural differences between the tribes, so Yue's look is sort of Mongolian. There were Mongolian-styled hats in the Northern tribe, and Yue's dress under the coat looked like a Mongolian deel (thanks @atlaculture for all these posts about clothes and everything else!), so it's not much against the canon information.

So she's wearing a deel again with a second layer - there are chinese actors on photos as far as I know; I hope it's okay. One-shoulder silhouette refers to later Aang's clothes because Yue is still kind of a spiritual person (she wasn't a fighter, so I want her to have some other useful talent – not a bender or healer like Katara or a non-bender warrior like Suki). Violet, pink and white were originally her colors, no changes here. Three blue characters would be too much for a group of five, and total white is not practical at all. I like to think that violet color shows high rank in the Avatar universe; in the original series it was only worn by princess Yue, Kanna, the chief Hakoda's mother, and by king Bumi.

Yue's boots here are mongolian gutals/gutuls (the collage is already big, but I used them again for one of Book 3-looks).

Her hair become simpler – just two braids and a hairpiece, to match her previous decorated hairdo. I guess if she's travelling with the Gaang she's not that much of a Moon Spirit anymore (maybe she returned the part of the moon spirit that saved her and was healed other way?), so I decided to forego the moon-referring part. Also it will be easier to do by herself since she has no servants now... The headdress I took from modern Mongolian dancers; the front part is crescent-moon-shaped.

The Ba Sing Se dress

I fell in love with this Ao Dai dress, it's simple, long and elegant. But... it's mostly Vietnamese… and I'm afraid that it's modern and not historically accurate. Also it does not really go together with other Ba Sing Se dresses :( because I did not want to just copy-paste some background look. But there is at least one dress with a tail, thigh high slits and a standing collar on the dress underneath, so... I guess my choice is not that bad? The tail makes her look more royal. The fan is the same which Toph and Katara had. For the palette I chose Yue's white color with EK greens and warm yellow/ochre to match Katara and Toph. The hairdo is copied from the series; I chose one with the tassel on the right, to refer the NWT/Korean accessories.

The Fire Nation disguise

A confession – I don't like FN clothes. I wasn't sure if I would be able to do it properly, so I almost copied that attire (left one) – asymmetry, as a Thai touch, which again matches Aang's Invasion Buddhist-like clothes. The palette keeps Yue's signature white, with some pink of a warmer shade, as they wear it in the Fire Nation. And the "royal" long skirt, 'cause she's still not a fighter. The look is simplified so I could not keep zigzag ornament on her longyi skirt, therefore I moved it onto the top part.

I used Thai dancers jewelry and... flip flops? idk how they are called in Southeast Asia (don't like Sokka and Katara's FN shoes at all, why the design is so complicated?).

For covering her hair I used a turban, inspired by Myanmar turbans; a white one, so if some hair will show, it won't be too noticeable. Also Yue could still be easily recognised on screen/page by her white head. The long end of the fabric on her right resembles burmese hairstyle silhouette.

The Invasion-and-till-finale look

For her dress I used a deel (again); the sleeveless jacket is an hommage to her original design and has some Korean vibes, like Toph's Ba Sing Se dress (at least I hope so). Katara and Sokka's season 1 looks have Korean influence, so I guess it's okay. Gutals are from her Book 2 main look. I have a soft spot for them.

My favorite thing is her hair :)))) It's a mix of Inuit/Mongolian braids and a hairpiece, also from the Book 2 look. This time there will be more braids. Two on the front – I wanted to keep them from her original hairdo, but now they are braided together (I saw this on the Alaskan Inuit/Eskimo women photos). On the back there are five, inspired by a Mongolian hairdo for young unmarried girls, who wore multiple braids. I decided to make five, because Alaskian Inuit language uses this amount for counting and with two front braids it'll make seven, which is a lucky Mongolian number. And in theory a limited number should be easier to animate.

The post-canon noble look

After the final battle I thought Yue will come back to Agna Qel'a and become a more active political figure. I chose a white kuspuk (blue color is still for Katara and Sokka), showing that she is ready to lead her tribe after this journey, not the passive perfect princess she was before. "She is associated in canon with the masculine yang of the yin and yang and the moon which, in most Inuit and Eskimo cultures, is considered masculine as well. While white kuspuks are associated with men and specifically family patriarchs, a feminine kuspuk in white makes plenty of sense for Yue's character" – @mostly-mundane-atla helped me a lot with the cultural meaning of the clothes (I am so grateful!). Also it's an hommage to her total-white Moon Spirit look. And I changed her hair again to Greenland updo with two tied braids on the front – more complicated than the simple braids she wore during the journey. It looks formal.

NWT is less Inuit-inspired and has a strong Mongolian touch (to make them look more "modern"? dunno) but I guess the formal wear for the spiritual princess could refer to older traditions. Which should be the same with SWT, 'cause SWT was originally a part of NWT – or so I heard. For example, Kuruk, the NWT Avatar who lived about 400 years ago, has nothing Mongolian in his look.

All the looks are simplified to match the style of the original cartoon. I know there should be more details and embroidery, but my goal here was to draw something (at least theoretically) applicable for animation. And no Hahn's betrothal necklace of course.

Also I want to mention here other great Yue designs, since they are the inspiration behind the overall idea of the post – the moon looks and "Yue joins the Gaang" outfits by amazingly talented @chiptrillino.

P.S.: an important note

This is my first attempt ever to design outfits that could fit the world of A:tLA. I am not Asian or ingenious, not an expert in their cultures or costume history at all, not a professional character designer. I am just a fan who tried to create designs with respect to real cultures and people. Nothing here was supposed to be offensive in any way. If something still is – please inform me so I could fix it as soon as possible.

I hope, as a fan, I have the right to draw fanarts looking for an inspiration in the cultures that inspired the original cartoon.

If you see mistakes in my post, be it in drawings or a text, also feel free to tell me. I will deeply appreciate it.

[moondirti]

blue collar simon x gn! reader. implied cnc.

Simon finds a journal on his lunch break.

It's inconspicuous. A5 black moleskin with an elastic holding it's contents together, bits of paper sticking out like nails on a poorly constructed house frame. He only notices it because his cooler slips off the bench when he blindly places it atop the fat book, sandwiches and packets of crisps now strewn across the dirty pedway.

The day's already been shit. A motley of blows, each made worse by the torrid sun overhead, sweat to cling to his grievances. An uptight site manager. A near loss of life after some tenderfoot got caught in between an excavation truck and the wall. Even his too-long hair, which curls around red ears – having not had a chance to buzz it off since being called in for this job. It's no wonder, then, that the tiny mishap stirs as severe of a reaction as it does; he chucks his hard hat across the road, satisfied only when it finds its fate mid-lane, an obstruction to inevitably fuck the tires on a white collar's new car.

When his rage settles as smouldering ash in his chest, he picks his food off the floor and cracks open the source of his animosity.

With no name or number, the first page holds just a chicken-scratch address. Interesting. Its owner hasn't made this easy on him, crafting it like one would a game. A skewing of traditional acquaintance. Granting nothing of their superficial identity, yet unrestricted access to their innermost thoughts. Thus he's forced to paint his own picture of the figure behind the words.

And what a picture indeed.

The first entry is brief.

13.02 – My therapist expects at least three pages a week. I'm not doing any of that, so don't get your hopes up.

It's evident that you don't stick to your guns. Though the next one is dated several months later, so he see's the attempt had been made. Written in a whole new hand, like you'd picked a dry pen off the floor and practiced your non-dominant grip:

08.05 – I broke my arm playing tennis. The umpire called a match-point in my opponent's favour and I threw the racket at his head.

I am no longer allowed to play tennis. What good is that resolution? My radius has a greenstick fracture. I'm already out of the game.

His laugh is abrasive and sudden, like it'd been pried from his chest by a pair of careless hands. Or as close to that analogy as it can get – your anger is intoxicating and only grows more potent across the pages. Inadvertently amusing. Simon chews through the tough crust of his torpedo roll as he reads, time wearing away under the stiff comb of your words.

There's hardly any variation in your cataloguing –

10.06 – The universe must need more bad people in it, because it tests my limits everyday. Can the fuck next door snore any louder? It's 2 am, goddammit. I wonder if it'd be overkill to ship nasal strips to his mailbox.

26.06 – Dad called today. Didn't pick up.

04.07 – I'm close to killing Kathleen. There's a reason the food in the fridge is labelled as MINE. GET YOUR GRUBBY PAWS OFF OF IT!

13.07 – The world is a shitty, stupid, crappy, icky, lousy, rotten, stinking, stinky, bad place. I hate my coworkers and friends and parents and landlord and etc etc. It's like everyone is out to get me.

– so it's like the honed curl of a hook. Whiplash-inducing, reeling his attention so quick that his neck strains in phantom pain. Simon stops everything, elbows settling onto his knees as he fixates on one entry in particular.

30.07 – I stand by what I said. The world is uniquely horrible. I think that's because I make it that way for myself. Whatever this exercise was meant to do for me, rage relief or introspection or whatever, it's clearly not working. I'm just as angry as I was before. Maybe burning these pages would help. I wish I could play tennis again. I don't know what to do with my hands anymore. I got fired last week. Need groceries. Eggs, spinach. Spinach always goes bad and I never make use of it. I keep buying it though. Dad keeps calling. I've got a migraine and I've run out of advil.

I just need someone to put me in my place.

And it ends there. No more entries after the fact, just a handful of blank pages before the journal wraps to a close.

He flips back over to the address at front. Looking at it a second time, he can tell the ink is still fresh.

Perhaps he misinterprets it. Perhaps it hits a little too close to home. It wouldn’t be the first time he looks for salvation in the empty lines someone leaves behind. Perhaps it’s just been a bad day, and he should go home before he does something he’ll regret. Perhaps it’s nothing at all.

Or–

Perhaps he sees it for what it is.

Here are all my colours. What you choose to do, or think, is no longer my concern.

[beeseverywhen]

God I'm trying to ask for advice from a local personal finance forum and they just can not get past why I don't want to buy a house.

Because it isn't an option honey! You guys do the maths and tell me how exactly that's an option. They are trying to tell me it'll save money! The magical thinking is extreme

Like they are ignoring the question I'm actually asking and the answer to every one of their queries is

Because I'm working class

Because I'm a millenial

Because that isn't a freaking option man

They apparently want me to take on a unlimited number of jobs and tuck it all away in the hope that I'll somehow wave a hand and magic up a property

I have bills! The average house price here is 13x the median wage. I literally can't comprehend these people.

Why don't you work your arse off for a retirement you won't get to see because those jobs will kill you before you get there?

Literally all I'm asking for is the best way to make use of the savings that i almost killed myself building up and they are like ok but have you considered: ignoring your drs and the objective evidence that you were earning yourself a heart attack at 30 and working towards everyone at the funeral going wow! But she was such a good poor! She didn't drink or smoke or have a life all so she could use the money to buy vegetables and spend all day solving rich people's problems. She was skinny so she must have been healthy. Who knew that never having the time to rest or go to the Dr kills you just as fast as the vices of the poor

All of it just so you can sit on that money working towards an end goal that's never been there for you

Like you know what, it's not eating unhealthy foods and substance abuse and not knowing how to look after ourselves that kills us it's the life we've been left that drives people to those things in the first place and it'll kill you even if you do everything to avoid them

Eat as healthily as you can afford and avoid smoking and drinking you still won't be nearly as healthy as you'd be living a life living off the cream from your daddy's wealth while you tell everyone youre a self made man

[lokischocolatefountain]

Honey, I'm Home || For The Right Man

Fandom: The Last of Us Pairing: Joel Miller x Trad Wife!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings:  dom!Joel, sub!reader, rich!reader, master/slave dynamics, name calling (slut, cunt, whore, fucktoy, bitch-- it can't get worse folks), use of honorifics for Joel (Sir, Daddy, Master-- a hattrick!) Joel keeps reader in check, domesticity kink, mention of exhibitionism, boot humping, boot worship, collar and leash, chastity belt, mention of anal, use of buttplug, objectification, dehumanization, crawling, facefucking, kicking, cockwarming. (I think I got everything but lmk if I missed stuff) Word count: 4.8k Summary: Joel comes home to freshly baked dessert and a good little wife eager to serve in every way possible A/N: Look, don't be a trad wife irl. It's nothing like this. It's dangerous and will tire you out in the worst way possible. Remember this kind of Joel Miller is tragically not real. Heed the warnings.

You swiped a finger on the inside of the glass bowl, free to lick up the leftover brownie batter now that it was baking in the oven. You looked over at the clock, disappointed to see that it hadn’t moved even a little since the last time you looked.

You were still getting used to it, being home all the time. Being a housewife wasn’t something you thought you’d ever do. You hit the ground running after graduation, climbing the corporate ladder and making more money than you knew what to do with. After reaching the top and buying everything you could ever dream of and more, life got quite boring. Nothing brought joy or satisfaction anymore. Many a therapist and mental breakdowns later, you decided that you were done. Unable to bear the boredom of your career, quit your job and moved to one of your properties in Texas. 

That was when Joel Miller walked into your life. Or rather you called him into your life after seeing his number on a pamphlet. Miller Constructions. Tall, gruff, muscular as hell and all southern gentlemanly, he had your attention from the very first day. Miller Constructions was only a local business that he ran with his little brother. But he had good reviews online and your own neighbor’s kitchen renovation was a testimony to Miller Construction’s quality work.

With no job or entertainment, you’d set your eyes on the handsome contractor. As he stripped his shirt, arm muscles bulging in his white vest, you sat on your couch with a book open and watched to your heart’s content. But if anyone asked you the names of the characters in the book, you would draw a blank.

One thing led to another and a few years later you were in the bedroom of the house he renovated for you, wearing his ring and getting ready in front of the dressing table he built you from scratch. You stood bare in front of the mirror, wearing nothing but the steel collar with his name engraved and matching chastity belt he kept you locked in when he was away. It was a reminder of the kind of life you’d built together, of the role you’d readily accepted in your home.

You went through your extensive lingerie collection, all chosen to surprise him and make you feel beautiful. You took a sip from your glass of wine and set it down carefully on the dressing table before reaching for something you hadn’t worn in a little while. A bright red set that drove him fucking insane when you first wore it. It was from last year’s Valentine’s Day and you’d taken him to a restaurant, private booking with just you and Joel dining there for the night. It was expensive as hell but you had cash to throw away and it was worth it for his reaction. 

Once dinner had been served and the waitstaff left, you took your coat off to reveal that you’d been practically naked underneath. The lingerie set was a corset top, strapless with your tits almost falling out and the back open in a heart shape. The corset boning was covered in bright red silk, standing out against the soft sheer lace around it. 

Heat rushed to your cheeks when memories of the night flooded your mind. It hadn’t taken him long to forget the fancy food, bend you over the table and have his fill of your cunt. When he got close, he put you on your knees and came on your face, marking you as his. For the rest of dinner, you wore him on your face, eating all the courses of the meal and talking to him casually about everything under the sun like it was normal. 

A second wear of the lingerie set could only lead to another amazing night of debauchery. You grabbed the matching lace panties and slipped it on over your belt, the pair a skimpy one with too little fabric to cover up the essentials. You put the corset on next, struggling just a little to lace it up all by yourself but managing nevertheless. A pair of sheer black stockings, red lips, red bottomed Louboutins and your look was complete. 

He didn’t care much about makeup. The man couldn’t even tell you were wearing seven different products on your face the first few times. But he always noticed a red lip. Always liked having the visual of bright painted lips stretch around his impressive girth. 

Your stilettos clicked against the hardwood floor as you turned in front of the mirror, checking your appearance from every angle to make sure you looked your best. You could greet him in your old university tee and a pair of shorts with your hair up in a bun and he’d still gather you in his arms and kiss you senseless when he came home. 

But you liked going the extra mile for him every now and then. Be something soft, pretty and pliant to come home to after long days of hard labor under the sun and idiot subcontractors who got on his nerves.

Just as you’d sliced the brownies and left them on a wire rack to cool, you heard his truck pull up into the driveway. You sprinted to the door as fast as you could in your impractical shoes and took your position at the door. A wide smile plastered on your lips and your thighs rubbing against each other in a pavlovian response to his arrival. 

Joel’s eyes brightened when you opened the door and he laid his eyes on you. “Goddamn, honey… Gonna give me a heart attack one of these days,” he said, wasting no time in wrapping a muscular arm around your waist and pulling you into a kiss. You relaxed in his embrace, moaning softly when he caressed your bottom in his large hand. He threaded his fingers through your hair, keeping you flush against his chest as he tasted you. You heard him kick the door close, chills running through you as you realized you’d been on display to the entire neighborhood all this while. 

You were the first to pull away, breathless from his kiss. Yet you stayed close, his nose brushing against yours and his warm breath kissing your cheek. You sighed, taking in his heady scent of sweat, his cologne, and wood shavings. The thing that screamed Man, Man, Man. The thing that had you begging to suck his cock every evening when he was only your contractor.

