#how to navigate ao3 as a reader

[thecorvids]

Can yall send me your favorite fics, I need more reading material pretty pls

[ovaryacted]

GREEDY

─ Dr. Jack Abbot x fem! reader || WC: 3k

SYNOPSIS: You crave to feel your lover differently, and Jack is happy to satisfy your needs.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUT. Age gap implied [Jack is late 40s, reader is late 20s/early 30s]. Power imbalance mention [Attending/Resident]. Established "secret" relationship. Creampie. Unprotected sex (p in v). Mentions of oral (f! receiving) & fingering. Multiple orgasms. Overstimulation. Dirty talk. Brief mentions of birth control & safe sex practices. They fuck nasty and are down bad for each other. Reader is described to have hair. Jack Abbot is a really good partner. Brief mentions of Jack’s scars & allusions to a vasectomy he had in the past.

A/N: This all came to me in a dream lmao. I just had a certain itch I needed to scratch and I wanted to talk about getting creampied by a fine ass old man, so this was the product of that thought. I hope you all enjoy this and join me in feening for this man. Proofread by moi. Reblogs, comments, and likes are always greatly appreciated! <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

You’d never really consider yourself a greedy or selfish person, but when it came to Jack Abbot, you just couldn’t help yourself.

On your first day of residency at the Pitt, your attention instantly gravitated to him. He carried himself so confidently at times, never crossing the line of stepping into arrogance like some of the surgeons he complained about. He kept his head high, back straight, and shoulders flared as he maneuvered around patients and rooms alike, commanding every space with a calm confidence you almost envied.

Coffee and light teasing exchanged in the emergency department turned into cold beers and tipsy laughter at the local bar everyone frequented after long shifts or on their off-days. One drink too many resulted in a not-so-accidental one-night stand with the enigma of a man that was Dr. Abbot. You wondered if he regretted it by the time you woke up in the morning, hair a mess over your head, going in different directions; doing your best to bury the disappointment tugging at your chest when the other side of the bed was found empty.

Much to your surprise, light clanking from your kitchen forced you back on your feet, spotting Jack working over the stove, the smell of eggs and fresh toast wafting through your apartment. His jeans hung low on his hips, unbuttoned, with his black briefs hiding the rest of him. He turns when he senses your presence, the corner of his lips tugging upwards in a small grin at the sight of you, slightly disheveled and wearing nothing but his shirt from the night before.

“Morning. Stole some of your coffee; hope you don’t mind.”

You were doomed from the start.

It never stopped after that; a one-night stand turned into several over the course of one month, and one month turned into two. You found yourself in the consistent presence of Dr. Abbot, who was always there to satisfy your needs, whatever they may be. He learned how to read you, your likes and dislikes, your quirks, and the things that made you happy and tick in agitation. The few weeks you spent with him in secret amounted to the moment Jack popped the question of exclusivity one night, and you were more than happy to say yes.

Now here you were, Dr. Abbot’s favorite night-shift resident at work and his girl when you two were alone. You already had him wrapped around your finger, hitting close to five months of being with him and selfishly enjoying his company in this bubble you’ve created for yourselves away from prying eyes.

And yet you still wanted more.

You couldn’t quite explain what happened along the way, why you simply couldn’t stop finding any little moment to touch him, to kiss him, to taste him. You just knew you wanted every part of him to yourself, and he was ready to give it.

All but one.

Your sex life with Jack was already more than satisfactory, and even using a word as simple as that was a disservice in describing your experiences with him. Hell, you’re pretty sure he’s ruined you for anyone else, and you don’t plan on finding another to take his place any time soon. But there was this one pesky thing that still kept you separated from him.

The damn rubber.

Jack was almost too good for you—a softie despite his take-no-shit attitude, always sweet and considerate when it came to you. Of course, that translated to when he fucked you, prioritizing your safety and pleasure above all else, including maintaining recommended sexual habits. You can’t blame him; he’s not an idiot, and neither are you, but at times it irks you to still have something getting in the way of feeling him the way you wanted.

It almost pissed you off how badly you craved him, desperately holding on to him and pulling him closer when he was too busy fucking you into the mattress. His face dug into the crook of your neck, grunting as your walls fluttered around his length, your arousal covering the thin non-latex material that separated your bodies. Just the thought of it made you whine, clawing at his shoulders and wrapping your legs tighter around his waist.

You knew he was getting close from the way his breathing rumbled deep within his chest, his grip on your hips tightening as his thrusts picked up in force. The words that had been swirling in your head for the past 30 minutes slipped out of your mouth and into his ear before you could stop them.

“Fill me up, baby.”

He groans when he hears you, slamming his hips hard against yours, a curse tumbling from his mouth as he fills up the condom. He draws a final sigh from you before pulling out to dispose of the wretched thing while you remain occupied with taking a peek at his ass as he heads to the bathroom.

Having sex without protection was something Jack didn’t think to bring up or mention. The last thing he wanted was to make you assume all you were to him was a toy to be used when it's convenient and discarded when he grew bored of you. He already had the displeasure of approaching sex that way when he was younger and reckless; he vowed to never do that again, especially with you. And of course, you didn’t want to potentially ruin the relationship you’ve worked so hard to build with your attending.

As much as he wanted to deny it, your words tormented him, playing in his mind on loop so frequently he started dreaming about feeling you with no barriers, claiming you properly. He knows once you hit that stage in your fairly new relationship, there’s no going back. From the way you struggled to hide the slightest tinge of disappointment whenever he ripped open the foil wrapper in front of you, he knew the conversation would happen eventually.

“What if next time, we just don’t use anything? Protection, I mean.” You blurt out to him in the kitchen, wringing your hands together as Jack busied himself washing the dishes after dinner. He finished up and dried his hands, pivoting to face where you leaned against the island.

“Is that what you want?” He asks carefully, his eyes boring into yours gently, the way he always did when speaking to those he cared about. “Surprises aren’t exactly what I’m worried about; we’re good on that end, but, it’s whatever you want to do, sweetheart.”

“Yes, I want to try it out.” You feel his hands coming towards your waist, a comforting gap of space between as you mess with the collar of his t-shirt. “It’s not that our sex life isn’t fun or anything; I very much enjoy sleeping with you.”

“I sure hope so considering how much I risk pulling my back doing all the work.” You playfully slap his chest, rolling your eyes at his teasing smirk.

“I just…I want to feel you, all of you. It’s like an itch I can’t scratch sort of thing, and it feels stupid explaining it, but it’s a thing, okay. Don’t fucking laugh at me.”

Jack couldn’t help but chuckle dryly at your mild panic, shaking his head as he stepped closer to you, planting a kiss on your cheek and squeezing your hips in reassurance.

“Not laughing at you, I just think it’s cute how flustered you’re getting when you’re begging me to fuck you raw.”

“Now why are you saying it like that? It sounds raunchy coming from you.” He only laughs harder.

“I think we’re way past the point of calling what we do raunchy in our relationship, don’t you think?” There’s a faint glint in his hazel eyes when he takes in your features again, his fingers pinch your chin, holding your gaze. “Besides, you aren’t the only one who’s been thinking about it. I was just waiting for you to crack first.”

That’s how you found yourself in this position now.

Your cunt pulsed from the lavish attention bestowed by the older man above, who already made you cum once using his mouth and again in combination with his thick fingers. Even with the two orgasms you gladly took, your body clenched around nothing as you watched Jack lazily jerk himself off, dark eyes raking over your bare body. By now, he’d be tearing open another one of those flimsy foil packets and slipping inside you. Instead, your legs subconsciously widened even more, beckoning him closer to you in an attempt to take you.

Notching the tip of his length at your entrance, he groaned at the feel of you, shifting his hips to grind against your heat as more of your wetness coated the underside of his cock.

“Last chance to take it back, sweetheart.” He quirked, meeting your hazy eyes—glossed over and feral as you admired his broad silhouette and tempting movements.

“Shut up and fuck me already.” You only seemed to be thinking with your downstairs brain, your thirst for more overriding common sense, not that he was complaining.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He angled himself over you, keeping his observant eyes on your face as he started pushing into you, slowly sinking deeper into your welcoming body. Jack didn’t expect you to feel so damn hot, your walls surrounding his cock like a vice, like you were made for it. Your hands flew to grasp his bicep, gasping at the bare feel of him for the first time. Eyes fluttering closed, a whimper lurched out of your mouth when he was down to the hilt, the trimmed hairs by his pubic bone rubbing against your sensitive nub, causing you to twitch around him on instinct.

As he sat inside you and let you adjust to him, you could feel everything—every ridge, every vein, every swell and throb his body gave you, even his damn pulse. It was bringing you closer to the deep end.

“Jack…” You mumbled his name, blinking slowly as his nostrils flared.

“Hold on, hold on, don’t move.” Large hands clutched your hips, keeping you pinned to the mattress with his strength. “You feel so good.”

“Yeah?” The compliment took the rest of the empty space in your head, your thighs taking their rightful place around his waist, knees bracketing over his sharp hips.

“So damn warm and wet…God.” It sounded like Jack wasn’t talking to you anymore but reiterating his own innermost thoughts, filter gone. His attention trailed down to where your bodies were joined together, shifting his hips back to watch your lower set of lips part for him, your slick covering his skin. You moved towards him, already missing the stretch of him inside you, and Jack was just as eager to give you what you needed.

“Look at her. Taking me so well, like she always does.” Thrusting forward, he didn’t spare you an inch, drawing back just to pound into you again and again.

The friction of his hips intensifies the more he gets to feel you, and soon enough the four walls of your shared bedroom are filled with the audible slapping of skin as you lose yourselves in each other. Jack’s hips pummeled into you with a force you weren’t completely unfamiliar with, but this carnal need to have more of him creeps onto the surface. Your nails raked down his freckled arms and the planes of his shoulders, encouraging Jack to buck into you harder with your sweet cries.

It all felt too fucking good, like a dream.

You didn’t want him to stop, your legs winding tighter around his torso, mewling when he hit that textured spot tucked inside you with practiced accuracy, head thrown back against the pillow as you focused on catching each one of his harsh lunges. A hand sneaked to the back of your head, grasping the nape of your neck and angling your face to look up at Jack, the smallest bit of sweat lining up on his forehead.

“Keep those eyes on me, baby. Want to see your pretty face when you come for me.” He practically snarled over you, leaning down to roughly plant a kiss, his tongue swirling around yours, swallowing all of the petulant sounds he brought out of you. “Perfect fucking pussy, and all mine.”

“All yours, Jack.” You parroted, nodding dumbly from the impact of his movements against you. “I’m all yours, sir.”

His grin turned predatory at your needy words, both hands curling around your thighs to angle them higher up, your knees now pinned to your chest, allowing him to dig just a bit deeper into you. You jolted from the change in position, one hand rushing to press against his lower stomach, fingertips skimming the raised scars along his side, long faded and meshed with the rest of him. 

He was unfazed by your movements, holding you steady, and upped his efforts against you. Your arousal practically seeped out of you, pooling at the base of him and dripping down his balls. Another whimper echoed in the room, your clouded gaze glanced down to watch Jack fuck you, mesmerized at the shine you left over him. You didn’t need to warn him that another release was swirling in your gut; your body language did all the talking for you.

“Know you’re close, honey. Can feel you getting tighter around me, damn near choking me.” He grunts, adding a swivel to his precise advances into you. “C’mon, need you to drench me. Let me feel you.”

Three more drives into you, and your third orgasm hit you so ardently your whole body trembled, a silent cry flying out of your mouth. Jack observed your reaction with hungry eyes, cooing at your cock-drunk expression, drool starting to spill out the corner of your lip.

He knew it was only a matter of time before he hit his peak, the tension in his body building in his core, and with the way you haven’t stopped convulsing around him, it will catch him off guard sooner than later. Through the haze of ecstasy, you found your voice and mumbled at him, the lust-filled mania that started this whole ordeal possessing you.

“Jack,” his attention was drawn to your face, plump lips and warm cheeks mirroring his ravenous stare, “I need you to come inside me.”

“You want it that bad, huh?” He was struggling to keep it together, his mind already hyper-focused on finishing inside until you took every damn drop. “So desperate to have your old man fill up your greedy pussy, hm?”

“Yes! Yes!” Tears streaked down your face at the mere thought of getting to feel him like this; the promise of getting what you wanted after so long was enough to overwhelm you. “Please, Jack. I need it; need to feel it. Want to feel you tomorrow, baby.”

That fired him up; the sight of your watery eyes motivated him to flex his forearms and force you to take all of him as he chased his prolonged release. A few more jabs and he was done for, digging his face into the crook of your neck and biting your shoulder to suppress the loud growl that buzzed through him. His hips were flush with yours, giving you everything he had to give, his thighs trembling and stomach almost cramping from his violent climax.

His orgasm felt never-ending; he just couldn’t stop, your body melting from the inside out as you held him above you until he plopped on top of you, pelvis subconsciously grinding into you more, never wanting to leave your warmth.

“Jesus.” You heard Jack murmur against you, placing light kisses over the indents of his teeth on your shoulder. His mouth followed a path up to the column of your throat, your jaw, and to your lips, offering you sweet pecks. “You alright?”

“Mhm,” you hummed at his affections, the rest of your limbs becoming one with the mattress under you. “Didn’t break me yet, though I don’t think I can feel my legs.”

“Means I did my job well.” Both ends of his mouth curl upwards, mimicking his expression as he gently wipes your tears away.

Carefully, he took hold of your legs, bringing them back down to the bed, rubbing them with an apologetic smile as you quivered. With ease, Jack maneuvers himself to pull out of you, his eyes going to your pussy and the mess he made of you. He catches the way his spend drips out of your opening and stains the sheets below you, a sight he was committing to memory for the first time.

A carnal urge flares within him, his curiosity getting the best of him as he brings a hand to the most sensitive part of you, his thumb spreading you out to get a better look at you. More of his seed dribbled out of you, tainting the thick digit as he smeared more of himself over the rest of your cunt. You gasped at the sensation, his thumb circling over your slick pearl, squirming under his touch from the overstimulation.

“I get the appeal now,” he says to himself again, swiftly bringing two of his fingers to scoop the rest of him and sink them back into your hole, serving as a plug to keep his release inside you. You keened at him, clutching his thick wrist as he breached your body with his hand, your breath hitching in your throat.

“Jack…”

“So pretty when you’re so full of me.” You clench around him, the sensation sending a current of pleasure coursing through him, his cock twitching again at the thought of having you again. “You can take a little more, right?”

Who were you to say no to that? You couldn’t get enough of him, and when it came to Jack Abbot, you always made room for seconds and more.

©️ ovaryacted 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hey I live your what if scenarios and I had a request for them! Could you do one where the boys are having a night out where they let loose for the first time in a long while and then how each boy would drunkenly call you to come pick them up? And vise versa if it was reader drunk calling the cod boys

I'm going to focus on the first half of this, which is the guys calling us to come pick them up after letting loose at the pub. I went short and fun with these. A bit of humor. Enjoy!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader (can be read as gn!reader)

Content & Warnings (mdni): swearing, established relationship, drunken behavior, brief mention of alcohol, brief suggestive themes

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

It’s late, and you should really be in bed, but your book is far too good to put down. The enemies are becoming lovers, and you need to know what comes next. As you flip the page to start the next chapter, your phone vibrates. At first, you ignore it. When it falls silent and then starts up again, you frown, glancing at the screen to see who it is.

John, it reads. Your husband.

He’s out with his friends, letting loose for the first time in a long while. He deserves this, to be with people he cares about that doesn’t necessarily include you. But he’s calling you, and that does spark a hint of worry.

“John?” you answer.

“Come get me.”

“Everything all right?”

“I’m not made for this.”

“You—you what?”

The sigh on the other end of the phone is deep. “Johnny bought us all tequila shots.”

“Okay,” you say slowly.

“He hates tequila.” A pause. “Had to drink his as well as mine.”

“Oh, John.”

“You know whiskey is more my drink.” “I know.” You’re already grabbing your car keys, the enemies to lovers forgotten as you head for the garage. “I’m on my way.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

Your phone vibrates, rattling across the wood side table. It’s loud—loud enough to wake you. Without looking, you reach out, navigating the area by touch rather than sight. When your fingers brush against the buzzing device, you snatch it up, rolling onto your back, wincing at the bright light that greets you as the phone awakens to show who is calling.

Johnny.

You tap the green circle and bring the phone to your ear. “Do you know what time it is?” The reply you receive from him is garbled; his Scottish accent so thick it sounds like nonsense. “Johnny!”

“S’ned a ride, love.”

You’re far too tired for this. “Repeat that again.” A loud cheer drowns out his voice. There’s a crackling, and then Kyle is talking to you. “Johnny needs a ride home. Bloke is piss drunk.” Kyle laughs, and then Johnny is back, mumbling about how much he loves you and to please come get him.

You should be annoyed, but Johnny hasn’t been out with his friends in months. He needed this—to let loose and be a mess for the sake of it.

“Jesus Christ,” you groan, grabbing your car keys. “Just drop a pin.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“I need you to pick me up.”

Simon’s statement is slightly slurred, each word slowed below his usual pace of speech. It’s unlike him to go out and let loose. There’s always a tightness about him—a stiffness. But Johnny and Kyle convinced him, urged Simon to join them on a night out. Not that he doesn’t have a drink with the rest of the team after a successful mission. This is different. This is pub hopping. This is a late night out and an early return home come morning.

“Something wrong?” you ask, curious as to why he’s calling you.

“I am drunk,” replies Simon, the slurred speech a bit more pronounced than before. “And I miss you.”

Simon rarely drinks to the point of drunkenness. A little buzz is all he needs.

“We’re literally married,” you laugh. “You saw me,” you check the time, “four hours ago.”

There is a moment of silence on the other end before Simon finally speaks. “If you come pick me up right now, I will do the tongue thing.”

Negotiation.

“Done,” you answer automatically, because he’ll only keep adding in the hopes that you’ll take pity on him.

“Bloody brilliant,” sighs Simon.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You answer your phone, bringing it to your ear. “Hello, you,” you smile.

Kyle’s voice is soft. “Hello, love.”

You plop down on the sofa. “Where are the three off to now?”

Kyle chuckles, and it sounds nervous. “Well,” he begins. “That’s why I’m calling you.”

“Not asking me to join you?” you ask, your focus shifting away from the television and on the conversation.

“No,” answers Kyle. “But—”

You frown as you hear Kyle’s friend Simon growl, “Bloody fucking ridiculous.”

“Everything okay, Kyle?”

He sighs heavily. “Can you come pick us up?”

“Us?” you counter. “Who is us?”

Another heavy sigh. “Me. Johnny. And Simon.”

The reality show on the television is completely forgotten. You start to stand, ready to go for your keys at any moment. “What pub are you at?”

“We’re not at a pub.”

You blink. “Then where are you?”

A pause. “The police station.”

You bolt forward, rushing toward the kitchen to retrieve your keys. “What happened! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, love. Johnny flirted with someone’s wife. Started a fight. Simon joined to back him up. They just now releasing them.”

You roll your eyes. “Together, the three of you are a mess.”

[sceletaflores]

LAYING IT ALL ON THE LINE...

꩜ masterlist ꩜ update blog ꩜ inbox ꩜ taglist ꩜ ao3 ꩜

｡꩜°‧➵ PAIR: Joel Miller x fem!reader

｡꩜°‧➵ WC: 4.1k

｡꩜°‧➵ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, post-outbreak, hurt/comfort, joel's pov, general violence, minor character injury, jackson!joel, when he picks an unnecessary fight with you because that's all he knows, mentioned age gap, joel miller as a sad old man, joel miller experiences feelings, oral sex (f!receiving), p in v, clothed sex, unprotected sex, erectile dysfunction? we don't know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he's twenty AND his knees are made of steel (but only sometimes), porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

｡꩜°‧➵ @retrosabers SAYS: thinking about you almost dying on patrol and joel is FUMING, unable to convey just how worried and anxious it makes him. the only way he can even remotely conceptualize his feelings is through a very PASSIONATE rawdogging ♡

｡꩜°‧➵ NAT'S NOTE: everyone say thank you sid for this absolutely luxurious prompt...i'm waiting. i had so much fun with this! i love love love a good semi-angsty, emotionally constipated man having to come to terms with his buried slash repressed feelings in the gritty wake of a near-death experience, like that's my shit. hope y'all love it!

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics!

joel miller realizes that love isn’t just a four letter word…

"Southeast perimeter’s clear. Heading west by the river bed."

“Wow, you’re finally gonna stop gettin’ us lost out here, sunshine?”

“Lost? Please, you cried when I found that shortcut through the cedar thicket.”

Joel listens to you and Tommy bicker over the radio, a forgotten cup of coffee going cold at his side. That's all he can do when you're out there—patrolling in the snow with a few others. He's not proud of how he just sits by like some anxious house wife, listening to the static between check-ins, but he can't make himself focus on anything other than the way your bright voice filters in and out.

He tries not to hover. Tries not to keep the handheld clutched like it's a goddamn lifeline. But he does, eyes glued to the thing like it might crack open and spill you out if he stares hard enough.

Joel's really not even supposed to be listening in like this. Maria's chewed him out more times than he can count each time she catches him hunched over an old radio that he's never bothered turning in, says it'll do him more harm than good worrying over it.

Besides, these channels aren't meant for civilians sitting on their asses at home. He knows that, because that's exactly what he is now—civilian adjacent. Half-retired.

Tommy jokes about it every once in a while, the way Joel's slowed down, the way his joints complain louder than they used to. A while back, he might've laughed too. Now, every little twinge of pain feels like a reminder of what he used to be.

Joel used to be the one they all looked to out on patrol. He could track better, shoot cleaner, navigate faster than most of the younger guys. That's not the case these days. His patrolling has slowed down over the past few years. He only goes out a few times every couple of months, if even that. 

He tells himself it’s by choice.

It’s not, not at all. He’s tired. His knees ache after long rides. His busted shoulder can’t handle the cold without locking up. Jackson’s got a whole rotation now, young joints, faster reflexes, eyes that don’t blur when the wind hits just right. So he doesn’t go out much anymore. Not unless the group is short. Not unless they really need him.

It makes sense. He knows it makes sense.

That doesn’t make it feel right. You out there, miles away in knee-deep snow with a rifle strapped to your back while he’s stuck here. Not out there. Not beside you.

Joel knows you can handle yourself—hell, you’ve proven that a dozen times over. You’re younger. Strong. Fast. Smart as a whip. You can shoot the cap off a beer bottle and you handle a knife better than most people your age. 

Knowing all that still doesn’t quiet the feeling of unease that eats away at him each time you strap on your gear and kiss him goodbye with a, See you later, Miller. Strolling out the door like it’s casual. Like it’s nothing.

There’s a kind of helpless fury in it. A sick twist in his gut every time he watches you ride out. Like he’s some retired goddamn hunting dog. Trusted to guard the porch, but not sharp enough to run with the pack anymore.

Joel adjusts the volume dial on the radio like it’ll make your voice stay longer.

Tommy’s laugh cuts through the speaker. “Didn’t cry. I got snow in my eye.”

“In July? Sure.”

It comes in grainy and light, full of that same teasing bite you always give Tommy—enough to make Joel’s jaw tighten with a quiet, helpless kind of fondness. He almost smiles, but it doesn’t reach past the tight pull in his chest. You’re still picking your way through territory where any tree line might be hiding something.

Joel shifts in his seat, elbows on the table, jaw clenched tight. He tells himself you’re fine. You always are. You have to be.

The channel goes still for a few beats. Then, a crack of static. Some muffled shuffling. And—

“Wait—something’s moving in the trees. Left side, just past the ridge.”

Your voice. Sharper now. Less teasing and pointedly quiet.

“Copy,” Tommy replies, suddenly serious. “Keep eyes on—”

A burst of noise. A flurry of panicked voices overlapping and shouts. The unmistakable sound of gunfire.

Then nothing.

Dead air.

Joel’s heart drops to his boots. “Tommy?” he barks into the receiver. “Come in. What the hell’s happening out there?”

When there’s no answer, Joel shoots to his feet. The chair scrapes across the floor harshly as he crosses the room in two large strides, fumbling for his jacket. “Tommy? Goddammit, someone answer me!”

Nothing.

Joel’s heart thuds violently against his ribcage as he stares at the little black box in his hand like it’s an omen. He feels it rush in all at once—panic, guilt, helpless rage curling cold and mean in his chest. His ears are ringing so loud he doesn’t hear the slam of the door behind him as he tears out of the house and into the cold air. 

Something happened. The group was compromised. You were compromised.

And he’s not there.

He should’ve been there.

Joel doesn’t remember the sprint to the stables. Doesn’t remember shouting at Maria when she tried to stop him at the gate. Doesn’t remember half the ride out. All he knows is that his hands won’t stop shaking around the reins and the bile in his throat tastes like ash—a sick, gnawing pit growing in his gut.

When he finds the group what feels like hours later, just as the sun starts to rise behind the ridgeline—you’re nowhere to be found. His eyes scan the way everyone’s spread out, some with minor injuries and the others patching them up. 

No sign of you.

Tommy plants himself in front of Joel just as he hauls himself off his horse. He doesn’t even feel the way his knees jolt as his feet hit the ground. 

“Where the hell is she?” he rasps, voice so rough it sounds like it’s been dragged through gravel. “Where, Tommy?”

Tommy’s hands are out in front of him like Joel’s a wild animal about to snap. He’s got blood on his hands, but no signs of stab wounds or bullet holes anywhere on him. It’s not his blood. Joel’s stomach turns viciously at the sight, at the thought of whose it might be.

“She’s fine,” Tommy says, eyes wide and placating. “Took a hit, it grazed her side. She wouldn’t fuckin’ stay down.”

Joel knows he won’t feel any relief until he sees you, alive and breathing with his own eyes. “Where.”

Tommy steps aside just before Joel nearly shoves past him, nodding his head toward a rock outcrop a ways away from everyone else.

You’re sitting closest to the makeshift fire, Jesse crouched beside you to clean the gash along your side. You’re bundled in someone else’s coat, hair mussed and blood soaked through your undershirt and spattered across your cheeks.

Visibly shaken. Color drained. Bloody. Alive.

Joel’s throat locks up when your eyes meet his. You give him the smallest, tired smile—like you're trying to reassure him. That look. That stupid, brave little tilt of your mouth like everything's okay even when you're the one bleeding through Tommy's jacket.

It makes something in his chest crack wide open.

“Joel?”

He doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t know what to say.

Doesn’t trust himself for it to be anything good.

Joel takes three shaky steps towards you before his knees give out. 

He drops hard into the snow. He doesn’t catch himself, doesn’t try. Just falls forward like a penitent man bowing at the altar of a God he doesn’t believe in. His breath comes in short, ragged bursts, eyes locked onto the red seeping through your shirt like it's the only color in the whole damn world.

