#Slack filter

[ameliakeli]

Filter Slack DMs and Group Messages When Migrating to Teams

[wisteriagoesvroom]

oh my god this is the guy from your developer team who codes like a million miles a minute, drinks cold brew green tea out of a stanley cup, and clocks out by 5.35pm daily to go feed his cats (there are two cats and he doesn’t really know how he got the second one. the cat redistribution system just got him somehow)

[antikristvs]

It's the third time or so I've caught Phantom sitting on my Ouija board. I guess his name suits him.

[fireolin]

Ankle bones stayed in place last night and today I'm only limping a little. Feeling much happier as a result. The rest is just waiting for the normal healing process (including for my arm) and not doing anything dumb

[wispurring-moss]

wild that i can just. literally draw Anything actually lmao

[therabbitthatpostthings]

When I say “Censorship is the death of free-speech.” I mean it in a:

‘People being too scared to talk about sensitive issues because our Algorithmic Overlords need to pander to the kid-market for money and parents who won’t monitor their kids’ kind of way.

Not a: ‘Calling people slurs’ kind of way.

[itstimetodrew]

I'll ask my manager a single yes or no question and get a 3-5 minute response. Like I just have to sit there and nod and then when I give a 'okay, cool, thanks' she complains I don't talk much. Like...yeah? You talk TOO much, leave me alone lol

[ameliakeli]

Filter Matched Users for Slack User Migration To Google Chat

[yurizq]

ෆ You didn’t mean to interrupt.

Well… okay. You absolutely meant to.

Yuji had been glued to his game for over an hour now. Leaned forward in his chair, headset on, eyes focused, all soft grunts and furrowed brows as he called out directions to his friends over the mic.

"Gojo, you’re gonna aggro the boss again—bro, wait—"

You watched him from the bed, legs crossed, wearing the shortest pair of sleep shorts you owned. He hadn’t even glanced at you. Not when you shifted. Not when you stretched and fake-yawned. Not even when you sighed loud enough to echo across the room.

So you got up.

And dropped between his legs.

Yuji blinked once, lowering his eyes just enough to see you crawling onto the floor. He tried to smile, looking adorably confused. “Huh? Babe, what are you doing—?”

You didn’t answer. Just pulled his sweats down and tugged his cock out, already half-hard from just the sound of your voice earlier.

“W-Wait, baby, my mic—” he whispered harshly, grabbing for your wrist. “It’s—it’s on—”

You ignored him. Smiled real sweet. Kissed the tip.

“Bro, is someone talking in your room?” Megumi’s voice filtered through his headset.

“Uh—no! No, I’m good! Just—uh—TV’s on—fuck—”

You’d wrapped your lips around him slowly, head bobbing just enough to let the slick sounds start. Yuji’s thighs jerked, breath caught sharp in his chest.

He gripped the armrests of his chair like they were lifelines.

“Y-You’re seriously doing this now?” he whispered, voice an octave higher. “I’m on with everyone—please—”

You sucked harder. Sloppier. Made sure to moan just a little when you pulled back, letting your hand stroke him while you grinned up at him.

His cheeks flushed bright pink.

“Stop being so dramatic,” you whispered, teasing his tip with your tongue. “You were ignoring me.”

“I wasn’t ignoring—shit—” he bit his lip, hips twitching just slightly. His hands were trembling now. “I-I was just—fuck, that feels good—just playing, babe, c’mon—”

“Oh my god,” Nobara’s voice rang out, annoyed. “Is someone watching porn?”

Yuji flinched.

“N-No!” he said quickly, adjusting his headset with one hand, the other desperately trying not to push your head down. “I-it’s nothing, just lag—”

You hollowed your cheeks and moaned.

He whimpered. A soft, strangled noise like he was trying to swallow it down.

His knuckles went white gripping the seat. “You’re seriously gonna kill me, fuck—don’t do that—don’t—”

“Just mute your mic,” you said sweetly, licking along his shaft.

“I—I can’t, I’m tanking—shit, babe, if you keep—!”

You bobbed your head faster, watching his stomach tense, watching his jaw go slack.

Yuji’s legs started shaking. His mouth opened like he was gonna moan again — but he bit his wrist hard instead, muffling himself.

You pulled back right as he twitched, denying the orgasm that was so close.

“F-Fuck, why’d you stop?” he panted, cock twitching in the cool air, precum leaking down the shaft.

You smiled, smug and slow.

“Next time, maybe you’ll learn not to ignore your girlfriend for a stupid game.”

His hips bucked helplessly, needy and pink-cheeked.

“You’re evil,” he whispered. “You’re actually—please, I-I’ll finish this round in like two minutes, please let me cum after—”

You gave him one more slow lick and crawled back to the bed.

“You better win,” you said innocently, turning over to stretch. “Or I’m going to sleep.”

Behind you, Yuji groaned into his mic, voice barely holding steady.

He finished the match in under ninety seconds.

[stark-illerbase]

Me, logging back into this account to cover yall's dash with ahsoka content after i spent years shit talking it and fearing for the worst when its actually really good

[solxamber]

How about a request where Octa trio and idia (seperate) end up drunkenly confessing they have a crush on the reader during a moment where readers helping em + the aftermath of them realizing when sober and hung over and reacting to the situation? Feel free to delete or ignore! just had thought it could be fun

Drunken Confessions with: Octatrio + Idia

a/n: sorry for the long wait, i hope you like it <3

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul rarely let himself slip, and by slip, you meant this. He staggered, his weight shifting heavily against your side as you supported him on the walk back to Mostro Lounge. His normally polished demeanor was gone, replaced by flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, and a faint, almost imperceptible slur in his words.

“Y-You’re…hic…so nice,” he mumbled, leaning more into you than he probably intended. “Why’re you so nice to me?”

You adjusted your hold, an amused grin tugging at your lips. “Maybe because someone has to make sure you don’t faceplant on the cobblestones, Azul.”

He blinked up at you, a soft, dopey smile crossing his face. “You’re funny. And good looking… so pretty.”

You stopped walking for a moment, looking down at him in surprise. “Are you sure you’re not hallucinating?”

“No, no, no,” he said quickly, waving his hand in what he probably thought was a convincing argument. “I’m serious! I… I think about you all the time. You’re… you’re perfect.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Azul Ashengrotto, perfectionist extraordinaire and self-proclaimed businessman, was rambling about how great you were while leaning heavily on your shoulder. You felt your cheeks heat up, but you brushed it off as the effects of the alcohol loosening his tongue.

“You can thank me when you’re sober, Mr. Compliment Machine,” you teased, continuing your trek toward his dorm.

But Azul wasn’t done. “I mean it!” he insisted, nearly tripping over his own feet. You quickly steadied him, and he looked up at you, his eyes uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I… I like you. Like… like you like you.”

Your steps faltered, and you stared at him for a moment. His expression was so sincere, even through the haze of intoxication, that it made your chest ache.

“…Azul,” you said softly, “let’s get you home first, okay?”

He blinked at you, his brow furrowing in confusion, but he nodded obediently. “Okay… but you have to promise… hic… you won’t disappear. I'll give you free coffee for life.”

“I promise,” you said with a laugh.

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the curtains, and Azul groaned as the dull, pounding headache reminded him of last night’s poor decisions. He buried his face in his pillow, groaning again at the flashbacks of you holding him upright, your warm laughter echoing in his ears.

What did I do? he thought, mortified.

And then it hit him—he’d confessed. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. He sat up too quickly, clutching his head as the dizziness hit him. You must’ve been horrified. Surely, you’d bolted the moment he fell asleep, wanting to avoid the awkwardness.

But then he heard a sound from the kitchen.

Azul froze, his heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. He slid out of bed, carefully padding toward the source of the noise. There you were, standing in the kitchenette, humming softly to yourself as you poured coffee into two mugs.

You turned when you heard him, flashing him a warm smile. “Good morning, sleepyhead. I made coffee—thought you’d need it.”

Azul stared, his jaw slightly slack. “You’re… still here?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Where else would I go? You promised me free coffee for life, remember?”

Azul groaned, running a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean it.”

You laughed, stepping closer and handing him a mug. “I know. But you did mean the other thing, didn’t you?”

He stiffened, clutching the coffee mug like it might save him. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered, his face flushing.

You tilted your head, giving him a knowing smile. “The part where you said you liked me.”

Azul’s grip on the mug tightened, and he swallowed hard. “…Yes,” he admitted softly, not meeting your gaze. “I meant it. But I understand if you—”

Before he could finish, you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. His words died in his throat as he stared at you, wide-eyed.

“I like you too, Azul,” you said with a grin. “I have for a while.”

Azul blinked, his brain struggling to process your words. “…You do?”

“Obviously,” you teased. “Why else would I stick around to help you last night? You’re a handful, you know that?”

Azul’s lips twitched into a small, shy smile, the tension in his shoulders melting away. “…Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“For the coffee? Or for liking you back?” you teased, taking a sip of your drink.

“Both,” he replied, his gaze softening as he looked at you.

And black coffee had never tasted so sweet to him.

Jade Leech

Jade Leech prided himself on his composure, his refinement, and his ability to remain unflappable under any circumstances. That all went out the window after a few too many drinks.

You hadn’t even expected to see him like this—flushed cheeks, a lazy, amused smile, and a rare looseness to his usual precision. He wasn’t stumbling per se, but his steps lacked their usual grace, and every so often, he swayed just enough to make you reach out and steady him.

“I must commend you,” Jade slurred, his voice as smooth as ever despite the alcohol. “You’re quite… considerate. Most wouldn’t bother with something so trivial as escorting me home.”

“Trivial? You can barely walk straight,” you said with a huff, adjusting your hold on his arm to keep him upright. “I’m not leaving you to faceplant in the dirt, Jade.”

His laugh was softer than usual, warmer somehow. “Hmm… you truly are unique.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, yeah. Save the compliments for when you’re sober.”

But Jade had other plans. “You’re always like this,” he murmured, his gaze drifting toward you. “Kind. Thoughtful. Beautiful…”

You froze for a moment, glancing at him. “You’re drunk, Jade. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Oh, I do,” he replied, the faintest pout gracing his lips. “I’ve wanted to say it for so long… but I couldn’t. You’re so… precious to me, I couldn’t bear to—hic—risk it.”

“Risk what?” you asked softly, your chest tightening at the vulnerability in his voice.

“Losing you,” he whispered. His usual confidence was gone, replaced by a raw, unfiltered honesty that left you speechless.

You stared at him for a moment before shaking your head. “Come on, let’s get you home,” you said gently, though your heart was pounding in your chest.

The next morning, Jade woke up with a pounding headache and the faint memory of warm hands rubbing his back as you murmured reassurances. His eyes snapped open as the events of the night before came rushing back.

“…Oh no,” he muttered, burying his face in his hands.

He couldn’t believe he’d actually said it. Confessed his feelings so blatantly, without any of the careful planning or subtlety he prided himself on. And to you, of all people—the one person he couldn’t bear to push away.

Jade steeled himself. He’d handle this like any other delicate situation—with poise and precision. If he acted normal, he could convince you that his confession had been nothing more than the ramblings of a drunk man.

And so, when he saw you later that day, he greeted you with his usual calm smile. “Good morning. I trust you slept well?”

You blinked at him, a bit surprised by his nonchalance. “Uh… yeah. How about you?”

“Quite well, thank you,” he said smoothly, showing no hint of the internal panic roiling beneath the surface.

You studied him for a moment, your brow furrowing slightly. “Do you… remember anything from last night?”

“Only bits and pieces,” he replied with a polite chuckle. “If I said or did anything out of the ordinary, I do hope you’ll forgive me.”

Out of the ordinary? You were starting to wonder if you’d hallucinated his heartfelt confession. Jade was acting so normal, so perfectly composed, that it was almost infuriating.

It wasn’t until later, when you were both in the lounge, that he slipped.

“Of course, I treasure you more than anyone else,” he said offhandedly, then immediately froze as he realized what he’d just admitted.

You stared at him, your heart skipping a beat. “Wait. What did you just say?”

Jade cleared his throat, his face betraying the slightest hint of embarrassment. “Ah… I misspoke.”

“No, you didn’t,” you said firmly, stepping closer. “You meant it, didn’t you? Just like you meant it last night.”

He hesitated, his composure faltering for the first time since that morning. “…Yes,” he admitted softly, avoiding your gaze. “I meant every word.”

A smile broke across your face, and before he could say anything else, you leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Good. Because I like you too, Jade.”

His eyes widened, and for once, he was completely at a loss for words. “You… you do?”

You nodded, your grin widening. “Of course. Why do you think I stayed to take care of you last night?”

Jade’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile, his cheeks faintly tinged with pink. “I see… I suppose I should count myself lucky, then.”

“You definitely should,” you teased, nudging him playfully. “Now, are you going to keep pretending nothing happened, or are you going to take me out on a proper date?”

Jade chuckled softly, the tension melting away as he looked at you with newfound warmth. “I believe I owe you the latter, don’t I?”

And with that, the polished, unflappable Jade Leech was yours to keep.

Floyd Leech was unpredictable on a good day. Drunk Floyd? That was another beast entirely.

He’d somehow managed to drink more than anyone else at the party, slinging his arm over your shoulder with a lopsided grin as he loudly declared you his “favorite Shrimpy.” If it weren’t for your quick reflexes, he probably would’ve knocked over at least three tables by now.

“Floyd, slow down!” you scolded, grabbing his wrist as he lunged toward a decorative vase like it was a basketball hoop. “We’re not here to redecorate.”

“But it’d look so much better broken!” he whined, leaning heavily against you. His sharp teeth flashed in a grin that was somehow equal parts adorable and terrifying. “Don’t ya think, Shrimpy?”

“No, Floyd,” you said firmly, guiding him away from the vase. “Let’s just focus on getting you home in one piece, okay?”

Floyd pouted but allowed you to steer him toward the exit, his lanky frame draped over yours like a human anchor. As you walked, he alternated between humming tunelessly, giggling at nothing, and telling you random, cryptic statements like, “The moon’s gonna eat you if you don’t smile back at it.”

“Sure, Floyd. I’ll keep that in mind,” you said, trying not to laugh.

It wasn’t until you were nearly to Octavinelle that his unhinged ramblings took a sudden, softer turn.

“You know somethin’, Shrimpy?” he said, his voice quieter now, almost wistful.

“What’s that?” you asked, adjusting your grip on him as he started to slump forward.

“I really, really like you,” he slurred, his mismatched eyes blinking up at you with a rare sincerity. “Like… not just as a buddy or whatever. I mean, like… like-like.”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. “Floyd, you’re drunk.”

“So what?” he mumbled, his eyelids drooping. “Still true.”

Before you could respond, he let out a content sigh and promptly passed out, his head lolling against your shoulder.

“Of course,” you muttered, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through your chest. “You couldn’t confess while sober, could you?”

The next morning, Floyd was back to his usual self—or so it seemed. He greeted you with his usual wide grin and a sing-songy, “Mornin’, Shrimpy!”

You half-expected him to pretend last night didn’t happen, but instead, he seemed… more affectionate than usual. He leaned closer when he talked to you, casually draped his arm over your shoulder, and even offered you one of his prized snacks without a second thought.

It wasn’t until later, while you were both lounging in the lounge, that he dropped the bombshell.

“So, what do ya wanna do for our first date?” he asked, twirling a toothpick between his fingers.

You blinked at him. “Our what?”

“Our date,” he said, tilting his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You know, ‘cause we’re dating now.”

“…Floyd, you never asked me to be your partner.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Yeah, I did. Last night. Don’t you remember?”

“You were drunk, Floyd,” you pointed out.

“Still counts,” he said with a shrug, then grinned. “Unless… you don’t wanna date me?”

You stared at him for a moment, then let out a laugh, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Is that a yes?” he asked, leaning in with a teasing smirk.

“It’s a yes,” you said, rolling your eyes but unable to hide your smile.

Floyd’s grin widened, and before you knew it, he was scooping you up into a crushing hug, spinning you around as he laughed. “Knew ya couldn’t resist me, Shrimpy!”