He hung his truck keys on the hook by the door and picked up the leather leash that hung from the hook right next to it. He hooked the metal end of it to the ring on your collar and tugged you forward, making you giggle as you crashed into his chest. 

You unbuttoned the first button of his flannel and licked your lips when you saw his chest, tan and marked by little brown spots from the treacherous sun that couldn’t help but kiss him. You staked your claim with a kiss on his chest and licked your lips, the salty taste of his skin enticing you even more. No matter how many times you had him, you felt the same excitement that you did the first time you submitted to him. That Friday night when he stayed longer than usual to finish retiling your bathroom so it’d be ready for the party you were throwing the week after.

“I missed you so much, baby,” you confessed, looking up at him from his chest. He was handsome as hell with his soft curls, beautiful brown eyes, kissable lips, and patchy beard. Before him, you had a preference for men with full beards. But you liked Joel’s better now. Especially the little heart shaped patch where hair refused to grow. 

“Missed you too, darlin’. Get on your knees now,” he said, tugging you down by your leash. You sunk down to your knees and looked up at him, heart swelling with joy at the view you had of him. He was handsome from every angle, but fuck he looked powerful towering over you like a God. 

“House smells real good. You bake for me again?” He asked, petting your head just as gently as the tone of his voice.

“Mhmm,” you hummed as you wrapped your arms around his leg and pressed your cheek to his knee. It was all the satisfaction you never got at the job you quit. 

“Sweet little wife, working so hard for me huh?” 

“Mhmm. Heated up the leftovers from last night but I wanted to make something new too. Knew you’d need something nice to come home to, Daddy.” He never demanded anything of you despite the absolute power you handed him. He ate what you gave, whether it was good or not, whether you cooked or ordered take out. It only deepened your need to serve him. 

As you already had leftovers for dinner, you decided to bake instead. A good thing that came out of the expensive baking classes you took. You liked sending the remaining dessert with him to work where he proudly distributed them. 

He’d never tell you, but you knew he got off on it. His staff knew you, the boss’ sweet wife who cooked the most delicious things. You played it up when they were around— when they came by for signatures, when you visited his worksites with his lunch. You giggled more for him, touched his arms and smiled adoringly. You dressed provocatively- low cut tops that showed your cleavage, tight jeans that hugged your ass, skirts that were too short ro bend in. 

“Come home to you everyday, don’t I? My everythin’ nice.” 

“Shut up,” you muttered, a shy smile fighting to surface despite your best efforts. 

“That how you speak to your husband?” He asked, leading you to the dinner table you’d arranged with plates, cutlery, artfully folded napkins, and the flowers from him. You crawled beside him, enjoying the discomfort in your permanently bruised knees. He took a seat and you knelt next to him, pussy already slick as he tethered the leash to the table he made to accommodate it. 

“I don’t know, Joel. Maybe you should do something about it if you don’t like it. Can’t just leave your wife at home and expect nothing to change. You need to maintain her.” 

“Maintenance, huh?” He snorted, tugging you close by your collar and kissing you. He held you in place with a firm hand right underneath your collar, his grip on your throat reinforcing his ownership over you. 

“Turn around, let me see what’s mine,” he said, patting your cheek twice. You obeyed, turning around on your knees and bending over to have your face down and ass up. 

He pushed your panties aside and you rolled your ass in the air so the jewel lodged in your hole glinted bright. He gripped it, coaxing it out gently before pushing it right back in. You whimpered, pressing your cheek to the floor and looking back at him as he played with you. He thrust the plug in and out, his devilish eyes giving away just how much he enjoyed debauching you. He liked the contradictions in you. The good little wife who stayed home and cooked and cleaned. But also his filthy little whore that stretched her ass to take his cock. 

“Kept it in all day, baby?” he asked, pressing on the plug.

“Yeah, Daddy…” you said, looking away at the grains on the wood flooring as you smiled. 

“Good girl,” he said, patting your ass once again before letting your panties snap back in place. Your smile widened, proud that you’d done a good job.

You’d never taken a man in your ass. Not that none had asked before Joel. Some even tried to force themselves in, pretending it was accidental when you yelled at them. The thought of a cock there, where it wasn’t meant to be, where it would be at least a bit painful… It scared you. Your boyfriends and one night stands had no incentive to be good to you. But it was different with Joel. He was your Master and you trusted he wouldn’t do anything to damage his property. 

You were his in every way but you needed him to take more. To have a part of your body that wasn’t meant for fucking trained to take his cock… For every inch of your body to be transformed into a plaything for him. It was the utter, complete submission you craved. 

“So proud of you,” he said, turning you around to face him. He bent down, staying close so you could feel his warm breath as he spoke to you. He kissed behind your ear where he knew you to be sensitive, making you shudder in response. 

“Need to stretch it out good so when I take your ass one day, I won’t split ya’ open.” 

You whimpered, cunt clenching as his words morphed into images in your mind’s eye. 

He served himself dinner, heaping enough on his plate for the both of you. The gentleman that he was, he fed you first. You were his bitch at his feet, being fed and pet, but you were still a typical husband and wife sharing stories of each other’s day. 

You asked him about his day and he vented about some idiot using the wrong setting and overheating a drill bit so much it snapped. He asked about your book club and complimented the meal even though he’d already praised you for it last night.

He rinsed the dishes and set them in the racks to dry while you went upstairs to fetch his fresh boots. The nice soft ones he never wore outside and sanitized thoroughly after each use. You placed them by the coffee table, your eyes connecting with his as you did. He smiled and returned to the dishes, a knowing look in his eyes. 

You headed to the mini bar to prepare drinks. Joel’s drink never needed preparation- just a whiskey, neat. But you liked something fun every night courtesy of your newfound interest in mixology. 

⌘⌘⌘

Joel reached into his shirt and pulled out his chain. It was one of your first presents to him. It was gold and had him stuttering his words when he got it. 

He was not used to having a rich girlfriend. He’d always dated within his economic group. No surprise since not a lot of rich women liked contractors without a higher education. And as a traditional southern man, he liked to be the one to buy gifts for his woman. Liked to provide, to take care of his people. It took time to adjust to having a woman who liked just as much to buy him stuff and take care of him with meals and massages. One who took spontaneous trips to his worksites just to give him a bottle of homemade lemonade when he most needed it. 

Care was a one way street for him. But with you, he learned to accept some care for himself. It began with you cooking meals for him when he renovated your home. It wasn’t the most delicious. You had no experience cooking back then, but he was completely taken by the care you showed him. Just a man she hired. You had too many rooms in your fancy mansion to do shit like that. 

Quickly it had become routine. You spoke to each other about your lives. He told you about starting work straight outta high school after his parents’ death and he learned why you’d moved to Austin. The more days he spent renovating your house the less it felt like work. Especially since that one night you got on your knees and let him know that you would be happy to relieve his stress.

Ladies usually played it coy, or at least that was his experience. But you were unabashed. Bold. You didn’t drop hints and play games. You dropped to you fucking knees and offered him your mouth to fuck. It surprised him how attracted he was to your assertiveness. 

Like the other things he accepted from you, he accepted the gold. You liked how it dangled from his neck as he plowed into you. He liked that it was a counterpart to the collar he put around your neck. 

It now held the key to your chastity belt. He pulled your panties off, plucked the key from his chain and unlocked you. Most mornings, he locked you into your belt before kissing you goodbye at the door. In the evenings, he opened you like the best fucking Christmas present. 

He wasn’t too strict with it, finding integrity and trust a more powerful tool than fear. You knew there was a spare set of keys to the belt and collar in a drawer if you needed them. You trusted him enough to lock and collar you without disrespecting you and he trusted you to not remove it without good reason. He trusted you to not lie and you trusted that he would handle your actions with kindness.

He slipped the heavy steel belt off and placed it by his side on the rug. Knelt behind you, he bent down and kissed your pussy lips, already wet and needy though he hadn’t done anything but wiggle your plug a little. He made out with it just as he would your painted pair of lips, his tongue parting your folds to enter you, tasting your arousal. 

“Remindin’ me why I call ya honey…” he whispered into your sensitive skin, making you tremble against his lips. 

“Why you gotta bake me sweet treats when you got me my favorite between your legs?” He asked, wrapping his lips around your nub before you could answer him with snark. You buried your head in a couch cushion, muffling your sounds. But in the quiet of the living room, Joel could hear the pretty little whimpers you made for him. 

He groaned, his neck hurting from the awkwardness of the angle. He got back up from under you and slapped your ass thrice in quick succession. “Up. Put your panties on and change my boots.” 

He sat back comfortably on the couch and enjoyed the view of you as you got to work. 

Work boots off, you laced up the house boots and dropped your face to the ground, your ass pushing up. You pressed your lips to one boot and then the next. Then you licked it from the tip up, looking up at him for approval as you traveled up. He looked nothing less than absolutely pleased, his fingertips brushing his jawline and his smile soft at the sight of your devotion. 

He tipped your chin up with his boot and caressed your cheek with it. “My little slut loves my boots, huh?” 

You nodded and nuzzled into it, grateful for his attention. The warmth of his smile morphed into arrogance. From your loving husband to the man who knew he controlled your every breath and was ready to take advantage of it. 

“On your ass, slut. Spread those legs and show me your cunt.” 

You sat back, the coffee table supporting you as you spread your legs wide. When you moved the wet gusset of your panties aside, his eyes zeroed in and he tongue swept over his lips. You felt your cunt drip into the carpet, the shame of being so aroused by worshiping his boots only making the situation worse. 

He slid his boot between your legs and pressed it against your hole. “Tell me. Why do I need to keep you locked?” 

“Because I’m a slut,” you admitted, beginning to rub against it. You knew you were a lot to handle. You lived a life of restrain and shame before you found Joel. Joel freed you to chase your desires and allowed you to devolve into a slut. Since then you thought of nothing but filling your holes. He had you addicted to his cock and whining for it like a wild animal. If you didn’t have Joel to take full command of your body, you knew you would do nothing but rub your cunt raw.

“Yeah that’s right,” he said, leaning close. “But you are my slut. I know you won’t go around letting other men use your holes. So why do I keep you locked?” 

“B-because I’m so wet I can’t think, Daddy.” 

“Mhmm. That’s right. Now why does Daddy need you thinking?” He said, cupping your cheek in his callused hands. 

“C-cause I need to keep the home. I need to cook and clean.” 

He shook his head. “Don’t need your brain working to do that, baby. What d’ya need to think for?” 

“My projects. I need to think for my projects.” 

“Exactly. Good girl. You need to finish the portrait for your art class next week, don’tcha?” 

You simply nodded, happy that he kept track of your tasks. Sometimes you forgot. You got lazy and procrastinated, turned your hobbies into a source of stress. But Master guided you and held you accountable. 

“And you love your furniture so much. Your Persian rug, your designer sofas, the hardwood floor I laid down. What’ll happen if I don’t keep this hole locked?” He asked, tipping his chin up. 

Your mind began its descent into the void of lust as the sensations between your legs eclipsed all else. Yet you managed a response. “I’ll r-ruin it.”

“Mhmm. Can’t have you ruining our home. I know how much care you put into it,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “How well you take care of it everyday,” he said with a kiss on your cheek. “It’ll all be ruined if you leave a trail of slick behind you when you’re on your knees cleaning the front.” 

You nodded frantically, words slipping beyond your abilities. 

“Now tell me why I need separate house boots.” 

You opened and closed your mouth, but nothing got to you past the cruelty of his boot and your slick panties on your clit. His had slipped from your face down to grab your neck and you gasped. 

“Answer me, girl. Why do I need these boots?”

“B-because of me.” 

“Mmm. Why?”

“Bec-because I’m a shameless bitch,” you croaked out as his hand constricted around you. “I need to fuck m’self on Master’s boots,” 

“That’s right,” he said, allowing you some air. “I can’t go out with my work boots smelling like pussy. Can’t let my men take a whiff of my slut now, can I?” he taunted, giving a light kick to your pussy. You gasped, the kick electrifying your every nerve. 

“You want more?” He asked, head tilted and a mocking smile playing at his plush lips. 

You nodded frantically, your cunt thrusting into the air as you sputtered, “Yes Sir, yes please.” 

“Shameless whore, asking to be kicked in the cunt,” he snorted before he kicked you again. You shrieked and closed your legs shut, pain and pleasure alike traveling from your core to every part of your body. When your brain recovered from the shock, you opened your legs again. 

You reached between your legs and rubbed yourself, intending to soothe but distracted by the waves of pleasure from the contact. 

“Fucking slut,” he said, slapping your hand away and replacing it with his own. He alternated between slaps and rubs of your cunt. The sting of pain morphed into jolts of pleasure until the two became so indistinguishable from the other that you didn’t know what you were craving. You took what he gave, your body grateful to accept anything that came of his touch. 

The hand on your neck squeezed and let go at unpredictable intervals. Every constriction of airflow was a reminder that you were just a toy at his whim. He decided if you came, he decided which hole he’d use, he decided if you’d take your next breath. 

“Look how you’re dripping all over my hand,” he said, his hand glistening with your shame as he brought it up to you. He smeared it over your face, a sob escaping your throat as you smelled your desperation. 

You inched closer to him on your knees and rested your cunt at the tip of his boot and humped. Up, down, up, down. There was no bliss like it. 

“Like a fucking bitch in heat,” he muttered, laughing to himself when you whined. “Imagine if your former subordinates could see ya now. Wouldn’t even recognize their ballbusting boss. Maybe we should have ‘em over.” 

You shook your head in denial, but your cunt was more truthful, clenching harder at the thought of having an audience to your subjugation. 

“No?” He mocked as he worked on your corset top. The hairs on your body stood up as the air cooled your sweating torso. Your breasts bounced free, jiggling as you fucked yourself on his boot. 

He took one in his hand, fondling it before letting go with a slap. You yelped, inching closer and trapping the bootlaces under you. He took turns with them, squeezing, slapping and pinching. 

“Please!” You cried, not comprehending why you were begging. 

“I know, baby. I know…” he said, the softness of his voice contradicting the cruelty of his fingers that tugged at your nipples. 

“Need t— Hnngg!” 

“I got you. Give into it, Cunt. Just be the fuckhole you were made to be.” 

A wild sound escaped your lips and you fell back. He caught you, holding you up against the coffee table. 

Your cunt still rutted, autonomous and in control of you. Just a cunt, just Master’s fuckhole. With that reassurance, the world disappeared and you found euphoria that you could never experience without him. 

All the tension in your muscles evaporated to join the anxieties he fucked out of you, leaving behind you a carefree fucktoy. 

Brains all fucked out, you could do nothing but comply as he rearranged you on your knees. Light illuminated his face and sounds of a cheering crowd and a fast talking man echoed in your empty head. 

He squeezed your cheeks, forcing your mouth to open. A cold glass pressed against your lips and you lapped up the drink, grateful for something to quench your thirst. He pinched your nose, laughing as your hole gasped wide open for air. 

He lined his cock up with your hole and thrust in, your lips stretching tight to accommodate him. He allowed you air once again and you moaned around him, grateful for his benevolence. Though your hole was accustomed to him, the walls trembled. But you persevered, needing to show Master you were grateful for letting you breathe. You took him inch by inch, stopping only when your head was on his lap and your nose pressed against his balls. 

You breathed in his scent, masculine and overpowering. Tongue darted out every now and then to lick his balls. Cunt pulsated in the joy of submission when he moaned and whimpered. Every now and then he fucked your face up and down his cock and gave you air but mostly let you be.

Time had passed but you didn’t know how much. No world existed beyond him, no purpose other than warming his cock in your hole. Eventually, he stood up and held your head in both hands, thrusting in and out with no regard for you. Pathetic sounds escaped your burning throat and your lips lost its bright red color as your lipstick ran with your drool. Mascara and eyeliner ran down the sides of your face with your tears, turning gray when he released his spend on your face.

Face covered in his release, you crumbled at his feet, your arms going around his legs. You couldn’t bear to be alone in this state. His hand came down, caressing your sweat soaked hair as he whispered comforts.

“Did so well for me, Darling. So fucking perfect…”

“I love you,” you mumbled, looking up at him through foggy vision. 

“I love you. More than I can show. Let me take care of you now. Bath and then bed, alright?”

You nodded, cheek pressed against his knee and loath to let go of his legs. He didn’t hurry you,but allowed you stay where you were until you decided to get up. There were chores to be done, you were sure but you knew he would take care of it. It was a worry you no longer had. All that mattered was that you served him well. No stock prices and market conditions. No early mornings and hours stuck in traffic jams. 

Nothing to do but please Master, nothing to be but holes and tits. You were free. 

⌘

Masterlist

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: Your boyfriend promises to watch over you when you want to get drunk.

Genre: SMUT-ish

Warnings: innocent!reader, intoxication, swearing, grinding on someone's thigh, mentions of sex (no actual sex considering reader is drunk), praise kink

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

Just as you extend your arm to knock, James slides in front of you and gently holds under your elbow. He's smiling at you fondly as he caresses soothing circles across your skin.

