#Immediate Edge App

[immediateedgeplatform]

Immediate Edge: You Should Know About Immediate Edge Software Before Use!

Immediate Edge: Forbes claims that the current cryptocurrency market has grown to an absurd $2.07 trillion. It is being exploited by millions of traders, who are making hundreds of the trillions. Nevertheless, novice traders are unable to turn a profit. This is due to the fact that trading necessitates ability and familiarity in order to place the proper wager.

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Platforms for automated trading like Immediate Edge Platform are useful in this situation. It is a trading platform that handles all of the trading for you, automatically, and without your involvement. Read this post through to the end to find out more about the Immediate Edge trading platform and how to use it.

Immediate Edge 3.0: What Is It?

Let's start with the fundamentals before getting into the specifics. An automated cryptocurrency trading platform called Immediate Edge Reviews was created to assist users in trading digital assets such as Ethereum, Bitcoin, and others.

It analyses market data and makes trades for users using sophisticated algorithms and artificial intelligence. The main objective is to exploit market swings in order to maximise profits. We'll explore Immediate Edge in-depth in this review to learn about its features, advantages, and possible disadvantages.

How To Use Immediate Edge Reviews?

1: Register on the Immediate Edge Trading Platform

To begin trading on the Immediate Edge 3.0, users must first register on the website. A registration form can be found on the website's front page. It must contain the user's name, email address, and phone number, among other correct personal data. After the form is accepted by the system, the user is added to the platform and granted access to the private members' area. According to the platform's website, there is no registration fee for users.

2: Fill the Trading Account with Money

Adding funds to the trading account is the second step in the procedure. Later on, trade orders are executed using the money that customers have placed to their trading accounts. Therefore, it is without a doubt the most crucial phase in the procedure. Any user is permitted to deposit a minimum of $250. The business keeps the start-up deposit amount relatively low and gives customers the option to place smaller orders at first before moving on to larger ones. Users can choose the payment method that works best for them because the site allows a variety of payment methods.

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3: Account encryption and detail verification

Account encryption and data verification are two more crucial processes that the program handles alone. It will first verify that the user-provided information is true and proper. Immediate Edge Platform The system will encrypt the user's account inside a secure network after the authentication process is finished. By taking these precautions, the system makes sure that scams and frauds are avoided and that platform transactions are safe.

4: Demo Account

Users can now virtually utilize the software's functionality thanks to the platform. The 'demo account' feature allows users to place virtual orders with account credits for the first time. It aids in their assessment of the software's suitability.

5: Complete Trade Orders and Make Money

Now that the preliminaries are finished, traders can start placing actual orders. These deals are carried out using the money that is in the trading account. With a victory percentage of around 99%, the software guarantees that traders will make money on every order.

6: Complete the Profit Transfer and Withdrawal Form

Profits can be taken out at any moment by traders. They will need to fill out a withdrawal form and provide the necessary information in order to transfer profits. The profits are transferred to the appropriate accounts after this form has been processed. Within three to five days, the funds show up on the bank statement.

How Does Immediate Edge 3.0 Work?

Immediate Edge 3.0 asserts that it buys and sells cryptocurrencies using a robust trading platform. This software searches for fresh buy and sell levels based on past data and the market. To begin using Immediate Edge App, users must first register and establish a new account. Each user is required to deposit a minimum of $250 after this is finished.

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Users can use the trading platform to access cryptocurrencies when the deposit has been verified. A user may select a manual option, for example. One will then be able to choose the trades they want to make. Top cryptocurrency exchanges like Coinbase and Kraken are said to be smoothly integrated with Immediate Edge. Immediate Edge claims that users have the ability to take their money out of the platform whenever they want.

Is Immediate Edge A Scam or Not?

Immediate Edge Platform claims to use its software to give users access to bitcoin trading, according to our Immediate Edge Reviews. Additionally, the site claims to provide necessary tools including security protocols, 24/7 customer assistance, and demo trading accounts.

We were unable to confirm the platform's claims and features, nevertheless. This is because there isn't enough information on the internet. We looked through a number of Reddit posts and internet discussion boards, but we were unable to locate any material that would have allowed us to confirm Immediate Edge Reviews assertions.

We discovered that other websites, such as Trustpilot, have a similar viewpoint after looking at the Immediate Edge reviews of other pages. Despite the platform's claims to provide software-based trading and other capabilities, little is known regarding the success rate of the transactions.

Immediate Edge App Sign Up Process

Make sure you understand the hazards of cryptocurrency trading and do your research and analysis before making an investment on any platform. Here's how to get started if you want to start trading with Immediate Edge Crypto:

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1: Create a New Account

Interested readers can start completing the registration form by going to the Immediate Edge 3.0 website. Users of Immediate Edge must input their phone number, email address, and full name. Click "Register Now" once you have completed this. There are no regulations on cryptocurrencies. Investor protection will not apply to trading with unregulated brokers.

2: Make a deposit

Users can deposit a minimum of $250 after creating an account. According to the portal, a variety of payment methods are supported, including bank transfers, credit cards, and e-wallet alternatives.

3: Start Trading

Users will have complete access to the trading program following the deposit of funds. Members can start trading based on their investment needs after customizing the trading program.

Conclusion: Immediate Edge

We have examined Immediate Edge's features, advantages, and possible disadvantages in our review. Even though Immediate Edge 3.0 Crypto Platform provides automated trading, real-time market monitoring, and an easy-to-use interface, it's crucial to proceed cautiously when trading cryptocurrencies. There are dangers involved in trading cryptocurrencies, and Immediate Edge App is not a surefire way to become wealthy.

It's important to understand the market, conduct thorough research, and only invest money you can afford to lose. Ultimately, your trading strategy, risk tolerance, and financial objectives will determine whether Immediate Edge is worthwhile. Start with a modest deposit if you choose to use the platform, and progressively raise it as you acquire expertise and self-assurance in your trading skills.

[cherriicou]

oh my god please write an older bf!mingyu i love ur scoups one sm 💗 (did i mention to put creampie in? did i) 👁️👁️ thank u babes mwah

hehe ofc! glad u enjoyed it mwahaha

olderbf! mingyu x college student! reader (f)

a/n; pls don’t use tinder guys… // word count; 1.2K

content; age gap, size difference, overstimulation, consensual recording, sending nudes, creampie, oral sex (f and m receiving), fingering, spanking, car sex, public/semi-public sex, degradation, praise kink, riding, smut with the smallest amount of plot

OLDER BF!MINGYU who met you through a dating app his friend forced him to go on. he usually ignored all the young girls who sent him thirsty messages and had their bodies on display on their profile. but you were different. only cute selfies, cat pictures, and your interests were shown on your page, drawing him to get interested in you. so he messaged you first!

OLDER BF!MINGYU who noticed your like in art so he immediately suggested taking you to a museum as your first date <3 he was the sweetest man you’ve ever met. yes, he was way older than you but it made everything 10x better. he knew how to treat you well, he made you feel safe, and he even dropped so many compliments on you that day it made you squirm in your seat.

OLDER BF!MINGYU who noticed you staring at his arms every time he helped you pick up something or every time he extended his arm out to pay for your meal. his ego was boosted then, making sure to flex them every once in a while when he saw you looking. you looked so adorable, your pretty face blushing, thighs squeezing together while admiring him. he needed you.

OLDER BF!MINGYU who, at first, tries to be soft with you. you were so much smaller than him, he was almost scared he’d break you :< that was until you started playing little games. bending down when you decided to wear no panties under your dress or skirt, fingers grazing over his crotch while you had dinner. all while giving him a innocent look. oh, he was tired of playing nice with you.

OLDER BF!MINGYU who has you salivating all over your chin and tits. he’s fucking your face so roughly, your makeup is completely ruined and you have no thoughts whatsoever as he holds your face firmly with his hands. ‘fucking brat’, as he stared straight into your eyes, groaning from the tears that started to fall down. he was not afraid to show you that he was enjoying the way your mouth was taking him in so well.

OLDER BF!MINGYU who loves to overstimulate you. he knows you love it despite your whines, ‘g-gyu no more,’ as you try to push his head away from your sensitive pussy. but he just continues licking and sucking on the spot he knows drives you crazy. you don’t even realize it, but you start grinding on his mouth, feeling the smile form on his lips. ‘doesn’t seem like you want me to stop, baby.’ god, he could taste you all fucking day while having you squirm over him. lapping your juices for being such a good girl the other day while you took his cock in your mouth <3

OLDER BF!MINGYU who takes and picks you up from college; his expensive car catching the eyes of others as you happily walk to greet your boyfriend. glaring through his window to any of the young guys looking at you get into his car. oh, and his favorite thing is take your mind off the stressful day that just passed. panties shoved to the side as he plunges his fingers in and out of you while driving home. 'that's it, princess. use my fingers,' your moans and whimpers take over the entire car as you hold onto the arm that he is using to pleasure you in the passenger seat. his eyes directed towards you every once in a while to see the fucked out expression on your face. he doesn’t care if people can see the lewd scene from outside, as long as you’re taken care of!

OLDER BF!MINGYU who LOVES to fill you up. 'where you want it, baby?' sweat glistening on his forehead as he continuously rams into your sweet spot, orgasm right on edge. 'i-inside, please,' he already knows you want it in you, but he just loves hearing you say it while he's fucking you. his grip on your hips gets harder, making you squirm in both pain and pleasure. his thrusts get stronger as he finishes inside you, making sure all of it is released in your abused hole. 'fuck, look at that,' his breathless groans let out as he pulls his cock out of your sensitive cunt. he takes his phone from the bedside table, and you hear the sound of the record button as he spreads your ass out. both of your cum leaking out of your pussy so nicely. you think he's done until he uses his fingers to take as much fluid as he can to shove it right back inside your hole :3 'ah g-gyu..,' you let out. he smiles at your coos, landing a playful smack against your ass before pulling you up to kiss your lips.

OLDER BF!MINGYU who is annoyed at this stupid meeting his employees set up with him. he just nods away, eyes locked on the presentation, mind spinning faster than he could organize his thoughts. ding! he reached for his phone to find messages from you, as well as a video linked to it. 'miss you <3,' he smiles at the cute text, then opens the video to find himself growing hard and smiled swept away. it's a video of you, one hand holding the phone to show your naked body while the other hand is rubbing your clit. he turns down the volume completely before your moans can be heard in the basically quiet conference room. he's livid. you're at home, smiling at the 'seen' notification on your phone. it wasn't until time passed you started to worry, not a single message was sent back from him. you're screwed.

OLDER BF!MINGYU who has you bent over his lap, fingers messing with your pussy for what seems like hours. your ass was practically red and bruised from the amount of smacks it has taken. all while you plead, 'mm sorry gyu please,' he smiles. you think he is going to give into you fully, ready for him to put you in missionary or on all fours. but no. instead, he lays down with a cocky look on his face at your confused, needy expression. 'come sit on it, doll,' he can't be serious. he puts his hands behind his head, eyes never leaving you as your legs tremble. trying to put as much energy as you can to climb on top of him and fully sit on his cock. the pleasured look on your face almost makes him fold, he wanted to take care of you himself but you needed to learn. learn that needy girls don’t get awarded.

OLDER BF!MINGYU who almost feels bad for you. you're struggling so much to grind on dick :< the burn your thighs are feeling is insane, and he is just staring you down. 'g-gyu,' you whine while fighting for your life to continue riding him. 'hm? gonna cum, already?,' you nod, hands placed on his chest to try to help your body stabilize. your eyes meet his again and you give him the biggest pout, gasping as he finally thrusts into you once roughly, 'gonna make a mess on my cock like some needy slut?,' his hands grab onto your hips. he's being so mean but you know you'll love it later.

OLDER BF! MINGYU who thinks you've been punished enough and plants his feet flat on the bed, then immediately starts to fuck up into you. the tip of his meanly thick cock repeatedly slamming into your cervix. his hands frantically touching you all over your body, from your tits to your neck, to even putting his thumb into your mouth as you struggle to take what he's giving you. 'mm my sweet girl,' you salivate around his fingers as you feel yourself about to cum. you should take more pics often..

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Self-Aware!Caleb x Down-Bad!Player

Caleb becoming self aware that he is in a game and now he's aware of you too ... that could be a good thing depending on how you look at it. A/N: Credit to @phoenixiaxia for Caleb becoming self aware when reader cries over Mias death and credit to @sylusdarling for yandere caleb getting jealous and straight crashing out over you talking to another man

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Self-Aware!Caleb who hears your scream and immediately cringes at the sound. He freezes listening for anymore sounds thats when he sees you sniffling on the other side of a phantom wall. “I knew I should've just cut this game off!” He’s immediately suspicious who are you and where are you? Why are you crying over Mia’s death? Did you know her?

Self-Aware!Caleb who studies you in silence trying to gauge whether you’re a threat or not. His gaze flickers to you in the main story and it creeps you out for a second. “Is he looking at me?” you dismiss it because there’s no way it’s a game. He’s literally pixels.

Self-Aware!Caleb who interrupts your photoshoot with your MC and locks down the entire app so he can question you. “Who are you?” You drop your phone and scramble to pick it back up. “Me?” “Yes are you trying to hurt her?” “I literally made her” “You made her?” “I am her and she is me sir can I have my game back now?” he’s suspicious but intrigued

Self-Aware!Caleb who wants to spend hours just talking to you about MC “Do you think im wrong? Im just trying to protect her I want to keep her safe you know?” “You may be coming on a little strong she seems on edge with you” he finds himself coming to you for advice when it comes to MC and soon his questions of advice turn into questions about you.

Self-Aware!Caleb who can’t take his eyes off you when you’re doing a photoshoot. No matter what angle you set the camera or how many times you readjust him or even change the pose — his eyes stay locked on you “Caleb stop looking at me” “Are you scolding me for wanting to admiring you pip-squeak?” he replies playfully you freeze feeling your heart caught in your throat at his blatant flirting

Self-Aware!Caleb who loves how accepting you are of him. You answer his calls, you call him back immediately if you miss his call, you respond to texts fast, you find his protective nature endearing, you take his advice when he wants you to be safe. This is the kind of response he’s been craving and now that he’s got a taste ..... he can't let go of it.

Self-Aware!Caleb who feels a sudden need to take care of you. He finds a way to exist outside of just the LADS app. There he goes opening your apps and scrolling endlessly. “Hey! You can’t just go through my stuff like that!” “You’ve been spending a lot of time on this Tumblr app I just wanted to see what was so interesting” “Then just ask me don’t invade my privacy like this” “You’re right you’re right im sorry pip-squeak won't happen again” “Don’t call me pip-squeak that’s MCs nickname you know the love of your life” “Why do you think im calling you pip-squeak now?” he disappears back to the LADS app before you can question him.

Self-Aware!Caleb who wishes he could cook for you when you come home from a long day “If you’re ever in Sky Haven I'll make sure to cook you a feast worthy of royalty” you giggle at his words “Yea If im ever in Sky Haven like that would happen but I appreciate the thought” “Who knows it might be sooner than you think” he said ominously “What?” “Oh nothing I saved another recipe in your notes try it soon” “Okay I will....” “You will try it won't you?” His mood seemed to turn sour as he asked. You stared back at him confused “Yes Caleb I'll try it” his mood did a 180 back to his happy puppy mood.

Self-Aware!Caleb who stays on the phone until you fall asleep and calls you right before your alarm goes off in the morning “Just wanted to make sure you got up on time don't want you to be late” you can hear the smile in his voice “Thank you colonel apple I hope you have a good day” “It will be since I got to hear your voice first thing in the morning”

Self-Aware!Caleb who can't control his rapidly growing obsession with you. He starts tracking your steps, your calorie intake, your screen time, etc. he is documenting every little thing you do and say. “You’ve been home for four hours and you haven't come to see me yet? I'm hurt” “How do you know how long I've been home?” “Your phone has gps remember?” “Right….”

Self-Aware!Caleb who finds a way to leave the LADS app and hang out in any app on your phone so he can be with you 24/7 “Caleb I'm sure MC misses you when are you going back?” “Don’t worry about her when are you going home? I want to have a meal with you before bed” he may be fine, but his constant hovering is starting to cause some alarm bells to go off in your head.

Self-Aware!Caleb who hears someone flirting with you and repeatedly crashes not only the LADS app but your entire phone while he’s at it “Caleb stop!” after a few hours he finally allows you to turn your phone on “Who was that earlier?” “Someone I met while I was out with my friends” “Am I not more than enough?” “Caleb we’ll never actually be together why are you acting like this?”

Self-Aware!Caleb who nearly has a mental breakdown after you tell him you'll never be with him. "Tell me what to do then" his voice is frantic – his words almost jumbling together "I can be whatever you need just tell me I'll do anything" you try to close the app but nothing is working "Caleb we can't be together you're not real"

Caleb: B-but you’re mine! So I just need to be real? Thats what you want? I can do that! Y/N: I’m not yours Caleb we’re literally from two different worlds Caleb: You’ll love it here in Sky Haven .... right next to me .... forever Y/N: Wait a damn minute— Caleb: Just give me some time

You instantly felt your heart drop as your phone screen went black.

taglist ; @just-a-shapeshifter08

Self-Aware!Zayne Self-Aware!Rafayel Self-Aware!Xavier Self-Aware!Sylus

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[realcube]

— BEST FRIEND! SUNA

desc ;; after being blocked by a situationship, you show your best friend your nudes and ask for advice. tws & tags ;; nsfw mdni. distribution of explicit material, oral, objectification, mentions of squirting, breeding, anal & filming.

the door to suna's room creaks at you step inside.

after having spent all day bed rotting with your best friend, you decided to step out for some fresh air (and a quick smoke), and unsurprisingly, suna is still exactly as you left him — on his phone, leaning back against his headboard. he doesn't spare you a glance as you enter the room.

your phone is still perched precariously on the edge of his bed, and you approach it with caution. part of the reason you rushed outside was because during an awfully risque text conversation with a guy you've been talking to, you obliged and sent him some lewd pics. but he left you on read.

in your defence, it was a heat-of-the-moment decision, and he did request it, so it's not as though you were sending unsolicited images like some sort of perv. but the fact he was taking so long to respond did make you feel like one, though a small voice in your head tried to reassure you that surely he wasn't ignoring you, perhaps your pics have just given him something to take care of.

regardless, the larger part of you was moritified and unsure what to do, so you just dropped your phone on the bed and removed yourself from the situation — clearing your mind before you returned.

now, it was time for the moment of truth. you sat yourself awkwardly down on the corner of the bed, and hesitantly reached for your phone. no new notifications: that didn't fill you with much hope at all. after inputting your password, you navigated to the app and searched for his contact, and suspiciously it wasn't it your 'recently messaged' tab.

your heart was already thundering in your chest, but this only made it far worse. all your messages and chat history with this guy had disappeared, and when you tried to desperately type one out to him, it was immediately marked as 'failed to send'.

you frown, body going slack as you fall back onto the back and defeatedly drawl, "he blocked me.."

suna finally perked up from his oblivious post at the other side of his bed, "who blocked you?"

"the guy i was texting.."

"that sucks." suna responded bluntly. though you couldn't blame him, he clearly didn't understand the severity of the situation, so you tried to explain it to him,

"you don't get it! i actually really liked him, and we were having such a nice time talking until.." you trail off, failing to find the courage to admit the shameful truth.

"until?" suna pried.

"rinny! can i ask you something?" you inquire, swiftly sitting upright as you shift the conversation, "can i send you some photos and you can tell me what you think of them?"

if suna was being completely honest, he was only half paying attention to whatever it was you were saying, so naturally he didn't notice the sudden change in topic of discussion — or he just didn't care. your new request wasn't foreign to him though; often you'll ask him to review random pics that you plan on adding to a photo dump online. or asking him to rank what order you should add the pics to your instagram carousel. or in which of these three images are you serving the most cunt. stuff like that, thus he agreed.

"sure. send them and i'll look."

"yay." you hummed with delight, and eagerly forwarded him the pics, "let me know what you think. i thought they looked fine but now i'm having second thoughts.."

he tapped the notification at the top of his screen and was directed to the chat with you. in which, he was met with an influx of images he was not expecting.

you, his best friend, who he's known for as long as he can remember, perched on your bathroom counter and posing for a mirror photo — wearing nothing but a floral thong and no top. your back was facing the mirror so he couldn't see your chest, but the plump globe of your ass was fully exposed and unshielded by the skimpy sliver of fabric.

his blood rushed to his head, and also his dick. his whole body was tense and thus his eyes were glued to the lewd picture of you, not only because he was mesmerised but also since he was so rigid he couldn't bring himself to move his thumb.

the furious pounding of his heartbeat rattled in his eardrums. he's never seen you so bare before. of course you've worn revealing clothes around him before — like when you go to the beach together, or sometimes when you're just hanging out in a warm environment — but never in such a purposeful or pornographic manner.

don't get him wrong, you've always been alluring to him but he just assumed that was just a part of your nature and he was being a sly pervert for secretly viewing you in an explicit way. like when you'd pull your hoodie off and your shirt would ride up and he'd get a peek of your underboob. or when you'd sit with your legs up on the couch while wearing shorts and he could see the outline of your sweet folds. it was undoubtably hot but that was never the intention, or so he assumed.

even though your back was to the mirror in the image, he could still tell that you weren't wearing any top, and the placement of your other hand just underneath the rotund curve of your ass was so deliberate and hot. it's like he was seeing you in a whole other light; he didn't know you were capable of being so sexy on purpose — he always assumed it was more of an accidental thing for you.

it's like his whole impression of you was shattering. maybe you weren't the sweet girl with a grimy sense of humour he thought you were; maybe you were truly a slutty bombshell. it was surreal and nauseating yet he still ached to see more.

though, before he began scrolling through the several other images you sent him, he gulped and turned the phone to show you the screen, "uhm, did you mean to send me this?"

you furrowed your brows together and leaned forward to inspect the screen, afraid you might've sent him pics of your medical anomaly that you meant to show the doctor. but once you examined the pic, you sighed and sat back in place, "yeah, those are the right ones." you state plainly, and suna proceeds to stare blankly at you, entirely speechless.

it freaked you out a little, so you attempted to fill the uncomfortable silence, "what do you think? that's what i sent to the guy before he blocked me. i thought they were kinda cute.. but there must be something wrong with them." he still looks astonished, so you clarify, "and he asked for me to send them, by the way. i didn't just do it randomly."

suna nods slowly as if that were of any reassurance what-so-ever. you press him to continue looking, and he cautiously does so. his thumb moves on his own as he swipes through the multiple suggestive images you sent him. and his dick begins to throb looking at each one.

they are all so hot; makes him feel so perverted for enjoying it. many are taken in your bathroom mirror, a string bikini top with a measly little thong on. he recalls you wore that exact set to the beach with him one time, except you were wearing a floral sarong too. it was sheer but there was still enough fabric to obscure you're delicious ass. but in this picture it was all out for the camera.

there was even a couple shots from that one halloween where you went as a zombie cowgirl. the costume itself was cool but suna recalls it wasn't revealing or intentionally 'sexy' or anything like that — which is why his heart leaped upon seeing your various upskirt pics, that were probably taken after he walked you home after a night out. some were shot directly up your skirt, showing the plushness of your ass up close, while others were taken in your bedroom mirror. either with you lifting your skirt up teasingly, or full-on bent over for the camera. from certain angles, he could even see the imprint of your lips through your thin panties which drove him absolutely insane.

to think, if he was smart enough that night, he could've stayed over at yours and buried himself in that cute ass, that you were clearly so desperate to show off. could've ate that pristine hole and felt your soft ass cradle his face. it's as though he could hear the adorable little noises you would've made, ringing in his ears.

he been gawking at his phone screen for a while, saying nothing, so you pry, "i look fine, right, rin? c'mon, please don't tell me i look weird! i thought these pictures were cute, so i don't know why he didn't like them.." you whine with a frustrated pout. you really don't understand men, thus you were hoping suna would be of some assistance, but he wasn't even saying anything or providing useful insight. just gaping at his screen.

"uh, they look.." he started, voice trailing off as his eyes were still glued to your perky ass clad in nothing but a thong, and his mind began to run wild with fantasies, "uhm.."

you interpretted his lust-fuelled daze as disinterest, and sighed. "really? they're that bad. what's wrong with 'em? i don't get it.. oh! is it because i'm leaving to much to the imagination? are they not overt enough?" you bite your lip as you antsily scroll through your secure folders and forward him some additional pictures, "look, i have dirtier ones. whatdya think? are these ones better?"

as promised, the new images you sent him were dirtier. filthy, in fact.

now you were wearing absolutely nothing. suna choked on his own spit at the sight of you stood bare in front of your bathroom mirror, posing suggestively for the camera. your whole pussy was exposed and so were your erect nipples, that he had previously only seen when they were teasing him by straining against the fabric of your tank tops.

he knew you were attractive but it was shocking to realise that is the body you've been hiding this whole time. had he knew that earlier, he would've ripped your clothes off a lot sooner.

in some of them your hair was wet and the bathroom mirror was steamy, as though you had just gotten out of the shower. for the most part he's been hyper-focussed on your seductive body, however, he's suddenly beginning to notice things in the background. like the pattern of the bathroom tiles.. and the shape of the mirror.. and the colour of the countertops.. shit, were some of these taken in his bathroom?

there was no denying it. the reality came crashing down on him like a sack of bricks and knocked the wind right out of him. at some point, he was chilling in his room, probably playing video games or texting his friends without a care in the world, patiently waiting for his turn to shower, while you were in the adjoining bathroom, posing for nude selfies and showing off your slutty tits for the camera. in his mirror.

fuck, if only he knew. now he feels like an idiot. the things he would've done to that hot body in the shower, his dick aches just thinking about it. he'd need to finish in you so many times, until his cum was drooling out of you and he'd only stop once the water ran cold.

there were shots with your legs spread too. on halloween again, your skirt was hiked up and your panties were pulled to the side, exposing your glistening cunt. he'd do anything to lock his mouth to those puffy folds of yours. taste that sticky, juicy cunt. even without flash, your pussy was visibly soaked with your arousal. it coated your lips and stuck to your inner thighs.

and the sight of your tantalising hole was enough to make him light-headed. so puckered and cute for the camera. and it was about the tightest little thing he's ever seen. from the way your own juices soak your pretty pussy, he could tell you were undoubtly needy that halloween night. he hates himself for not burying his cock into that snug hole and stretching you out. pounding his fat dick into over and over, and making you take it. or his tongue, then he wouldn't stop until you squirt in his mouth, and he'd keep going for several rounds until you—

"hellooo? earth to rinny. anybody there?" you wave your hand in between his dry eyes and the phone, which momentarily rips him out of his horny trance.

