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arteastica · 8 months

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early in the morning, especially when it rains, and a little before noon. (14)

erwin x fem!reader

chapters: (1) | (2) | (3) | (4) | (5) | (6) | (7) | (8) | (9) | (10) | (11) | (12) | (13) | (15) | (16) | (17) | (18) | (19) | (20) | (21) | (22) | (23) | (24) | (25) | (26) | (27)

summary: I basically took Isayama’s work, forced it into a romance story, and made Erwin the love interest. Commander meets cadet and they fall in love (not instantly though)

notes: very berry canonverse (but some events were modified to fit my narrative), wasn’t intended to be this long, but it all is in the details right?

content warnings: smut where it fits (or where I make it fit. Also, reader is NOT underage, so likewise, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, please.) slow burn (I really mean it. I’m not olympic diving into any form of smut for the first chapters.) no angst. I dislike angst. I would never. I could never. (Although angst can be somewhat subjective so take it with a grain of salt?)

wc: 3.6k

“He absolutely despises me.” Hitch took a sip from the generously sized mug you had brought for her when she had appeared at your front door earlier that afternoon. She then pulled your favorite childhood blanket over her knees before proceeding to wear an amused expression that, much to your confusion, completely contradicted the story she was telling. “I would love to say such hate is unfounded but…”

“What did you do?” You eyed her suspiciously, the corners of your mouth already curving up in preparation for the inevitable burst of laughter that always followed your friend’s stories.

“Well, you need some context first. This man. He is a creep. And by creep, I mean his soldier is always standing. Even when it doesn’t have a reason to.”

“Quite alarming indeed. Especially if he’s your superior.” Your nose crinkled in disgust. You couldn’t imagine how uncomfortable it would be to work under someone like that.

“Right? And also for the sake of context, I feel you should know that he has a god complex. He even told some of the girls that he has royal blood and that, get this, was supposed to be a prince! Ha! As if!” She rolled her eyes in disbelief before continuing with her story. “Anyway, he’s always following the girls around like a dog, not me though, because in case I haven’t made it clear by now, he doesn’t like me. Luckily.” She raised a finger to emphasize. “And if you are a boy, or me for that matter, you can be damn sure that he will find the most unpleasant and annoying activity and immediately task you with it.” She smirked and her face reminded you of a high schooler who was about to brag about their grades. “He already disliked me before the night of the ball, but after it, oh I made it to the top of his list!”

You nodded, leaning forward, eager to listen to what was coming next. You knew you were about to get to the part of the story where the Hitch in her name was going to show.

“So, everybody who had been working that night was on the verge of a mental collapse and couldn’t wait to go home and have it in private. We were waiting for the last guests to leave and when they finally did I went to him, my superior, who was talking with a wealthy looking grandpa and, what I hope was his daughter, to inform him that all the guests had left.” Hitch decided to take a sip of her chocolate, and you couldn’t help but feel that it had been solely with the intent of creating anticipation, and not exactly because she was thirsty, but you had to admit it was working. “He saw I was exhausted, so naturally, like any good boss would, he told me I could go home…” She brought the mug to her lips again, but you widened your eyes at her, so she decided to complete her idea instead. “After I made sure the toilets were spotless.” You looked back at her with a pained expression that completely contrasted the proud grin that, for some reason, was crossing your friend’s face. “The stupid smirk he had on his stupid face told me he was expecting me to complain, but let me tell you, he couldn’t have been more wrong. Because instead, I accepted my fate with grace and walked away after leaving some equally graceful words behind: Yes, your hardness.”

You opened your mouth wide, stomach already tensing up in anticipation of the good laugh you were about to get, but before that, you needed to ask one more question. And, as if guessing what it would be, Hitch nodded. “Yes, the shape was clearly visible through his pants. You had to see his face. It was an unforgettable evening, indeed.”

A pleasant warmth filled your chest the same way your laughter filled the room. You looked at Hitch through teary eyes and realized how much you had missed your friend. You couldn’t complain about life back at the base, but you really craved moments like this, with her, moments that had been part of your night routine during the three full years you had spent as roommates.