As chaotic as he was, you couldn’t help but think you were in for one wild, wonderful ride.

Idia Shroud didn’t go to parties. Not unless someone twisted his arm—or in this case, dragged him out. His idea of fun was gaming in his room, not standing around awkwardly while extroverts did extrovert things.

And yet, here he was. Drinking something questionable because a certain someone (you) had sweet-talked him into joining.

He didn’t expect to end up three drinks deep, his face red, and leaning on your shoulder as you tried to guide him back to Ignihyde.

“Y-you don’t have to do this,” he muttered, stumbling slightly. “I’m fine. Totally fine. Just… a little dizzy.”

“Uh-huh,” you said dryly, tightening your grip on his arm. “You’re lucky I’m here, or you’d probably have wandered into the forest by now."

Idia chuckled, the sound softer and less nervous than usual. “Maybe. But you’d come get me, right? You always do…”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, brushing off the adoration in his voice to focus on keeping him upright. “Come on, almost there.”

He was quiet for a moment, save for the occasional muttered complaint about his legs feeling like jelly. Then, he said, almost too softly to hear:

“Do you know why I always listen to you?”

You glanced at him, surprised. “Why’s that?”

“‘Cause I… I really like you,” he mumbled, his face somehow growing redder. “Like… more than I like my SSR pulls. And you know that’s saying something.”

You stopped in your tracks, staring at him. “Idia, are you—”

Before you could finish your sentence, he tripped over absolutely nothing, faceplanted into the ground, and immediately started snoring.

“…Of course,” you muttered, rubbing your temples.

The next morning, Idia woke up with a pounding headache and the horrifying realization that he’d said everything out loud.

“No. No, no, no, no,” he groaned, pulling the blanket over his head. “I’ll just… never leave my room again. Yeah. Problem solved.”

His brilliant plan lasted all of five minutes before he heard you outside his door.

“Idia, open up,” you called, your voice firm.

“N-nope! Not happening!”

You sighed loudly. “Okay. Ortho?”

“Yes?” came Ortho’s cheerful reply.

“Break the door down.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Idia scrambled to unlock the door, cracking it open just enough to peek out. “No need to bring in the big guns! I-I’m opening it, see?”

He stepped back, allowing you inside, and immediately tried to hide behind his hair. “If you’re here to say you hate me now, just—just get it over with,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

“Why would I hate you?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“B-because of what I said!” he wailed, his voice cracking. “I—I confessed, and then I passed out like an idiot, and—ugh! It’s like something out of a cringe anime!”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed his hand, cutting him off mid-rant. “Idia, shut up for a second.”

“What—”

You leaned in and kissed him softly, feeling him freeze in place. When you pulled back, you couldn’t help but grin at his wide-eyed, stunned expression.

“I like you too, dummy,” you said. “Who else would I like? If not you, then who?”

Idia’s face turned scarlet, his hair flaring pink at the edges. “Y-you… you really mean that?”

“Obviously,” you teased, ruffling his hair. “Now stop hiding in your room and let’s go get some breakfast. You owe me for last night.”

Idia nodded, still too stunned to form words, but the small, shy smile on his face said everything you needed to know.

Masterlist

[spatialwave]

are you jealous?

➸ ask: “Please could we get ‘i'm not jealous. you're just mine’ for Jayce😭” ➸ pairing: jayce talis x fem!reader ➸ word count: 1.9k ➸ tags: mdni! smut, nsfw, pwp, rough sex, dominant!jayce, jealousy, established relationship, no use of y/n. ➸ notes: hehe, thanks for asking!!

Jealousy was a trait that Jayce buried deep within. One that he wasn’t proud of, and he hated every fibre of his being when his mind was filled with thoughts of it. Especially when it came to you.

You were beautiful, a goddess among men. The poor man couldn't watch you waltzing through Piltover without his arm stretching over your shoulders as a silent declaration of “She’s mine.”

Jayce’s frustration often translated into the bedroom, where he could get rid of pent-up anger and stress. You were happily oblivious to it, indulging in any attention you could collect from the man. He was your boyfriend; his attention was the only one you sought.

Your heels clicked against the hardwood floor, the door shutting and locking behind you as you entered your home, with Jayce lingering after—another day, another fancy charity event, with the Man of Progress at the centre of attention.

“Oh, gods,” you uttered quietly, lifting a foot behind you to help remove the uncomfortably tall heels one by one. “Remind me never to wear these out again.”

Jayce was oddly silent behind you, only the quiet hum of acknowledgement as he shrugged his coat off and hung it neatly on the rack.

“Hello? Jayce?” Your voice was louder this time, having spun on your heels to wave your hand in front of his face, “Had one too many glasses of wine, did you?”

You were met with a look of discontentment, his brows slightly furrowed together. You blinked, head tilting curiously.

“You had fun talking Salo’s ear off all night, did you?” He huffed; the accusation caused your mouth to drop.

“Excuse me?” You questioned, delicate fingers lifting to your necklace as you began taking your jewelry off. You didn’t have the time for petty arguing as you walked toward your bedroom, eager to undress, “I suppose I had a few good chats with him about the future of Piltover. Why are you so upset? I’m making connections, aren’t I?”

“I’m not,” Jayce hurried behind you, footsteps heavy, “I’m just saying that you seemed to like his attention.”

His words were hushed as he spoke, obviously a bit sheepish for saying so. The wine in his stomach had done a great job removing the filter he’d so carefully put up every day.

“I can tell when you’re upset. I’m not an idiot… and quite frankly,” you looked over your shoulder once inside your room, hands behind your back struggling to undo the zipper of your dress, “I don’t appreciate the callous accusation. What’s your point?”

Jayce was quick to help, fingers pulling down the zipper of your dress. His lips met with your skin as your shoulders and back became exposed. Stubble tickling you and leaving you a bit breathless.

It was hard to stay upset with him.

“I’m just saying…” his voice wandered as he pressed kisses along your shoulder, up your neck and into your ear, “You were all over him.”

Your eyes had fallen shut, hands keeping the dress pressed against your chest so it didn’t fall right to the floor. The kisses left you shivering with each movement—realization hitting when he kissed the shell of your ear.

“Jayce,” you whispered, turning your head to look at him. You stared into his eyes, hazel with golden flakes that sparkled under the right lighting. His rough hands were on your hips, possessive

“Are you jealous?” The words fell from your lips along with a smirk, the question lighting your insides aflame.

“Not jealous,” he growled into your ear, hands grabbing your hips and pulling you back so your ass was pressed against the obvious erection growing beneath his slacks, “you’re just mine.”

Oh, gods. That awoke something in you.

“Ah,” you let out a gentle moan, allowing yourself to enjoy the way his hands groped at you eagerly, practically ripping the dress from your body that you no longer cared about keeping neat as it crumpled to the floor, “So, you don’t like it when other guys talk to me?”

Jayce huffed, lips attacking your neck from behind, unafraid to bite into the skin and suck. A silent reaction that spoke volumes.

His hard cock pressed against your ass again, separated by his slacks and the lace panties you wore that wouldn’t be on your body for much longer. You were suddenly pushed forward against the wall next to you, a gasp escaping your throat as his hands reached around your body from his spot behind you and delved right into your underwear.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he whispered, voice heavy and laced with lust. Two fingers rubbed slow circles against your clit, and it took all your energy to keep your knees from buckling beneath you, “Laughing at his terrible jokes… your fucking hand on his arm.”

A mewl escaped your lips, ass pressing back into him with need as his fingers assaulted your clit and shot an overwhelming amount of pleasure through your body. Your hands were pressed against the wall, nails scratching at it.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered.

“You think you can just flirt with anyone you want?” He growled, licking a long stripe up your neck, lips ghosting against your ear and his other hand squeezing painfully tight on your hip, “Tell me.”

“No,” you answered obediently. You had never flirted, or at least intended so, but gods, you’d be damned if this wasn’t turning you on.

His fingers moved easily through your folds, soaking wet as your juices seeped through your underwear. 

“Will you be a good girl for me?” Jayce whispered, lips moving down your shoulder and back as he dropped to his knees behind you. Fingers hooking into your panties and pulling them down your body, slowly over the globes of your ass.

“Yes,” you said softly, eager to please.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he whispered, hands fondling your ass before giving a hard smack. “I said, tell me.”

You winced in pain, “I’m yours, Jayce. Only yours.”

Jayce had never quite felt this way before, a rush of power and dominance taking over. Knowing very well now that this side of him wouldn’t go unseen again.

His eager eyes watched as his hands spread your cheeks apart, exposing your tight hole and pussy that was so wet it dripped down your thighs. A pitiful mess, clenching around nothing.

“That’s right, baby,” he groaned, leaning in and licking from your swollen clit to your entrance. He poked and prodded, earning whimpers of pleasure from you that filled his stomach with heat and made his cock twitch in his pants.

He pulled away from your cunt after a minute of devouring you like a starved man, chin wet and glistening as he pushed a slow, deliberate finger inside your pussy, that squeezed impossibly tight around the digit. Having been waiting for any form of stimulation.

“Fuck—“ you choked, face pressed against the wall and ass out.

He then stretched you with two fingers, your tight heat clenching hard around them. Your hips stuttered, knees shaking, and you had to use the strength of your hands pressed to the wall to keep you upright. The wet sounds of your cunt being fingers with no remorse filled the room, mixing with your quiet moans and Jayce’s soft praises.

“So good,” he whispered, kissing the back of your thigh and under the curve of your ass, “Do you think I should fuck you? Do you deserve it?”

“Yes, please,” you cried, unable to take any more of the teasing as your nails scratched the wall again. His fingers pumping inside you had already made you crawl slowly towards your release, but the absence of stimulation on your clit kept you from falling off, “I deserve it—“

“Prove it,” his voice was heavy, full of lust. He moved slowly to stand behind you, the sound of his belt undoing, making you tighten around the fingers that abused your swollen sex.

You glanced over your shoulder, a pout on your lips as you looked at him with pleading eyes.

“Please, Jayce, I’m all yours,” you begged, cheeks burning a furious red as you fucked yourself back onto his fingers, “Only yours, I promise.”

“Gods,” he breathed, removing his fingers from your cunt and pushing them between your lips, “You’re lucky I love you.”

You sucked around his fingers, the familiar taste of your juices heavy on your tongue. You moaned loudly around them, face pressing against the wall as he pushed his cock inside your greedy cunt with one sharp thrust. His thick girth stretched you, an amount of fullness that always surprised you, even after countless times of being fucked by him.

He snapped his hips against yours at a relentless pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing louder than your mewls.

Jayce lifted a hand into your hair, tugging your head back so he could breathe against your ear, “You take me so well, baby.”

A whine strangled in your throat, a delicious sound that settled a familiar heat in the pit of Jayce’s stomach. He let go of your hair, leaning back so he could focus both hands on your

hips, squeezing so tight that you’d be surprised if your skin didn’t form lingering bruises in its wake.

Your heat enveloped him perfectly, your inner muscles clenching tight around his length with each deep penetration. Enough to rumble a groan from his chest as he focused on fucking you brutally and senselessly, feeding off every cry of pleasure that came from you.

“Cum for me,” his words came heavy from his chest, leaning forward as he greeted your otherwise abandoned clit that was dying for attention with a heavy-handed touch, “Please, baby. I need you to cum.”

Your toes curled against the floor as you felt the tight cord in your abdomen snap, his fingers circling your clit and cock stretching you out, leaving you nothing more than a sex-induced mess. His name rolled off your tongue in repetition, walls tightening hard around his cock as you milked him–desperate for him to fill you.

“Fuck, Jayce–”

“Just like that,” he groaned, eyes watching the way his cock sheathed inside your aching cunt, “fuck, baby, you look so good. You take me so good. So fucking perfect.”

A moan caught in his throat as he leaned forward, teeth and lips pressing against your shoulder. He came hard, hips stuttering and losing his pace as his cock twitched inside you as his climax hit him with unbridled intensity. Jayce’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips, grunting heavy sounds against your skin as he slammed into you with one final thrust.

His cock pumped stream after stream of hot cum inside you, your still spasming walls coaxing out every last drop.

“Ah, fuck–” he sputtered, his body nearly going limp as he let go of your hips, muscled arms instead wrapping around your waist, “... I love you.”

The sweetest giggle bubbled up from your chest, turning your head against the wall to meet his gaze, “That was hot,” you murmured, blinking slowly, “You’re sexy when you’re jealous.”

“Please, no,” Jayce groaned, chuckling dryly as he buried his face against your neck in coy embarrassment, “I hate it.”

“You’re a dork. I love you, too.” You beamed.

[bishovapls]

Our Little One - Oh, Malyshka…

Relationships: Natasha Romanoff & Wanda Maximoff & Reader

Summary: After an intense night with Wanda and Natasha, you wake feeling off, unsteady, hollow, and unsure why. You push through the day, pretending you're fine, until your roommate sees through it. Recognising the signs, she calls your Dommes in the hopes that they'll fix you before you break entirely.

Warnings: 18+, Mommy kink, Daddy kink, age difference, older WandaNat/younger reader, BDSM, Dom/sub dynamics, Sub Drop, Angst, Smut, Thigh grinding/riding, Cunnilingus, Aftercare.

A/N: This one leans a bit more into the angst, though there’s still plenty of fluff and a couple of smuttier moments too. It picks up right after the last fic, so I’d recommend reading that one first for everything to make sense. Hope you enjoy it, even if it is a bit angsty.

Word Count: 14,549

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

You’d drifted to sleep nestled between Natasha and Wanda, their bodies pressed close on either side, wrapping around you. Their arms held you firmly, possessively, but there was safety in their strength; warmth bled into your skin with every slow, steady breath against your neck. Last night had been intense, but in all the right ways. 

For the first time, it felt like Natasha had truly let herself be there with you, not just physically, but emotionally. There had been no hesitation in her touch, no flicker of guardedness behind her eyes. Whatever barriers she’d once held between you had crumbled, and in their place was something raw and real, so achingly genuine it made your chest tighten and your pulse stumble. 

The shrill chime of the alarm cut harshly through the quiet, a jarring, mechanical intrusion that snapped the thread of stillness. You flinched at the sound, a small, startled whimper slipping past your lips before you could swallow it. 

Pale light had only just begun to filter through the curtains, casting a faint silver line across the ceiling, and the noise felt like too much, too soon, like the world had rushed in before you were ready. 

Your head was heavy, wrapped in a thick, cottony haze that clung stubbornly to your thoughts. Something felt…off. Not obviously wrong, not in any concrete way, but subtly misaligned, like standing on uneven ground without realising it until your balance tipped. 

There was an ache thrumming low in your body, not the sweet, satisfying soreness you’d expected, but something heavier, almost bruised, as if your muscles had soaked up the night and were now weighed down with its remnants. It lingered just beneath the surface, as if your body was holding something it hadn’t quite processed. 

Natasha stirred beside you almost instantly, silencing the alarm with the effortless swipe of her thumb. Her hand found your shoulder a moment later, fingers brushing over your skin.

Her voice came next, low and coaxing.“Come on, Little One,” she murmured, her lips brushing your temple with featherlight affection.

You let out a soft, muffled groan, curling deeper into the bed as you pressed your face against Wanda’s bare shoulder. “Don’t wanna go…” You whispered, the words blurred by sleep and something softer, something vulnerable. Your limbs felt leaden, your body slack with fatigue. 

Natasha chuckled, warm and indulgent, her breath brushing over your ear. “You don’t get to skip college just because you decided to be a brat,” she teased, in that playfully stern tone, the one that usually made your stomach flip. 

The word brat echoed, too loud inside your skull, like it hit the wrong place and reverberated. You whimpered, more a breath than a sound, and curled tighter against Wanda, the protest slipping from your lips without thought. “But my butt hurts…” You mumbled, eyes still shut, hoping that if you stayed still enough, they might let you stay a little longer. 

Natasha laughed again, smugness threaded through her tone. “Good,” she replied lightly. “Then you’ll spend the day remembering exactly what you did wrong.” 