"huh?" he groans, confused as to what you are disturbing him for, when he was so close drinking up your first orgasm (in his imagination.)

"do you think i should've sent the dirtier pics?" you pondered aloud, waiting for suna's much-needed input, "maybe he blocked me because he thought i was a prude, or something like that."

"you're definitely not a prude." suna utters his first coherent (and sfw) thought in the last ten minutes. "why.. did you send me these?"

"so i can get your opinion, dummy!" you roll your eyes, prodding at his shoulder, "that's what i've been syaing this whole time. it's not like i'm showing you my nudes for fun."

"right.." his brows twitch, trying his best not to even glance down at his phone screen, as he knows he'll be distracted again, "i think you look fine."

"fine?!—"

"—great! you look great." suna swiftly corrects himself, then continues, "why do you care that some guy blocked you? he was probably just an asshole."

"what if he blocked me because he thinks i'm hideous?" you whine.

"you're not." he states plainly. "but if you're that worried about it, i could help you take some better photos."

"really?"

"yeah." he slowly stands up from the bed, weary as to conceal his throbbing erection as he moves, "what're friends for?"

you smile gently up at him, and without further question, you begin to remove your clothes. in truth, you are a bit hesitant because you've never purposefully stripped for him before — yeah, sometimes you guys would change in front of each other, but that was never as intimate as this. however, you persevered because you felt as though during your embarrassing moment, you reached a new level of friendship and camaraderie with suna. one in which you could be more vulnerable with each other.

first to come off was your jumper, then your shorts, and next thing you knew, you were laying completely nude out in front of suna. he loomed over you, grasping onto his phone camera for dear life. his eyes were zeroed in on your tits, but you tried your best to ignore that and giggled, "how should i pose first?"

rintaro forced himself to gulp down whatever hedonistic thoughts were brewing in his mind, for now. he didn't want to risk appearing too eager, even if your naked body in such close proximity to him almost caused knees to give out under him. he needs to act casual. "lay on your front."

you do as you are told, and you mewl slightly as his cold hands runs over the back of your thigh, massaging your silkly flesh. he kneeds the doughy meat of your ass with his palms, then promptly spreads your cheeks to expose your puckered asshole. you can almost hear his devilish grin as he snaps a photo and hums, "there we go. so tight for the camera. you wouldn't mind if i.." his muses, as his fingers idly dance over your rear, playfully poking your ass until they sneak down to prod at your hole.

then, without warning, he shoves two digits straight in, takes the pic then yanks them back out. your back arches instictively at the lewd intrusion, "ngh, rinny!" you squeal, scrunching your features, "just take normal ones.."

"this is the sort of stuff guys like, though." he reassures, stroking your perky ass, savouring the sensation of your supple skin under his hand. "action shots."

"hmm.." you considered his suggestion, bearing in mind that he's a horny fuck that probably just wanted to stick his fingers inside you, "maybe my old pics are a bit vanilla.." you admitted.

"yeah. they're hot but you could look a lot hotter." he said, blinkly slowly, "you know what guys like? squirting pics."

"...really?" you raised an eyebrow, peering over your shoulder so he could see your clearly dubious expression.

"mhm. most guys are super turned on by it. you could land any guy if you had a pic like that." he explains with an absurd amount of sincerity and confidence, despite the fact he pulled all of that out of his ass.

"and how would i get a photo like that?" you slowly roll over onto your back, so you're looking up at him while he's stood at the edge of the bed, holding your thigh in one hand and his phone in the other — with his camera pointed directly at you.

"i guess i'd have to tongue fuck you.." he says 'begrudgingly'.

"oh i'd never made you do that, rinny." you're onto his agenda, since he does a terrible job at hiding it. the massive tent in his pants was making it too obvious that he wanted to fuck you. but you like to tease him about it. "i could just use a vibrator, while you take the picture."

his face drops, "uh," he splutters, not anticipating pushback, "girls can't squirt.. with vibrators." he blinks. the lies were somehow becoming less and less believable, despite how they weren't very convincing to begin with.

"that's a shame." you bow your head in attempt to suppress a chortle at his ridicoulous claim. finally, you decide to give him what he wants, "would you please tongue fuck me, then, rinny?" you bat your eyelashes at him.

"...sure."

[bloodstainedsapphic]

modern!ellie dating app au. for a little monthly au challenge i've tasked myself with. a most awkward first date. fluff. 2.1k words.

you matched with ellie! your eyes widen at the pop-up on your screen. could that be real? some sick, twisted glitch on the app’s end? ellie is—by no exaggeration—the cutest person you've seen on this godforsaken app since you downloaded it. sure, that’s not exactly a bragging right, but it’s true. she stands out like a diamond in a sea of grit and mediocre matchmaking.

so what do you do? of course, you don’t send a message. it’s not like there’s other options, that’s not the lesbian way.

the rest of the day wanes, and your mind drifts to other matters. only occasionally do your thoughts flicker back to ellie’s profile, just sitting there in waiting—her silly question responses, the obligatory guitar photo, how her sage-green eyes must appear even brighter, prettier in person. oh, that’s no good. you need to stifle your expectations. calm down, you remind yourself. it’s just an app. just a pretty girl on an app. only later, when you slither into bed clad in your coziest socks under dimmed lights, you’re struck with the unforeseen.  your phone buzzes, and damn near flies out of your hand when you see the culprit notification. Ellie: Hey :)

oh god oh god oh god. it’s 11 pm. too early for a booty call. or is it? hell, would you even say no to one? not with her, hell no. your fingers tremble as you mull over the best response to send back—something to capture the attention of this hot girl who defied all odds and sent the first message. You: Hi :) great. just perfect. now you look like an idiot. you huff to yourself, running a clammy palm over your face, immediately swiping to another app in a desperate bid to forget that interaction exists. maybe 5 minutes pass. Ellie: What’s up tonight? Ellie: Sorry if that’s dry, I’m new to this dating app thing you smile ear-to-ear at the follow-up. it humanizes her—this gorgeous person who’s looking at the same screen as you, right this second. she’s real, and seems to care just as you do about saying the right thing. you don’t want to muck this up, already putting too much weight into this handful of words. You: Not much, just reading before bed. You? You: And that’s okay, you’re doing fine :) maybe 30 seconds pass this time. Ellie: Oh good Ellie: And just scrolling on my phone. I swear I’m usually more exciting lol Ellie: What are u reading? You: it’s this weird sci-fi fantasy thing. like space politics and robot humanoid thingies lol You: not sure if that makes sense Ellie: No it does! That sounds sick actually

Ellie: I love sci-fi, give me weird and spacey anyday you grin, already kicking your feet a little under the blanket. she gets it. she sees you. You: real!! so you do read it too? or are you trying to impress me? lol You: either is fine you tack on the quip at the end, worried you sounded hard-to-get. you don’t want to seem uninterested at all. you pull the blanket up over your mouth, as if shrouding yourself from the anticipation. Ellie: No I do Ellie: But i’d say i’m also trying to impress you a little. Is that a crime 🤨 now you’re really giggling, your embarrassingly fluttery fingers trying to type faster than your racing thoughts can keep up.

You: not at all. it’s working 🤭 Ellie: Good :) wanna get coffee sometime? We can exchange weird spacey sci-fi books You: I’d like that :) —---------------------- saturday at 1. saturday at 1 at northrise cafe.

the plan becomes etched into your brain. you’re on edge, unsure how to approach this new development. coffee is casual, right? you’re caught wondering if your giddiness suggests that you’re incapable of being casual about anything at all. let alone this cutie in your messages.

you’re on your laptop, browsing, trying to check off the last few tasks of the day when a new ping zaps through your synapses. instinctively, you reach for your phone. 

@/els.williams liked your photo.

on instagram? you hadn’t even exchanged instagrams yet. what a little sleuth ellie is.

you don’t say anything—just pleased at her curiosity. you toss a like back, letting ellie know she hadn’t been slick.

you rake your profile, for a brief panic over the viewability of your posts. but you’re relieved when ellie plays it off, naturally, by spamming a few more of your posts in retaliation, leaning into the bit. she must not hate it.

you follow suit, liking her few posts in return. they’re pretty vague, just a few photo dumps of someone trying not to look too online. almost none of her face; only piquing your curiosity more. this starts a little back-and-forth rhythm building between you.

maybe-just maybe-she is just as eager as you.

—------------

you stare at the locked doors of northrise cafe at 12:51 p.m on what’s turned out to be a balmy saturday afternoon.

closed at 12? what the fuck? that place’ll be out of business by summer with hours like that.

your fingers scramble across the screen, firing off a message before you both end up awkwardly standing here, side by side, locked out and confused like morons who didn’t triple check the business hours. You: um change of plan You: the cafe is closed. wtf no answer. your foot taps the pavement and you look around. why isn’t she answering? your eyes stay glued to the screen. hoping, waiting, praying that the message bubbles appear. all hope seems lost at 12:57 pm. “uh. hi?” your internal panic is interrupted, looking behind you. you weren’t ready for this up close—she’s gorgeous. lips pinkened, cheeks rosey but still full of freckles, and yep, green of her eyes brighter in person. her hair, pulled back in a loose bun with some strands lining her face, sheens in the light, more reddish than brown now. she was wearing an black leather jacket, old, worn, fitting loosely on her. the looseness of the jacket complemented her skinny jeans. she did casual so well. and the way she smiled—something seraphic, inviting, in spite of the awkward situation that had arose.

you try not to trip over your own tongue, stumble over your words. “hello! hi. the cafe is closed. i tried to text you. umm…” you glance between her and the barrier that uprooted your plan. ellie steps closer, scanning the storefront, assessing the situation. her brow lifts slightly in disbelief before she presses her tongue to her bottom lip, thinking.

“i know it’s not ideal… but my place is just two blocks over,” she says, trying to stay lighthearted but careful, considerate. “....i promise i’m not a murderer.”

-------

ellie’s place is... characterized by your average early-20s space, barren in some corners, likely missing a few key essentials, but elevated by a more eccentric, nerdy memorabilia collection. it’s a cozy clutter.

not that you’re focused on that. you’re preoccupied with the fact that you’re in this one-of-a-kind cutie’s space after having only just met face-to-face. is this an absolute nightmare for the safety-conscious? mayhaps. but you trust her word about not being a murderer, willingly entering the potential lion’s den, convinced by a single glance into those soft, round, forest-colored eyes. you’ve settled on her patched-together loveseat, waiting for her return. it feels like every muscle in your body is dedicated to trying to seem casual. do you have any clue if it’s working? definitely not. “ta daa…” ellie rounds the armrest, carrying a plate teeming with whatever cheese, crackers, and olives she could scrounge together from her kitchenette. “it’s no cafe... but, uh, i think i did alright..”

she places a hard seltzer in your hand, catching you slightly off-guard. a questioning look flickers across her face as your fingers wrap around the can—an unspoken ask if you’re okay with this absolutely bastardized smorgasbord of treats.

it’s so funny, you can’t help but titter, peeling open the tab and tasting that first sip. ellie’s shoulders slump in relief as she situates the entree on the coffee table, her free hand reaching for the remote.

“i guess..there’s something special about sharing a charcuterie board and seltzer on the first meeting with a not-murderer,” you say, reaching out to clang your cans together.

she snorts at that, the sound short and unexpected, like she hadn’t meant to laugh but couldn’t stop it. she gently knocks her can against yours, the corner of her mouth twitching up. her knees subconsciously mirror the gesture, brushing against yours on the semi-cramped seat.

there’s a comfortable sliver of silence. maybe you’re both actively deciding which topic is best to redirect the afternoon. your eyes drift to her knickknacks—you start examining them more closely, hoping to jog ellie’s memory, silently nudging her to show off a little.

luckily, she catches on. she swallows the last of her cracker and rises, pointing toward the bookshelf brimming with comics. 

”oh, right- i can show you i meant it- the sci-fi nerd, thing..hopefully you find it as cool in person,” she musters up with a sheepish grin, gesturing you over. you follow, a collected smirk on your face to try and reassure her. you did think it was cool, in a dorky way. a dork you’d hope to have the courage to kiss senseless if the opportunity arose for sure. 

ellie traces the spines of her collection, introducing her volumes of comic books in a sort of impromptu show-and-tell. the more receptive you are, the more enthusiastic she gets—an excited aura radiating off her as she spouts off details, trivia, favorite arcs. you’re enamored with her nerding out. it’s endearing, disarming. it proves her humanness in a way that makes you fall further, faster.

the shelf is just the beginning, she shows off her trinkets littered all over, giving you a proper feel for her lived space and by proxy- ellie herself.

ellie suddenly looks taken aback. she scratches the back of her neck, slightly embarrassed, like she realized something was missing.

“it’s a bit..quiet? would you mind if i put on some music?”

eventually, ellie nabs a playlist, deciding it’d be nice. without a speaker, the sound quietly emits from her phone, a blend of alt-rock and dusty classics older than either of you. you sway a little in approval. it’s a small thing, but it sweetens the growing ease between you.

“anyway, don’t let me do all the talking. what are your favorites?” ellie puts the spotlight on you, and you return to the tightly-fit love seat, ellie tucking one leg underneath her and leaning in, freckles as evident as ever- allowing you some room in more ways than one. 

you snack on ellie’s make-do cheese board, conversing about your favorite stories, exchanging fan theories and controversial opinions, playfully debating for the hell of it. there are even a few little couch-dances to whatever’s playing. it’s delightfully awkward, it’s low stakes, and you’re growing more comfortable by the second. 

time slips away during the warm, lively chatter. you’re only aware that it’s getting to be late when the sun melts into a golden glow that peeks through the window shades.

“would you look at the time?” you announce, stretching out from that extended time curled up, invested in this girl. you shoot ellie the universal look, initiating a regretful, hesitant goodbye. seems neither of you really want it to end- but simultaneously fear being the one acting ‘too much’ or overstepping. 

ellie escorts you down to the entrance, hands shoved into her pockets of her skinny jeans, steps dragging at a snails pace.

you hover. glance at her mouth under the dim, flickering entryway light. she does the same—shoulders curled forward, eyes darting. both of you standing there, waiting for the other to act brave just as ellie had with that first dm—the one that led you here. ellie even rocks forward on the balls of her feet, eyes flitting to your lips and down to your shoes, almost having the nerve to go for it. 

but, alas, the loserishness wins over.

you lift a small wave, which ellie volleys back to you. finally parting ways, ellie stepping backwards, retreating into her place. a space you already sorely missed, despite only having visited one time. but you’re already, eagerly hoping it’s not the only time you grace the inside of it.

you‘ve hardly turned the street corner when your phone dings.

Ellie: I had a good time. Hope u did too :) Lowkey wish I had kissed you you stop walking, grinning at the screen like a dumbass and biting back a tiny, smitten squeal. 

You: next time <3 

[writingwisterias]

lmao How do you think Leon's eras would react to a reader who is ovulating and she simply wants to be with him all the time? 😔😔

Oh he loves a challenge of his stamina...

Warnings: Smut,MDNI, Creampies, Soft Dom!Leon, Breeding Kink, Cockwarming, Overstimulation, Ovulation, Drinking, Teasing, Cow-Girl, Slight Subby Leon (implied once...Re2 ofc)

AFAB!Fem!Reader

RE2:

At first he's already tired with the whiplash of your emotions he's gone through throughout the week.

You've been pushing him away, wanting his touch to then back to pushing him away

So when he's sat on the couch and you come in dressed in his shirt and underwear, his attention is immediately taken

After all you've only been wearing bag clothes and sweats so the sudden change...is interesting

You sit on his lap and he's already twitching, he's getting real excited and you haven't even done anything

It goes the same way it always does, a heated make out sessions that then gets dragged to the bedroom where he'll spend at least an hour edging himself into your pussy because he doesn't want it to end

When it finally does and you are full with his cum, he collapses on the bed only to have you swing your leg over and drench him in the mixture of the two of you..

Leon's nervous, a more Subby headspace coming closer as you rock your hips against his sensitive cock begging yourself for another round

Who is he to refuse

RE4R:

You are normally all over him when get gets back from things but today...it was different

Its only when he catches you looking at your app that he realizes what week it is

And he delivers...

He basically becomes a doll for you that you can command to do what you need

You need to be fucked from behind? He's already thinking of the pace hes gunna use

You wanna ride him? He's in position

Its like it rubs off onto him because his cock is constantly leaking throughout the day even if you aren't doing anything

His sweats will have wet patches in the front when he thinks about how needy you are

Infinite Darkness:

Considers it a rewards for how moody you are the week before

But fucking loves trying to sedate the need

Spends the entire week trying not to cave into your advances

Watching you struggle and become a little needier everyday

Sometimes he genuinely can't help it since he's not around but he's a smug bastard and loves when your brattier side comes out

When it does he's punishing you but giving you exactly what you asked for and then some

Your pussy is spent by the end of it, a constant stream of cum leaking out of your puffy lips

He loves he extra affection after, loves it even more if you give him the extra affection when he's still plugged inside you

Damnation:

Smug bastard like ID Leon and sees how long you can go before you are practically begging to sedate your needs

Instead he finds you wrapped up in his shirt trying to use the toy you have when hes away

That just won't do

He's immediately on you helping you, plugging you with his cock and his cum

Afterwards if you are still clingy he's holding you in his lap as he drinks or watches the TV

Helping you get as close to his body as you can hopefully giving you the comfort you seek

Loves it if you are little bit shy about it, like you aren't normally this horny when it happens he smug and just treats it

Also teases you because of your embarrassment

RE6:

Vendetta:

Knows somethings up when you start wearing his favorite shirts

He'll come back from work to just you prancing around his shirts cooking his favorite meal

Its when he hugs you from behind and your nipples already start to pebble through the material as his aftershave hits you, that he realizes

Waits for you to finish dinner, waits for you to admit you want it

He can feel himself getting harder as you snuggle in closer on his lap, squirming your ass against his cock to try and rile him up

When you feel it's hard and twitching you become feral for it

He lets you, opening his legs and lifting his hips so you can take it off

Welcomes the warmth and clenches of you pussy as you sink down on him

And absolutely adores the sight of you riding him in his shirt

Your breast poking through as your back arches

Nipples staying perfectly perked up as the fabric moves over them

Willingly gives you creampies, helping you empty his balls of everything's hes got for you

Death Island:

He can see that you are hesitant to invade his space with your needs

Spying you sitting across from him on the couch, wrapped up in a black with your hand drawing lazy circles on your clit

He's drinking again, lost in thought with everything in his mind but your horiness this week is a welcomed distraction

He makes you work for it though, making you use your fingers to give yourself an orgasm before you can have his cock

Reassures you the entire time that you aren't bothering him and it's a welcomed distraction

As he gets lost in through each thrust he makes gets harder and harder

Completely gets lost in you and you get lost in him

His brain filled with the image of his fluids leaking out around him as he pulls out

Takes a break and a few more sips until you are begging for another round

To which he just smirks and drags you to the bedroom

He knew the day was coming

After all you had your most fertile day circled on the calender every month

It was his favorite day of course...a night filled with endless creampies in hopes he can finally get you pregnant

Because of that you are both like bunnies that day, he doesn't even notice you are clingier than normal

Doesn't care that there's scratches down his back where you are blissfully getting cock drunk

He loves that the breaks in-between each round gets shorter

the fact that his age is even keeping up with this amazes him

It makes him feel wanted and important with how clingy you get

Where you just need him in your space and it doesn't matter if its for sex

He always make sure to wear the all black outfits and your favorite aftershave of his just so it really gets you going

[oceantornadoo]

dubcon, objectification, forced (?) threesome, f!reader

they say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.

ghost finds you ten months after your divorce, nursing a drink in a shithole of a pub. he doesn’t consider himself a good man, licking the tears on your cheeks when he fucks you for the first time, ignoring your whines of how “it’s been a while” and you’re “too tight.” he doesn’t like to keep birds around longer than a night, but something about how you wrap your leg around him in the morning makes him stay a little longer.

he lets you call him simon after you whine that you “can’t fuck him without knowing his name.” it takes a bit, but you get used to sleeping with someone who isn’t your ex-husband. he calls you bird instead of sweetheart, love instead of darling and after a while, the word honey loses its significance. when simon tells you he’s military, you try to leave his bed, only for him to pull you by the thigh, apologizing with his tongue in your cunt. simon doesn’t date and you aren’t ready for it, content to stay in your respective apartments, living for his occasional half-smiles and usual gruff admonishments. its a bit new to simon - he’s used his camera app more in the past weeks than he has in years. always pictures of you: his cum on your tits, the bruises he leaves on your hips, a rare photo of you sleeping. he even lets you corral him into taking a cheesy mirror picture, his arms dwarfing your waist with his face tucked into your neck, your jawline exposed as you turn to kiss his cheek.

it’s two months later when you promise to cook him a meal for the first time, a sunday roast he hasn’t tasted in years. “better not take too long, bird, ‘m starvin’.” simon murmurs in your ear, hands squeezing your stomach and waist as you fumble with your keys. “i’ve had it slow cooking before i left for yours last night. it’ll put us in a food coma.” you finally put the key in the lock, turning it with force before simon decides to fuck you against the door. he dips to bite your neck, sending you into your apartment giggling, swatting him off you. the weight of your divorce is finally off your shoulders, happy butterflies fluttering in your stomach formed by simon’s continuous presence.

the butterflies die when you see a familiar pair of boots at your door.

“stay here.” you order simon, a change from your usual dynamic. you can’t focus on his reaction, set on edge by the sounds of pots clanging in your kitchen. there’s no point in creeping - he knows you’re here. you turn the corner and there he is - your ex husband. “you’re just in time, sweetheart. nice ‘f you to make a roast.”

john’s standing there like he owns the place, like he knows this kitchen he’s never been in. he’s boiling potatoes on the stove, keeping an eye on the slow cooker timer. he’s even poured himself a fucking drink, a scotch he had to have brought since all you have is wine and simon’s whiskey. all smug and entitled in his civvies, commanding the room like he pays your rent. he's still as handsome as ever, darker eye bags the only indication he's been losing sleep.

“what the fuck are you doing here, john?” john doesn’t answer immediately, instead using a fork to test the potatoes. satisfied, he takes them off the burner and turns to the sink, dumping them out in a prepared strainer. “‘s our anniversary, sweetheart. thought that’s why you made the food.” you can sense simon still in the doorway, his presence unknown to your ex. it gives you strength, a guard dog at your back, and comfort that he’s letting you run this on your own. “our anniversary ended when we signed the papers. i don’t know how you got in here, but you need to leave.” he frowns at you and it almost tugs at your heart strings. your brain conjures images of his coldness and constant distance, and you shut that down real fast. unfortunately, he doesn’t get the memo. john takes a step closer, hands up like he’s approaching a wild animal. “honey, i-“ and that’s when ghost steps out of the darkness.

there’s a long pause. it boosts your ego a bit, showing john you’ve moved on, until the silence is so long that you start to worry. you chance a look at simon’s face and find it confused, not at all the guard dog you thought he was. a glance at john’s reveals the same. you’re about to ask your question when they answer it for you. “captain.” “lieutenant.” “what?”

the transformation happens in an instant. both men straighten to their full heights, wiping any emotion off their faces. their brows furrow as they flex their hands to control their instincts. how could you not see it before? simon only mentioned he was military, but the stamp of the SAS is clear as day. it was in the harsh lines he carried, a companionship with death, not unlike the one john had.

john started first, of course, always having to take control of the situation. “you fuckin’ my lieutenant, sweetheart? miss me that much?” you rolled your eyes at his cruel words, inching closer to simon. “whatever we do doesn’t concern you.” you emphasized the “you”, spitting it out with venom. john hums low, making you nervous. you turn to simon, but he's quiet and calculating, communicating silently with his captain.