"I want you to know, love, just because we mentioned it doesn't mean you have to, hmm?" he reminds you, his voice low and husky.

You smile and nod your head, letting him wrap an arm around your waist, "I know, Jamie," you reassure him. James looks at you in such a way you know he understands and he settles into your side. He turns around when you knock, his arm still holding you close, and when the door swings open to reveal an already flushed Sirius Black, your boyfriend smirks.

"Prongsie!" Sirius cries happily, pulling James in by his collar and trapping him in a hug. James has released his arm from around you in anticipation of Sirius's gesture and you giggle, walking into the house behind them.

Sirius looks at you next. "Y/n!" he cries, "Your lovely lady looks as lovely as ever, Jamsey," he skips over and takes your hand in his, twirling you around. You can smell the faint cherry vodka on his breath as he holds up your hand and clumsily swipes a thumb along your knuckles. "Still no ring?" Sirius whines with a light-hearted pout.

James pulls you away gently, his cheeks blushed pink. "Alright, enough. Hands off my girl," he reprimands, holding you close as he presses a kiss to your temple. He's holding your hand almost possessively, but you don't mind.

"I keep wondering that myself, Siri," you join in the teasing and send James a smile.

The latter rolls his eyes but smirks as he helps you out of your winter coat. He hangs it up next to his own and then places his hand on your lower back so he can guide you around. It's a common gesture James doesn't even realize he's doing anymore.

Sirius and Remus's house isn't small, but it isn't big either. It's normally sized with dark brick walls and ivy near the upper windows. Inside, the fire is burning and the smell of cookies and wine is in the air.

Lily, Dorcas, and Marlene occupy the couch as they play a game of friendly poker with Frank and Alice. Remus, when he sees you all, stands up from his armchair and smiles widely.

"Y/n/n," he says as if he hasn't seen you in years. Which is a dramatic exaggeration.

Remus pulls you into a warm hug, which means you aren't next to James anymore and he pouts, "Why is everyone suddenly in love with my girlfriend?" he whines.

Remus chuckles and kisses your cheek, "Because she's just so lovely, James," he kisses your cheek again and you giggle. "Plus, you've been hiding her from us for weeks now. I'm starting to think you're doing it on purpose."

James shakes his head with a low chuckle, his hand finding yours. "It's not my fault she's been busy."

"You guys do realize I am standing right here, yeah?" you interrupt with a chuckle. Remus looks at you fondly. He nods and then hurries you and James over to the couch where your friends are.

Always the gentleman, James crosses his legs and sits on the floor while you squeeze in between Lily and Marlene, sending them smiles.

A few moments later Sirius emerges with two glasses of white wine. He grins and hands one to James before handing you yours. Instantly, your eyes flicker to James as you take the glass and look at the liquid.

He sends you a reassuring nod. Even in school, you tended to stay away from alcohol because you were scared. Scared of losing control. But, now that you're with James and you feel safe around him. You had brought it up a few days ago: that you wanted to try. James had promised to watch you, to make sure you don't drink too much or do anything stupid.

So, you put the glass to your lips.

Three drinks in and you don't feel drunk.

Rather, you feel completely normal – well almost normal as you seem to have a hard time keeping your eyes away from your boyfriend's hands. You tend to play with the hem of your dress in your lap and you're still sitting in between Lily, and now Sirius as he drunkenly animates his sentences.

James is still sitting on the floor, his arms draped across his knees as he crosses his ankles. From time to time, he'll look up at you and his eyebrows will scrunch as if to ask if you're okay. Your cheeks start to feel hot and you fumble with your hands to press them on your face. You squirm around, feeling pressure in your core as you bite down on your lip.

"Y/n," James's voice is hoarse and you look up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "Come here, dove," he whispers.

When you stand, you stumble to James and gasp when he pulls you down onto his lap. You hold onto him, looking into his eyes as his hand finds your thigh just shy from your ass. James frowns as he sees your expression but then his lips curl into a smirk.

Clumsily, he makes a show of standing as you cling onto him. Your friends don't seem preoccupied by you and James as he gently guides you into Remus and Sirius's small bathroom in the hallway. You lean against the sink, looking up at James and mumble, "W-What?"

James's knuckles caress down your cheek as he chuckles. "Hey, are you okay?"

You blink at him, trying to focus on something other than the heat from his strong body against yours. You hum, nodding. James's palm presses against your cheek first and then moves to your forehead. He frowns. "You're warm. 'You sure you're okay?" he asks with concern.

Your breathing becomes harsher as you stare at him. "O-oh- yeah. I'm g-good," you try to sound as normal as you can although his touch ignites a fire inside you.

James's frown deepens, looking you over. When you bite your lip, his eyebrow raises and the corner of his mouth slips upwards. He knows your signs all too well by now.

James slides his knee in between your legs, a soft gasp escaping your lips as your skirt rides up your thighs a little further. The coarse fabric of his jeans hits your cotton panties and your hands grip the sink harder. You look up at him, your eyes lidded. "J-Jamie?"

His hand slides up your cheek, tilting his head as he presses a sloppy kiss behind your ear. "Shh, it's okay. I'm here. I won't allow anything bad to happen to you, my lovely," he lifts his knee slightly and a shiver runs up your arms.

You clutch his shirt, your mind already starting to go fuzzy. You can't tell if you're just drunk or incredibly horny – perhaps you're both? All you know if you want James's touch. You want his lips, his hands, his cock. James's knee rubbing against your pussy interrupts your dirty fantasies as you sigh.

"I'm not gonna do all the work," James mutters and pauses his movements.

"More," You whisper, staring at him needily and James chuckles quietly.

"Shhh, my baby's simply a little too drunk for that," his voice is smooth and stern as he kisses the side of your lips, "I'm not gonna do that, lovie. I'm sorry. But, if you wanna get off on my trousers then who am I to deny you?" he quips with a knowing smile.

As if simply needing his permission, you roll your hips onto him and let out a loud moan. James covers your mouth with his hand, stroking your skin as you buck against him desperately. You're dripping and seeping through your panties to soak his jeans with your juices. You can't stop your soft, drunken, moans as you rub your sensitive clit against him.

"Good girl," James whispers encouragements, occasionally moving his knee to apply more pressure, "My good girl, aren't you? So needy when you're drunk, hmm?" he hums with a smile.

You nod, cheeks burning as your movements become even more desperate. It feels so good. He's making you feel so good and he knows it. James leans in and rests his hand behind your ear as he delicately kisses your head. He can tell you're close and he whispers sweet nothings in your ear as your mind goes fuzzy and your skin prickles with desire.

Your mouth opens only no sound comes out when you rut against him harder. James grins, enjoying having you so completely undone in front of him. You hold onto his sleeve, squeezing your thighs around his and tears of pleasure brim your lashes. James coos, "Aw, don't cry, sweetheart. What's the matter?" he teases and strokes his thumb across your cheek.

"I- I need more," you whimper, trying desperately to reach your high.

"I can't let you have more, lovie," James says quietly. He doesn't want to risk crossing any boundaries when you're drunk.

Still, he grips your hips and rocks them over his thigh, helping you. "Here, just let go for me. It's okay, I'll take care of you later I promise." You whine and lean your head on his chest as your pussy throbs.

You feel light-headed when you finally come, your juices soaking your panties and James's jeans. He kisses your forehead when you look up at him, eyes lidded. "Good girl, you did so good," he whispers, stroking a hand in your hair as you catch your breath.

James lifts you effortlessly onto the sink and you automatically spread your legs. You watch him as he bends over and rolls up some toilet paper in his hand.

He then hands it to you, "Clean yourself up, dove?"

You look at him innocently, silently asking him to be the one to clean you. James hesitates and bites his lip. Quickly, he dips his hand into your panties and collects your cum on the paper. He bunches it up and throws it in the toilet. He rolls up some more and wipes his jeans a little.

Finally, he flushes the evidence and kisses your lips. You squirm a little, uncomfortable from the wetness in your panties. James looks down and smirks.

He starts to slide your panties down your hips and looks at you for consent. You nod, staring at him. You're still in a haze from the liquor but you trust James. He slides your panties into his jeans pocket and smoothes your skirt. He sees your adorable frown, "No one will know, I promise," he assures you.

When you leave the bathroom, the hallway seems darker. James's hand rests on your ass, keeping your skirt down as you focus on not tripping. You don't realize how giddy and stupid you and James looks until you both enter the living room again and your friends turn to stare. Lily, Remus, and Marlene seem to compose themselves as they smirk behind their hands, but Sirius, in his drunken state, seems completely appalled.

"You did not just fuck in my bathroom, Potter!" he exclaimed. Laughs escape the others and you must look completely embarrassed because their smiles widen. James gently and playfully covers your ears as his voice strains to hide his amusement.

"Shut up," he chuckles and then kisses your temple, "we did no such thing, did we, lovie?"

You nod your head. You wonder if your panties are burning a hole in James's trousers just like your bareness is causing a burning in your stomach. James hands moves to your back as he caresses you comfortingly.

"So, why did you come out of the bathroom together?" Marlene interrupts and adds to the teasing, "Don't tell me Y/n needed help peeing?"

James sends her a glare and moves you through the living room and to the door. "It's late, I'm tired," he tries to take the attention off you, "I think it's time for us to drive home."

He drapes your coat over your shoulders and you're grateful he's taking you home. The neediness has been replaced by pure exhaustion and you grip his arm. James puts on his own coat and opens the door. He whispers to you, "Shh, you're safe with me," and kisses you again.

You both say your goodbye's and Sirius calls out one last time, "If I find any evidence you fucked in my bathroom, I'll personally kill you, James Potter," James pauses, knowing he's not finished and smirks when he hears Sirius's last comment.

"Shame on you for roping poor, innocent Y/n into your disgusting activities. And in my bathroom — "

"Sirius," You hear Remus warn, exhausted.

James holds your hand and starts to shut the door behind you,

"Next time, Remus and I will fuck in your bathroom!"

"Sirius!"

[alwaysanundertone]

Day 8: first time | Regulus Black

smut

TW: piv, fingering

"I'm a virgin" You peaked out from your hands, Regulus freezing suddenly, his hands still gripping your underwear harshly. He blinked a couple of times, making you panic. "Sorry for not telling you this before, but I was scared you wouldn’t be interested anymore if I told you, I’m so sorry”

“Stop it” You bit your lower lip, looking down. “You should have told me sooner, baby. I’m kind of offended you think so little of me, though. Do you still want to do this or not?”

You nodded. “Yes! Yes, of course. It’s just- I thought it wasn’t fair, you should have known this before”

He kissed your nose. “Thank you for telling me, love, and for trusting me this much. I love you” You smiled sheepishly. He proceeded to undress you, this time he was taking his time, kissing every bit of skin he exposed, making you feel nearly crazy with need.

“Reggie, please”

He chuckled. “I’m going to take my time, baby, you just lay here and enjoy”

You scoffed. “I’m not enjoying all of this teasing, though”

He raised his eyebrows. “So bratty, love. Should I stop?” You gripped him by his collar, bringing him close to your lips. You kissed him harshly, you felt his hands caressing your hips before gripping them tightly, making you moan in his mouth. “So needy” He brought one of his hands right above your pussy, eliciting a gasp out of you. Slowly, tentatively, he started massaging your clit over your panties.

“Regulus”

“I know, baby, I know. Such a good girl for me, so pliant under my touch” You arched your back, you could feel yourself getting wetter by the minute. Somehow, his touch was enough to make you wet, but not enough to satiate your neediness. He kept up a steady rhythm, his rough digits pressing on your white lace panties. “Now, won’t you look at that? Look at the mess you made, maybe we should just throw out these, don’t you think?” Suddenly, your underwear was in shreds, you stared at him, mouth open.

He didn’t give you time to react, his finger slowly, but surely, entering you, making you moan loudly. Sure, you had touched yourself before, but it had never felt this amazing before.

“You’re already so wet for me, baby” You didn’t respond, kissing him, sucking on his bottom lip; he chuckled in your mouth. “I love how responsive you are. So good f’me”

He added another finger, making you arch your back, your eyes wide open. You tried to wiggle your hips, to no avail. He tsked, holding you down with his other hand. “No moving or I’ll stop, you choose” You instantly froze, making him burst out laughing. “Good girl” he kissed your nose. He picked up his rhythm, his thumb pressing down on your clit, drawing soft moans out of your mouth.

“Regulus, please, I need more”

He cooed at you. “Honey, I need to prepare you, don’t want to hurt you”

“But I’m ready” You whined in his mouth, but he shook his head.

“Not enough, you’re going to come on my finger like a good girl, then you’ll deserve my cock” He curled his digits upwards, making you gasp. Suddenly, coming on his cock didn’t seem so impossible. “Yeah, that’s more like it” He kissed you roughly, with hunger, as you failed to keep up with the rhythm.

You started to feel your muscles tense, a knot forming in your stomach, it was like you could have touched the sky with your finger, like you were on top of the world. “Regulus, what”

“You’re about to come, baby, let go for me and relax”

You did, explosions behind your eyelids, your head spun a little. All the while, he worked you through it, whispering in your ear, praising you.

Once you came down from your high, you saw him opening a condom, blushing furiously when you saw his dick for the first time. He noticed it, obviously, and gave you a soft smile as you averted your gaze. "Do you trust me, baby?"

You nodded as he positioned himself on top of you, your legs wrapping around his hips without much thought; one of his large hands engulfed one of your thighs, massaging it softly before squeezing it. "You're so beautiful, honey" He kissed your neck sloppily.

As he probed your entrance with his dick, you tensed. “Love, you gotta relax, let me in gorgeous” He traced his tongue up, nipping at your earlobe, making you gasp. “Gonna make you feel so good baby”

You sighed, his sweet talking was really doing a number on you, you felt yourself getting impossibly wet, your back arching. He entered you with one slow thrust, not stopping until he was fully inside of you, your hips against his. He groaned, loosing his composure for a moment.

“Fuck” He stilled, his brows scrunched up.

After a while, you shimmied your hips, only for him to grasp them tightly. “Love, if you want this to feel good I have to last, and you moving your hips and squeezing my dick isn’t helping”

You blushed furiously. “Sorry, I just- I need”

He dipped down, kissing you, ending your stuttering. “I know, love. Let me do the work, okay, baby?”

Suddenly you felt all the love you had for your boyfriend bubbling up, it was in the way he cared about you even in this moment, the way his main goal was always to make you feel good. It overwhelmed you, tears coming out of your eyes in delicate lines. Regulus panicked.

“Love? Are you hurting?” He searched your face, one of his hands cupping your cheek. You shooked your head. “Then what is it? Should we stop? Are you feeling uncomfortable?”

You took a deep breath, feeling ashamed. “It’s just that I love you so, so much” You smiled up at him, and he melted into you, his nose nuzzling your neck.

"I love you too, sweet girl. My gorgeous, sweet, girl" He caressed your hip. "Are you feeling any pain?"

You shook your head. "No, you can move"

He kissed you, before slowly dragging his dick outside of you, pushing it back in an excruciating rhythm. You arched your back, the pain morphing into pleasure, grounding you.

"Regulus" You sighed, your head pushed into the pillows.

"I know, baby, I know. I love you" His hand flied to your clit, massaging it lightly. He picked up his rhythm, the other hand grabbing your ankle, positioning it on his shoulder, the new angle making your eyes cross. "Who do you belong to, baby?"

You moaned. "You, Reggie" He smiled, kissing your nose.

"Does it feel good, baby? Look at this, look at how perfect we fit together" He directed your jaw so that you were watching his dick pushing into you, making you blush furiously. "Do you want to come, love? Are you going to come on my dick like the good girl I know you are? mh?"

You nodded, incapable of forming any coherent thought. "Then come, baby, come on my cock, claim what's yours" You did, the muscles in your thighs flexing, your vision blacking out for a while as his hips stuttered and he found his release.

He collapsed on top of you, his dick still in you, as you both caught your breath.

tags: @sxmnc @peterparkerspersonalplaything @riaaavm @iamawkwardandshy @eeviee4 @mysterialee @famouscrusadeluminary @el1smells @rishofkf @mooonyxoxo @happymaeday @yourfiendlyneighbourspiderman @whyshouldihaveanam3 @amazing-bobinsky @barnesandmetal @just-here-for-ff @sammyreid @remussbitch

[prettyboykatsuki]

on deaths door | s. gojo

✮ tags ; dark content ahead, afab + gender neutral reader, dark comedy / black comedy, attempts of suicide, the use of the word rapist in text, mentions of self-harm scars, penetration, intense but not rough, gojo is doting, no curses au, ceo!gojo 18+

note: this fic is mostly intended to be a dark comedy and have an unserious nature. it is very absurdist and it makes light of both suicide and assault. please proceed carefully if you find this might be triggering to you.

PLEASE READ THE TAGS BEFORE YOU PROCEED.

✮ wc ; 2.6k

✮ a/n ; i actually really really enjoyed writing this and would love to expand on it potentially. KJSDFJSKD.

reader has been through a lot so they are super nonchalant about everything just as a precaution

"Uwah," A voice startles you from your place on the roof. You gasp, amidst tears and sobs from shock. "Are you about to kill yourself?"