It was meant to be playful. It was meant to tease. But the words caught unexpectedly in your chest, snagging on something tender you hadn’t realised was raw. 

Wanda shifted beside you, still wrapped in sleep, and reached out blindly. Her fingers found your hip and rubbed soft, rhythmic circles into your skin, a touch so gentle it made your throat tighten.

“Baby… you need to go to class,” she murmured, her voice rough with sleep but soft with concern. “Just one more day, and then it’s the weekend. You can come right back here tonight, okay?” She said it like she knew, somehow, that the idea of leaving was hitting harder than it should. 

You clung to her like a lifeline, your voice a hushed plea against her skin. “Please, Wands… please just let me stay…” The words came out too bare, too real, stripped of any playful veneer. 

She shook her head slowly. “No, baby… college is important,” she said gently. Her hand pressed lightly to your side, then, easing you back a little, not forceful, not unkind, but firm. And it landed wrong. You needed closeness, not space. You needed to be held tighter, not nudged away. 

Why doesn’t she want me? The thought broke across your mind sharp and fast, instinctive. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t true. But it stuck. 

Without thinking, you moved, climbing on top of her in a single motion, guided more by instinct than clarity. Your lips found hers with a desperation that surprised even you, a hunger that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with that strange feeling flowing through you. 

Wanda responded instantly, kissing you back with a soft sound that vibrated against your lips. You heard Natasha slipping out of bed and her footsteps as she left the room, but it barely registered, not when Wanda was kissing you like this, warm and open and drowsy. 

You deepened the kiss, searching for something, anything that might anchor you. Your body still felt too sore, too sluggish, your limbs aching in a way that made movement feel effortful. 

But you didn’t care, not when Wanda’s leg shifted beneath you, slotting between yours. Instead, you ground down against her without thinking, chasing friction you hoped might quiet the unsettled feeling buzzing beneath your skin. 

Small, breathy moans escaped from your throat, Wanda groaning softly in return… but it felt off. Just slightly. Just enough to make the moment feel untethered. Still, you kept moving, chasing something you couldn’t define.

Wanda’s arms wrapped around you, slow and easy, her fingertips dragging down your spine before she kissed you again. “Mmm… needy girl,” she whispered against your mouth, affection humming beneath the words. 

You didn’t answer, just pressed closer, burying your face in the hollow of her neck as your hips moved with a growing urgency, not driven by desire, but by a deeper, restless need to feel something real, something that told you she still wanted you.

Her hands settled on your waist, neither urging nor holding back, just steady and warm against your skin. “You’re worked up this morning, aren’t you?” she whispered, nuzzling your cheek with a tenderness that almost made your heart catch. 

You nodded quickly, eyes squeezed shut, unwilling to let her see what might flicker there if you opened them. You weren’t, not really, not like that. But you weren’t about to let it show. You didn’t want questions. You just wanted to melt into her touch, to close the growing distance your mind was creating and twisting into something far larger than it had any right to be.

You kept moving, chasing a release that refused to come. Your body trembled, not from pleasure, but from effort. Each motion made your muscles burn, your thighs twitching from the strain. Your breath hitched again, chest drawing tight around something you didn’t understand, the edge of panic disguised as need. 

As if she sensed it, maybe in the sharp hitch of your breath, or the desperate edge threaded through every movement, Wanda shifted, her hands rising to cradle your face with careful tenderness, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. 

She kissed you again, slower this time, almost searching, and then drew back just enough to truly see you, her eyes scanning your face with quiet intent. Her gaze was soft, but steady. “Sweetheart,” she murmured, the words a whisper wrapped in care, “what’s going on?” 

You shook your head quickly, eyes flicking away. “N…nothing,” you mumbled, the words tripping clumsily off your tongue. “Just… wanted you.” And it was true. You did. You just didn’t know why it felt so desperate, like you needed to crawl beneath her skin just to feel close enough.

She studied you, her brow creased with concern. “You remember the rule, Little One?” she asked gently, the warmth in her voice never fading, even as her tone edged into something firmer. “You tell us when something’s bothering you.” 

“I know,” you said quickly, gaze dropping to the sheets. “I’m fine, though.” Before she could say anything else, you moved, slipping off of her with effort, your body slow to respond. “Just sore, I guess. From last night.” 

You tried to smile, something easy and dismissive, something that might make her believe you. But it felt wrong on your face, like a mask slipping.

Wanda watched you quietly, her eyes unreadable, and you could feel the silence stretch as she weighed whether or not to press. Whether to call your bluff.

You moved towards the door, but it swung open just as you reached for it, revealing Natasha fresh from the shower, a towel casually draped around her neck. Her eyes locked onto you, and the tight set of her jaw made your heart sink instantly.

“I see Wanda finally grew a backbone and told you to stop being a bad girl?” Her voice was sharp this time, no trace of teasing, only something colder. 

You flinched, lowering your gaze as the weight of her words settled heavily over you. Bad girl.  Regret twisted in your chest, you knew you deserved the reprimand, but it didn’t soften the sting.

Natasha’s brow creased deeper at your silence; she clearly expected some sort of response, but Wanda stepped in quietly, her tone steady and calm, not defensive but filled with certainty. “She stopped of her own accord,” she said softly. “She just needed me for a moment, didn’t you, baby?” 

You nodded, voice barely above a whisper, “I’m sorry. I’ll get ready quickly, we won’t be late.” Your words felt flat, strained to sound firm rather than pleading, even though every fibre of your body wanted to beg for mercy. 

Natasha huffed, then nodded briskly. “Good. Off you go.”

You padded into the bathroom, feet pressing against the cold tile that usually felt crisp and clean but now felt oddly stark beneath your soles. Your reflection blinked back at you from the mirror, eyes a little dull, lips pressed into something caught between a pout and a frown. 

Everything you needed was here. Though you usually avoided staying over the night before early lectures, on the days when your timetable allowed a later start, you’d begun staying more often. 

Of course, they’d gone out of their way to make sure you had everything you might need, and it was all top quality. They hadn’t skimped on the shampoo, body wash, or even the huge bottle of your favourite perfume.

As you looked around the bathroom, a soft smile tugged at your lips, as it always did when you were reminded of their care. Your toothbrush and skincare were lined up on your designated shelf; your hairbrush was tucked neatly in the drawer just where your fingers instinctively reached for it. The special fluffy towels, reserved only for you, were folded and waiting patiently.

After a quick freshen up, you made your way back to the bedroom to find clothes. The wardrobe in the corner was no longer just theirs; Wanda had slowly filled it with pieces just for you, clothes she’d washed, ironed, and hung with such careful attention that it made your chest ache.

It wasn’t just the space she’d carved out for you; it was the thought woven into every detail. The way your jumpers were folded exactly how you liked, the careful colour order she’d followed without ever needing to ask, the quiet understanding of your routine threaded through every inch of this small, shared world. 

You loved it. You felt wanted, cherished even, as though you were truly part of their home, even if you didn’t live there. But beneath it all, that strange, unnameable ache crept back in, stubborn and elusive. 

Your hand reached for the dark blue jumper, oversized, worn-in, familiar. You tugged it over your head and pulled the sleeves down past your wrists, hiding your hands in the fabric as if the softness might muffle the strange discomfort curling quietly inside you.

The leggings in the drawer were folded just the way you liked, another quiet gesture of care that under normal circumstances might have comforted you. But instead, the ache in your chest only tightened, as if something restless was clawing its way up from beneath your ribs. 

You couldn’t make sense of it. There was no obvious trigger, no sharp spike of anger or deep well of sadness to explain the heaviness pressing against your skin. It was as if your very shape had shifted overnight, leaving you feeling oddly out of place in your own body.

You told yourself over and over again, I’m just tired. Last night was a lot. I’m fine. But the more you tried to steady yourself, the more it slipped through your fingers. That raw, splintering weight in your chest refused to be soothed; it dug in deeper, persistent and unyielding, though you couldn’t name it or understand what it was. It clung to you with a quiet ache, an unseen weight you carried alone.

Still, you forced yourself to keep moving. Once you were ready, Natasha drove you to college, well, as close as she could without attracting too much attention. Her goodbye was quick but familiar, a soft kiss pressed to your cheek, her lips brushing your skin as she murmured with a teasing wink, “You better behave today.” 

You nodded, offering a quiet promise to see her later before slipping out of the car into the cool morning air. You walked quickly, hugging your coat a little tighter around yourself, relieved to have a few minutes alone. 

When you reached your dorm, the silence inside was a small mercy. Kate was nowhere to be seen, and you were grateful; you didn’t have the energy to explain anything, not even the good parts of last night. You just needed your bag, your routine, something simple and familiar to hold onto.

—

The morning sunlight spilled through the lecture hall windows in gentle streaks, golden and indifferent, casting lazy shadows that slid across the scuffed floor as time ambled forward. Somewhere to your left, the professor’s voice began its rhythm, rising and dipping in slow, meaningless waves. 

You reached for your pen to take notes, but your fingers fumbled with it, clumsy and slow, like your hands had forgotten how to follow through. Your movements felt dulled, as if someone had turned down the sharpness of your reflexes, muffling everything. 

The words on the page blurred slightly when you blinked, your lashes heavy, reluctant to lift again. I'm just tired, you told yourself again. You probably needed some caffeine, or maybe just time, time to settle, to find the rhythm of the day.

As time passed, the room began to sharpen around the edges, not in focus, but in pressure. Your jumper felt too heavy, the collar stiff against your neck, the sleeves too close against your skin. Heat prickled at the base of your spine, rose into your cheeks without cause or warning. 

You shifted, searching for ease, but none came. The scrape of chairs, the rustle of papers, the low whine of the fluorescent lights overhead, all of it crowded in, a thousand small things that stacked and scraped and pressed until the noise became sensation. 

You tried not to flinch when someone near you coughed. Tried not to curl further in on yourself when a chair dragged across the floor too fast.

The unease sank further into you, curling tight and unfamiliar, a pressure blooming in your chest, not quite panic, but brushing dangerously close. At some point, the air had turned thinner, harder to pull in, and your body had gone stiff without you realising, like it was bracing for something. 

Everything felt off-kilter; your skin didn’t feel like yours, your clothes hung wrong, and the world itself seemed just slightly out of alignment.

You didn't move when the lecture ended. The room emptied around you, footsteps echoing strangely in your ears, and still you sat there, staring at nothing, wondering why you couldn’t remember what the last hour had been about. 

When your body finally kicked into action, you stood too quickly, and the world wavered, edges pulsing, colours bending into something briefly unnatural. The floor seemed to tilt beneath you, a slow, sickening sway, and you barely managed to catch the edge of the desk, fingers tightening around it to keep from losing your balance. 

Your heart hammered wildly, thudding against your ribs in a rhythm that didn’t feel quite your own. Okay… so maybe not just tired. Maybe it’s a cold, you told yourself, grasping for logic, for something simple. Maybe I'm just getting sick, that would make sense. That would explain this.

Somewhere deep inside, instinct stirred, the quiet, aching urge to call Natasha. Not to follow protocol, not to report an issue like the rules said you should, but for something far softer, far more vulnerable. 

You didn’t want to inform her; you just wanted her. You wanted to hear her voice, to feel the warmth of it steadying you. She was nearby, right here on campus. You could reach her if you really needed to, and god, you did. 

You needed her to comfort you, to tell you everything was alright. You wanted her to call Wanda without you having to say a word, wanted them both to take you home. You wanted soft arms around you, a warm blanket cocooning your body, and Wanda’s quiet humming in your ear while you fell asleep safe in her arms.

But that, more than anything, unsettled you. You weren’t someone who asked for comfort, not when sick. Illness was something you handled silently, something you survived without complaint. That had always been the rule back home: don’t exaggerate, don’t draw attention. Comfort was for people who deserved it, and you never had.

So you buried the thought, forced it into the same corner as all the other things you weren’t supposed to need, and told yourself it was nothing. You adjusted your bag, pulled yourself into something that resembled upright, and stepped outside like the sun wasn’t too sharp, like the air didn’t scrape at your lungs with every inhale.

The walk between buildings felt longer than it should’ve. The path was the same, but your legs dragged as if the ground had turned to wet cement beneath your shoes. You thought the breeze might revive you, shake loose the strange weight pressing down on your spine, but it only made you more aware of how brittle everything had become. 

By the time you reached your next class, you were functioning only by momentum. You dropped into your seat, the motion more collapse than choice, and gave up any pretext of pretending. Your clothes clung wrong, your muscles ached with a fatigue that felt cellular. The background noise of the room blurred into something dull and faraway. It didn’t matter what was being said. You no longer had the room in your head to hold it.

You sat still, anchored only by the pressure of your hands against the desk. The fog in your mind was no longer something creeping; it had taken root, tangled around your thoughts until even the simplest idea felt unreachable. 

You couldn’t remember what it was to feel alert, to feel solid. You just clung to the idea of staying upright, of not giving in to the trembling that had begun to hum quietly under your skin.

And then it was over. Or maybe it wasn’t. You couldn’t tell. You stood at some point. Left, somehow. The world passed in a series of fragmented impressions, faces without meaning, voices without direction. 

Even though you already knew your timetable by heart, you checked your phone again, hoping, begging that something had been cancelled. But no. Everything was still on. Three more classes. The weight of it made your stomach twist sharply, nausea rising as panic slid in behind it. What is wrong with me? The question echoed, sharp and useless. 

Still, your feet kept moving on autopilot, and somehow, without ever really deciding to, you ended up back at your dorm. You’d meant to go to class, you were sure of that, but the moment you pushed open the door and stepped inside, you knew there was no way you were going back out. 

The dorm was quiet when you stepped inside. Kate must still have been in class, and the relief that hit was swift and biting. You hadn’t even noticed how much you’d been dreading the thought of her seeing you like this: fragile, frayed at the edges, barely holding yourself together.

Logic whispered that Kate wouldn’t judge, that she’d probably fuss over you, maybe fuss too much, but care nonetheless. Yet the weight in your chest laughed in the face of reason, already convincing you that you’d look pathetic, like a burden crumbling over nothing at all.

With a sudden, decisive tug, you yanked the curtains shut, cutting the room off from the world in one swift motion before collapsing onto the bed. The covers came up over you like armour, a barrier between you and everything that waited outside those four fragile walls.

Sleep came quickly, if it was truly sleep at all, or perhaps you just slipped into darkness, shut down for a while, but the stillness didn’t bring the usual balm. When you stirred, blinking into the dim, hushed room, the tightness in your chest had deepened, a slow constriction like ice wrapping itself tighter with every breath.

You hated this feeling; you longed for nothing more than to drift back beneath the covers and disappear from the sickness clawing at you. But beneath that desire, something colder had seeped in, darker and more relentless. Your mind was now turning against you, too.

Your thoughts spiralled back to last night, dragging you under again, the deliberate breaking of rules, the provocations, the bratty behaviour until Natasha’s anger had spilled over in the dark park. Wanda’s tired, worried face flickered in your mind, disappointment heavy in her eyes.

And then the cruellest truth wormed inside, twisting tighter than any lash: you hadn’t simply broken a rule. You’d manipulated her, pushed her too far, until Natasha had no choice but to act. You’d dragged both of them from their sleep, selfish enough to demand proof you were wanted, unwilling to wait for dawn, playing the awful part you’d always feared you were.

You folded in tighter, pressing your hands to your stomach as if you could still the relentless churn inside you. Nausea roiled like a storm, and the dull ache beneath your skin flared sharper, the memory of Natasha’s lashes now a vivid burn, her voice echoing: “Good. Then you’ll spend the day remembering what you did wrong.” Because you had done wrong, you had forced her into a moment she wasn’t ready for, something she hadn’t wanted. 

Lying beneath the covers, the weight of those words pressed heavier than any bruise or welt. Your body trembled, not just from exhaustion or pain, but from something deeper, something unravelling your very core. The tightness in your chest tightened further, constricting your breath until only shallow gasps escaped. 

Tears welled suddenly, blurring your vision, warm and unbidden as they traced slow paths down your cheeks. You tried to blink them away, to steady yourself, but the sobs slipped out anyway, soft, broken, shaking the stillness around you. Each breath caught in your throat was a silent plea for forgiveness, for relief, for anything that might quiet the gnawing ache inside.