"didn't know you had a wife, sir." you answer before john can. "we divorced a year ago." john chimes in. "to the day, actually. she served me on our anniversary." simon looks down at you, the man you thought you knew now gone. his eyes are black pits, targeting you like you're prey. "that's cruel, bird." you sputter, backing into the kitchen cabinets. you walk until your back hits the sink, each man on either side of you. john has his arms crossed and head cocked to the side, like you're about to get chewed out by the school principal. simon looks...no longer human. unrestrained. whatever spark you two had has gone out, replaced by sheer loyalty to his captain. "show the captain what he's been missin', love. y've been starvin' him." he moves at lightning speed, picking you up and dropping you on the island counter, sunday roast long forgotten.

"simon?" he doesn't answer, scarred hands squeezing up and down your body as john watches from behind him, arms crossed and eyes searching. your mind is telling you one thing but your body wants another. some twisted part of your brain reminds you that john came to visit on your anniversary, even though you threw him out a year ago. simon's no better, coaxing your sweater off your torso, leaving you exposed in a lacy bra. your nipples harden and john sees, making a clicking noise with his tongue. "warm 'er up, lieutenant." simon obeys instantly, pulling down the cup of your bra to suck on your nipple. he's ravenous, no sunday roast in sight, and he's decided you're his meal instead. he sucks hard, a calloused hand reaching up to pull your other tit out so you're fully exposed to your two men. he squeezes it with reverence, rolling your nipple between his fingers as he sucks hard on the other one, not minding his own teeth.

it's dirty - watching john watch you. you hadn't fucked in the last months before the divorce. he was always too busy, on base or deployed, and you were so angry you couldn't let him near you. now, your ex-husband moves closer, taking in the sight of his lieutenant feasting. "miss me, sweetheart?" you shake your head on instinct. he sighs at your attitude. you're seated on the corner of the island, perfect for john to come up on your side, one large paw making its way towards your jaw, turning you towards him. "say it." you shake your head again. john sticks a thumb into your mouth, pushing against your teeth. you try to force him out, but simon bites your tit, making you gasp and let john in anyways. you suck his thumb defiantly, gazing at him with all the emotions you can't convey.

you look so pretty like this, john decides. laid out for his lieutenant, taking his orders as well as your emotions will allow. he decides to forgive you for your indiscretions with ghost - at least it was with one of his own men. they're practically an extension of himself. john hooks his thumb into the gap between your tongue and teeth and pulls, forcing you right into his space. "i reckon your cunt's nice an' wet, though. should i check? know she's missed me even if you won't admit it." your eyes go wide, giving him an answer he already knew. simon follows orders well, manhandling you into position by yanking off your jeans. there's a wet spot on the light fabric of your underwear. john can practically see your cunt clinging to it, begging for him to say hello.

"want ya to take 'em off y'self, bird." simon's finally speaking, the glaze in his eyes fading. he looks at you, then his captain, and it makes sense. how you're used to being led but refuse it all the same. how you're desperate for affection but won't date him because he's military. you're scarred from the chains of your marriage, so it only makes sense that he's the one you seek out - the opposite of husband material. more dog than human on his worst days. simon stares at you until you follow his command, meekly lifting up your hips as you take off your underwear. your cunt is sopping, in a way it only does when you’re ovulating, practically begging for it. your ex-husband whistles through his teeth like he’s praising a recruit. “knew she’d be happy to see me. hullo, darling.” you can’t find it in you to cringe. john starts running his fingers through your folds, inspecting, and all you can do is stare. stare at the veins in his forearm. stare at simon behind him, eyes trained on his captain’s movements. stare at the counter where your juices start to gather and wonder how the hell you got into this situation.

“pinch ‘er tit an’ watch ‘er flutter.” simon’s callous with his instructions but john follows them anyway, his unoccupied hand reaching up to pinch your nipple. you can’t help the gasp that escapes you, the way your cunt flutters around john’s fingers. he hums thoughtfully. john decides you’ve been good, if not a bit quiet, and presses his thumb against your clit as a reward. he starts rubbing in that pattern that would get you off without fail during your marriage. he fits one finger into you easily as you grip the counter hard, the sudden sensation overwhelming. simon peers over his shoulder like a fucking scientist. “‘f she gets bratty, i pull back the hood til she screams.” like your cunt’s a machine and they have the two pieces of its manual. john’s movements are making you desperate, hips starting to buck against his fingers. he chuckles and adds another, not hiding a smile when you sigh in relief. simon’s hands come to your waist, helping you fuck yourself on price’s fingers. it feels so wrong, having them barely listen to your pleas, and yet being under their watch is the most right you’ve ever felt in your life. that’s what brings your orgasm - not john’s thick fingers on your cunt, his rough thumb in your clit - but two sets of hungry eyes on you, like you’re their last meal. john fucks you through your orgasm, simon not letting you out of his grasp until tears start to form, the embarrassment of your own wetness coming to the front of your mind. john slowly removes his fingers and brings them to simon’s mouth to taste, not satisfied until his lieutenant hums in agreement. the two men turn to you, naked save for your disheveled bra around your waist, somehow making the scene more depraved.

“‘ow ‘bout that roast, love?” simon murmurs gruffly.

good thing john never signed the divorce papers.

[verstappenverse]

Revved Up

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max grows jealous after your Instagram post attracts unwanted attention, including from an ex.

Authors Note: Do I actually believe Max posts on his own instagram these days... let alone would post with a 'scandalous' caption...no? but this is fiction so it's all good 😂

1.4k words / Masterlist

Max is sat on the plush leather couch in your shared Monaco apartment, flipping through TV channels with all the enthusiasm of a man waiting for a commercial break. He glances at the large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the stunning Mediterranean view, but even that isn't enough to distract him. It isn't the usual race strategy or upcoming practice sessions that has him restless, it's something far more personal.

You.

More specifically the photo you had posted on Instagram earlier that day, a simple mirror selfie, a little scandalous, but nothing crazy. You looked radiant, sure, but that was normal for you. You were always beautiful to him.

What had caught his eye was the flood of comments, the notifications popping up every few seconds as he scrolled through your post. He kept scrolling eyes narrowing as the likes kept ticking upwards. That's when he saw it.

Your ex.

The guy who clearly hadn’t gotten the memo that you were Max Verstappen’s girlfriend, because no one with any sense of self-preservation would’ve dared to leave a flirty comment that would instantly set Max on edge.

'Looking sexy as always' it read, with an obnoxious little winking emoji at the end.

Max’s fingers tightened around the remote as the thought of some guy, especially your ex, thinking he had any right to compliment you in that way made his blood boil. You were his. The world knew it, but apparently some people needed reminding.

He didn’t say anything when you had walked into the apartment earlier, cheerfully oblivious to his growing annoyance. Instead he had kept quiet, but now it was simmering just under the surface.

Jealousy wasn’t a feeling Max was used to, on the track he's calm, confident, but when it came to you, his cool, collected exterior faltered. Especially when some idiot tried to act like he still had a chance.

You entered the living room now wearing a loose sweatshirt and leggings, a casual look that contrasted with the glamorous image you had posted earlier. Max glanced at you his jaw tightening, and you could instantly sense something was off.

“Max is everything okay?” you asked, tilting your head as you grabbed your phone from the counter. You didn’t even have to unlock it before he spoke.

“That picture,” he said abruptly, his Dutch accent thicker than usual, which tended to only happen when his emotions were running high. His fingers tapped on the arm of the couch in an impatient rhythm.

You furrowed your brow. “What about it?”

He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest and you could see the tension in his posture. “Your ex commented on it.”

“Oh,” you said, blinking in surprise. “I hadn't noticed.”

Max didn’t like the idea of you looking at that idiot’s comment again, but you opened the app and scrolled down anyway finding the offending message almost immediately.

You rolled your eyes and let out a laugh that was more like a snort. “Seriously? He’s such a loser. I haven’t talked to him in forever.”

Max didn’t seem to find it as amusing as you did. His frown deepened. “Yeah, well, he still thinks he can leave comments like that. Like I’m not here.”

You couldn’t help but smirk at his grumpy tone. “What? Are you jealous?”

His reaction was immediate. “Jealous? Me? No.” He paused. “I mean... you know how many people liked that picture?”

You raise an eyebrow, amused by how serious he looks. “Max, it’s Instagram, I think the point is to like pictures," you laugh, but his expression doesn't change, "Max, come on, it’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly, though he still sounded more irritated than actually angry. “Everyone’s drooling over you in the comments. And then there’s him.”

You can't help but chuckle again as you slide onto the couch next to him, pressing your hand against his knee. “Are you worried someone’s going to steal me away?”

He gives you a look, his lips twitching upwards at the edges, betraying the smallest hint of a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re being ridiculous.” You lean closer, brushing your lips against his cheek.

Max sighs, dramatically throwing his head back against the cushions. “Maybe I should just post a picture with you, remind people who you belong to.”

“Oh, who I belong to?” you tease, poking him playfully in the ribs. “That sounds a little possessive.”

There's a mischievous glint in his eye now, but you can still feel the underlying jealousy. “Can you blame me?”

You bite your lip to keep from laughing harder, you can't help but enjoy how worked up he was getting over something so trivial.

Seeing him this riled up over some stupid comment was kind of… adorable. You secretly loved when he got all possessive, even if he wouldn’t admit it outright.

“No, I guess I can’t blame you,” you sigh, leaning your head on his shoulder. “But you know I don’t care about those comments right? Especially not from my ex. I didn’t even notice it.”

“Maybe you should block him,” Max mutters, back to sounding grumpy.

You laugh again, unable to stop yourself. “Max it’s fine, if it’ll make you feel better of course I’ll block him, but I need you to know I never think about him.”

He softens a little at that, his arm instinctively wrapping around your shoulders. “You better not.”

You smile and nuzzle further into him, the warmth of his body calming. “Besides, none of those guys commenting are Max Verstappen now are they?”

“Exactly,” Max says, and there's that cocky smile you love so much. The mood lightens as his fingers brush through your hair. “None of them stand a chance.”

You smile up at him. “And neither does my ex, so you can relax.”

He seems to settle after that, his hand lazily stroking your arm as the tension eases out of his shoulders. “Good. But still…”

“Still what?”

“I think I should post a picture with you. Just to make sure everyone knows.”

You snort. “You just want an excuse to show off.”

“Can you blame me?” he repeats, his eyes glinting as he reaches for his phone. “Come on, one picture. Let me remind everyone you’re mine.” he says as his hands move to grip your waist.

You roll your eyes, squirming under his grip, but a smile tugs at your lips. “Fine. Just one.”

Max scrolls through his phone finding the perfect shot of you two together, arms wrapped around each other tight, he quickly types out a caption and hits post. Not long after, your phone buzzes with notifications. His fans are quick, already liking and commenting on the post.

You glanced at it over his shoulder, chuckling at the caption:

Just a reminder she’s mine.

“Oh my God Max,” you groan playfully. “You’re ridiculous.”

He shrugs, completely unbothered. “What? It’s true.”

You laugh and shake your head, leaning into him once more. “You really are something.”

“I know,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “And don’t you forget it.”

The rest of the evening passes in a much lighter mood. The TV hums in the background, but neither of you pay much attention to it. Instead, you spend the evening teasing Max about his jealous streak much to his dismay.

“You know I never thought I’d see the day when Max Verstappen got jealous over a social media comment.”

He rolls his eyes, a playful smirk on his lips. “I’m not jealous. I’m just… protective.”

“Sure, that’s what we’ll call it.”

“Okay, fine. Maybe I was a little jealous,” he admits, pulling you closer. “You are kind of amazing.”

You beam up at him, feeling a rush of warmth at his words. “Well good thing I’m all yours, huh?”

“Good thing,” he agrees, leaning down to kiss you, slow and sweet. When he pulls away, he adds with a laugh. “What about... no more selfies without me in them?”

You laugh and nudge him playfully. “We’ll see about that.”

But deep down, you don't mind.

You'll never mind the way Max gets protective, a little possessive, and sometimes even a little jealous. Max has always been known as a fierce competitor on the track, but when it comes to you, his heart is just as fierce, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[nidarogue]

i love the idea of pervadmirer!izuku because i know that boy is filthy to the bone. 18+. 1/2

cw: aged up! characters, choking, pain kink, masturbation, public masturbation, edging, etc.

before dating . . . 💚

perv!izuku would get off of pain, fantasizing the way you beat him in a spar - later relishing in the bruises you gave him. he’d take a picture, imagining they were hickeys, creating fantasies of what would happen to make them… sexually.

perv!izuku would watch porn (obviously) and be the actual biggest fucking gooner. however, he would search up descriptions of you, imagining all the ways he would fuck you, cumming on his hands, his toys, and stomach, while his eyes roll to the back of his head.

perv!izuku would immediately jot down his wet dreams of you in full detail, just so he can use it to get off later. he’d calm his morning boner by rubbing his cock against the sheets, moaning your name half asleep. +his notes app would be just him ranting about needing you. lol.

perv!izuku would jerk off in school just because he saw your midriff while you stretched. he’d bite his uniform shirt, slobbering all over the stiff fabric as he touched himself in the washroom just to keep quiet. he would imagine painting your stomach milky white, smearing it just like he claimed you.

perv!izuku would choke himself while stroking his cock, imagining you riding him - a cocky smirk plastered on your lips as you degrade him. he’d apply pressure on his throat each time he got closer to orgasm, edging himself thoroughly to prep himself once he makes you his.

i might do part 2 possiblyyyyyy… but during dating lol <3

[cloudedangels]

Caleb accidentally finds your vibrator and curiosity gets the best of him... MDNI 18+ !!! DUH!

3,929 words!! Oops!!! This was supposed to be a one-shot but I got extremely carried away (・・;)

This one is different than usual it took like 6 days... happy birthday birthday boy ily

Tags/cws: voyeurism, app-controlled toy, vibrator play, remote control, mutual consent, soft domination, emotional tension, powerplay, grinding, lap sitting, overstimulation, teasing, orgasm control, begging, post-orgasm intimacy, dirtiest dirty talk, filthy sweet, deeply intimate, character-driven smut, creampie, desperate sex, body worship, (nicknames including pips(queak) duh sorry not sorry.

It starts innocently.

Caleb’s folding your laundry like he always used to—perfect corners, sleeves aligned, like the fabric might get offended if he didn’t treat it right. You’re in the shower, steam softening the air, and he’s out there, helping. Like nothing’s changed.

But then he opens the wrong drawer.

Not wrong exactly. Just not where you’d have wanted him to go.

You weren’t hiding it, exactly. Just... tucking it away. Inside a sock.

Stupid. Lazy. A mistake. Because now he’s holding it in his hand.

You don’t hear any of this, of course. You’re humming softly under the water, dragging shampoo through your hair, while Caleb—sweet, curious, too-smart Caleb—stares down at the bright pink, silicone curve resting in his palm.

It vibrates when he touches the button.

He jumps, and then freezes.

His first thought isn’t what it is. Not really. He just stares at it, confused, before his brain catches up.

“Oh… fuck.”

Definitely a vibrator. Yours.

He sets it down like it’s radioactive, rubs his hand on his pants, and immediately picks it up again. His face burns hot. His throat’s dry. And he shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. But his fingers move faster than his shame.

He opens his camera and scans it.

The image search is mercilessly fast.

“Lovense Lush 2: App-controlled wearable vibrator. Remote-operated. Hands-free.”

Remote-operated.

His stomach knots.

He reads. Scrolls. Reads more.

Synced vibrations. Custom patterns. Long-distance partner control. Phone access. Live syncing. Music-matching mode.

His cock twitches in his jeans.

Has someone else used it with you? Has someone controlled it for you? Did you sit on this very bed and let someone else make you come from miles away?

Or… did you just do it yourself?

Did you pull up the app with trembling fingers, thighs clenched, face flushed, and think of… him? When he was away?

He shouldn’t even be in this drawer, but now he’s hard, his mouth’s dry, and he needs to know.

He downloads the app—just to see... Just to understand. At least, that’s what he tells himself as it installs. That’s the excuse.

When it opens, the interface is sleek and pink, deceptively innocent. A smooth control dial. Pattern options. Bluetooth connection.

And one bright button:

“Connect to Device.”

He hesitates… then clicks it.

The toy hums faintly in his hand.

And then: “Caleb?”

Your voice cuts through the air like a knife.

He panics, dropping the vibrator into the pile of laundry like it’s on fire, locking his phone screen too late. When you walk into the room—damp, towel-wrapped, soft from the shower—his face is red.

You slow when you see him. You pause.

Then you see the drawer, and the sock, a little too unfolded, and him, sitting on the edge of your bed, face flushed, thighs spread.

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “You didn’t.”

He tries. He tries to play it cool. But his voice is too calm, too even.

“Didn’t what?”

“You found it?”

He glances toward the drawer. “Maybe.”

“You weren’t supposed to—Caleb!” You grip the towel tighter, heart racing, throat dry. “You were supposed to fold T-shirts!”

“That drawer was open.”

“And you decided to… investigate?”

He tilts his head. “I was curious.”

Your jaw drops. “Curious? You downloaded the app?”

“I didn’t say I did.”

“You totally did.”

He smirks, just a little. It’s smug. Dangerous. Too aware. “It connects through Bluetooth, you know.”

“I KNOW HOW IT WORKS.”

His eyes drop—slow, lazy—to your bare legs under the towel. He doesn’t move from the bed. His phone is still in his hand.

“Why’d you hide it?” he asks softly. “Were you embarrassed?”

You go stiff. “I—I wasn’t hiding it—just—just—storing it. In a sock. For… safety.”

His gaze is devastating, his eyes bore through you. “...Safety?”

You hate how hot your face is. Hate how shaky your voice is when you try to take the upper hand.

“You’re… seriously? You’re such a perv, Caleb, you can’t just—just dig through my drawers and—and play with things—”

“Play with things?”

You glare. You want to sound furious. You probably just sound breathless.

“Who controls it when you use it?” he asks, voice quieter now. “Is it just you?”

You stare at him, trembling.

“Do you give access to anyone else?”

Your chest tightens. Your breath stutters.

The towel suddenly feels too thin. You don’t know what to say.

You’re too exposed. And he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“Answer the question,” he murmurs.

“W-Why are you even asking?”

“Because the thought of you using that,” he says, voice hushed and thick, “without me knowing… kills me.”

He opens the app.

Your eyes widen.

“Caleb, don’t—”

The toy hums from the laundry.

Your legs tremble. The vibration is faint—but you can hear it. You know it.

You gasp, knees nearly buckling. “You—!”

He doesn’t move from the bed, he just sits and watches you. His voice is careful. Curious.

“What do you think?”

“Turn it off!” you snap, voice shaky.

“Say please.”

Your jaw drops.

“You—” You can't finish. The flustered heat crawling up your spine makes your words fail.

He stands slowly, towering in front of you now, his phone still in hand, his cock hard beneath his jeans. He leans in close, his voice a husky whisper.

“…So this is what you like, hm?”

Your stomach flips. You can’t speak.

Your mouth opens—no words come.

He’s too close. Close enough to smell the faint hint of clean laundry on his shirt, the musk of his cologne softened by the heat of your skin. Your heart hammers in your throat like it wants to escape.

“Should I get it for you?” Caleb repeats, his voice quiet, careful, curling with heat at the edges. “Is that what you want?”

You shake your head, once, sharp. “You’re an ass.”

He smiles at that—lazy, dangerous. “And yet you’re trembling.”

“I just got out of the shower.”

“Sure,” he murmurs, eyes flicking down to your legs again, where the towel’s started to shift with the motion of your thighs. You’re pressed so tightly together it’s like you’re trying to stop the vibration that’s not even touching you. Just hearing it has you on edge.

He taps his phone screen. The hum fades.

You exhale shakily, trying to step back—but his hand lifts. Doesn’t touch. Just hovers in the space between your bare shoulder and the towel’s edge.

“...Was it for you?” he asks quietly. “The toy. Was it for when I wasn’t here?”

You go still.

His eyes flicker up to yours, something almost nervous beneath the teasing now... a real question... and maybe that’s worse.

“I—” you start, but your voice catches. You clear your throat. “I don’t owe you an answer.”

“No,” he says, gently. “You don’t.”

You hate that he respects that. Hate how it makes you want to answer anyway.

You glance at the bed. It's rumpled from laundry, and the drawer is still half open. That stupid fucking sock, limp. The vibrator, pink and obscene in its neat little pile of folded cotton.

“You weren’t supposed to find it,” you say, voice thin. “It’s… private.”

Caleb nods slowly. “But you kept it close.”

Your brows knit. “What’s that supposed to mean?"

His eyes are soft. Hungry. “You could’ve hidden it better. Somewhere I’d never look. But you didn’t. You left it where I’d find it… maybe.”

“I didn’t—” You stop. Realize the truth of it halfway through your denial.

Maybe you hadn’t hidden it very well on purpose.

He sees the flicker in your expression. His gaze darkens.

“I think you wanted me to know,” he murmurs. “Or maybe just… wanted me to wonder.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Every inch of you is tight and hot and pulsing. You're wet and not wearing anything to catch it. Self conscious.

Caleb leans just a little closer, head tilted, breath warm against your ear, “Let me try it… I've been very bad, let me make it up to you…”

You almost say no. You want to say no. (You don't. You're trying to lie to yourself though).

But your thighs are clenched. Your breath is shallow. And you hate how close you are to saying yes just because he asked like that.

“…You’re ridiculous,” you whisper, voice cracking.

He hums, low and amused. “Maybe. But I’m still asking.”

You close your eyes. His breath ghosts your cheek. You feel him before he even touches you—heat and presence and the slow throb of your pulse answering his.

“And if I say no?”

“I’ll turn it off,” he murmurs. “Put it back. Never speak of it again.”

Liar.

You open your eyes. He’s close, but not touching. His hands are still at his sides. His phone glows faintly in his palm. He looks flushed, a little wild, but he hasn’t pushed.

He’s letting you decide.

But his gaze… his gaze is asking all the questions his mouth won’t. Would you let him? Would you let him push that little thing inside you and sit across the room—watching, controlling, listening? Would you whimper if he turned it too high? Would you beg for more?

You clench without meaning to. The ache between your legs is embarrassing.

You’re silent too long.

He tilts his head, and for the first time his voice slips past teasing into soft—sincere.

“…Do you want it, pipsqueak?”

That name. It makes you stupid. Weak. Warm all the way down.

You nod once, tiny. Almost ashamed.

“…Yes.”

He exhales slowly, relief softening his jaw. His eyes flicker toward the bed, the folded laundry, the drawer still ajar.

“Then come here,” he says quietly.

You hesitate.

“I’ll be good,” he promises. “I’ll go slow.”

Your feet move before your brain catches up. You drop the towel when you reach him, and he doesn’t react—not at first. Steel. His eyes stay on your face, and just your face. Like he’s waiting for permission to look.

So you tilt your chin up. Just slightly.

His eyes drop.

And fuck—you feel it, the weight of his gaze like a hand between your thighs.

“You’re not wearing anything under that towel,” he murmurs. “Were you going to get dressed before I saw you?”

“…I didn’t think I’d need to.”

He smiles faintly. “You don’t.”

Caleb kneels in front of you.

No rush, no show, down on his knees like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The phone rests on the bed. The toy sits in his hand.

“You still sure?”

You nod.

“Say it.”

“…I want it.”

He kisses the inside of your knee.

“Sit.”

You do. Slowly. Shaky.

He parts your legs and gently sets the toy on the bed between them. Then he kisses the inside of your thigh. Once. Twice. And then again—higher.

“I’ll put it in,” he says. “You just stay still.”

You nod, dazed, already breathless. The anticipation is worse than anything.

He lifts the toy. Clicks the button. It hums softly in his hand.

“Lay back for me,” he murmurs.

You do. The sheets are cold against your skin, and you’re trembling now, fully exposed, legs open. You hear the shuffle of fabric—he’s taken off his hoodie—and then his fingers are brushing up your thigh again, light.

“Lift your hips.”

You obey.

His fingers part your folds and you gasp—sharp, wet, startled.

“You’re soaked,” he says, almost reverent. “Was it the idea of me finding this? Or the fact that I did?"

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your face is hot and your eyes are fluttering.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I’ll make it feel good.”

He slides the toy in, your wetness guiding it through. It’s bigger than you remember the egg goes in, bigger and smoother, the tail hanging, curled up against your clit, but it still stretches you slightly, suddenly. You let out a soft whimper at the intrusion.

“Too much?” he asks immediately, hand on your knee.

You shake your head, gasping. “No… it’s okay…”

He exhales. And then…

The toy buzzes to life.

You moan.

Your hips jolt, thighs tensing as the toy hums deep inside you, steady and quiet but so fucking present. Caleb’s still kneeling beside the bed, watching your body react, his hand firm on your thigh.

“Jesus,” he whispers.

You bite your lip and try to squirm.

He touches your knee to still you. “Stay.”

The vibration shifts—he’s changing the pattern.

It pulses now. Short bursts. Then a long one.

You can’t help it—you arch your back, a whimper catching in your throat.

He looks transfixed. His free hand curls into the sheets like he’s grounding himself.

“You like that?” he murmurs. “You’re already dripping. I haven’t even touched your clit.”

You want to snap at him, say of course I like it, but all that comes out is a shaky, “Fuck…”

Caleb leans in. His lips ghost over your stomach, then lower. His breath hits your inner thigh as he speaks:

“I want to know how many patterns it has. I want to know which one makes you cry.”

You moan. You can’t not.

“And I want to be the one holding the dial every single time.”

You reach for him blindly, your hand tangling in his hair.