You whip your head around to see who could be beside you at this hour. It's a deliberately obscure location, too so it's extra weird. You were hoping to die in peace in a place where it'd be hard to find you, after all.

But there's a strange man interrupting your plans. Very strange. He's speaking Japanese rather clearly but his hair is a shock of white and his eyes are blues as saphhires. Despite the situation, his voice is light and cheerful - almost amused.

You can't tell if he's just a figment of your imagination. He's so unusual it stuns you out of your tears. You can't find your voice to respond for a moment.

"Yes," You reply, unsure of what else to say. He smiles at you.

"Hm." He looks contemplative. "Well... if you don't want it, can I have it?"

You stare on, confused.

He grins. "Your life, I mean. Can I buy it off you?"

Starting to wonder if you've already died, you stretch your hands up to wipe the tears off of your face just to see if any of it is real. The touch makes it gasp. You're definitely still alive. So, that means this strange man is also real and asking to buy your life.

"What?"

"Oh, don't worry. I'm not a cheapskate or anything, the price will be fair." He walks closer to you from where you've been standing all this time. He grabs you by the collar of your shirt, picking you up and setting you down further away from the ledge with a harsh yank.

Like a kitten whose mother is dragging it by the nape, you fumble onto the rooftop concrete. As soon as you're moved, you drop down to your knees - unable to find anymore strength.

"Are you... trying to traffick me?" Your voice is coarse in your reply as you stare up. It's a genuine question. You aren't sure what else to call this. The strange, unusual man just laughs in your face.

"Mm, well - not really. Though, if you say yes I'll make good use of you in all ways." The last part makes your skin crawl a little. "You were weeping so pitifully when I came up here... super pathetic. I just thought it'd be a waste if you died since I got to see something interesting."

There's something really wrong with this guy, you think. But this is such a common thing in your life, you aren't sure how shocked you should be.

There's also something equally wrong with you, because you're so fucked up - you're considering it. If he paid you enough to cover all of your debts, you could cut ties with all the bullshit your fathers debt has put you through. You could run away. Not there's anywhere for you, even after that. But at least you'd be unshackled from what makes you most miserable.

You don't want your life, but if this guy wants it so bad then...

"...How much will you pay me?"

His eyes light up when you ask this and it unsettles you further. "As much as you want. And you'd have to live with me at my beck and call."

"Like a pet." You reply easily.

Instead of denying it, he snaps his fingers and grins. "Exactly! Or maybe more like a plush toy that I take every where?"

Either way, you're not any kind of human. You're barely human now though with how much you work, so you aren't sure it makes a difference. You stare at him. And he looks back at you with a smile - all pearly white pristine teeth.

Who cares anymore, anyway? Even if he were to mistreat you, you're not sure you'd even feel it. It's all numb. He can have your life if it means you can escape what you're running from.

He looks rich, so maybe.

"Don't worry," He hums, and he reaches over to pat your head while your face is covered in tears. You don't flinch for some reason. "I don't like breaking things I've bought unnecessarily."

Something is wrong with you. Your self preservation is in total fucking tatters. But still, you want to say so you do. Maybe it's the absurdity, or the fact you truly don't have anything to lose. Nothing could make your misfortune any worse.

You sniffle and shake your head. He's dangerous and weird, but at least you could pay off your debts.

"Okay," You say weakly.

His smile gets impossibly wide.

You're wonder if you'll regret your decision.

__

He's filthy rich.

You should've expected that. You did, kinda. Because only rich people would think to do or ask something so absurd like ask to buy another persons life. Still, he had a driver waiting for him downstairs and his car is definitely a sports care. A McLaren, you think. One of the places you catered for ages ago was full of rich people with flashy cars and you remembered some of them.

He sits with you uncomfortably close in the back seat but doesn't speak to you at all during the ride. Not until you arrive at the destination, which is a giant building where the strange man certainly lives.

The driver (named Ichiji) calls the strange man Gojo-sama, which makes you feel extremely on edge. They whisper about something when you're out of ear shot, and Ichiji gives you a sorrowful look that you can't place.

The name Gojo is familiar to you, but you aren't sure where you've heard it.

After taking a long elevator ride to one of the upper floors, you end up in the strange mans condo. When you get there, he tells you take off your shoes and gives you nice slippers.

"Welcome to my humble abode," He says, still frivolous and speaking to you in what feels like a foreign tongue. "And also yours. I'll set you up in the guest room later, but you'll be keeping my bed warm mostly so keep that in mind."

The size of the place is absurd and so is the decor. What have you gotten yourself into? You must've gone insane. You're too afraid to touch anything.

"Am I like... a sex slave?" You ask curiously.

He frowns at you. "You make me sound like some kind of rapist. I guess now that I own you....it might make me one... but you agreed to come here so don't be like that!!" He huffs, childishly.

His response is somewhat incomprehensible to you. He's stranger by the minute and completely tactless - but for some reason, it's hard to distrust him. He doesn't raise any immediate red flags aside from being unusual.

You almost want to say it wouldn't matter if he was, as long as he pays you but decide not too.

"Okay. Do you want me to take my clothes off?" You reply, nonchalant. He stares at you.

"...I know your heads pretty fucked up, but don't you think you're being too blase about all this?"

Your brow furrows. A weird response for a guy who willingly understands this is a less than ethical situation "Would... you prefer I struggle and refuse you? Is that your fetish?"

"No! Well..." You look at him flatly as he thinks on it, almost blushing at the thought. You make a face of disgust "Not in this case, alright! It's just too pitiful and I'm not that type really.... Be more cautious."

"But you were planning to fuck me from the start, right? Or something."

He nods. "Well, yes. As a way to earn your living and for me get my urges out whenever. Finding people to have sex with is a hassle."

You shrug.

"Right. I can cook and clean too. I've done pretty much every job you can think of it,"

He waves a hand at you. "We can discuss it later." He puts a hand in his necktie and pulls on with a small smile. "Right now, I want to test out my new toy so..."

You should feel more disgusted by how he refers to you, but you don't have it in yourself.

"Can I shower first?"

He looks surprised but nods. "Uh-huh. Just wear one of my shirts when you come out. Everything else is in the bathroom. It's upstairs, first door on your left."

You stand to your feet, nodding.

__

It takes you ten minutes to figure out how the shower works.

His shower is nice. The whole place is nice. Nicer than any shithole you've ever lived in. He has a lot of nice bath products, though you aren't sure how you feel about smelling like him since you're borrowing his.

You examine your body a bit in the shower, looking at old scars as you wash and rub yourself clean. Thankfully, you gave yourself a trim downstairs not long ago.

It's embarrassing in retrospect but you've not had much of a choice in the first place. You're sensitive, unsure of the last time you've touched yourself given how much you work. You think of your job and feel guilty for how you're going to miss it. But you recall that you were preparing to die not even two hours ago and feel less bad.

You whimper a little as you finger yourself open under the water - getting wet easier than you thought. You have to lean against the wall, but with enough coaxing you get three fingers in. You're still horny when you shut the water off and step out.

You dry yourself and put on lotion - staring in the mirror. As told you borrow one of his shirts, but it's too big on you and you can see your nipples too clearly which makes you embarrassed.

You reason you're about to go fuck a stranger anyway, and decide to step out right after.

__

You decide against wearing underwear since his shirt fits on you like a dress, but regret when you come back down stairs feeling aware of the breeze on your went cunt.

He's sitting on the couch with his legs spread, dress shirt unbuttoned but still in his clothes. He hears you before he sees you, eyes widening. You suddenly get self-conscious under the weight of his stare.

"Better than I thought," Is his only assessment. Your skin grows hot.

He beckons you over to him and you go, unsure of what to do until he pulls you into his lap. Forcing you to straddle him, he wastes no time in feeling you up. His hands at your waist and chest. His face lights up in pure amusement when he sees you bare underneath.

He stares at your pussy for a long time.

"It's good," He hums, his hands brushing against it. Your nipples pebble in response to the arousal, a pathetic moan leaving your lips that makes him laugh. "Pretty."

You don't have anything to say to that so you keep quiet. Gojo slides his fingers along the seam of your cunt to asses your wetness, surprised surely by how wet it is. Without warning, he plunges a finger in. He looks up at your face, your hand covering your mouth so you don't moan.

"So wet," His voice can't contain his amusement. "What's this?"

"I was," You shiver half-way through as he plunges in another finger and it goes in smoothly. "I p-prepared in the shower and masturbated. I thought you'd just want to stick it in and I didn't want it to hurt.

"Haah," His voice is sharp, suddenly breathy. Something hard and big presses up against your leg. "You're talented in seducing me. I'm not so ungentlemanly, but I'll let it go this time, alright?"

You nod. He uses a sticky hand to unbutton his slacks and push his boxers away. You gasp at the size of his cock. You're not a virgin exactly, but you haven't had sex with anyone this big ever. He chuckles a little, pressing the head of his cock against your stomach and cunt as if measuring it up to you.

More wetness pulses, shame filling you - because you're almost excited to be fucking this strange man you've only met today. Weirdly, you don't feel unsafe around him. Your eyes glass over from lust.

He sticks his fingers in your mouth and you suck automatically, instinctively. His smile is predatory all of a sudden, teeth glimmering.

"So obedient," He says, sharply. "Ah, I have a good eye. It really would've been such a waste."

You're content to throw yourself at him, chasing the pleasure. His fingers taste of salt and skin, making you want something else entirely. It's not long before he pulls away though, wrapping his hand around his shaft and making it shiny. You blink down at where he fists his cock - your spine tingling at the sight.

"Look at you," He mutters, amused. "Do you always get this excited? Is it normal for you to fuck strange men or am I special?"

You shake your head. "It's only been two people."

"Then I am special," He replies. Your breath hitches at the feeling of his cock pressing against your hole - fluttering. "We have good compatibility."

Before you can say a word, you feel his length push inside of you in one swift motion and gasp. It's so big, so impossibly big - and even with how much you stretched, there's a touch of resistance that's making your entire lower half feel like it's jelly. Almost numb from the sensation. Buzzing from adrenaline and want.

You feel full. In your stomach, in your chest - your whole body feel complete. When you manage to open your eyes, you look at Gojo and find yourself taken aback. His hair is pushed back from his hand and he looks... different. He's handsome now that you realize. His face looks...pleased.

You talk before you can think about it.

"Do I feel good?"

He laughs sweetly, before pressing a kiss to your temple that feels to affectionate for people who barely know each other.

"Uh-huh," He says. His hands are strong, tight on your ass as he bucks up into you - causing you to collapse forward. The pleasure makes you shake, sensitivity through the roof. "Feel so good. Hahaha, how lucky."

You cling onto Gojo's shoulder and bury your face into his neck. He doesn't stop you. A large hand comes around the back of your head - the other one at your hips as he thrusts up into you with alarming force and precision. He feels so good it's a little scary, and you can't keep the noises from slipping out. You moan and whine each time the tip rubs against you inside, soft walls barely able to accommodate the size.

Your body feels hot everywhere he touches. It's been so long and Gojo is so careful but so intense. His expensive dress shirt rubs up against your nipples each time he moves. It's so good, so good - makes you want to cry.

"You're so sensitive." He laughs against your shoulder. "Gripping so tight every time I move. Do you want to cum so bad?"

"Yes," The words are a sob. Just a little more.

"Uh-huh. Tell me where to touch you. How should I make you cum."

You're too shamelessly pent up to feel shy anymore. "Touch my c-clit, please, please."

"Got it, got it - don't cry."

Gojo listens to you well. Thick fingers and an angled hand find your clit with ease as he bounces you on his cock with no regard. Your eyes roll back instantly, immediately - as an orgasm washes over your entire body. Back arching, you cum hard around the base of his cock - but Gojo just keeps fucking you through it. He doesn't stop even when you come down, only moves you both so you're laying on the couch on your back.

He kisses you then, and you meet his mouth with sloppy tears running down your face from the pleasure.

"Let's see what your stamina is like, yeah? See if you can keep up with me."

__

He fucks you unconscious.

Essentially. Though you take with enthusiasm even during your exhaustion because the sex is phenomenal - you have no idea when you stop.

You wake up in a bed, and you wake up completely clean. You don't know whose bed, but there's a large figure besides you. Half-asleep and fully exhausted, you feel shy thinking about the fact he probably bathed and dressed you while you were out.

What a strange man, you think - to do that.

He's talking to someone on the phone. You don't really make out much of the words, though you do hear your name in bits and pieces.

"...A college student.......- young then -...... open a bank account for.... - debt...- pay it all off before it becomes annoying.... look into -."

You shift under your blankets half asleep. A hand comes up on top of your head on the pillow, pushing hair from your face.

"Did I wake you?" His expression is hard to read in the dark with your eyes barely open. "Sorry. Almost done. Go back to sleep."

So you do, because you can't find strength to do much else.

The bed is warm, but your sure the heat you feel is from the strong, gentle head petting your head as you rest.

[yanderefarm]

I'm so feral about Nephite, like I want to just keep him on my lap for weeks.

Would he be okay with wearing a collar if reader gifted it to him, readers name engraved on the leather, Nephite's name in cursive letters on a pendant.

Idk man isk

i remember talking about omega collars with my friend awhile ago and i stumbled upon a post that tried to make omegaverse collars that work as guards for scent glands/marks. so i know you meant a more traditional dog collar but this is what made sense to me. and i even drew it!

the idea

cw;; omegaverse, religion, suggestive, marking

nephite was surprised when you mentioned a collar, you talked about it so casually like it was inevitable that he would wear a collar. the omega flustered, his face growing red as he struggled to find his words.

"wh-what do you me-mean? my-my collar..."

"oh. are you not ok with it? i knew a lot of omegas who would get collars to protect their scent glands."

"oh!! oh... ri-right! lots of... lots of other... omegas..." he shifted from side to side in your lap his hands fidgeting and fumbling.

"i want to get something nice that'll show off your bite without exposing your neck. what do you think?"

"uhm... o-ok..."

honestly nephite had only agreed because he worried you preferred omegas in collars. if he said no maybe you wouldn't want him anymore!! maybe you would run off with a collared omega, a more obedient one. so despite his own hesitations to be caught wearing such a thing he agreed.

until he saw it.

it was a genuine omega collar that covered up the crook of his neck in a beautiful white lace with golden patterns woven into it. the middle of it was chained together with a sturdy chain, towards the bottom of it was a beautiful blue gem that opened up to show your name and address. his own name was embroidered on the back of the collar that would be hidden by his hair. like his own name was unimportant in the face of your ownership.

"you won't have to wear turtlenecks anymore."

"oh-oh... i... we-well those were for modesty..."

"you don't have to be modest anymore."

his cheeks turned a bright pink as you stepped forward, your fingers undoing the collar's latches.

"maybe... maybe we should w-wait...?" he took a step back from you.

you tilted your head, concerned. "what's wrong? do you not like it? i picked the gold to match your eyes."

"i... i like it... i do!" he did. it was so thoughtful and intimate, his heart was racing.

"but...?"

"but... it feels... a little.... inappropriate..? sh-should i really wear that in public...."

"you don't have to but it's really not something perverted. you can see omegas in collars all the time in the city."

he fidgeted back and forth. "do you like omegas in collars?"

"i mean it's hot. I've always wanted to put a collar on my own omega and show the world I own you."

he shivered. "you... mmngh... you just said it's not dirty."

"it's not! just because something is sexy doesn't mean it's dirty. like wearing thigh highs or low cut tops."

"those both sound sinful."

"ok... but is it sinful for an alpha to own his omega?"

"no..."

"so it's fine!"

"i... mmngh... i really want to wear it... i do! i just... everyone will stare..."

you stepped closer this time reaching out to him with an empty hand, like you were approaching a startled cat. nephite didn't pull away this time instead he moved a little bit closer to your hand.

"everyone should stare at you. everyone should look at you and think 'wow there goes the prettiest omega I've ever seen'. and then they'll see my bright red mark under your collar and know that you're mine."

"I'm yours..." his cheeks were red as he nuzzled into your hand.

you reached forward with the collar and started to slowly slide it on him. he let out a little moan.

"I'm yours."

"mhm. my pretty omega."

nephite moved his hair out of the way as you tightened the collar around his neck. the cold metal laid against his windpipe just tight enough to always remind him of it's presence. he reached up to the blue gem and started to fiddle with it.

"uhmm.. i-i know you just put it on but... can-can we go to the bedroom... and m-maybe make more marks underneath...."

[another-lost-mc]

the characters finding out about mc's fwb but instead of it being with a random demon, it's solomon >>>>

them being flabbergasted not only about the situation but that you have the arrangement with that shady sorcerer. also frustrated because of course you'd take comfort on the only other human in the devildom!

➤ when they find out solomon is your fwb

characters: the demon brothers + dateables

1k words | gn!reader | nsfw | snarky and suggestive

c/w: jealousy, non-explicit sexual content, implied voyeurism, implied threesomes/moresomes

related: finding out you having a fwb: the demon brothers | the dateables

disappointed but not surprised: lucifer, beelzebub, diavolo

They warned you, didn't they?