Your muscles pulsed with aching tightness, a dull throb beneath your skin spreading in waves, relentless and insistent. The nausea returned with fresh force, twisting deep within your belly until your stomach clenched hard. You curled tighter, clutching the sheets, desperate to hold onto something solid, anything that might stop you from slipping entirely into the void.

—

Time slipped away from you like sand through trembling fingers, the hours unravelling into an indistinct blur as you lay motionless, eyes closed, breath shallow and uneven, tears silently soaking into the pillow beneath your cheek. 

The dorm room felt dim and oppressively still, every sound from the outside world muffled as if filtered through a thick fog that dulled your senses, making everything beyond your small bed seem distant and unreal. 

You barely registered the soft click of the door unlocking, only truly noticing when the harsh overhead light flicked on suddenly, stabbing through your closed eyelids like a sharp blade of cold. 

A pained groan escaped your lips as you flinched, jerking the blanket over your head in a futile attempt to shut out the brightness and the weight of the world pressing down on you.

“Uh… what are you doing here?” Kate’s voice was light but edged with surprise, her footsteps careful as they crossed the room. 

You said nothing, only letting out another low, ragged sound, curling inward on yourself, hoping she might take the hint and leave it be.

The mattress shifted beneath her as she sat beside you, and a moment later, you felt the blanket being gently tugged down, exposing your face to the dim glow of the lamp. When you didn’t resist, she chuckled softly, amusement still lacing her voice. “Are you sick?” she teased lightly, her tone affectionate, likely thinking you were just being melodramatic.

But the playful smile faded instantly when her eyes locked on your face. Her brow furrowed deeply, lips parting just slightly, voice dropping into a softer, uncertain tone. “Wait… have you been crying?”

You blinked slowly, lashes heavy and wet, your throat too tight and raw to form words, too exhausted to lie. Silence hung heavy between you, and your quietness spoke volumes.

Kate leaned in a little closer, her expression morphing from confusion to genuine concern. “What happened?” she asked gently.

You turned your head away, burying your face deeper into the pillow as if you could hide the truth in its fabric. She waited patiently, but when you remained silent, her voice grew sharper, quieter, but with an unmistakable edge. “Did things go badly last night? Did they… hurt you?” Her words were deliberate and careful. “I mean really hurt you, not in the good way.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, the sound broken and brittle. “No,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “It was good. I got what I wanted.”

Kate’s brow creased further, puzzled now. “Then… what’s wrong?”

“I think I’m just coming down with something,” you mumbled, the words barely convincing even to yourself. All you really knew was that you felt awful, heavy and off, with no clear reason why. “I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

She studied you carefully, concern deepening in her eyes. “What kind of sick? I can get you medicine or something.”

You let out a tired sigh, the words dragging from your throat with effort. “The usual stuff. Achy, wiped out, nauseous… just really, really tired.” You hated how weak and pitiful it sounded, even to your own ears. “But it’s nothing serious. I’m not trying to complain.”

She took a measured breath, her voice soft but edged with pointed concern. “Okay… but then why are you here? You’re supposed to be with them today, aren’t you? They should be taking care of you.”

Panic bloomed in your chest, sharp and sudden. Your eyes snapped open, heart hammering as the realisation hit you hard. “Shit,” you breathed, pushing yourself up just a little, weak but urgent. “I forgot. I just… I needed to sleep.”

Kate blinked, alarm clear in her gaze. “Wait, you didn’t tell them you weren’t going?” 

You barely managed a shake of your head, the weight of guilt settling thick and suffocating in your belly, as if it had been poured in like liquid metal, slow, scorching, and impossible to shift.

She leaned forward, brows furrowing in frustration and worry. “You need to call them. They’re probably worried sick.”

Even thinking about it twisted your stomach in knots.. “Don’t wanna,” you muttered, the words barely a whisper, raw with unspoken tears.

Kate’s eyes widened at the brittle crack in your voice; the reality of your fragility hit her like a slap. Without a word, she reached over and picked up your phone from the bedside table. Her fingers moved with quiet confidence; of course, she knew your passcode. 

But her expression shifted the moment the screen lit up. Her brow creased in concern as she scrolled through the flood: unread texts, missed calls, alerts stacking one after another. She stared at it for a second, then glanced over at you, the screen still glowing in her hand. “Shit. They’ve been trying to get in touch with you all afternoon.”

You groaned, shoving your face deeper into the pillow as shame surged hot and biting. You’d silenced your phone during class and never turned it back on. Tossed it aside like it meant nothing, let yourself drift into this thick, numb fog, too tired, too overwhelmed, and now it was just another weight on your chest. First selfish. Now ignorant. Of course you’d messed it up again.

The tears came suddenly, without ceremony, hot and clumsy as they slid down your cheeks. You curled in tighter, voice cracking open like a wound. “I’m such a fucking asshole,” you choked, barely managing the words through the sobs. “I don’t deserve them. I don’t deserve any of it. I—”

“Hey. No. Stop that.” Kate’s voice sliced cleanly through the spiral, firmer now, anchored and calm. Not harsh, but grounded enough to pull you back a step from the edge. She placed your phone back on the table with a soft clunk and leaned back, her eyes steady on you, assessing without judgment. 

For a long moment, she stayed silent, just studying you, her eyes narrowing slightly as the pieces clicked into place. She had far more experience in this world than you did, and the signs were all too familiar. 

Eventually, she let out a quiet, knowing breath and murmured, “Okay… I think I’ve figured out what’s going on.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just kept breathing like each inhale cost you something.

“I think you’re crashing,” she said gently. “Emotionally. Physically. It’s called a sub drop.”

You blinked. “A what?”

“A sub drop,” she repeated, keeping her voice soft but sure. “During scenes, your brain gets flooded with all these chemicals, and then sometimes, once it settles, your system just… drops. You feel cold, sick, exhausted, guilty, and overwhelmed. Sound familiar?”

You stared at her like she was speaking another language. “No. That’s not what this is. I’m just… tired. And sick. And I hate myself because I should.”

Kate didn’t look away. “No. Your system’s just trying to recalibrate. But while it’s doing that, it can twist things. Make you believe things that barely even make sense rationally.”

You trembled, a fresh tear sliding free before you could stop it. “It’s not in my head,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I messed up. I pushed her into something she didn’t want.”

Kate tilted her head slightly, frowning like you’d said something backwards. “She made a choice,” she said, quiet but firm. “You didn’t make her do anything. She knows her own limits; if she did something, it's because she wanted to.”

You shook your head, lips trembling. “Still doesn’t feel right. I feel like I took advantage.”

“I get that,” she murmured. “And yeah, maybe there’s stuff you’ll want to reflect on with her. But that voice in your head right now? That’s not the truth. That’s the drop talking.”

You didn’t speak. Just buried your face deeper in the pillow, trying to disappear under the weight of it all.

Kate shifted closer again, her hand rubbing slow, grounding circles between your shoulder blades. “This is a classic drop,” she said quietly. “The exhaustion. The shame spiral. The physical crash. You’re not the first to go through it, and you definitely won’t be the last.”

You let out a low, miserable sound. “So, how do I fix it? I feel disgusting. I hate this.”

“You don’t fix it on your own,” she said, warm but honest. “I can remind you that you’re not a bad person, that you are wanted, but I’m not them. They’re the ones in this dynamic with you. You need to let them in.”

Your voice came out like smoke. “I don’t know how to face them. They deserve someone better. A better sub. Someone who doesn’t ruin everything.”

Kate sighed softly, brushing a few damp strands of hair from your forehead. “They’ve been calling all day. That’s not what people do when they want someone else. That’s what people do when they care.”

You sniffled, barely audible. “I’ll be fine tomorrow, just need to sleep. The idea of hearing their voices right now? No thanks.”

Kate let out a dry, sympathetic huff. “Yeah? You think sleeping this off is gonna magically clear the fog? Babe… no.” She stood, scooping your phone up with that same quiet resolve. “I’m calling them.”

You jolted upright, eyes wide. “Kate—”

“Nope,” she interrupted, brisk but kind, eyes meeting yours without flinching. “You need them. That’s part of this dynamic, part of their role. You have to let them help.”

You dropped back into the bed with a helpless groan, but you didn’t stop her. You were too tired. And maybe… just maybe… some part of you wanted to believe she was right. That this didn’t mean the end. That somehow, this could still be okay.

—

As Kate scrolled through your phone, her thumb hovered over the screen, lingering on each message just long enough to read the tone beneath the words. It didn’t take her long to decide who to call. One of them had sent sharp, curt messages: clipped texts that started soft but had begun edging into tight, irritable lines, like she was trying not to show her frustration but couldn’t quite hold it back. 

The other person had an entirely different attitude. There were more messages, for one, far more frequent check-ins and gentle nudges, but it was the tone that did it. Every word radiated warmth, concern. Have you eaten, sweetheart? Where are you? Please just let us know you’re safe. Please, baby. Speak to me? I miss you…

She already knew who you were closer to. But this… this confirmed it. And to be honest, Kate needed that softness, too. She was scared herself. Her thumb hovered above the call button for a second longer than it should have. 

She swallowed. Her chest felt tight. She didn’t know this woman, either of them, but she was stepping into something intimate now, something private and deeply personal. And she wasn’t sure if it was okay, if she was crossing some invisible line.

But then she looked at you again, tucked in on yourself like your own bones were a cage, breathing shallow, eyes glassy and far away, and she knew it didn’t matter. Her discomfort wasn’t the point.

She hit call, and the dial tone barely had time to pulse twice before the line connected, and then a voice burst through, sharp with panic and almost tearful with relief. “Malyshka! (Little One!) Where have you been? You missed your classes, you didn’t come home, we’ve been trying to reach you all day!”

Kate went still. Her stomach flipped. The voice, there was something about it. Not just the accent, though the Eastern European cadence was distinct. It was the rich, almost melodic warmth under the fear. She knew that voice. She was sure of it. But she shoved the thought aside.

“Uh… hi,” she managed, clearing her throat and sitting up straighter as if that might help her sound older, steadier. “I’m her roommate. Kate.”

A pause, brief but heavy. Then the voice returned, quieter now, more cautious. “Kate,” the woman repeated. “She’s told us about you… Where is she? Is she okay?”

“She’s not okay,” Kate said gently. “She’s in a sub drop, it’s bad. I thought someone should know.”

There was a muttered curse in the background, sharp and low, clearly another voice. Someone calmer, more controlled. Then the first woman again, voice muffled now, like she’d turned her head to speak away from the phone. “I knew it. I knew she wasn’t right this morning.”

The calmer voice responded, firm and grounded. “Okay. Follow the plan. We’re going to get her.”

Then the phone was passed, and the new voice took over, measured, level, all business. “Hello. We’re coming to pick her up. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Kate’s entire body locked up. Now that voice wasn't just familiar; she knew it. Her jaw dropped slightly, and for a long beat, she just sat there, stunned, her mind racing to keep up with the impossible realisation.

No. No fucking way.

But there was no mistaking it. Kate’s mouth opened, but the questions caught in her throat before they could form, burning there, unspoken. Because if she was right, then that meant… well, that meant she was going to have to talk to Yelena. And soon.

Still, her voice stayed steady. “Okay.” Then the call ended.

She held the phone in her lap, staring down at the darkened screen like it might blink back with answers. The silence rang in her ears. Her heart was hammering now, not just from nerves but from the sheer implication of what had just happened. She didn’t move until the weight of the room pulled her attention back to the present, and to you.

The moment she’d said they were coming, something in you had gone taut. Locked. Like your whole body had braced for a storm.

Kate turned back to the bed and approached slowly, her steps careful, her movements gentle. She sank onto the mattress beside you again, her hand found your back, and resumed its slow, soothing motion, circling steadily like she was drawing you back from wherever your mind had gone.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, voice a low murmur, “You’re safe. They just want to help you. You’re not in trouble, I promise. You’re just hurting, and they’re coming to take care of you.”

You shook your head hard, eyes squeezed shut, lips trembling. The sob hit your throat like a physical thing, and your voice cracked open around it. “This is just going to make everything worse,” you choked out. “You’re going to see who they are, and that’s another rule I’ve broken. They’re going to hate me, Kate. They’re going to leave me.”

Kate froze. Her hand stilled on your back. She looked at you then, truly looked, her expression open and stricken and utterly unsure. “Hey…” she said quietly. “I mean… I don’t think they’d react that way. But if it helps, I can leave before they get here? I won’t lie, I don’t want to. But if that makes it easier, I’ll go. I don’t want to be the reason this is harder.”

You shook your head again, fresh panic rising. “I… I don’t want to be alone. Not yet. Just until they’re close, okay? But please, don’t be here when they arrive. I can’t…”

Kate blinked, and something in her softened even further. “That’s okay,” she said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like, leaving her own room late at night wasn’t a big deal if it meant making you feel safer. “Anything you need, I’ve got you.”

So she stayed. For ten more minutes, she sat beside you and rubbed your back in slow, patient circles, murmuring soft comfort whenever your breathing stuttered. Her presence didn’t fix it, but it anchored you. Held you just enough to keep you from breaking apart entirely.

And when the time came, she left. She slipped out with the same care she’d shown all evening. But just before she did, she paused in the doorway, her hand on the frame, and looked back one last time. Her eyes lingered on you like she didn’t want to leave.

You didn’t look up, but you felt it. And even through the fog and the fear, you tucked it away. You held onto that warmth like a lifeline, a flicker of something kind and undeserved and real.

And you made yourself a quiet promise. You’d do something for her. Something kind. You didn’t know what yet. But you would make this up to her. Somehow.

—

They arrived five minutes after Kate had gone, the door left ajar just as she’d promised. A soft knock announced them, but they didn’t wait for a reply; they slipped inside silently, hoods up, scarves pulled high over their faces. 

They looked like they were about to rob a bank, not rescue their girlfriend, and the sight of them, so cautious, so deliberate, hit you like a punch to the chest.

That was when the guilt surged again, sharp and blinding. Natasha had no business being anywhere near this building, let alone stepping into a student dorm, and the weight of what it would mean if anyone saw her, if anyone recognised her, made your stomach twist. The fear wasn't just for yourself; it was for her career, her reputation.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, voice trembling, throat raw from crying. It was barely more than a whisper, but it shattered the quiet between you. 

Wanda was on you in an instant, arms wrapping around your crumpled form as if she could hold you together by sheer force of will. She lowered herself onto the bed, cradling you in her lap like something fragile, something she was terrified might break if she moved too fast.

“Oh, Malyshka (Little One)...” She breathed, her voice cracking around the words. She rocked you slowly, like you were a child, as your body curled inwards with a wounded whine.

Natasha hovered nearby, her movements more tentative. She didn’t reach for you immediately, didn’t force her presence into the tender space Wanda had carved out, but the turmoil on her face was impossible to miss. 

She looked like she was fighting something in herself; the desire to help, the uncertainty of her role here, the understanding that you might not want her just now, not after last night.

But she made her choice quietly, steadily. “Pass her to me, moya lyubov' (my love),” she said, her voice soft and gentle, as she held out her arms. 

Wanda didn’t hesitate. She shifted her hold on you, murmuring reassurances even as you let out a soft noise of protest at being moved again. But the second Natasha had you in her strong, steady arms, you felt something inside loosen. You curled against her instinctively, cheek pressed to her chest, drawing in the familiar scent of something that was uniquely her.

“We’re going to take you home, Printsessa (Princess),” she murmured against your hair, kissing your crown like a vow. “We’ll get you through this. I promise.”

While you clung to her, trembling and numb, Wanda moved with quiet efficiency around the room. She packed anything you might not have at their place, things that couldn’t be bought, but would be needed for a weekend of recovery, because that was her plan. 

You weren’t going anywhere until you were okay again, and she was already making sure you’d have everything you might reach for in a moment of panic, if one were to come.

When she finished, she turned to Natasha with a nod. “Let me check the corridor first.”