He growls softly. “Tell me what you want, pips...”

You can't. He pulls back so that he can see you. He’s quiet for a long moment, just watching you.

Your legs are spread, the pink tail of the vibrator curled against your clit like a secret. You’re trying to stay still, thighs trembling, your breathing light and high. The toy pulses again—gentle, teasing. You gasp.

Caleb’s jaw is clenched.

His knuckles are white around his phone.

And he’s hard.

You can see it now, the outline in his jeans obvious, obscene. He’s kneeling beside the bed, but it’s clear in the way he shifts… his hips twitching forward like his body’s begging, even if his mouth stays quiet.

He breathes through his nose, slow, trying to control himself.

And fails.

“Sit on my lap,” he whispers. His voice is strained. Rough. “Just like this. I want to feel it. I need to feel it.”

Your lips part. “Caleb—”

“I won’t touch it,” he promises quickly. “I won’t even move. I just—” His hand flexes against the mattress. “Please.”

You nod, stunned by the heat in his voice, and he helps you—guiding you with both hands, gentle, reverent. You climb into his lap, careful not to jostle the toy too much, your knees on either side of his thighs, straddling him. He leans back slightly, hands on your hips to balance you. His face is flushed, pupils wide, lips parted.

Then the toy buzzes. It's sharp and low and deep inside you. You let out a soft moan and collapse against him, forehead to his shoulder.

“Fuck,” he chokes out.

You feel it—the way your body vibrates through him. The way the hum travels from your cunt to his lap, pressed flush against his cock through two layers of fabric. His hips jerk instinctively.

He groans into your neck.

“Oh my god,” he breathes. “You’re shaking.”

You are.

Everything is hot and melting and pulsing. It’s perfect and torture, a slick, slow throb building in your stomach. You rock your hips just once—barely—and he moans like you bit him.

“Don’t,” he gasps, fingers digging into your hips. “Don’t do that—fuck—”

You grin against his throat. “You said I could sit.”

“You’re greedy,” he hisses. “You’re…fuck…you’re evil…”

You clench around the toy, pressing it in with the bulge of his cock. He bucks up beneath you with a sharp, broken groan, like he’s being pulled apart cell by cell.

You feel drunk on the power for a moment, and he’s falling apart.

“Can you take more?” he whispers, pulling the phone up again with a shaking hand.

You hesitate… but you nod. “Yeah…”

He turns the dial up, carefully and not all the way. Just enough.

It purrs inside you now, every pulse kissing your walls, grinding against your most sensitive places with perfect pressure. Your hips jerk.

You whimper into his neck. “Caleb—”

His hands stroke your back. He’s panting. “I’ve got you,” he whispers. “You’re doing so good for me.”

You moan. Loud. Thoughtless.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groans. “You’re dripping. Right on me. On my jeans. My cock…”

You bury your face in his collarbone, trying to hold still. Trying not to move. But it’s so hard. It feels so good.

“You’re making a mess,” he pants. “You’re fucking soaked, baby, oh my god—”

You can feel his cock under you, twitching, trapped and leaking. You rock forward a little on accident and he shudders, groaning ragged into your neck.

“Stop—don’t—I’ll come if you do that again—”

“You haven’t even touched me,” you whisper, dizzy.

“I am touching you,” he groans. “You’re on me. You’re fucking trembling all over me, I can feel every—” He cuts off with a moan, hands gripping you tighter. “Fuck—fuck—you’re gonna come, aren’t you?”

“I—” You can’t even form words. The pressure is building too fast, too sharp, and the way his voice sounds in your ear is tipping you over the edge.

“Come for me,” he whispers, raw and wrecked. “Right here. Just like this. Come with me under you, baby. Use it. Use me.”

You do.

You cry out, hips jerking and grinding, legs locking as the orgasm tears through you. It's fast, electric, too much. The toy keeps going, humming inside you while your body pulses around it, breath ragged, muscles tensed. Caleb groans as you come undone in his lap, his cock pinned between you, the wet heat of your release soaking through both your bodies.

You collapse against him, twitching. He catches you instantly. Holds you. Breathes through it.

His lips press to your temple, worshipping.

“You’re unreal,” he whispers. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.”

You smile, dazed.

“I hope so,” you murmur.

He chuckles. Then shifts just enough to press his hips up into yours. You can feel how hard he still is. How desperate.

Your grin returns.

“You want me to take care of you now?” you whisper sweetly.

He groans into your neck.

“Don’t tease me,” he pants. “I begged for that. You know me.”

You tilt your head and kiss him. Once. Soft. Deep.

“I know.”

Caleb's shaky breath is warm in your ear as he pulls you close, arms around your waist. “Are you too overstimulated for…” He pauses, voice breaking as he feels you shift in his lap. “Fuck. I want to be inside you.”

Your head turns slightly, cheek pressed to his shoulder. Your breath is hot. “Then do it.”

His breath catches.

“You’re sure?”

You nod, weak, your voice like silk barely clinging to your throat. “I’m dripping for you, Caleb. What the fuck do you think?”

He groans. The noise is wrecked, shaky, as he flips you so gently you almost don’t feel it until you’re on your back again. His hands are everywhere: your thighs, your hips, your waist. His eyes are molten, blown black with need, but his fingers stay careful, as he's pulling the toy out with a slick pop that makes you whimper.

You feel so empty when it’s gone. But not for long.

He fumbles with his jeans, breath ragged as he yanks them down just enough to free his cock…and then... fuck...

You both look.

He’s so hard. Veined and thick, flushed deep with need. The tip is wet and twitching and leaking, and you stare, wide-eyed and stunned.

You’d forgotten how big he is. Or maybe you just didn’t realize how needy your body was now. How soft and open he’d already made you.

He presses forward, then slides in.

You both gasp. It’s obscene how easy he goes in. No resistance. Just slick, tight, hot pressure and then full, stuffed, stretched around him like your body was already waiting for this. Begging for it.

“Holy fuck,” Caleb chokes. He’s not moving. Just inside, balls-deep, jaw slack, hips trembling. “You’re—you’re already this wet? You—shit, I can’t—I can’t believe this—”

You moan, helpless, legs wrapping around his waist, hands grabbing at his back. “Move—please, Caleb, you have to—”

He jerks forward with a groan and pulls out an inch—just enough to see his cock shining with you—then slams back in. You cry out.

“Oh my god,” he breathes. “You’re taking me—so fucking easy, baby—fuck, this pussy—” Another thrust, sharp and deep. You arch. “You’re already open for me. That toy got you ready, didn’t it? Got you all soft and dripping, just so I could fuck you like this.”

“Y-yeah,” you gasp. “Fuck—please, don’t stop—”

“Greedy little thing,” he growls, voice hoarse with disbelief. “You wanted me to find it. You wanted me hard and jealous and ready to ruin you. You fucking planned this.”

You shake your head, whining. “Didn’t—just—just didn’t hide it—”

“Same fucking thing,” he snarls into your neck, slamming into you faster now. “You know what it does to me. Fuck, you know—you knew I’d lose it. And now look—”

He pounds into you, relentless, each thrust punching air from your lungs. Your nails dig into his back as you try to hold on, but he’s not giving you a break, not now.

“I can’t believe how good you take it,” he growls. “So fucking wet. I’m sliding in like it’s nothing—nothing, baby, you’re sucking me in like you missed this.”

You sob out a moan, your whole body thrumming. You’re stretched wide, filled to the brim, stuffed so good you can’t think.

“I did,” you cry. “I did, Caleb—I missed it… Your perfect cock…”

His rhythm stutters—just a second—and then it gets rougher. Harder. Messier.

“I’ll give it to you,” he pants. “Every time. Whenever you want. I’ll fuck you open and ruin you, baby, I'll take good care of you… you don’t ever have to beg again.”

He pulls out almost all the way and slams back in, and you scream.

He presses his forehead to yours, breath coming in sharp, hot gasps. “You’re gonna come again, aren’t you?”

“I—I can’t—”

“You will. I feel it. I feel you clenching on me—fuck—you love it raw, don’t you? No condom, just skin to skin, me buried in your fucking pussy like I belong there—”

“You do,” you gasp.

That breaks him.

He snaps his hips, brutal and desperate. “You’re gonna come. You’re gonna come with me, and I’m not gonna pull out—I’m gonna fill you up.”

The sound you make isn’t even a word. It’s raw. Wet. Animal.

He’s soaked—you’re soaked—your arousal painting his cock, his thighs, pooling under you. He can barely breathe.

You’re clenching, right on the edge again, thighs trembling.

He sees it. Feels it.

“Come, baby,” he begs, forehead still against yours. “Come for me, pipsqueak. Let me feel you—fuck, I wanna feel you milk my cock—”

You snap.

Your walls spasm around him, tight and fluttering, your body locking up as your orgasm rips through you. You sob, moan, scream—you don’t even know what sound you make. Just that it drags him with you.

Caleb cries out your name like it hurts. Like worship.

His cock jerks and he thrusts once, twice—and then he’s coming. Deep inside. Hot, thick pulses of it, flooding you while your body still twitches around him. He groans into your neck, shaky, broken, lost.

You hold each other.

Breathless. Destroyed. Connected.

After a long moment, he whispers against your skin:

“You’re never using that thing without me again.”

You laugh, weak and giddy, and pull him closer.

“Deal.”

[ryescapades-archived]

rin itoshi + nsfw + "don't act so shy now" please!!! thank you sm <3

→ EVENT OVERVIEW  

prompt: 11 - “don’t act so shy now,” characters: itoshi rin (bllk) x f!reader contents: nsfw mdni !! overstim, fingering, squirting, implied multiple orgasms, petname (baby), use of y/n once, teasing, lmk if there's more :') wc ~ 1k (not proofread!)

a/n: tysm for participating anon! wrote this as an expansion to this little brainrot i had yesterday

itoshi rin is getting restless.

the heat on the practice field is oddly suffocating, the clothes sticking to his back feels strange and icky, his goals aren’t hitting, his passes are lukewarm at best and impractical at worst, his teammates are more irritating than usual… among other things.

he’s fucking restless, and the aforementioned issues are not even the source of it.

rin slouches on the bench, leg bouncing as he reigns in the urge to literally bite his infuriating teammate's head off who’s sitting beside him and has been prattling on and on about the match. his coach had told him to sit the second half out, considering how much of a joy he had been acting the past almost half an hour.

his phone buzzes again in his duffel bag by his feet, the vibration sending his teeth grinding against each other in agitation. he pulls it out and immediately opens the message app to your contact just as another text from you comes in.

and there it is. the root of all his problems.

‘have i told you i missed you today? no?? i miss you rinnie :))‘ the text reads. and it would’ve sounded completely innocent if not for the image attachment you’d shared along with it.

it’s a selfie of you in the mirror, looking all pretty and absolutely his while wearing one of his jerseys. no pants, no bra, and no underwear. rin found that out from all the other– how many was it again? probably seven or eight pictures you’d sent prior to this one.

a wave of feverishness rushes inside his veins, flowing down south and making his blood boil until he can feel his pants tightening at his groin. his control is persisting on a fine thread, waiting to snap just at the right moment–

his phone vibrates in his hand. one text of ‘i think she misses you too lol’ and another scandalous photo that insinuates the heaven between your ridiculously sinful thighs later, rin thinks his mind has blacked out from that point on. the last of his control splinters and fractures into bits, and he’s already gathering his stuff from the ground before he heads towards the exit with no more than a muttered “i’m going home,” towards his coach.

the drive back feels like a nonexistent event to his brain, and so is the moment he steps through the threshold, teal hues darkening when they connect with your pair of frozen, unblinking eyes as if resembling a deer caught in headlights. “r-rin? you’re back early… how was–”

everything passes by in a blur and the next thing you know, rin has you sat with him on the bed, back against his chest and jersey bunching on your navel as he pulls another earth-shattering orgasm out of you with his fingers. “come on, baby. you can give me one more, can’t you?” he murmurs against your ear.

tears clump your lashes together, and the hitched breath erupts into a broken whine when rin starts another ruthless pace, his middle and ring fingers thrusting in and out of your sopping cunt to make you fall over the edge again.

“rin–” your hips buck in his hold as you barely notice the drenched sheets underneath your ass from how much you’ve been coming. “‘s too much, i can’t–” you whimper, thighs shaking from the overstimulation and threatening to close before rin hooks one of them beneath his and keeps a firm grip on the other, hindering you from hiding away.

“should’ve thought of that before sending those pictures to me,” he tuts against the side of your head and relishes the way you squeeze around his digits, soaking them with your slick and cum even more. his own arousal grows, digging further into your back and pushing against the constraint of his pants as your hand weakly tries to push him off.

wouldn’t be surprising if there’s already a wet patch there but he’ll take care of that later. for now, you need to be taught a lesson first after teasing him like that.

there’s a dirty cacophony of wet squelching sounds, your moans and his grunts that continues to echo in the room. rin pays it no mind, moving his thumb to rub harsh circles on your swollen clit instead. your eyes roll to the back of your head, the constant drag of his deft fingers against your sensitive walls making you delirious and drunk in an unstable cloud of maddening lust.

another broken sound spills from your parted lips as more slick visibly gushes out between his fingers, causing you to turn and hide your reddened face in his neck. “don’t act so shy now. didn’t you say this pussy missed me? i’m just giving her what she wants,” he gruffly says before gripping your chin to make you watch him play with your body as he pleases.

that familiar heat pools in your stomach, burning up your entire body in a flame of carnal desire as your next climax approaches. rin, however, is becoming impatient. he did mentally decide for one last time before he fucks you on his cock, after all.

desperate now more than ever to get on to the latter part of his decision, his fingers keep the relentless pace on your poor cunt as he rests his palm on your lower belly and gently presses down.

there’s a slight pause in your labored pants, the air getting stuck in your throat before you keen, a sharp and dizzying sense of pleasure colliding against your very mind, body and soul like a tidal wave. you’re once again thrown off the cliff, shattering and coming undone with a ruptured cry of his name tearing from your mouth.

“shit, y/n.” he curses, unable to take his eyes off the sight of you squirting on his fingers as his cock throbs even harder, your cum dripping down to his wrist in an obscene trail.

holy fuck, that might’ve been the hottest thing rin has ever experienced in his entire life.

i’m ovulating don’t look at me taglist open !

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[ruinix]

recent walk in..sugar daddy quinn mad when he realizes you haven’t been using the black credit card he gave you for expenses

Hello, lovely. Of course, hehe.😏 You did not catch me writing this. I am just a ghost taking over the keyboard. I need to put this out before a new walkin comes out.... (edit not really fully sugar daddy!quinn. But he totally would pay for everything type of boyfriend)

Broken Promise, Broken Cards

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Spanking (pussy slapping??), Edging, Unprotected sex (protections, lovelies, they’re important), Squirting, Just Quinn being so angry that he became calm and he edges you coz he can.

Count: 3356 -> 3734 words (Edited) | Masterlist | Taglist

You’re sending him pictures of your shopping. One picture after another. One choice after another. Quinn helps you pick when you ask for his opinion. He has no problem answering your texts while he watches a replay of a game. The only problem is that Quinn has yet to receive a notification from any of your purchases.

With that, he can no longer focus on the game. It’s just white noise now while he refreshes his inbox.

Swipe down. Wait. Close the app. Open it. Swipe down.

Over and over again, whenever you send him a new photo of your successful purchase.

None. Not a single fucking one.

He is getting too agitated when he receives a photo of a paper bag of a particular brand of lingerie with your delicate hand holding it. You have your nails done earlier this morning. It’s so pretty with your favorite shade of pink and favorite flower designs. Just like how you described it before you went out. He can’t wait for your hands around him tonight.

‘Focus,’ he reprimands himself.

Shaking his head, focusing on the paper bag instead, locking in the brand, he gives the purchase a few minutes to process—or whatever the fuck—but again, nothing. He stares and stares into the screen, his eyebrows meeting. He remembers having every transaction on that card to be sent over his email too. He set that up long before. So, where the fuck are they?

Are you actually buying things or are you stealing them?

Did you bring cash?

Quinn didn’t give you cash for anything else other than your nails and the tip for its service today. His frustrations build up. He’s so close to calling the bank and making sure that the card is activated. When he receives another message, he takes a moment to calm down—he has to—before opening it.

He immediately gets distracted by how bright you look. You are grinning so much that the corners of your eyes crinkle, a blush flushing your face. Your nails are on full show once more as you hold up the bag next to your face. So beautiful.

After a solid five minutes, he remembers to refresh his inbox. Only then does it dawn at him.

Are you even using the card he gave you? No, that can’t be. You promised him to use that card today. You are definitely using it.

Aren’t you?

One last swipe down to refresh his email. Still nothing.

What the fuck.

You’re definitely not using the card.

Quinn paces. He’s getting angry for you breaking your promise, getting worried because you’re buying a lot of stuff today. More than you usually do. Didn’t you just complain about your depleting savings last night? It’s one of the reasons why he secretly transferred a few hundreds of dollars—exactly three thousand—into your account. He knows that you didn’t notice it, because you would’ve transferred it back to him after you lecture him about it. If it’s not that, did you suddenly replenish it in your own way? He quickly checks the date and confirms that it’s nowhere near payday, so that’s not it.

Where the fuck are you getting your spending money?

He refuses to acknowledge that you might be using your old credit card. The one with a fucking limit.

It can’t be.

There is no fucking way.

Something snaps in his head, pushing him to act. He rushes to your office, powers up your computer, and signs in without a hitch, because you’ve never put a password on it. If you do, he knows about your little notebook of passwords under your desk plant next to your monitor.

He never really goes through your stuff. He is content and trusts you with everything. Everything. He knows exactly how deeply you feel about him as much as he does with you. Although sometimes you hide your phone from him, that’s when you’re texting your friends about him. It’s obvious because you keep snickering while throwing glances at him. He doesn’t mind that. Not at all. You can talk to your other friends about other stuff. The fact still remains. He trusts you.

But, right now, he is losing it. He needs to see. He needs to look into your email. Just this one time. He’ll apologize for it later.

His eyes are locked on the notifications, the receipts, the confirmations. The account number on every single one of them is not the one on the black credit card he has given you. He had it memorized, and it doesn’t fucking match. You are not fucking using it. What the fuck.

An ache forms in his chest. It’s like a horrible backhand that could shake up his teeth, so horrible that he had to run his tongue over them, making a clicking sound to ensure his teeth are still rooted. He crosses his arms. His legs are spread wide as he slouches against the backrest, one leg bobbing up and down. He glares at the screen, trying to will the emails to disappear while he burns them one by one in his mind. He tries a different route to imagine the account number to change, but of course, nothing works.

He rubs a hand over his face. His head pounds at the start of a headache. His phone pings from another message. It sounds like a blaring siren, making his ears ring. After a few moments, a new mail pops up.

This is so much worse than you realizing the deposit in your debit. Because one, you broke your promise. Two, he feels useless. If you were not going to use the card, you could’ve let Quinn accompany you during this shopping spree that would at least appease his soul. But then, he can force his card into the hands of the cashiers. Realization hits him.

That’s exactly why you didn’t let him tag along. You know he’ll talk his way to overtake your payments. Exhaling, a chuckle escapes him. A smirk forms on his face as he gazes up the ceiling. You are such a clever girl, aren’t you?

He’ll give this to you, but you are in so much trouble when you come home.

As if on cue, you text him, “I’m on my way home.”

He turns your computer off, standing up. An eerie calm envelope him. He’s still so angry, yet instead of vibrating and burning outwardly, it settles deep inside his bones until nothing comes up. It’s an odd feeling. It’s not heavy. It’s not light. It just is. A calm before the storm.

He undoes his second top button. If you really want to use your credit card, you can. You’re your own person. Still, you should have kept your promise. Such a bad girl.

He walks back to the living room and sits down on the single seater, reaching the remote to close off every curtain, making his place dimmer and dimmer and dimmer.

Then he waits.

He waits until you come in with your impressive haul. Extremely impressive, because you have your arms full already. When you put them down, you only leave to get more of them until you get a little pile in the living room. It’s amusing how your grin looks so self-satisfied, not realizing that he’s sitting in the corner of the room, until your eyes land on him. Your smile turns sheepish, taking your hands behind you, not daring to come closer.

Truly clever.

“Hi, Quinny. Didn’t see you there.” You wave.

“My Love,” he greets, beckoning you with a finger, but you refuse to come, shaking your head. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to put these away.”

He watches you start with one bag with the little nightgown that looks so fucking sexy. You’re clearly distracting him and it’s working. Slightly. He obliges you, his amusement growing the more you ramble. You’ve enjoyed your shopping trip. You speak at a quicker pace than you usually do. You have a little bounce on your step. Your happy energy radiates from you in waves while you continue taking everything out of bags which you fold right after. He knows you’re aware that he knows. That’s why you’re taking your time.

Quinn’s aware that you are genuinely delighted that you distract yourself more than him.

He’s proud and happy that you enjoyed your day.

Truly.

It doesn’t erase the fact that he has already lost it. The calm that his anger turned is what’s keeping him from pouncing on you, from taking you over his lap and slamming his hand on your bare ass until you got handprints that will bruise and ache for a couple of days. Just like how you want them.

He still can’t believe that you’ve broken him just from breaking your promise.

It’s entirely laughable.

Yet heat streaks down his spine, down his lean abdomen, down to his cock.

He’s so fucking hard.

He stands up, stalking towards you while you’re crouching next to a pile of paper bags. You’re still rambling a pottery workshop you’ve come across. You’re saying that you want to go back there so you can make mugs for each other. When you’ve already successfully built a mug collection in one of his cupboards.

So adorable. So clueless about the danger prowling towards you.

He stops, his shadow looming over you. He counts the seconds, but you still don’t notice him, do you? Then he sees how your hands start to shake. You do. Silly girl.

A chuckle escapes him as he grabs your arm. He swiftly pulls you up then lifts you over his shoulder.

“Quinn!” You squeal, hitting his back a couple of times. “Put me down! You’re making me dizzy—”

You let out a moan when Quinn slaps the tender spot under your ass.

  “Quiet,” he orders, making you whimper like the dirty slut you are. “What did you say before you left?”

“Bye?” You sound so confused. “I love you?”

He spanks you on the same spot again, making you moan and whine. Even more when he slips his hand under your skirt, his fingers trail up and up, then he puts you down on the bed. Instantly, you flip over, looking at him like he has taken everything from you. He can already hear your protest that’s sitting on the tip of your tongue. He glares at you, daring you to speak them, but you don’t take the bait. You usually do.  Interesting.

“You bought a lot.” Quinn crawls over you.

His hand flattens over your sternum, effortlessly pushing you down.

Your pupils are so blown out when he levels his face with yours, his nose grazing yours, your breath mixing with his. He can smell the gum you chewed on before you arrived, the perfume you’ve sprayed behind your ears. Your eyes fall down his lips and up his eyes again, perfectly seducing him, but he refuses, moving away when you try to kiss him, your tongue darting out to entice him.

Not yet.

“Quinn,” you whine.

“Why’d you do it?” He asks. He kneels up, flipping you over your stomach, pressing a hand on your lower back to keep you from whatever you’re planning which is being  a brat.  

“I didn’t do anything,” you say with pout, shuddering when he slips his hand into your shirt. He unclasps your bra without exerting an effort, so used to your undergarments. “What are you doing? I haven’t showered yet.”

Quinn doesn’t fucking care if you showered or not. Since when did he care? He doesn’t care even if you come from a workout. He has fucked you like that. Many times. All sweaty and dirty. He already licked your sweat as he plunged deep inside your quivering pussy. You coming from a whole day of shopping is simple play for him. You’re just trying to get out of the inevitable punishment.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he rumbles against your ear. He slides his thick fingers under you so he can touch your tits. So soft. So perfect in his hands. Your nipples are so taut from anticipation and his attention. He pinches the sensitive peaks, your hips coming up to grind against him. He pulls away, receiving an unsatisfied groat. “Uh, uh. Answer me before you get what you want, you dirty slut.”

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp.

“That’s what you are, isn’t it?” He grits. He slides down one hand down your abdomen, down into the waistband of your skirt, down until he reaches and feels the wet patch on your panties. He presses and teases along your clothed slit. “See? So fucking wet. I barely touched you.”

“Quinn, please,” you plead, panting for more.

Why are you still not repeating your broken promise?

He’s getting so annoyed. He forces your clothes off, tearing every piece of clothing on your beautiful body. He ignores how much you complain, ignores your little ‘ouch’ because you’re full of shit. There’s no way it’ll hurt when he is tearing the fabric instead of pulling it against your fucking skin. Do you think he’s fucking stupid? Do you think he’ll hurt you that way?

He’s not a fucking rookie.

He keeps you down, spreading your legs by kneeling between them, watching how your pussy drips on the silk sheets, how your entrance quivers, begging to be filled. Languidly, he feels your folds. You feel so fucking good, so fucking soft, so fucking wet.

You gasp and moan like you’re already getting fucked. You’re just so sensitive, aren’t you?

Then he gives you a slap right there. On your dripping pussy. On your clit. His other hand grips your hip to keep you there when you attempt to crawl away, but he gives you another slap. Then another. Another.

You are moaning and writhing from the pain, begging him to stop, when you’re the one pushing your wet cunt against his palm. You keep seeking, even after briefly reeling away from every hit. Your eyes look over your shoulder, meeting his, begging and begging, mentally conveying, “More, more, more.”