There’s a beat where nobody moves. Jesse freezes, half-done wrapping gauze, and you’re just sitting there, wide-eyed and shaking like a leaf, lips parted like you’re trying to say something—but Joel’s already reaching for you.

He's on you in the next breath. Not rough, not like usual, not with that greedy, hungry touch he normally has after you come back from patrol. His hands are trembling when they find your face, tilting your chin up gently, his fingers brushing away wet blood and dirt.

Tommy glances away. Jesse too, both men busying themselves with helping the others. It feels too private, even out here in the open.

“Goddammit,” he chokes. “God—baby–”

His voice breaks on the last word. Breaks, something sharp and gutted and boyish, nothing like the hardened man who's grown to guard his emotions like they’re classified. Your hands hover uncertainty over his shoulders, the side of his face. You’re worried. He can see it plain as day, written in the wavering line of your mouth.

“Hey—hey, I’m okay,” you say, voice low and urgent. “I’m fine. Look at me, Joel, I’m fine. It just—it just grazed me, okay? I’m fine.”

You’re not fine.

You’re too pale. You’re stone-cold. Your blood is still tacky on your shirt, drying beneath his body's warmth.

Joel presses his forehead to yours and exhales like he’s been kept underwater, and you were the surface he’d been clawing to.

You whisper his name again, quieter this time, and he shushes you. “Don’t—don’t talk, just—let me—” His fingers press to the pulse point at your wrist like he still needs proof. “Let me feel you.”

You don’t say anything else.

You just hold him.

And Joel doesn’t cry. He can’t. Something won’t let him, but he stays there in the snow for a long time, holding you like a man who thought he’d never get the chance to again.

The ride back to Jackson is quiet.

You fell asleep half-way through, head lolling back against Joel’s shoulder as you both sat in the saddle, your body loose with exhaustion and the emergency pain meds Jesse had in his pack. Tommy rides ahead, checking the trail, but Joel barely looks up. He just holds the reins with one hand and holds you tighter with the other.

You’re taken to the infirmary the second everyone files through the gates. Joel sits by your bedside in stormy silence, hands curled into fists and resting on his knees, the only thing keeping him together.

You talk to the nurse on duty. You even joke with her, cracked voice and tired eyes like it’s all part of the routine. Like getting shot is just another part of the job. And Joel sits there while someone else wraps you in new bandages and checks your vitals.

It makes his blood boil.

All he can think about is the way your voice cut out on the radio. The way he didn’t know if you were dead or bleeding out in some field, alone. And now you’re laughing. Now you’re telling the nurse, “I’m fine really, just sore.” And it makes him want to tear the whole fucking clinic apart.

Joel doesn’t say a word until you're cleared to leave. 

Not on the short walk back to your house. Not when you’re walking through the door, cleaned up. Patched. Your shirt’s gone, replaced by his coat and a thermal blanket around your shoulders.

Not when you nudge his arm gently like you’re testing the waters. Not when you say his name soft, like it might keep him calm before you’re heading towards the bedroom.

It doesn’t.

The moment the door shuts behind him, Joel erupts.

“You got a fuckin’ death wish?”

You freeze in your spot halfway across the room, turning to face him.

Joel doesn’t move. Just stands there, fists clenched at his sides. His voice is low, shaking with barely concealed rage. “You gonna tell me why you thought playin’ saviour was worth bleedin’ out in the snow?”

You don’t say anything for a few beats, eyebrows drawn together in a hard frown as you look at him. “What was I supposed to do, Joel? Jesse was pinned, Tommy would’ve taken the hit. I didn’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice!” Joel grates, stepping towards you. “You could’ve picked you. You could’ve stayed the fuck down like Tommy told you to.”

“I was trying to keep your brother from getting shot in the head,” you snap, the tension finally striking a flint. “I made a judgment call.”

“You made a stupid call,” he spits, voice loud and blistering. “You don’t get to do that.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you repeat, your body growing stiff and tense.

“You shoulda fuckin’ stayed down.” Joel growls. He doesn’t even look at you when he says it—just rips his flannel off, tosses it hard at the wall.

You don’t flinch. Don’t even look away from him as his shirt falls and crumples into a heap on the floor. “What?”

“You heard me,” he snaps, turning to look at you again. His eyes are dark, fiery. “Jesus, you—do you even fuckin’ think sometimes? You were hit. You knew you were hit, and you kept goin’. You didn’t stop, didn’t stay down like you were told.”

He steps closer, eyes boring into yours, face twisted with something too furious to be rational. “You fuckin’ chose to be a goddamn hero, huh? Run into gunfire like it ain’t a fuckin’ death sentence? That it?”

He can see the second your expression changes, your own anger rearing its ugly head now, bitter and hot. “Don’t do that. Don’t make this about me being reckless when you know I was just trying to keep people alive. I did what I had to do.”

“No!” he snaps, pointing a finger at you, furious and stricken all at once. “What you had to do was come home. That’s it. That’s all.”

You blink at him, breath caught in your throat.

Joel can’t stop, all the emotions he’s been dealt over the past three hours finally boiling over and spilling through his lips before he can think twice about what he’s saying.

“You could’ve died,” he growls, pacing now, hands dragging through his hair roughly like he’s trying to rip the anger out of himself. “Two fuckin’ inches to the left and that bullet would’ve torn straight through your gut. You think you’d’ve made it to town in time for that? Huh?”

“That’s not fair.”

“No,” he snarls, spinning on you, voice cracking. “It’s not fuckin’ fair. Nothin’ about this is. You go out there, and I sit at home waitin’ to see if today’s the day I lose you. That the last thing I heard is your voice cuttin’ out in the middle of a fuckin’ ambush. That’s what I got to live with now. That’s what I saw every time I closed my eyes on that ride back.”

You stand there, lost for words. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“I know you didn’t,” Joel says, suddenly quieter, throat thick. He swallows hard, looking down, shaking his head like he’s trying to get a grip. “But I still almost lost you. And I don’t—fuck—I don’t know what the hell I’d do if that ever—”

His voice cuts off, ragged. Then he’s in front of you again, cupping your face with both hands. “You’re not allowed to do that to me again,” he whispers fiercely. “You’re not allowed to scare me like that.”

“Joel…” You lean into him, slow. Cautious.

Joel meets you halfway.

His mouth is on yours in a heartbeat—hot and bruising and pathetically desperate. His big hands frame your face, thumbs dragging down your cheekbones as he licks a wet stripe over the plush seam of your lips.

You gasp into his mouth when he pushes the blanket off your shoulders, when his palms skate down your sides to grip your hips hard. Not too rough, not yet, but he’s holding you because he needs you rooted. Anchored. Here.

Joel kisses you like he’s still furious at you, like he hates how much he needs you, like he’s punishing you for making him feel so afraid. It’s not soft, all teeth and tongue as he devours you, stealing the breath from your lungs.

When he pulls back, his mouth is wet with your spit, lips pink and swollen. “Need to taste you,” he mutters. “Need to feel you.”

Joel sinks to his knees before you can respond, breath huffing harshly against your stomach. His fingers tug your zipper down with frantic urgency, hooking his thumbs in your waistband to peel your pants down your legs in one swift motion.

There’s no teasing. No smugness. Just a heavy, sharp hunger carved into his face like stone as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing you to his greedy eyes. His hands slide under your thighs, lifting one over his shoulder as he brings his mouth to you like a man possessed.

The first drag of his tongue is slow. Reverent. Hot and wet as he parts the slick seam of your cunt with deliberate strokes that make your spine arch. He groans like your taste knocks the wind out of him, and then he latches on like he’s got a point to prove—to himself or you, he’s not sure. All he knows is that worshipping you is the only penance that could soothe the panic still clawing at his insides.

“Joel.” Your hands tangle in his hair, chin falling to your chest as you gaze down at him.

He sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue relentless, nose pressed deep against you. You whimper, twisting his hair in your grip, hips twitching—Joel doesn’t let you go anywhere. He’s got you trapped, your body pinned with his mouth buried between your thighs like he plans to die there.

It’s filthy, obscene—the way he devours you. Lips slick, beard growing damper with each swirl of his tongue, eyes half-lidded but still trained on your own.

Your eyes are glassy, pupils blown wide and black as spilled ink. There’s sweat beaded on your brow, lips parted and swollen as you let out small huffs of air.

Your thighs are trembling. You're soaked, arching against him, whimpering his name with tears welling in your eyes. And still—still—he won’t let up. He needs this. Needs to make you fall apart. Needs to prove to himself you’re alive by the way your body sings under his touch.

Joel can’t stop. Not until your thighs shake and you’re moaning that you’re gonna come, gonna come, Joel, please—

And you do. You fall apart on his tongue with a broken sob, legs clenching tight around his ears, hips grinding down into his mouth in weak twitches and shudders. He growls and holds you still, licking you through every last tremor until your body goes limp and threatens to sink to the floor.

Joel doesn’t let you fall—he lowers you down gently, like you’re made of spun glass, even as his hands skirt over the hem of your shirt. When he pulls it up, revealing the bandages wound tight around your side, he pauses. His gaze lingers on the wound. Jaw clenched. Something soft and wrecked flickers in his eyes.

Your hand comes up to cup the side of his face, your thumb running over the scar across his temple so gently it has his heart throbbing in his chest. “I’m okay,” you whisper. “Still here.”

Joel takes your wrist in his hand, lowering it down enough to press it hard over his heart. “You feel that?” he breaths. “That hasn’t stopped hammerin’ since I heard your voice cut out.”

You nod slowly. Your fingers curl into his shirt. “I’m sorry.”

Joel squeezes your wrist, turning his head to press a soft kiss to your forearm.

He climbs up over you, chest to chest—the jut of his cock where it tents the denim of his jeans grinds over the sensitive span of your cunt as he settles himself between your legs. He’s thick, heavy even through all the layers. 

Joel’s free hand snakes down his body, making quick work of his belt. He rips his zipper down, freeing his cock from the confines of his soaked boxers and letting it slap up against his stomach.

You moan at the sight of it—hard, straining, the tip a dusty red and wet with pre-come. Your legs widen unconsciously, thighs twitching on either side of Joel’s hips.

Joel takes himself in his hand, fist tight over the base of his cock as he runs himself through your puffy cunt, slicking the skin of his cock with your wetness. “Gonna fuck you,” he breathes, lining himself up between your legs. “Gonna feel you around me, baby, need it so damn bad.”

Joel slides in with one long, smooth stroke, your slick making it easy, and the groan he lets out sounds like pain. Like relief. Like he might lose his mind from the heat of you. Your breath hitches at the stretch, head lolling back against the hardwood as your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Mine,” he grits through his teeth, forehead pressed to yours, his hips grinding deeper as you cling to him. “You’re mine, baby. Always—always mine.”

You nod, panting, eyes glassy. “All yours,” you whisper. “Only yours, Joel.”

And then he moves.

Hard.

Desperate.

Unrelenting.

He fucks you like you’re the only thing tethering him to earth, like if he stops, he’ll unravel entirely. One arm hooks under your knee, pushing you open, deeper than before. His hips slap against yours, raw and hopelessly, but it’s not about getting off.

It’s about feeling you.

Every squeeze, every tremble, every gasp that leaves your mouth when he hits that perfect spot. 

Joel’s never felt like this before.

So angry.

So scared.

So in love.

He fucks you like he’s trying to imprint himself inside your body. His thrusts stitch you back to him, sealing you inside his chest so you can never leave. A mess of skin-on-skin and heat and slick as the two of you meet again and again and again.

“Could’ve lost you,” he growls against your throat. “Fuck, honey, I could’ve—Jesus—”

You wrap your arms around him. “You didn’t,” you whisper. “I’m here, Joel—I’m yours—”

He groans, hips stuttering, thrusts turning frantic. He can tell he’s close, that he’s been close since he sank to his knees in front of you.

“Say it again,” he pants, slamming into you with a low, wrecked noise. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp. “Always yours—fuck, Joel—”

You wrap your arms tighter around him, pulling him closer. Your nails dig into his skin through the thin layer of his undershirt, legs locking around his waist to keep him pressed against you like you’re scared he’ll let go.

Joel doesn’t let go. He’d never let go. Not even when you moan his name like a prayer, not even when your nails rake down his back, not even when you gasp out a warning, your voice thin and needy. “Joel, I—gonna—”

“I know, baby. I got you.” His hand snakes down between you, finding your clit and rubbing quick circles over it, desperate to feel you come. “Wanna feel you. Need to—fuck—need to feel you, sweetheart. Please.”

You shatter in his arms with a broken sob, clenching hard around him as your body jerks, overwhelmed and too raw to hide it. Joel feels you pulse around his cock, the tight warmth of your cunt milking him.

It’s too much, and he’s coming with a groan that sounds like it’s been clawed from his chest. He buries himself to the hilt, hips jerking with every pulse, breath catching in your ear. “Fuck, fuck—” he pants, voice hoarse, “—love you, I love you, I thought I lost you, baby, I can’t…”

You’re both trembling when it ends.

Joel holds you there for a long time, forehead resting against yours, still buried deep inside you. He still won’t let you go. Not yet.

Eventually, when he’s calmed, he pulls back just enough to look at you.

You expect that same look from earlier—rage, fear, guilt—but it’s not there. Just love. Just deep, aching relief.

“I can’t lose you,” he says quietly. “I wouldn’t survive it.”

You reach up, trace the curve of his brow, the edge of his jaw. “You won’t have to,” you whisper.

Joel kisses you again. Softer this time. Sweeter. A delicate press of lips against lips. His fingers stroke your cheek, pulling back enough for his eyes to trace along your face. He follows the line of your brows, the shape of your nose, the soft curve of your lips.

He can’t feel anything other than love.

Gentle. Solid. Steady.

It’s only love.

mini nat's note: everyone please send good vibes for my hell sent ch*m final on monday...i literally need all the luck i can get. thank you so much for reading! mwah.

[bishovapls]

Our Little One - You Make Such Pretty Sounds When You're Sorry.

Relationships: Natasha Romanoff & Wanda Maximoff & Reader

Summary: A strange day in class and a cryptic text from Natasha have you dreading what’s next. At home, Wanda’s waiting, and together, they’re about to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.

Warnings: 18+, Mommy Kink, Daddy Kink, Age difference, Older WandaNat/Younger Reader, BDSM, Dom/Sub, Spanking, Cunnilingus, Strap-on, Punishment, Overstimulation, Safe word check-ins, small bit of angst.

A/N: Look, I wasn’t planning to write this, but then Natasha and Wanda crawled into my head right before bed the other night and refused to leave until I caved. This is my first one-shot, and easily the filthiest thing I’ve ever written. I have no idea if it turned out any good, but hopefully it flows well. So, enjoy, or survive, whichever seems more fitting.

Word Count: 12,527

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

College had drained the life out of you today. You’d sat through back-to-back lectures, trying not to let the endless blur of PowerPoints and polite academic discussion turn your brain into useless soup. By the time your final class rolled around, you were already operating on autopilot, held upright by nothing but caffeine and sheer, exhausted stubbornness.

And yet, despite the fatigue, despite how desperately you wanted the day to be over, you found yourself unconsciously smoothing your hair and tugging your top into place as you stepped into the room.

Because this wasn’t just any class, there was always something different about walking into her room. A hum in your veins. A pulse just beneath your skin. It wasn’t the subject matter, it was her.

Professor Romanoff.

Or just Natasha, when the door was closed and no one else could hear the name fall softly from your lips.

Usually, you’d steal a few precious minutes after class. Ten, maybe fifteen, if she didn’t have another lecture lined up immediately. She’d lean back on her desk, arms crossed, mouth twitching in amusement as you tried, more often than not successfully, to talk her into a heated quickie in the quiet lull before the next hour began.

But that was only ever behind closed doors. In public, she was something else entirely. She had the kind of presence that made even the most confident students lower their eyes and double-check their notes. And it wasn’t an act, Natasha didn’t do acts. She was hard, cold, and impossible to read unless she wanted to be read. And more often than not, she didn’t.

You liked that about her. Actually, you more than liked it. There was something magnetic about the way she commanded a room without ever raising her voice. Something in the quiet precision of her words, in the danger you could sense just beneath the surface. It made your skin tingle, and your cheeks flush as you shift in your seat, trying to relieve the ache that always seemed to build around in her presence.

On a normal day, focusing during her lectures was already difficult, not because the material wasn’t interesting, but because she was more interesting. Because she stood there like a force of nature disguised in slacks and a fitted blazer. Because you knew what that mouth could do when it wasn’t explaining the inner workings of federal power structures.

And because, in some twisted, ridiculous way, part of you liked having to work for her attention. Liked knowing she was the hardest thing in your life to get close to, even when you already had her.

And usually, she kept her distance with practised ease, never letting her gaze linger too long, never allowing her attention to wander toward you, no matter how many times you tried to catch it. She didn’t fall for your excuses to hover near her desk, or the innocent questions you’d find reasons to ask.

She was disciplined, deliberate, and always composed, always professional, navigating that fragile line between teacher and temptation with the kind of precision that left no room for mistakes.

But not today.

Today, Natasha kept looking at you. Not constantly. Just glances. Fleeting, quiet checks. But you felt every single one of them. It wasn’t like her usual rhythm, when her eyes would catch yours so quickly during a particularly dry section of theory and flicker with the faintest hint of amusement. 

No, this was different, even subtle at first, almost unnoticeable. Her eyes would lift from her notes, sweeping the room with feigned indifference, only to linger on you a heartbeat too long. Then again, after each slide, her gaze inevitably found its way back. Until eventually, she was watching you mid-sentence, the shift unmistakable. 

Her brow would twitch, her jaw tighten just slightly, small betrayals in an otherwise unreadable face. But you saw them. You felt them. 

Your nerves prickled. You sat up straighter and tried to follow the lecture, but your attention fractured every time her eyes found yours. You’d give her a faint smile, a small nod, some invisible reassurance that you were fine, that everything was normal.

But clearly, something wasn’t because her face never changed. And yet, with each minute that passed, the tension in her jaw seemed to wind tighter.

The class dragged on. Her voice stayed controlled, of course, but her movements grew clipped, maybe even impatient. She wasn’t just stern. She was simmering, and you didn’t know why.

You looked down at your notes, and they were useless. A few broken lines from the opening ten minutes, before you realised you were being watched like a suspect, not a student. Your chest felt too tight. You could feel it, the storm building behind her silence, the sheer weight of her restraint. Her eyes hadn’t softened once.

And you couldn’t stop thinking about how she’d looked at you just a couple of nights before, barefaced and warm, as you curled between her and Wanda in bed. That softness felt galaxies away now. As if this woman standing in front of thirty tired college students wasn’t capable of it at all.

When class finally ended, you stayed seated for a moment, waiting for everyone else to leave. You tried to catch her eye. You needed something, an explanation, a gesture, anything.

But when you stood and took a hesitant step forward, she froze you in place with a single look. Her eyes were ice-cold; it wasn’t a glare, but something worse, something that felt like it was carved from stone. 

Her lips didn’t move, but her expression spoke louder than words ever could: Do not come closer. And then, as if to seal it, she gave the slightest shake of her head. You stopped in your tracks, your heart hammering in your chest.

She turned without another word and walked out, the echo of her heels swallowed by the corridor. Gone. No explanation. No signal to follow.

You sat back down slowly, palms clammy against the fabric of your jeans, your chest too tight for proper breath. Fumbling, you pulled out your phone and typed:

Y/N: Hey, just checking in. I can see you want space, but if you need anything, you know where I am 💕

You didn’t expect an answer right away, but waiting felt unbearable. Students passed by in the hallway, voices echoing down the corridors, but it all blurred together beneath the pounding in your skull.

Then, finally, your phone lit up:

Nat ❤️: Don’t even think about going back to your dorm tonight. I want you at the house when I get home.

You stared at the message, heat rising up your neck. Your mouth went dry. It was a Wednesday. You never stayed over on a Wednesday, and she knew that. This wasn’t routine. This wasn’t planned. This was a summons. Your fingers trembled slightly as you replied:

Y/N: No problem, but I do have class tomorrow?

The response came back immediately, with the kind of precision that made you feel like she’d been waiting to strike:

Nat ❤️: I do not care. You have some explaining to do and a punishment to take.

Your stomach dropped. The words didn’t excite you, not the way they sometimes might have. Because you hadn’t done anything. Not that you could remember, anyway.

Y/N: May I ask what I did? 🥺

You watched the typing bubble appear and vanish, reappear, vanish again. That alone was terrifying. Then came the final message:

Nat ❤️: If you don’t know, that’s even more of a problem. I will see you later.

Your fingers went numb around your phone. The conversation was over. Not a door closed, but slammed. You were being summoned, not invited. And Natasha was not the kind of woman who forgave ignorance.

You sat there, alone in the empty lecture hall, trying to piece together what had just happened. Trying to slow your racing heart. Trying to make sense of the shift in her, and the way she’d kept watching you, the subtle fury in her shoulders by the time she’d left.

Eventually, you stood slowly. The world outside was still moving, students were chatting, feet were pounding down the stairs, but you couldn’t hear any of it through the roar of your thoughts. You had no idea what you’d done, but tonight, you’d find out.

And Natasha? She’d make sure you never forgot.

-----

You push the door open to Wanda and Natasha’s house, the familiar click of the lock sounding almost like a welcome. You’ve had a key for a while now, a simple gesture that felt far too intimate at first, but over time became just another part of your routine. 

You stay with them most nights, save for Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays when it’s just easier to commute to your early classes from your dorm. As much as you love their place, the commute isn’t something you’re willing to make five days a week, not when there’s a perfectly good bed waiting for you just five minutes from campus.

Wanda’s been on a mission to get you to move in permanently. She’s convinced you’re one bad decision away from passing out from dehydration or malnutrition. She wants to keep you close, so she can make sure you're actually eating and hydrating properly on those long days of class. And honestly, she’s not wrong. 

Since you left on Tuesday morning, not a drop of water has passed your lips. You've been running on caffeine and convenience, coffee, soda, instant ramen, and the odd granola bar when you remember it exists. It's not that you want to neglect yourself, you just…forget. 

Between the whirlwind of lectures, social obligations, deadlines that keep multiplying, and the constant pressure to stay ahead, basic self-care always seems to fall to the bottom of the list. But Wanda, with her soft, knowing smiles and that relentless stream of gentle, insistent nagging, never lets it slide. She pushes you persistently to do better, to take care of yourself the way she so clearly wants to and moving in would make that job so much easier for her.

You’re just not sure you’re ready to take that leap, even though you’re there most nights anyway. Even though, when you open the door, you feel like it is more of a home than your dorm ever could be. More of a home than you have ever had. 

You are just about taking off your jacket when you hear it, footsteps pounding across the hardwood floor, fast and frantic, followed by a high-pitched shout, “Who’s there?!”

You freeze in place, but before you can even process what’s happening, Wanda rounds the corner, eyes wide and panicked. She’s holding a rolling pin, raised high, defensive, like she’s ready to take down any intruder. But the second her eyes meet yours, the tension in her posture melts away.

Her hand flies to her chest, breath rushing out of her in relief. “Oh my God, I thought someone was breaking in!” she says, voice trembling with laughter as she lowers the rolling pin, clutching it like a lifeline. “I didn’t expect anyone to be here! Thank God it’s just you!”

You can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all, watching Wanda’s wide-eyed panic dissolve into a warm, relieved smile. It’s like she’s just narrowly escaped some disaster, her whole posture shifting from defensive to relaxed. The rolling pin, once held in her grip like a weapon ready for battle, now seems almost comically out of place as she smooths her messy hair, catching her breath with a small, almost sheepish laugh.

“Wow, I’m sure that rolling pin would’ve really done some serious damage,” you tease, stepping further inside, the familiar scent of freshly baked bread wrapping around you like a warm, comforting hug. It feels like home, and the weight of the day lifts just a little as you breathe it in.

Wanda’s eyes flicker with a glint of mischief, her smile widening as she taps the rolling pin against her palm, the sound sharp and deliberate. “We can test it if you like, printsessa (princess),” she says, her tone light but with an undeniable edge. It’s playful, but there’s an authority in her voice that makes your pulse skip just a little.

You laugh nervously, but the teasing fades quickly as the reality of why you’re there settles back in. “Please don’t. I’m already being punished tonight. I don’t think I can take two.” The words feel heavy as they leave your mouth, and you can’t help but drop your playful demeanour, anxiety creeping back into your chest.

Wanda’s expression shifts immediately. Her eyes narrow slightly, her gaze becoming more intense as she takes a step closer to you, the playful dominance replaced by something a little more commanding. “Oh, malyshka (Little One),” she says, the softness in her voice not hiding the concern that edges into it. “What did you do? Is that why you’re here on a Wednesday?” Her words are measured, her presence filling the room as she stands a little taller, every inch of her radiating control.

You nod, your stomach twisting with unease. “I don’t know what I did,” you admit softly, almost ashamed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wanda’s eyes flash, the edge of authority sharpening as she steps closer still, crossing the space between you in two long strides. She leans down just slightly, her eyes never leaving yours. “How can you not know?” she asks, as if she can’t fathom how you could be this clueless about the situation. 

You hand her your phone, the text thread from Natasha clearly visible on the screen. You don’t say anything, just letting Wanda read it in silence, feeling your heart race in your chest as she scans the words. 

After a moment, Wanda chuckles softly, the sound rich with both amusement and disbelief. “Oh, she is mad, little girl,” she says, her voice low. “Surely, you must have some idea?” Her gaze softens just a touch, but the air is thick with the weight of her words.

You whine softly, feeling small under Wanda's gaze, your chest tightening with the anxiety that's been building for what feels like hours. Your voice comes out shaky as you mutter, “I promise, I don’t.” 

Wanda stands there for a moment, her gaze hard, but she softens before you can even register the change. Then, without saying a word, she steps closer and gently places her hand on your cheek. The touch is tender, yet firm, grounding you in a way that only Wanda can. 

Her thumb brushes over your skin as she leans in slightly, her voice quiet but commanding, “I think we should get you fed before Daddy gets home, don’t you?”

Her words send a shiver running down your spine, and you can’t help but feel the mix of anticipation and dread swirling in your stomach. “You are in for a long night,” she adds with a small, knowing smirk, and the intensity in her tone makes your heart skip.

You’re too nervous to say anything back, but you nod, unable to form any coherent words as the anxiety continues to crawl up your throat. Wanda watches you for a moment, assessing you, before she takes your hand, guiding you like a puppy as you follow her to the kitchen island. 

You sit down as she instructs, the weight of everything still pressing on your chest, but Wanda’s calm presence is the only thing that keeps you grounded.

“Do some schoolwork while I cook dinner,” she orders gently, her tone still laced with that quiet authority. She pulls your laptop from your bag and places it in front of you before sliding a tall glass of ice-cold water across the counter toward you. “And drink up,” she adds with a finality that leaves no room for argument.