Natasha dipped her chin in approval and stayed still, holding you carefully, protectively, while Wanda crept to the door. She peeked out like a little scout, glancing left, then right, her body language more comical than covert. 

Any other day, the sight of her doing her best impression of a cartoon meerkat would’ve made you giggle. But you couldn’t even muster a smile.

“All clear,” Wanda said softly, beckoning you both with a quick flick of her fingers. The journey to the car felt like a covert operation. Wanda moved ahead at each hallway junction, checking for witnesses, signalling Natasha forward only when it was safe. 

Natasha carried you the entire way, her arms never faltering, her grip never loosening, not even when you twitched or whimpered or flinched from the pain in your body. Her heart thudded beneath your ear like a steady drumbeat, one of the only things still keeping you tethered to the moment.

By the time you reached the car, your head was spinning. Natasha gently eased you into the back seat, buckling your belt with slow, practised hands, then brushing her knuckles against your cheek. Wanda climbed in beside you, immediately pulling you close again, her hands smoothing over your hair, her lips pressing soft kisses to your temple.

Natasha settled into the driver’s seat, casting one last look at you through the rearview mirror. Her eyes met yours, and something passed between you, grief, guilt, something heavier than any words. Then she turned the key, and the car hummed to life.

They were taking you home. They were taking care of you. Even if you didn’t feel like you deserved it.

—

When you finally got into the house, you didn’t even notice being set down; one moment there were arms around you, and the next, you were standing in the centre of the room like you were frozen in place, like even gravity wasn’t quite sure what to do with you.

Wanda approached first, her footsteps were feather-light across the floor, her presence a warm echo rather than a demand. She reached out with one hand, her fingers grazing the crook of your elbow in the lightest touch, as if she were asking for permission through skin alone. 

“Sweetheart,” she murmured, and her voice was all breath and worry. “Is there something you need right now? Something we can do for you?”

You couldn’t answer, not at first. You just stared at her hand, at the way it rested so delicately against your arm. But all it did was highlight the ache swelling in your chest, sharp and shapeless all at once.

“I don’t know,” you whispered at last, your voice distant, thin, like it didn’t quite belong to you. “I don’t know what I want.”

Wanda only nodded, soft and slow, as she cast a glance toward Natasha, a brief flicker of silent communication between them that spoke volumes. It wasn’t harsh or calculated; it was soft, sure, as if they’d already talked about this moment, planned for it, agreed on how to support you through it. That should have comforted you. 

It should have made you feel safe, held, seen. But instead, it twisted in your chest like a knife.“I shouldn’t be here,” you said suddenly, the words forcing their way out like they had claws.

Natasha moved, her presence quiet and measured as she stopped a few feet in front of you, close enough to feel, not close enough to smother. “Where should you be, then?” she asked, her voice calm, questioning. 

You opened your mouth, trying to find the words, but all that came out was a broken exhale. Your gaze finally lifted to hers, and the moment your eyes met that soft green, something inside you recoiled like it had been caught.

“Not here,” you said again, more forcefully this time. Your voice cracked around the words. “Not with you. I don’t… I don’t deserve to be with you.”

Wanda stepped closer behind you, her hand resting lightly on your back, grounding you without pressure. “You’re exactly where you should be,” she said, her voice steady and gentle.

You shook your head, jaw tightening as you fought to contain the sting rising behind your eyes. “Can I just… can I go to bed, please?” you whispered.

There was a pause. Wanda’s silence wasn’t judgmental, only patient. Then, softly, “Have you eaten?”

You nodded automatically, a knee-jerk lie born of shame, but Wanda didn’t press. She didn’t accuse. She just raised one eyebrow, gentle but expectant, and you felt your chest cave.

Your shoulders curled in tighter. “No,” you admitted, your voice no louder than a breath. “I haven’t. I’m sorry. I know it’s just one more thing I’ve done wrong. One more rule I’ve broken. Another reason to…”

You hesitated, swallowing hard, then forced the rest out like it was something dirty. “Another reason to punish me. That’s fine. You can. Just… not right now, please. I’m sore.”

You said it so softly, almost ashamed of the boundary itself. Like you were half-expecting her to reject it, to remind you that you didn’t get kindness anymore.

Natasha was the one who responded; her voice came faster than expected, sharper with concern than anything else. “You’re sore?” she asked, her brows pulling together as she moved in slowly, like she was trying not to startle you. “Do you want lotion?”

You shook your head. Eyes fixed on the floor. “No. It’s okay. I should be sore. It’s supposed to remind me what I did.” Your throat tightened. “I broke every fucking rule you gave me today. And I—” Your voice cracked again, breath shaking. “I pushed you. I knew I wasn’t enough, and instead of waiting or talking about it, I… I forced you into something you didn't want.”

Your fists clenched at your sides, the guilt boiling over now that the dam had burst. “I manipulated you,” you whispered. “And now I’m the one who’s a wreck about it, like I’m the victim. I don’t deserve your care, or your comfort, or any of this.”

Natasha’s face twisted, like she was devastated by your words. She didn’t step back this time. Instead, she reached for you, arms slow and open, as though offering the embrace before assuming she was allowed to give it. “Oh, milaya devochka (sweet girl),” she breathed, and her voice was full of something that made your whole chest ache.

You didn’t resist when she pulled you into her arms. You just stood there, stiff and hollow, until her warmth reached you like sunlight filtering through cold glass. Then your body sagged, breath trembling as you melted into her, against every part of you that still thought you shouldn’t.

“Your head is being so cruel to you right now,” she murmured into your hair, her voice low, heartbreakingly steady. “Telling you stories that just aren’t true. You didn’t force me into anything.”

You shook your head against her shoulder, still clinging to the guilt, but her arms only tightened.

“We could’ve talked more. That’s true,” she said, her tone measured, not avoiding the truth but not wielding it like a weapon either. “You reached for me, and I let you. I was right there with you. I wanted it. I wanted you. And you were perfect. You gave us so much. Last night wasn’t a mistake. It was beautiful. You were so good for us.”

Her hand moved slowly over your spine, soothing and repetitive, like she was trying to remind your body what safety felt like. You were trembling still, barely holding yourself upright beneath the storm in your chest.

“I hurt you,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “I made you angry... I was so bad. I don’t understand why you’re being kind to me now.” Your mind was screaming that this was some kind of trap, a slow game before the inevitable fallout.

Natasha drew in a slow, steady breath before gently pulling back just enough to lift your chin with two fingers, guiding your eyes to meet hers. Her gaze held nothing but softness, quiet, patient understanding that settled deep in your chest. “I’m being kind because you deserve it. You took your punishment, didn’t you?” she murmured, voice low and steady.

You nodded, your voice barely more than a whisper, “But—” 

“No buts,” she interrupted firmly, her eyes locking onto yours with quiet strength. “You took your punishment, and you are forgiven. That’s the whole point.” She paused, letting the words settle, before continuing, “I’m holding nothing against you.”

Her thumbs glided gently over your cheeks, tenderly wiping away the tears that left quiet trails down your skin. The warmth of her touch settled deep inside you, soothing the ache in your heart. 

“It’s time to stop holding this against yourself, okay?” Her voice softened, rich with gentle compassion. “Please, let us take care of you. I know you feel like you don’t deserve it, but we want to. We choose to.” She leaned in closer, her eyes steady and unwavering. “No matter what your mind tries to tell you, you are still ours. Our good girl. Our malyshka.”

And that was what undid you. The words didn’t just break through your walls; they slipped into the cracks already there, blooming in the hollow space where shame had lived. 

The tears came harder, falling in helpless waves as your body melted against hers, your arms clinging around her middle like the only thing keeping you upright was the feel of her heartbeat against your cheek.

Wanda’s presence slipped in behind you, seamless and warm, her arms circling your waist as she pressed her body flush to your back. Her head tucked against your shoulder, and suddenly you were cradled between them, wrapped in soft voices and steady arms, held like something fragile and precious, like they’d never let you fall again.

They held you like they’d been waiting to do it all day. Held you like they needed it too. Like losing you, even to your own shame, was not an option they’d ever allow.

You’d lost track of time in their arms, the world outside narrowing to the steady rise and fall of their breathing and the quiet warmth of their hands on your skin. Nothing was asked of you, not even words. 

They just held you, swaying gently between silence and soft, grounding murmurs, and somewhere in the stillness, your breathing began to match theirs. The fog didn’t vanish, not completely, but it shifted, softened; no longer a weight dragging you down, just a haze you could float in without fear of drowning.

By the time you spoke, the words came instinctively, tucked beneath the safety they’d built around you, as natural as breathing. You didn’t even register the title until after it was out. “Daddy… can I have some lotion, please?”

Natasha’s breath caught just slightly, and she smiled. Not teasing, not smug, just soft and full of something that looked a lot like love. “Of course you can, Little One,” she said gently, already pulling back enough to get moving.

Wanda pressed a kiss to your cheek before letting go. “I’m going to make something for you to eat, okay? Nothing too heavy, I promise.” You nodded, unable to speak, but the look you gave her was enough, and she kissed your forehead one more time before disappearing into the kitchen.

Natasha guided you with her hand at the small of your back, not possessive, just there, anchoring you. Once upstairs, she helped you undress without a word. When she laid you out on the bed, her touch was reverent, as if handling something sacred.

The lotion was warm when it touched your skin, warmed by her hands first, her fingers spreading it carefully over each mark, over each welt and bruise with a tenderness that made your chest ache more than the pain ever had. 

She took her time, tracing the outline of every lash, checking for broken skin, for anything needing more care. She didn’t speak of what had happened between you. Instead, her voice flowed around you like a current, telling you bits of her day.

There was something about a girl in her seminar who kept interrupting, a passing thought about a book she’d started rereading, an annoyed comment about a faculty meeting that definitely could’ve been an email. 

You barely tracked the words, but that wasn’t the point. She wasn’t speaking to distract you or draw you out. She was simply there, weaving her voice softly into the space around you, like a blanket draped over something raw. 

She filled the quiet not to chase it away, but to keep it safe, to make it gentle. Her presence, her tone, every quiet murmur was a steady refusal to let you slip back into shame for needing her care.

And it worked. The guilt didn’t vanish, not completely, but it quieted, pushed further away by the rhythm of her hands, the warmth of her voice, and the way she kept looking at you like none of this had changed a thing. Like she still wanted you. Like you were still hers.

Eventually, Wanda returned, carrying a plate with some sandwiches and a little spread of fruit, nothing overwhelming. Natasha had just helped you into one of her baggy shirts, soft cotton, worn-in, oversized enough to make you feel hidden.

When Wanda placed the plate carefully on the bed and climbed up beside you, she opened her arms with a soft, “Come on. Daddy got her time with you; let me hold you now, hm?” But her voice was light and coaxing, but not commanding, giving you the option to choose.

You didn’t hesitate. Between Natasha’s care and her words, the haze was settling in again, but not the panicked kind; this one was warm, familiar, the kind you could sink into without fear. The kind that quieted your thoughts and left only them behind. 

You crawled forward on your knees, settling between her legs with your back against her chest, her arms wrapping around you. She tucked her chin into your shoulder, and you felt her sigh into your skin like being close to you eased something in her, too.

But Natasha didn’t drift away. She sat beside you both and picked up a sandwich, breaking off small pieces with deft fingers, holding each bite up to your lips like it was the most natural thing in the world.

This should have been embarrassing. You think it would have been, on any other day. But right now, it was everything. You needed this, needed the gentle dominance, the quiet authority wrapped in care. 

You needed them to show you, not just say, that you were still theirs. Still wanted. Still worth caring for. Of course their Little One needed feeding after a long, hard day. And of course, Daddy would tend to her, bite by bite, while Mommy wrapped her arms around you from behind, holding you steady through the storm.

You took each bite slowly, letting the flavour settle on your tongue. And every time you chewed, every time you swallowed, Wanda murmured soft praise in your ear, kissing your cheek, your temple, her hands stroking lightly up and down your arms as if her touch could soothe every raw edge inside you.

You drifted deeper, but you weren’t breaking anymore; you were floating. Held in warmth and softness, your head felt light, your limbs loose and languid, your breathing slow and steady. 

The haze curled around you like a blanket, quiet and gentle, and you let yourself surrender to it without fear. One of your hands slipped out, reaching blindly for Natasha, asking, wordlessly, for her too.

She didn’t hesitate. The empty plate was set quietly on the bedside table, and then she was there, curling up beside Wanda and pressing close, her fingers lacing with yours while her other hand began stroking slow, soothing lines along your leg. 

You sighed, utterly content, your body melting between them, a soft smile playing on your lips that you didn’t even realise was there until Wanda brushed her nose against your cheek.

“That’s it, sweetheart… good girl,” she whispered, her voice low and full of pride. “Just let us take care of you.”

Their warmth surrounded you completely, and somewhere beneath the safety of it all, Natasha and Wanda began to talk. Their voices were low, not secretive, just quiet so they wouldn’t disturb you, and for a while, you let the words wash over you, barely registering the conversation, until something shifted, and you tuned in.

“See, Nat,” Wanda said, her tone laced with something knowing and just a little smug. “Told you you could do this.”

Natasha let out a small, disbelieving chuckle. “It’s somehow easy with her. I don’t know why…”

That made your brow crease faintly, your head turning just enough to look up at her. “What is?” you asked softly, the haze slowing your words, making them gentle and curious.

Natasha reached over without missing a beat, tracing her thumb over the small furrow in your brow to smooth it away. “I didn’t think I’d be able to support you through this,” she admitted quietly. “That I wouldn’t be soft enough… or kind enough. I was talking to Wanda in the car, even suggested not coming up to the dorm. Letting her be the one to take care of you.”

Your heart gave a soft, startled jolt. “What… what made you change your mind?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, touched with the same vulnerability she’d just shown you.

“Wanda,” Natasha said, glancing over at her with something raw in her eyes. “She talked sense into me. She told me you were already dropping, and that if I wasn’t there, you’d see it as rejection.” She paused. “And I couldn’t… I couldn’t have that. Not when you needed me.”

You gave her a sleepy smile, the kind that came from your chest more than your lips. “I did. I needed you, too, Daddy.”

Her hand squeezed yours, and you felt it, the breath she caught in her throat, the emotion tightening her grip, the way her thumb stopped stroking your knuckles for just a second, like she was holding back something fragile.

Wanda’s voice returned, quiet but firm, like she was grounding the both of you. “You need to trust yourself, Nat. You are soft. You are kind and compassionate. If you weren’t…” She paused deliberately, her eyes catching Natasha’s with that familiar, pointed look, “we wouldn’t be married.”

Natasha let out a rough little laugh, clearly deflecting. “And here I thought it was because I give you great orgasms.”

“That too,” Wanda replied, a grin slipping into her tone, light and affectionate as your breath caught at the thought. 

Then, with a wicked glint in her eye, she turned her attention back to you and wiggled her fingers against your ribs. 

You let out a breathy, startled giggle, the sound slipping out before you could catch it, your body squirming instinctively against Wanda’s hold, but you didn’t pull away, not even a little. You stayed nestled in her arms, entirely hers, even as she grinned down at you with a teasing lilt.

“Little One agrees too,” she murmured, smirking as her fingers paused just shy of tickling again.

A soft whimper left your lips, muffled as you buried your face into the curve of her neck, not in protest, but in shy surrender, your cheeks warming, not just from her teasing, but from the rush of thoughts their words had stirred loose. 

Your mind drifted, too easily, to the two of them together. The way they touched you, the way they pulled you apart with such confidence and care, their voices in your ears, their hands on your skin… and then the thought twisted, deepened, what did they look like when they touched each other?

Your breath caught, lashes fluttering closed, and the image bloomed behind your eyelids. Wanda, beneath Natasha, her confidence melted into gasping pleas, her fingers clutching at the sheets or maybe at Natasha herself. You knew they'd shared that dynamic before, and now, the idea of seeing her so undone, so submissive, sent your pulse skittering.

But then came Natasha. The one who held herself together so tightly, always so measured, so quietly intense. What would she look like, coming undone? Her jaw slack, head tipped back, breath hitching, that perfectly controlled exterior fracturing as pleasure overtook her. 