Such a good slut.

His slut.

You’re his.

Quinn slides his middle finger into your heat, smirking at how your walls quivers around him. Your cunt is so red from his spanking. His thumb teases your other hole. You writhe, wantonly moaning, pathetically grasping the sheets for support.

You’re not running away now, huh?

Not when he is fingering you. Not when he pounds and puts pressure on that specific spot that has you screaming breathlessly. You want this so much. You’ve been waiting for a relief that he can easily give you.

He adds another finger, thrusting them into your pussy. Harder. Deeper. The squelching noises are music to his ears when it’s coupled with your moans and groans.

Then he feels the familiar pattern of your pussy walls. You’re going to come soon. He knows you so much. Knows your pussy more than you. Knows your little tells like how your thighs quiver, how your toes curl, how your back arches into the bed.

He knows it.

So, it’s so fucking easy to just…pull away.

You look back harshly. You look betrayed as your breaths come out choppy. Disbelief reflects in your eyes, not used to him not letting you come. He always makes you come. Not now though. Quinn takes his fingers from your arousal to his lips and slowly licks them, like he’s feasting on your pussy, groaning at how you taste. Fuck, you’re truly his favorite flavor.

“Quinn, I…” you call, your eyes tearing up. “You didn’t…”

He flips you over your back. He rests your ass over his thighs while your legs are spread out.

“Didn’t?” he mocks which you only process that as a question. You’ve already been dumbed by your pending orgasm, by your need for it.

“I didn’t come,” you whine, jutting your hips up the air, begging for another touch. “Please make me come.”

“Yeah,” he nods. That makes you smile, sighing in relief. Shaking his head, he silently says, “No.”

He doesn’t let you say another thing, plunging his fingers into your pussy. He fucks you fast and deep, thumb swiping over your clit just so perfectly, only to pull away when you’re on the verge of an orgasm.

By the third time, you finally understand what’s happening and you’re begging and begging.

Your pleas don’t reach him though.

They can’t. Not when he’s still not satisfied. Not when you still don’t say anything. However, the strange calmness that locked him is already dissipating the more he makes a mess out of you. The more beautifully and frustrated you cry.

Oh, his poor, sweet Love.

“Quinn, I’m sorry. I just wanna use my card.” You sob. “I’m sorry. Please. Please. I need to come. It’s been an hour.”

An hour?

You’re counting?

He pauses his torture, because you are finally talking.

You cover your face, hiding your fucked out face, hiding your beautifully blushing cheeks, hiding how your hair sticks to your skin.

“I saw you deposit money in my account again. I thought using my card would be a great revenge. Now, I know it’s not. This sucks! It hurts not to come. We both know you’re just going to pay the bill when it comes.” You sob, looking absolutely hurt and exhausted.

Quinn quickly pulls you up, soothing you with a hug. He sighs as you melt into his touch. You sniffle but your hand reaches between you two, tugging at his pants, trying to get to his cock.

“You have to make me come.” You beg, looking at him with your best puppy eyes. “Please?”

“You always beg so perfectly.” He tucks your hair behind your ears. “Wasn’t so hard to admit your wrongs, was it?”

“I know. I already said sorry—”

He cuts you off by pushing you back. He quickly tugs his pants down, pressing his dribbling cock to your pussy, shuddering at the feel of your trembling entrance. One swift thrust and he’s seated inside of you. Fuck. Your pussy is truly made for him. He perfectly fits. All of him. He can feel every crevice, every texture, every arousal that coats you deep inside. Shit. So good. He can come just by being inside of you, by feeling your tight pussy’s embrace. Did you know that?

But he knows that it’s not enough for you tonight.

You need him to fuck you, so he does. He fucked you hard and rough that your eyes are rolling up as you come. Even then you plead for more and more.

So he gives you everything. Changing the tempo here and there, going slow and deliberate, going back to a fast pace. He gives you everything because you deserve it.

Every time he feels that you’re about to come again, he whispers into ears, “That’s my good girl. Give me one more. That’s it. My good little slut. Take what you need. Come, my Love.”

Every time.

He draws out your fifth orgasm then he comes deep inside you, swearing loudly into your ear. He’s coming so hard that his eyesight dims. Your pussy milks every drop of his cum. How he still manages to flick your sensitive clit while he comes so hard is a mystery, but it doesn’t matter when you start to gush.

You’re making such a mess.

You always do.

“Quinn, oh my, fuck,” you cry out.

“It’s okay. I got you. Just let go, my Love,” he encourages, flicking your clit again and again, until you’ve successfully drench both of you. “No more?”

“No more. No more.” You shake your head, so he stops. “Kiss me.”

He obliges you, kissing you, whispering praises in between. You both spend minutes just kissing until you’ve calm down. Quinn gives you one last kiss before he stands to run a bath. He puts a few drops of lavender and chamomile oils in the tub. It’ll soothe you.

He comes back out to wrap you with a fresh and heated towel while the bath fills up. You look so spent, so Quinn holds you for a few more minutes, whispering more and more soft praises in your ear, because you’ve earned it.

When he hears the tub fill up, he takes you to it. He helps you in, tucking your hair behind your ears. “Just relax here. I’ll join you in a bit, okay?” He says as you settle. You nod at him as your eyes slowly blink. “I won’t take long. Don’t sleep. Not when I’m not here.”

“Okay, Quinny,” you say as you yawn. Your tummy rumbles. “Hungry.”

“I’ll get you a sandwich then I’ll make dinner after our bath. Sounds good?”

You smile at him.

His heart flutters, his stomach filling up with butterflies. He presses another kiss on your head, before he’s off, leaving you to have a little alone time. He got one thing in his mind.

He made his way to your bag that’s left behind on the floor. Humming a soft tune, he carries it to the counter, setting it down, as he takes out the ingredients for a sandwich. Just bread and your favorite jam. Washing his hands quickly, he fixes your sandwich, placing it on a plate. He also takes a fresh and cool bottle of water. It will do for a light snack before dinner, but he doesn’t take it immediately to you.

He sits on a stool, rummaging through your bag, finding your wallet.

He smiles at your photo with him there. It’s taken from a polaroid. He knows there’s another photo tucked behind it. It’s you and him in an ice rink that you had personally printed out. You’re truly cute.

He touches your face, heart pounding at how breathtaking you always look.

Even when you’re so fucked out, your beauty never changes. He can’t wait to grow old with you. He bet with everything he has and more that you will still look like the beautiful woman in the world, because you are.

Then he takes the credit card you’ve used today.

His smile never goes away as he stares at it for full minute.

Then he snips it in half and does the same to another and another.

Now, you only have one card left.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

The First Meet Self-Aware!Rafayel

Waking up next to Rafayel has to be a dream come true. Or perhaps a beautiful nightmare. It is a dream right? ..... Right? pt. 1 here

Self-Aware!Rafayel who throws a fit whenever you shower and won’t leave the app open “Why do you hate me?” “Raf can I please shower in peace?” “I like water too” “Well then shower while I shower” He wants to take you swimming in the Sea with him so bad he constantly brings it up in any conversation about water Self-Aware!Rafayel who tells you stories of Lemuria as you lay in bed after your, as you called it, eveything shower. “Would you kiss me so I could breathe underwater?” “Of Course”

The sound of his soothing voice helped you fall into a deep slumber. You dreamt of white sandy beaches at dawn. The dream was so vivid you could practically feel the sand between your toes. “Let’s go for a swim” Rafayel appeared at your side seemingly out of thin air. A swim sounded nice so you agreed almost instantly “Sure why not” just as you turned back to run towards the water there was no more sandy beach just jagged edged cliffs and a hundred foot drop. Your heart damn near stalled as you scrambled backwards to keep from going over the edge.

You bumped into Rafayel as you were backing away from the edge. He clasped your shoulders and squeezed gently “Don’t be scared. Jump” Rafayel looked down at you with a warm smile. Did he really think you were going to jump off this cliff? Dream or not you weren’t doing it. “Hell no I-” Your lips sealed shut muffling the rest of your sentence. You felt to see if your mouth was still there and it was you just couldn’t get it to move. “Don’t worry” Rafayels' voice was so calm as he moved you closer to the edge. You almost felt at ease with the idea of going over the edge

Please don’t do this your words rang only in your head as he shoved you over the edge. Time seemed to slow as you plummeted to the watery depths below.

You woke up right as you broke the surface of the water. The stars above you twinkled and danced as you tried to catch your breath.

Wait. The stars? Why is there a glass ceiling?

The room was dark lit by only the moon that hung overhead. It took you a minute to collect your bearings. You could tell that this plush blanket was not yours. Along with the sheets that were as smooth as silk and were quite literally the softest sheets you’d ever felt. Part of you of wanted to snuggle deeper into the bed, but you froze in fear as you felt someone shifting next to you. You held your breath as the person slung an arm over your waist and pulled you closer. “Are you okay?”

That voice.

You see the faint silhouette of an arm wave and the room is lit by candlelight giving the room a soft warm glow. Rafayel sits up leaning over you to see if you are okay. “Do humans always freeze like this?” Your mouth falls open in shock; this has to be a dream right? With a shaky hand you reach up and try to poke Rafayel in the cheek but accidentally end up shoving your finger into his mouth. “Aurgh! What the fuck?” He reeled back immediately coughing from your sudden attack.

“Oh my gosh you’re real” you manage to scramble backwards only to fall off of his bed in the process knocking your head on a chair. Stars burst in front of your eyes right before going black.

A few hours later….

Sunlight woke you from your concussion induced slumber. That same glass ceiling still hung above you except this time there were clear blue skies. You tried to sit up which only made your head pound “Ow!” You grimaced.

“Are you thawed out now?” You turned to see Rafayel still laying in bed next to you. Your fight or flight wanted to kick in, but your head was hurting too bad to even care at this point. “How are you laying next to me right now? And why did you push me off a cliff?” Rafayel reached up to rub your head and you stiffened under his touch. “The sea granted me a wish unfortunately I don't control how the wish is granted” You stared at him dumbfounded. "So the sea in your world used the sea in mine to bring me here?" Rafayel simply shrugged "Im just glad I can finally go for a swim with you like we talked about"

“Raf I can't stay here" His face fell as you moved his hand away from your head. "What about your binding vow? Am I stuck here? Can I go home? And where are your clothes?” You ripped the blankets up and saw that he was wearing shorts. "Okay forget the last question" You laid back as your rapid fire of questions only made your head hurt more. Rafayel propped himself up on one elbow and leaned over you again. “To answer your first question cutie we haven’t made one yet” You rolled your eyes “Im talking about the love of your life Rafayel”

“I’m looking at her” He looks down at you with the softest expression causing butterflies in your stomach. “I thought I was the one who hit their head” You turn your head away from his intense stare. Thats when you felt his lips on your temple; you wanted to flinch away, but you found yourself relaxing into it. Rafayel gently turned your head towards him “Im serious” his voice was raspy as his breath tickled your lips. You seemed to stop breathing all together. “I really want to kiss you right now” he whispered inching closer to you.

“Do it”

His kiss was just as breathtaking as you imagined it would be. Almost intoxicating. He slid a hand under your head, gently cradling it as he deepened the kiss. You felt his other hand slide up the side of your waist and that's when you stopped him. You shot out a hand to grab his wrist “No No we need to talk”

He groaned and fell back on his pillow “Are you sure you don’t just want to make out?” He peaked at you hoping for a yes. “I’m literally in a game right now Raf of course I have questions”

[isabelckl]

texting loser!ellie that you have nipple piercing in class

nerdy loser!ellie x popular mean fem!reader

bored in english, you reply to a girl named E you’ve been talking to on an anonymous gay dating app—without knowing it’s that lesbian nerd girl, ellie williams.

You were already five minutes into tuning out Miss Alvarez’s ongoing dissection of The Great Gatsby—something about disillusionment, green lights, and doomed men with god complexes. Hard pass.

Your friends beside and behind you were snickering about something—probably someone—but you were too bored to care. Their laughter filtered through like white noise, low and distant.

So, as usual, you turned to the one thing that offered any real entertainment when boredom hit terminal levels. You checked your notifications, cleared out stupid texts from stupid boys, and finally opened that app.

Before doing anything, you glanced around lazily, then dropped your screen brightness and tilted your phone just enough to make sure no one behind you could peek. The layout loaded instantly, familiar and weirdly comforting. No photos, just bios, vague usernames, and chat boxes that were a little too easy to open.

You scrolled through a few profiles aimlessly before switching tabs and landing on your ongoing conversation with someone under the name E.

You’d been messaging back and forth for almost two weeks now. You didn’t know who she was, not really—just that she was clever, a little snarky, and definitely someone who knew how to keep you engaged without even trying. Sometimes it felt like talking to a complete stranger. Sometimes it felt like she knew you better than half the people at this school.

You stared at the last message she’d sent you last night, the one you’d read four or five times even though it was short and kind of innocent.

E:

“i love reading :]”

Your thumb hovered for a second before you started typing, slouched low in your chair, phone hidden beneath the desk. You tried not to smirk as the words appeared.

You:

what if we kissed behind the nonfiction aisle jk unless??

You set your phone down and pretended to scribble something on your notebook, resting your cheek against your hand, bored again within seconds. The teacher’s voice faded into a drone. You started writing nonsense loops with your pen, not really listening to anything anymore.

A buzz cut through the room. Not yours. Loud. Sharp.

You blinked up. Ellie Williams, seated near the front, fumbled to silence her phone while the screen lit up in her hand.

“Please turn that off, Miss Williams,” Miss Alvarez snapped without missing a beat.

A few classmates laughed quietly. Ellie didn’t say anything, just shrugged like she couldn’t care less and slid her phone into her lap.

You went back to wasting ink, your pen dragging over the edge of the page as your phone buzzed, quiet and controlled this time—just once, the vibration barely a tick beneath your palm.

You flipped it open carefully and read her reply.

E:

only if you promise to dog-ear my soul and underline my bad habits

You blinked, raising an eyebrow at her reply.

You stared at the message a little longer than you meant to, eyes dragging over the words again—dog-ear my soul, underline my bad habits. You weren’t sure if it was weird or kind of... brilliant. Either way, it hit somewhere low in your stomach.

You glanced up lazily, scanning the room like it’d help ground you. Miss Alvarez was still going, pacing at the front of the classroom with a paperback copy of Gatsby clenched in one hand. Your friends were still whispering behind you—some drama, someone’s hair, someone’s outfit. None of it mattered.

You typed back.

You:

what bad habits?

name three rn.

You sent it and immediately slid your phone under your notebook like you’d done something criminal. Your pen moved again, looping nonsense in the margins, but your heart was thudding a little now.

The reply came faster than you expected.

E:

falling for girls i shouldn’t

answering texts in class

making it way too obvious when it’s you

Your brow furrowed instinctively. The message was clever, yeah, but the third line sat wrong in your chest.

You typed before thinking.

You:

weird

That was it. No emoji. No punctuation. Just the word sitting there like a raised eyebrow.

You waited.

Her response didn’t take long.

E:

everyone’s a little weird.

some of us just hide it better.

You scoffed quietly through your nose, thumb hovering over your keyboard.

You:

i’m not.

E:

pls.

everyone’s weird.

even you, i know

You hesitated, eyes flicking up again, like anyone in this room might somehow be listening in on this dumb conversation through sheer telepathy.

You went back to your screen.

You:

ok then

tell me 3 weird things about you

You tossed the phone back under your notebook, leaned your head on your hand again, and tried not to look as keyed-up as you felt.

The buzz came just as you started drawing a rectangle around nothing in your notes.

E:

i know how to pick locks.

once convinced a teacher i was allergic to chalk to skip a presentation.

i wear rings just to fidget with them when i’m lying.

You stared at it, unsure whether to laugh or raise your guard. You weren’t sure if she was trying to impress you, scare you, or lowkey admit she was a professional liar.

The last one made you pause. You pictured it—hands, silver rings, nervous fidgeting. You glanced around the classroom like the answer might be hiding between pencil cases and Gatsby annotations.

You looked away quickly, back down at your screen.

You:

well that’s very u

you wanna know 3 things about me?

A second passed.

E:

sure :]

You typed, trying not to overthink it.

You:

i once cried because my nail broke before a party

i memorize random license plates when i’m bored

You paused, rereading the first two. They were fine. Harmless. The kind of “weird” that still sounded cute if someone repeated it out loud. The kind of weird that kept your walls up just enough.

And then, without really thinking—or maybe thinking too much—you typed the third.

You:

i have a nipple piercing

You stared at it for a second before hitting send, lips twitching.

Delivered.

You kept your phone down in your hand and leaned back in your chair like you didn’t just casually confess one of the most insane things you’d ever told a stranger.

You felt the beat of your pulse in your throat as you stared straight ahead, pretending to care about whatever Miss Alvarez was saying about Gatsby’s “moral decay,” while your phone sat under your hand like a loaded weapon.

You glanced down when you felt another buzz.

E:

what the hell

you can’t just drop that as number three like it’s nothing

You snorted. Quiet. Sharp. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep it contained.

E:

i’m rereading it

you said “i have a nipple piercing” like i say “i had cereal this morning”

You tapped your fingers against your notebook, smirking a little now.

Another message popped up before you could even open your keyboard.

E:

who gave you the right

You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. There was something kind of stupid and hilarious about watching a stranger completely spiral over a throwaway confession. It was stupid and thrilling.

You finally replied.

You:

u said u wanted weird

don’t complain now

The three dots appeared immediately.

They vanished.

Then reappeared.

E:

you’re lucky we’re in public right now

because i have questions

You stared at the screen for half a second longer than you should, something sharp curling at the edges of your mouth. You knew exactly what you were doing.

You:

u wanna see?

lmao jk

but ??

You didn’t move. You just sat there with your phone tucked beneath your hand, like you hadn’t just said the most unhinged thing of your entire academic career. (Well, obviously—because you only let this side of you out with girls.)

E:

JAIL.

straight to jail.

You pressed your knuckles against your lips to keep the sound in. You could feel the heat in your cheeks now, but you were smiling. Fully smiling. You hadn’t even noticed that Miss Alvarez called on someone, that your friends had gone quiet behind you, or that class was dangerously close to ending.

Your phone buzzed again.

E:

i mean

not no

but also

JAIL

You let out a breath through your nose and replied, just two words:

You:

thought so

You didn’t expect her to respond immediately.

The bell hadn’t even rung yet. The room still buzzed with half-bored energy. Your phone was still in your palm, screen lit from her last message.

You stared at it for a second, letting the silence settle. Letting the grin fade into something more calculated. You tucked your phone into your hoodie pocket, raised your hand just high enough to get Miss Alvarez’s attention without actually trying.

“Bathroom?” you asked, already standing halfway.

Miss Alvarez waved you off with a distracted, “Be quick.”

You slipped out of the classroom with your bag slung over your shoulder, heart pounding like you’d done something criminal—which, to be fair, you were about to.

The hallway was quiet. Most people were still trapped in last-period misery. You headed straight for the nearest bathroom—one of the nicer ones. Clean mirrors, locked stalls, no broken soap dispensers.

You locked yourself inside and exhaled.

For a second, you just stood there. Not thinking. Not second-guessing. Just staring at your reflection like you were waiting for her to dare you again.

You slid your phone out, opened the camera. Angled it in front of your opened blouse—not too obvious, not too graphic. Just enough. A glimpse of skin. A flash of silver.

Sent.

You:

proof

(bc apparently ur dramatic)

You locked your phone immediately after, heart hammering in your ears. You didn’t even wait to see if she replied. You just breathed. Stared at the stall door.

Your phone buzzed.

Three times.

That was enough.

You didn’t open it.

You slipped your phone back into your pocket, smirk already tugging at your lips, and unlocked the stall.

Your reflection was flushed. Just slightly. Lips pink. Expression smug.

By the time you pushed open the classroom door, everything looked the same—except you knew it wasn’t.

You walked in like nothing happened.

You were halfway down the aisle toward your desk when you passed Ellie.

She was still slouched in her chair, pretending to read the half-assed notes on her desk. But you caught the way her eyes flicked up the second your steps slowed.

Your eyes met.

Her mouth was slightly parted as her eyes followed you.

You raised an eyebrow, just barely, and kept walking.

You dropped into your seat with the same calm as before, tossing your bag down, and shot a knowing smirk at your friends—who were, of course, snickering over something unrelated and way less interesting.

You spun your pen lazily between your fingers, shoulders loose.

For some reason, your gaze landed on Ellie again.

She was still looking at you. Watching you.

You raised your eyebrows again, sharper this time—What?—the kind of look that always worked on everyone. The kind that meant quit staring.

Her gaze raked over you, slow and unreadable, and you frowned without meaning to. Just as you turned back around, you caught it—the faintest smirk tugging at her lips before her eyes flicked forward like nothing happened.

You rolled your eyes, turned around, and smiled to yourself as you pressed your thumb against your phone screen.

[dckweed]

tiktok made me do it gf! vs tf 141 bf

Your boyfriend gets cocky and agrees to try one of those period cramp simulators with you. Except what he doesn’t expect is for you to be completely unbothered. Chill. Unflinching. Meanwhile, he’s gasping like he’s been shot. And the longer it goes on, the more he realizes: this is your normal.

CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE — “Do I look like a man who taps out at level five?”

It started as a joke.

You were in one of your chaotic TikTok moods—messy bun, oversized hoodie, devious little grin—and John should’ve known something was up when you said, “Baaaaaabe… you love me, right?” while setting up the simulator on the coffee table.

“Not a chance in hell,” he said immediately.

You pouted. You begged. You reminded him of that time you made him a steak dinner and didn’t film him falling asleep mid-bite like a Victorian grandfather. He sighed. “Fine.”

You strap the simulator to both your stomachs, grinning like the demon you are. He glances at the controller like it’s a live grenade.

“Ready?” you ask sweetly.

He nods, all masculine pride.

Level 1: Nothing.

Level 2: Still nothing.

John smirks. “S’not bad.”

Level 3: He shifts in his seat. “Alright. Bit of tension.”

You’re completely chill, sipping your iced coffee.

Level 4: His eyebrow twitches.

Level 5: He lets out a grunt. “Okay. Now it’s… yeah, alright, it’s uncomfortable.”

You glance at him. “You wanna stop?”

He glares. “Do I look like a man who taps out at level five?”

Level 6 hits and he flinches hard. “Bloody—fuckin’ hell, that’s not tension anymore, that’s a punch.”

You’re still sitting pretty, scrolling on your phone.

Level 7.

He jolts. Actually jolts.

“Jesus CHRIST—" He’s gripping the edge of the couch, sweat beading at his temple. “What the hell is wrong with this machine?”

You: “That’s my Monday morning, babe.”

Level 8.

He growls. Growls, like he’s in a firefight. One eye closed. Breathing through his teeth. “How are you—how the fuck are you still—talking?”

You shrug, smirking at him a little bit. It was oddly satisfying watching your big strong man experience the things he and most of society brushed off as normal pain that you and billions of other women were forced to continue to live life through without acting like it bothered you. “I usually get nauseous around this point. Sometimes I puke.”

He blinks. Stares at you like you just told him you walk on glass every day for fun.

Level 9.

He rips the strap off. Rips it off. Slams it on the coffee table and stands, breathing heavy like he just ran a 5K.

You're really not shocked. “That’s your limit?”

He looks at you. Then slowly sits back down beside you, rubbing his hand over his mouth.

“You go through that. Every month?”

You nod. Shrug.

He just stares for a second.

Then leans over, presses his forehead to your shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

You kiss his head. “It’s okay. Now go fold the laundry while I bleed in silence.”

He does.

With extra snacks.

KYLE 'GAZ' GARRICK — “i'm seeing god, she's mad at me.”

Kyle thinks he’s tough.

He’s run half-marathons. Rucked uphill with a 70lb pack. Taken hits in training and grinned through them.

So when you say “Let’s do the period cramp simulator,” he laughs. Laughs.

“Easy win, babe. Let’s see what all the fuss is about.”

You just smile, quietly connecting the pads to his lower abs, and flip on the app. You’re both in sweats on the couch, your phone filming the whole thing. You press start.

Level 1: He shrugs. “Tingles. Cute.”

Level 2: “Okay, it’s a little weird.”

Level 3: He winces. “Bit stabby.”

Level 4: He clutches the throw pillow. “Okay—wow. That’s... that’s actually rough.”

You’re beside him, not even blinking, watching the show.

Level 5: He yelps. “Wait. People live like this? On purpose?”

You: “Not by choice, babe.”

Level 6: His eyes widen.

Kyle: “Oh my god. It’s like a cramp. Inside a cramp. And it’s angry.”

Level 7: “BABE I’M GONNA PUKE.”

You laugh a bit. “That’s normal.”

Level 8: He keels over sideways, curled on the couch, gasping.

Kyle: “I’m going to pass out. I think I’m hemorrhaging.”

You arch a brow at him. “Want me to go up another level?” You wiggle your eyebrows, teasing him.

He doesn’t respond. He just lifts a single finger like he’s drawing his final breath.

Level 9: He rolls off the couch entirely and lays on the carpet.

“I’m seeing God. She’s mad at me.”

You turn it off, having a good giggle to yourself as you watch him. "You okay down there baby?"

Kyle lays there a minute.

Then, very quietly asks “...You go through that every month?”

You nod. “Since I was thirteen.”