You obey, opening your laptop and trying to focus on an essay for one of your classes. Wanda moves around the kitchen with ease, a soft hum escaping her lips as she begins cooking. The familiar, comforting scents of whatever she’s preparing fill the room, and your stomach growls in response. You try to ignore it, but the gnawing hunger in your stomach only intensifies the unease you are already feeling.

Eventually, Wanda moves back over to you, two plates in her hands. She sets them down gently and moves the laptop aside, her movements fluid and confident. You smile at her gratefully and shift the plate of food closer, your stomach growling louder. 

Wanda sets herself on the other side of the kitchen island, her own plate in front of her, and begins to eat. But you can’t seem to shake the gnawing anxiety, the constant thought in your head: What did I do wrong?

Punishments aren’t something you fear; in fact, you crave them. They ground you, help you find clarity, but this time is different. You don’t know what you’ve done, and that uncertainty is eating away at you.

Wanda notices, because of course she does. Her sharp eyes never miss anything, and she can sense the distraction in your body language. She pauses mid-bite as she places one of her hands gently over yours, pulling your attention back to her. “Hey, malyshka (Little One), you okay?” she asks, her voice gentle but firm, the concern in her eyes unmistakable.

You nod, but it’s a lie. The words don’t come, and you can feel the weight of them sitting heavily on your tongue. Wanda doesn’t buy it. She looks at you with concern, her brow furrowing as she places her fork down. “Are you sure?” she asks again, her voice soft but insistent.

This time, you can’t just nod; you know she won’t accept that. You huff and let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. “I don’t know what I’ve done, Wands!” you finally spill out. “I hate this, she’s never done this before! She usually at least tells me what’s wrong! But now I don’t know! I don't know, and I’m stressed, and I…” You’re cut off as Wanda calmly places a finger over your lips.

“Sweetheart… do you want to safeword?” she asks, her tone low and understanding. “We can call off the punishment, we can cuddle. I’ll text her and tell her to come home as Nat, not Daddy?” Her voice is soothing, but there's no mistaking that she would respect your decision, whether you chose the safeword or not.

You shake your head quickly, almost panicked at the thought. “No! I want to take my punishment if I deserve it! I do! I just hate not knowing,” you admit, the words tumbling out in a rush.

Wanda nods, her expression soft but still serious. “Okay. Do you want me to text her and ask her what happened?”

You hesitate, if Natasha finds out you’ve been whining, she might only get more upset, and you know what that means. The punishment will be harsher, sharper, drawn out with precision. And worse still, Wanda would know sooner what you’d done. She’d be disappointed too. That thought alone threatens to undo you. 

The fear of making everything spiral further roots you to the spot. Your head shakes slowly, your voice barely above a whisper, thin and fragile. “I can wait,” you murmur, even though the tremble in your tone betrays just how hard that wait will be.

Wanda’s brow furrows in confusion. “But you’re upset,” she says softly, her gaze filled with concern.

You shrug, trying to find the right words, but they’re hard to grasp. “Not upset, just anxious. It’s okay, I swear. I’m green, promise,” you say, trying to reassure her, but it doesn’t feel convincing, even to you.

Wanda studies you for a moment, her eyes softening as she nods. “Okay, then. How about we go to the living room with our food and watch TV? You can keep your mind off it for a bit,” she suggests, her voice light but still commanding in that way that makes you feel safe.

You can’t help the huge grin that spreads across your face, the tension in your chest easing just a little at the idea of escaping into the comforting normalcy of watching TV with her. “Yes, please!” you say, a wave of relief washing over you as you get up and follow her to the living room.

-----

Thirty minutes later, you find yourself nestled in Wanda’s lap, completely relaxed. Your head rests against her chest, the steady beat of her heart soothing you as her fingers rake gently through your hair. Every pass of her hand makes you feel more grounded, more at peace than you have all day. The warmth of her embrace envelops you, and for a moment, all your worries seem to fade away, leaving only contentment in their wake.

But that peace is shattered the moment you hear the jingle of keys in the door. The sound of the lock clicking into place echoes through the room, and your body stiffens instantly. Your muscles tense, your heart rate spikes. 

Wanda notices immediately, her soothing presence never faltering. She coos softly, her voice a gentle balm against the sudden rush of anxiety. “Shh, it’s okay, Malyshka (Little One),” she whispers, her hands stilling in your hair for a moment before she resumes her tender strokes. “It is going to be fine, I promise.”

You try to take a deep breath, but your chest feels tight, your pulse quickening. The sound of the door opening only makes everything feel more real, and you can’t shake the anticipation that’s been building. 

Wanda continues to hush you, her touch gentle but insistent, her own calmness seeping into you as she holds you close. She knows you’re on edge, and she’s determined to help you settle, even as the door swings open and the sound of footsteps grows louder.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Natasha’s voice cuts through the room like a whip, her gaze locking onto you with immediate intensity. Every muscle in your body tenses at the sound of her voice, and the calm Wanda had provided suddenly feels distant. “Did she not tell you she’s in trouble?”

Wanda, unfazed, offers a simple shrug. Her lips curl into a knowing, gentle smile as she leans down to plant a kiss on the side of your head, fingers brushing your hair softly. “She did, but she also said she didn’t know what she did. Can’t really be mad if I don’t know what I’m angry at, can I?” Her tone is soft, but there’s no mistaking the authority she carries in her words.

Natasha’s expression tightens, but there’s an unmistakable glint in her eyes, something between amusement and affection that flickers for a second, only to be quickly replaced by that hard exterior she wears so effortlessly. 

She rolls her eyes, a silent acknowledgement of Wanda’s ability to disarm her, but Natasha knows this is only temporary. She knows exactly how this is going to unfold when she gets the full story. So she turns to you again, “Have you really pretended that you do not know?” Her voice is stern, but there’s an edge to it that makes you want to curl into Wanda even more.

You freeze, her gaze pinning you in place. “Nat, I—” you start, but Natasha interrupts you with a growl that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Who?!” she spits out, her voice a low, threatening rumble, and you feel the power of it go straight to your gut.

“Daddy! I’m sorry!” You blurt out quickly, the realisation hitting you hard that you’ve made the mistake of addressing her the wrong way.

“Now, tell me what you did,” Natasha orders, voice cold and firm, yet there’s an unmistakable tension in the air. Every inch of her radiates control, and you feel utterly exposed under her scrutiny.

Your heart begins to race, anxiety clawing at you from all sides. You search your mind desperately, but you can’t find anything that would explain the situation. 

“Daddy! I don’t know! I swear I don’t!” you cry out, the panic creeping into your voice. Your chest tightens, and the air feels thick with pressure as the anxiety begins to overwhelm you. “Please, just tell me, and I’ll never do it again. I promise!” The words spill out in a flood, desperation lining each one.

Wanda cups your cheek gently. “Shh, sweetheart, it’s okay,” she coos, her voice soothing you just enough. “Tell her, Nat. She’s anxious. She genuinely doesn’t know.”

Natasha’s hard gaze softens just a fraction, but only for a moment, as she looks at you, taking in your state. She studies you quietly, the weight of her eyes never leaving your face. “Check in?” she asks softly, the sudden shift in tone catching you off guard. Her usual cold exterior is melting just a little, the concern in her voice undeniable.

You nod quickly, feeling the tension in your chest finally start to release just a little. “Green, Daddy,” you say softly, your voice shaky, “Just wanna know, please.” The words come out in a rush. You need to know what you’ve done because the uncertainty is almost unbearable.

Natasha’s gaze is piercing, unwavering as she studies you. You can almost feel the weight of her thoughts pressing down on you, trying to decide whether to accept your check-in or call everything off. It’s not the first time you’ve refused to use your safe word, after all. 

You’ve always hated disappointing them, even though they’ve tried to reassure you time and again that using the safe word would never make them angry, that they would always prefer that over you suffering in silence.

Luckily, both Wanda and Natasha are masters at reading you by now. They can see the smallest shift in your body language, the way your breath catches or how your eyes dart, and they know when you need it, even if you don’t say a word. 

This time, Natasha clearly reads that you are fine, and her decision is clear. Her expression hardens, her posture shifting as she straightens up, the cold, controlled version of herself taking over once more.

“Do you want to tell Mommy why you were being a little whore in my class, then?” Natasha sneers, her voice dripping with venom. It isn’t a question, it’s a command, an accusation that hits you with a force you weren’t prepared for. 

The air grows heavy with tension, and you feel yourself shrinking and exposed. Wanda stiffens beneath you, and you feel her body tighten, the subtle shift in her posture unmistakable. Her voice is low, dangerous. "You what?" she asks, her tone sending a shudder through your entire body.

See, while Natasha can be jealous, Wanda is something else entirely, possessive in a way that runs deep. If anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, she’s there in an instant, staking her claim. A possessive hand on your waist, pulling you closer, her eyes locking onto whoever dared to cross her, shooting daggers that make it clear: you’re hers. And later, she’ll make sure you never forget it. She’ll remind you, again and again, who you belong to.

And that's why Natasha’s words have your heart sinking into your stomach. You can feel Wanda’s temper flare, like a storm building just beneath the surface. The possessive, primal energy she exudes in moments like this is enough to make you feel both cherished and utterly helpless in her care. And now, with Natasha’s harsh words hanging in the air, you know that things are about to escalate, one way or another.

“I... I don’t know what you mean, Daddy,” you stammer, your words coming out shakily. “I didn’t do anything in class?” you ask, but your voice wavers with uncertainty, as if you don’t trust your own memory now.

Wanda’s gaze sharpens in an instant, her posture stiffening as she looks at you, her tone turning cold. “Are you trying to say Daddy’s a liar, little girl?” she murmurs, her voice laced with a warning that sends a chill down your spine.

“N…no, Mommy!” you rush to correct yourself, the panic evident in your voice. “I just…maybe she was confused,” you offer, though deep down you know that’s not going to help. 

The moment the words leave your mouth, you see Natasha’s face darken, her eyes narrowing with a dangerous glint, and her lips curl into a dark, menacing laugh.

“So, I’m confused, hm?” Natasha spits, her voice dripping with disdain. The way she speaks makes you feel small, insignificant under her gaze. “So, you didn’t have that blonde slut all over you today?” The words cut through the air like a knife, and the heat in her voice makes your stomach twist.

Wanda’s grip on your waist tightens, her eyes flashing with a possessiveness that you know well. The air between the three of you feels thick, charged with the unspoken tension of what’s to come. 

You think, like really, really think, and that’s when it hits you. Today, Carol came in and sat next to you. She’s in one of your other classes, and you’ve been working on a project together. She just decided to sit with you in this one. You hadn’t even thought twice about it, your mind focused on one thing and one thing only: Natasha. 

“Y…you mean Carol?” you ask, your voice hesitant, heart racing as it all starts to click into place. The moment the name leaves your lips, Wanda’s grip tightens around your waist again, this time her nails digging into your skin with such force that you can feel the sting. You’re sure she’s leaving little indents.

Natasha’s eyes narrow, lips curling into something far darker than usual. “So you do know what I’m talking about,” she says, her voice low and filled with barely contained anger.

You swallow hard, the weight of what you’ve just admitted making your throat tighten. “Well, I guess…now you mention it. But it’s not what you think, I promise!” you scramble to explain. “We’re in a class together! We’re friends!”

Natasha’s voice cuts through the air with an icy edge. “She spent most of my lesson touching your arm and whispering to you, not once did I see you push her away.”

Your pulse spikes as you try to think of something, anything, that could make this right. “I wasn’t even paying attention to her, Daddy!” you protest, your voice wavering. “I was watching you!” You can’t help the desperation creeping into your words, but you know it’s a weak defence. If Natasha saw Carol touch you, she also saw Carol slip you a piece of paper with her number on it.

“Come here,” Natasha commands, her voice like steel.

You freeze, dread pooling in your stomach. You don’t want to, but there’s no escaping this. Wanda’s hand on your waist pushes you forward, an unspoken command in her touch.

You glance back at her, hoping for some sign of leniency, but Wanda’s expression is unreadable. She just nods towards Natasha, her lips pressed together in a line. “Go,” she says softly, but the command is clear, and you obey.

You walk to Natasha, your steps unsteady. When you get close, Natasha doesn’t say a word, she just leans into you, her body pressing against yours, solid and unyielding. Her hand slides around your back, pulling you close, before slipping into the back pocket of your jeans. 

She pulls out the piece of paper, unfolding it slowly, eyes scanning the digits with a smirk. “So what’s this, then?” she asks, her voice dripping with barely contained fury. “I bet if I call this number, it’ll ring straight through to her, right?”

You feel the heat rising in your face, the guilt settling in your chest like a heavy weight. The words stick in your throat, but you force them out anyway. “We’re just working on a project together, I swear. It’s not what you think.” Your voice shakes slightly, small and uncertain.

“Does she know who you belong to, Kotenok (Kitten) ?” Natasha asks, her grip firm as she tilts your chin to meet her gaze.

“Of course not, we would get in trouble, Daddy,” you reply, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside. You wish you could shout it from the rooftops, to let everyone know the truth of your bond, but you can’t, not yet, at least. Not until you finish college.

“So, she thinks you’re free for the taking, then?” Natasha says, her voice sharp as her hand moves to rest lightly against your throat, a subtle pressure that sends a ripple of heat through you.

You nod as best you can with her hand on your throat, it’s not like you had any words that would make this any better for you.

Just then, Wanda’s presence shifts behind you, her voice soft but laced with something possessive as she murmurs in your ear, “Do you want her to take you, malyshka (Little One)? You want to be hers instead?”

"No! I only want Mommy and Daddy!" you say quickly, your voice trembling. "Just you, only you!" you plead, desperation creeping into your words, hoping they'll understand and let it go.

"So why didn’t you tell her that…You…Are…Taken?" Wanda growled, her voice low and firm, each word emphasised as her hands once again hold your waist possessively. 

“I...I didn’t know what to say!” you stutter, your hands trembling by your sides, your eyes desperately darting between them both, searching for any sign of understanding. “She just wanted me to call about the project!” 

Wanda’s eyes narrow, the intensity of her gaze enough to make the air around you feel suffocating. You can feel her anger rising, thick and palpable, but there’s something darker behind it, something more possessive, more protective. 

Her lips curl into a scowl, and before you can blink, she spits the words at you like venom, “Next time you see her you tell her you are taken, or I swear i’ll send you there with a collar saying ‘Daddy and mommy’s Little Whore’, do you fucking understand me?”

Part of you can’t help but be completely captivated by the thought, the idea sparking something deep inside you and making you instinctively rub your thighs together. It makes your skin flush with heat, a pleasant, electric sensation running down your spine, and for a fleeting moment, you find yourself lost in the possessiveness that pulses in the air around you. 

But then, just as quickly, the other part of you can’t shake the growing tension, the irritation radiating off both Natasha and Wanda, so raw and so intense, it’s almost suffocating.

The contrast is overwhelming, the pull of desire at odds with the heavy weight of their disapproval. You feel yourself caught between two forces, one tugging you towards them, the other urging you to retreat. The battle within you makes your chest tighten, your heart beating erratically in your ribcage.

With a sharp breath, you lock eyes with Wanda, your gaze wide, pleading, desperate for them to see how sorry you are. “Yes! I will tell her, I promise, all yours!” you cry out, your voice trembling.

Natasha watches the exchange quietly, her eyes, dark and unreadable, flicker between you and Wanda, her expression shifting from one of hard discipline to something softer, more calculating. 

She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just watches you with a look that makes your stomach churn. Finally, her grip on your neck loosens, but there’s no warmth in her touch, no comfort. “Good,” she says flatly, her voice cold but laced with an unmistakable undercurrent of satisfaction. “But you’ve still got a punishment to take. You still let someone touch what is ours, and you didn’t tell them you were taken.”

You nod, your voice quiet but firm. "I understand, Daddy."

Natasha’s smile widens, a glint of amusement in her eyes as she steps back slightly. "I'll be lenient this time," she says, her tone softened just a fraction. "You didn’t know what to say. But next time, there will be heavy consequences." 

You offer a weak smile, your eyes locking with hers as you try to convey your gratitude. "Thank you," you murmur, your voice quiet but sincere.

She smiles back at you, her expression softening for a brief moment. "Of course, Kotenok (Kitten). Anything for you," she replies, her voice gentle. But then, as if snapping back to reality, her tone sharpens as she takes a step back. "Now, since I am being lenient, I will let you choose, me or mommy?"

The question lingers, and you feel the tension coil around you. You knew exactly what it meant, the decision of who would be responsible for determining the consequences of your actions. 

There was a strange mix of both fear and heat at the thought, as each choice came with its own set of pros and cons, a balance of pleasure and discipline. Every scenario had its own sting, its own thrill, and you found yourself torn between the two.

With Wanda, you knew exactly what to expect: there would be a spanking, no question about it. It was inevitable. But as much as the thought of it made your stomach tighten, deep down, you knew it wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. 

In fact, you knew that once you settled into it, the sting would fade into something else entirely, something that left you breathless, your body humming, and your thighs soaked. 

When it came to Natasha, however, punishment wasn’t physical in that way. She didn’t need to raise a hand to make her point; she only needed to make you feel her dominance. It was always intense, overwhelming, and she would take you to that edge over and over, until you thought you might break, until you begged for that final release. 

Despite the intensity, though, you knew either option would end on a positive note. That was how they worked, at least most of the time: punishment followed by reward. It wasn’t clear whether that was because they simply couldn’t help themselves when they saw your face stained with tears and your ass warm and bruised. 

Or if they truly thought you needed it after a heavy punishment, but in the end, it didn’t matter. You always got what you wanted, and more, so there was no room for complaints. You were theirs, completely, and as much as it sometimes scared you, you couldn’t imagine wanting it any other way.

"I'll take Mommy," you say, your voice quiet but steady, hoping by choosing her, your punishment would be over sooner and you could get to the reward. 

Natasha smirks, her eyes sharp with quiet understanding. She’s not the least bit surprised by your choice, it’s the one you gravitate toward most often. She’s observant enough to know why. She gets it. 

But there’s a part of her that finds it amusing, maybe even a little telling. Because the faster route means you skip the slow unravelling, the careful teasing apart of your restraint. And sure, you get what you came for, but it’s not as deep, not as intense. 

It hasn’t been dragged out of you, layer by layer, until you’re nothing but trembling need, until you’re sobbing, your voice breaking as you plead for mercy. 

When it’s over too quickly, it never quite hits the same, and she knows that. Knows you’ll crave the kind of release that only comes when you’ve been pushed to your edge, and then held there just a little too long. 

But still, you choose the faster path, because you’re ruled by the moment, always chasing the high without the patience for the slow burn. Immediate gratification. That’s your weakness, and Natasha sees right through it.

But you’ve made your choice, and with that, something changes in Wanda’s expression. Her eyes darken, a flicker of anticipation sparking in their depths, slow and deliberate. There’s a hunger there now, undeniable, smouldering just beneath the surface, as the reality of what she’s about to do sinks in. 

The power of it. The control. It stirs something deep inside her, a heat curling in her chest, coiling low in her belly. And for a moment, she doesn’t look away. She lets you see it, lets you feel exactly what you’ve just invited.

After staring you down as if you were her prey, Wanda turns to Natasha as if you aren't even there. “I’ll heat up your food for you first,” her voice is smooth and teasing, with a playful glint in her eye. 

There’s a soft warmth to her words, but she can’t help but add, “I’m sure you’re going to work up quite an appetite…though I think it’s more than just food you’re after, isn’t it?” She smirks, clearly enjoying teasing Natasha, who has an equal look of pure lust on her face.

“Thank you, love,” Natasha replies, her voice warm and genuine. She leans past you to kiss Wanda on the cheek, a soft, affectionate gesture that feels like a contrast to the intensity you’re feeling.

Wanda meets your gaze, “Go upstairs and wait for me,” she says, her words gentle but with an unmistakable edge, “you know what I expect of you.”

You nod, your thoughts spinning as you make your way upstairs, the anticipation building with each step. The familiar mix of excitement and nerves tightens in your chest as you reach the bedroom. 

Without a second thought, strip down and position yourself on your knees, your back straight and your hands resting gently on your thighs, waiting in silence. You know the drill by now, the routine you've followed countless times, it's instinct.

You wait, the silence in the room stretching into what feels like an eternity, the minutes dragging on longer than they should. Five minutes feels like five thousand. Just as you're starting to wonder if the moment will ever come, Wanda enters, followed by Natasha, who holds a plate of food in her hands.

She settles herself on the chaise lounge in the bedroom, before casually tucking into her meal as if everything is perfectly normal, which leaves you staring in pure confusion. 

You're here, waiting to be punished, naked as the day you were born and on your knees, and yet Natasha is sitting there, eating as if nothing is about to unfold. As if she weren’t the one who made this happen.

Wanda, however, doesn't miss a beat. She moves toward the end of the bed and gestures for you to come over. No words are needed; it's a command in the way she moves, in the way her eyes meet yours. You follow, your heart racing.

The moment you lower yourself across Wanda’s lap, the atmosphere thickens again. The air feels heavier somehow, charged with something unspoken but deeply felt. Anticipation winds itself tight in your chest, each breath more shallow than the last. 

Her hand finds your back, steady and sure, fingers trailing with deliberate slowness. It isn’t quite a tickle, not really, it’s lighter, more precise, like she’s drawing something into your skin with invisible ink. Every pass leaves goosebumps in its wake, your skin tingling, burning, as though her touch carries heat just beneath the surface. And she knows. She always knows exactly what she’s doing.

“So, how many do you think you deserve?” she asks, her voice steady but with a hint of amusement.

You hesitate for a moment, but you know what you should say. “That’s for mommy to decide.” The memory of that one time you tried to choose, only to end up with triple the spanks, flashes in your mind.

“Correct answer. That’s my good girl,” Wanda murmurs, a small smile curling on her lips as her hand rubs your back.

Another shiver runs down your spine at the praise, a mix of warmth and something deeper pooling lower. You try your best to hold yourself still, the tension between you and Wanda hanging thick in the air. 

She’s taking her time, letting the anticipation build in the way she knows best, and it only makes your heartbeat quicken. The silence seems to stretch on forever before she finally speaks again, her voice smooth, calm, and laced with that unmistakable authority.

“I think we should go for an even 20,” she says, the words lingering in the air. “You know the drill. Count, or we restart. Understood?”

The instructions are clear. Your pulse spikes with a mixture of dread and excitement, but you nod, determined to obey. “Understood. Thank you, Mommy.”

Wanda hums softly, the sound rich with approval, and shifts beneath you with slow, purposeful movements. You feel her adjust her grip, one arm anchoring you more securely, her body bracing to keep you from slipping away once the inevitable squirming begins. 

The anticipation wraps itself around your ribs, pressing tight. It’s almost too much, the stillness, the waiting, but you hold yourself steady, grounding yourself in the reassuring weight of her hand. It’s a silent promise, one that says she’s in control now, and all you have to do is take it.

“Good,” Wanda murmurs, before her free hand lifts, the room seeming to hold its breath. The first strike comes quickly, sharp and firm, and you gasp, the sting resonating deep, your body jolting with the impact. 

“One,” you say softly, the word barely escaping as the shock of the strike settles in.

Wanda’s fingers gently trace the spot where her hand had just made contact, and her voice comes, low and coaxing. “That’s it. Keep counting, sweetheart.”

The next strike lands, as harsh and deliberate as the last, and you gasp sharply, the sound escaping before you can control it. Your mind scrambles to keep up, to count each blow, but each one piles onto the next, making your muscles tense and coil tighter. 

You fight to focus, trying to force the numbers out of your mouth, but with each impact, helpless whines and gasps slip past your lips. Your body is caught in a battle, pull away, or stay still, torn between the instinct to escape and the overwhelming pull to please them.

Wanda stops halfway through; she doesn’t speak immediately, letting the moment hang between you. “Halfway there,” she comments after a moment, her tone neutral, but you can hear the faint edge of satisfaction. “You’re doing so well, you make such pretty sounds when you're sorry.”

Your body hums with a heady mixture of discomfort and desire. The line between pain and pleasure blurred just a few strikes in, your nerves now tangled in the sensation, electric and consuming. You’re grateful for the brief pause, your breath coming in shallow bursts, because you were teetering dangerously close to the edge. And coming without permission, and during a punishment, was asking for a whole world of trouble. 

Been there, done that. Couldn’t sit for a week. Didn't cum for two. Never, ever again.   

The sensation thrums through you, overwhelming and all-consuming. And yet, what leaves you most exposed, most unsteady, is Natasha. Seated just beyond reach, her presence a quiet constant, she hasn’t looked away once. Calm, unreadable, completely focused on you, on every twitch, every kick, every sound. 

She’s impossibly calm, sitting there with her meal, each bite unhurried, her posture loose and at ease, as if you aren’t draped over Wanda’s lap, your skin flushed a vivid red, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. As if the sounds you’re making, the trembling of your body, aren’t happening right in front of her. 

And somehow, it only makes everything worse, in the best, most unbearable way. The casualness of it, the way Natasha observes without a flicker of surprise or discomfort, makes something inside you ache. 

Eventually, Wanda starts spanking again, each one taking you closer to the end of the 20. There’s no rushing; Wanda’s pace is deliberate, making sure every strike has its intended effect.

The last strike comes, and you can’t help but gasp, your entire body tightening as you brace yourself. “Twenty,” you manage to say, your voice shaky, relief filling your chest. 

Wanda’s hand rests lightly on your ass, her fingers grazing over the sensitive skin, the touch soft and gentle, a stark contrast to the sharpness of what came before. There’s a brief moment of stillness between you, the room quiet except for the sound of your breath. 

Slowly, Wanda lifts your chin, her gaze meeting yours, taking in the tear-streaked lines on your face. She leans forward, placing a soft kiss on your temple.

Her voice, when she speaks again, is softer, but the control remains, a steady thread woven through her words. “Good girl. You took your punishment so well.”

“Thank you, Mommy,” you whisper, your throat already a little sore from the crying out and moaning from your spanks. Your body still hums with the lingering heat of what just passed.

The fingers of her free hand make their way between your thighs, very gently pushing them open before dipping down to tease your slit. “You got so wet from Mommy’s spanking, malyshka (Little One),” she mused. You automatically push back into her touch, your pussy begging for relief, a small moan ripping up your throat from the contact. 

She chuckles darkly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Doesn’t seem like it was much of a punishment if you are this worked up, hm?” she says, her fingers gently stroking between your folds, collecting the wetness that has built up. “What do you think, Natasha?” she asks, glancing toward the redhead with a knowing smirk. “Does she need more?”

You can’t help the soft whine that escapes your lips at her words, but you stay quiet, focusing on keeping yourself composed. You know better than to speak out of turn; your mouth will only get you in trouble right now.