You hadn’t seen that, not yet. Wanda had came for you, beautifully, her thighs trembling, your name a breathless mantra on her lips as she guided you with her hands in your hair. But Natasha… God.

The thought of it, of witnessing her fall apart, whether by Wanda’s touch or even your own, hit like a tidal wave, thick and consuming. The image unfurled inside you, slow and heavy, heat pooling low in your belly, molten and aching, like you could drown in the sheer want of it.

You whimpered again from the ache that had begun to settle deep in your core, and Wanda heard it. Her lips brushed against your temple, her arms tightening just slightly, possessive and tender all at once.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Wanda murmured, her voice a soft purr against your skin, one hand stroking idly over your stomach now, her fingers tracing slow, soothing shapes that somehow made everything worse, in the best way. 

You shook your head and stayed curled against her, your breath uneven, your body pliant in her arms, but your mind anything but calm. The images kept coming, and you whimpered once more, and Natasha’s hand on your leg stilled. 

“What’s that sound for?” she asked softly, a teasing lilt in her tone but none of the mockery you might have once expected, just affection, interest, that careful thread of dominance that pulled you closer even without touch. 

You shifted a little, turning your face enough to meet Natasha’s eyes briefly before you ducked your head again, cheeks hot, voice small. “Just… thinking about you two,” you whispered, the words nearly lost against her skin.

That made Wanda chuckle quietly, warm and pleased. “Hmm. Were you now?” she purred, her lips brushing your ear, breath making you shiver. “Thinking about what?”

You hesitated, hips twitching just a little without meaning to, and Natasha noticed. Her hand slid higher along your thigh, fingers still light but deliberate now. “Tell us, detka (babe),” she said, “What were you imagining in that pretty head of yours?”

You drew in a trembling breath, your voice so soft it barely formed words. “You… uhm…” You hesitated, swallowed, trying to find the courage to voice it. “You two…I’ve never seen it—” The confession slipped out, cut off, heat flooding your cheeks, blooming in your chest, your entire body flushed with the weight of the image you’d dared to let yourself imagine.

Wanda made a low, approving hum, slow and syrup-sweet, her tone thick with indulgent warmth. “Oh, honey,” she whispered, clearly savouring the crack in your composure, the way you squirmed under the weight of your own imagination. 

“You were picturing us? Me and Daddy…” Her lips brushed your ear, her voice a slow tease. “Was it me beneath her hands, whimpering the way you do when you’re desperate? Or maybe you were imagining Daddy on her back, trembling under my fingers, voice gone, all ragged as she cums for me?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out, just a tiny whine that said more than any sentence could have. Natasha exhaled slowly, her own breath a little uneven now as she whispered, “You really are our perfect little pervert, aren’t you?” 

You nodded slowly, shy but unable to lie, not when they held you like this, when they made the world feel so small and safe. “Yes, Daddy,” you whispered.

Wanda laughed softly, low and pleased, the sound curling around you like warm honey as she pressed another kiss to your cheek. “Good girl,” she purred against your skin, voice rich with affection and something a little darker. “So good. We love knowing what’s going on in that dirty little mind of yours. You want to tell us more?”

Your blush deepened, spreading down your neck. “No…I—” You squirmed, the words tumbling out on a breathy whine, “I wanna see…”

Wanda hummed, the sound almost sympathetic but still firm. “Not today, baby,” she said gently, her arms wrapping around you just a little tighter. “It might stir too much up again, especially if you feel left out.” Her voice was kind, soothing, but final.

“I won’t! I promise I won’t!” you protested with another whine, your thighs squeezing together at the mere thought of seeing them.

Natasha chuckled, her hand still tracing slow, maddening patterns along your thigh, deliberate and knowing. “If you’re a good girl, Printsessa (Princess), we’ll give you your show,” she drawled, her tone a promise. “But not right now.”

You let out a little huff, your bottom lip pushing into a pout. “Fine… but I demand to see you both cum when it happens. I’ve never seen Daddy, it’s only fair.”

That made them both laugh, genuine and warm, and Wanda shook her head. “Demand, hm?” she teased, arching a brow. “Is that what we’re doing now?”

You gave her your most innocent look, wide-eyed and sweet. “Okay… may I request it instead?” you offered, voice soft and sugary, your tone laced with false innocence that didn’t fool either of them.

Wanda’s smile turned indulgent.“You can request anything you like,” she said with a tilt of her head and a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “That’s much better.”

You matched her smirk with one of your own, though yours was softer, shy around the edges. “Then…Can I… request something else in the meantime?” you asked, voice delicate but laced with that familiar yearning.

Wanda arched an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but still cautious. “You can,” she allowed slowly. “Whether you get it or not… well, that’s another story.”

You hesitated only for a moment before you pushed the words out, breathy and small. “Can… one of you please touch me?”

Wanda paused, her gaze flickering over your face as her hand stilled again over your stomach, her fingers curling protectively. “I don’t know, baby,” she murmured, clearly torn. “You’ve already had a hard day… I don’t want to risk tipping you back into the drop, you seem much better now.”

But Natasha’s voice cut in, low and persuasive, a gentle challenge in her tone. “Oh, come on, Wands,” she said, shifting closer behind you. “She’s already subby, look at her. Might as well make her feel good while she’s there, hm?” Her hand found yours again, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

You nodded quickly, hopeful and eager, eyes wide with trust and heat and that soft, pleading look you knew neither of them could resist.

Wanda sighed again, but it wasn’t frustration, it was the sound of yielding, of care wrapped in quiet worry, her breath catching just a little as her hand resumed its slow descent, gliding lightly over your belly with a softness that made your whole body ache.

“Alright,” she conceded. “But you have to promise… if anything feels wrong, even a little bit, you’ll tell us. Anything at all, baby, okay?”

You nodded quickly. “I will, I promise,” you agreed, your body melting beneath her touch, tension ebbing before she’d even reached your thighs.

“Can you remind me how you tell us to stop, sweetheart?” she asked gently, her palm now resting warm and steady against your thigh.

“Traffic lights,” you breathed, your voice trembling with the growing need, “Red and yellow…”

Wanda gave a little hum of approval. “Good girl. And if you lose your voice?”

“Squeezes… or taps,” you managed, barely getting the words out before a soft whimper followed. “Please…”

You knew it had built fast, but even as it surged, there was no fear laced through it, no warning bells or sharp edges. Just need. Just the ache of too much restless energy and nowhere to place it. And as Wanda’s hand moved slowly, tenderly, you didn’t flinch or freeze; you leaned in.

Instinctively, helplessly, like your body already knew she’d catch you. You knew that this wasn’t recklessness, wasn’t you pushing through something fragile or dangerous. This was surrender, pure and full and safe. 

You were grounded, you were held, and all that charged emotion finally had somewhere to land, soft hands, warm voices, the quiet, steady knowing that they would take it from you, ease it from your limbs, guide you gently back down.

Wanda’s fingers moved inward now, slipping just slightly between your thighs, and your breath hitched, more in anticipation than surprise. She paused, waiting for any flicker of discomfort, any pullback, but there was none. 

Still she couldn’t help but check, even now. “Still okay?” she asked softly, her voice a warm tether wrapped gently around your fraying edges, holding you in the moment, anchoring you to something solid and safe.

You nodded, already breathless, your body arching slightly into her touch as you thanked the gods that Natasha had only given you a t-shirt so that Wanda had easy access. “Yes, Mommy… please,” you whispered, the word barely audible but full of need, of trust, of that quiet ache only they could soothe.

Wanda’s fingers slid slowly through your folds, her touch unhurried. “So wet already…” she murmured, her voice thick with warmth and quiet wonder. “Is all this for Mommy and Daddy?”

You nodded without hesitation, head falling back to rest against her shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as the heat in your belly twisted tighter. There was no shame, no flicker of embarrassment, just the steady hum of safety, of knowing you were exactly where you needed to be.

Her arm wrapped securely around your waist, drawing you in close, and her fingers shifted with intention, finding your clit with that same slow, careful attention that always left you breathless. She circled it gently, reading every reaction, every twitch and shift in your hips.

A quiet gasp slipped from your lips as your body started to squirm, tension building quickly beneath her touch. The need for more, for it to be deeper, fuller, was rising fast, impossible to hide. Your hand reached down blindly, fingers brushing her wrist in silent plea, and Wanda only smiled against your skin.

“Shhh, it’s okay… we’ve got you,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple before she used her free hand to tap your thigh. “Open your legs for us, baby?”

You obeyed instinctively, pliant and trusting, and Wanda gently guided your thighs apart, resting them over hers. The new position left you completely open, your legs splayed, your back still pressed tightly to her chest.

You were just catching your breath when you felt Natasha move. She slipped between your open thighs, her hands gliding over your skin. For a moment, you thought she might simply assist, maybe add her fingers to Wanda’s, but then her shoulders eased lower, and your eyes went wide.

“Wait, I…Daddy?” you breathed, shocked and breathless.

She looked up, her expression unguarded, raw in a way that stole the air from your lungs. “Shh… It’s alright, Kotenok (Kitten),” she murmured, brushing a kiss to the inside of your knee. “Daddy just wants a taste, okay?”

You blinked, stunned, not because you didn’t want it, but because it was Natasha. Only yesterday she’d been fucking you like a whore, owning you, breaking you apart with ruthless control, and now, here she was, settling herself between your thighs. A tremor ran through you as her mouth touched your inner thigh, then again, closer this time.

“You’re doing so well,” Wanda murmured against your skin, her voice like warm honey, thick with pride. “So beautiful like this… letting us take care of you.”

You couldn’t find the words, only a soft, breathy whimper as Natasha’s warm breath traced over your wet folds, her fingers sliding slowly up your trembling thighs. “Shitttt,” you gasped, your body twitching under her touch, Wanda’s steady hands holding you firm and keeping you open.

Natasha’s tongue was slow, deliberate, savouring every pass, every whimper she drew from your lips. Like Wanda, she was taking her time, devouring you like something sacred, like you were meant to be worshipped.

Wanda’s voice was still in your ear, soft and steady, a constant anchor amidst the flood of sensation. “That’s it, baby… just let it happen. You’re safe… we’ve got you.”

Natasha moaned softly into you, and the sound made your whole body jolt, your fingers clutching at Wanda’s arm where it held you tight. Every stroke of her tongue, every press of her lips sent heat pulsing through your core, the tension winding tighter and tighter in your belly.

Your hips started to move without thinking, rocking gently into her mouth, and Wanda let out the softest laugh, laced with affection. “Is Daddy making you feel good?” she teased as one hand slid up under the borrowed t-shirt, fingers toying with your nipple, tugging and rolling just enough to have your back arching into her. 

The other kept you steady, cradled tight in her lap, her hold protective but unyielding, making it impossible to escape, not that you ever would. You didn’t want to be anywhere else.

You let out a shaky breath, toes curling, your head falling back against Wanda’s shoulder as the waves of sensation threatened to drown you. “Yes. Please… please don’t stop…”

Wanda’s voice came low and sure, brushing over your skin like velvet. “We won’t, baby… not until you cum for us.” Her words made you shiver, the promise sinking into your bones as her lips found the curve of your neck, kissing slowly and deliberately, the warmth of her breath sending another flush of heat coursing through you.

And then Natasha shifted, her shoulders pressing firmer between your thighs, and her tongue plunged deeper, curling just right, dragging a loud, desperate moan from your throat. Your hips jerked, overwhelmed, but Wanda’s arm was already there, holding you still.

Wanda’s hand, which had been playing with your nipple, slipped confidently between your legs. With Natasha’s mouth now focused on your entrance, Wanda took over your clit, circling it with maddening precision. 

Your lips parted in a shaky moan as your thighs tensed again. Wanda smiled against your cheek, and her fingers pressed just a little harder, coaxing a gasp from you, a high, broken sound that made Natasha hum with satisfaction against you.

“You feel her?” Wanda murmured, her voice slow and honey-warm, like it had been steeped in affection. Her lips brushed your temple as she spoke, every word grounding you even as your body trembled in her lap. “She’s shaking for us, Nat.”

A quiet, breathy laugh hummed against your core, and Natasha’s voice followed, lower, rougher. “I feel everything,” she replied, her lips ghosting over your folds like a prayer. “She’s soaked… So wet. Fuck, she’s so soft. So warm.” Her voice dropped further, heat curling through every syllable. “I can’t stop thinking about sinking my cock into her.”

Your whole body jolted, breath catching in your throat as the words rippled through you, not just the words themselves, but the feel of them, pressed against your most sensitive parts. You whimpered, high and broken, fingers digging into Wanda’s thigh like you’d fall apart without something to hold. 

Wanda’s grip on you tightened gently, the arm wrapped around your waist drawing you in just a little closer, almost protective. Her voice was quieter now, but there was no mistaking the authority laced through it. “Not today, Nat. Just us.”

There was a pause, then Natasha exhaled a sigh, half amusement, half surrender. “Mmm… fine. Mommy knows best,” she murmured against you, her tone teasing but without resistance.

Then, without warning, her mouth returned to you, tongue sinking inside again with slow, deliberate hunger that made your thighs twitch and your breath catch. Every stroke, every curl of her tongue deep within you, was a silent vow, an unspoken promise that she would worship you until you had nothing left to give. 

“Fuck, Daddy,” you moaned, caught off guard by one particularly deep, precise curl that struck just the right spot. She responded by returning to that spot again and again, as if learning you, and she truly was.

Wanda’s lips brushed your cheek, her hand sliding up to cradle your breast again, fingers stroking lazy circles around your nipple, her touch comforting and possessive all at once. “You’re doing so well,” she whispered, her voice nearly trembling with pride. “Taking us so perfectly. You’re ours, sweetheart… You don’t have to hold anything back.”

Wanda’s words threaded through you like silk, soothing and commanding, and it was all you could do to nod against her, even as your head lolled back against her shoulder and your thighs trembled, spread wide and gently pinned open by their bodies. 

Natasha explored every flicker of your reaction with patience and devotion, her tongue moving with slow, deliberate confidence, curling and retreating, dragging heat through you like a fuse being lit inch by inch. Every pause was punctuated by a soft kiss pressed to your inner thigh or a hum vibrating against your clit.

Wanda’s fingers traced tender circles over your nipples, occasionally squeezing and tugging, but always gently, just enough to stir the sensation you craved, while her other arm held you steady.

Your hand slid to Natasha’s hair, fingers threading through the silky strands. She groaned softly, the vibration echoing through your core, then pulled back just enough to murmur, her voice husky and reverent, nearly undone by her own need. 

“Fuck, just like that, baby, hold on as tight as you want today.” Her lips brushed the crease of your thigh before nuzzling back into your slick heat. “Take it, Kotenok (Kitten), our perfect girl.”

The praise ignited a deep heat low in your belly, and you let out another helpless sound, hips twitching uncontrollably as your body betrayed how close you already were. Your muscles tensed, every fibre drawn tight like a bowstring, your chest rising and falling in quick, shallow gasps. 

Natasha’s fingers began to dance around your clit, tracing circles with perfect rhythm as her tongue pressed deep between your folds, as Wanda’s lips found your neck while her own fingers continued their gentle worship of your nipples, it became everything, perfect, overwhelming, unbearably exquisite. They were giving you exactly what you needed, in exactly the way you needed it.

You were ready, so close, but still you held yourself back, trembling with the effort, your whole body aching for release. “Fuck… mmm… so good,” you moaned, voice ragged with need. “Wanna cum, please Daddy? Please, Mommy, please?”

Your nails dug into Wanda’s thigh, lips parting in a silent, desperate plea, but you stayed, holding back, because they hadn’t told you to let go, because they hadn’t given you permission.

Wanda’s voice softened, thick with aching affection. “Oh, Malyshka (Little One), you don’t need permission today. I told you, you don’t have to hold anything back.”

She cupped your jaw gently, her thumb brushing your cheek as her gaze locked onto yours. “Be a good girl and cum for us.”