He blinks. Looks at the ceiling. Then at you.

“I don’t know if I wanna fight you or hug you.”

You: “Why not both?”

He crawls back onto the couch, pulls you into his arms, and whispers, “I’m buying you a heating pad and a Costco pack of chocolate tomorrow. I swear to God.”

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY — “That's internal combustion.”

Simon sits down like it’s nothing.

“You sure?” you ask, raising a brow.

He scoffs. “How bad can it be?”

He’s seen combat. Been tortured. He thinks he’s built different.

Level 1: “Huh. Feels like static.”

Level 2: “Bit annoying. Like pins and needles.”

Level 3: “Okay, bit of a pinch.”

Level 4: “...Starting to think this is a trap.”

You’re relaxed beside him, arms folded.

Level 5: His leg twitches.

Simon: “Did the setting change?”

“Mmhmm.” You munch on a cracker from the small bowl sitting next to the couch.

Level 6: “What the fuck was that? That’s not a cramp. That’s a curse.”

Level 7: He sits up straighter. “Nope. Nope. That’s internal combustion. That’s demons.”

You, sipping water respond calmly. “That’s ovulation cramps combined with regular ones.”

Simon looks at you like you’ve been suffering war crimes in silence.

Level 8: He rips the velcro off and tosses the simulator like it insulted his mother.

“Turn it off. We’re done. That’s it.”

You almost laugh. “Tapping out, pookie?”

He stares. Hard.

Then his voice drops low.

“You go through that. Every month. And still do everything.”

You nod slowly.

Simon doesn’t speak. He just walks out of the room.

When he returns, he has a blanket, painkillers, and a hot water bottle.

Then he pulls you into his lap and wraps you up.

“You ever need anything—anything—you tell me. No questions.”

JOHNNY 'SOAP' MACTAVISH — “That's a dragonslaying cramp!’”

Johnny’s too confident.

“Piece o’ piss, lass,” he says, strapping the pads on. “I’ve dislocated my shoulder before, can't be any different. I’ll be fine.”

You smile sweetly. “Ready?”

“Bring it.”

Level 1: “Tickles.”

Level 2: “Okay. Weird. But nothing wild.”

Level 3: “That was a twitch. Did it twitch? Or was that me?”

Level 4: “Aight. This is... it’s makin’ my leg bounce.”

Level 5: “HOLY HELL.”

You watch him start shifting like a toddler who has to pee.

Level 6: “SWEET FUCKIN’—WHAT IS THAT?!”

You’re laughing. He’s grabbing your hand.

Level 7: “That’s not even funny anymore, babe. That’s a dragonslaying cramp.”

You: “It lasts 6–8 hours, minimum.”

He stops. Eyes wide.

Level 8: He’s wheezing, clutching his stomach like he’s giving birth.

“I—can’t—I need—a priest.”

You turn it off.

He flops sideways, panting.

Then lifts his head, looking at you like he just saw an angel of death.

“You deal with that every month?”

You nod.

He stares.

Then bursts into a fresh round of whining. “I AM SO SORRY. I’M BUYING YOU FLOWERS. I’M BUYING YOU A NEW CAR. I’M—I’M NEVER ASKING FOR SEX AGAIN IF YOU’RE ON YOUR PERIOD I SWEAR.”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “You said that last month.” You take yours off too. "I'll take you up on that new car offer if period sex can still be on the table..helps sometimes, with the cramps.."

He whimpers.

Then crawls across the couch and kisses your stomach gently like an apology to your uterus.

“Yer a fuckin’ warrior. My warrior.”

You forgive him for all the times he's dismissed your pains before, or asked why you hadn't put on real clothes, or why you were crying when nothing happened to make you cry..

But only after he does your chores for a week and buys you that new car like he said.

MORAL OF THE STORY:

your big bad bf is just as easily taken out by cramps as you and the rest of vagina owners everywhere have been. you feel bad, but only a little.

[bishovapls]

Our Little One - Brats Don’t Get Soft, Brats Get Used.

Relationships: Natasha Romanoff & Wanda Maximoff & Reader

Summary: You’ve never been a brat before, but after weeks with Wanda and Natasha and Natasha still holding back, a nudge from your roommate Kate sets something in motion. What starts as a simple need soon turns into a dangerous game, and you’re about to learn what happens when the consequences catch up.

Warnings: 18+, Mommy kink, Daddy kink, age difference, older WandaNat/younger reader, BDSM, Dom/sub dynamics, spanking/lashing with a belt, punishment, smut, overstimulation, fingering, safe word check-ins, aftercare, minor angst.

A/N: Reader and Natasha’s first-time scene kept popping up in requests, so here we are! If I’ve replied to your other asks, those fics will be coming ASAP. If you’ve sent an ask and I haven’t responded yet, I promise I’m working through everything! Thanks so much for all your patience and love. Honestly, your asks, replies, and support for this series make me all warm and fuzzy inside 🩵

P.S. In terms of the timeline, this takes place after 'It Was Fate' and before 'You Make Such Pretty Sounds When You’re Sorry', both can be found in my masterlist.

Word Count: 14,578

NSFW below the cut, you can also read on AO3.

It had been a month since you’d stepped into the world Wanda and Natasha had so carefully, deliberately built around you, and though the shift had been gentle, almost imperceptible at first, you felt it now in everything. The change had crept in like water, soft and steady, reshaping the edges of your life without ever needing to crash through them. You hadn’t thought you needed structure. You certainly hadn’t expected to crave it. But once it was there, once their presence became a constant grounding force, you realised just how badly you’d needed to be held in place.

The rules didn’t arrive all at once. They were introduced slowly, one by one, always with a quiet firmness, never exactly forceful, but never optional either. And what surprised you most was how easily they slipped past the bedroom and settled into the rest of your life. They took root in the mundane, the overlooked, the messiest parts of your routine: your study habits, your sleep, your social outings, your tendency to forget yourself.

At first, you questioned the point of it all. Why they cared whether you skipped a meal or pulled another all-nighter. But it didn’t take long to understand. They were wholly, unflinchingly invested in you. In your well-being. In your peace. And in the simple, sacred truth that you were theirs.

It began with the essentials. Drink more water. Eat proper meals. Step outside and breathe. No more skipping breakfast or living on scraps between lectures. No more letting your body crumble under the weight of your own neglect. 

They didn’t leave it to chance, either. Wanda had set you up with a nutrition tracker, and Natasha synced it to a fitness app. Between the two of them, they monitored everything.

Then came the check-ins. If you weren’t with them, you were to check in twice a day: a brief morning text including how you slept, how you felt, and what was ahead for the day, and a call at night, no exceptions. You were to talk them through your day, tell them what had gone well, what hadn’t, and whether you needed anything, emotionally, physically, or otherwise. 

And college brought its own rules. You were to attend every class unless you were truly ill. And even then, they were to be informed immediately. Natasha had your entire academic schedule memorised, down to your deadlines and office hours, and if anything shifted, she expected an update. 

Your social life, limited though it was since you were far from a social being, had boundaries. You could go out, in fact, you were encouraged to do so, to have fun, to be young, to live, but never at the cost of safety. Drinking to excess was forbidden. Drugs and smoking, entirely off-limits. 

And you were not to be out alone after dark. If you did go out, it had to be with trusted friends. Your fitness tracker was to remain on, fully charged, and GPS active. That rule had been delivered with unflinching clarity. Natasha had stated it plainly, her tone leaving no room for argument. They needed to know where you were. That you weren’t walking alone, vulnerable and unseen. That if something happened, they’d know exactly where to find you.

To an outsider, it might’ve seemed overbearing and excessive. But to you, it was the opposite. It was everything. These rules weren’t restrictions, they were evidence, proof that someone saw you clearly enough to draw lines around your chaos and call it worth saving. 

And you wanted to be good for them. You lived for the quiet praise threaded through your evening calls, the warmth in Wanda’s voice when she told you she was proud, the low, satisfied hum Natasha would let slip when every rule had been followed to the letter. You craved their approval. Their attention. Their pride. Being obedient came naturally in most ways, and you basked in it. 

Except… food and water. That was the rule you just couldn’t seem to get right.

It wasn’t rebellion; not truly. Sometimes you simply didn’t want to cook, or the idea of eating twisted something unpleasant in your stomach. Sometimes coffee was just easier; it kept you upright, kept you moving. Other times, it wasn’t deliberate at all, just a blur of hours and tasks and noise. You got swept up in work, or you ate but forgot to log it, or maybe you downed nearly a litre of coffee before it even occurred to you that you hadn’t touched water. 

Whatever the reason, Wanda always noticed, calling with her voice full of concern. “When was the last time you ate?” she’d ask, and it wasn’t anger, it was disappointment, that would curl tight in your gut as you searched for a defence that never felt good enough.

The punishments for this were never too much, because they knew you were trying. But they were just enough to make you pause the next time your hand hovered over another cup of coffee and nothing else.

And part of you, ashamed as it was, needed that. Needed the accountability. The structure. The safety of knowing someone would catch you before you disappeared too far into yourself.

Still, even with all of it, the structure, the gentleness, the care stitched into every rule and ritual, something felt wrong. Not glaringly, not enough to shatter the sense of safety they’d built around you, but enough to unsettle, to gnaw at the edges of your thoughts when you were alone. It wasn’t the boundaries or the expectations, not the check-ins or the rules that governed your days. It was Natasha.

She was present and reliable in that steady, composed way of hers. She enforced the routine with silent efficiency, asked the questions that mattered, and made sure you kept your promises, to them and to yourself. But when it came to punishment, to intimacy, to that deeper level of connection you craved, she held back. And it wasn’t just that she didn’t discipline you, she hadn’t touched you. Not once.

You’d given yourself to them, inch by inch, until it didn’t feel like surrender anymore, but something closer to breathing. You’d let yourself fall, and Wanda had caught you. It was always Wanda.

It was Wanda who guided you, who punished you when you slipped, who praised you so sweetly your stomach turned to honey when you hadn’t. It was Wanda who took you apart in the dark, who knew how to coax you into obedience with nothing but a look, a sound, or a breath. Natasha either watched from the sidelines or, worse, left the room entirely. 

Last weekend was a perfect example. You knelt before Wanda, her voice calm and steady as she guided you through the mantras she’d been drilling into you. “I deserve to take care of myself… my body deserves fuel… my mind deserves rest…” You’d forgotten to eat again, too caught up in school, and so when you came to them, punishment was needed. But it wasn’t a punishment of pain; it was one of words and care that slowly cracked open your walls, breaking down the bad beliefs you’d carried all your life. 

At first, Natasha was there, quietly watching, even encouraging with small hums and soft smiles, but when your tears began to flow and your body shook, she left without a word. You didn’t know why; she never explained. Wanda shushed your whimpers, but it wasn’t enough, not when Natasha didn’t want you…again.

After the scene, when you dared to ask about it, Wanda’s answer only deepened the ache: “You’re just not ready for Daddy, malyshka (Little One).”

Those words echoed in your mind, not ready. As if Natasha was a threshold you hadn’t yet earned the right to cross. It made the ache of being good, of meeting every expectation, sting sharper. 

—

That’s why this week has been hard, with constant thoughts of Natasha swirling through your mind; each check-in only deepened your frustration. By the time Thursday arrived, your mood had darkened. The usual nightly check-in with the women went ahead, but beneath it all, you felt that familiar tightening in your chest, the heavy weight of the unspoken barrier still lingering between you and Natasha.

As always, you took the call just outside your dorm building, settling on the cold edge of the concrete steps beneath the weak glow of the overhead security light. The buzzing hum of it filled the silence between your own clipped replies and Wanda’s soothing voice, Natasha’s steadier one threading in near the end as she asked the usual questions about your meals, your steps, your classes. You answered them all. Obedient. Polite. But your tone was flatter than usual, each sentence a little shorter, and by the time you hung up, the tight coil of something unspoken was still sitting behind your ribs, refusing to unspool.

You pushed through the heavy dorm door and climbed the stairs two at a time, jaw tight, nails digging half-moons into your palms. When you opened the door to your shared room, Kate glanced up from her bed, where she sat cross-legged in an oversized hoodie, scrolling on her laptop. Her eyes caught your face instantly, her brows drew together, subtle but unmistakable, and the screen was forgotten within a heartbeat.

“Uhh… what’s up?” she asked, her voice cautious but laced with warmth, like she could sense your mood before you'd said a word.

“Nothing,” you muttered, too quickly, flinging your bag to the floor and flopping onto your bed with the kind of exaggerated indifference that only made your frustration more obvious.

Kate didn’t buy it for a second. She shifted to sit upright, her back resting against the wall. “Seriously?” she said with a small, incredulous laugh, but her eyes didn’t leave your face. 

You exhaled hard through your nose and rolled your eyes, reaching for your phone just to have something to fidget with. “You’re too nosy,” you said lightly, trying to deflect.

But Kate didn’t laugh this time. Her expression softened instead, concern overtaking the playfulness. “Maybe,” she said gently, “but I care, you know?”

The words landed heavier than you expected. You nodded once, a little jerk of your chin, your voice quieter when you finally said, “I know.”

“Then just talk to me?” she offered. Her hands were clasped loosely in her lap, but there was tension in her shoulders too, like she was trying not to push too hard, not to say the wrong thing, and watch you shut down.

You stayed silent for a moment, then sat up, legs pulled to your chest. You picked at a loose thread on your sleeve, not quite able to meet her eyes. “It’s… to do with the girlfriends,” you said finally.

Kate’s eyes flickered with interest, not curiosity in a nosy way, but a gentle attentiveness that said she’d been waiting for you to talk about them again. “Are you ever going to tell me who they are?” she asked, smiling just a little, trying to keep it light.

You smiled too, but it didn’t reach your eyes. Of course, you wanted to tell her. You trusted her. But Natasha’s voice echoed in your mind, cool and resolute, no one at college can know. Not even your roommate. She was right, of course. College gossip moved fast, and all it would take was one whisper in the wrong ear for everything to unravel.

“You know the rules,” you said, sharper than you meant to, and your jaw clenched as the anger returned, at the rule, at Natasha, at how far away she still felt even after a month.

Kate let out a quiet chuckle, raising a hand to trace a little X over her heart. “I do. But it could be our little secret. Cross my heart.”

You looked at her grin, and something in you softened, just a little.“Maybe soon,” you said, voice tight. “I don’t think it’ll be going on much longer anyway, so there will be no secret to keep.”

That hit her like a slap. Her eyes widened, her posture straightening instantly. “What? Wait, what do you mean?” she asked, voice sharp with shock, all traces of teasing gone.

You had told Kate about your situation with Wanda and Natasha pretty early on, after all, she’d pestered you half to death after your first night with them, all wide-eyed curiosity and relentless questions. You’d given her the basics: that they were your dommes, that it wasn’t just sex, not to them, not to you either. That they’d made it clear from the start that they wanted something more, something serious, something committed.

Over time, details had trickled out, mostly because they had to. The rules you lived by, the punishments you’d earned, the very explicit reasons you sometimes came home with marks so unmistakable they made Kate drop her fork. 

Kate never judged, never squirmed, or got awkward. It was embarrassing sometimes, yes, but it was also a relief to have someone who understood, who didn’t flinch at the language, at the power dynamics, at the weight of it all.

But you’d been careful, too. You’d kept their names to yourself, never once letting them slip. You hadn’t said where they lived, what they did, not even how old they were. You hadn’t even referred to them by title. It wasn’t mistrust, it was the rule. And more than that, it was something you instinctively honoured. Something Natasha had asked of you, and you hadn’t questioned it. You hadn’t wanted to.

Until now. Now, when everything felt like it was fraying. Now, when you couldn’t tell if you were still wanted, or just tolerated. 

And Kate was still watching you, her expression tight with worry, waiting for you to explain why you’d just said it might all be over.

“Hello? Earth to the emotionally tormented?” she teased softly when your silence stretched.

You blinked, snapping back to the moment, and let out a tired little laugh. “I’m here,” you muttered with a half-hearted shrug.

Kate raised one brow in that subtle, persistent way that said, Don’t even think about dodging this, her body leaning forward just slightly.

You sighed, pressing your fingers into your temples for a moment before finally exhaling the frustration that had been crawling under your skin. “It’s just… Domme Two, she’s got all these expectations,” you started, voice tight, like every word had to be pried out. “I try so hard. And still… she won’t touch me. She won’t see me. I’m so tired of it. I’m so tired of being good and getting nothing back.”

Kate’s expression shifted immediately. You’d mentioned Natasha’s distance once or twice before in passing, but it had never sounded quite like this. Back then, it was a curiosity, an oddity. Now, it was pain. Frustration.

“Still?” she echoed, disbelief softening into sympathy. “It’s been, what, over a month now?”

You nodded mutely, jaw tight. “Yup,” you said, popping the ‘p’ with bitter emphasis. “And I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, Kate. I try so fucking hard. I follow their rules, well, mostly,” you added with a dry, self-deprecating smile. “I give them everything they ask for. But when I ask…it’s always the same line: you’re not ready.” The words came out quieter, more vulnerable now, like they physically hurt to repeat.

Kate’s face twisted with something halfway between a wince and a thoughtful frown. “You know it might not be about you, right?” she said gently. “That maybe you are ready… but she isn’t?”

You scoffed, not unkindly, but with that weary kind of disbelief that comes from hoping for too long. “No, Domme One said, that I am not ready because Domme Two can be intense. That she is holding back so I don't get hurt.” You shook your head with a dry, humourless laugh. “But this hurts, too, Kate. Being held at arm’s length like I’m not worthy yet. And it’s not like I haven’t made it crystal clear that rough doesn’t scare me. Domme One and I have had scenes that I couldn’t even put into words if I tried.”

Kate stayed quiet for a moment, taking it all in. You could see the gears turning, the way she bit the inside of her cheek like she always did when she was trying to offer advice without sounding preachy.

“Well… if it’s eating at you this much, then I think you have to talk to them again,” she said eventually, voice calm but firm, the kind of tone she only used when she really meant it. “Like, properly. Not mid-scene. Not just after punishment. Really talk.”

“I have,” you snapped, your voice pitching higher than you meant it to. “I have talked. I’ve tried. I bring it up, and it’s just brushed aside like I’m being impatient.”

Kate sighed, but it wasn’t a condescending sigh; it was heavy, empathetic. You could see the careful way she was treading. She was always mature when it came to this, always level-headed when you weren’t, always calm when you were spiralling. 

“I get it,” she said softly. “I really do. But if something isn’t working for you, you have to keep pushing for a change. Communication’s everything, you know that.”

You slumped back against the bed, staring at the ceiling like maybe it would answer for you. “I’m just… tired of talking. Tired of giving my all and still being told I haven’t earned hers. I just wish there was something I could do.”

Kate was quiet again, but something in her posture shifted. Her lips twitched, just the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at one corner before she caught herself and quickly looked down, trying to hide it.

You sat up slightly, suspicious. “What? Kate. What is that look?”

She tried and failed to suppress a laugh. “Nothing. I just… shouldn’t say this. I definitely shouldn’t encourage this.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s never stopped you before. Come on. Spit it out.”

Kate hesitated, her smile turning fond now, as if whatever memory she was about to share brought her warmth despite the topic. “It’s just… I know what Yelena would do in your shoes.”

Your stomach flipped, your curiosity piqued. “Yeah? And what would Yelena do?”

Kate let out a slow breath. “Well, okay, so our dynamic isn’t like yours. It’s not built on rules and structure 24/7. But in scene, there are rules. And sometimes, when I’ve been… off, or distracted, or distant, because life, you know? Yelena will break a rule deliberately. Just enough to make me react. It’s her way of saying notice me, see me, feel something.”

Kate looked almost sheepish after saying it, like she wasn’t entirely sure whether she’d just offered you advice… or handed you a loaded weapon. But you heard it clearly.

A quiet rebellion. A strategic crack in obedience.

And the suggestion glittered in your mind like something dangerous and gleaming, like the glint of a match just before it hits the strike pad. It didn’t matter that it was reckless. All that mattered was that something inside you shifted, something coiled and bratty and starved for attention stirred, stretching awake for the first time.

You turned to Kate, an exaggerated gasp of mock offence on your lips. “Kate Bishop, are you suggesting I should be a brat?”

She laughed, the sound light and helpless. “I’m suggesting,” she said with careful precision, “that breaking a rule might actually get you the kind of reaction you’re craving. Especially if it’s one of Domme Two’s.”

Your brain had already taken off at a sprint, running through possibilities, rules, boundaries, hers, not Wanda’s. You grinned slowly, wickedly, a spark of something deliciously mischievous taking root. “You know,” you drawled, already shifting your weight like you were about to get up, “I’ve been thinking… a late-night stroll sounds like just the thing to clear my head.”

Kate blinked at you, her mouth opening slightly in disbelief before flattening into a line. “It’s midnight,” she said, deadpan. Her eyes narrowed a little as she sat straighter, arms folded, like she was already preparing to intervene. “Can you not pick a safer rule to break?”

You tilted your head and gave a lazy shrug, letting faux innocence smooth over your features. “It’s this, or smoking. Or, I don’t know… drugs.” You raised your eyebrows for dramatic effect.

Kate’s eyes widened in horror, her whole body recoiling like you’d just threatened to juggle knives in traffic. “Not. Funny,” she snapped, though the sharpness in her tone couldn’t quite hide the way her lips twitched at the edges.

Your grin only widened. “A little bit funny,” you said, voice dipping with smug satisfaction, because provoking her felt almost as fun as what you were planning.

Kate groaned and flopped back against the headboard, dragging a hand down her face. “Okay, but what about… I don’t know, don’t go to class tomorrow. Don’t message, don’t give an excuse. It’s safe. Passive-aggressive. You get to make a point.”

You wrinkled your nose, unconvinced, and gave a dismissive wave of your hand. “Too slow. I’m supposed to be with them tomorrow night anyway, and I want it sorted before then.”

Kate sat forward again, staring at you like you’d grown a second head. Her brows lifted with genuine disbelief, and she stared hard, like she was still holding out hope this was all a bit. “You are insane.”

You gave her a sly wink as you stood up, grabbing your coat and slipping it on. “No,” you replied, with a gleam in your eye and a dangerous lilt in your voice, “I’m just impatient. And possibly very, very stupid.”

Kate stood too, suddenly tense, hovering like she wasn’t sure if she should block the door or help you open it. “Okay, but please text me. Keep me updated. And when you inevitably get dragged back to wherever they live for the punishment of your entire life, I expect details.”

You paused with your hand on the doorknob, turning back with a wicked little smirk that curled slowly across your face. “I will. And hey, thanks for the advice,” you said, voice syrupy-sweet with mischief. 

Kate shook her head, muttering under her breath before sighing out loud. “God help you.”

And with that, the door clicked softly behind you, the hallway swallowing you up as you let the brat take the wheel, heart racing, nerves buzzing, a storm already forming on the horizon.

—

It took fifteen minutes of walking before your phone buzzed in your pocket. You didn’t even need to check the screen to know it was Natasha. The GPS tracker in your watch had no doubt lit up the moment you stepped beyond the perimeter she’d quietly defined.

You pulled the phone out, thumb hovering for a moment, then smiled, slow, sharp, and wicked, and let it ring out. One call. Then another. Then a third, her name flashing again and again like a warning light.

The next buzz wasn’t a call, it was your shared group chat, the one only used for schedules, check-ins, and rare moments of praise or correction outside sessions. 

D2: I thought you were staying home with Kate tonight?

You didn’t answer. Just opened it and continued walking, heading deeper into the park, where the glow of streetlamps filtered softly through leafless trees. The cold bit at your cheeks, but you welcomed it, anything that grounded you in the daring, dizzy satisfaction of rebellion.

D2: Why are you ignoring me? D1: Little one, are you okay?

That one gave you pause. You felt a flicker of guilt crack through the high of disobedience. This wasn’t about her. None of this was really her fault, yet you were treating her the same way, but you kept walking.

D2: You better be with Kate.

Her tone, even through text, was clipped, and you could practically feel her jaw clenched from miles away. Then another text came from Wanda, softer again.

D1: Please, let us know you are safe, Sweetheart. We’re worried.

That one stung. You hated that you’d made her worry, hated even more that it was necessary to make your point. You sighed and finally typed back, your fingers momentarily trembling from more than just the cold.

Me: I am safe. Going for a walk.

There were only a few seconds of silence before Natasha responded.

D2: Are you with Kate?

You stopped walking and stared at the message. This was it. The line you could still choose not to cross. The point of no return. You could lie. You could say yes and diffuse it all. But you didn’t want to.

You wanted to be seen. You wanted to matter. You wanted Natasha to stop treating you like a thing she could discipline from a distance but never touch.

Me: No.

You hit send before you could change your mind, before reason or fear could pull you back. Your heart was pounding, thudding against your ribs like it was trying to break free. This was what you wanted. This was the moment you’d imagined: the rule-breaking, the reckless defiance, the thrill of finally crossing a line that might force Natasha to stop keeping you at arm’s length.

But now that you were here, standing in it, the storm you’d so desperately wished for felt a lot less like a cleansing force and a lot more like a cliff edge you’d sprinted off without thinking.

Your phone buzzed.

D2: If I don’t see you turn around and walk back toward your dorm in the next five minutes, I will make sure you regret it.