After the laughter died down and you were able to speak again, you asked: “But like, how come you are still alive after that?”

“Well, as you may imagine, things would most definitely get terrible after such an incident. But I can’t confirm that, because I didn’t stay to find out. The next morning, I went to Commander Nile and begged him to transfer me to another unit.”

“And? Did he?”

“Yes, but I had to write like ten formal requests and practically get down on my knees before he even started to consider it. Because the thing about Commander Nile is that he is also insufferable, only that he does it in a different way.” As you listened to Hitch complain about her superiors, your heart started to take distracting leaps inside your chest, and you did your best to fight back the smile that threatened to spread across your face at the thought of your own boss and how good he was to you. He was good. So good.

“He’s moody and annoying, but at least he’s respectful, professional, and most importantly, isn’t trying to sleep with everyone. Oh my goodness. Not me complimenting Commander Nile.” She crinkled her nose in disgust. “Anyway, that doesn’t change the fact that he’s moody all the time, and permanently has the face of someone who hasn’t been able to poop in years. At first, I thought it was because he wasn’t getting any, but then!” She raised her voice, suddenly and unnecessarily, and in an equally dramatic fashion, raised both index fingers as if asking you to pay close attention. “The other day his wife walked into the headquarters, and imagine the way my jaw dropped to the literal pits of hell when I saw her.” You shuffled in your end of the couch, making yourself more comfortable. Other people’s business was your favorite literary genre. “Not only because Commander Nile pulled a one-eighty, completely transforming himself from insufferable boss to soft-eyed husband in a matter of seconds, but also because his wife is the complete opposite of him.” Her eyes widened, and even though you weren’t too fond of the annoying cliffhangers she deliberately sprinkled here and there in between sentences, you loved how expressive she was. It was all part of her incredible storyteller skills.

“What does she look like?” You sipped from your mug. The chocolate, nice and warm, and just as sweet as you liked it.

“A goddess. Gorgeous doesn’t even begin to describe her. Beautiful falls short. Stunning doesn’t do her justice.” She explained, very dramatically. “Okay maybe I’m exaggerating but she does look good. Lush strands of gold falling to her hips, swaying synchronously with them as she gracefully makes her way to wherever she has decided to charm with her presence next. It’s important for you to know that she doesn’t just walk, she makes her way gracefully.” You knew what she meant, you had come across that type of people before. The holders of the type of grace that couldn’t be learned, borrowed, or created from experience. And you suddenly remembered the title of a book the commander kept in his office: ‘Walking artwork. Talking poetry.’ The name had stuck with you for some reason, maybe you would borrow it from him one of these days. “Eyes bluer than the summer sky, porcelain skin that reminded me of that expensive doll I spent half my childhood begging my mom to buy for me.”

“Are you sure you aren’t in love with your boss’ wife?” You joked, as a part of you wondered what it would feel like to be so attractive and unforgettable that people would spend so many words attempting to describe your beauty.

“Actually, I’m not sure. Because on top of elegance and good looks, she also has manners and good personality. She smiled and greeted everyone she passed by. And it wasn’t one of those fake smiles you put on just to show your perfect teeth, you know. She’s genuinely charming, and most importantly, smells good.”

“You’re right. Smelling good is what it all comes down to in the end.” You agreed, smiling to yourself at the thought of a very distinctive, musky scent you had grown quite addicted to.

“I don’t understand how someone like her ended up marrying my boss. She could have married anyone she wanted. In fact…” She smirked in a way that successfully reminded you of good old classroom gossip. “Did you know she was this close to marrying your boss?”

You held the mug against your lips, fingers completely freezing around the warm ceramic, unresponsive hands forcing you to taste the liquid that had strangely turned bitter all of a sudden. Sour, even.