Natasha leans back slightly, studying you for a moment, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. She places her plate down on the side table and moves closer, her presence almost overwhelming as she crouches in front of you. Her eyes soften just a touch as she meets your gaze, before she leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. 

“You did good,” Natasha murmurs, her voice low and steady, wrapping around you like a soft caress. The words sink deep, easing the rawness that still lingers in your chest. “You are forgiven, my love.”

Wanda’s voice cuts through the moment, smooth and teasing. “You’ve gone soft,” she says to Natasha, her fingers never pausing their motions. The warmth blossoming inside you is undeniable now, between the spanking and this teasing, you already feel ready to cum. Your body is on edge, waiting for that command, waiting to be told it is okay. 

Natasha chuckles, her gaze darkening slightly as she watches you. “You just enjoy spanking her too much,” she says, voice dripping with a mix of affection and challenge. “Maybe you need to remember what it’s like.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. You swallow hard, a wave of pure desire rushing through you at the thought of watching your Mommy over your Daddy’s knee. Your mouth goes dry, and before you can stop yourself, a loud moan escapes your lips, the sound betraying your excitement at the thought.

“You like that idea?” Natasha asks, her tone rich with amusement and something more. “You wanna watch Mommy get spanked, Kotenok (Kitten) ?” You can only nod, your body betraying you once again, words refusing to form as your brain shows you images in your mind. 

“You are going to regret that,” Wanda warns as she suddenly pushes her fingers inside your soaking hole, pumping in and out of you mercilessly, hitting that deep spot just right. All you can do is squirm and moan; you are entirely at her mercy. 

“Mmm, shit….shit…so…good, Mommy….so goood” you manage to let out between moans as your hips try their best to push back to somehow get her fingers even further inside you. You certainly regret nothing right now.

Wanda keeps up the pace, and you can feel your walls getting tighter, squeezing her fingers. You are close, so close, and she knows it. Wanda leans down slightly her mouth hovering just above your ear as she murmurs, “are you about to cum for us, slut?” which results in an absolutely obscene moan falling from your mouth as you nod feverishly. 

Suddenly, Natasha’s voice slices through the charged silence, sharp and commanding. “Wanda, stop.” Her tone is final, leaving no room for defiance.

To your absolute disappointment, Wanda obeys without hesitation. The abrupt stop leaves you with a sudden emptiness, and you can’t hold it back. The whine that escapes you is loud, desperate, and completely unrestrained. 

Your chest tightens as fresh tears well up, spilling down your cheeks in silent frustration. “Please! Daddy, please let me cum!” You beg, giving her the best puppy dog eyes you possibly could, “You said I was forgiven!”

Natasha ignores your whining as she walks towards the closet with her usual confident stride, her eyes glinting with a playful spark. A few moments later, she emerges, naked apart from the most girthiest strap you own hanging from her hips, the smirk on her face never fading. 

Your eyes linger on her, unashamedly taking in every detail, and you notice Wanda's gaze following suit. She chuckles softly at the sight, her amusement clearly evident. Then, with a wicked smile, she continues, "You’re forgiven, but there’s one thing you didn’t count on."

Your breath catches, eyes wide with curiosity and a touch of apprehension. “What?” you ask, the word coming out more strained than you intended, a knot forming in your stomach.

“I know you,” she says, her voice low and sure as she strides toward you. With a firm grip, she manhandles you off Wanda’s lap, and you go willingly, your body already responding to her touch as she lays you down on your front on the bed. “So I know exactly how you think,” she adds, her tone almost teasing, as if she’s savouring the anticipation of what comes next.

“And I know,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your ear, “you thought choosing Wanda’s punishment woud mean you get to cum faster.” Her voice is a soft whisper, filled with knowing amusement, as if she’s fully aware of the thoughts that ran through your mind.

She grips your hips firmly, lifting them so you’re forced onto your hands and knees. With a swift motion, she pushes you down, guiding your back into a deep arch. You surrender to her touch, allowing her to position you just as she wants, the desire to please and obey coursing through you, making you still and compliant.

“Wanda, sit in front of her,” Natasha commands, her voice steady and authoritative. Wanda responds with a simple nod, acknowledging the instruction before gracefully moving to take her place, sitting directly in front of you, spreading her legs wide, giving you a complete view of her soaking folds.

“Now, since you thought you were clever, you don’t get to cum until she does,” Natasha growled as her eyes locked on Wanda’s bare cunt. The intensity in her gaze was palpable, and her voice, though strained, carried an unmistakable edge. “Go on, make Mommy feel good.”

You immediately set to work, your focus absolute, as if your very life hinged on the task at hand. Natasha was pushing your face hard in Wanda’s cunt, as if you didn't need to breathe. In your eyes though, you would die happy if it was right there, between her thighs; licking and sucking in the exact way she taught you. 

“F…Fuck, you’re so good at that,’ Wanda moaned, her hips pushing even further into your face. “Need to put that pretty mouth of yours to use more often.” Her voice was breathless, her eyes locked on yours, pupils wide with desire.

You can’t help the way your chest swells with pride at the praise. The compliment sent a jolt directly to your core. You swore you felt yourself clench around nothing, and a moan accidentally slipped from your lips.

It didn't take long, though, for it not to be nothing; suddenly, Natasha was behind you, her strap stroking through your folds as she got it wet using just your juices. You all knew it would be enough, you had felt them dripping down your thighs ages ago, you’re pretty sure she could slide right in with how turned on you were right now. 

And she did. She didn't give you a single bit of warning before she forced the whole thing in at once, in one long thrust. You cried out, a mix of pain and pleasure tearing through you at the stretch. Your body shivered, and you instinctively tried to pull away. Natasha’s grip was firm on your waist as she stayed still.

"Shh, it’s okay," she murmured, her voice softer than anything she’d said all night. "Take a moment, detka (babe)." The tenderness in her words was a stark contrast to the intensity before, offering a brief respite that you hadn't realised you needed. 

She waited, giving you time to adjust, but it was clear she waited too long when your hips began moving of their own volition. She watched with amusement. She could see that you were seeking more, but she wouldn't be moving until you used your words, even if desperate little whines were falling from your lips. 

Plus, the vibrations from the whines only added extra pleasure for Wanda, so really, it was only you losing out. Natasha was having fun as always, and Wanda had you eating her cunt. They were on cloud nine while you were waiting to join them. 

"Use your words," she scolded as she landed a spank to your right ass cheek. The sensation, though not particularly harsh, jolted through you, and you couldn’t contain the sharp cry that escaped your lips, especially with your ass still raw from Wanda’s earlier strikes. The sting felt amplified, every nerve on edge, and the sound you made was almost instinctual.

Natasha laughed at your reaction, and the sound only deepened the flush of heat spreading through you. It was as if her amusement made everything feel sharper, more intense. 

Before you could fully register it, another blow landed, and this time, you jolted forward, and she harshly pulled you back until you had taken her to the hilt again. Yet another noise left your throat, a sound caught somewhere between a moan, a whine, and maybe even a sob.

You knew you needed to get the words out if you wanted more, but the difference between understanding that and actually doing it felt impossible when your brain was starting to melt from the feeling of Natasha’s cock buried inside you and Wanda’s soaking cunt on your face.

“Just use your words, and you can have what you want, printsessa (princess),” she coaxed, her tone both soft and demanding.

You huff, the frustration building up inside you. The words feel thick on your tongue, as if they’re stuck, unwilling to come out. You whine softly, a mixture of embarrassment and desperation creeping up in your chest. 

Finally, you force the words out, each one scraping against the rawness inside you, “Please, Daddy. Please fuck me.” 

"There we go, was that so hard?" she asked, her voice laced with a hint of satisfaction as you finally managed to answer her. You shook your head, ready to respond, but before the words could leave your mouth, she silenced you when she pulled out and slammed back in again, and again, she gave you no time to breathe, no time to recover. She just pounded relentlessly, and you just took it, mouth hanging open, eyes glazed over, moans tumbling from your lips.

“Is this what you wanted, hm?” Natasha’s voice was a low growl, laced with raw desire as she drove into your soaked cunt. “To be shown who owns you? Why, we own you, hm?”

“Mmm…shit, yes. Daddy!” You pant out, lifting your head from between Wanda’s thighs for a second. “Want you to use me, Daddy. Make me your toy, your doll. Just please, please don’t stop!” you end up practically screaming the last of that sentence as your desperation to finally get to the edge spikes.

Natasha groaned at your words, the sound escaping her before she could stop it. She took a deep breath, collecting herself as best she could, her composure slipping for just a moment before she regained control. “Then get your face back in your Mommy’s cunt and make her cum,” natasha ordered.

You followed her instructions, knowing that this was the path to getting what you desired. You poured all your focus into Wanda’s cunt, trying your best to push aside the mounting pressure building in your core.

Soon, Wanda's body language shifted, her legs quivering, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. A glistening sheen of sweat coated her skin, the evidence that she was close to her own high, clear to both you and Natasha. “Gonna cum,” she breathed, “doing so good, so close. So close!”

Then, without so much as another breath, she reached her peak, her head tilting back as a loud moan escaped her lips. You slowed, allowing her to ride out the wave, a lazy smile settling on her face. Her eyes fluttered shut, her entire body relaxing as she savoured the aftermath. 

You turned your head, resting it gently on her thigh as her hand came to cradle your hair, her fingers brushing through it with a tender touch. Natasha was still fucking into you, but less intensely allowing you both a moment to settle. “Thank you, little one,” Wanda murmured softly, her voice full of warmth. “You did so well. Made Mommy feel so good,” she praised.

But the softness of the moment was shattered, as Natasha got impatient and gripped your hair, pulling you sharply upwards. Your body arched involuntarily, until your back was pressed against her front, and a high-pitched squeal escaped your lips as the strap inside you shifted almost painfully. 

”Now, it’s time I show you why it is us that you belong to, whore,” Natasha growled lowly in your ear, her hand moving from your hair to around your throat as her thrusts became even harder, even deeper than before. 

Each thrust left you breathless, your mind a haze as you surrendered completely to her, trusting that you were safe in her care. Your skin felt like it was on fire, every nerve alive with a sharp, buzzing heat, and your legs began to tremble.

“Taking my cock so well,” Natasha purred, her breath wet and hot against your ear as she watched your whole body writhe below her. She kept up the relentless rhythm, her free hand making its way across your stomach and down towards your clit. She applied pressure, rubbing small circles against your clit and you stopped even trying to contain yourself. You moaned and whined with no shame.

“Just like that,” she panted as she continued thrusting. “I know you can take it, I know you can! Good girl, Khoroshiy malen'kiy kotenok (good little kitten),” she mutters, focused on nothing but thrusting in and out, losing herself in the moment. 

Natasha’s voice was starting to fray at the edges, laced with something raw and hungry, like she was losing the battle to keep control. There was a roughness to her tone now, not just command but craving, deep, aching and barely restrained. 

She sounded desperate, and it did something to you, hearing her like that. Like she loved the way you needed her. The way your body trembled, the way every sound you made was a plea you didn’t know you were making.

Each second that passed, you slipped further, your need unravelling in waves, and she was watching it happen like it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. 

She squeezed your throat tighter, before gently kissing your hair, as if she couldn’t decide whether to break you apart or hold you together. You whimpered, and she let out a low groan in response, the kind that came from somewhere deep in her chest, and you felt the weight of her hunger press down on you like gravity.

“Look at you,” she breathed, her fingers still working your clit, but her other hand was gripping your neck, maybe hard enough to bruise. “Falling apart just for us.”

You tried to answer, but your voice cracked, your throat too tight from the relentless hold. Wanda was still in front of you, eyes heavy-lidded and warm, a flush on her cheeks that told you she was still riding the high you gave her. 

She looked at you with such tenderness that it almost hurt. Her gaze was a soothing warmth, the kind that wrapped around you like a blanket, contrasting sharply with Natasha's burning fire. Together, they created a balance that made you feel like you were slowly melting, and you were. 

“Breathe,” Wanda murmured, reaching out to brush her fingers across your cheek, her touch feather-light. “You’re doing so good, little one.”

You nodded weakly, eyes shimmering, tears slipping down your cheek, not from pain, not even from pleasure anymore, but from the sheer intensity of it all. From being seen, being wanted. Being claimed by these two beautiful women. 

“I wanna keep you like this,” Natasha whispered, a promise and a threat all in one. “Forever desperate. Always Needy. Ours.”

And god, you wanted that. You wanted them, both of them. The roughness, the tenderness, the way they made you feel everything all at once until it overwhelmed you in the best possible way. You were already theirs, in every way that mattered. 

There was a tremble in Natasha’s touch now, barely noticeable, but you felt it. She was shaking too. For all her dominance, her unwavering commands, she was just as lost in this as you were. And something about that made your chest ache.

You wanted to say something, anything, but your voice was buried under the moans she forced out of you with every brush of her fingers against your clit, every thrust of her hips.

You felt Wanda’s eyes still on you, soft and steady, grounding you again when Natasha felt like too much. That balance between them, between being cherished and undone, was addictive. You needed it like air.

“I love watching you fall apart,” Natasha mumbled, more to herself than you as she continued her merciless assault on your cunt. “Every time, you’re so fucking perfect like this.”

You couldn't help the way your breath hitched sharply in your throat, overwhelmed by her words. The position she had you in left you with nothing to grasp, no solid ground to hold on to as your body trembled beneath the weight of it all. 

A stuttered gasp escaped your lips, your fingers digging into your own thighs, nails sinking deep into your skin in a frantic attempt to ground yourself, to find something to cling to.

Then Wanda reached for you, her touch gentle but insistent as she pried your hands free, interlacing her fingers with yours and holding tight. The moment her palms met yours, warmth flooded through you, grounding and steadying.

“We’ve got you, baby,” she whispered, voice thick with affection and something far deeper. 

You managed to look at her, your eyes wide and wet, rolling back like you couldn’t focus. You were barely present, teetering on the edge, and they both saw it, even felt it. Your breathing was erratic, shallow, desperate, and your body gave itself away with every uncontrollable twitch. You were close. And they knew.

Wanda squeezed your hands, her thumbs brushing over your knuckles like she was trying to soothe the storm in you. Behind you, Natasha’s grip tightened with intent, and the pressure between their presence and your own unravelling senses pushed you that much nearer to the brink.

“Please, please! Please let me cum!” you finally sob, the words ripped from you like a confession. Your voice trembles, thick with desperation and barely contained emotion. You’re falling apart at the seams, and you know you need permission; you need it.

Every nerve in your body is stretched tight, every second dragging you closer to a release that feels like it might break you. “I can’t…I can’t hold on,” you whisper, breath hitching as your body quivers under their touch. 

Natasha leaned in then, her breath hot against the back of your neck, lips barely grazing skin as she murmured low and deliberate, “Don’t hold back. Let go for us. Make a mess on my cock.” 

The command coiled through you, and your whole body went taut, your back arching involuntarily as sensation surged through you, wild and uncontrollable. It didn’t feel like one thing; it felt like everything all at once. Pleasure, pain, safety, release. Like your chest was caving in and expanding at the same time. Like you were unravelling from the inside out, piece by piece, and yet being held together by the grip of their hands on your body, their voices grounding you in the chaos. 

Wanda’s eyes were locked on yours, her expression soft and awestruck, her lips parted like she was witnessing something sacred. “That’s it, malyshka (Little One), just like that,” she praised. “So pretty for us, so perfect when you cum.”

And Natasha, still behind you, didn’t let up. Her movements steady, her voice low and encouraging, even as her hands tightened around you to hold you up so she could continue thrusting. 

Your breath came in broken gasps, your hands trembling in Wanda’s grip. You weren’t sure if you were sobbing or moaning or both. Your body was shaking so hard it barely felt like it belonged to you anymore. “No more…I can’t. Too much!” you gasped, your words choked and breathless.

But despite your pleas, Natasha didn’t stop. She knew you, knew your limits, so she pushed you further, drawing out every last tremble, every shuddering breath, coaxing wave after wave of pleasure from your body until you were barely able to stay upright, your eyes fluttering closed, your body nothing more than deadweight in her hands. 

Natasha knew then it was time to stop. With a care that contrasted the intensity moments before, she eased you back down, guiding your trembling form gently until your head came to rest in Wanda’s lap once more. You didn’t even think about it, you just nuzzled your cheek into the softness of her thigh, chasing warmth, comfort, the closeness you craved. Her hand was already there, running through your hair with slow, soothing strokes, her touch quieting the aftershocks still rippling through you.

Natasha settled beside you, her presence grounding in its own way, and began peppering your face with soft kisses, your temple, your jaw, the corner of your lips. “You’re so good for us,” she murmured, her voice a soft hush against your skin, barely louder than your unsteady breaths. “You took everything so well.” 

She kissed you again and again until your breath hitched into something lighter, a small, surprised giggle escaping you. That sound, fragile and warm, made her smile. “I’m going to get you some water, okay?” she asked, fingers brushing your cheek.

You nodded, though your lower lip jutted out in a faint pout that made her laugh under her breath. “I’ll be back in two minutes, little one,” she promised, pressing one last kiss to your forehead before slipping away.

True to her word, Natasha returned quickly, a glass of water in one hand and a small bowl of fruit in the other. “Let’s get some of this in you, then we’ll relax a bit before we clean up, alright?” she offered, her tone gentle and coaxing.

You nodded again, still too dazed for speech, the world around you muffled by the sheer weight of everything you’d just felt. Wanda’s arms came around you as she helped you sit up against her chest, cradling you close. 

Natasha took the glass and held it to your lips, careful and patient, feeding you sips of water and little pieces of fruit. You let yourself be taken care of, basking in the warmth of their attention, their quiet smiles, their steady hands.

In that quiet moment, your body drained, your soul exposed, you felt it envelop you completely. Fulfillment. Peace. Satisfaction. But above all, love. You knew, in that instant, that you would need nothing else for the rest of your life, as long as you were with them.

As if she’d plucked the thought right from your head, Natasha spoke up, her voice low and teasing, “Was that enough of a reason to tell the blonde whore to leave you alone?” There was a smirk playing on her lips, but her eyes still glinted with that possessive edge, like even now, hours later, the idea of someone else touching you made her jaw clench.

You let out a breathy laugh, your smile soft as your head rested against Wanda’s chest. “I would happily never speak to her again,” you murmured honestly. “Though you guys had nothing to worry about.”

Wanda leaned in, brushing her nose affectionately against your temple. “We know,” she said, her tone warm and reassuring. Then she chuckled, light and unbothered. “But if we didn’t get a little jealous sometimes, we wouldn’t have amazing sex like this, now would we?”

"I mean, we definitely still would," you teased, a playful smirk tugging at your lips, knowing full well that jealousy wouldn’t have been necessary for tonight's events to unfold; it just made everything that much more intense.

Their teasing wrapped around you like a blanket, warm and familiar, easing the last of the tension from your bones. Eventually, Natasha scooped you up without warning, ignoring your sleepy protest as she carried you to the bathroom. Wanda followed close behind, humming softly to herself as she gathered towels.

You took your time together, rinsing off the remnants of the night with gentle touches and sleepy smiles, stealing kisses between lathered hands and whispered reassurances. When you finally dried off and made your way back to bed, everything felt heavy with satisfaction. 

You curled between them, limbs tangled together, the soft fabric of the clean sheets brushing against your skin. Whispered "I love you"s floated between you all, each one met with a kiss and an even tighter embrace, as if holding on could make this moment last forever.

Wrapped in their arms, safe between their steady breathing, you let your eyes flutter closed, your body at peace, your heart completely full.

---

While unplanned originally, there is now a part 2!

[mazeeelabyrinth]

☆ — sᥡᥣᥙs after teasing him all day

♡ Sylus x afab!reader

tags. smut, oral sex—cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, mild orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, pussy drunk Sylus, petnames—kitten, sweetheart

wc. 1k

a/n. Idk how to format my blogs anymore lol, I'm getting lazy

masterlist ☆ ao3 ☆ navigation

You had been teasing him all day—half on purpose, half just existing in that damn oversized shirt he liked too much. Sylus did not say anything at first. Just watched you, eyes dark, tongue flicking briefly over his bottom lip.

Later, you caught the shift in his mood when he locked the bedroom door behind you that night—no smirk, just simmering intensity.

You had barely finished teasing him—just a bratty little smirk, a shift of your legs in that silk robe when you prepared for bed—and suddenly Sylus was kneeling between your thighs as if prayer was a sport.

“You’ve been a naughty kitten,” he murmured, slowly removing your panties and brushing his nose against your inner thigh. “It’s time I finally pay attention to this pretty cunt, don't you think?”

Then, he kissed your thighs like they were sacred—each kiss slow, open-mouthed, deliberate, like he wanted to taste your pulse before he got to the main event.

His hands stayed firm on your hips, thumbs circling your skin as though he was trying to memorize the feel and shape of you.

When his mouth finally landed between your legs, it was not soft. Sylus licked like he was attempting to slake his thirst—and your cunt was water and he had been crawling through a desert.

Your breath broke into fragmented syllables of his name. Sylus did not rush—of course he did not. Everything he did was calculated, elegant in its cruelty.

Those crimson eyes, intense and sharp, never left yours. Not even as his tongue kept dragging in slow, hypnotic circles over your labia. Each one ended with a flick against your clit that made you gasp—as though he was ringing a bell only he could hear.

Certainly not even when your hips arched off the mattress in response. He only pinned you down harder, one strong arm wrapping beneath your thigh while his other hand splayed over your stomach—holding you in place like a pinned butterfly.

“You always tremble right here,” he murmured, voice sonorous as he pressed a kiss to the soft skin on your mons.

“Sylus, please…”

You reached down to thread your fingers in his hair, but he caught your wrist with maddening ease and pinned it to the mattress beside your hip, fingers firm but never bruising.

“Let me work, sweetheart,” he said, low and amused, breath skimming against your slick cunt. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

He spoke as if you were a decadent feast meant to be devoured by kings, not a writhing, breathless woman beneath his mouth. But then he moaned against you, like your taste was something divine, and your thighs clenched helplessly around his ears.

“Sylus, I’m—” you gasped, already feeling your climax building—sharp and quick and terrifying.

He smiled. That smile should have been illegal.

“You’ll come when I tell you to,” he whispered, lips brushing your folds, the tip of his tongue flicking against your cunt again, this time faster, tighter, ruthlessly precise.

Every flick of his tongue was done to leave you whimpering. Every suck of his lips around your clit came with a wicked gleam in his eye. He was too good at this. It wasn’t fair. He mapped you like a battlefield, found every weak point, and exploited it with finesse.

You didn’t stand a chance.

It didn’t take long before your first orgasm crashed over you, violent and shuddering. Your thighs clamped around his head but he didn’t let up—he growled softly, like your resistance only thrilled him.

Again, one hand gripped your thigh, the other slid up your trembling belly to rest over your sternum, keeping you pinned while he continued to lick and suck like you hadn’t just shattered for him.

“Sylus—fuck—I can’t—” you tried to twist, to move, to escape the overwhelming pleasure spiraling into pain. “Too much—too soon…”

He only hummed in response. The bastard was smiling. You could feel it against your skin.

“Don’t tell me you’re done, sweetheart,” he said, voice ragged, like it physically pained him to lift his mouth from you. His fingers slid in then—two of them, deep and slow, curling just right—and your breath hitched. “Not when you’re still this wet.”

Your body jolted, overstimulation crashing over you in waves—each touch too sharp, each stroke too much. Your second orgasm dragged out of you like a scream in reverse. You clenched around his fingers, thighs clamping against his shoulders. He didn’t flinch.

“Fuck—there it is,” he said against you, the vibration of his voice against your clit making you jolt. “Keep squeezing me like that, and I’ll come without even touching myself.”

No mercy. He did not stop there. You wondered if his jaw even ached.

Sylus was nothing if not indulgent when it comes to your pleasure. His teeth scraped your swollen clitoris, nipping the hooded, overstimulated bud just enough to make your cunt begin squirting around his pumping fingers and hungry mouth.

“Sylus! Oh fuck—please!” You gasped, hips writhing, too much—it was too much—but he lapped through it like he was starving. Like your orgasms had been an appetizer and he was determined to feast.

You tried to pull away but his arms locked tighter, pulling you right back against him.

By the time the third hit—harder, meaner—you were whimpering into your hand, too wrecked to speak, too far gone to beg properly. He licked you through it, slower now, gentler, but no less thorough.

His sharp features contorted into a wolfish pride when he finally pulled back, mouth slick and chin glistening. He leaned over you, bracing himself on one arm, and brushed his knuckles against your cheek.

“You always taste like heaven,” he said, voice low and reverent, like he had just discovered a religion and it wore your body.

You tried to answer. Your lips moved. Nothing came out but a ragged sigh.

Sylus chuckled, kissed the tip of your sweaty nose, and whispered, “And sweetheart, I am feeling religious.”

God help you—you got what you wanted but you were not getting sleep tonight.

[streetlamp-amber]

never ending night

bruce wayne x femwife!reader

word count: 1.7k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!

CW: pregnancy, pure fluff NOTES: hello hi i’m ailís and i’ve been meaning to start a blog where i can post some one shots that i’ve been thinking of as a way to motivate myself to finally write down my ideas so this is it. i’ll be double posting my stuff on ao3 (which you can find in my bio) and will eventually make a masterlist as well as a navigation post with a list of fandoms/characters i write for. also, english isn’t my first language.

It was close to three in the morning when Bruce finally joined you in bed after a long night of patrolling and fighting bottom of the barrel criminals all night. He showered in the bathroom on the first floor of the manor to avoid making too much noise and waking you up, but when he finally walked in your shared bedroom, you were already awake, sitting up against the headboard.

“Darling, what are you doing still up?” Bruce asked you as he reached his side of the bed.

The room was dark par for the moonlight filtering through the gap between the curtains, meaning your husband had yet to notice the state you were in.

“Dick had a nightmare,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper due to how tired you were. “It took me two hours to get him to fall back asleep and when I finally came back here, this little one started kickboxing me and keeping me awake for another hour,” you continued rubbing your round belly in hopes of soothing your baby to finally catch some sleep.

“I’m sorry I wasn't here to help,” Bruce apologised, planting a kiss on your temple as he held you close to his body.

“It’s alright, Gotham needs you,” you dismissed, not at all angry.

“Still, you’re six months pregnant. You’re growing our child inside your body, you need all the rest you can get,” he softly argued. “I would've come home earlier but all the amateur criminals came out tonight.”

“Bruce, it’s fine,” you brought your hand up to his cheek and he leaned his head into your touch. “You’ve already been cutting your patrols shorter since we found out about the baby. As long as you keep coming back home to us, alive, then I’m not mad.”