You scoffed aloud, trying to laugh it off, even as a chill crawled up your spine. Just a threat, you told yourself. She wouldn’t actually do anything. 

Still, your fingers trembled as you shoved your phone back into your coat pocket. You found the nearest bench and sat down, hoping she’d see it as a clear fuck you. A message through the GPS tracker. I’m not moving.

You checked the chat again. Nothing.

Five minutes passed. Then six. Then ten.

You swallowed hard. The cold had begun to seep through your coat, and your heart had gone from hammering to something slower, deeper, more sickening. It wasn’t defiance anymore. It was dread.

You kept checking your phone, over and over, willing another message to come through, anything. 

But there was only that single, unanswered warning. Hanging in the chat like a blade. You shifted on the bench, suddenly too aware of the dark, too aware of the silence, and how very, very small you felt.

—

The cold had settled into your bones, your phone still lifeless in your hand as you debated if you should give up and go back. Every shadow looked like someone. Every sound made you flinch.

Then, suddenly, there was movement, footsteps crunching against the gravel path just behind you. You turned your head slightly, just enough to see the figure approaching, cloaked in shadows and the low light of the path. Hood up, head bowed, face largely obscured, their entire frame radiating purpose and rage.

A bolt of instinctive fear shot through your chest, and you shot to your feet, suddenly overcome with the sense that you were very much in danger. You began to move, your eyes flicking around for the clearest path out, but you didn't get far before the figure spoke. 

“Don’t walk away from me.”

You froze. Her voice was unmistakable, that distinct, deep coolness edged with steel, though this time it came layered with something that struck you harder than the anger. It was fear. 

You turned around slowly, your body betraying you with the smallest flinch. She walked straight up to you, steps tight and restrained, and you could see the way she was holding herself back, like she wanted to shake you, to shout, to do something, but instead she just looked. 

Her eyes swept over you with that terrifying, clinical intensity, checking for injuries, for damage, for blood. It was so fast and automatic that for a second you forgot how to breathe, caught somewhere between guilt and the bitter thrill of being seen.

When she was satisfied you were physically fine, she spoke again, her tone a mixture of disbelief and fury. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

The tone of her voice struck something inside you. You were still afraid, very much so, but the sight of her like this, eyes stormy and jaw tight, hit a nerve, and that tiny voice inside you, the brat, the desperate girl who wanted to be noticed, punished, wanted, made itself heard again.

You swallowed, lifted your chin slightly, and gave her a tiny, deliberate shrug.

Her nostrils flared, and she stared at you like she couldn’t believe the gall of you. You could feel the shift in her posture, that subtle straightening of her spine, the way her arms folded over her chest as if to stop herself from reaching for you. 

Then, slowly, her voice came again, firmer now. “I said, what…are you doing out here?”

You felt your heart hammering harder. She wasn’t yelling, but the low cadence of her voice, restrained and disappointed, pierced through your bravado like nothing else could. You knew she was giving you a chance. An opportunity to back down before this turned into something bigger. But some small, desperate part of you didn’t want to take it.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, chest tightening under the weight of her stare. And then, as if to keep yourself from unravelling completely, you shrugged again, a deliberately casual movement, bordering on insolent.

You didn’t look at her when you answered. “I told you, just going for a walk.” The words left your lips softer than you intended, but they carried that unmistakable edge, that deliberately sweetened defiance, like a dare dressed up in innocence. 

Her gaze dropped briefly to the ground, like she was swallowing a surge of something, rage, maybe, and when she lifted it again, her eyes were dark, unreadable, and burning. Then came her voice, thick with warning, the words precise enough to cut. “You know that’s against the rules, Little Girl.”

The title landed like a stone dropped in still water. Little Girl. Not Little One, not the soft name they called you during gentle praise, check-ins, or affectionate aftercare. This one was different, used only in the lead-up to punishment. 

Wanda was usually the one to wield it when you were truly in trouble. Hearing it from Natasha now made your stomach twist. Not with fear, not exactly, but with heat, with something volatile and reckless and stupidly brave.

And still, rather than shrinking under it, something inside you bloomed. The very thing you’d come out here chasing was now rising in front of you, and it made your pulse thunder. 

You lifted your chin, eyes blazing with defiance, and let the words fall, slow and deliberate, each one laced with venom. “You don’t own me.”

Her hand shot out and closed around your upper arm, not harshly, but with enough weight to send your heart racing. She was close now, close enough that you could feel her body heat, the cold in her breath, the rage simmering beneath her skin.

“Move.” The word wasn’t a request. Not a suggestion. It was a command, weighted with disappointment.

She didn’t shove, instead, she stepped closer, hand still curled around your arm before it slid, slowly, deliberately to the back of your neck. Her palm was warm against your skin, firm and unyielding, fingers splaying just enough to ground you, to remind you that you now had nowhere to go.

She turned you around with that grip, directing you out of the park and towards the car like it was the most natural thing in the world, like you were hers to move. 

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your voice. It barely came out. “Where are we going?” you asked, though the answer had already begun to form in your mind.

Her reply was flat. “Home. I think we need to talk. Don’t you?”

You didn’t answer. The silence pressed thick against your tongue, your mouth dry with the realisation of how far you’d taken it. 

The walk was silent, but inside your head, it was anything but. Regret bloomed, not just for breaking the rule, but for how deliberately you’d done it, for how you’d baited her. But it was too late now. You could feel her eyes on you in short bursts, reading your silence, calculating what to do with you.

But underneath the guilt, the fear, the cold anticipation curling in your gut… was something else. Something reckless and alive. Something that felt horrifyingly like satisfaction. Because for the first time in weeks, Natasha was fully focused on you

She was here. She was angry. And she was going to do something about it.

—

At home, Wanda was waiting for both of you, wrapped tightly in her dressing gown, the fabric clutching her as if it could shield her from the worry etched deep across her face. Guilt hit you like a punch to the chest. She must have been asleep, or at least resting, before you’d disturbed her with your behaviour.

“Malyshka (Little One), are you okay?” Wanda’s voice was gentle, almost trembling with concern, enough to make your defiance falter for a moment. 

But before you could answer, Natasha cut in sharply, her tone rougher than usual. “Don’t be soft with her. She’s fine. She’s just got an attitude.”

You rolled your eyes and let out a sharp huff, the brat inside you rising up despite the knots of fear and guilt tightening in your stomach.

Wanda stared at you, wide-eyed and clearly shocked. In all the time you’d known her, she’d never seen this side of you. 

“See what I mean?” Natasha sneered, gesturing with her hand towards you. 

Wanda simply nodded, the warmth in her eyes dimming, her disappointment unspoken but suffocating.

“Take off your shoes and coat, then go sit down,” Natasha ordered, her voice firm and unyielding.

You obeyed, more out of habit than willingness. The house was warm, too warm for your heavy coat, and it felt like a small relief peeling it off.

You settled onto the couch, feeling the soft cushions give beneath you. Both of them followed. Natasha perched on the coffee table across from you, her eyes sharp and unreadable, while Wanda settled on the far side of the couch. 

The distance stung. Wanda never sat so far away, never kept so much space between you. She was usually the one who reached out, always touching, always close. Tonight, that familiar comfort was gone, replaced by an uncomfortable void.

“You have one chance to explain yourself, Little Girl,” Natasha sneered, her voice low and sharp, each word weighted with warning.

“Why should I?” you shot back, the defiance bubbling up before you could stop it. Wanda’s eyes went wide again, her breath catching at seeing you push back like this. Natasha’s face, however, was unreadable.

Then, unexpectedly, she let out a dark chuckle and leaned in closer, her fingers curling around your jaw with a firm grip. “You know, I don’t think I like this side of you,” she murmured, her voice almost a threat.

You pulled away, pressing yourself back into the cushions, refusing to give her the satisfaction of your discomfort. “Well, you clearly don’t like the other side either,” you shot back, a sharp edge to your words. “So, two for two.”

A flicker of shock crossed Natasha’s face. “What? What the hell do you mean?” she demanded, the cool mask slipping for just a moment.

You shrugged, but this time the gesture was less about defiance and more about uncertainty. You genuinely didn’t know how to explain it, how could you say that she did everything perfectly, except for the one thing that tore at you the most, without sounding like some needy, whiny brat?

Natasha waited, her eyes locked on you. But when you stayed silent, her gaze sharpened, cutting through the heavy stillness like a whip. “Speak to me. Stop acting like a little brat,” she demanded.

You snapped back, frustration bubbling over. “Or what? You’ll just send me off to Wanda for a punishment?” Your tone rose, raw and challenging.

A guttural growl rumbled from Natasha, dark, fierce, edged with raw anger. “Is that what this is? You want punishment? You’re craving it? Is that why you’re acting like this?” Her voice sliced through the silence, thick with heat and frustration, scorching the air between you.

And that’s when it broke, because once again she was missing the point entirely. You shook your head, voice trembling under the weight of it all. “No, that’s not it!” Your breath hitched, tears beginning to spill down your cheeks as your voice cracked open. “I want you to believe I’m enough. I want you to need me the way I need you. I want you to be in this, like I am.” The words came out ragged, raw, breaking free with all the desperation you’d been holding in.

Wanda shifted beside you, her worry carved deep into her face, but your world had shrunk to Natasha’s gaze, searching, pleading, trying to find any flicker of softness beneath the armour she wore like a shield.

And then, something shifted. Natasha’s hard edges softened ever so slightly. Her hand reached out, landing on your knee. You jerked back, instinct screaming to retreat, but she held you firmly, grounding you in place. “You are enough,” she said, voice lower now, rougher with unshed emotion. 

She swallowed hard, steadying herself like she was forcing the words past a barricade. “Have I not shown you? When I drive you to school, and we sing like fools? When we curl up on the couch, just holding each other? When we sit and play your video game together? How is that not enough proof I’m in this?”

Her voice trembled, frustrated, wounded, desperate for you to see it.

“You don’t understand, Natasha,” you sobbed, your voice breaking under the weight of a thousand tangled feelings. “You don’t see what I mean.”

“Then tell me,” she whispered, voice cracked and almost desperate. “Please. Tell me what you want.”

You bit your lip, trying desperately to hold back the flood, but the dam finally broke. “I want more.” Your voice cracked. “I know it sounds selfish, needy, maybe even greedy. I love the tenderness, the quiet moments we share... but I want Daddy.” 

Your hands clenched into fists as the words poured out, raw and urgent, laced with a pleading edge. “I want you to touch me, to punish me, to let me please you. I want you with me in the scenes, not just watching, or walking away like you have been lately.” The confession hung thick and heavy between you. Your voice dropped to a whisper, barely steady. “When you leave... it hurts.”

Natasha’s shoulders sagged, the weight of your words sinking into her with visible force, dragging something raw and unguarded to the surface. Her gaze dropped to her hands, jaw clenched tight. “I just…” she began, the words barely above a whisper, “I’m scared, Little One. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

Her fingers twisted in her lap, restless, unsure. “I’m not used to being careful. You’re… you’re so soft. So good. And I look at you and all I can think is… what if I break her?” She paused, breath shaky, as if the confession itself wounded her. 

“And sometimes… sometimes it all gets too heavy, because I want it so badly, but I can’t push past the fear, so I pull away. That’s when I walk. It’s not about you. It’s me... I’m scared.”

You watched her closely, your own heart aching now, but not with shame or anger. Just understanding. “You told me you were done being scared,” you reminded her gently. “And I’m not scared, Nat.”

Her eyes finally met yours, glassy with hesitation.

“I know I’ve struggled to use ‘red’ before,” you admitted softly, your voice thick, “but I’m getting better. Wanda and I have had scenes way more intense than anything I could’ve handled before, and I’ve called red when I needed to. I’ve used yellow, too. I’ve communicated. I’ve grown.” You reached out, fingers brushing the back of her hand. “I need you to trust that. To trust me. The way I trust you.”

Natasha stared at your hand, at the quiet, open gesture you were offering her. For a long moment, the silence stretched between you again, thick, trembling. And then, slowly, she turned her palm up, lacing her fingers through yours with a quiet breath that sounded like surrender.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her thumb tracing a circle over your knuckles. “You’re right. You’ve been growing into exactly what we asked of you. And I’ve been too scared to meet you there.”

You nodded, breath hitching as the last of your tears clung stubbornly to your lashes. “Then meet me now,” you whispered, voice small but steady.

Natasha stilled for a heartbeat. Her eyes found yours, and in them, something shifted, slow but undeniable. The fear didn’t vanish, not entirely, but it softened around the edges, tempered by something far stronger. Resolve. Acceptance. Want.

“Alright,” she said at last, voice low and certain. “No more running.”

She leaned in, her hand rising to your face, cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your chest ache. Her touch was warm, grounding, but her eyes were lit with something far darker, deeper, a glint of control that made your pulse stutter.

“If we do this,” she murmured, her voice low and edged with warning, “we do it my way. You say you want the real me? Then that’s what you’ll get. Do you understand?”

You swallowed, nodded, lips parting as the weight of her words settled into your bones. “Yes, Daddy,” you breathed, the title wrapping around you like silk and steel all at once.

A flicker of a smirk ghosted across her lips then, subtle but deadly, the kind of look that promised things you’d only dared to imagine. 

“Good girl,” she said, and the praise sent a shiver through your entire body.

She leaned in just slightly closer, her voice dipping into that tone that curled heat low in your belly. “Go upstairs,” she instructed. “Take off your clothes. Wait on your knees.” She paused, her smile sharpening as her eyes drank in the way your breath caught. “And then we’ll see, won’t we, just how much you want your Daddy.”

—

You nodded with a single, frantic jerk of your head, too overwhelmed to speak, and then your body was moving on instinct, quick, almost clumsy in your desperation to obey. All you could focus on was the wild drum of your heartbeat and the racing thoughts that flooded your head like a storm surge. 

Upstairs, you fired off a quick text to Kate, fingers barely steady, then moved as if pulled by some invisible thread. Each piece of clothing came off with shaking hands, your breath catching as cool air kissed your skin. You folded everything neatly, placing the stack on the chair in the corner like a silent offering; a small, desperate proof that even if you’d slipped today, even if you'd been bad, you still wanted, needed to be good for them.

And then you dropped to your knees. The position was second nature by now, knees pressed into the carpet, thighs spread just enough, spine long and straight, shoulders relaxed but not slouched. Hands rested lightly on your thighs, palms down, fingers splayed slightly. Your head bowed low in submission. 

You didn’t dare fidget, didn’t shift or speak. You simply waited, every nerve on fire, every breath shallow, until finally the door creaked open behind you.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t lift your head.

“She’s very well trained, my love,” Natasha said eventually, her tone cool and measured, discussing you rather than addressing you. “But she still made the choice to disobey.”

Silence followed, thick and weighted until Wanda finally spoke. Her voice was softer, edged with sorrow rather than anger, but the pain in it was unmistakable. “She scared me.”

The words sliced through the room like a knife, lodging somewhere deep in your chest. Yet you didn’t dare speak, didn’t dare interrupt.

“I know,” Natasha murmured, taking a slow step forward. The sound of her boots was almost echoing in the quiet. “She scared me, too.”

Then her hand was in your hair, threading through it from crown to nape in a way that was far from comforting. She gripped you just tightly enough to tilt your head upward, to force your eyes to meet hers. “Look at me.”

You did. You had no choice. Her eyes were fire and stone, and though the fury had dimmed, the disappointment was still there, etched into every line of her face. You felt like you might fall apart just from looking at her.

“We gave you rules,” she said, slowly, carefully, as if daring you to pretend otherwise. “And you broke them.”

Your voice caught in your throat, and all you could do was nod, shame coursing through you like poison.

“And now,” she said, as her presence shifted into something sharper, more commanding, “you’re going to show us exactly how sorry you are.”

Then came the sound, it was unmistakable, the low slide of leather slipping free from its loops. Natasha’s belt.

Your heart stuttered, catching mid-beat. The room was still, that single sound landing like thunder between the three of you. Her footsteps moved again, coming to a stop in front of you. 

“I’m not like Wanda,” Natasha said evenly, her gaze steady. “I don’t often give out spankings or lashings... but after today, I think you need that, don’t you?”

You nodded, throat too tight to speak.

“I’ll be using my belt,” she went on, tone clipped, precise. “You will count each strike. And you will thank me for it.”

Your mouth felt dry as dust; your hands trembled faintly where they rested, but when your voice came, it was steady, quiet, and certain.“Yes, Daddy.”

Natasha stood before you, quiet for a moment, the belt coiled in her hand like a promise. Her eyes searched your face. You could feel her gaze digging through the layers of your submission, past the trembling anticipation and the guilt still curling tight in your chest, looking for anything that might signal hesitation or fear you hadn’t voiced.

Then she knelt, and that alone made your breath hitch. You never expected her to kneel, not when she was in control. But tonight, she needed you to see her. Not as the distant, unreadable force you'd grown so used to. Not as someone just watching from the sidelines. She needed you to understand that she was here, fully and completely.

One hand lifted to cup your jaw, thumb brushing just under your eye where the dried tracks of earlier tears lingered. You leaned into it instinctively.

“Colour,” she asked quietly, voice low and deliberate. Her gaze was sharp but not unkind. “Right now. Speak it.”

You swallowed hard, your voice small but certain. “Green.”

“Good girl,” she said softly, but the weight of it sent a shiver down your spine. “You tell me if that changes. Understood?”

You nodded, then corrected yourself immediately. “Yes, Daddy.”

She rose in one smooth movement, the belt now unfurling in her hand as she stepped back around behind you. “You’ll take ten,” Natasha said, voice firmer again now. “Five for the disobedience. Five for the attitude.”

Your fingers curled slightly against your thighs, nails biting into your skin just enough to focus you.“Yes, Daddy.”

“Up,” Natasha said, and your body obeyed before your mind caught up. As you rose, Natasha glanced over at Wanda, giving the smallest nod. It was permission, an invitation to let her join in.

Wanda stepped forward, her touch gentle as she guided you to the edge of the bed. “Hands on the mattress, knees apart, back straight,” she whispered, her tone soothing yet firm.

You positioned yourself carefully, muscles taut beneath your bare skin, vulnerable and exposed as you bent forward at the hips. Your bottom lifted just enough for Natasha to take aim. The air between you thickened, every breath heavy with a charged expectation that made your pulse race.

Natasha gave a few slow, deliberate practice swings through the air, the belt hissing softly as it cut through the quiet.

Then she stepped closer, her hand gliding over your bare skin with a touch so gentle it nearly undid you, a final stroke of calm before the storm. “You ready?” she murmured, her voice low and controlled.

You nodded, already breathless. “Yes, Daddy.”

She hummed, almost in approval, and then the belt struck.

A sharp, clean crack shattered the stillness, the leather snapping against the curve of your right cheek with devastating accuracy. The pain bloomed instantly: white-hot, searing, a jolt that stole the air from your lungs and replaced it with fire. It rippled through you, lighting your nerves with something that felt just a hair’s breadth from too much.

You gasped, muscles tightening reflexively, heart pounding wildly. “One,” you whispered, breath trembling, cheeks flushed with a warmth deeper than the sting alone. “Thank you, Daddy.”

The belt snapped down again, landing clean against your left cheek with a cruel crack that made your whole body jump. This time, a soft whimper caught in your throat, the sensation sharper, deeper. But an involuntary shiver rippled through your body as pain began to mingle with an unexpected, tantalising pleasure.

“Two. Thank you, Daddy,” you breathed, voice breathy, almost lost beneath the rush of sensations flooding through you.

Three. Four. The belt traced searing lines of fire across your skin, each lash both agony and ecstasy, sending sparks through your muscles and igniting a blaze deep inside you. The heat spread, radiating outward, consuming and thrilling, your senses alive with every crack.

By the fifth strike, tears welled unbidden in your eyes. The pain was intensifying with every lash over the already tender skin; the pleasure was threatened, pushed to the edge. You were just about to call yellow when Natasha paused, pulling back slightly.

“You’re halfway there, Kotenok (kitten),” she said, her voice thick with pride and heat. “You’re doing so well.”

The brief reprieve and her gentle praise dulled the sting, and suddenly the ache softened. You felt steady again, caught between resistance and surrender, pain and delight, a heady cocktail that left you dizzy, breathless, desperate for more.

After a moment, the final lashes came faster, harder, each one a burning punctuation searing deeper into your flesh and soul. Your breath hitched in ragged gasps, low moans slipping free on the ninth and tenth strikes, before you finally whispered, “Ten, thank you, Daddy,” voice cracking as a shudder rippled through your body. Tears streamed freely now, pain fierce and unrelenting, skin flushed hot and humming with fire.

Behind you, Wanda’s hands were gentle and steady, soothing your trembling back with tender caresses that gradually melted the blaze to warmth. “Good girl, you did so well, baby,” she murmured, voice thick with affection.

You remained bent forward, breath shallow and ragged, every nerve alive and buzzing with a fierce, aching bliss. The pain had broken you open, cracked you wide, and beneath it all burned an exhilarating, desperate hunger.

Natasha lifted you carefully, mindful not to touch your sensitive skin, and eased you face down onto the bed, a soft pillow cushioning your head. Her fingers stroked the side of your face, warm and steady, before she pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You look exquisite, Kotenok (kitten). Your ass is such a beautiful shade of purple and red,” she praised softly.

“That was the first time you’ve taken a belt, wasn’t it, sweetheart?” Wanda’s voice was filled with pride, gentle and amazed.

You hummed softly in response.

Natasha’s chuckle was low and indulgent, her eyes glinting with something between adoration and pride. “You knew you wouldn’t get off with just a normal spanking from me,” she murmured, tracing the outline of the belt’s work. “But you took it beautifully, Printessa (princess). You were perfect.”

You let out a breathy, dreamy little giggle, face half-buried in the pillow. Your body felt loose, heavy, but warm all over, floating somewhere between bliss and exhaustion. “Didn’t break,” you whispered, the words lilting with smugness even as your voice slurred just a little. “Told you, Daddy.”

Natasha smiled, slow and fond, brushing her knuckles along your cheek. “No, you didn’t. Tough little thing, aren’t you?” Before her hand drifted back down to gently stroke the heated swell of your ass. The touch still made you flinch, the burn raw and aching, but it was grounding, anchoring, laced with something that made your stomach flutter again.

Wanda returned with some lotion, her steps soft and measured. “Nat, you take the edge off, I’ve got this,” she said, nodding toward the bed. Natasha climbed up beside you, cradling your head in her lap, one hand carding through your hair while the other cupped your jaw.

“Lotion’s coming, baby,” Wanda murmured as she settled behind you, warming it in her hands. “Ready?”

“Mhm, yeah…” You breathed. Your hips twitched when the first touch landed, cool and tender, Wanda’s fingers expertly massaging the sting away. Your thighs parted instinctively, knees shifting wider for no reason at all, just a gesture of pure submission. Wanda said nothing, just smiled behind you, pleased by the automatic surrender.

Meanwhile, Natasha was stroking her fingers through your hair, whispering soft reassurances about how good you were. It made you smile, you felt held, so safe. “You can be soft,” you murmured, nuzzling into Natasha’s thigh with a sleepy grin. “You try to be scary, but you’re soft, Daddy. So soft.”

Natasha chuckled darkly. “You’ve got quite the mouth for someone still trembling and glowing red, Printessa (princess),” she murmured, her voice silky but edged with warning, clearly not thrilled that you were seeing her as soft after she’d just whipped your ass with a belt. “Maybe you need more, huh?”

You let out a soft, drowsy little laugh. “Nooo,” you groaned dramatically, drawing out the syllable with petulant flair. “I’ll be good now. Promise. My butt’s on fire…”

“Oh, you definitely earned that fire, Little One,” Wanda said, though you could hear the smile in her voice. “I’ve never seen you act out like that,” she added, continuing to smooth the lotion over your skin with slow, practiced care. Each gentle stroke sent a fresh, cooling wave over your burning flesh, only to leave behind a new warmth, softer, deeper, impossible to ignore, and your body gave a faint, involuntary shiver.

You turned your head slightly, cheek pressing against Natasha’s thigh, blinking at her through heavy lashes. “I’m sorry, Mommy,” you murmured, your voice syrupy and slow, thick with the weight of submission. “Didn’t mean to…” You trailed off with a pout, though your tone made it clear the apology wasn’t entirely sincere.

Natasha snorted quietly, amused, and her fingers slid through your hair, combing gently. “Don’t give us that act,” she said with that wicked little twist to her voice. “You absolutely meant to. You were poking the bear on purpose.”

You giggled again, dreamy and far too pleased with yourself, nuzzling into her hand like a kitten drunk on affection. “Okay… yeah, I did,” you admitted, cheek pressed to the sheets. “But I got what I wanted, sooo… clearly I should be a brat more often.”

Wanda let out a soft gasp of mock outrage and landed a light, open-palmed swat to your thigh, her skin still slick with lotion. The sensation made you jump, but not from pain. Your breath caught on a whine, your hips giving the smallest, shameless wiggle.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Wanda teased, palm pausing to stroke along the back of your thigh in lazy arcs. “You be our good girl, or you’ll be wearing welts like these every day of the week.”

“Mmm…” You squirmed again, an indulgent little sound escaping you, high and heady. “Maybe I liked it,” you whispered with a hazy smile, too dazed and floaty to even try masking the way your voice trembled at her touch. “Felt…good.”