You nodded, a loud, broken moan rippling from your throat at the permission you’d craved, even though you’d never truly needed it. Your eyes flicked down to Wanda’s lips, silently asking for a kiss.

Wanda saw it and gently tilted your head, capturing your mouth in a deep, claiming kiss. Even with the difficult angle, her tongue slid in immediately, swallowing every broken whine and breathless moan spilling from you. 

You kissed her messily, sloppy and desperate, both of you panting fiercely into each other’s mouths as Wanda and Natasha continued their tender ministrations without pause. The world narrowed to nothing but the heat and pressure building inside you, until finally, with a ragged scream caught deep in your throat, you tumbled over the edge. 

Your body convulsed, shuddering with overwhelming waves of release as your breath hitched and then spilled out in ragged gasps, utterly undone beneath their touch, yet neither Wanda nor Natasha retreated. 

Wanda’s fingers continued their gentle dance over your nipples, coaxing breathy gasps and tiny shivers that rippled through you like silk. Her other hand cupped your cheek with a soft authority, planting tender kisses that sent warmth blooming through your skin. 

Natasha’s mouth moved with reverent care, cleaning up, grounding you in the moment even as your mind floated free. It wasn’t until you began to shift, your grip on Natasha’s hair loosening, that they finally eased back. 

“Too much... so sensitive,” you whispered, surprised by how delicate you felt. Usually, you could take so much more than one release, but today your body had been alight all day, and you simply couldn’t handle it. 

Wanda’s low, amused chuckle drifted over you like a soothing balm. “That’s alright, my sweet girl. We’ll take care of you now, yeah?” she murmured softly, her warm breath brushing against your cheek.

Natasha rose, standing at the foot of the bed. Her eyes were filled with something fierce and proud as she looked down at you. “You were breathtaking. Absolutely breathtaking. I can’t believe I waited so long to taste you like that,” she confessed, her voice heavy with affection and awe.

Your cheeks flamed with heat, and you barely managed a shy, “Thank you, Daddy,” your voice small but full of gratitude. 

Natasha’s warm smile lingered a moment longer before she slipped quietly away to the bathroom, leaving you cradled gently in Wanda’s arms. The steady rhythm of Wanda’s heartbeat against your back was a soothing anchor as exhaustion weighed heavily on your limbs and mind. 

When Natasha returned, she knelt beside you with a soft, damp cloth, her movements tender and deliberate. Knowing a proper shower was out of reach tonight, she took it upon herself to care for you the best way she could.

Your body tensed with a soft whimper as the fabric brushed against your overheated, tender skin, but Wanda’s low, calming voice wrapped around you like a warm blanket, easing every flicker of discomfort. 

With gentle, practised hands, they helped you out of the sweat-dampened t-shirt you’d been wearing, your skin still flushed and sensitive, and slid a fresh, oversized shirt of Wanda’s over you. It hung loose and comforting, the fabric soft against your weary body.

One by one, they changed themselves quietly, never once leaving you alone. Each time one slipped away, the other held you closer, whispering sweet reassurances about how perfectly you’d done, how proud they were, and that the other would return soon. Their voices were a soothing balm to your nerves, each word carefully chosen to calm any rising anxiety or lingering vulnerability.

Before long, Natasha brought out the familiar lotion, its cool touch gliding over the welts from yesterday, coaxing ease and relief where your skin still ached. 

Then Wanda handed you a small, nourishing snack and a glass of water, encouraging you gently to eat and drink, knowing how important it was to restore your strength.

Finally, they eased you down into the bed, carefully tucking you between them, just where you loved to be, safe, cherished, and utterly content. Wrapped in their arms, the world outside faded, leaving only warmth, whispered promises, and the quiet certainty that you still belonged.

—

A/N: I really hope you enjoyed this one. I know angst doesn’t always go down as well, but well… I’m an angsty girl at heart. I truly appreciate all your support and love for these fics; every like, reblog, and comment genuinely means the world to me. If there’s anything specific you’d like to see, don’t hesitate to send me an ask or request!

The next part will definitely see Kate and Yelena finally uncovering who the reader’s Dommes are, one way or another. Apologies for any confusion with the order of the parts; I posted the next two sections of this series first, but they take place chronologically after this one, which makes the timeline a bit tangled. So, the “next part” I’m referring to won’t be You Make Such Pretty Sounds When You’re Sorry, which will be in its place on the masterlist until the new part is ready to be slotted in. I’ll also add it here when that happens.

I once again forgot the taglist ahhhhh. @chansawrelier, @Angelicbrats, @Brooklyn-r-dawson, @lizzieolsie216, @godhatesgoodgirls, @libbyofc,

[undyingdecay]

Free use with Bob? Free use with Bob!!! Hot

(i need him so bad it’s not funny anymore)

it starts soft. it always does.

just another quiet morning in bed with bob, the curtains filtering golden light across his bare back, his head tucked lazily into your neck. you feel him shift behind you, one broad hand drifting under your shirt like it’s instinct, like it’s routine. which it is, now. he’s already hard—of course he is—and he doesn’t say anything at first. he never does when he gets like this. just breathes deep against your skin, hips giving these slow, rhythmic rolls against your thigh.

he knows the rule.

you’re his. always available. any time. no guilt. no shame. he’s soft with you in so many ways—deferent, obedient, reverent—but when the need strikes, when he wakes up aching or you walk past in nothing but a shirt and panties, he turns helpless. and you like him that way. not cruelly. not in mockery. but in something closer to worship. the idea of being so safe with someone—so trusted—that you can let them fall apart on you whenever they need.

so you let him.

you’re already half-asleep again when he nuzzles lower, mouthing at the slope of your breast through the fabric. his hair’s a mess, sticking up in damp curls, his boxers already wet with pre. you don’t even flinch when he pulls your panties aside—just shift your hips in welcome, feeling the press of his cock, hot and heavy and needy between your thighs.

he should prep you. he knows it.

he tries. you can feel his tongue against your folds, slow and worshipful, like he’s trying to kiss you open. but there’s so much of him—his fingers twitching, hips rocking, his cock dripping all over your thighs as he whines into you—that he can’t concentrate.

the prep turns to humping. sloppy. messy. instinctual.

his tongue’s barely off you before he’s lining himself up and pushing in, not all at once, but slow enough that it still makes you gasp. your leg’s hiked up on his shoulder, his mouth hanging open, panting like it hurts. like not being inside you is the most painful thing in the world.

“f-fuck—baby—” he stutters, hips twitching forward as your cunt stretches around him. he’s soaking wet, not just from you, but from his own arousal—pre-cum leaking in fat beads down his shaft, smearing along your folds every time he thrusts a little too deep. “t-too tight—s’too much, i c-can’t—can’t stop—”

his voice breaks into a whimper, his forehead resting against your knee as he struggles to keep his composure. but it’s gone. he can’t stop. every slow drag of his cock through your heat makes him shake. you see it all over him—jaw slack, cheeks flushed pink, breath catching in his throat like he’s afraid he might come too soon.

you know he will. he always does the first time.

but bob is greedy. he has superhuman stamina and a godlike need for you that defies physics. his hips keep rolling, deeper, more desperate, whining every time you clench around him like it’s a punishment and a prayer.

“g-god—gonna come, gonna—fuck, please don’t make me stop—” he’s already sinking lower, face in your chest, arms wrapping tight around your waist like he can’t bear to be apart from you even for a second. you don’t say a word—just comb your fingers through his hair and nod, giving him everything without hesitation.

that’s all the permission he needs.

he cums with a sob. loud. messy. his cock pulses deep inside you, hips jerking forward in frantic thrusts, forcing it deeper, holding it there like he can somehow bury it all the way inside and leave it there forever. your insides clench around him, hot and slick and already filled. he cries out again—god, it’s like he’s being ruined from the inside out by you—and you swear you can feel the desperation in his grip as he stays pressed deep, balls tight against you.

but even then, he doesn’t stop.

even spent, his cock twitches inside you, still hard, still wanting. his hands shift, one flat on your stomach, the other gripping your thigh as he starts to move again—slow and syrupy, grinding deep, like he’s trying to fuck his own cum deeper into you. his body’s slick with sweat, chest heaving as he whines against your breast, mouthing at your nipple as he starts sucking again like it’s the only thing that’ll keep him grounded.

“can’t—can’t stop—feels ‘s good, mommy,” he breathes, high-pitched and needy. “need you. always need you. wanna own you, gimme, please…”

and you give.

because bob isn’t just any man. he’s the sentry. a god with the heart of a boy—raw, trembling, curled around you like you’re the only tether holding him together. and here, now, with his cock buried in your soaked cunt and his lips latched around your nipple, he doesn’t feel like a weapon, or a monster, or a myth.

he feels human. loved. kept.

and when he cries into your chest, it’s not from pain. it’s because being inside you is the safest he’s ever felt.

[loveabunbun]

; CHOI SOOBIN 🐰 after hours

— cw; age gap (5ish yrs), professor soobin, student athlete reader, unbalanced power dynamics, clubbing, alcohol, public/bathroom sex, intoxicated sex, top male reader, sub bottom soobin, big dick sb and reader 🙌🏾, sex toys (butt plug), blowjob (sb), protected anal (a first??), belly bulging. 5k words.

— 🎶 now playing; kehlani - after hours, tomorrow x together - love language, destin conrad - kissing in public.

once you noticed him in the crowd of moving bodies, you simply couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

him being choi soobin, currently a young visiting professor at your institution, having just completed his phd in sociology and education, and one your lecturers in particular. soobin’s large frame isn’t out of place among all the others. in fact, you think the number has grown since he made his way to the centre. an attention stealer.

it’s the same as when you’re sat in his lecture: he’s captivating when he talks, enticing when he moves, and irresistible all around. he brought the youthful masculine charm the department severely lacked. and, of course, all the girl students desperately latched onto the eye-candy.

he was here. at a nightclub. and not just any random nightclub, a popular gay nightclub in the city centre. it’s a delightfully pleasant surprise. your margarita burns as you finish the glass. the warm daylight filtering in through the windows of your classroom has been replaced with the cool of the moon from the warehouse's skylight. and with the transition, it seems a new side has emerged. a new side to you, at the very least.

his glasses aren’t to be found, dark hair styled up and back to reveal his forehead and eyes more clearly. his knitted jumper and slacks switched out for a blue baby tee and jeans. you can’t quite make out what it says under the strobe lights.

being completely honest, your attention is on other parts of his body. the tequila trickles into your bloodstream and you can feel your heartbeat revived in different places. he doesn’t appear to have a dancing partner — you’ve had an eye on him for a few minutes and spotted him laughing with what appeared to be a friend as they goofed around.

your own friends are also on the dance floor. your legs are taking you closer soon enough. you sway with the beat of the song as you push through the bodies, eyes locked onto your target.

what your goal is you’re not even sure of. nothing could happen, anyway — you tell yourself— you’re his student. if only a few years younger. soobin exuded ‘model faculty’ with his polite smile and gentle giant demeanour. you're sure even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t risk his budding career for some dick.

although he would give something else up for it. why else would he be surrounding himself with drunk men, more likely than not looking for sexual respite. you weren’t that much younger than him, really. around five years, if you remembered his age correctly? but a minor blip in the universe's grand scheme.

now you’re right behind him.

he moves even better up close. swaying his body, throwing his hands up in the air with the beat of the song. carefree. it’s hard to keep your wonder at bay. you’re not thinking straight as you step closer, and let your hands ghost his waist. high enough not to get you immediately elbowed in the stomach.

soobin isn’t surprised when someone sneaks up behind him. although he came with zero expectations, the young man was starting to doubt his abilities. without turning to look at the new presence, he backs up into you. your heart leaps in your chest. he was waiting for someone. for this. you bite your lip in to hide how your cheeks pull up from the feeling of your professor's soft ass against your groin. fortunately, the lights were concentrated elsewhere for the time being.

the pop song playing is punctuated with strong percussion, gifting you with the tempo you needed to move in rhythm with him. fortunately, you know the lyrics to this one and find yourself getting lost in the sensations. you would’ve hated to see someone else behind him. even now, you can feel jealous eyes on you. it only makes you pull him closer, meeting him at various points of contact where which you can feel his body moves against you.

your scent washes over him and he welcomes the new smell of your cologne. he had yet to go nose-blind to the overwhelming scent of testosterone-filled body odour. maybe you would be his ticket out of the crowd.

whatever. soobin puts an end to his overthinking. or rather, the liquor flowing through his veins does. he just wants to feel good. just wanted to dance and let loose. it’s been too long.

his runs his hands down his front sensually before they meet yours on his hip. he drags your hands up on his body; they catch his shirt on the ascend and you momentarily feel the sweat on his damp skin. you can’t focus on it, because at the same time soobin rolls his hips onto you.

damn, he moved his body so well. you would’ve never thought the shy man had it in him. but you’re learning more about him by the second. you follow along with his smooth moves without any delay, determined to not mess up.

and fumble the bag you don't. looks of intrigue and desire join the envious. soobin’s friends throw him teasing grins and immature winks. he ignores them. all he can think about is how well-oiled your tall body feels against him, lithe yet sturdy. it stirs a primal need within him. something almost foreign to him at that point.

when the next song ends, soobin spins around with a happy grin on his face. he had to know who the suave cutie was behind him.

your grip loosens. before you can duck away, you’re making direct eye-contact. he's confused at first, but then his eyes widen in recognition, straightening up like he’d been struck by lightning.

shit.

“yn??”

“h-heyy, prof.”

soobin gawks at you, not knowing where to begin. his student was just grinding on him. he was just grinding on his student, and he liked it. he wanted more. his integrity! his reputation! his future!

the crowded dance floor suddenly feels stark empty, and the multi-coloured lights stop their orchestrated twirl, replaced by a stationary, bright spotlight. focused on the two of you.

he needed to get out of sight. grabbing your wrist, soobin drags you behind him until you’re stumbling into one of the bathrooms. he waits for an explanation, with a hard look on his face that tells you: you fucked up.

you stare at your shoes, shuffling in place. he was intimidating when he wanted to be. and you were, admittedly, in the wrong, “i’m sorry i came onto you."

“no, you’re not.”

your head shoots up. it was a poor apology, but you weren't expecting him to call you out on it. because, true, you weren’t really. you’re not sorry because you’ve got jacking off material for like the next couple of years. but more sorry because you’re not sure he would’ve reciprocated if he knew who you were. not very consensual of you...

“what on earth were you thinking?” it’s like he could read your mind.

“i wasn’t. that, i apologise for. can you blame me?” soobin sees how your gaze trails his body with your reply. it reveals what instead you had in mind — his broad shoulders sloping into a small waist and slim hips. shapely legs clad in jeans and ending in stylish sneakers.

wild and wonderful.

“seeing you here threw me off a little, prof.” you continue, meeting his eyes once again. his eyelids and cheeks shimmer iridescent in the light. you couldn’t tell before, mistaking the glow for sweat in the suffocating horde. but it was deliberately placed highlight. looks like your young instructor knew how to get dolled up.

soobin felt the same; it was weird seeing you in a place like this. even though you were probably a regular. or a more regular than he was, at least.

…maybe it wasn’t so weird. after all you were attending the city's university as a student. specifically, both a promising basketball athlete and a top scholar for your class. soon to graduate, matter of fact. he's sure you've scoped the lay of the land over your time.

what was new was seeing you in something other than athletic wear. you looked good, donning a loose button down and black jeans, surprisingly more handsome than you usually did in your everyday comfort. you were dressed to impress too, that’s for certain, with your inhibitions loosened after a few shots.

the older had also been drinking. stronger stuff than usual; his friends wanted to spoil him, to celebrate the rare occasion of him crawling out his hole home. soobin would be lying if he said he wasn’t having a fun time.