Not knowing what to say – his gratefulness for having someone so accepting of his duty as Batman was almost overwhelming, even after all those years – Bruce kissed your palm while staring at you with the same look full of love that he has been sporting since the first time he met you six years ago.

“How’d I get so lucky to fall in love with the most understanding and selfless person I know?” He asked while grabbing your hand on his cheek, wrapping his fingers around yours and squeezing them gently.

“Now that’s a lie,” you rebutted, a loving smile on your lips, lowering your joined hands on the bed. “You’re more selfless than I am. You’re the most selfless man in the world.”

“Let’s not start this never ending argument again,” Bruce chuckled, now his turn to hold your face as he brought you in for a kiss.

You happily sighed against his lips, the feeling of home that overtook you every time you tasted them was a nice welcome in this interminable night. But the kiss was cut short as you felt your baby kick again and you let your head fall back as you groaned.

“She’s still kicking?” Bruce asked you, he couldn't see the movements under your skin due to the darkness of the room and your hand on your belly.

“We don't know it's a she,” you reminded him instead of answering. You had both decided to wait until the birth to know the gender.

“And I’m telling you, I know it's a girl,” your husband repeated for what could be the hundredth time.

You also secretly hoped it was a girl, but Dick really wanted a little brother. Bruce and you were still in the process of warming him up to the idea of a little sister and it was slowly starting to work.

“As long as she doesn't come in my room,” your eight year old son had said last week, with his arms crossed over his chest and a pout on his lips.

“I doubt she’ll be doing that for the first few years, chum,” Bruce reassured him, fighting off a slightly amused grin.

“And the baby will have its own room with its own toys,” you added.

“Will I still be able to play with the baby?” Dick asked after a moment, uncrossing his arms and a hopeful look filling up his blue eyes.

“Of course you will, bubs,” you said, your fingers threading through his black hair that fell over his forehead.

“But only with her toys at first, some of yours are not suited for a baby,” Bruce pointed out, ever the overprotective father.

Bruce had lowered himself down under the blanket so he could be laying head levelled with your belly, his hand now replacing yours over the bump.

“Hey trouble,” he whispered to your child and the baby kicked again, making him smile lovingly at the movement he felt under his hand. “You shouldn't be awake this late at night, you know.”

“You're one to talk,” you commented, tone almost reprimanding.

“She doesn't know that,” Bruce looked up at you as he defended himself before his gaze fell back on your belly. “Mommy is really tired,” he continued talking to your baby, his hand now rubbing soothingly over your round stomach, “and she needs her rest to do all the work so you can come out all healthy and beautiful. Well, you're definitely gonna be the most beautiful baby if you end up looking like your mother, but that's not the point.”

You smiled at the cheesy comment and your fingers found their place in Bruce’s hair, brushing through it and nails occasionally scratching his scalp.

“Your brother Dick can't wait for you to come around,” he carried on. “Said he will teach you all sorts of acrobatic tricks once you know how to walk. And he asked Alfred if he could help paint the nursery when we finally decide on a colour.”

“And I keep telling you we should do soft green,” you argued.

“I’m not changing my mind from primrose pink,” he told you with a sly grin.

“The room won’t be pink, even if it’s a girl. And that’s final,” you firmly said. Your husband will not be winning this one argument, no sir.

Bruce sighed, rolling his eyes before focusing back on your belly. “I hope you’re not as stubborn as your mother,” he whispered to the baby, as if he was having a private conversation with them and that you weren’t there. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s one of the many reasons why I fell in love with her, but I won’t be able to say no to you even when I have to, so it would save me a lot of reprimanding from Mommy if you’re not as tenacious as her.”

You smiled to yourself as you continued listening to your husband talk to your unborn child as you threaded your fingers through his hair, enjoying the softness it had after a shower. Bruce usually gelled his hair to appear more professional when he was working in the day, and then it would get all mixed up with his sweat under his cowl when he was working as Batman. When he would come back to you after the day was over, you would refuse to touch his hair until he had showered, the texture of the gel and sweat too gross on your fingers for you to ignore.

As Bruce continued talking to your baby, his voice started lulling the two of you to sleep. The baby hadn’t kicked in over almost ten minutes now, and the peace you had waited for so long to arrive made you aware of how heavy your eyelids were. You slowly lowered yourself down the bed, getting in a comfortable position with Bruce’s help where you could finally lay your head on your pillow and it didn’t take long for sleep to catch up on you.

At the sound of your soft, barely audible snores, Bruce turned his head away from your bump to find you asleep with your free hand raised next to your head on your pillow, the other one still tangled in his hair.

He planted a soft kiss on the exposed skin of your belly, eyes closed as he took a moment to absorb the fact that a baby that was half you and half him would be joining your world in a little more than three months. Bruce wasn't known to cry, the only time you ever saw him cry was as you walked down the aisle at your wedding, but tonight, a lonesome tear rolled down his cheek and fell on your stomach, where your child was growing, because Bruce never believed he would ever get to experience again the amount of love he hadn't felt since he was eight years old.

As he observed you, sleeping soundly with his child coming to life inside you, after you comforted Dick back to sleep, Bruce, for a moment, felt overwhelmed by all the love in his life. When he became Batman, he crossed out the idea of ever having a family (other than Alfred), of settling down with someone he loved and who loved him back.

But somehow, the universe put you on his path, as a miracle or a guardian angel or simply as an anchor to life outside of Batman, he didn't know. You walked into his home, into his life, to remind him that he, Bruce Wayne, was also deserving of love, of family, of happiness. Then Dick came along, rather unexpectedly but still no less welcomed, and Bruce started entertaining the idea of having children with you. He definitely wasn't opposed to it, but it wasn't something he wanted to jump right into, especially with Dick having just entered your lives. You were both young, he in his early thirties and you in your late twenties, you could allow yourselves a couple of years just the three of you (four with Alfred) before expanding the family.

So it was rather shocking when two months after you and Bruce had officially adopted Dick that you found out you were pregnant. It both took you by surprise but after talking through it together, you couldn't be happier. And the two of you haven't stopped being happy about this new little addition ever since.

Bruce rose up from his position next to your belly, your limp hand fell from his head as he did so, and he laid on the bed next to you. He delicately kissed your forehead, then your nose before falling back on his pillow and whispered “I love you” as he curled around your body, his hand resting on your belly as he fell asleep.

[strawbeerossi]

Sleepless Nights

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: Spencer is awake late at night while you're peacefully asleep. That's when he's reminded about a few little agreements you've had.

Content/Warnings: Course language, brief masturbation (m), consensual somnophilia, fingering (f rec), unprotected sex, creampie.

Word Count: 1.3K

Kinktober Day Seventeen: Somnophilia

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

Spencer spent his time at work more often than not, which you understood how important his job was to him. You’d known the inside and out of the job and all the darkness hidden within it, so you always gave an overwhelming amount of love and support. There was a lot of patience and trust placed within one another, your husband knowing that you were always going to be there for him and that he should show he would always be there for you as well. You never expected anything big out of him after cases, just willing to hold him and let him cry into your shoulder if the cases were overwhelming for him. 

It had been three days since Spencer was home from one of his cases, the both of you laying in bed alongside one another as the both of you were looking forward to a good night's sleep. Spencer wasn’t getting much of it though, his head against his pillow while your soft breaths from peaceful sleep filled the room. With an arm behind his head, the male sighed in frustration. Insomnia hit him hard on nights like this one, when you fell asleep first and couldn’t exactly hold him due to you being dead to the world. 

He had contemplated reading, however he knew the light would wake you up and irritate you. He definitely didn’t need a cranky version of you being angry at him for the remainder of the night and even the next day. So, he reverted back to his usual ways of making himself tired. His hands were slowly pulling his half-hard cock out of his boxers as he let his eyes flutter shut. Thankfully for eidetic memory, he could practically watch any past sexual encounter with you in his head like a dirty movie. Right now, he had a specific night in mind. 

You’d been desperate and he was asleep, due to a previous talk of boundaries and consent for certain actions, you decided to try something new. He could remember his eyes slowly blinking open and being met with your face twisted with ecstasy, hands resting against his chest as your desperate and leaking cunt was embracing his cock while your hips were feverishly rutting against his. It showed how much you needed him, even getting to the point where you fucked him as he slept just to not disturb his sleep.

Just the mere thought of your tits in clear view of his gaze had Spencer letting out a low groan. He was fully erect now, his hand fisting at his cock as he let his mind continue replaying the same moments that so graciously flooded his brain. He’d continued with his movements before glancing over at you, the moonlight seeping in from the drapes shining against your sleeping silhouette. It gave him an idea, one that sent another rush of blood to his cock as he was slowing his movements with his hand. Gently tugging the duvet and sheets back, he was looking over your body.

You were wearing a silk lilac nightgown, one of his favorites. It was like you did this on purpose, as if you knew your husband would have an insomnia spell. With his hand coming up to his mouth, he was popping two of his fingers into his mouth as he was scooting towards you more. His free hand was sliding under the tempting nightgown, his hand slowly tugging down your panties as he kept his gaze on you. He wanted to see how long he could drag this out without waking you. After getting the cloth barrier out of his way, Spencer was using one of the slick fingers to slowly push into your cunt. The touch had your sleeping form let out a breath, the long digit being welcomed as your walls were squeezing around it. 

He slowly thrusted his finger, a soft groan leaving his lips as you were responding well, probably having your dream taking a sharp turn as he was fucking you with his pointer finger. Your arousal was starting to coat his finger, the male smirking as he gently pushed in a second finger, a moan now falling out of your lips as you were shifting in place. The way your sleeping face twisted in ecstasy had your husband grinning as he pressed a few kisses along your shoulder. As his fingertips were brushing against the spongy button deep inside of you,your body was reacting accordingly as your thighs clenched around his hand, still assuming this was a dream as you were rocking your hips against his fingers. 

“Poor desperate girl..” Spencer whispered while continuing to prod your needy cunt with the two long digits. Whenever he’d had enough waiting though, he’d carefully pulled his fingers out of your hole before bringing them up to his lips to clean your essence off of them.

There were desperate whines escaping your lips at the feeling of emptiness, your hips attempting to rock back. “Shh, I know.” Spencer murmured in your ear, one hand gently lifting one of your legs, his free hand helping adjust his cock at your leaking hole that was clenching around nothing. As the thick tip of his throbbing cock was slowly pushing into your warmth, you were letting out a breathy moan in your sleeping state, hand instinctively reaching back to grip at the back of your husband’s head as you were both still in the spooning position. 

As your pussy swallowed his cock whole, he was letting his lips press a few kisses against your neck as he was slowly letting his hips rut into yours. Now it only took a few good strokes before you were blinking awake, hand lightly pulling at the curls that you had a handful of. “Good morning to you too.” You whispered, drowsiness in your voice as you were moving to rock your hips back against his.

“Couldn’t sleep.” He murmured against your skin, hand moving to squeeze your hip. “Was jerking off and then i remembered that your sweet pussy would be waiting for me.” He lightly bit down on the flesh of your neck that made a moan fall from your parted lips. “Mm, I’m not complaining. I love being stuffed with your cock.” The filthy words leaving your lips had your husband groaning, head lifting. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?” He spoke through pants and whines, his thrusts speeding up as his hand was wrapping around your body, large hand taking one of your tits into his hand before giving a rough squeeze. 

As the rhythmic sound of your skin smacking against one another filled the room along with your combined sounds of pleasure, it hadn’t been long until you could feel Spencer’s hand trail between your legs, finger finding your clit with ease as he massaged the desperate bud. He was close and you were too.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” You spoke through moans, his hips thrusting snapping harder into yours as he nodded. “M-me too.” He’d stated the obvious, working to bring you to orgasm first. The feeling of your walls tightly clenching around him was enough to make his cock twitch inside of you before painting your inner walls with ribbons of his cum, hips slowly coming to a stop. 

After he was pulling out of you, he couldn’t help but lift the sheets to look at your cunt, which had been stuffed with his cum to the point where it was leaking down your thighs. “We should get you cleaned up. Plus you have to pee.” He panted, moving to rub your hip while tugging back the sheets for you to get up. “I’m going to take a shower, care to join me?” You’d asked, legs wobbling slightly as you stood from your shared bed. 

You didn’t have to ask him twice, the male sliding out of bed before he was heading over to pick you up with a smile. “Not too long though,” He began, a yawn now falling from his lips.

“I’m ready to pass out.”

[starmocha]

but grandma i love him! (and him and him and him and him) [Sylus/Reader, Xavier/Reader, Rafayel/Reader, Caleb/Reader, Zayne/Reader ★ 2808 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] 5 times Grandma Josephine meets your boyfriend + 1 time she meets your boyfriends. Or: AU where everything is the exact same, but Grandma Josephine lives, but wishes she didn’t so she doesn’t have to know how much of a hoe her granddaughter is. A/N: I wrote most of this, days before Sylus’ myth dropped as a way to cope with the impending and inevitable pain (and oh, was there so much pain with his myth…). I suddenly remembered this a month later, so I rushed to finish it before Caleb comes home again. This is very, very silly and full-on crackhead energy :’) Tag list: @miudle @alfredosaws @nezukoo-channn @voidsylus @rose-tinted-kalopsia @valkyyriia @lavlynyan 【 request to be added 】

Josephine had lived a long life, far longer than she would have anticipated for herself. When one lived as long as she had, mistakes were made and regrets inevitable. That was just life.

She knew that, of course, having pocketed many pearls of wisdom as she had navigated this long road, but that still did not make her feel any less foolish for her recent mistake.

It had seemed so innocent. So pedestrian, really.

How could she have realized that asking to meet her granddaughter’s boyfriend would be one of her greatest mistakes and biggest regret of her life?

one.

“Grandma, this is…Skye,” you said with a forced smile as you gestured to your partner.

‘Skye’ stifled his chuckle and extended a hand to the elderly woman. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Josephine,” he said politely with a charming smile, “Your granddaughter talks fondly about you.”

Josephine smiled in delight, never imagining her granddaughter would bring home a very attractive man. It was like she was looking at a work of art created by God Himself. She shook the young man’s hand happily. “Come in, come in, dinner is ready. We can chat as we eat.”

As dinner progressed, the conversation remained lively. This Skye certainly had a way with his words, his charisma was so radiantly brilliant. Josephine had also never seen her granddaughter as happy as she looked now, noticing how the two would often share sweet whispered secrets when they both thought the old woman wasn’t watching.

Oh, youth, Josephine observed with wistful envy.

After dinner, Josephine left her granddaughter alone in the kitchen to do the dishes as she went to her bedroom to retrieve a family photo album to reminisce over. Along the way, she unwittingly walked in on Skye having a private conversation on the phone in the hallway. She was about to turn away before he noticed when she paused, hearing a peculiar comment from Skye:

“Hm, so they had thought I would be there to be ambushed, did they?”

Ambushed? Josephine furrowed her brows in concern.

“Never mind, I trust you and Luke had taken care of things, correct?”

Taken care? Josephine went pale.

“Hm, they should know that Onychinus does not take betrayal so kindly.”

Motherfucking Onychinus?!

Josephine immediately raced back to the kitchen, not noticing ‘Skye’s’ amused smirk.

You were just finishing the last of the dishes when Josephine grabbed you by the shoulders, shaking you immediately and making you nearly dropped the plate you were holding.

“Dear, you have to break up with that man!”

You stared wide-eyed, feeling completely blindsided. “B-but why? I thought you liked Skye, Grandma!”

Josephine looked at you nervously, swallowing slowly before she spoke in a hushed tone, “Dear, I…I just heard him having a conversation…I…I think he’s part of…that notorious group…Onychinus.”

“Oh,” you said flatly.

Josephine stared, confused. “‘Oh’?” she echoed back, flabbergasted. “Dear, I don’t think you understand. Onychinus is a very dangerous group.”

“Uh, yeah, dangerous,” you agreed, tone flat. “Super dangerous…”

Josephine started to get annoyed, not understanding why you were behaving so flippantly about this bombshell news she had just dropped. “Dear, Onychinus is wanted for many crimes. Its leader—”

“Sylus,” you said.

“Right—wait, you know his name?”

“She should.” Josephine heard ‘Skye’s’ deep, smooth voice as he stepped back into the kitchen. “She is dating him.”

Josephine felt like her brain had just short-circuited as she watched this man walked over and leaned down to kiss her granddaughter on the lips.

“Did you even try to be discreet?” You scolded Sylus with a frown after he pulled away.

He chuckled and shook his head. “I saw her from the side,” he admitted, adding, “And I don’t like being kept a secret so…”

“You—mmph!” Sylus immediately kissed you again before you could scold him.

Josephine watched this exchange uncomfortably, feeling like she was having an out-of-body experience as her brain tried to comprehend that her sweet granddaughter, one of the top hunters in Linkon City, was in a relationship with a notorious wanted crime boss.

“I…I need some tea…” she managed after a pause.

“Oh, I’ll make some for you, Grandma!” You pulled away from Sylus immediately, rushing to the cabinet.

At that moment, Sylus’ phone rang. He took a glance at the screen and apologized. “Sorry, I have to take this call.”

Once he was out of the room, Josephine immediately rushed over to you, pulling you to the side. “Dear, do you realize what you are doing?”

“…making tea?”

“Don’t get wise with me, young lady,” she chided you instantly with a strong glare, “You know what I am talking about.”

“…Sylus?”

“Haven’t you thought about how problematic this relationship could be?”

“He does have a strange obsession with crows…”

Josephine looked bewildered. “What does that mean—never mind, I meant that he’s a felon!”

“A little bit, yeah…”

“Dear, is dating a criminal your way of getting back at me for not getting you that pony when you were eight?”

“N-no! Of course not!” You protested. “Besides, Sylus also has this amazing horse, although if I have to be honest, I prefer riding Sylus—”

Josephine had decided that was the perfect moment to black out.

“…motorcycle?! Grandma?!”

two.

Grandma, I have someone I would like you to meet! :)

Josephine felt relief when she had seen that text message her granddaughter had sent. It seemed Sylus was no longer in the picture, she thought, a little worried about any repercussion that could come from splitting with a dangerous crime boss.

As she glanced at the message again, the little smiley face at the end of the sentence calmed the old woman instantly. There was probably nothing to worry about. You seemed pleasant. Cheerful, even.

This was a good sign.

The following Saturday afternoon, Josephine was positively thrilled to meet her granddaughter’s new boyfriend, Xavier. She was immediately charmed by his princely appearance and soft-spoken and polite way of speaking. He truly looked like he had stepped out of a fairy tale.

After introductions were made, you had excused yourself from the group after receiving an urgent phone call from Tara. The other woman was in such an overly anxious state, ranting something about her cat? It took you nearly ten minutes to finally calm your friend before you were able to hang up and return to the group.

Stepping into the living room, you were surprised to see only your grandmother sitting in her chair. You furrowed your brows, feeling a strange knot forming in your stomach. Nervously, you stepped over to your grandmother.

“Wait, where’s Xavier?”

Josephine smiled. “In the kitchen,” she answered, not noticing your face was paling. “He mentioned he wanted to heat up the dish you both brought over in the oven—”

“In the oven?!”

“Yes, the oven—”

The fire alarm blared as dark thick smokes billowed from the kitchen, but thanks to the bravery and promptness of the men and women of Linkon FD, the fire was put out in less than fifteen minutes.

Josephine remained in her chair, face covered in soot, her voice peculiarly neutral. “Dear…”

“Insurance will cover this, don’t worry, and if not, I will buy you a new—”

“I don’t even like tuna casserole.”

“I told you we should have made chicken potpie.”

“Xavier—that’s…that’s not the issue…”

three.

When her granddaughter mentioned bringing an artist over, Josephine had some doubts. She worried about her granddaughter having to support a struggling artist until he could make a name for himself, but even if she did voice her concern, it would most likely have the opposite effect and just make that man seem even more desirable in her granddaughter’s eyes.

It wouldn’t do. She didn’t want to meddle, but she hoped things would just naturally end on its own terms.

Her worries instantly disappeared when her granddaughter sent her a photo of the young couple at an art exhibition. Josephine’s eyes caught the name of the artist as well as the face of the young man with his arm around her granddaughter’s waist in the photo.

Wait.

Rafayel.

This was The Rafayel.

As old as she was, Josephine kept up with the news. She recognized both the name and the face of the artist. She laughed heartily to herself, tickled that her pretty granddaughter managed to catch the eyes of a well-known artist such as Rafayel.

Her worries eased, knowing her granddaughter had just secured her future being entwined with someone as successful as Rafayel. She immediately started planning a wedding. Maybe even a guest nursery in her home for when the happy couple would visit with hopefully numerous great-grandchildren.

From this moment all the way to the next Sunday for brunch, the old woman had an extra pep in her steps. As she exited a taxi, Josephine found herself at a well-known restaurant, popular with brunch for the younger crowd. It was typically packed and hard to get in, but Josephine supposed someone as influential as Rafayel would have no problem securing a table.

“Grandma, over here!” you rushed over to hug your grandmother. After kissing her cheek, you sighed playfully, “You know Rafayel and I offered to pick you up. You didn’t have to take a taxi.”

“Nonsense, an old woman like me is perfectly capable of getting around by herself,” she chided you gently. She patted your hand reassuringly as you both walked arm linked into the restaurant. “This is so exciting, darling. I have been looking forward to meeting Rafayel all week long.”

“Wonderful!” you exclaimed, beaming, “He is really the sweetest, Grandma. You will love him. He gotten us a table outside. It really is beautiful out there.”

Well, Josephine can check off meeting a famous artist on her bucket list.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Josephine,” Rafayel greeted the older woman with a charming smile. “I have heard so much about you from this cutie over here.”

“Ra-Rafayel,” you protested with a blush and then whispered harshly under your breath to him, “N-not in front of Grandma…”

He smiled, shrugging. “Sorry, cutie, force of habit.”

“You did it again…”

Josephine laughed and reassured her blushing granddaughter. “You two really are the cutest thing ever,” she said, smiling in gratitude as Rafayel helped seat the older woman.

The time passed with a lot of pleasantries and sharing stories over a delicious array of food. Smoked salmon, quiche, waffles, fruit salad, and bellinis filled three happy bellies. Just as Josephine was already planning on speed-dialing a wedding planner, she noticed Rafayel’s face did a complete 180.

“Rafayel? Are you alright, dear—”

“M-m-m-monster!”

“Excuse me?” Josephine glared when Rafayel pointed at her.

“N-no, Grandma, it’s not you,” you quickly protested, standing up and rushing to Rafayel when he stumbled out of his seat shaking in fear. “Rafayel, calm down! It’s just a—”

“Meow.”

“Oh!” Josephine laughed when an orange cat leapt onto the table, purring happily at the plate with some leftover smoked salmon. She laughed and started petting its head as the cat greedily licked the plate and ate the remaining morsels. “Where did you come from, little one?”

The cat purred happily amid Rafayel’s screams.

“Rafayel, ca-calm down!” You trailed after Rafayel as he backed away.

“Get that monster away from me!”

“Rafayel! Come back!”

Josephine sighed.

After filling its belly with some delicious salmon, the cat napped in the old woman’s lap, purring contently as its ear was scratched. At that moment, the waiter walked over and placed the bill in front of Josephine to her surprise.

“You have got to be kidding me,” she griped once she realized her granddaughter and Rafayel were both gone.

four.

“Oh, dear, I am so excited to meet this one,” Josephine said, meaning every single word, “The way you described him makes him sound like quite a catch.”

Tall, handsome, intelligent, and with the added bonus of being good in the kitchen! There was no way this one wouldn’t be a perfect match for her sweet, darling granddaughter, who, after all, deserved only the best in life.

You laughed. “Grandma, what are you talking about? You know him.”

Josephine blinked, confused. “…I do?”

“Yeah, it’s—”

“Where’s my favorite pipsqueak?”

You gasped as you felt an arm wrapped around your waist, easily lifting you up. You blushed. “Caleb!”

Josephine laughed. “Caleb, you didn’t tell me you were coming home to visit.”

Caleb looked confused as he settled you back down to the floor, but his arm remained wrapped around your waist. “I thought Pipsqueak mentioned it to you already?”

Josephine frowned. “I don’t believe so,” she said, adding, “But what bad timing, we’re having a guest tonight and—”

She paused, suddenly noticing how Caleb’s arm still remained wrapped around your waist and the way you leaned in close against him. You were all giggly and blushing like a schoolgirl.

“…and…”

“Um, Grandma,” You started feebly, “Caleb is my boyfriend.”

“No, he’s not.”

“Uh, yes, he is.”

“No, he’s not.”

“Grandma—”

“No, he’s not.”

“Caleb!”

“Gran, I—”

“I am taking a nap!” Josephine declared, determined to wake up from this surreal dream she was having.

“Caleb—”

“Shh,” he quietly shushed you. “Gran is taking a nap…”

You glared at him, sighing in defeat as Josephine sat in her chair, blanket over her lap, and she closed her eyes, cursing whatever deity who had decided she needed to deal with this weird-ass situation at her age.

five.

Josephine smiled serenely as she watched you and Zayne make dinner together in your kitchen.

Finally, a good man.

Zayne was always the sweetest little boy, and it pleased Josephine to see he had grown into a kind and caring man with a successful career and highly-respected reputation among his peers. Zayne had effortlessly ticked off every single box in Josephine’s list of criteria for a grandson-in-law: intelligent, kind, patient, respectful, charming, handsome, successful, loving. There was not a single flaw in this young man.

“My love, come taste this,” Zayne called out as he held up a wooden spoon.

Oh, my. Even Josephine couldn’t help but blushed and felt her heart fluttering at witnessing how sweetly affectionate Zayne was with you.

“What do you think?” he asked.

You pondered, licking your lips lightly. You smiled. “Maybe just a little more soy sauce?”

Zayne nodded. “Okay,” he said, “Could you grab the bottle for me then?”

“Of course, Zaddy—”

You froze.

Zayne froze.

Josephine stared.

“Za…Zaddy?” Josephine questioned from across the kitchen island.

“It’s…nothing,” Zayne said, his ears turning red, “Just a silly nickname.”

Josephine nodded, seemingly accepting his weak explanation. “How long until dinner is ready?”

You swallowed nervously and barely managed to rasp out: “An hour…maybe?”

“I’ll just take a quick nap if you two don’t mind—oh, don’t trouble yourself, dear.”

“Okay, Grandma, you can nap on my bed…” You said feebly, a little perplexed by how…calm she seemed.

Josephine nodded again and walked to your bedroom. She sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled out her phone, searching up ‘Zaddy’ online.

She wished she hadn’t.

+ one.

This was a dream.

A motherfucking dream.

And not even a good one.

Josephine stared at all of the tall, handsome men—and Caleb—towering behind her granddaughter.

“…Dear, I thought you were dating Zayne.” She glanced at the young doctor who looked away in embarrassment.

“I am,” you answered nonchalantly, confused by your grandmother’s behavior.