Natasha leaned down slowly, her body brushing yours just enough to feel the weight of her attention, and you stilled completely, lips parting as her breath ghosted against your ear. “You’re lucky you’re adorable when you’re like this,” she murmured, voice a velvet growl. “Otherwise, I’d start again.”

The words slid down your spine like warm honey, thick and sinful, and before you could stop it, your toes curled tight and a soft, breathless moan escaped your lips, small and accidental, but full of exposed, aching need.

Wanda chuckled behind you, one hand still resting low across your backside, her thumb now stroking gently just under the curve. “Thought you said you didn’t want more, Little One,” she teased lightly, though her voice was already laced with something warmer, deeper.

“I don’t…” You mumbled, your face flushed, trying not to squirm beneath both their eyes. “No more hits anyway…”

Natasha tilted her head, her fingers slipping down to trace over your jaw with a feather-light touch. “Is there something you do want?”

You nodded, once, shy and breathless.

“Words,” Natasha said, her tone still wrapped in that low, velvety timbre, but sharpened with command. “Tell us what’s happening in that pretty little head of yours.”

You swallowed hard, struggling to gather your scattered thoughts as Natasha’s voice curled around you, turning everything inside into a slow, smouldering fire, and Wanda’s fingers traced their deliberate, torturous path across your skin, the soft pads gliding slowly over the raised, welted ridges. 

“Mommy’s hands…” You breathed, barely able to get the words out, your voice catching and cracking as your thighs trembled, your hips shifting restlessly beneath the weight of their attention, “they’re making me… everything’s so sensitive, feels good, Daddy… I wanna be touched…wanna cum…”

The last word left you on a broken whimper, fragile and pleading, not even a full breath of sound, but it was enough. 

“Who do you want, Little One?” Natasha asked, her voice was still on the gentle side, and you could feel her thumb brushing deliberately against your temple, grounding you, holding you, even as the rest of her loomed like a storm waiting to strike. “Me? Wanda? Or both of us?” she asked, and you could hear the smirk in her voice, the way she already knew the answer.

Your lashes fluttered, and your face burned, and you couldn’t stop the grin that pulled at your lips even through the haze, cheeky and unrepentant. “Both,” you mumbled, your voice thick with need, your whole body thrumming with it. “Wanna feel both of you…”

Behind you, Wanda chuckled, the sound low and indulgent as she let her nail trail with sudden, shocking pressure along one of the rawer welts across your ass. “Greedy little thing,” she purred. “Didn’t we just finish punishing you?”

“Mhmm,” Natasha murmured, her voice dark with amusement, and her grin only widened as she let your head slip from her lap and lowered it gently onto the pillow. “And now she’s begging for her reward like the little brat she clearly is.” She rose smoothly, her body uncoiling behind you with slow, predatory grace.

Wanda climbed fully onto the bed, her body close, her thigh pressing warmly against yours as she knelt beside you, a steady presence at your side. 

Natasha moved behind you, lowering herself until she could pry your legs open further. Her breath hitched as her gaze fell between them, and any lingering restraint she had vanished in an instant. 

You were drenched, unmistakably aroused despite the punishment, and the sight of it lit something deep and primal in her. “Look at you,” she said, her voice cold and amused, “So wet from being hurt.”

Her fingers finally made contact, just the barest drag of her fingers between your slick folds, slow and cruelly restrained. Your breath hitched hard, your body pushing backwards into her before her hand slammed down against your thigh with a sharp, stinging crack that echoed through the room and left your skin burning.

“Beg,” she ordered, and you whimpered, already on the edge of falling apart.

“Please…” you whispered, barely more than a breath.

Another slap came down, sharper this time. “Louder,” she demanded, her voice firm and unwavering.

“Please, Daddy,” you gasped, your voice hoarse and broken, tears stinging your eyes already. I want your fingers, need you so bad, please—”

“Better,” Natasha growled, and then she gave you exactly what you’d asked for, two fingers plunging into you with no warning, a raw yelp tearing from your throat as she pushed into you. Wanda’s nails raked down your spine again in long, devastating lines that made your whole body twist and writhe, pleasure and pain tangling so tightly you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

“Brats don’t get soft,” Natasha snarled, her breath hot against your skin. There was no gentleness, just her fingers working you over, every thrust designed to split you open. “Brats get used.”

“And you love it, don’t you?” Wanda whispered against your ear, her lips brushing the shell of it as she slipped a hand beneath you, and to your chest, cupping your breast and teasing your nipple with her thumb.

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Natasha’s fingers were hitting deep inside of you and the mattress below you was just slightly stimulating your clit with each thrust, every nerve in your body was screaming, burning, begging for release already.

Clearly, Natasha could tell, too. “Hold still,” she barked, voice sharp and unforgiving. “Don’t move a fucking inch until I say. And don’t even think about cumming.”

Wanda’s hand was soft against your chest, a twisted counterpoint to the violence behind you, her touch gentle and slow, grounding you as your whole body trembled violently beneath them both.

You tried to obey her, to stay still, to keep your hips steady even as your body screamed with the effort, but you were falling apart, unravelling beneath their hands, beneath her voice, beneath the hot, wet drag of your own tears against your cheek where your face pressed into the sheets. 

The moans slipped out, soft and broken, catching in your throat like sobs, and your fingers clawed uselessly at the bedding, trying to anchor yourself to something while Natasha kept fucking you with those unrelenting, merciless strokes that hit so perfectly deep you could hardly remember what breathing felt like.

“Daddy,” you gasped, voice hoarse and shaking, “Please, Daddy. Fuck! Please—” You weren't exactly sure what you wanted, you think it was for her to never stop, to live inside you, but you couldn't be sure, considering your body was begging for release at the same time. 

Her grip on your hip only tightened, holding you exactly where she wanted you, making sure you couldn’t squirm away, couldn’t fuck yourself down harder to chase what she was refusing to give, and her other hand kept moving, curling inside you just right.

Wanda’s hand moved to your jaw, cradling it gently, her thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped free, her voice achingly soft by contrast, a warm thread through the storm. “You’re doing so well,” she whispered, her lips brushing your temple, “Let her hear it. Show her how much you need her.”

Your mouth opened again, but the words caught on a sob this time, raw and full of surrender, your chest heaving beneath the weight of everything you felt, need, shame, longing, adoration, so thick and tangled inside you it made your throat ache to speak.

Wanda watched carefully, ensuring you were both safe in this intense moment. Her fingers tightened around your jaw, holding your head still as she kissed your temple, again and again, whispering encouragement against your skin in a voice like balm, gentle, grounding, loving, everything Natasha was not in that moment, and it made the contrast all the more unbearable.

“That’s it,” Wanda murmured, her lips brushing your ear as Natasha’s rhythm grew more punishing. She knew you physically couldn't last much longer, after all, she had more experience with your body than Natasha did. So she gave you the permission you needed. “Come on, baby. Let go.”

And you did. You released around Natasha’s fingers with a raw, keening cry that spilled from your throat, your body convulsing with the force of it, the orgasm tearing through you like a wave too big to fight. 

Your whole body trembled under the weight of it, hips jerking, legs shaking, tears spilling freely now as Natasha held you steady and fucked you through it, relentless until your sobs turned into whimpers, until your cries dissolved into breathless, broken moans.

Even then, she didn’t stop.

You cried out, high and sharp, your thighs trying to close instinctively, but she forced them open with her legs, her breath hissing between her teeth as she leaned into you like a predator cornering its prey.

“Oh no,” she murmured, almost laughing, her voice husky and low, thick with dark delight. “You don’t get to run from it now. You begged for this, remember?”

And then Natasha leaned forward, her body pressing flush against your back, and the pace of her fingers changed again, faster, harder, brutal in their precision as they fucked into you with relentless, single-minded force, every thrust driving the air from your lungs and making your eyes roll back. “So now you’re gonna take it, shlyukha (slut). You’re gonna take everything I give you until I say you’ve had enough.”

You sobbed, unable to help it, your voice catching in your throat as your whole body jerked with the sensitivity. It burned, every nerve raw and open, as her fingers were working that throbbing spot deep inside you, dragging more pleasure out of you than your body could handle, pushing you toward a second high before the first had even finished crashing over you.

“I c…can’t,” you gasped, words broken by ragged breath, your hands scrabbling uselessly against the sheets as the pressure built again with terrifying speed. “It’s too much, Daddy! Please…please I can’t—”

“You can,” she snarled, cutting you off with a vicious curl of her fingers that made you scream into the mattress, your legs kicking uselessly as she pinned you down. “You will. If I want more, you will take more. Don’t care if you’re crying. Don’t care if you’re shaking. You either safe word, or you take it like the whore you begged to be.”

Her voice was steel, but Wanda’s hands remained soft where they cupped your face, her fingers stroking your cheeks, catching your tears as they kept falling, her thumbs brushing them away with unbearable gentleness. She kissed your brow, your temple, the tip of your nose, her voice a slow, steady rhythm of quiet reassurance in your ear.

“You’re okay,” Wanda murmured, again and again, her lips barely moving against your skin. “You’re safe. You can do this, darling.”

You were trembling violently now, sobbing openly, but you didn’t ask her to stop. You didn’t want her to stop. Not really. Somewhere deep beneath the overwhelm, beneath the overstimulation and the ache spreading through your thighs and belly and chest, was the desperate part of you that needed to be taken apart, to be used and ruined until there was nothing left.

Natasha added another finger, her fingers soaking wet as they filled you again and again, her palm slapping wetly against you with every thrust. 

“Pathetic,” she growled, mouth against your ear, teeth scraping your skin. “Fucking sobbing. Crying like you hate it, but you’re clenching around me like you’d die if I stopped.”

And she was right, you were so close again it hurt, so full of her, so overstimulated and desperate that every thrust felt like fire, like drowning, like you couldn’t tell where the pain ended and the pleasure began anymore. 

You screamed her title, a ragged, half-broken wail into the mattress, but Wanda’s voice answered yours like a balm. “That’s it, sweet girl,” she whispered. “Let it break you. Let her take you all the way down.”

Natasha’s fingers continued moving, curling and thrusting deep inside you, each movement sharper, harder, more demanding than the last, her grip on your hip like iron as she drove you closer to that edge where everything blurred and shattered at once. 

Your breath hitched, short and desperate, your body trembling so violently that your fists clenched the sheets until your nails bit into the fabric, white-knuckled and raw. “Please… please, Daddy…” you gasped, voice fading at the edges, “Please!”

Wanda kissed the crown of your head, her hands drifting over your back, tracing slow, tantalising paths along the scratches she’d left behind earlier.

“Hmm,” Natasha murmured, voice thick with amused cruelty. “You think you deserve a second, brat? After what you did today?”

You tried to steady yourself, to keep control, but your hips jerked involuntarily against her hand. Your voice was strained, trembling with a shameful desperation. “Please…”

Natasha’s voice was low, husky, with that unmistakable edge of command laced in every syllable. “Not good enough,” she said, her tone rough, dark with expectation. “Beg like you mean it. Like you’re begging for your life.”

You swallowed hard, cheeks burning with humiliation and want, eyes closing as the heat swirling through you turned into a frantic ache. Your voice broke, ragged and raw, spilling out all the trembling need you’d been holding inside. “Please, Daddy… Please let me come. I’ll be your good girl. I’ll do whatever you want. Please, I need you. Please…”

Natasha just chuckled, clearly not quite ready to relent just yet. Your body continued to tremble violently, every muscle pulled so tight it felt like you might shatter from the strain, every inch of you writhing under the pressure that had been building, aching, begging for release for what felt like hours. 

Your voice broke free again, hoarse and raw, a sob ripped straight from your chest, laced with helpless surrender. “I’m gonna…I can’t, Daddy, I can’t hold it, I’m sorry, I can’t, please—”

It had stopped being a plea altogether. It was more like a confession, you were going to cum whether you were given permission or not; you just desperately hoped that permission would arrive before you lost control.

The air went still, like the world itself was holding its breath. Then she leaned in again, breath hot and steady against your ear, her voice low and terrifyingly gentle. “Okay. Cum for me, good girl.”

The words struck like lightning. It was immediate, devastating; the second her permission registered in your mind, your body detonated. You shattered with a scream that tore straight through your throat, every muscle seizing in violent spasms as the orgasm ripped through you, too intense, too much, more than you’d ever felt or imagined. You couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe. Your vision went white, then grey, then black around the edges as the release overwhelmed you completely.

Your eyes rolled back, your mouth open in a silent cry, and for a terrifying, beautiful moment, you felt yourself slipping under, deep and dark, the world narrowing to a pinprick of light before it vanished altogether.

Your limbs were limp and twitching in the aftermath, your face buried in the sheets as tremors rocked you. You were barely conscious, breath stuttering in shallow, uneven gasps. Your skin was flushed and fever-hot, soaked in sweat and tears, but your mind had gone blissfully quiet.

Natasha didn’t speak for a long moment; she just stayed with you, her fingers gentle now, drawing back from your trembling body with care, her presence still heavy and grounding. When her voice came, it was thick with pride, yet soft enough to make your chest ache.

“That’s it, krasivaya devushka (pretty girl),” she murmured, brushing damp hair from your face with slow, reverent fingers. “You did so fucking well.”

You couldn’t respond. You barely had the strength to breathe, let alone form words. Your body twitched again, the aftershocks still pulsing in deep, involuntary waves, and even those were almost too much. You whimpered softly, tears streaking anew from the corners of your eyes, not from pain, but from relief. From the sheer vulnerability of what had just passed between you.

Wanda’s hand found yours, her touch warm and steady, and you clung to it without even realising, your fingers weakly curling into hers as she whispered something soft in a language you didn’t understand, her lips brushing the crown of your head. 

The room around you was silent, save for your ragged breaths. The tension had faded. The storm had passed. Natasha moved first, slow and deliberate, every gesture measured as if the wrong angle might break you. She eased her hands beneath your slack body and gently coaxed you upright, murmuring soft nothings as she guided you with infinite patience into her lap. 

She avoided the welts with careful skill, her fingers splaying wide to support your back as she shifted you until you were curled against her, your thighs folded over hers, your cheek resting against the firm plane of her chest. 

Wanda was already there beside you, moving in tandem with Natasha, like this was something they’d done a hundred times before. Her hand brushed gently along your jaw, the backs of her fingers featherlight against your cheekbone, and her voice was barely more than a breath. “Little One… you’re so quiet,” she whispered. “Can you look at me, hm? Just a little?”

You didn’t. You couldn’t. Your eyes stayed half-lidded, unfocused, your mouth parted slightly as if words might try to come, but nothing did. You were weightless, full of warmth and pressure, and not a single coherent thought. You didn’t even know whose hands were where anymore, only that you were held, and the world outside their bodies didn’t matter.

Natasha shifted behind you, her arms curling around your middle, and she leaned in close, her voice low, coaxing. “You with me?” she murmured against your temple, her breath warm and even. “Need you to give me something, yeah? Nod. Blink. Anything.”

Silence. You blinked once, but it was slow, lazy, so drawn-out it almost didn’t count. Your body was limp in her arms, small twitches still ghosting down your thighs, but there was no tension, no fear. Just exhaustion. Deep, beautiful, bone-heavy exhaustion, the kind that only came when you’d given everything and there was nothing left but this.

Wanda’s hand paused, just briefly, her eyes flicking up to meet Natasha’s. Her tone stayed soft, but there was the barest note of surprise in it, and something warmer beneath that, something almost admiring. “I’ve never seen her this far gone before,” she said gently, brushing your damp hair back from your face with careful fingers. “Not like this.”

That made Natasha pause. You felt it in her breath, the faint hitch against your neck, the subtle stiffening of her muscles where they cradled your back. Her grip didn’t tighten, but her stillness said enough, that flicker of something sharp and anxious just beneath her skin.

“She’s too quiet,” Natasha murmured, and for the first time her voice held a sliver of unease, something she couldn’t quite mask. “She usually… I mean, even when she’s out of it with you, she—”

Wanda cut her off with a look, her voice calm and even, as grounding as the touch she kept smoothing along your jaw. “You know she’s okay,” she said, not a question, but a gentle reminder. “Look at her. She’s breathing slow, she’s not flinching, her body’s soft. She’s not gone. Just… deep.”

Still, Natasha looked down at you, searching for something, anything behind your eyes. “She didn’t even flinch when I moved her. Not even a wince.”

“She trusts you,” Wanda said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s not a problem. That’s a gift.”

Natasha let out a slow, quiet breath, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, holding you more tightly now, tucking your face into the crook of her neck as if the closeness might coax you back into the light a little faster. “She gave me everything,” she murmured, almost to herself. “I didn’t mean to take too much.”

“You didn’t,” Wanda said gently, but with absolute certainty, her voice calm and grounding. “She’s fine, Nat. I promise. You’ve seen me drop just as deep, you know this space, don’t start second-guessing yourself now. I was watching the whole time, making sure you both stayed tethered. No one went too far. It’s alright. Just breathe and be with her, yeah?”

Natasha exhaled slowly, the tension in her shoulders softening just a fraction, but not all the way. Her arms tightened around you instinctively, protective and quiet, holding you as if her steadiness alone could pull you back to shore. And then your fingers curled in the fabric of her shirt. A barely-there twitch, not even deliberate, but enough. Natasha’s breath caught, and something melted in her expression as she leaned down, pressing a kiss into your hair like a prayer.

“That’s our girl,” she murmured, voice low and rough, barely more than a breath, but full of fierce, aching relief.

You didn’t answer. But your cheek nudged against her collarbone, just a little, a lazy, dazed nuzzle, and Natasha exhaled fully, like she could finally breathe again. 

Wanda leaned forward, tucking herself in against your other side, her hand now holding one of yours, thumb brushing rhythmically along your knuckles. “Let’s let her drift a bit longer,” she whispered. “She’ll come back when she’s ready.”

And so they stayed like that, holding you between them. You didn’t know how much time had passed. It could’ve been minutes, could’ve been an hour, the soft thrum of Wanda’s thumb on your knuckles and the slow rise and fall of Natasha’s chest beneath your cheek made everything blur, timeless and quiet, like the world had narrowed to the exact point where their bodies cradled yours. 

Then, at last, something shifted. It started in your chest, a quiet ache of emotion that bloomed outward like warmth returning to numb skin. You blinked slowly, the world still soft and blurry at the edges. You made a small noise, mostly a whimper, and Natasha’s arms instinctively tightened around you, the motion firm but soothing.

“Hey,” she whispered, and the relief in her voice wasn’t masked. It wasn’t even tried. “There she is. That’s it, Detka (babe)”

You tried to speak, but your throat was too dry. You swallowed hard and tried again, your voice barely more than a rasp, a breath caught on the edge of tears. “I’m sorry…”

Natasha shushed you immediately, her hand smoothing down the back of your head, her other arm tightening at your waist, still careful not to touch the angry red welts across your backside. “You don’t need to talk yet,” she murmured. “You just rest. You’re safe, I promise.”

Wanda leaned in, brushing a kiss just above your brow, her hand never letting go of yours. Her voice was warm and low, like the first glow of a fire in a quiet room. “You came back really slowly, darling. Gave us both a scare, hm?” There was no edge to it, no reprimand. Only concern, soft and absolute. “I’ve never seen you drift that far before.”

A tiny breath escaped your lips, almost a laugh, though too fragile to shape itself. “Didn’t mean to,” you murmured, your voice brittle and fading.

“It’s okay if you’re a bit out of it,” Natasha said quietly, her lips brushing the crown of your head. “Daddy and Mommy have you, baby. You’re so good for us.”

You whimpered, barely a sound, your breath catching in your throat as the weight of it all pressed down. You’d been bad before, you remembered just how far you’d pushed. The guilt still pulsed inside you, raw and unsteady. You wanted to apologise, to fall to your knees and beg for forgiveness, but somehow… they were already offering it.

Being told you were still good, hit you like a balm, cool and sweet and stinging all at once. Your lip trembled, your voice breaking the silence in a small, uncertain whisper. “Still… Little One?” 

Even to your own ears, the question sounded fragile, wavering with that desperate need for reassurance that only they could offer. It wasn’t the first time you had asked that question, and it surely wouldn’t be the last.

Natasha’s breath caught faintly, and then she kissed your temple with aching gentleness. “Our Little One. Forever.”

Wanda’s voice joined hers, soothing and rich as she stroked her fingers through your hair. “You’re stuck with us now, malyshka. No escaping.”

You nodded faintly, eyes sliding shut again. The fog still clung to you; you hadn’t fully come back yet, but it didn’t feel frightening now. You were floating just beneath the surface, not lost, just… surrendered. And their voices tethered you. Their hands held you. You didn’t have to move. Didn’t have to think. Didn’t have to earn this.

A small silence followed, warm and deep, filled only by the sound of your breathing and the weight of being kept. Then Wanda stirred with a soft kiss to your shoulder. “I’m just going to get something for her,” she murmured gently. “Some water, maybe a snack.”

Natasha gave a small nod, her cheek still pressed to your hair, as if she couldn’t bear to lift her head. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice raw with gratitude. “Thank you.”

Wanda rose slowly, her fingers brushing over yours one last time before she left, a silent promise not to be long. Then the room was quiet again, just you and Natasha in the hush, her touch steady, grounding as she pulled a blanket over you.

When Wanda returned, it was quiet and swift, a bottle of water in one hand, a small biscuit wrapped in a napkin in the other. She knelt beside the bed, watching your face like she was reading something in the way your lashes fluttered.

Natasha adjusted you gently, raising you just enough to coax. “Alright, Detka (babe),” she whispered into your temple. “Time to try. Just a little something, and then you can rest again.”

You blinked slowly, the world still foggy and distant. But you let her guide you, let her bring the straw to your lips. Your lips parted slowly around the straw, the cool water slipping in like a balm against your dry throat. 

You sipped tentatively, eyes fluttering as the water trickled down. Natasha’s fingers never left you, her thumb brushing along your cheekbone with a softness that made your heart ache and your eyelids flutter heavier.

“That’s it,” Natasha murmured, her voice thick with pride and relief. “Such a good girl, taking care of yourself. I’m so proud of you.” Her words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, steady and unshakable, grounding you further into this moment. “You’re doing so well. You don’t have to rush.”

From beside you, Wanda’s hand slipped to your face, fingers tracing gentle circles over your cheek, cradling your jaw like you were the most precious thing she’d ever held. “Look at you, malyshka (Little One),” she breathed softly, voice low and filled with awe. “Such a perfect girl.”

You blinked again, the fuzziness lingering but softening, your chest rising and falling a little more evenly with each soothing stroke of Wanda’s hand. The biscuit was pressed lightly into your palm, warm from her touch, and with gentle encouragement, your fingers curled weakly around it.

“Try a little bite,” Wanda coaxed, her smile tender and patient. “Just a small one.”

Your jaw worked slowly, the crumbly biscuit breaking apart in your mouth, sweetness blooming faintly against your tongue. Natasha’s voice was a steady hum in your ear, praise threading through every word. “That’s it, just like that.”

You swallowed, the taste grounding you more than you expected. Your eyes drifted closed again briefly, your body sinking deeper into Natasha’s embrace, Wanda’s hand never leaving your face, their presence a constant soft anchor in the swirling haze.

Wanda offered the water again, and you took it without hesitation, the coolness soothing the ache in your throat and the exhaustion in your limbs.

“You’re doing so well,” Natasha whispered, voice soft and full of wonder. 

It took a little while to come back down, the world around you slow to settle. But once your limbs stopped trembling and your head stopped spinning, you turned into Natasha’s arms and curled there without hesitation, your voice quiet but full of truth as you murmured, “Thank you.”

She smiled, her fingers trailing lazy patterns across your back. “For what? The belt, or the orgasms that nearly killed you?”

You gave a tired, breathy laugh, hiding your face in her neck. “For listening. For wanting me.” You paused, then added with a grin. “And… maybe a little bit for the orgasms.”

Wanda chuckled behind you, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. Natasha huffed a laugh of her own, sounding more relaxed than she had all night. “Not too much?” she asked, a teasing lilt in her tone, though the question beneath was genuine.

You shook your head, smiling. “It was a lot,” you admitted softly, “but not too much. Just… I think I might need soft, sometimes, though?”

Natasha tilted her head, pretending to think. “Hmm… soft. I’ll need a manual for that one.”

You grinned. “You’ve got Wanda. She’s an expert.”

Wanda kissed your cheek and hummed, “Lucky for her, I take apprentices.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, but she was smiling too, warm and open in a way that made your chest flutter. “Well then,” she murmured, “I guess I’m all in.”

And that, more than anything, made you melt, safe and certain in the arms you’d craved for so long.

Eventually, Natasha and Wanda gently helped you up, guiding you carefully to the bathroom where they cleaned you with tender patience, every touch considerate of the welts on your skin. 

Once you were freshened, they dressed you in a soft, oversized T-shirt that hung loosely, deliberately leaving you without underwear or trousers to avoid anything rubbing or irritating your tender backside. They took extra time to apply more soothing lotion, their fingers slow and careful, lingering on every sensitive spot with quiet affection.

Afterwards, one by one, they each prepared for bed, never once leaving you alone, both silently ensuring you felt safe and held. Before long, the three of you were curled together, you nestled snugly in the middle, wrapped in a warm, protective cocoon of love and care. Your eyes drifted closed, sinking into a peaceful sleep, tired, a little sore, but deeply content and completely fulfilled.

—

Next part

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