Solomon is the shadiest sorcerer to ever exist. He's powerful and unpredictable and he can't even be called human anymore. Why in all the Devildom did you have to pick him? You could've had literally anyone else!

Unheeded warnings about not getting too close to Solomon turn into vague reminders that the demons are there to save you from that white-haired menace if you ever need them to.

Lucifer sneaks behind your back and gives Solomon the world's scariest shovel talk, which is a little silly since this was only supposed to be a casual arrangement for comfort and intimacy. (Of course, no one realized that you and Solomon managed to catch feels along the way.) Lucifer's thinly-veiled threats promising a painful demise should be enough to scare anyone away.

None of them expect Solomon to abruptly end your casual relationship so that he can date you officially instead. He looks far too smug with himself when you hold his hand at RAD in front of the others or when he becomes a semi-regular visitor at the House of Lamentation.

Your undeniable happiness is a constant reminder to the others that they underestimated both humans in the exchange program.

why didn't anyone stop them?! (yeah, they're jealous af): mammon, leviathan, satan, belphegor

This is awful. Isn't this why they were supposed to keep an eye on you, to keep you from getting mixed up with people like him?!

"Weren't you supposed to do that, Mammon?"

"Shuddup!"

They hate Solomon's guts. They don't think he deserves you. (They might not deserve you either, but you could do a hell of a lot better than him!)

They roll their eyes and gag dramatically when Solomon kisses your cheek or cozies up beside you in the cafeteria at lunch. When you're not looking, they shoot daggers at him and make not-too-subtle gestures that translate roughly to I'm watching you and if you hurt them, you die. They're less subtle and more aggressive than Lucifer is, and Solomon thinks it's hilarious.

He knows how lucky he is that he caught your eye first and not them. He'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't enjoy rubbing it in their faces just a little bit. Maybe he forgets to use a silencing charm on your bedroom door when he fucks you in the House of Lamentation.

Maybe he wears low-collar shirts to show off the fresh line of marks you made around the base of his neck. He leaves a toothbrush in your ensuite bathroom and spare clothes in your closet.

Sometimes you wear his clothes when you don't have class because they still smell like him. You don't notice the demons sitting beside you at breakfast twitch in their seats and suddenly lose their appetites.

You feel so fortunate that you found friendship and love in the Devildom. Your friends tell you (and themselves) that they're happy for you too. You don't notice how fake their smiles are when they see you together (but Solomon does).

they're surprisingly okay with it and no one understands why: asmodeus, barbatos, simeon

They don’t know whether to blame fate or their own bad luck that brought you and Solomon together. They grudgingly admit you could do a lot worse than the white-haired menace that seems to adore you. As long as you’re happy and treated well, they don't feel it’s their place to interfere.

The others might sulk and pretend they’re not disappointed, or they might be openly belligerent about it, but some of your friends still support you above all else.

Asmo drags you into his room and gossips with you about Solomon while he does your nails. Tell me, you can be honest—how is he in bed with you? I’ve never seen him like this with anyone else! Oh, I bet he's so romantic, isn't he~ He’s curious about your relationship and teases you for intimate details that are too personal to share, but you know he's genuinely excited for you.

Barbatos doesn’t say much about your relationship openly, but he enjoys reminding the others that if they were less distracted by their own foolishness, they wouldn’t have taken you for granted.

Simeon welcomes you with open arms as a guest to Purgatory Hall when the atmosphere at the House of Lamentation grows too stifling. He does his best to make sure Solomon doesn’t completely ruin dinner when you visit in the evenings. He enjoys discussing books and your other shared interests when the sorcerer is busy; Solomon knows you're safe with the angels in his absence.

Like Asmo and Barbatos, you grow closer with Simeon as well through your mutual connections to Solomon. You might not realize what they’re up to when they try to spend more time with you outside of class, but Solomon does. Their sweet gestures of comfort linger far too long to be considered platonic, and the way desire creeps into their eyes when they gaze at you from afar would irritate him if they were anyone else.

He has long, colourful pasts with both Asmo and Barbatos, and Simeon quickly became one of his trusted friends while living in the close quarters of Purgatory Hall together. It wouldn't be the first time Solomon invited one of his acquaintances for a little bit of fun in the bedroom, but that was only to share casual partners he didn’t have feelings for. The thought of sharing you with anyone else nearly drives him to violence.

Time dulls those jealous impulses, and he admits how appealing it would be to watch you with one (or more) of them together. You’re so lovely in the throes of pleasure, and there's a certain thrill from watching on the sidelines. He knows they'll obey without question when he tells them how to touch you, and he can savor watching you fall apart under their hands and his sinful commands. He gets hard just imagining you crying out his name when you cum, even if one of the others is between your legs instead of him.

If you admit to feeling desire for any of them, he'll discuss those delicious possibilities with you too.

read more: headcanons masterlist | obey me! masterlist

[randomshyperson]

Old Yellow Bricks - Heart Shaped Series

Chapter Summary: The conclusion to the adventures of an international thief and an Avenger witch. Or the one where you stop skipping work, Valentina answers the phone and Wanda does an ultrasound.

Warnings: (+18), smut (wanda taking the lead ‘cause that’s hot), bl*wjob, unprotected s*x, creampie, more shapeshifting stuff, some supervillain drama, minor angst with a happy ending I promise. | Words: 7.094k

A/N-> Hey folks, yes, I know I disappeared for a long time but I was so busy and mentally exhausted that I couldn't keep writing anymore, and I used practically half of my vacation just to get a decent amount of sleep. This story was almost abandoned, but I decided to give it an ending, even if it was a bit hasty, out of affection for the plot and out of consideration for those who have followed it up until now. I hope you aren't too dissatisfied with the ending, I tried to address any loose ends and leave it open to the canon we already know. Good reading.

General Masterlist | Wattpad | AO3 | Series Masterlist

-&-

It shouldn't come as a surprise that you got caught. But you did, mainly because for the past weeks you've felt so comfortable around Wanda that for a moment, you weren't you. No international bounty for your head, not gangs or supervillains or big schemes. 

Just you and Wanda.

Your small argument with the Black Widow was to blame for your distracted state, but fairly, those men were probably following you for a while now, just waiting for the right opportunity to show themselves.

They weren’t aggressive, despite everything. You're just walking a little further from the hotel and this Van - Strategically hidden with paintings from a pest control service - was parked next to the sidewalk and you immediately knew. The door opened and nobody came out. 

It was an invitation.

You took a deep breath and a last glance at the street before getting in.

The face of one of Valentina's most trustworthy henchmen, Mrs. Cassian Camorra,  came to focus in the poorly lit car. He was not alone, masked guards armed to the teeth took every other seat. The only vacant spot was for you.

With a discreet shift, there was no longer much difference between your muscles and theirs. The change made the white-collar man chuckle at you.

“There's no need for that, reaper.” Says Cassian with a smirk. “We're not here for a fight.”

You stare at him with an indifferent expression, lifting your chin a little. 

“The Guns send a different message.” You say but he smiles again just before nodding to the others, who immediately relax their alarmed posture even though they continue to listen to the conversation. In that small space, it would be impossible to do anything else.

You don't let your guard down but sigh once your eyes meet Cassian’s again.

“I don't go by that name anymore, Cass, you know that.”

He chuckles. “Would you prefer shithead?” He teases but you roll your eyes, wishing this conversation would end soon. He laughs again at your expression. “I still don't understand why you would be ashamed of one of your greatest achievements. The Reaper was a goddamn legend! The name gave people the chills!” He recalls excitedly. 

You swallow, shifting in your seat. “Just tell me what you are here for.” You cut his enthusiasm with a sharp demand, managing to make your voice deeper. The security guard next to him has this immediate reaction of touching his gun, but you offer him a cocky smirk before focusing on Cassian again.

He adjusts his suit, one of his hands moving to his jacket pocket to grab something. A small purple cart is extended to you but you don't move a muscle.

“I'm not looking for a job at the moment.” You tell him but he chuckles, flipping the card to show you the back of it.

You thought it was the traditional mission paper with a coding at the back, for you to find target information but instead of that habitual info, there's a written number there.

“The Countess asks to meet in person.”

You don't grab the card. “If that is what she wants, then why didn't she come here herself?”

The man chuckles, and without giving a damn about the concept of personal space, he moves his hands to find your pocket and shove the card inside.

“The Countess is a clever woman, child. Why on earth would she talk business with your new superhero friends around?”

“They are not my friends.” You mutter, pushing his hands away with a slap before pulling the card out of your pocket. “And if she really wished to see me, her face would be the one to welcome me into this car.”

But when you make mention of getting up, Cassian loses some of the calm facade he kept so far. 

“Sit your spoiled ass back right now, kid.” The bodyguards in the two seats behind you grab you by the shoulders, but their hands move away once you are back at your spot so you don't try to start a new fight. “This is the problem with Valentina's little freaks. You all think you're special. She's too soft with your type, so you grow confident in your insignificance. Let me tell you what's going to happen if you don't take this cordial invitation seriously, Lady Fontaine. Every favor for your protection, every deal, is off. You won't be CIA protégée anymore, you'll be on your own. For once in your life. That might talk some sense into your head.”

The anger is burning in your chest because of the cruel words but it spreads around with shame and guilt. Tears beg their way to your eyes but you keep your cheeks dry.

“I've been alone my whole life, Cass. You don't know shit.”

But he laughs, truly, as if you're joking.

“Alone? You? Hydra's golden egg goose?” He mocked managing some chuckles from his colleagues. “You're the one who doesn't know shit, you brat. You have no idea what people like us would do to have the kind of protection you so proudly display without a second thought. The mansions, the travels, the luxury. All that money. And don’t get me started on the attitude. The rest of us living in the gutter, trying to survive out of crumbs while freaks like you get to walk around like you own the world.” He narrates with a trace of bitterness and contained hatred that makes you shudder.  “How many times have you walked out of prison? Do you think it's the same for the rest of us? That we get those same privileges?”

Some redness escapes to your cheeks but you manage to keep your cool.

“I have no power over how things happen in our line of work, Cass. And I am hardly the one you should be angry at. Those privileges you say, believe me, they came at a very high price.”

But Cassian rolls his eyes, dismissing your words with a hand gesture. “Fragile. You always have been. Crybaby should be your next nickname.”

You sigh impatiently and this time, when you move to open the door and leave the car, they allow it without any fight. Standing on the sidewalk, you hear Cass hold the door open and look at him one last time.

He leans for one last warning. “If you ignore her invitation, she will have her answer. And we will be back, this time, not for a conversation.” He lets you know with a little smile that makes you shallow hard. The possibility of putting Wanda in danger makes your heart miss a beat. And when Cass lets out a small exclamation as if remembering something, you somehow know it's not a good thing. He searches in his other pocket only to take a small photo.

“Almost forgot. She asked me to give you this. A gesture of trust, she said.”

But that was nothing trustworthy about Valentina being aware of you and Wanda's relationship, especially for such a long time. The picture is from a security camera and is clear by the poor definition, but still, that day is still fresh in your mind as if it happened yesterday. The Avengers fair you once infiltrate to find Wanda, only for her to end any plan you might had or ever could by kissing you. Inside those tents you were safe but outside, the camera caught the last kiss you stole from her before your departure.

The fact that Valentina knew about this, for so long, makes you feel sick in your stomach.

You don't take the picture - it's a symbol of the false freedom you possessed under Valentina's wigs. You storm off and hear the agents giggling and muttering threats before the car is gone, and so are you when you make a curve that takes you back to the hotel parking lot.

The whole thing made your blood boil. How dare she? What was she even after, what did that photo even mean? Was it a treat? Or it could really be a gesture of trust? Something like, yes she knew and she never did anything about it, so maybe Valentina doesn't want your complete misery.  But then again, you know her well enough to tell that every action she takes is a well-planned one. If she knew about your relationship with Wanda and allowed that with no fuss other than a small bait in the first weeks, telling you to read Avengers files in an attempt to get you away from Wanda, then for sure, Valentina had a bigger plan. 

And for once in your life, you're done with being the pawn.

Wanda's asleep when you're back in your shared motel room so you do your best to keep it quiet on your way to the bathroom.

This will be painful but you're confident you can manage, with your powers help at least.

The small device hidden under your ribs is a high-tech tracker and it's your last physical connection to your old life. It doesn't work unless you want it to, because it answers to a biological stimulation only you can provide. Baron von Strucker gave this to you as a work tool, if you were ever captured, you could call for help without anyone being aware.

You haven't tried to use the device purposefully in years, but sometimes, when being too hurt, it would activate on its own. And because it's quite easy to forget a hidden object behind your ribs, it occurred to you that it has been active since you bled out in Greece, the same day Wanda called to tell you she was pregnant.

The realization that Valentina was aware of your location for so long, Wanda's and her friends especially, rips a sob to your throat. It’s more painful to know you’ve been putting her in danger than the open wound.

You muffle down your crying the second you hear the bed shifting. But luckily Wanda doesn't wake up. Taking a deep breath, your shaky hands keep doing the hard work - to cut open with a medical kit's scalpel your skin so you can remove the tracker.

It's painful of course but it ends quickly. You don't need a badge but it does take a lot of energy to heal on your own so when you're finally back at the bed, after destroying the little device with a squeeze, storing everything else, and getting clean, you're quite exhausted. Stumbling around, you do a poor job of laying down without much noise.

Your girlfriend only grumbles sleepy in return before her magic brings you closer to her body.

-&-

“Wake up.”

It's less gentle than previous attempts, but Wanda had to do it. You were really disturbed in your sleep - mumbling and sweating as if you were running.

Your restlessness and discomfort disturbed her greatly, but she gives you a tender smile as she sees all the tension ease when you meet her eyes.

Sleepily, you close your eyes again the next moment and Wanda takes the opportunity to move the sweaty hair away from your face.

"You were having a nightmare." She mumbles, and she's almost sitting on your lap so you think that it would be a waste to miss the opportunity. Your hands bring her into the position with ease, but Wanda has concern on her face. "Talk to me, detka."

A smile fills your lips, and you remain in a half-asleep state. "I love it when you call me that. You're so lovely, Wanda."

A faint blush fills your cheeks, but Wanda is determined to clarify a few things. "You came back late and as big as a bodyguard. I want to know what happened." She says, and seeing you sigh with your eyes closed, she frowns her heart racing. "Did you find trouble?"

"No, everything's fine." You retort quickly, stubbornly. And Wanda tilts her head incredulously at the clear lie. You finally look her in the eye, and she thinks it's unfair that you're such a pretty liar. Unable to hold her gaze, you look away, the flush on your face more from embarrassment than anything else. "It was nothing." You correct, annoyed, and Wanda sighs at the whole thing. She hopes that one day, your barriers won't have to be so raised all the time and you'll be able to trust her by instinct. But considering the kind of life you've led so far, maybe something like that is just impossible to achieve. 

She moves one of her hands to your face, caressing the skin tenderly. "If you can't put it into words, let me see."

You close your eyes again, nodding, and the invasion is almost immediate. The whole thing happens very quickly - Wanda is getting better at it. Accessing last night's memories is easy, the hard part is dealing with their significance.

When she comes to her senses, the room comes into focus again and so does your turned-away face. Pure guilt and shame in your expression.

"I'm sorry." You say promptly, your voice a bit tearful. " I keep fucking things up. I brought them to us because I forgot the damn tracking, and I got everyone in danger. I understand if you're angry and want to shout at me."

Wanda sighs at the words, shaking her head. "No one's going to be yelling at anyone." She says, her hands moving lower to pull your shirt up a little. She traces the new scar, feeling some of the tension leave her shoulders as she sees that, apparently, you've healed fine. 

"Don't ever do anything like this again." She says, and you sniffle.

"That was the only trace I had-"

"Not that." She cuts in seriously, waiting for you to look at her. Wanda looks more hurt than angry and that confuses you. "You can't just self-harm in the bathroom and sew yourself back up in silence. You have to tell me things. You should let me take care of you, all right?"

Aware that the warmth spreading through your chest is quickly creeping up your neck and ears, you give up on putting together a coherent sentence. You nod quickly, and Wanda gives a weak laugh.

"I'm not angry." She continues, adjusting your shirt again, although her hands remain underneath, drawing patterns on your skin as she speaks. "You're always so... jumpy. And you get into trouble like it's second nature. And you're so incredibly stubborn-"

"Thanks." You grumble ironically, but your annoyance turns into a choke when you feel Wanda shift in your lap. It's an intentional fit at your hips, she's probably noticed the bulge you'd forgotten you were even carrying now. And the fit takes the air out of your lungs and makes your body jerk gently, waking you up completely. 

Wanda doesn't pay a second's attention to your reactions as she continues to talk. "You also have this habit of not letting me finish my sentences." She says with a little grin, her eyes dilating as your breathing starts to get heavy. "And I have to admit that you're hard work, but darling, you're worth every second of that effort. I wish I could take all the pain out of your past, but since I can't, I need you to understand that you're no longer dealing with things on your own. That I'm as devoted to you as you are to me."