“i don’t usually come out. and quit it with the prof — while we’re here. anything else.”

hook.

you tilt your head as you look at him, feeling your normal dynamic shift with the new location. and the request for less formality. you toss the bait: “yeah... i didn’t take you for the party type. does hyung work for you? instead of mr wild and wonderful?”

soobin can’t hide when his eyes sparkle in interest at your fluent english. he knew you were smart, but the casual flex takes him aback. so does realising you know exactly what the wording insinuates. he never expected it would be you picking up the hint.

he loathes to complain. of course, he pays a little more attention to you when you’re sat at your desk — attending to his words, sending messages on your device, or talking to your friend. you're enticing without meaning to be. your frequent insightful contributions made up for where you lacked in other efforts. he’d only ever seen you in the daylight. the shadows that fall on your face now bring out another side to you.

line.

the race of his heart comes back, but not in fear this time. in excitement. the professor had never entertained the idea more than a passing thought but now he’s tempted. the plug sitting between his cheeks becomes noticeable again for the first time since he put it in before leaving his home. not for any particular reason…

he shouldn’t.

“been said i can get a little crazy outside the classroom.”

oh! that’s not— soobin’s thick lips purse in shock at his words. sober thoughts?

“yeah?” a smirk appears on your face as you take a bold step forward, throwing a look around the restroom in faux enquiry. your boyish playfulness has a way of keeping him in place. “doesn’t look like we’re in the classroom right now... from what you said, this sounds like my area of expertise.”

oh, you’re good. pulling him into your dangerous game like a siren into the depths. he doesn’t even know when your hearts started thumping against each other, his hand on your arm.

“then, maybe you could teach me the ropes. show me how it goes?” comes his breathy whisper, eyes narrowed in seduction.

and sinker.

you push him into the stall furthest form the entrance and lock the door behind you. his back hits the wall with a thump and he gasps, looking at you with surprised eyes when you press into his front deliberately, strong hands back on his hips.

soobin has much more to lose than you, and you respect that. you give him time to change his mind, to slip out from underneath you and put the earlier events under lock and key. he doesn’t. a beat passes and then another. the muffled music matches the atmosphere. muted, on the verge of breaking the silence.

the door opens and upbeat chords slice through the air like a whip. a few voices dance just over the top, boisterous and joyful on the way to release. soobin surges forward and captures your lips.

you groan instantly, desire roaring inside you once again at his initiating. his hands grasp at your shoulders as you kiss him harder, licking at his lips until he lets you in. you can’t get enough as you suck on his tongue. soobin feels your fingers hook into his belt hoops and tug. your hips start to move in their own, bucking into his front.

the friction pulls a deep sigh from you onto his pretty lips, “hyung,”

his breath hitches. if soobin was somehow still on the fence about doing this, hearing you moan for him was the final push he needed. he wraps his arms around your neck and pulls you closer, letting his hunger lead the way.

he can taste the tangy lime on your lips and can smell the faint liquor when you pull away from his lips, only to trail down to his neck. you kiss the soft skin. his smell is intoxicating too.

before you get lost in yourself, the older man warns quickly, “no marks.”

like some dirty secret. it turns you on even more. you know it does for him too. “got it,”

you press against him harder, dipping into his neck and licking the sweat off. you nibble and lick at his salty skin, rocking your hips against him in fervour. his chub hardens under your ministrations and he moans shyly by your ear.

a small creak and the dj’s booming voice fills your ear, indiscriminate and accompanied by cheers of the audience. then you’re alone again.

soobin kicks up a leg and hooks it around your waist, getting leverage to fuck into you. one of his hands drops from behind your neck to in front, urging you closer with a firm grip. can't have you thinking you're in charge here. even as you grope at his body, humping him like a dog in a rut.

the desperation sets him alight. the fire consumes you. or maybe it’s the alcohol. maybe it's the risk. you needed him. right now.

"hyung, can-can i suck you off?"

soobin's face explodes with heat at your request. he nods before he realises, biting his bottom lip. you fall to your knees even quicker, nuzzling into his bulge. he can't help as his hips flit into your face, large hands coming to rest on your head.

he doesn't push or pull you away, but you gaze up at him through your lashes. his dick swells with blood and tents his jeans. it sticks out like a sore thumb against your handsome face and exacerbates its presence. he can’t stop staring your puffy lips, mesmerised as they slick and shine with his spit.

soobin swallows, starting to shake his head as reality sets in again, fighting against the sexual demand rousing in his gut. this was too far and extremely inappropriate. one of his most sought-out students literally on their knees in a filthy stall in even sleazier settings, begging for a taste. there was no going back after this.

he shouldn’t.

"wait, you're drunk yn." your hands come to fiddle at his belt, the other rubbing his dick through his jeans. you can feel yourself salivate at the heat it exudes.

"i'm not drunk, 'm tipsy. you might not know it because of the generation gap, but there's a difference." he rolls his eyes.

“i’m not drunk either,”

“then we’re both on the same page. been thinking about this cock since the start of term. everyone wants a piece of you, hyung. i want it."

his body betrays him, cock throbbing below your palm at the confession. you grin wickedly. you finally manage to tug down his jeans and boxers enough for his length to fall out. your jaw falls slack in surprise as you take him in your hands. “fucking big, oh my god.”

soobin blushes further at your vulgarity. you kiss at his cockhead before dragging your tongue underneath to taste his arousal. your hand grasps the base as you take him into your mouth. his grip tightens.

you let your saliva build to make the entrance smooth, gazing up at your attractive professor. he stares down at you in disbelief. he twitches in your mouth and your eyes flutter shut in satisfaction, taking him deeper. soobin pulls up his shirt, exposing his chiselled stomach, to watch as his dick disappears between your thick lips.

“ohh~,” he sighs, other hand curling into a fist at the warmth of your mouth. his hips jerk like he doesn’t know whether to pull out or go further.

you can’t help but moan at the feeling. this was so hot. he was so hot. a part of you couldn't believe he was single. and you couldn’t care less about the mysterious wet spot you started to feel on your right knee.

you quickly start bobbing your head up and down, dragging broken moans from the older man. pleasure cracks down his spine as the devil on his shoulder cackles in glee. you fist the base of his dick, covering what you couldn't fit into your mouth.

“oh my— s-slow down yn, fuuck,” the lewd wetness of your mouth bounces off of your ears, his sweet moans only spurring you on. you don’t think you’ve given such enthusiastic head in your life. the taste of his salty precum trickling down your tongue is only a welcome boost for your endeavours.

you hum and soobin feels his eyes rolling back in pleasure at the vibration around his shaft, fucking into your hollow moist despite his better judgement. you can feel as your dick strains against your jeans, crying for attention but you pay it no mind.

“yeah, just like that… you’re soo good, ha-ah!” soobin’s thighs shake by your head as he falls further into bliss with every obscene slurp coming from your skilled lips, fingers curling into your hair. he’s almost forgotten where he is: lucky for him it seems right now isn’t peak time for the drunken pissers.

you push yourself closer to him in response to his praise, until you’re almost directly underneath his body, and swallow your gag reflex. if it weren’t for his jeans, you would’ve had his thighs wrapped around your head. from where you are gravity pulls soobin’s throbbing length further into your tight throat with ease, leaving no space for him to get away even with his long legs. he wouldn’t want to anyway.

the sound of you finally gagging around his thick cock, your fingers on his thigh and ass urging him deeper, is enough for him.

he releases into your mouth with a loud gasp and a whiny groan, curling over your body as pleasure racks his body. your eyes squeeze shut as his bitter cum fills your mouth and swallow rapidly, moaning endlessly around your professor’s squirting dick. the excess spills from your lips when you pull away to breathe.

the older pants above you too and his shirt drops. it sticks to his sweaty skin and is too short to hide his arousal, sparking in the barely burning light with your spit and his sperm. leaning forward again, you guzzle down his cock to slurp up the remains. he welcomes the extra attention with a lazy smile.

“shit, that was..”

“best head you’ve ever had?” your eyes shine when you look up at him lying against the wall like he had all the strength stolen from him, cheeks rosy. soobin tears his gaze from you as you run your tongue over your tempting lips, teeth appearing with your pleased grin. innocent like the both of you weren’t on the verge of a lifetime ban from the club and probably academia in general on his end.

“s’up there,”

a couple of seconds pass and he realises you still need to be taken care of. his next move is only given a second of consideration as his critical thinking cap finally gets tossed out the window — the young man had already passed the point of no return as soon as the both of you walked into the stall.

soobin spins around to face the wall and pushes his jeans down to his ankle. he bends over slightly and spreads open his cheeks, revealing to you his asshole. where a black plug sits comfortably.

your gulp is audible as you make eye-contact with the toy. but you push past your shock to reach up and grasp it, watching soobin's back flex as you poke and prod at his squishy insides.

"t-take it out," you do so instantly, greeted with the sight of his puckered rim, wet and pulsing. suddenly you were starving again. before you can dive in, after setting the plug down on the toilet tank, soobin speaks up again, "do you have a condom?"

no fucking way.

"y-yeah, yeah, i do." after rustling in your front pocket, heart thumping in your chest, you pull out a shiny rectangle.

"fuck, what are you waiting for then? put it on, get inside me," he demands. it lacks the authority his booming voice usually holds, laced with lust and a neediness that makes you dizzy.

you scramble to your feet, apparently a little too slow for his taste. the older spins around and takes it from you, ripping it open with his teeth. he drags you into a messy kiss as he unbuckles your jeans and belt with calculated yet rushed movements, betraying his intentions.

you're rock hard — and leaking buckets — in his big palm and he marvels at how he has trouble wrapping his fingers around you. were you just being generous with your compliment about his size earlier?

you're too busy moaning and huffing at his grip to notice. soobin’s barely touched you, but the fact that he's touching you (the crush of basically every sane member at your university), and rolling a condom onto your sex, excites you like nothing other. not to mention, him just having emptied his sweaty balls into your stomach.

the beauty spins around with a sultry hum, arching his ass into the curve of your cock. akin to a page out of a playboy magazine. “you’re so unbelievably sexy,”

he grins at you just as the bathroom door swings open again. you take the burst of noise to push into him. you both moan freely at the burn of the intrusion. the men in the room are loud; you think someone’s holding the door open because the sound doesn’t cease like it should. you’re thankful it doesn’t.

“fuck!”

you press him roughly into the wall and fail to keep quiet at the warm, gummy feeling of his inner walls. soobin cries out in white-hot pleasure as your hips gain a life of their own, thrusting into him. every buck shakes the older man to the core. your athletic body is solid against his backside, hands gripping at his tiny waist. god, is this how you feel? like a place he could melt into with no worries?

soobin thinks you’re cute too, as you curse and whimper under your breath in consideration of not getting caught. he thinks about how that same mouth made him feel just earlier. your stiff cock doesn’t disappoint, filling him up and stroking his swollen prostrate easily. soobin can’t deny how his body responds to your gifted touch, how his pride swells at having you so shameless for his attention. he wonders if this is how you usually acted for some dick.

your enthusiasm translates with your wandering hands as they push up his cropped shirt to reveal more of his milky skin. his abs are dense under your touch, the muscles dancing below the surface. you rock your cock into him with firm circles, staring at where he consumes you with eager eyes and even eager movements — he greets you with hiccupped moans.

the thumping music doesn’t help the adrenaline sparking through his veins but it briefly hides the rippling connection of your sinful activities from the other fun-seekers. the sound cuts off and you’re left alone again. the energy doesn’t dissipate.

soobin throws his head back, fingers curling against the wall by his head when he feels you start pull him down and impale him further on your throbbing length, grunting by his ear. the way your fingers sink into his skin is strangely possessive. he shivers at the idea of you claiming him, or maybe it's the cold metal of your jeans against his bare ass, slurred whispers falling from his lips.

“fuck me, ffuck me! god, yn don't stop fucking me!”

“yeah, you like that?”

soobin nods in affirmation as you fuck the breath out of his lungs, dark hair flying up and down, eyes squeezed closed. shit, this was so bad. him getting dicked down by someone so much younger. he’s enjoying it too much. you’re having the time of your life. his sloppy hole feels like a heavenly respite to your aching needs. he massages and presses on all your right spots, like his ass was made to embrace you. like your lives were orchestrated for this moment.

you slip your fingers past soobin's open lips and thrust into his wet mouth to the rhythm of your hips. “look at me when i fuck you, sir.”

you tone is slightly condescending as you turn his head; using honorifics while he opens his ass and mouth for you like a two-piece whore.

but soobin does look at you. you feel yourself gasp as you meet his teary doe eyes from behind, eyebrows knitted in overwhelming pleasure. his pretty lips wrapped around your fingers and sucking like they were something else. a line of drool trickles down his chin from the disturbance.

a moan falls from your lips as he gazes into your eyes like a succubus with potent allure, tempting you to fall deeper into his web. his smooth walls squeeze your most sensitive areas and the pleasure crackles up your spine. you were already entrapped.

utterly irresistible. you watch his eyes flutter as you remove your fingers to instead curl them around his biceps. you pull his upper body up to rest fully against yours and his spine curves in tandem, head falling on your shoulder and opening his front up.

he can feel his hardness swing helplessly with every slap of your hips against his ass, legs starting to shake. his pliant body bounces back and forth with ease, but with the way he’s crying out, you'd think he was being pushed to the limits. it certainly felt like he was. one glance down at his stomach proved that.

“you're sho—! so deep inside—!" he can't help the hand that reaches out to caress the swelling you make in his lower abdomen, growling as it protrudes against his palm every time you bottom out. somehow you catch onto his words and do the same. too smart for your own good.

burning satisfaction envelopes your frame at the feeling of your cockhead poking away inside your professor's stomach, twitching uncontrollably inside him with an airy moan. sweat drips down your arms and legs. you were about to explode.

"hyung 'm close, uhmnn ah, c-can i?"

"y-yes," comes his breathless reply. your hand slips down to wrap around his cock and pumps roughly. that's enough to push soobin over the edge again, clamping down and pulsing around your hard cock with a wail.

the cord snaps inside of you too as you trap him against the wall with your strength. his taut ass grips you so tight in place as you fall into ecstasy, you can't keep your noises to yourself, moaning shamelessly when the feeling of fiery-hot pleasure spreads down to your fingers and toes.

your hand pumping his cock doesn't let up and soobin's eyes white out. he writhes against your body as you fill him up and send him spiralling into the depths of peak pleasure with hushed encouragement. each squeeze of his balls reflects in his stomach and rim, barely able to contain the cream you dump in his ass.

"shit," you heave and fall backwards after you regain some sense, your upper back resting against the other side of the stall. the air is stuffy. stuffier than it was before, anyway. euphoria ripples across your nerves as it melts away, leaving a satisfying ache in your muscles.

your eyes trail your eyes over soobin’s bent over form in front of you: the back of his head, down the dark patch along the curves of his shirt where it collected his exertion, down to where his rosy ass cradles your throbbing dick.

your cum seeps from the base of the condom, and you briefly wonder if it ripped inside him. not much time to think, because his pale ass slowly sinks down again until the soft flesh sits flush against your pelvis, drawing a sigh from both of you. you glance back up at your professor's side profile at his actions. his eyes are closed in contentment. you did that.

your palm lands on his ass and rub the smooth flesh before you reluctantly pull out. he slumps further, shiny puckered rim pulsating at the loss of something holding him open. you bite your lip at the indecent picture. then, you remember the plug perched above the toilet and slide it back in tentatively. with no complaint, soobin lets you pull up his jeans and boxers.

"...thanks. needed that,"

"don't thank me. thank you. i'm gonna be thinking about this forever." he turns around to face you as you convey your gratitude(?), but his handsome, flushed face disappears out of sight when he falls to his knees and tears off the condom.

"what are you— o-ohh," soobin swallows your softening length. seems like he wanted to return the favour. his mouth is so warm and wet as he licks up your creamy fluid, you flinch from the overstimulation. "ha-aa,"

he slides off with a pop of his lips, looking up at you as he tucks you back into your clothes. when he rises to his feet he regards your messy appearance, face bright in the afterglow of your orgasm.

"just make sure to keep those thoughts to yourself, got it?"

this could not get out.

"not even you?" you move closer and rest a palm on his lower back, oddly happy to be able to see his face again. he's so fucking pretty. it would be such a pity if this was the last time you felt him. you know he feels the same…

"could keep it between us instead. i have a couple more things i think i could teach you, prof."

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