“…Didn’t you break up with these other young men—and Caleb?”

Caleb blinked.

“No,” you said slowly, “I didn’t want to bombard you with all of them at once, so…I staggered their introductions.”

“You’re…dating…five men…at the same time?”

“Grandma, you are acting like I am banging them all at the same time!”

“Dear, I am sorry, it’s just—”

“We’ve only done it once.”

“…Excuse me?”

“It’s actually harder to coordinate an orgy with everyone’s busy schedule,” you explained thoughtfully, not noticing Josephine’s horrified expression. You continued flippantly, “Zayne has so many surgeries lined up for the next three months. Then Rafayel has an upcoming art show he needs to prepare for, and Sylus—”

Josephine walked away in the middle of the conversation, heading to her bedroom, leaving you flabbergasted.

You looked behind you at your five boyfriends and they all shrugged and scratched their heads, just as lost as you were. Worried, you followed after her. “Grandma? Is something the matter—"

You panicked and shrieked.

“Zayne, Caleb! Grandma is smoking and drinking!”

Josephine mentally sighed as she sat in her bed, leaning back against some propped up pillows as she stared at the ceiling with a bottle of brandy resting on her chest.

Surely, dying in an explosion would be better than this fuckery, right?

[greengoblinswifey]

Reunited— Luigi Mangione x Fem!Reader

summary— You’re reunited with your boyfriend luigi and he shows you just how much he missed you.

warnings— fingering, slight voyeurism, oral(f!receiving) praise kink, bit of crying but luigi comforts you, L bombs, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, aftercare, fluff.

a/n— originally posted on my ao3, where there’s another luigi fic <3 FREE MY MF MAN!

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

Luigi Mangione was not just another face in the crowd, he was a polarizing figure. He gained national attention after allegedly carrying out a calculated act of vengeance against a corrupt CEO you couldn’t care less about. He claimed his actions were a response to widespread exploitation and inequality in the healthcare system and you were 100% on board.

After leaving behind a manifesto that exposed systemic greed and corruption, he disappeared, sparking an instant nationwide search. Supporters hailed him as a modern day vigilante, while detractors condemned him as a criminal. You were by his side through it all, not only as his girlfriend but as his confidant and staunchest ally.

You had met Luigi three years ago at a charity gala. While his presence was understated, his charisma was undeniable. You had a passion for uncovering the truth and you were drawn to his fiery intellect and his conviction to make a difference. When he confided in you about his disillusionment with the corporate world and his dream to spark real change, you stood by him, even as the risks escalated.

When the authorities finally caught him, it shattered your world. Luigi was supposed to be halfway across the country by then, safe and untouchable. But fate had other plans.

After days of navigating legal hurdles, your boyfriend was granted bail thanks to the efforts of the legal team you assembled and the donations pouring in from his legion of supporters. The day you picked him up from jail was a whirlwind of emotions. Crowds of people gathered outside the facility, holding signs and chanting his name. The media swarmed like vultures, cameras flashing as Luigi emerged, his posture unyielding despite the chaos.

The car was parked a block away, avoiding the thick of the chaos. As he stepped out, the crowd screamed. He lifted his hand in acknowledgment, his voice cutting through the noise.

“Read the manifesto,” he said, his tone commanding yet calm. “The answers you seek are in there.”

The crowd erupted, some cheering, others debating. But Luigi didn’t linger. He moved toward you, his gaze softening the moment he saw you waiting.

The lawyer drove the two of you to a safe house on the outskirts of the city. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, noticing the tension in his shoulders and the faint bruising along his jawline.

“Baby, did they hurt you?” you asked, your voice trembling.

He exhaled, brushing your concern aside. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. I’m just angry they didn’t let me speak.”

You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers with his. “They’ll hear you soon enough. You’ve already started something they can’t ignore.”

His eyes softened as he turned to you. “I missed you,” he murmured, his hand finding your thigh. “Every damn second I was in that shithole.”

You smiled, leaning closer. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

He kissed you deeply, his hand tightening its grip. “You’ve been my anchor through all of this. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The car ride felt impossibly long as the reality of the situation weighed down on you. You kept glancing at Luigi, his sharp profile shown by the fleeting city lights. Despite the calm mask he wore, you could see the exhaustion in his eyes.

You reached over, your fingers brushing his arm. “I was so scared for you,” you whispered, your voice breaking. Tears began to spill before you could stop them.

Luigi turned to you immediately, his expression softening. “Don’t cry, amore. I’m here now,” he murmured, pulling you closer. He pressed a series of tender kisses to your cheeks, wiping away the tears with his thumbs.

“It’s just so unfair,” you choked out. “The media, the critics—they don’t know you like I do. You’re not some monster. You’re brave, kind, and caring. You only wanted to help people.”

He cupped your face, his gaze locking with yours. “Let them say what they want. I don’t need their approval. I have you, and that’s all I care about.”

You leaned into him, his words wrapping around your heart like a balm. “I just don’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t,” he promised, his voice low and steady. “No one can keep me from you.”

As the car drove deeper into the night, Luigi’s hand found its way to your thigh, his touch warm against your skin. He glanced down at your dress, his lips curving into a sly smile.

“You look so sexy in this,” he murmured, his voice a husky whisper. “Did you wear it for me?”

“Yes,” you admitted, heat rushing to your face.

He chuckled softly, his fingers tracing circles on your thigh. “Good. Because it’s driving me crazy.”

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your neck. You shivered as he placed a trail of slow kisses along your skin. “You smell amazing,” he murmured against you.

His hand slid higher, and when his fingers brushed your bare pussy, he froze for a moment before letting out a low, appreciative moan. “You’re not wearing anything underneath?” he asked.

You shook your head, your breath hitching.

“Naughty girl,” he whispered, his voice laced with both amusement and desire. His fingers trailed to your clit, the heat of his touch making you bite your lip to keep from making a sound.

“Luigi,” you whispered, your voice trembling with both anticipation and the need for discretion.

“Shh, amore,” he said, his lips still pressed to your neck. “Be good for me. Stay quiet.”

His fingers moved with purpose, his slow circles on your clit sending your nerves into a frenzy. “You’re so perfect,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “I missed this, missed you.”

The car hit a bump, jolting you both, and you bit back a gasp as he slipped a finger into you immediately, your hand gripping his arm tightly.

Up front, the lawyer cleared his throat, oblivious. “Almost there,” he said.

Luigi smirked, his fingers still working their magic. “Good. But not soon enough,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear as he praised you softly.

His touch became more deliberate, his fingers moving in a way that left you struggling to suppress your reactions. His gaze flicked up to yours, a teasing smirk playing on his lips.

“You’re doing so well for me, amore,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I can feel how much you missed me from how wet you are.”

Your breath hitched as he praised you, his movements precise and slow, building that feeling inside. He kissed the side of your neck again, murmuring against your skin, “I love seeing you like this, knowing I’m the only one who can make you feel this way.”

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, biting to suppress your moans as his fingers curled inside you with his thumb rubbing your clit.

“I can’t—” you breathed, biting your lip to quiet yourself as your orgasm built.

“Cum for me, beautiful,” he whispered, speeding up his movements.

You bit onto his shoulder, using your other hand to pull him onto you as your orgasm ripped through you like a knife. You really hoped the seats weren’t messy.

The car slowed as it neared the safe house, and Luigi reluctantly withdrew his hand, his eyes dark with unspoken promises. “Just wait til’ we’re inside,” he said softly, his fingers brushing your chin as he gave you a quick, knowing smile.

His lawyer parked the car in front of the nondescript safe house, stepping out to hold the door for both of you. Luigi exited first, straightening his suit jacket before reaching for your hand. “Thank you,” he said curtly to the lawyer, who nodded and drove off into the night.

The moment you were inside, Luigi shut the door, locking it and turned to you, his expression filled with an intensity that took your breath away.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he said, his voice rough as he pulled you close. His hands framed your face as he kissed you deeply, his body pressing you back against the nearest wall.

“Lui—,” you whispered, your hands tangling in his hair as his lips moved to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that made your knees weak.

“You’re mine,” he said firmly, his voice filled with both affection and possessiveness.

His hands roamed down your sides, gripping your waist as he pulled you even closer. “I’m going to remind you how much I missed you,” he said, his voice a mix of promise and passion.

Luigi carried you effortlessly, his strong arms wrapping you in the warmth of safety as he navigated the unfamiliar safe house. He gently kicked open the door to what you assumed was the bedroom, setting you down on the soft mattress. His touch was soft, fingers lingering on your shoulders as he slid your straps off, his eyes scanning every inch of you like he was seeing you for the first time.

“Do you have any idea how much I missed you?” he murmured, his voice filled with longing.

Your response was barely a whisper. “I’ve thought about you every second.”

He tilted your chin upward, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that deepened with every passing moment. As he undid the zipper of your dress, his movements were deliberate yet gentle. The fabric pooled at your feet, and his breath hitched slightly as his gaze took your naked body in.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his tone awestruck. His fingers threaded through your braids, tugging softly as he kissed you again, his lips tracing a path down your jawline and neck.

Your hands instinctively found his curls, tangling in them as he lowered himself to his knees before you. “Baby,” you whispered, the emotion in your voice evident.

“Shh,” he replied softly, his lips brushing your skin. “I need to take care of you first. Tell me how much you missed me.”

“I missed you so much,” you said, voice trembling with emotion. “I love you, Luigi.”

“I love you more than anything. Let me show you just how much,” he replied.

His hands caressed your thighs, his lips trailing kisses down your skin. His touch was reverent, almost as if he were worshiping every inch of you, his deep brown eyes gazing up with adoration.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice soft yet full of conviction. “Every part of you.”

His lips pressed against your pelvis, leaving a trail of warmth and affection that sent a shiver through your body. Each kiss was slow and deliberate, his presence grounding you even as your heartbeat quickened.

“Luigi,” you breathed, your voice trembling with emotion and pleasure. Your hand instinctively reached for his curls, tangling in them as he smiled against your pussy.

“Let me take care of you,” he said. “You’ve been so good for me—so patient, so strong.”

Your head tilted back, overwhelmed by the sensation of his devotion. His praises washed over you like a balm, soothing the ache of the days you’d spent apart.

His tongue moved with precision, licking your clit as he used his fingers to spread your juices across your hole. A gasp left your lips as he moved down, slipping his tongue inside your pussy then continuing his movements on your clit.

“You’re everything to me,” he continued, his hands gently gripping your hips as he sucked your clit. “I don’t deserve how good you’ve been throughout this, but I’ll spend my life proving how much I love you.”

His voice alone sent a rush of warmth through you, every syllable filled with sincerity. “I love you too,” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly as your emotions surged.

Luigi’s lips curved into a small smile. “You’re too good to me, but I’ll never take it for granted.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart swell. Every touch, every flick of his tongue was a promise that he would always cherish you, protect you.

He didn’t rush a single movement, cherishing the connection between you. You cried out as you gripped his curls tighter, your orgasm threatening to spill over.

“God baby, I can feel you clamping around my tongue, it’s okay, you can cum for me,” he urged.

With his name on your lips like a prayer, you trembled as you squirted on his tongue. He slurped your juices, guiding you through your high and savoring your taste.

When he finally finished and stood up, his arms pulled you close, cradling you as if shielding you from the world. “You’re my everything,” he whispered. “I’ll never let anything happen to us. I promise you that.”

Your hand rested on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “I believe you,” you said softly.

He smiled, brushing a strand of your braids from your face. “Good.”

Luigi’s chuckled as you gently ran your fingers along his chest, stripping him off his clothes then pushing him to sit on the edge of the bed. His dark eyes glimmered with warmth, his hands lightly brushing against your waist.

“You’ve done so much for me,” you murmured, leaning closer, your voice low but full of intent. “Now it’s my turn to show you how much I’ve missed you.”

His gaze softened, his hands sliding to your wrists as if to stop you. “You don’t have to do anything, amore,” he said, his voice tender. “Just having you here, holding you, it’s enough.”

You pouted but decided not to be a brat this once. “Whatever you say baby, anything you want.”

Luigi sat back, his strong arms pulling you onto him as if he couldn’t bear even a second without your closeness. He settled you against his chest, your bodies perfectly aligned, his heart beating steadily beneath your ear. “So obedient,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple before moving to your forehead for a lingering kiss.

He tilted your chin up gently, his dark eyes locking with yours. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly. “I need to hear you say it.”

You nodded, your breath catching. “I’ve been craving this—craving you—this whole time,” you whispered, your words trembling with sincerity.

That was all the encouragement he needed. His lips met yours in a deep kiss, one that spoke of everything unspoken, the longing, the love, the relief of being together again. His hands caressed your ass, grounding you as he shifted beneath you.

He paused, his movements deliberate, as he guided his cock against your pussy. “Slowly, baby,” he murmured, his hands firm but gentle on your hips. “I want you to feel every inch of me.”

A gasp escaped your lips as he sank deep inside you, your body adjusting to the slow, deliberate rhythm he set. “That’s it,” he praised, his voice rough with restrained need. “You’re perfect—so tight, so ready for me.”

Your nails dug lightly into his chest as the intensity built, his words spurring you on. “You can take it, baby,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your collarbone. “You’re so incredible.”

Luigi's praises, whispered against your skin, grounded you in the moment. “You feel like heaven, amore,” he said, his voice breaking slightly as he kissed you again, swallowing your soft cries.

Luigi’s grip on your hips tightened, as he guided you into a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each thrust was purposeful, his body rising to meet yours. “That’s it, princess,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your jawline. “You’re so perfect. I’ve missed you more than you can imagine.”

You clung to him, your fingers tangling in his curls as he set a steady pace. Every thrust was measured, filling you and making your breath hitch. “You’re taking me so well,” he whispered, his voice breaking with restrained emotion. “I can feel how much you’ve missed me.”

Your head tilted back, exposing your throat as his lips pressed against your skin, leaving a trail of kisses that make you shiver. “Luigi,” you gasped, your voice trembling.

“Shh, amore,” he soothed, his hands running up and down your spine as he adjusted the angle slightly, his cock moving inside your wet pussy deliberate and controlled. “Let me take care of you. Just feel me.”

His thrusts deepened, his hips rolling in a way that sent shivers down your spine. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, his dark eyes locked on yours, filled with unspoken affection and need. “So perfect for me.”

“Lu— I’m gonna cum,” you cried, your fingers gripping his hair tighter.

“I know baby, do it for me, cum on my cock,” he muttered.

Your body convulsed on top of him, your breath catching in your throat as your orgasm hit you like a truck. He continued thrusting inside you, guiding you through the intensity of the moment.

Without missing a beat, he flipped you so that he was on top of you, his cock still inside you. His soft lips came down onto your tits, swirling his tongue around your nipples as soft whimpers left you. You tried to grip onto him but he pinned your arms above your head, leaving you completely at his mercy.

He thrusted into you deeply, your body jolting upwards as you cried out.

“Oh, fuck, that feels amazing,” you moaned, feeling him continuously brush that sweet spot inside you.

He went faster at your praises, his hips snapping to meet yours. “God, you’re so wet for me, beautiful.”

His large hands gripped your waist, slamming you onto his thick cock. His hand then moved to your lower abdomen, pressing against the outline of his cock moving inside you.

“Feel me baby? Feel how deep I am inside you?” he murmured, pressing on your abdomen and slamming into you.

“S-so deep,” you whimpered.

He reached down to rub your clit, feeling your pussy flutter around him as his pace never faltered.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum baby, I know you are too. I’m gonna cum deep inside you, gonna breed this pretty fucking pussy,” he said.

You wrapped your legs around him, grinding against him. “That’s my good girl, trap me in baby, cum with me while I fuck a baby into you.”

His words sent you over the edge and you moaned his name as you felt his hot load spurt deep inside you. “Take it, take it, take it, beautiful,” he gasped, fucking you as ropes of his cum spurted inside you.

You babbled incoherent words, shivering under him as the intensity of the moment was almost too much.

“Now, when you get pregnant, you’ll always have a piece of me,” he cooed. He stayed buried inside you, relishing in the warmth and wetness of your pussy.

Luigi gently pulled out of you, his hands steady as he helped you shift. His concern for you was immediate, his touch soft as he carefully helped you to your feet. “Let’s take care of you,” he whispered, his voice filled with care. He guided you to the bath, his eyes never leaving you, as if making sure you were okay, every part of you.

He settled behind you in the large, warm tub, the water soothing as he wrapped his arms around you, his chest against your back. You leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body surround you, as he gently massaged the soap across your skin. His hands were steady and comforting, washing away the physical remnants of the day, but it was more than that—he was taking care of you in every way, his touch full of tenderness and love.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, kissing the back of your neck softly. “I promise, I won’t let them take me away again. We’ll fight this, together.”

You closed your eyes, your heart swelling with emotion as you leaned back against him. His hands gently cupped your face, turning you to look at him. “I really hope so,” you whispered, the fear from earlier still lingering, but his presence grounding you. “I’ll always be by your side, Luigi. No matter what happens.”

He smiled, a soft, knowing smile that reached his eyes. “I know,” he whispered, his voice full of reassurance. “And I’ll never let you go.”

As the warm water surrounded you both, the world outside seemed so far away. All that mattered was the two of you, in that moment, connected in a way that nothing could tear apart.

[halovians]

࿐ ♡ ˚ . 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚! — 𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒊 𝒚𝒖𝒖𝒋𝒊. ˒ ⊹

me and my roommate get drunk one night and end up fucking!!!! oh my god, this is so awkward…

୨ৎ syn. it’s your final year of uni—after midterms come to a close, you decide to celebrate by getting absolutely SMASHED with your roommate, itadori yuuji. much to your chagrin, this decision comes with a boatload of consequences. how do you navigate the awkward morning after with your golden retriever of a roommate!? (4.8k)

୨ৎ pairing. itadori yuuji x f!reader

୨ৎ cw. modern au, fem!reader, both yuuji and reader are in their final year of uni and are implied to be 21+, alcohol mentions, drunk sex, dubious consent (read prev warning), pet names used (baby, pretty, angel), oral (f!receiving), fingering, vaginal sex, creampie, dealing w/ the repercussions of fucking your roommate the morning after (but it ended up alot more fluffier and romantic than i intended because i love him), minors + ageless blogs dni! 18+ content under the cut!!

୨ৎ love, oak! oh christ almighty. i like itadori yuuji a normal amount. i just really really think he'd make the perfect boyfriend ever. first time writing for him so hoping and praying he isn’t incredibly ooc but regardless,, hope u guys like this i wrote it with my entire clit :3 crossposted to ao3 here!

[ main m.list! ┊coming soon... ]

“Yuu~ji!”

Your lilting voice carries through the shared living space of your apartment. Shuffling in through the entryway, the door clicks shut behind you as you peer around the corner of the entrance hallway.

“You there? Yu?”

You hear a muted groan come from the couch in response.

Toeing off your shoes with a giggle and setting them onto the shoe-rack (the same shoe-rack you constantly have to pester Yuuji about—”Yu, don’t just leave your shoes on the floor! The rack is right there!”—every other day), you peek over the back of the fluffy couch in the living area and find Yuuji sprawled on his stomach over it, face shoved in a pillow.

“How are you feeling?” you ask.

“Like I’m dying,” comes his muffled reply.

You reach a hand down to tousle his already messy bubblegum pink hair. He weakly bats a hand at you.

“Surely you can live a little longer for a night out with your favorite roommate?”

With a grunt, Yuuji flips over, lying on his back. He blinks once, twice. Then he grins; that familiar, radiant grin that makes your heart speed up a little in your chest. You can feel your own smile widen in response.

“I think I can do that,” he says, propping himself up on his elbows. He tilts his head at you. “You’re not gonna pass out on me again though, are you?”

Your eyes narrow slightly in challenge. Bringing your face closer to his by leaning over the couch, you reply snarkily, “and you’re not gonna force me to shoulder you the whole way home again, are you?”

Yuuji’s eyes widen at the new proximity, a faint rosiness rising to his cheeks that makes you giddy. His throat bobs before he replies, “No, promise I won’t.”

You think you see his eyes flick down momentarily—towards the swell of your chest, exposed by the low-cut top you had chosen to wear today—causing a smug sense of satisfaction to pool in your tummy. You lean further, the urge to be a tease winning out over your usual sense: over the notion that you shouldn’t be flirting with the guy you live with. It's entirely a bad idea (and yet here you are, doing it anyways).

Yuuji’s lips part slightly; when he meets your gaze again, there’s hunger shining in his big brown eyes, hazy and diluted by conflict. You can see the inner strife going on in his head already: he shouldn’t be feeling this way about his roommate. He shouldn’t be a perv.

You shouldn’t be feeling this way about him either, but you just can’t help yourself. Something about the way he’s looking at you fills you with a streak of confidence that throws all common sense out of the window.

“Good. Be ready at 7?” Your tone has noticeably lowered, nearly a purr even as you smile innocently down at him.

Yuuji swallows again, still looking like a deer caught in the headlights. “Sure—okay. Sounds good!” He babbles nervously.

It’s cute. He’s cute.

“Cool. ‘m gonna get a nap in then.”

He nods his head slowly. The tension hovers in the air between you, so palpable you could cut it with a knife. Slowly, ever so slowly, you straighten, watching as his eyes never leave your form. You bite your lip and offer Yuuji a softer smile before you turn on your heel and make your way to your bedroom.

You can feel the way his eyes bore holes into your back as you walk away, skirt swishing with every step. You purposefully sway your hips a little more despite yourself and you think you hear him choke slightly, a sound that makes you feel much more smug than it realistically should.

As you close the door to your bedroom, the only thing on your mind isn’t how tired you are from dealing with midterms—it’s how Yuuji looked at you just moments ago, eyes gleaming with raw want, like you were a five star meal served on a silver platter. You clutch your chest as you flop onto your bed.

There’s always been an underlying tension between you and Yuuji. It used to be easier to ignore, something left tucked away in the corners of your mind, leaving you to instead settle for an easy friendship. Something that doesn’t complicate things, especially since you live together. There’s no avoiding any awkward encounters should either of you decide to take that step.

But lately, things have been coming to a boiling point. You’re not sure if it’s the stress of your final year of uni dawning upon you or if its just years of tension finally being pulled taut enough to snap—whatever it is, it has muddled your senses enough to find flirting with Yuuji fun instead of something forbidden. It has you pushing boundaries you never thought you would push with him before.

Oh, well. If there was any time for things to make some bad decisions and get a little complicated with your incredibly handsome roommate, your last year of uni might just be perfect. Screw the consequences.

“Yuu,” you moan, drunkenly stumbling into a wall of muscle.

Thankfully, that wall of muscle happens to be Itadori Yuuji. He wraps a strong arm around your waist, a hiccup bubbling from his lips as he grins down at you.

“Hey there,” Yuuji laughs. “You okay?”

“Yeeeeaaahhh,” you slur. “Are we home yet?”

“Almost there. Hang on a little bit more for me, okay?”

The night air is crisp and cooling against your balmy skin, a welcome relief after spending hours in a bar packed with sweaty bodies and bass thrumming through your veins. It’s breezy, fallen leaves rustling across the ground as the wind scatters them along the sidewalk. A particularly stronger gust has you pressing closer to Yuuji, your little top and skirt doing little to protect you against the autumnal weather.

Yuuji pauses, making sure you’re steady before he shrugs off his jacket.

“Here, put this on,” he says, gently maneuvering your arms into the warm sleeves. His cologne wraps around you in its embrace, warm and musky and tinged just a little bit with alcohol. You smile.

Megumi and Nobara have already made their separate ways home, the former grabbing an uber while Nobara hitched a ride home with Maki. You can’t help the way you giggle and stumble as Yuuji ushers you forward again. “Nobaraaa’s gonna geeet iiiiit,” you snicker, latching onto the hard muscle of Yuuji’s bicep to steady yourself. “Did you see the way Maki w’s lookin’ at her? I wish someone looked at me that way.”

Yuuji is probably about equally as blasted as you are (you went shot for shot, after all), but he manages to carry himself in a more sober manner than you. He lets you latch onto him like a koala as he guides you through the doors of your apartment building.

He’s quiet. Uncharacteristically so—he’s usually a chatterbox when drunk.

“Yuuji? Did’ya even hear me?” you push.

“I heard ya,” Yuuji hums, pulling you into the elevator with him. As the machinery moves up to your floor, it makes your stomach lurch—forcing you to grab onto Yuuji tighter and bury your face in his shoulder.

“Are we there yet?” You grumble into his arm, clutching him tight.

“Almost,” he replies softly. You think you feel a gentle kiss being pressed to the crown of your head, but with the way everything is spinning, you can’t be entirely sure.

Between some time and the next, you’re finally ambling into your apartment, clutching Yuuji’s jacket tight around you. As the door clicks shut, you spin to face him—

—and end up nearly face planting, if not for the way Yuuji surges forward to catch you in his arms. “Woah there,” he mumbles. “Steady. Don’t move too fast, or you’ll fall.”

Despite his words, he has to lean against the now shut door to keep himself upright, you can feel that much. You grasp the fabric of his shirt in balled fists, pressed against the sturdy surface of his chest. You can feel the way his muscles flex and roll as he shifts with the way you’re pressed up against him.

When you look up at him, doe-eyes wide, you’re met with brown eyes glimmering with want. Lust.

“Yuu… ji?” Your lips part slightly as you suck in a breath. He inhales in sync, his hands dropping to curl around your waist. He holds you gently, like a porcelain teacup on the verge of breaking.

It's quiet. There's a dazed look in his eyes as he stares at you.

“Can I kiss you?” The question falls from his lips softly—but with the silence of the apartment, so quiet you could hear a pin drop, it’s earth shattering. His eyes drop down to your glossy lips, his tongue darting out to wet his own.

You’re not in your right mind. This is a bad idea. You know this.

You don’t care.

Pulling at the collar of his shirt, you tug him down to you, lips meeting in a clash of teeth and tongue. It’s electrifying, everything you’ve ever wanted and needed in this one moment, warmth exploding in your chest like a dying star.

Fuck. You were kissing Itadori Yuuji—and it’s everything you dreamt it would be.

He pants your name amidst kisses but it’s hard to hear with your heart roaring in your ears, a drum beating an unsteady rhythm that throws you off balance in your very core. You stumble into the shoe-rack trying to hastily drag him over to the couch. Shoes clatter to the floor as you tumble into him, a moan falling from your lips as he paws at you while your hands tangle in his hair.

“I was lookin’ at you like that, you know?” Yuuji groans as the two of you fall back onto the couch. He holds you on top of him, letting you get comfy as you straddle his lap before he continues. “You haven’t noticed?”