These are romantic, intense, and considerate words. But Wanda is grinding slowly against your hips as she says them and you can only return a desperate nod, a deep moan tearing its way into your throat.

Wanda won't even let you lead - Your hands grab her barely covered ass through the oversized shirt she's stolen from you in an attempt to intensify the friction, but bright magic threads pull your wrists away in the next second. 

With your hands pinned to the headboard, you can only squirm at the mercy of the woman on top of you.

"You feel bigger than last time, baby." She whispers, almost losing her train of thought during a particularly hard thrust against your hips. You struggle to breathe.

But Wanda stops, and you bite back a sigh of frustration as you stare at her in a mixture of desperation and curiosity. She works with a certain urgency on your underwear, but instead of rewarding you with her warm cunt, she moves away until she's between your legs, her nails scratching your thighs.

"W-wanda, what are you doing?" You ask, suddenly very shy, your eyes slightly wide. She giggles, as her magic removes your underwear completely, and she leans in, planting kisses on your thighs that make you shiver.

Her dominant hand finally grabs your length and it's not very gentle so you let out something between a moan and a whimper and Wanda looks at you with a certain regret.

"Sorry, babe." She says softly, still holding you now more carefully. "I've never done this before."

Your mouth is dry, and your eyes want to close and just enjoy the sensation, but you fight these instincts to speak. "Done what, Wanda?"

She giggles mischievously, and her hand moves slowly, giving a tentative squeeze that makes the muscles in your thigh twitch. "You know what." She says in return, although you both share the strong blush on the cheeks, Wanda seems more confident about what she's about to do. "It can't be that hard. And if I do something wrong, you can just tell me to stop."

"Wanda, you don’t have to-" But she leans in, and unceremoniously takes your member into her mouth. You break down in an aroused sob, arching up on the bed. 

It's heaven, you're sure. Wanda Maximoff decided to wake you up with a blowjob, it’s a gift from the heavens that you must definitely don’t deserve but you won’t complain. You struggle against the magical chains just as you struggle to breathe and not to come immediately when Wanda continues to suck you off. 

It's sloppy at first - as she mentioned, she had never done that before. But the lack of practice doesn't make the act any less deliriously enjoyable. You feel very close very quickly and have to use all your concentration when Wanda meets your gaze, mouth full.

"Jesus." You groan, your whole body vibrating. Wanda pulls back, licking the tip and your eyes roll back. "Fuck."

She revels in your moans as much as she does in the whole thing. She can feel her own core throbbing at seeing you so pathetically at her mercy, but she wants you to finish first. Her hand moves to help and with each lick of the head leaking pre-cum, your body jerks in a way that makes the bed shake.

"Come on, baby, you can cum." She encourages you firmly as she alternates between sucking and licking. "You need this. And I got you."

You cry out the warning, and Wanda takes your whole length so as not to waste a drop. Your back arches on the bed, and the hot shot is deep into her throat. Wanda moans in return, making a mess all around as you try to return to orbit, your chest heaving and your body jerking.

She kisses your now flaccid member, biting back a smile as she watches the final throbs. Taking advantage of your state, Wanda resumes her previous position on your lap. Her magic fades from your wrists.

Just the brief rubbing of her thick thighs against you is enough for Wanda to feel you harden again.

"Are you sure, babe? You're still shaking." She asks teasingly, but all you give in return is an affected chuckle, your hands helping her to settle into you. The invasion happens slowly, and Wanda groans satisfied at the proof that yes, you are bigger. The stretching is gentle, and it's not painful because she's soaked, but it's still there and she has to bite her lips as she slowly sinks down until you bottom up.

Panting together, you watch her adoringly, your hands on her hips helping her move.

Wanda doesn't rush things. She rides you leisurely, feeling every inch of your cock inside her warm walls until the slowness is too overwhelming. 

Her hands rest on your shoulders, and you don't care that her nails are digging into your skin because Wanda feels too good for you to think of any other sensation than that tight pussy wrapping around you.

She holds your gaze, and between the grunts and moans she lets you know; "I love you." You can only nod, trying to gasp the same when Wanda suddenly bounces harder.

One of your hands grips with more strength, enough to mark the skin and she has to grab the headboard for a firmer support.

You groan at her nearly roughness; "Easy, woman." You try, even though she's grinding vigorously and the room has started to spin. "Wanda, damn it. Be more... ah... careful. You're pregnant...slow down… God."

She comes first, which is a surprise because you honestly don't know how you managed to hold it for so long.

You're still coming inside her when she collapses on top of you, falling down against your shoulder. But then there's satisfied laughter filling the room, and a joke about that being a very incredible way to start a day.

-&-

It's decided that you guys need to move as soon as you and Wanda are properly dressed and Wanda has encouraged you to be honest with the other Avengers.

And she also doesn't need to be a mind reader to know that there's something wrong with Natasha, who doesn't offer more than a mumble of agreement and doesn't say anything about you keeping a tracker jammed in your ribs all this time. 

While Wanda goes out to buy breakfast for the team, you stay behind and busy yourself packing the bags. But she is recognized at the grocery store near the motel when she tries to buy breakfast. It's just a child and her older sister, wanting photos with an Avenger, but it still causes her so much anxiety that she goes back to the bedroom with something more than food: a box of hair dye.

"I thought I'd follow Natasha's idea." That's what she gives as an explanation, and you laugh confusedly but end up believing it until Wanda has bleached spots and ends up confessing what really made her late. 

You're standing in the doorway, and she's focused on painting her hair, her eyes meeting yours through the reflection in the bathroom mirror.

"I'm sorry for not saying it right away. I just didn't want to worry you." 

You let out a sigh before offering her a small smile. "No problem, love." You assure her, reaching over to pick up the empty box of the product and read some of the labeling on the back. "I'm more concerned about whether pregnant women can dye their hair."

Your comment makes Wanda giggle. Her magic continues the process of coloring the spots, and she busies herself with washing her hands at the sink. 

"Well, most pregnant women can't manipulate energy and move things with their minds. I think I'll survive." She jokes back, sticking her tongue out at you when you smile. It ends up being a small grimace battle before you return the empty box to the garbage can and lean in to steal a kiss from her.

Wanda smiles through it, but her cold, wet hands reach under your blouse and make you jump. She laughs at the reaction, and you can barely notice the time passing as you play with each other and wait for the dye to finish settling on your locks.

When Wanda disappears back into the bathroom for a while, you wait for her to finish washing her hair and nothing really prepares you for the new look. Your girlfriend is slightly shy as she reappears, the towel still slung over her shoulders.

"So, what do you think?" She asks about the red hair and you swallow dry, speechless. Wanda blushes immediately, a nervous giggle escaping her lips. "What?"

"You look..." Your voice fails you and you have to clear your throat. "Really beautiful."

Wanda smiles, but then raises an eyebrow, gesturing gently in your direction. "It does seem that you truly like it, dear, I'm flattered."

You blink in confusion, before following her gaze and noticing your own body, and the bulge in your pants. Grinning in embarrassment, you quickly cover yourself with the nearest pillow. "Sorry." You mumble with your ears burning, but Wanda giggles, glancing quickly at the ajar door.

"I wonder if we still have time before we leave." She comments, scarlet threads appearing through the wood with the thought of closing it, but as if guessing the intentions of a delay, the door suddenly opens and Captain Rogers is practically pushed inside by Natasha.

"Nice change, Maximoff. But I hope your suitcases are ready." That's what the widow said, and she looked stressed, most likely because of all the stories about her adventures the night before. If your embarrassment over the tracker story wasn't enough, there was the other one you were trying to hide under your pillow. Wanda disguised it better than you, nodding quickly to the widow and gesturing toward the ready backpacks. "Steve can you take these to the quinjet please, I want to have a word with Romeo and Juliet."

The Captain sighed, trying to ignore being made a baggage handler - Muscles must be good for something - and offered you and Natasha a sympathetic look before leaving the room.

The widow closed the door but you spoke first. “Listen Nat, if this is a second scolding for the tracker, I've already made sure it can't be retraced and-"

"That's not it." She interrupts you with a certain determination, then a forced smile. "I've found a doctor for you. For Wanda, to be more exact."

The now red-haired woman gives Nat a surprised look and it's you who asks; "Are you sure it's safe? Risking a medical appointment in the situation we're in."

"You underestimate me."

"I didn't mean it like that."

But Nat smiles genuinely, shrugging. She checks her watch.

"We're actually going to meet her. Apart from Banner, she's the only doctor I trust."

You and Wanda exchange a look before nodding to Natasha in thanks. Your girlfriend then asks; "That's not all you wanted to talk about, is it Nat?"

The widow nods, seeming to get upset for a moment.

"I'm not saying this for the tracker story, I swear I'm not, but... maybe it's better if Y/N doesn't stay with us anymore."

Wanda snorts indignantly, ready to protest, especially as you lower your head. 

"We stay together-"

"I know." Natasha cuts off Wanda's defensiveness with a sigh. "I wouldn't expect otherwise." She mutters, taking a deep breath to gather her courage. "Rogers doesn't agree, you know how protective he is over you. I mean, he was pretty indignant when Tony tried to ground you in the Tower. Anyway, that's not the point. Clint left. He accepted a decent deal until things settle down, and yes, they will settle down. I know it feels like our world has turned upside down overnight, but we need to remember why the Avengers were created in the first place. It's only a matter of time before they need us, all of us again, and maybe it's experience talking, but I've seen so many governments collapse and rise again. I have seen this movie before."

The widow vents and you and Wanda don't have the heart to interrupt her. 

"What I mean is that Clint can make a deal for his family, and maybe you can do the same."

Wanda thinks for a moment until she swallows. "I'm not an agent with years of military service to my credit. General Ross would never offer me a deal."

"Not him. And not to you." Natasha retorts, turning her face towards you.

You sigh deeply as you understand exactly what she's implying. " Is there really no other option?"

Natasha gives you a sympathetic smile. "That's not an ultimatum, mercenary. Just think about it. None of us wants a pregnant woman in the life of a fugitive, and don't make that face Wanda, I know you don't want the baby to be in danger either." Your girlfriend begrudgingly shuts up, knowing that the widow is right. "Just give it a thought. Melina has agreed to do the prenatal care, so you have all this time to make a decision."

Natasha nods in farewell before heading out the door, and you turn to Wanda.

"Do you have any idea who Melina is?"

-&-

In the safety of the Quinjet and the untraceable lines of the Avengers, you call Contessa Fontaine.

The first thing Valentina says when she sees your face in the high-definition hologram is a scolding; "That tracker was worth a billion dollars."

You have to laugh, your back resting on the cold metal of the ship. "Can't say I'm sorry, boss. Having a tracker in the middle of your ribs doesn't scream work ethic."

She gives a short laugh, and you realize from the surroundings that she's in the private room of the Fontaine Mansion, a place you've been to countless times before.

"What can I do for you, my dear child?" She asks, slightly impatient. You swallow dry.

"Your people said you wanted to see me." You comment. 

Valentina laughs wryly. "Oh, yes, in person. Not talking through an Avengers line. You must have lost your mind."

"There are no more Avengers, Val, you know that." You retort, and she smiles in satisfaction.

"Touche." She mutters before raising her bright eyes to you. "But let me guess, they're listening to this conversation."

You sigh impatiently. "What difference does it make? I've been with them for weeks. I could have told them all the secrets I know about your work, but I didn't. Just as you didn't inform General Ross of their location. So how about we stop playing games?"

Valentina gives another evil little laugh, nodding. "Oh, dear, I miss our conversations, you're always so direct and attentive. Yes, I didn't hand over Team America to Ross, because unlike that arrogant fool, I have no interest in seeing our heroes trapped in the Raft. Only someone like Ross and his ballistics background would think of something as stupid as taking out Earth's main line of defense for threats we have no means of dealing with." You remain silent at Val's words, and she takes a breath to continue. "You know me, Y/N. I like my... enhanced ones. I understand the grandeur of this new world, men like Ross, impressionable with colored rifles, don't."

"So... you've been trying to help the Avengers?"

She breaks into a laugh. "Help? Don't go that far." She retorts grinning. "Let's say we had allied objectives up to the present moment. And I have no reason to put them out of work, you know? In any case, perhaps a little time out of the spotlight and struggling will lower some of their egos. It's a shame that Mr. Stark always seems to shrug off the consequences of his actions, he could learn something without having billions to spare."

You sigh without patience for the speech, adjusting your body. "Val, speaking of money-"

"Oh, it's about time."

With a short laugh, you continue; "I need mine."

She looks at you for a moment, before smiling. "Your money has always been yours to use. Nothing has changed."

But you force a smile, not quite believing it. "Everything has changed, Val. I don't want Lady Fontaine's money. I don't want to be one of your pawns. I want a new account, a new life. With everything I've worked to earn."

"And what makes you think I can give it to you?"

You snort, rubbing a stress point on your forehead. "Please, Val, don't take me for someone naïve, who doesn't know the extent of your influence."

But Valentina sighs deeply, resting her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands, to look at you intently.

"In fact, I'm beginning to think that your naivety is indeed remarkable and, unfortunately, my responsibility." She comments, and you chuckle ironically and indignantly, but she doesn't let you question it. "There is no new beginning for you, Y/N. Not the way you're asking me, not the way you really want. You're deluding yourself if you think I can bring in false documents and billions of dollars without anyone ever finding out the truth. That's not how things work. The bill always comes, and a past so stained with red always catches up with people like us." She says and you swallow, not having the heart to interrupt when you know deep down that she's not lying. Despite her seriousness, Valentina's gaze softens: "I know it's not what you wanted to hear, but all is not lost. You've been walking around for weeks with someone who committed as many atrocities as you did, and yet have been allowed to experience the greatest version of freedom a criminal can get."

It takes a moment for you to realize that she's talking about Natasha. You glance quickly at the main area of the quinjet through the glass of the private room they got you to call Val, and your former boss uses this time to light a cigarette.

"I'm not a black widow."

Val chuckles. "Of course not, they fight much better." She comments and you grimace. Val takes a slow drag, blowing smoke against the camera before continuing to talk; "Speaking of them, you should thank your new friend sometime. The amount of black widows she's put on the market looking for work is what's given you so much time off. I'm not short-staffed, thanks to that."

"I'm glad the rescue of trafficked women has given you new employees, Contessa." You sneer in annoyance, stepping out of the way of the video and ignoring her confusion to tap lightly on the glass. The Avengers outside look up at the same time, but you wave for Natasha and Wanda to come inside. 

"Where'd you go, little bird?" Val asks the wall, and ends up choking on her smoke as the faces of the two Avengers come into focus next to you. "Oh, hello. What an honor-"

"Cut it, Val." You interrupt annoyedly, squeezed between Natasha and Wanda on the seat in the room. "Make your proposal. I want Romanoff to tell me if it's true, because she's the only one with any real experience of these things, and well, Wanda's my partner and she should be up to speed."

Your former boss smiles impressed. "What a lovely thing, a thief and an Avenger, my eyes can hardly believe it." 

You snort impatiently, but Valentina doesn't keep up the teasing. She nods, before turning her attention to the personal computer next to her phone. As she types, she repeats her earlier proposal. "I need to work on it first, dear. But I understand it will be something very similar to the agreements Miss Romanoff signed with Shield when she was hired as an Agent. Serving the American government entirely in exchange for freedom."

Natasha looks at you. "Is that what you want to do? Be an Agent?"

But you shake your head, offering her a sad smile. "There's no more Shield to recruit me. And I don't think I'm fit to be an Avenger anyway. But Val is director of the CIA. She could offer me something perfectly legal. And I could have an almost normal life."

"But what about the Sokovia agreements?" Wanda asks in concern. "You're an enhanced one."

Before you can answer, Val hums and grins. "Oh, I can see why you like that one, she's clever." You roll your eyes at the provocation, wishing you'd gone to see Val in person and could pull a gun on her to make her behave. Your boss stops typing and turns her full attention to the three of you. "Miss Maximoff has a very good point. If you wish to work with me at the moment, a CIA Agent contract, you would be legally obliged to sign the Sokovia Agreements."

You snort impatiently. "I'm not signing something that would force me to become a lab rat again! And certainly not something that says Wanda should be behind bars or-"

"Relax, I didn't say I was going to make you sign it." She cuts in. "And you're the one in a hurry for a new job after all. I don't understand the hesitation to do something that could be entirely bureaucratic if you stay out of the spotlight."

You hesitate, and exchange a quick glance with the two women next to you. Natasha shakes her head in the negative, but Wanda sighs.

"I'm pregnant."

Valentina chokes on her cigarette again, and Natasha covers her face with her hands. You don't know how to react, and Wanda keeps talking.

"Y/N is doing this for us, and if your partnership has meant anything other than work all these years, I know you'll help her."

But Valentina shakes her head, chuckling incredulously to herself. Wanda begins to worry. 