His voice is heavy, dragging drunkenly as you stare down at him. In this position, with Yuuji laid back on the couch, you feel like you’re towering over him—giving you some semblance of control, even though you know perfectly well that Yuuji can flip you over and take you just like that. You dip your hands under his shirt, nails gently scratching against the velvet wrapped steel planes of his abs. Pushing the fabric up, you reveal the faint happy trail that begins at his navel, disappearing teasingly under the waistband of his jeans. You bite your lip.

“Hey,”—your name falls from his lips in the form of a plea, desperate and sweet—”Look at me.”

Big hands squeezing your hips force your attention back to him. You finally listen and meet his gaze, finding that his eyes are heavily eclipsed by dilated pupils, leaving a faint ring of hazel in its wake. It’s like a dark sun, or perhaps a black hole threatening to pull you into him, consumed by everything that is Itadori Yuuji.

You think you wouldn’t mind that one bit.

“Are you sure this is okay?” He’s worried, something that makes your heart warm fondly, giving you a moment of clarity amidst the fog of lust that addles your brain. The guys you typically went home with sometimes never found it in themselves to care too much about you. But Yuuji… he’s different. He does care. Yuuji continues, a touch softer, “We’re both drunk… what if we regret it in the morning?”

You slowly reach down to cradle his face in your hands. When you speak, it’s with a bold certainty that Yuuji cannot argue with: “I know I won’t regret it.”

Yuuji nods his head. With that anxiety out of the way, he surges up to kiss you with renewed vigor, tugging his jacket off of you and pulling the hem of your top over your chest to reveal your tits. When he pulls back, his eyes widen slightly as he takes in the pretty lace bra you had opted to wear out tonight.

“You’re beautiful,” Yuuji says softly. A groan catches in his throat as you roll your hips down against his, delicious friction against his erection that has you mewling for more.

“Yu,” you sigh out as he unhooks your bra with clumsy fingers, pulling your shirt off as well in one go. The garments flutter to the floor, forgotten.

“I mean it—you really are.” His voice has noticeably deepened, taking on a huskier tone that makes your toes curl. “I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. I never can.”

He presses another kiss to your lips, quick and chaste, drawing a path down your jaw, the slope of your neck. He removes a hand from your waist to palm at your sensitive breast, drawing a whimper from you that has his cock twitching in his pants. “I can’t believe you’ve never noticed. Our friends tease me all the time for it, you know?” He sighs, nearly a whine, words slurring together in a lust-drunk haze as he presses a kiss to your collar. “I could never take another girl home with me because I only want you.”

Yuuji’s drunken confession sends you reeling, thighs tightening together around him as you tilt his chin up towards you. Love and adoration glimmers in your eyes as you respond gently, “I only want you, too.”

He smiles at you then, scooping you up in his arms as he rises. “Don’t wanna ruin the couch,” he murmurs, strong hands grasping at the fat of your ass as he carries you with ease. “Your room or mine?”

“Yu—” you gasp, clutching onto him for dear life, “mine, please.”

Even drunk, he moves with you with a practiced ease—as if you’ve done this your entire lives. As he lays you on your bed, he curls over you, lips pressing together messily as his hands fiddle with the hem of your skirt. There’s a brief moment where he pants, “Can I take them off, pretty? Can I?,” as he nips at your lower lip. You nod your head; immediately he’s sliding them off, leaving you in your lacy undergarments and feeling unfairly naked compared to him. You cross your arms over your chest shyly.

Yuuji smiles sweetly as he kneels, pressing a kiss to your navel.

“Don’t hide from me, baby. I wanna see you..” He trails off as he hooks his fingers under the band of your panties, eyes flicking up to yours in silent question. You can only manage to nod your head—words have entirely escaped you at this point. If you spoke, you weren’t sure what, exactly, would come out.

The way he pulls the fabric off of you is almost reverent, his eyes never leaving your body as he sets your panties to the side. His breath is hot against your skin as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh.

“Baby,” Yuuji starts, the pet name falling from his lips with ease, like something familiar, “tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

Calloused fingertips press into the sensitive flesh of your thighs as he pushes your legs open, even going as far as hooking a leg over his shoulder as he settles between them. His breath is hot and heavy as he grows closer to your core. It’s embarrassing, and you want to press your legs together, but Yuuji doesn’t allow this. He’s firm in his place, holding your legs wide open, baring you to him.

He starts gentle. A kiss to the apex of your thighs, a gentle finger running along your sensitive, weeping slit. A shiver runs down your spine as he parts you open, eyes raptly on you.

“Don’t stare,” you whine. “It’s embarrassing.”

He murmurs a soft apology, taking one more second for himself before he dives right in: tongue lapping at you voraciously, pulling the sweetest of moans from your lips as he eats you out like a man starved. You try to press your thighs together once more but he holds you open, unyielding in his grip as his tongue dips in your slit, then draws upwards, making circles around your clit.

He’s messy in the way he eats you out. He doesn’t hold back, either: he laps at you like he’s a dehydrated man at last finding an oasis, drinking in your juices like it’s the finest of nectars. Slick covers his chin as he raises his head to look at you, half-lidded eyes meeting yours as he eases a finger into you. It slips in with ease, aided by how wet you’ve gotten on just his tongue alone.

Your back arches as he pumps his finger into you. You need more. “Yuuji,” you plead in a broken moan. “Need more—want your cock inside me, I can take it.”

His eyes widen slightly, but he’s nodding his head like an eager puppy, withdrawing his hand and rising to pull his clothes off. You whine, a soft plea of, “hurry, need you now,” that has Yuuji clumsily fumbling at the button of his jeans. He doesn’t even pull them off fully, letting the fabric pool at his ankles as he takes his dick in his hands and presses his hips to yours. His shaft presses against your messy slit, pulsing and needy.

“Fuck,” he curses, a soft whine sounding deep in his throat as his hips cant against yours. Your eyes are wide and unblinking as you take in the sight: Yuuji, desperate, grasping your legs and nearly folding you in half as his cock rests on your pelvis, your navel. He’s big. The thought of someone his size fucking into you should be scary, but you know Yuuji will take care of you—or perhaps that’s the liquor in your brain telling you that you can take it, that you need him inside of you now.

“You’re gonna feel me so deep, baby,” he mumbles, entranced by the sight. You buck your hips slightly, barely moving thanks to the hold he has on you.

“I can take it,” you repeat, your breathing growing heavier with every passing second. “I need it. Give it to me, Yuuji.” Your hands grasp at the sheets beneath you as finally, finally, he slides the tip against your slit, catching a few times against your clit (”Yuuji, stop teasing me!”) before he finally eases into you, his fat tip breaching your weeping cunt. The stretch burns, but the sensation is not an unwelcome one.

Your mouth drops open in a silent moan as Yuuji hunches over you, pressing further into your pussy. It feels like it should almost be fucking impossible how deep he reaches inside you like this.

“Baby, baby,” Yuuji whines against the shell of your ear, breath hot and wet. You can feel his chest heave against yours as he struggles to regain his bearings. “You’re so tight—don’t think I can pull out, you feel s’good…”

As he bottoms out, you think you might die like this. His cock fills you so perfectly, pulsing and twitching inside you as he forces himself to still—to give you time to adjust.

You don’t want time, though. You really will fucking die if he doesn’t move soon.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him down to you to messily slot your lips against his, moaning into his mouth as his hips buck into yours. “Yuuji,” you breathe out against his lips. “Fuck me.”

“Okay, baby.” He nods, pressing his sweat slick forehead to yours as he moves his hips. He starts slower, long strokes that force you to feel all of him, deep and all-consuming and overwhelming your senses with him, strong arms caging you against the bed as he fucks into you again and again and again.

Yuuji’s pace picks up, your moans a sweet melody in his ears that spurs him on, making him lose all ration in his brain—it’s evident, in the way he growls almost animalistically, hips starting to rut into yours with reckless abandon. His balls slap against your ass, accompanied by a lewd squelch with every thrust into your messy cunt.

“Yu, fuck—please,” you sob with every thrust. He angles his hips a little differently until he finds the perfect spot—that sensitive little part of your cunt that has stars exploding behind your eyelids. Once he finds it, he narrows his focus on it, bullying his cock relentlessly into your pussy until you’re sobbing.

Your nails scratch along his back, leaving angry red marks in their wake. Yuuji groans and buries his face into the crook of your neck, mouthing and biting at the sensitive flesh as his hips pound into you.

“G’nna cum, don’t stop, ohhhh god,” you gasp out as Yuuji nips at the flesh of your collar. You claw at his back, toes curling in the air when you feel him slide a hand between your slick bodies to thumb at your clit, adding to the orchestra of sensations that are driving you mad with pleasure.

“Cum for me, angel,” Yuuji urges you breathlessly, fucking you with a renewed fervor. His hips are starting to stutter, and his large hands are grasping your thighs in a bruising grip as you convulse around him. His voice alone is enough to tip you over the edge; you’re falling into him, into oblivion, orgasming so hard your vision goes dark for a moment.

A long moan of his name falling from your lips is enough to push him over with you, white hot ropes of his cum coating your pulsing heat. You feel utterly breathless, boneless, as Yuuji slowly eases your legs down. The ache is pleasant.

“Baby,” Yuuji pants softly, breaking the pleasant silence as he brushes his fingers across your forehead. “I’m still… can I..?”

Oh, god. He is still rock hard inside of you. Your pussy is still fluttering with the world-shattering orgasm he had just given you—you’re not sure if you can take more.

But Yuuji looks at you with pleading eyes, your name falling from his lips with such desperation that you’re nodding your head, opening your arms for him. He smiles down at you, and as he leans down to press a gentle kiss to your lips, his hips slowly start to rut into yours again.

You’re not sure how many rounds you go with Yuuji—the rest of the night is a blur of moans and groans, of him making you cum again and again and again, as many times as you can possibly take.

You wake up with a pounding headache and a foreign weight slung over your chest.

“Oh, fuck,” you hiss quietly to yourself, voice raspy with remnants of sleep. “How much did I drink last night?”

Blinking open bleary eyes, you squint against the light that filters into the room—your room, which doesn’t make any sense because you never bring home your one night stands. Your hand brushes against the strong arm slung over you, and that’s when you hear an all-too-familiar snore.

“Oh, fuck.” You repeat, dread creeping into your groggy voice.

That was Itadori Yuuji in bed with you. That was your fucking roommate, naked in bed with you. You’re wearing his overly large t-shirt, and there’s an ache between your thighs that explains exactly what had transpired when you returned home with him last night.

You don’t remember too much, typical of nights where you have a little too much to drink. What you can grasp—mere wisps in the back of your mind—are fleeting moments of mind-numbing pleasure, or of sweet-nothings being whispered into your ear. Whatever scraps of memory you do have are enough to make you want to scream into a pillow out of sheer embarrassment.

You feel the arm around you tighten as Yuuji pulls you into his chest and you squeak.

Oh, that’s just fucking mortifying.

“Mmh… huh?” Yuuji mumbles sleepily. He slowly blinks, eyes focusing on you after a few moments. “What are you doing in my bed..?”

Your eyes widen as you scramble to sit up, grasping at the sheets to keep your lower body covered as you do so. Your mouth opens and closes as you look for the right words to say.

Yuuji’s eyebrows furrow. He seems to have come to a realization without you having to say it out loud.

“Oh. This isn’t...” Yuuji frowns. He’s calm in a way that confuses you—why isn’t he freaking out like you are? “We got really hammered last night, huh?”

You slowly nod your head in agreement. “Do you… remember anything?”

Your attention is drawn to his lips when he bites his lower one in thought, then drifts downards when you catch the blooming hickeys on his neck in your peripherals. Oh, god, did you leave those? What were you thinking?

All too slowly, Yuuji’s eyes meet yours. The way he looks at you is almost unbearable. There’s a sinking sensation in your chest: you think he might apologize, or tell you that last night was a mistake. That he won’t let it happen again. Quickly, you blurt, “You don’t have to say it. I get it.”

Yuuji tilts his head, his train of thought forgotten. “Say what?”

“I get that you regret it.” The words start tumbling out of your mouth and there’s little you can do to stop it. “It’s okay, you won’t hurt my feelings. I know you’re too kind to just say it outright like that—“

Yuuji opens his mouth to say something, but you barrel onwards, looking down at your lap. You’re too mortified to look at him directly.

“—And I understand if you maybe want to avoid me for awhile? I know things will be awkward, so seriously, take whatever time you need—“

Your onslaught of words is cut off by Yuuji cupping your face in his hands as he leans forward to kiss you. It’s gentle, and while it only lasts for a heartbeat, to you it feels like it lasts a lifetime.

Stunned, you lift a hand to your lips, ghosting your fingers over them as you stare at him. You’re absolutely dumbfounded.

“Sorry,” Yuuji starts softly, his thumb brushing your cheek gently. “I didn’t know how else to stop you.”

You blink at him, making a noise in the back of your throat. It’s an exhale of breath, of one you didn’t even know you were holding until just now.

“I don’t regret it. And I really hope you don’t, too.” Yuuji sighs gently. When his eyes meet yours, he looks unsure, but he continues, “I meant everything I said last night. You’re beautiful, and you’re all I’ve ever wanted. Have been, for awhile now.”

“Oh,” is all you can manage. You think your heart might explode in your chest. It beats an uneven rhythm, pulsing against your ribcage as if it’s bound to break out any moment now.

“I just didn’t want to ruin our friendship, yanno? But now that, uh...” He clears his throat. “Last night happened… I might as well come out with it.”

You nod your head as his words sink in. Yuuji visibly gets more distressed with every second that passes in tense silence, so you say, “Okay. I see.”

He swallows—you know what he wants to ask: ‘Do you like me like that, too?’ but he doesn’t voice it out loud. It hangs in the air, heavy and oppressive. You carefully deliberate your next words.

“Will you take me on a date, Yuuji?” you ask bluntly.

“What?”

“I said—”

“No, no, I heard what you said.” His eyes widen slightly, stark relief visible in his irises. “Are you sure? I mean—I’d love to. Yes. I’ll take you wherever you want to go, angel. You name it.”

You smile fondly at Yuuji—you think if he had a tail, it would be wagging ferociously right about now. “First, you can get me a glass of water and some ibuprofen. Then we’ll talk about date plans, ‘kay?”

Yuuji nods his head fervently. He rises out of bed—and quickly realizes that he’s still naked. “Oh—shit, don’t look,” he stammers, lunging for his boxers that were conveniently laid out on the floor as he blushes. Once he’s got those pulled on, he turns towards you. You’ve politely averted your eyes.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” he murmurs, grabbing your attention by gently grasping your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. “Anything else I should grab ya?”

You feel your face warm up at the affection as you shake your head. With a smile, Yuuji shuffles out of your room to go fetch your requested items.

As you sit in the quiet of your bedroom, listening to Yuuji rustle through the bathroom, you think that maybe fucking your roommate wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

please don't repost on other platforms. rbs and comments are super appreciated ♡ !!

[frannyzooey]

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: E (age gap)

Summary: Best friends with younger one, you’ve known the Miller brothers since forever — you’ve wanted the older one for just as long.

a/n: it’s been a while! I’ve been writing over on Ao3, but thought I would pop in and say hi and happy summer ❤️ enjoy! —

Glancing at the clock on the wall, you wonder how much longer you need to stay before it’s appropriate to leave. 

You can’t even remember the name of the person who's talking at you – someone who said they took calc with you or something, back in high school. Brian, maybe? Ben? Picking at the label on the bottle in your hand, you tip the last swallow of warm beer into your mouth, grimacing at the taste. 

“Gimme a second,” you interrupt him. “I’ll be right back.”

Not a fuckin’ chance , you think to yourself. 

Navigating through the crowd of people packed into the Miller’s living room, you make your way towards the kitchen. Needing another beer to get through it all, you head straight for the fridge – only to see someone already there, their broad back facing you. When they straighten and shut the door, you reach out and pluck the beer from their hand.

“Thanks for the beer, Miller.”

Joel huffs, grabbing another one from the fridge. Turning to face you, he leans his hip against the counter. 

“You even old enough to drink?” Twisting the cap off, he takes a long, slow drink, his throat working with the motion. 

You roll your eyes, and his eyes drift down your body and back up again. 

Playing it cool, you clink your bottle against his. 

“Cheers, old man.”

His eyes narrow, and he waits a beat before tipping the bottle against his lips. 

His face has been a fixture in your life for as long as you’ve known Tommy –  a kid you met back in elementary school. Tommy was a few years older than you, Joel even older than him. The fact that you were younger never bothered Tommy –  you were just as daring as any boy his age, and he was more fun than any girl your own. A fixture by his side more often than not, you’d stuck together through middle school and then high school, through boyfriends and girlfriends, through Tommy’s enlistment after senior year. 

The entire time, Joel was there. 

In the beginning, you never paid him any attention. Busy working since he could, you barely saw him. The couple times you did see him at parties, it was only as Tommy’s ride, or showing up when Tommy got in trouble with his mouth. Like he never had any patience for parties or stuff like that; an aged man since forever. Even at their house, Joel had been…around, but he never stuck around for long. Always drifting away to go hang out in the garage, or in his room. 

It was during high school when you started looking at him differently. Started paying attention to him in a way you never did before. Starting noticing things like he never had a girl around –  or at least one that stuck , though you knew he knew his way around them, because you saw him in town sometimes. 

Walking out of a liquor store with a brown bag, a girl sitting in the passenger seat of his truck. 

Pulling open the door of the bar, his hand on the small of another girl’s back. 

Once, you saw him at the movie theater you worked at senior year. You still remember the heat that flooded your face when he strolled up to the ticket booth where you were standing, the broad smile he had on his face for his date, one that turned your insides warm. His arm was looped around her back, his hand resting on her ass with casual confidence. 

You’d never been so jealous of someone in your life. 

You left him behind (not that he ever knew it) when you went away to college. A visit back home after your first year timed with a visit home from Tommy,  Joel is right where you left him, still on the fringes. Only at the party to keep an eye on things, to make sure it doesn’t get out of hand, still keeping to himself. He’s been upstairs all night, only coming down every so often for another beer. 

The mystery of how he spent his time used to consume you back in your school-kid crush days…and it comes back full force, when he leaves you in the kitchen to go back up to his room. 

Leaving the noise of the party behind you, you climb the worn carpeted stairs. The second floor of their house is off limits to party guests, but you also know that doesn’t apply to you. Having been to this house more times than you can count, you know right where Joel’s bedroom is. You’ve never been in it though, which is part of the pull that drives you towards it – along with a slice of light that breaks through where he’s left the door cracked.

You nudge it open with your knuckle, to find him sitting inside. 

At a desk chair, his legs spread wide in his slouch. A beer rests in his hand, the other one holding a book and at your presence, he puts the book face down in his lap. 

He frowns. “Everything okay down there?”

“Yea. Just thought I’d come up and say hi. See what you’re doing.”

“Said hi in the kitchen,” he teases. He lifts the book with one hand. “And I was readin’.”

Used to his gruff sarcasm, you ignore it. “Any good?” 

His eyes follow you as you walk further into the room, sitting down on the edge of his bed. 

“Not really,” he answers. “Just waitin’ for everyone to leave.”

You know that’s not going to happen any time soon; another large group of people had walked in just as you made your way upstairs. 

A golden hue washes over everything, a single lamp burning on the desk, the colors of everything else dulled in the dim light. Shadows pool in the corners of the room, but he is lit, though only parts of him: the chestnut ends of his curls, his tanned skin, the stretch of his jeans across his thighs. The bed you sit on has a rumpled comforter, clearly having been slept in. 

Arousal pools low and heady between your hips. 

Has he ever brought another girl up here? Has he fucked anyone in this bed?

You imagine it briefly: his flushed cheeks, his heavy breathing, his muscles shifting under his skin. Your hand trembles, and you grip your beer tighter. 

“Already sick of bein’ downstairs?” he asks. 

You thumb at the condensation gathered on the bottle, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Yea. Sort of. It’s always a little awkward when you come back, you know?”

He shakes his head. “Not really. Never been anywhere but here.”

Your shoulders slump, and you let out a sigh. “Right. But you know what I mean.”

Suddenly, the weight of exhaustion pulls at you: the smiles you had to force downstairs, the names you tried to recall, the crush of people and the fake enthusiasm. You came here for Tommy, and you’ve barely seen him tonight. Forgetting for a second that you’re not in Tommy’s bedroom, you relax and let yourself fall backwards on Joel’s bed. The second you do it, you freeze – but don’t correct it. 

You’re in Joel Miller’s bed. Lying down. 

You feel the hem of your shirt ride up, but don’t fix it. The sheets smell like him, and you hear him huff. 

You also feel the weight of his eyes on you. 

–

He should be more annoyed that you’re in his bedroom, but he can’t take his eyes off your legs: a mile long in your cutoffs, the slight peek at the curve of your ass in their ride high. The slice of soft skin he can see, between your waistband and your shirt. 

He watches you roll over and prop your head up on your hand, not liking at all how good you look in his bed. 

He’s been watching you since you came back. Watched you even before that, though he’d never admit it. Walking around their backyard in a tiny bikini when you lounge with Tommy by the pool, looking gorgeous as hell all windblown and carefree sitting in the passenger seat of Tommy’s truck, looking so fucking innocent and beautiful swamped in one of Tommy’s sweaters by the bonfires he’s been having at night since he came back.  

The sight of your ass in those shorts as you walk around their house has been imprinted on his mind all week. 

He sits up, clearing his throat. Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he lets his head hang down between his shoulders. If he can avoid looking at you, maybe his cock will stop hardening with interest. 

“I think you better get back downstairs.”

“I just wanna catch up,” you reply innocently, looking anything but. 

He looks up, giving you a knowing look in reprimand. “That ain’t all you wanna do.”

He doesn’t know what compelled him to say that to you , but he does know it to be true. He’s seen the look on your face on plenty of women before – women . You’re a girl . One he’s known since forever. One he never thought about until he did, and one he tried not to think about once he started. 

One who is way too fucking young for the things he’s thought about doing to you. 

“No?” you ask. “Why don’t you tell me what you think I wanna do?”

He shakes his head instead. 

The edges of your mouth curl up in a soft, teasing smile. “Joel Miller, a secret prude.” 

His head snaps up, “I ain’t no prude, honey, you’re just –”

“Honey?” Your eyebrows lift, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m just what?”

“ Young. Too young.”

“I’m twenty.”

He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes and you cave. 

“Almost. In a few months.”

He huffs in disgust, dropping his head back down. “Jesus Christ. A baby.”

He feels you study him for a moment. 

“I missed you while I was gone, you know.”

The confession surprises him, and he looks up to find your face completely sober, truthful. 

“Did you miss me?” you ask quietly. 

The vulnerability on your face pulls at him, and even though he knows what will happen if he gets on that bed, he wants to. If only to tuck you against his chest and reassure you that he did. He really did. He knows you think he never noticed you, but that’s only because he made you feel that way. He couldn’t notice you, for both your sakes. 

“Just come…sit with me, okay?” you ask. “I’m not gonna bite.”

He doesn’t move for a moment, keeping his eyes on the floor. He feels you wait with bated breath, knowing full well that he should stand up and walk you out of his bedroom…but he can’t bring himself to leave you hanging like that. 

Instead, he stands, and walks over to the bed. 

Your face flashes with surprise that you try to hide, and he smirks. 

There is a look on your face he’s seen a million times — a bolstering sort of lift to your chin, the look of a tough girl that would follow his brother anywhere. A girl who never backed down, even when he could tell she was nervous. 

A girl he knows he shouldn’t want, but does anyway. 

He tests the waters, crawling onto his bed. Stretching out next to you, he sprawls across the mattress, his broad form partially covering yours in shadow.  He can feel the heat gather between your bodies. You look even younger close up, and he leans closer, unable to stop himself from pushing to see how far you’ll go.

He recognizes that same determined look on your face now, only this one is slightly different. This one is laced with lust, and want. So much fucking want it makes him ache. 

“Okay, big girl,” he drawls. “Now what?”

–

It’s his turn to be surprised when you lean in and press your mouth to his. 

You can tell because he momentarily freezes when your lips meet, his stubble brushing against your skin, your lips fitting neatly along the seam of his own.  You kiss him again, this time opening your mouth just enough to let him in and he takes your invitation, the taste of beer thick on his tongue when he slides it against yours. His hand comes up, cradling the curve of your jaw as you tilt your head to the side to deepen the kiss and a soft sound that catches in the back of your throat has his fingers flexing, pulling you closer. 

The sheets rustle beneath you when he takes over, his hold guiding you beneath him on the bed. He kisses you harder, longer, a deep groan rumbling from his chest, the light of the room blocked out behind him. His solid body weighs heavy on top of you, his denim clad hips pushing between your thighs with a grind and you open your legs wider, his hand sliding up the outside of your leg to hitch your knee around his hip. 

It’s sensory overload after wanting him for so long. You’ve daydreamed about this a million times, imagined it happening a million different ways, but you never thought it would be anything like this. Lost in the weighted haze of lust, drunk on the way he feels against you, head swimming with arousal, the crotch of your panties already so fucking wet that they slide over your achingly empty core with every rock of his hips into yours. Meeting the rolling grind of his hips with your own, you feel the weight of his cock press against you, his calloused hand covering your breast with a squeeze. His hips rock forward again, the grinding promise of what he’s capable of against the damp seam of your shorts and you are just about to beg him for more when he pulls back, standing. 

In one long stride, he shoves the door shut and locks it. 

Tugging his shirt off with a one handed grip over his head, you take in the sight of his broad, solid chest and the dusting of hair that scatters sparsely just under his collarbones. It’s thicker along his sternum, even thicker still just under his navel, where it leads into the waistband of his jeans. He looks so…big, from where you lay on the bed. Older, masculine in a way you’ve never seen on a boy your age. Your eyes run the length of his body and back up again, the outline of his thick cock pushing against the fly of his jeans making your cunt flutter. 

He opens the drawer next to his bed, tossing a condom down and there is something so arousing about the matter of fact action, the implied sight of it just sitting there, waiting for him. Black, with gold letters. When his hands drop to work open his belt buckle with single minded intent, you reach down to slide your shorts off. 

“Don’t.”

Your hands pause. 

“I wanna do that.”

You don’t even know what to say in response before he’s bending to grab you behind your knees, hauling you to the edge of the bed. Your shirt rides up your back, and sit up enough to tear it over your head, your bra following shortly after as his greedy eyes track every movement. His thick fingers pop open the button on your shorts, hooking under the fabric and he drags them down and off, bringing your panties along with them.  

Then he stands there, his hands on your knees. He pushes them apart, and you try not to squirm as he spreads you for him. 

“Goddamn.” The word pours out of his mouth, saturated with awe, low with lust. 

Your thighs flinch, your knees trying to pull together to hide yourself from the heat of his gaze, but he keeps a firm grasp on them, holding you open. 

“Don’t try to hide it from me now, honey.”

His eyes drop from your face to the gleaming spread of your cunt. He reaches down, his thumb brushing over your opening, and it’s so fucking filthy the way he drags it through the mess you’ve made for him. 