"I don't want to appeal to sentimentality, I'm just asking you to be considerate. Job or not, no one is going to put my family at risk. I won't take it lightly if your people follow and threaten her again."

But Val gestures quickly. "A child, little bird? How can you keep this a secret from me?"

You sigh tiredly. "It wasn't exactly any of your business."

But Val leans over to pick something up from the table, and you frown as you recognize your old research file. "Except, well, it's entirely my business." Val retorts seriously, her eyes running over the pages she's leafing through. Until she lets out a small exclamation. "Yes, here it is. Strucker specifically wrote that you were infertile. And that was a disappointment of course, because everyone who gets an enhanced one, would love to make more of them."

Wanda looks at you with confusion, but you stand up as if you're going to choke on the attention, taking the cell phone with you to the other corner of the room.

"I know exactly what those pages say, you don't have to read them to me." You retort angrily. "Strucker had to believe that he couldn't have more of me, okay? I couldn't..." Your voice falters, but you control your emotions by swallowing hard. "I did what I had to do. The changes to my body so that he would never find out. So that no one would find out. But when I'm with Wanda, I just... I don't think about the past. I can breathe, Val. And it happened. And I'm asking you, if your mentoring has meant anything all these years, to give me a chance to be more than a goddamn puppet. Please."

Your boss remains silent, thoughtful, before sighing and offering you something like a sincere smile, however small.

"Ten years, little bird."

You frown in confusion. "What?"

"Ten years." She repeats. "That's the most I can offer you. Your money, a new identity, a fresh start. Think of it as extended maternity leave. The child will be old enough for boarding schools, and I'll charge you for the services."

"I-I..." You hesitate, looking at Wanda who has an expression that says she can't make this decision for you.

Valentina stands up, taking the phone with her. "I'll work on your contract carefully. Nick Fury is not a foolish man, little bird. He sees the world as I do, the dangers that surround us and that must come from the outside. I like the idea of a team working on my behalf, but it's too early for anything like that. Especially with everything that's happening with the first team." Val continues, and you swallow. She gives you a genuine smile. "And of course, all those years have meant something to me. You're the first person I'd trust with the job."

You want to tell her that this isn't the kind of meaning you'd like, but you think that work reliability is all Valentina can offer you. You nod and thank her and she says goodbye before hanging up.

Natasha thinks it best to leave you and Wanda alone for a moment, and when you sit down on the floor, Wanda sits down next to you. Silently, she holds your hand and rests her head on your shoulder.

"A lot can change in ten years." You murmur, and you don't need to explain for Wanda to understand your hope that you won't have to fulfill any contracts. She squeezes your hand tighter because the decision has already been made. 

Your cell phone vibrates again, not with the CIA contract, but with your new documents and bank account filled with all the money you've earned as a mercenary. It makes your stomach turn with the feeling that you've just sold yourself again, and there's nothing you can do about it.

Wanda turns away to look at you and waits for you to do the same. Once your gazes are connected, she raises her hand to your face and pulls you in to kiss you softly on the lips.

"I'll always love you. Nothing will ever change that." She whispers against your lips, her forehead resting against yours. "I need you to promise that you'll always remember it."

You caress the wrist of the hand she holds to your cheek, and continue with your eyes closed. "I won't remember anything else."

She smiles, ending the distance again.

You kiss for a moment before you pull away to press your lips to her forehead and squeeze her hand. 

"We'll be fine, Wanda. It's me and you, and just one baby. We can manage."

She smiles tenderly, nodding before hiding her face in the crook of your neck and sighing as she repeats the words. "You're right. Two of us, and a whole team of grumpy superheroes to handle one little baby. How hard can it be?"

Six hours later, Melina Vostokoff carried out Wanda's first ultrasound, which would reveal not one, but two little boys growing inside her womb. Both of them had a natural inclination towards superpowers. 

But that's another story.

[midwestprincesss]

you being the first girl to give patrick a challenge (no pun intended)!!!

he is used to girls falling at his feet, and yeah, you think he's attractive. but he's gonna have to work at it if he wants you.

and he's so down bad and horny for you that this guy who girls would beg to fuck is begging you for a measly little handjob.

and when you finally give it to him, you coo into his ear how pathetic and desperate he is. knows he's fucked when it's a stupid handjob and its the hardest he has ever came in his life.

you've known eachother for a while and you are very aware of his habit of fucking new girls every week. and you know how pretty much every girl that knows him is drooling after him. but you can't exactly blame them.

patrick zweig is hot. it would be stupid not to admit it. but just because he is hot that doesn't mean you'll fall into his trap! if he wants to fuck you, he has to earn it.

but he's not dumb either. he knows that if you two ever get to have sex, he won't be the one fucking you- it'll be the other way around. but he knows that it'll take him a long time to actually get you to fuck him- like for him to actually be inside you. so he settles. anything you want to give him, he'd be pleased.

you two were at a party- some stupid college party art had invited you two at. you left earlier than the rest of your friend group, bored and uninterested in whatever the hell those other people were doing.

and guess what? patrick zweig begged you to take him home with you.

"look, i even told art i'm leaving! it would be stupid not to leave now, don't you think so?" he begged you.

you raised an eyebrow at him. "so if i understand correctly, you want me to give you a ride home, right?"

"well. your home, preferably." he explained, eyeing you down with that signature smirk of his plastered on his face. you were wearing a tight, short white dress, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

"in your fucking dreams, zweig. what? you think that if you get in my house i'll fuck you?" you ask.

he chuckled. "i mean, your car's alright with me, too."

you looked at him unamused, then grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and dragged him towards your car. if he wanted to go to your house so bad, then you guess he could. that didn't mean he would get what he wanted. you could have some fun with him.

you opened the door and almost pushed him into the passenger seat, then you went and got in the car as well. you looked over at him before starting the car. he was, uh, struggling. to readjust his shorts, that is.

"i can see your fucking dick print, patrick." you pointed out.

"y'wanna feel it, too?" he asked, taking your hand- but you quickly slapped his hand away.

his dick twitched. he was so fucking obsessed with you.

and then, when you finally got to your house, you changed into your pjs in front of him- not caring that he could see your bra and your panties you slipped into your pink tank top and pink shorts. why not give him a show?

"wanna see my room, zweig?" you asked, with faux sympathy, to which he nodded.

you sat down on your bed, slightly bouncing, and he sat right next to you. he couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like if you bounced on his cock like that. and if it was physically possible, in that moment he got even harder. he couldn't take it anymore.

"stop fucking with me." he said.

you widened your eyes, innocently. "but i'm not"

he groaned as he took a pillow to cover up his boner with it, and he couldn't help but buck his hips into it.

you gasped, took the pillow from him and slapped his thigh. "you fucking whore. if i don't let you fuck me then you're just gonna fuck my pillows?"

he moaned at that. "please- fuck. please touch me. just- just jerk me off- even if you only touch me with one finger- look- i'm going fucking insane, i can't take it anymore. you've been teasing me all night. even at the party- bending over so that i could see your panties- fuck"

you smiled. you had a huge effect on him. "i'll touch you. but i won't jerk you off. you'll do all the work. you have to fuck yourself into my hand. yeah?"

he nodded and he swore he saw fucking stars. you just agreed to jerk him off. well, partially, but it was still jerking off.

he took off his pants and boxers so fucking fast- you could have almost missed it. his dick slapped his abs- he was huge. you decided to have your fun with him.

you looked at him, and he was looking down at you with the most fucked-out look on his face. he looked like he had already cum five times. you squeezed his inner thighs, not touching him where he needed you yet- and he already started breathing heavily at that.

"f-fuck, please- please just wrap your hand around me" he moaned, and at this point his cock was twitching uncontrollably. all while maintaining eye contact, you spit into your palm and tightly squeezed his cock with your hand- and his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

"c'mon pat. be good and move your hips, just like you did before with my pillow. c'mon, you can do it" you said, in a mean and cold tone, even though your words were sweet.

at this point, patrick's brain had disappeared. the only thing he could do was fuck himself into your hand, grabbing your pink floral sheets with his big, veiny hands.

"look at you. followed me home like a lost puppy, just so you could get a fucking handjob from me. you were fucking starving for it, weren't you? not even a blowjob, patrick. you're this desperate for a handjob. such a pathetic slut" you said to him, as he continued bucking his hips into you, movements getting shakier and shakier.

"fuuck, i have to cum- please let me cum" he asked. but he asked nicely, so who were you to deny him?

"go ahead, pat. cum for me. be a good slut and cum." and with that, he fucking exploded. some of his cum got on his chest, some on yours, a bit even got on your walls. he was fucking crazy about you. you licked a bit of it off his chest, and he whimpered at that.

"what? i gotta clean you up, right?" you giggled.

[jhdyuiee]

Can’t Wait

* ˚ ✦ pairing: HUSBAND!jaehyun x WIFE!y/n

* ˚ ✦ warnings/tags: smut!, fluff, unprotected sex, pet names (baby, wife, darling), breeding (jaehyun & reader want to have another child), kissing/making out, multiple orgasms, spanking, dirty talk, breast play, cursing

* ˚ ✦ w.c: 1.6k

* ˚ ✦ a.n: HAPPY ONE YEAR TO THIS BLOG ☺️☺️. i didn’t know it’d been a year alrdy, so i wrote this one as a celebration! hope u enjoy 🤍 jiji

“I’m home,” Jaehyun said softly, as he came through our shared bedroom door.

“Long day?” I asked, as he unbuttoned his white collared shirt.

“Mmm,” he mumbled, coming closer to where I sat on our bed. He placed both of his arms on either side of me and leaned in to peck my forehead. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me too,” I replied, wrapping my arms around his neck. “The little one sleeping?” he asked.

“Yeah, I put him down a while ago.” It’d been almost a year since I given birth to our first child, but part of me has been aching to have another one lately. I don’t know whether to blame it on my hormones or not, but whatever it was it wouldn’t go away.

I wanted Jaehyun, I wanted to feel him in me, feel his hot white seeds filling me up.

‘Shit. Calm down Y/N.’

“Everything fine?” he asked, looking at me worried. “H-Huh? Ye-Yeah, just lost in thought,” I said, lowly.

I hadn’t expressed to Jaehyun this new desire of mine. In truth I was afraid, afraid he’d feel forced to say yes or something of the sort. The last thing I needed was for him to not love me anymore. I felt selfish. It felt ugly.

“It doesn’t seem like you’re fine Y/N,” he said, stroking my cheek. “I know when something’s up, so tell me,” he pleaded. “Please.”

I sighed, “Jae, what if we-“ I paused. “What if we have another child,” I blurted out.

His stoking stopped, replaced with an unreadable expression. ‘I knew it, maybe he didn’t like the idea-‘

“Really!” he said, rather surprised.

I shyly nodded. “Are you serious right now Y/N? You do know what you’re asking for right now.”

“Yes, I'm aware. Yes I want another child, I want to have another one of your children jae,” I said, placing my hands on his shoulders.

“But if you do-“ I was cut off by Jaehyun when he slammed his lips against mine. He kissed me with intensity, passion, and love. I melted into his kiss, into him. “You taste so good, smell so good,” he muttered as his lips tugged on my bottom lip. Then traveling down to my jaw, neck, shoulders, collarbone, nipping and sucking on my skin. I let out soft moans whenever he’d sink his teeth into my skin, so good.

“Tell me wife, tell me you want me to make you a mommy again,” he said against my skin.

“God- yes please. I want you.”

Before I knew it my nightgown was thrown somewhere in the room along with his clothes and our underwear. He sat me against his chest, opening my legs up. He slid his right hand down my body, tugging my nipple, tracing against my stomach, and brushing against my wet cunt.

“Already so wet, baby,” he chuckled against my neck. His fingers slowly rubbed my cunt, until one finger intruded inside me. The wet squelching sound could be heard as it bounced off the walls.

“So good,” I moaned.

Later another finger dipped inside, then another. I was squirming under his touch, the rapid pace of his fingers, the sounds coming out of me, and his small grunts. Fuck. It was all too good.

I tightened around his fingers. “Cum around my fingers,” he whispered in my ear and with one pinch to my clit, I came.

Resting my head against his shoulder, my chest heaving trying to regain some oxygen.

“Fucked already,” he smirked. He laid me on our bed, coming closer and his cock already hard and oozing with precum, as it rested against his stomach.

He dove down, taking my breast into his mouth, flicking his tongue on my nipple. “Can’t wait to see your breast all nice and swollen again,” he said, pinching my other nipple. He continued licking and sucking my breast, alternating between the two. “Have em’ leaking with milk,” he bit down on my nipple. “Ah-“ I quietly screamed. I couldn’t ignore the aching in cunt anymore, I wanted him in me now.

“Fuck… me… please,” I whimpered.

He chuckled, pulling away from my breast. “Anything for you my wife.”

He opened my legs, rubbing himself against my wetness, coating it. His tip pushed past my slick at a slow pace, yet stretching me out nicely.

“Fuck. How are you still so tight?” He grunted. The more his cock went in, the more moans slipped out of me. “You take me so well don’t you? Made for me darling,” he said, throwing his head back and strongly gripping my hips.

“J-Jae,” I yelled, but he clamped a hand over my mouth. “Shh, quite now baby, the little one’s asleep remember.”

I mumbled an incoherent, “okay” against his hand. Once it was fully inside, he began thrusting inside me at an unbearably slow pace, I wanted more, more rough.

Taking my hand against the one against my mouth, I moved it. “Fa-Faster please Jae,” I pleaded with the man above. He smirked down at me, grabbing my leg and holding it against his shoulder. He was deeper, hitting my g-spot more. Yes. I chanted his name like it was the only word I knew.

His thrusts more erratic and rough. I could feel as the knot in my stomach threatened to release. I unconsciously tightened around him, causing a soft moan to erupt from him.

“Shit. Cummin’ already?” He teased, bringing his thumb to vigorously rub my clit. “Yes. Just like that Jae… Fuck.”

With a slight adjustment in angle, I came. My eyes shut and my back arched, Jaehyun didn’t stop though. He kept going at it—perhaps with even more intensity—fucking me through my orgasm.

“Fuck. So tight, you’ll have me cumming in no time.” One thrust, then two, three, four, and five until he came inside me. His hot white seeds filling me up.

“Take it all, you wanted it after all,” he said, still thrusting as he stuffed me full of his cum.

“Ye-Yes, give it to me,” I mumbled, already so tired when he finally slipped out of me.

His eyes looked down at me, “Oh wife, don’t think we’re done here. You know I won’t stop until I’m sure I leave you nice and stuffed with my cum.” He swiftly flipped me over, my ass on full display. Slap. His hand collided against my ass. Slap. Another one and then another. Each slap eliciting a moan or his name from my mouth.

When he finally stopped, he gently caressed where he’d slapped me and started pushing himself into me again. His hands rested on my ass as he thrusted in me, not slowing down. “Gonna take it all again, right baby.”

“Y-Yes I’ll be nice and full with your baby,” I replied, earning a satisfied groan. With another slap to my ass, and an involuntary clench to his cock, we came. White painting my walls again, but I knew now it was far from over yet.

Jaehyun continued fucking me until dawn, stopping only to catch our breaths. If I wasn’t pregnant by the end of this I would burn the world.

He patted my stomach, “Now you’re nice and full aren’t you my precious wife.”

I grumbled, “You got too carried away, Jae.” He laughed, pulling me into his chest. He stroked my hair, his touch so soft and warm, a complete opposite of how he was earlier.

“I love you,” he said, pecking the top of my head.

“I love you too,” I muttered before drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

1 month later.

I sat on top of the toilet seat, shaking my leg uncontrollably. I was nervous, nervous at the result of the pregnancy test in my hands.

After missing my menstrual cycle and feeling awfully sick as of late, I decided to take a test. No one was home, Jaehyun was off at work and our child, Yejun, was off with his grandparents.

Endless useless thoughts flowed through my head, like ‘What if I’m not pregnant?’ As the 3 minutes approached I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer.

3…2…1…

Positive.

“I-I’m pregnant…” I muttered, resting my hand over my lips. Tears erupting from my eyes, I’m pregnant I’m pregnant I’m pregnant.

“Wife?” yelled out Jaehyun’s voice. My eyes widened, ‘Why was he home so early…’

I quickly got up from the seat, unlocking the bathroom door and stuffing the test under some towels.

“Jae? Home already,” I said, walking towards him.

“Mm, I just had a meeting and then was let go,” he said, resting himself on my shoulder.

“Something wrong?” I asked. “No, I just missed you,” he said, nipping at my neck. “You smell good Y/N.” He traveled his mouth more up, until he reached my mouth.

I was lost in our kiss, I’d forgotten about the elephant in the room. “Mmm- wai-wait Jae,” I pulled away.

He groaned. “We can’t Jae.”

“Why not?” he asked.

I hesitated a bit, ‘Should I tell him, Should I not?- Ugh, whatever he’d come to find out sooner or later.’

I backed away, walking back towards the bathroom, I grabbed the test from the towels and walked back to Jaehyun.