“Especially not when it’s this pretty,” he murmurs. 

He drops to his knees, your breath hitching when he tugs you closer to his mouth and guiding your legs over his bare shoulders, his mouth immediately seeks you out. 

“ Fuck .” 

The word slides into a moan when your body bows off the bed to chase the slick heat of his tongue. It smears wetness over everything, dipping inside you to drag upwards to your clit and then he’s fitting the bottom half of his face along your cunt with a messy, open mouthed kiss. 

He devours you there the same way he devoured your mouth earlier, and the sensation is simultaneously  too much but not enough, your hands finding purchase in his sheets. You fist them, twisting them in your grip as you start to rock your hips and you have never - never - had this done to you before, a tremble pouring sweet and thick down your spine to pool right under his mouth. 

His hands keep your thighs forced open, his shoulders spreading you wider and when his tongue starts to swirl firm, tight circles over your clit, it drags a hoarse moan out of your throat. 

Too consumed to care if you’re being too loud, every thought leaves your head when two thick fingers stroke delicately along  the dip of your opening, before sliding inside you with a filling stretch just as he starts to suck . His whiskered cheeks hollow with it, your words breathless and pleading. A stretch just to take his fingers , you close your eyes and feel your stomach drop when you think about taking his cock.

The thought alone sends you flying over the edge. 

When it happens, he groans into you just as loud as if he’s the one who’s come, and a second wave washes hot over your limbs when you peek down to see the upper half of his face between your spread thighs. His brows pinched together, his eyes closed tight, his white knuckled hold on your thighs. 

The music turns up louder downstairs, a shout of a crowd greeting new arrivals – but it’s lost in the intimacy of the bedroom. His satisfied low groans, your trembling thighs, his damp beard against your skin.  

Pulling back, he wipes your slick from his face with his hand – and then gives your cunt a sharp, flat swat. 

The action shocks you, your eyes widening and the grin on his face is charmingly boyish. Or would be, if he didn’t follow it with a filthy suck of the fingers that were just inside you. He stands, shucking his jeans and briefs off in one movement, and puts a knee on the bed between your legs, reaching for the condom. His large hands rip it open, and though you can feel his gaze rest heavily on you as he puts it on, your eyes are fixed firmly on his cock. 

It’s – big. Much bigger than you’ve ever seen, a grown man’s dick. He fists it lazily for a moment, the weight of it evident in his grip and when he places the condom over the tip and rolls it down to the base, you openly stare. The translucent rubber fits snug and tight, down to the thatch of hair at the base of his cock. 

When you finally drag your eyes up to his face, he looks smug. 

“Don’t worry, darlin’. It’ll fit.”

The amount of times you’ve thought about this moment is nothing compared to the real thing. The man standing in front of you has always been off limits, a complete mystery to you all these years, even as the subject of most of your debased fantasies. The realness of him — the solid width of his frame, the flush to his skin, the amount of bare, firm skin on display. You swallow hard, a bundle of nervous anticipation even though he just fucked you with his mouth. 

He settles his body on top of you, caging you underneath him and the press of his hot skin has all of your nerves scattering, evaporating into need . 

His mouth rests right next to your ear, a kiss brushed against the divot below it. 

“We’ll make it,” he whispers. 

If you thought his fingers were a snug fit, it’s nothingcompared to how full you feel as he slides in. The stretch almost to the point of pain save for how wet he got you beforehand, it still steals the air from your lungs as he pushes inside. You squirm underneath him, shifting to accommodate every single inch and his hand curls around your waist, his hips pushing forward with a final, hard thrust. 

His mouth brushes tenderly along your clenched jaw, letting you get used to it before his hips find a rolling rhythm. Every downstroke shoving you up underneath his hold, you hold on tight, hitching your knees up along his ribs and your feet slide over his tailbone, a whine crawling out of your outstretched throat. 

“This little pussy is so tight ,” he groans, his hot breath gusting over your skin. “So fucking tight.”

His hand shoves itself under your tailbone, angling your hips to take him deeper and his own groan sounds deep over your softer, higher one. 

“Do you have any idea how much I thought about fuckin’ you? How many different ways I’ve wanted to?”

Hearing him utter those words makes your chest crack open, your heart thundering underneath your rib cage. Everything you’ve ever wanted to hear, paired with more than you ever thought you would. 

He picks up pace, his hips a relentless, heavy pound into the cradle of your own, each thrust punching the air out of you – and your fingers claw into his forearms when he sits back on his heels, pushing your knees to your chest to fuck you harder. 

The bed pounds lewdly against the wall, the music from the party covering it up. 

“Joel,” you whine, a tear slipping from the corner of your eye. It feels like you’re being used by him, your body a tool for his own pleasure, your pliant, moldable body being positioned just for his use. It sends you higher, thinking about him doing the same for others, right here in this bed. 

You start to tense underneath him, the wave of slick, brutal pleasure pulling you under and when you come, it’s a wordless, breathless thing – your body pulling taut, your cunt squeezing him tight. He groans, dropping forward to cover your mouth with his, his hand sliding up to wrap around the nape of your neck with a grip and he forces himself deeper, his strokes urgent in their snap against you. 

He rests his forehead against yours, and through the haze of your freshly fucked gaze, he recognizes the same look from before. A girl who never backs down, a girl who knows how to hold her own. 

“I already want it again, Joel,” you breathe against his mouth, his heavy pants washing over your lips. “Next time, I’m gonna ride you. I’m gonna sit on your lap and you can watch me take it, okay?”

“Fuck,” he groans, his hips stuttering. They chase the slick warmth of your cunt, his eyes closing tight. 

“You’re fuckin’ trouble, you know that?” he rasps, his fingers threading into the hair at your nape, fisting it with a tug. The motion tips your head back for him, a victorious grin stretching across your face. 

“A pain in my ass since I met you,” he pants, letting out a deep groan. “A sweet piece of ass in my bed.”

You nod, the smile on your face melting into something pleasure soaked when he shifts the angle of his hips. 

“I’m gonna come inside this little cunt, okay? And then I’m gonna do it all over again. You ready, honey?”

“God yes.”

He buries his face in the damp crook of your neck when he comes, he back rounding as his hips still in their push against yours. He’s so deep you know you’re going to feel it tomorrow – more than you’ve ever taken, a stretch you know will make you ache every time you sit down. He holds onto you so tight that you can barely breathe, and it’s a special sort of heaven to be buried underneath the bulk of his body. Your cheek pressed against his curls, your chest compressed under his. Your hips sore from being spread so wide, your cunt still snug around him. 

He lifts just enough to see you, and opens his mouth – right when something crashes beneath his room. 

“What the fuck , Tommy,” he grumbles, and you laugh at his instant change of expression. He slips out from inside you with a groan, his hips imperceptibly shifting forward to chase the heat between your thighs. He presses a quick, hard kiss against your lips and then he’s dragging himself from the bed, tugging the condom off and tying it in a neat knot. 

Tossing it in the trash next to his bed, he grabs his jeans off the floor. 

“I’m gonna go downstairs and see what the hell that was,” he says, sliding them up over his bare ass. Buttoning them, he shoots you a look. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ get dressed.”

You gesture a wordless salute, and he shakes his head, smiling. 

“Smartass,” he grumbles, picking a shirt up off the floor. Sliding it over his head, he opens the door and disappears. 

“Tommy!” 

You hear him shout and a laugh bubbles up from your chest. 

“What the fuck was that?”

Stretching out, you slide against the warm, rumpled sheets and listen to the familiar sound of their deep voices. For the first time since you’ve been back, you feel like you’re home. 

Pressing your face into his pillow, you take a deep breath – and grin. 

[ovaryacted]

SPECIAL TREATMENT

─ Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x fem! reader || WC: 1.2k

CW: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUT. Age gap implied [Michael is canon age, reader is 25+]. Power imbalance situation [Attending/Resident]. FWB dynamic, sort of. Past mentions of smut in different instances. Oral (m & f receiving. Unprotected p in v. Heavy praise kink. Everything is consensual & mutual. They’re freaky idk. A tinge of yearning. Reader has hair & is a beast at medicine. Note: I have not watched The Pitt yet, so I apologize for any mischaracterizations lolz.

Hi. I honestly don't know what this is. It came to me in a dream after I yapped with @superhoeva in the DMS, and now she's tormenting me to keep writing for Mista Dr. Robby. Now I'm sucked into this world that I didn't even know existed lmao. Anywho, walk with me for a second here, let me cook! Reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated. Proofread by moi. <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

It all started with two simple words.

“Good job.”

Seven letters. One singular statement. A term of encouragement familiar to practitioners all over the Pitt, and of course it’s not unknown to you. Always said in recognition of one’s efforts, and in this family you’ve meshed with in the emergency department, it went a long way to hear that phrase after the intense shifts you all had to handle.

Though with Dr. Robby, it had a second meaning.

Sure, he recognized everyone’s hard efforts in saving lives, pairing his words with a nice pat on the shoulder and his signature smile. But he would never admit to giving you special treatment, at least away from prying eyes.

As a fourth year resident in the Pitt, you’ve already made somewhat of a name for yourself, and it didn’t go unnoticed by your other colleagues, especially Dr. Robby. You impress him on a daily basis, your quick reflexes in adapting to current situations is a trait he’s always admired, your ability to keep your cool in moments that would otherwise crack everyone else brings a mix of admiration and envy. You weren’t particularly the sensitive type, often reminding him of Dr. Abbott and his demeanor at times, but he knows it’s because you’re determined, because you hold yourself to a different standard and aim to command any room you step foot in regardless of the circumstances.

He can sympathize with that, he was like that years ago. It’s nice to watch the spark take over when you’re in your element.

You can be confident and borderline cocky at times, but never arrogant. You barely flinch when you need to crack open someone’s chest, or when you were covered with blood after a particularly extreme trauma, steady hands working despite the adrenaline running through you. Michael liked when you called the shots before he did, and usually he didn’t need to ask for your thoughts on the cases assigned to you when you were already so persistent in sharing your resolutions.

He had no choice but to commend you for your hard work, always slipping a quick “good job” after doing something right or a “job well done” once things were taken care of. You’d never show it to anyone else, but Michael knew the impact of his words, how your eyes gleamed for the slightest second as you fought off the urge to smile. It was amusing to say the least, so he didn’t stop, he couldn’t, not when it encouraged you to push your own limits, to be the best, if not for yourself then for him.

He reveled in it.

Your consistent performance is what resulted in this mess you found yourself in. Going from being Dr. Robby’s trusted and favorite resident to something more over the course of a year was enough to give you whiplash.

It began with a brief “pep talk” in an empty on-call room. You thought you had fucked up royally on the last patient you had, that maybe Dr. Robby had a different opinion towards your approach. Yet, he surprises you when he leans down to kiss you, your breath hitching in your throat and instantly reaching to grasp his shoulders, fingers digging into the material of his hoodie in an attempt to bring him closer.

Those two little words became a frequent saying in the safety of his apartment, where you often went after your shifts synched up. Michael always needed to give you more than just words, to feed you the reverence you deserved—craved even.

He always tells you when your lips were wrapped around his length, sucking lavishly while he keeps your hair out of your face. Your throat grew sore from the tip of him slipping inside, lips plump with your constant sucking. Pulling away with a smile on your spit covered face and placing a wet kiss to his crown, the words tumble out of him with a groan.

“That’s a good girl. Taking all of me like that. Good job, baby.”

Or when it was his head between your thighs, licking and eating at you with such fervor, your thighs shake every time. Clutching at his head, you’ve already fallen over the edge twice, and it was never enough for Michael. Like an addict, he ate you up until his jaw ached, refusing to leave his spot from your cunt until tears streaked down your face and your overworked pussy throbbed from all of his attention. Despite his overwhelming touch, he was always there to keep you grounded with his slick covered mouth.

“Doing such a good job for me. You got one more in you, right? One more and I’ll give you what you need.”

And the other instances where he was inside you? Those were probably your favorite pastimes.

Your legs were hanging loosely over his hips as he pummeled into you, back arching up as your arms slung around his neck. Moaning against the side of his throat, Michael cradled the back of your head with one hand, the other keeping your lower back at the right angle, letting his cock fill every crevice so deliciously you had no other choice but to just take him. Completely smothered under him, your senses were overwhelmed with him; his scent, his touch, his voice. Tears pooled at your lash line, cheeks warm under the intense gaze of the man hovering above you, stuttering on your own breath that turns into a moan at the precision of his thrusting. He only smirks above you, lifting up one of your thighs to his shoulder and diving inside you even deeper.

“Been such a good girl for me, letting me take care of you like this. I know, I know. I got you.”

Your moment of daydreaming is cut short as you’re back in the commotion of the Pitt, the beeping of the machines and people yelling here and there grab your attention once more, deciding to look down at your clipboard to review what else was on your roster for the day.

“Reviewing the caseload?”

You didn’t need to look in the direction of the person’s voice to know it was Dr. Robby, slyly eyeing up at you from where he sat, typing some notes on the computer. The black glasses he wore sat on his sharp nose, a staple to the rest of his appearance along with his cargo pants and baggy zip-up.

“Had so much on my plate I started to lose count. You still want me to handle that patient in Room 5? Heard it was a bad one.” He glances at you, slightly tilting his head to the side with the faintest smug grin on his aged face.

“Yeah, I do. Plus, I know you’re always up for a challenge. I’ll be there in five.” You rolled your eyes at that, shaking your head with a sigh and turning on your heel to head towards your next patient, fully aware of the set of eyes following you from behind.

You didn’t mind being Dr. Robby’s favorite resident. After all, a little special treatment never hurt.

©️ ovaryacted 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[gloomwitchwrites]

okay okay okay here we go,

The reader who has a very sensitive neck. even a breath hitting her neck affects her. (They can be in a relationship or not, however you like)

Thank you🩵

I won't lie to you...I made this one a little spicy. Not full on mind you, but there's some heat below the break. I couldn't help myself. I really couldn't. You said "sensitive neck" and my brain said "write something thirsty because you deserve it." And here we are!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, dirty thoughts, kissing, possessive behavior, mild sexual content, mention of alcohol

Word Count: 1,200

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“Excuse me?”

The pint pauses just shy of John’s lips. He turns toward the unfamiliar voice, finding a stranger standing next to him. Your voice is laced with desperation, and you keep turning your head with a nervousness that instantly puts John on alert.

Someone is harassing you—bothering you. Making you feel uncomfortable. Doesn’t matter that you’re a stranger, no woman should feel backed into a corner.

You lean into him a bit, lowering your voice. “Can you pretend like we’re together?”

John won’t make you ask twice.

Sliding his arm around your waist in an intimate embrace, John tucks you into his side, using his body to create a shield from the rest of the bar. With your back to the room, your gaze is on him, and anyone looking would only find a couple in a relaxed hug.

John dips his head forward, closing the space until it appears as if the two of you are heading for a kiss. You fluster slightly, smile softly, turn away as if embarrassed. Inwardly, John is grinning. You’ve been in his arms for all of five seconds but you fit so perfectly.

“Who is it, love?” he asks, breath ghosting across your skin at your exposed throat.

You shiver—whimper. Not in distress, but with pleasure. It’s probably the alcohol in his blood that makes him bold—that makes him push a boundary.

“Who?” he asks again, this time tracing down your neck to the hollow of your throat.

It happens again, but instead of pulling away, you snuggle closer to him. John suddenly doesn’t care who it is that’s been bothering you unless they show their face. You’re an interesting creature. Sweet. He can see you fitting into his life.

What does he need to do to possess you?

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“You’ve been a bloody tease.”

A rising wave of possession wells within Simon, threatening to drown him. When he wants something, he puts every effort into obtaining it. Right now, that something is a someone. And that someone is you.

You glance over your shoulder and scowl. That pouty lip sends blood straight to Simon’s dick. That mouth would look so perfect suctioned around his cock, licking over his skin, opening wide to show him how good you are before you swallow. Simon fucking dreams about it. It’s an obsession.

“Hardly,” you scoff. “Think you can’t take a hint.”

“Funny,” mutters Simon, leaning in until the two of you are close enough to tease a kiss. “You were the one in my bunk, playing with yourself when I walked in.”

“I told you,” you growl. “I thought I was in mine.” You glance away, clearly too flustered to look him in the eye. “Thought I was alone.”

“Sure, love.”

“I got confused in the dark!” you protest, attempting to move away from Simon.

Simon steps in front of you, forcing you to stay pinned against the wall. There was no mistake. The hallway is lit up enough that any numpty could navigate.

“You meant to be there,” he croons.

You fluster further, and Simon grasps the side of your face, tilting your head back. His thumb brushes against your neck, and you shiver. It’s not a slight thing, but a tremble. You’re sensitive here. Simon notes this. Saves it for later for when he gets you under him.

You lick your lips, pausing a moment before answering. “Maybe.”

Simon smiles, knowing he’s victorious. He gives that gorgeous throat of yours another light brush of his finger. This shiver is stronger. Simon nearly groans.

Blood rushes downward, and a plan forms.

John "Soap" MacTavish

It’s a quick tug. A dark corner.

Johnny pushes you against the brick wall at the mouth of the alley, caging you in from the eyes of the nearby street. There’s a buzz beneath your skin from the alcohol you consumed at the pub, and Johnny’s nearness only quickens the sensation. Just as his hands are on your hips, your hands are on his shoulders, pulling him in as close as physically possible. The smile on Johnny’s face is electric and it only fuels your own joy. This date is amazing. A firecracker of an evening.

Lips brush over yours, featherlight. You arch into him, wanting more—needing more. It’s an inherent reaction. Primal. Dirty. There is nothing you want more than for Johnny to push up your skirt and have his way with you in the dark alley.

With a squeeze of his hand, Johnny closes the distance, sealing your mouths together in a passionate desperation. The two of you have kissed before, but it’s always been at the end of your dates. Chaste and cute and nothing this wanton.

Another kiss. Another. A nip at your bottom lip. A suckle.

You whimper, and Johnny groans, nuzzling the side of your neck. His warm breath dances over your exposed throat, and you moan, body shaking with pleasure.

“You sensitive here?” chuckles Johnny. He runs his tongue along your neck. You let out another little gasp. “You are,” he breathes, like the idea excites him.

Johnny teases your throat, bites lightly, pulling forth a mewl. You’re incredibly wet between your legs, aching with a dreadful need.

“I need,” you gasp. “I need—”

“Me?” he croons, and you nod eagerly, fingers digging into his shoulders.

Johnny’s Scottish lilt becomes gravely. “Then turn around,” he growls. “And lift that fucking skirt.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Shit,” you mutter, tugging on the harness buckle.

The thing is stuck, and if you don’t have yourself strapped in before the helicopter takes off, you’re prone to flying headfirst into the floor. These things are fickle. At least they are when you’re attempting to strap yourself in.

You tug on it again, but it hardly budges.

“Why does this always happen to me?”

“Struggling again?” comes a familiar voice.

Kyle steps up into the helicopter, grinning as you continue to tug on the buckle like that will magically fix everything.

“Well this is embarrassing,” you groan, dropping the damn thing.

Kyle laughs, bending forward to keep his head from smashing into the ceiling. He shifts over a step so that he’s in front of you. Even though he’s wearing sunglasses, you feel his gaze roaming over you and then the harness setup.

“Sit back for me,” he says, kneeling in front of you like a man proposing.

You obediently do, allowing Kyle to fuss about, tugging on the straps. His lips purse slightly as he snags the one giving you trouble. He pushes up. Leans forward. You’re momentarily startled as Kyle cages you against the seat, his arms behind you.

“Lean forward a bit,” he says.

It means your forehead rests against his shoulder, but you do as he instructs. With head still bent, Kyle messes with something just out of sight. You lean to the right to allow him a bit more clearance, and that’s when his breath ghosts over your exposed throat.

It’s a tender caress, making you visibly shiver.

“You good, love?” asks Kyle, and again, his breath brushes against your skin.

You have to force down a moan.

I’m trying hard to ignore how horny I am, sergeant. Thanks for asking.

“I’m fine,” you reply.

[missmanlykink]

he’s just nice…right? - vinsmoke sanji ✿

MDNI - 18+ | navigation - m.list 𝜗୧ | REQUEST OPEN !

summary: sanji is a sweetheart, he helps you with your chores, makes you treats, he’s a genuinely nice person and totally has no ulterior motives, and he definitely doesn’t wanna fuck you…right?

paring: perv!sanji x clueless!reader

wc: 0.8k

warnings: smutty, sanji is a perv…duh, reader is clueless, dub-con (?), grinding, fantasies, male masturbation, food kink??, and again sanji is a weird oh (lmk if i missed anything)

a/n; i may write i longer fic about this but idkk, if you guys want it, ill most likely will do it bc sanji is my boo..AND this for anime sanji and la sanji so you can imagine him however you want lol (this was cross posted on ao3 @/freddiebensonsgf)

NSFW UNDER THE CUT - MINORS DNI </3

sanji is such a good friend, a type of friend you haven’t had in a while. whenever you're tired from your pirate duties, he always offers to help. whether it’s laundry or making you a special treat, or even rubbing the knots out of your shoulder blade, you know you can always count on him. but little do you know all the little favors he does for you are all for his own selfish needs. as soon as he sees your stressed face walking around the ship he knows it’s the perfect time for him to ease in, “you look tense, mon amour,” he’d tsk, “let me help you relax…” slowly sliding his hand onto your shoulder, you look at him and smile “really? thank so much, my back has been killing me.” “anything for you.” but this was a way to oil your back up and glide his hand across your soft skin, fully knowing that he’ll be stroking the living daylight of his cock, using his other hand to muffle the moans spilling out later, and yes this is because of massage. but it doesn’t stop there.

whenever it’s laundry day you always see sanji's face poke out of nowhere with the slick smile he always carries around, you’re walking out of your room with an arm full of dirty clothes, “here, let me handle that” he mutters as takes the load out of hands. “are you sure? you don’t-""oh it’s nothing, i have some free time on my hands”. that’s a lie by the way, he had a lot of work to do, but he needed a way to snag a pair of panties, so he rubbing his leaking tip against it, storing in his draw like some kind of keepsake or prize. but the real prize was to find a way to dig himself in your tight cunt, hearing his name spill out of lips, legs shaking as he’s rutting his hips against yours shamelessly.

and the thing is, it’s only you. you’re the only one on the damn ship who can’t see the way he fucks you with his eyes every time you walk past him, the way he stares at your ass to pick something of off the ground—that he dropped on purpose so he could that glorious view. sneaking in a touch whenever he can, looking down your shirt whenever you look away, he is starving. “he’s so disgusting..” nami mutters after seeing an “innocent” interaction between you two, which involves him sliding behind you to get to the other side of the kitchen, his hand resting on your waist, as his clothed cock rubbing against your ass, when he could’ve easily walked behind you. “what? he’s so nice, and helpful,” you argue, coming to his defense even though nami was completely right. “he’s a prev.” she shoots back, but you can’t believe that a sweetheart like him would have ulterior motives, you don’t mind the idea. but he’s just a nice guy, right?

cooking food for you is another thing he likes to do, seeing your face light up as he sits down a place of food in front of, “go on…taste it,” he encourages, watching you dig your fork into the dish, closing it your mouth around the piece of metal and you lipstick leaving a stain as you pulled it out of your mouth slowly, savoring the taste. something about you eating what he cooked, hand breaking up the ingredients, kneading the dough, the way you let out a moan from how good it taste makes his cock turn red.

one thing about you is that you're a horrible chef, the best thing you could do in the kitchen was peel an orange. but sanji takes your poor skill level as an opportunity. when he sees you struggling, he offers to give you cooking lessons, because he’s an amazing friend, and a good person of course. for the lessons he tells you to wear shorts because “you wouldn’t want to ruin your pants, these lessons get pretty messy” but he doesn’t care about your pants, he just wanted to stare at your plush thighs pressed together as you’re standing still, waiting for instruction. and obviously you took the offer as a “aw he’s such a good friend” thing, but the whole time he’s guiding your hand as you chop through the vegetables or fruit, the crotch of his pants bump into your ass as he stands behind, mumbling instructions.

his heart is basically beating out of his chest and you feel on your back, but “maybe he’s just nervous, and he doesn’t want me to cut myself, he just cares” but his heart is racing because he doesn’t want you to feel the tent that’s growing in his pants. but no, you’re 99% sure he’s just being a nice friend.

dividers: @sseuda % @hyuneskkami ! do not copy my work for anything without my permission.

[creamecafe]

Can you please write how squid game men will react to having a crush on reader?

How Squid Game Men Would Having to a Crush on Reader (Season 2 Edition)

Pairing: Squid Game Men x GN!Reader (No pronouns used)

Warnings: fluff, mentions of drug, SFW, kinda stalking but not yandere or dark! themes

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for requesting I hoped you enjoy! I'm sorry guys I couldn't add Lee Myung-Gi, it reached the limit for gifs so I'm doing part 2.

Women's version and a continuation will be posted soon!

Want a request for a Squid Game character like this one? Check out my latest post, read my request guidelines and send a request!

Read on Wattpad & AO3 here

Seong Gi Hun

He thought that finding love or being attracted to someone was impossible after what he had been through

But when he saw you, it’s like seeing a past glance of his old self

Wants you on his team immediately

His social skills and personality he feels like has lost color, but would try just for you

Young-il

Thinks using the term “crush” is childish

He likes to use the word “fascinated”

Is always thinking of ways to talk to you

Is more smiley around you and asks you about your day

Thanos

Is lookin at you when he gets the chance to (Gettting breakfast or lunch)

Tries to come up with pick up lines for you, but ends up messing up (In which Nam Guy laughs and Thanos hits him)

Always rapping in front of you to seem cool

Has you by his side always and on his team

Doesn’t even want to take drugs because you’re considered to him his new addiction in a way

Kang Dae Ho

Once he realizes he has a crush on you, everything changes

He tries to not act so nervous around you, but he can’t help it

Stutters a lot when he talks to you

Has his jacket off a lot because he gets warm/flustered when thinking about you or when you’re around

Nam Gyu

Tries to act cool around you, but can't stop smiling around you

Thanos is hyping him up and would tease him about your crush

Is always fixing his hair before talking to you

Park Min-Su

Is shy as always, but around you is different

He likes you because you're the only in Thanos' group to actually treat him like a real person

Tries to muster up the courage to talk to you

Listens to you set up plans for the games because he loves hearing your voice

Hwang Jun-Ho

Tries to keep his chill persona up, but is nervous inside

Is always complimenting you how you look

Loves to give little subtle flirting hints but not too obvious

Salesman

Has a crush on you probably in the most unhealthy way, but still keeps his distance

Overhears what stuff you like and will buy it for you

Write down every thing you like and will remember

Will talk to you when he has the chance in the subway

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