“Close your eyes,” I said, and he looked at me suspiciously yet complied. “This probably isn’t the best way to announce this, but… well first open your eyes.”

He fluttered his eyes open, pregnancy test resting on my palms. His eyes widened, surprise and shock plastered all over his face.

“Yo-You’re pregnant…” he said, coming out a whisper.

I nodded my head, holding back more tears. “You’re gonna be a dad again,” I said, embracing my arms around him. He wasted no time pulling me in closer.

It felt as though time had stopped, it was just the two of us. The two of us in each other’s warm embrace, celebrating the new life coming into our lives.

“Thank you Y/N,” he whispered into my ear. “I love you my wife.”

© jhdyuiee

2024.02.24

final a.n: hii!! jiji back, this fic was a quick write and a commemoration for the one year of this blog! i didn’t know it’d been a year alrdy, time sure does fly. anyways i gotta admit i had writers block the whole week, but my writing it starting to flow back, so don’t worry everyone! mouth to a flame pt. 2 will be out hopefully soon, but with school being a pain in the ass it might get delayed by a week or two :(( . anyhow, let’s brighten up && be happy! have a wonderful weekend and week!! i love u all && stay safe out there, jiji out 🤍

[beomiracles]

⌞ 𝐒𝟐 𝐄𝐏 𝟒 ⌝

DREAM RECALL ⸝⸝ His fingers grasp your chin and reality slowly seeps back into your clouded mind. He was a complete stranger, you didn’t even know his name. It somehow excited you. It was the thrill your mundane life lacked, it was what your husband failed to provide you with. But this man, this stranger, he was ready to give you everything and more as his eyes hungirly roam your body, hands moving along your sides before sliding down your thighs to push your dress up. ⸝⸝

wc: 3.2k

pairings taehyun x fem!reader warnings infidelity, age-gap, strangers to ???, Taehyun is 22 & reader is referred to be around her mid-thirties, reader is slightly insecure, semi-public sex, unprotected + creampie, vaginal fingering, marking, kissing, hm hm hm let me know if I missed something !!

#serene speaks ✎... hii hii !! this is heavily inspired by one scene from the show 'Good Girls' eheh, because I'm rewatching it right now !! like I love Rio and Beth you don't get it. anyway, I'm not claiming this plot/idea as my own in any way shape or form, but you do not have to have seen the show to read this :3 this is horribly proofread on my part but my dear Izzy looked through it for me so fear not !!

The glass is cold beneath your fingers, the rim resting against your lips, waiting on you to take another sip. You do. The liquor burns your throat, it adds to the light buzz, the tingle of your body. — Chatter surrounds you, it’s everywhere but you can’t seem to pick up on it. The bar is beyond crowded, and so is your small table, placed in an ocean of others. Some guests are merely tipsy, others are on the verge of passing out. 

Your gaze shifts to the man in front of you, your husband. He keeps on talking and talking, somehow overpowering the murmur around you. His monotone voice makes you tick, the small wedge between his bushy eyebrows, the insistent moving of his lips, the pools of nothing swirling behind his eyes. Not a single comprehensive thought roamed that brain of his. 

You knew that he was cheating. You’d be a fool not to. The lipstick on his fingers, some smudging on the collar of his white shirt. His uneven hair and flushed cheeks, not to mention the constant talking, a distraction, as if he was still trying to cover for himself. — He must think you’re stupid. But you’re not. You’ve known for a while now. You just haven’t decided on how to pursue, decided on a suitable approach. 

Divorce was always an option, but what about your kids? They love their daddy. — You take another sip, swishing the alcohol on your tongue before swallowing. Perhaps you’d guilt trip him... — “Babe, are you listening?” He still called you that, it was despicable, you weren’t in high school anymore. You blink, painting on a small smile, the same smile you’d been wearing for the past ten years. 

“Sorry, you said something about your upcoming sales?” 

His face lights up, like a kid on Christmas, eager to tell you about things he thought you had no clue of, things he didn’t think you’d understand. He belittled you, almost everyday, and you were sick of it. — He begins rambling once more, he’s bound to be occupied for another five minutes, so you let your eyes wander. They scan the crowded bar, people leaning over the countertop to get their order across. 

Then suddenly, he leans back, easily parting himself from the rest, if only for a split second. The black shirt clung to his chest, sleeves rolled up to expose his near delectable forearms. He was young, at least ten years your junior. But he’d caught your eye the whole night. His gaze meets yours, dark eyes twinkling under the dim lights as he sends you a near unnoticeable smirk, just the faint tug of his lips, nothing else. His attention momentarily shifts over to your obnoxious man of a husband, but you don’t stray from him. 

“..And so if we put the Honda for sale, I’m sure it’ll attract far more…Babe?” Your husband leans forward, blocking the view of the stranger before you. Internally groaning, your wide eyes quickly snap back to him, “sorry darling, my mind’s all over the place.” Your husband nods, and his hand reaches for yours, you notice that he isn’t wearing his wedding ring. “Should we go home?” He asks the question like any other in the world, but it lacks any kind of sincerity. 

Brushing past him, your attention returns to the guy by the bar, he was talking to someone, but his eyes would shift to your table ever so often, an almost knowing look on his face. “Yes”, you bring the cold glass to your lips once more, downing the beverage in one go, “I’ll just go freshen up.” 

Without waiting for a response, you rise, swinging your small bag over your shoulder as you push your chair in. Your husband looks confused, though he quickly nods, murmuring something about waiting out in the car. But you pay the man you’d devoted fifteen years of your life to, little mind, instead you head for the bathrooms with long and determined strides. 

The room is small, cramped, and as the door shuts behind you with an awkward squeak, you lean onto the sink, gripping its edges tightly as you regard your reflection in the dirty mirror. With a shaky exhale you place your bag down on the cool surface, unzipping it as you reach for your lipstick, carefully reapplying the gloss across your lips. Resisting the urge to splash cold water all over your heated face, you run a hand through your hair. 

You think about your husband, and for a moment guilt gnaws at the corners of your mind. But the longer you picture his face, the lies, the betrayal. — The better you feel about yourself. 

You swallow, your throat suddenly feels dry, and a small bead of sweat forms on your forehead. Fingers drumming against the white porcelain, you count the seconds in your head, your mouth moving silently. — Thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven..

Click. 

The door glides open, and a tall shadow slinks inside. He closes the door behind him, hands digging into the pockets of his black jeans as he watches you expectantly. Through the reflection of the mirror, everything is okay, but as you turn around, coming face to face with him for the first time tonight, your breath gets stuck in your throat. Fuck, he was really young, 21? 22? 

You bite the inside of your cheek, briefly hesitating. But he didn’t. He watches you with the same expression he had been all night, unmoving to the untrained eye, but you could clearly catch the glint in his gaze, the desire radiating off of him. You wouldn’t back down now. — So you take a step forward, one is enough to put you against him, chests brushing one another. 

He doesn’t say anything when you reach a hand out, fingers clasping around the lock of the door behind him as you seal the two of you away from the rest of the world. — Your soft exhale fans across his face, the smirk on his lips spreading, exposing sharp teeth. Part of you wants to break the silence, another part of you wants it to go on forever. 

You’re frozen, because in truth, you hadn’t planned for anything further than this. But he doesn’t seem to mind, an almost gentle look playing on his features as he draws closer, large hands finding their way to the back of your thighs as he runs them along your clothed skin. — Your dress is long, reaching all the way to your knees, certainly not what the twenty-something girls wore, but he didn’t seem to mind that either as he carefully bunches the fabric up. 

He takes a step forward and you take one back, you don’t even realize how far you’ve gotten until your now exposed skin hits the cold porcelain and you emit a small gasp. The sound rings out in the silent room, echoing off its walls almost melodically. — He huffs, and in one swift move, he hikes you up onto the cool sink. 

The determination of his movements make your panties dampen in a way they hadn’t for years. In all honesty you couldn’t even remember the last time you and your husband had sex, it might have been sometime before your youngest was born.. You tried to shake the uncomfortable thoughts away but it seemed impossible. Your hands roam his shoulders and the fine outline of his toned chest, he was everything your husband wasn’t. 

And you…You were everything they weren’t, the twenty-something girls. Would he even like you? — Sure beauty was subjective but would he hesitate when he saw the stretch marks on your belly? The dip of your hips, the plush of your thighs, your body worn out after birthing four children. Would he be disgusted? Would he back out? 

His fingers grasp your chin and reality slowly seeps back into your clouded mind. He was a complete stranger, you didn’t even know his name. It somehow excited you. It was the thrill your mundane life lacked, it was what your husband failed to provide you with. But this man, this stranger, he was ready to give you everything and more as his eyes hungirly roam your body, hands moving along your sides before sliding down your thighs to push your dress up. 

You shiver. Whether that was from the fresh air hitting your now naked skin or the anticipation swirling in the pits of your stomach, you didn’t know. His gaze searches yours as his fingers brush the lining of your panties, as if looking for doubt, but he only finds lust, and he smirks. — Your husband rarely touches you, and especially not like this, not intimately. You often thought that you might have been the problem, but as the man before you leans in to press a tender kiss to the skin of your shoulder, you find that it’s not. 

A small part of you wants to ask his name, his age, anything, even the slightest bit of information about him. But the unknown felt good, ignorance really was bliss. It was better this way, you tell yourself. Less strings attached, and it wasn’t like you were ever going to see this man again. You were doing something for yourself, for you. 

He dips a tentative hand beneath the soft cotton of your underwear, fingers experimentally swiping across your soaked cunt as he parts your folds. He has yet to pull away, to change his mind, and you internally sigh out in relief. — Your head falls forward, hands gripping his broad shoulders as you exhale against his neck. 

You catch him softly humming and mere moments later, the pad of his thumb presses against your throbbing clit and a small moan rolls off your tongue. You could barely remember the last time you’d even touched yourself. With four children and a cheating husband who stayed out late, alone time was near sacred. You were pretty damn sure it showed. 

The way he was touching you felt good, way too good, and you resist the urge to squeeze your thighs around his arm. — Just as his lips trace the shell of your ear does he push a finger deep into your core, drawing a breathless gasp from you as he curls said finger, almost immediately brushing past a part of you that had been kept stowed away for so long. 

The buzzing sensation the alcohol had left you with was nothing compared to the fire currently taking to life within you. And all you could think was: why hadn’t you done this sooner? Why had you denied yourself of the pleasure your husband has so liberally been granting himself for the past year. 

Your husband…

He was waiting for you in the car. Time was not on your side, and any other day, you would have been freaked out. Not today. Today your mind is set on one thing alone. — Feverish hands claw at his shirt as you urge him on, the second finger he’d added wasn’t enough, you needed more, and a lot of it. He complies almost immediately, a small grin splayed across his face as he yanks your panties down your legs. You wondered if he let the twenty-something girls boss him around like this too. 

Your neck feels damp, covered in his wet kisses, rough enough to where they’d surely discolor your skin. The idea of your husband seeing it was thrilling. But before you get to ponder said scenario further, he’s got you on your feet once more, spinning your around to face the mirror. Immediately you shy away from your reflection in the glass. The thought of seeing yourself like this, bent over the sink of a public bathroom in a random bar like some cheap fuck.. The idea was far from enticing. 

His hand is on your lower back as he guides you down, the other one trailing along your arm before reaching your neck. Fingers splayed across your throat, he encourages your head back up and your eyes flutter at the action. — And when they open, you find him already watching you through the reflection, lips pulled into the same smirk he’d been wearing the whole night. 

Suddenly, it felt okay again. 

The sound of his zipper being undone sends a small spark of excitement through your already anticipating body. — Leaning forward, he presses a warm kiss to your shoulder blade, firm chest meeting the slight arch of your back and the head of his cock nudges your nearly pleading cunt. 

Your fingers grip the porcelain tight, knuckles fading to match its pale color, making the wedding ring on your hand a stark contrast. You exhale, gaze flickering up to meet his through the reflection. Dark hair falls down onto his forehead, shielding his face from view until he looks up. — With a soft grunt, the hand previously on your back now resting against the curve of your waist, he pushes himself inside with one swift thrust. 

The feeling is familiar yet completely foreign and you gasp at the stretch, your cunt clenching around him almost immediately. He gives a small sigh, head falling to the crook of your neck once more as his hand travels from your throat and down your chest, getting a handful of your tits as he squeezes them through the light blouse you wore. 

He moves slowly at first, taking his time as he gauges your every reaction. From the twitch of your lips to the sickeningly sweet moans that he managed to draw. — But you both quickly realize that it’s far from enough. And it’s not long until his hips are snapping against yours with a force strong enough to make your eyes roll back. 

To be touched like this. To be craved like this. It was like a part of you, once long forgotten, had been awakened all over again. Your life before your scumbag of a husband, your life before the lies, the cheating, the must’s and the do’s. — It was your life before soccer practice with the kids every tuesday, it was life before turning in at 10pm each night, it was life before slaving away in the kitchen as you scrambled to feed your family. 

This. This was your life. Only you and this mere stranger, a mere stranger who made you feel like yourself again. — His cock buried deep within your throbbing cunt, twitching with your every persistent clench of arousal. Biting down on your bottom lip, you try to muffle the noises of pleasure waiting on your tongue, the thin walls of the small bathroom would surely give you away. 

Your knees feel weak, legs wobbling with each thrust of his, and if it hadn't been for his arm snaked around your waist, you would’ve been on the floor moments ago. — Your eyes get caught on him, his large frame towering over you from behind, broad shoulders spreading out above yours; biceps flexing through the material of his dark shirt. His breath is hot against your neck, coming out in heavy pants and faint grunts as his lips nip at your sweaty skin.  

You didn’t know his name. But he still made you feel things you hadn’t felt in forever. He made you feel sexy. Desirable. Like there was more to you than the sad house-wife who obliviously lets her husband cheat on her. 

When you finish on his cock, it doesn’t feel at all like it had with your husband, with the man you had devoted your life to. No, it felt better. Like this was how it was supposed to have been all along. It feels euphoric, like you’re floating, nothing was real and nothing mattered. Then suddenly, you want to kiss him. — Craning your neck slightly, a trembling hand unlatching from the sink as your fingers entangle in his dark hair, you pull his face to meet yours. 

Was this a bad idea? Was kissing taking it too far? Were you about to cross a boundary you couldn’t revert back from. It didn’t matter, you didn’t care, and neither did he. 

His lips are soft as they move eagerly against your own. It’s not like the quick pecks you and your husband shares before he leaves for work, before he leaves for someone else. Your kisses with your husband are solemn, melancholy, and almost chore-like. This was anything but. It felt like your first kiss all over. Hot but tentative, clumsy but absolutely perfect. 

He groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating on your tongue and you resist a small moan. Then he tries to pull back, but you don’t want him to, he can’t. Your fingers in his hair keeps him close, and with a soft hum he complies. Hips jerking forward one last time before his warm release shot up into your spent cunt. It felt like something you definitely shouldn’t be doing. Perhaps that was why you did it. 

You finally felt in control. 

As he pulls out, tucking himself back into his dark jeans, you realize that you had yet to speak a word to each other. The silence had been a minimal obstacle just moments prior but now…You wonder if you should break it. But what would you say to him? “Thank you?” You almost scoffed. 

His large hands on your legs startle you from your thoughts and it takes you a second to realize that he’s pulling your panties back on. The garment is beyond drenched as it sticks to you uncomfortably. — He’s close, so close that you can feel his warm breath caress your flushed cheeks. He exhales, eyes finding yours in the dim light of the small bathroom. Then he smiles, it’s not the previous smirk that had originally drawn you in, but a genuine smile. 

“Taehyun.” 

His voice is low, the name effortlessly rolling off his tongue and you blink dumbfoundedly at him before realizing that he’d just introduced himself. Feeling your face redden even further, you clear your throat before following his lead and doing the same. — Taehyun leads you out of the restrooms, ignoring the glances sent by the multiple people in line as his hand rests on your lower back. 

The cold air causes goosebumps to ripple across your skin the moment you step out onto the parking lot. Taking a small step back, Taehyun’s eyes roam the multitude of cars lined up, you do the same, eventually finding the familiar one amongst the crowd. After glancing back and forth awkwardly, you finally bid farewell to him, barely managing to catch the subtle wink he shot you. 

The car door slams shut and with a heavy sigh you slump against the leather seat, finally feeling the evening’s events catch up to you. — “What took you so long?” The annoyingly monotone voice of your husband rings out into the thick air and you’re thankful for the darkness of the night as you roll your eyes. “Long line”, you mumble. 

Your husband hums as the engine comes to life. “And who was that?” He adds, sending a small nod in the direction of Taehyun’s figure, leaning against the brick wall of the bar as he takes slow drags from a cigarette. — You shrug, feigning ignorance as you rub your thighs together, the dampness between them an evident memory of what had taken place just minutes earlier. 

“A friend of a friend”, you sigh, letting your gaze wander out the window as you pull out of the parking lot. “Yeah?” Your husband mutters, “what’s his name?” — You smile, shrugging the question off as you settle back into your seat. 

“I haven't got a clue.” 

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