“Oh yeah, I heard it from my senior.” Hitch explained, completely misreading your reaction, wearing an amused expression, as she continued to provide gossip that, at any other point in your life, you would have found juicy. She had no way of knowing the silent commotion that piece of information was actually stirring inside you. “Apparently, they used to be close friends back in the day, all three of them. Both, your boss and mine, were completely smitten with her.” You realized your chocolate had gotten unpleasantly tepid as well. “But she ended up choosing mine instead. I wonder if she regrets her decision. Because I would sure as hell do. I mean look at your boss. He’s aging like fine wine, and then look at mine.” She made a face that, under any other circumstances, you would have found funny, maybe next time, when your heart stopped acting like a lemon, a very bitter one, being squeezed for lemonade, and your chocolate, like you hadn’t sweetened it yourself. “But maybe I’m biased, since it’s mandatory for everyone to hate their boss. You know, rule of thumb, law of nature, common sense. Which reminds me, how’s life working under the infamous Erwin Smith? Is he as insufferable as your average boss or worse?” She asked, bringing the mug to her lips.

“We slept together.”

“Sorry?” You didn’t know if she was double-checking because she didn’t believe her ears, or because she didn’t actually hear you, as you had purposely lowered your voice in fear your mother would catch this part of the conversation.

“I slept with the commander.”

“You fucked Erwin Smith?!” She shouted, effectively choking on the sip she had just taken.

“Yes, but please don’t announce it to everyone. I don’t want Mother to think that’s the only thing I’m doing there. Even though I wish it was.” You added, unable to stop your teeth from biting your bottom lip, as the rest of your body reminisced about that night.

“Okay but, I knew it!” She then said, now whispering.

“What do you mean you knew it?”

“I saw the way you look at him. At the ball. I instantly knew those eyes were looking for, you know, a little bedroom activity.” She glanced at the ceiling as if it was a cabinet filled with her memories, and the wood beams, files she was passing a finger over. “And then I saw you guys leaving together, and I thought to myself: there is no way he isn’t going to rip that dress off her later.”

“I really wanted him to. But nothing happened that night.”

“But then when did it happen? And how? And wait, how old is he anyway? Isn’t he like 15 years older than you?”

“Not that much. I mean, I don’t really know, but-”

“Yeah, it doesn’t matter. I’m just asking because, you know the difference in experience brings some very interesting topics to the table… like… tell me, was he any good? Goodness, that face says it all.” She leaned in closer, incredulity making her jaw hang slightly open, and curiosity, her eyes squint tightly.

“The commander’s performance was more than satisfying.” You said in a rather pretentious tone that matched the cheeky smile you were now wearing.

“thE cOmmAndEr’s pErFoRmAnCe wAs mOre thAn saTyiSfying.” Hitch threatened to throw your own pillow at you. “What the fuck does that even mean? I’ll need you to elaborate further, miss. I’m not going back home until you answer all my questions, and I have lots.”

“It means it was fucking perfect. He’s- He’s so-”

“Big?”

You nodded, teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

“It wouldn’t make sense any other way, would it? After all, it takes massive balls to lead a suicide squad. And it takes a rough, unforgiving, sturdy, aggressive, and unbelievably tough man to carry them.” She concluded, lips curving up in a complicit smirk.

“But he’s, you know, so gentle. And warm. And I- I just-” You realized you didn’t know how the sentence was supposed to end. It was all so hazy and misty inside your head, but in a dazzling way. The haze was silky, hypnotizing even, and the mist smelled good. So good. It smelled like-

“Shit…”

“No! Wait, what?” Hitch’s sudden, and rather random, intervention cut through the haze, dissipating it.

“Do you love him?” She asked, now leaning backwards as if trying to gain a new perspective, fingers stroking her chin as if trying to come to a conclusion. She reminded you of a critic trying to decide what to think about a painting.

“What? I-” You realized the dazzling haze was now turning into a confusing fog.

“You love him.” Hitch’s words lacked the intonation of a question and the vacillation of a suggestion. They sounded like a conclusion. A confident one.

“Wait wait wait wait- That’s a big word. Isn’t it… isn’t it a little too early to be throwing it out there?” When the question left your mouth, you realized it had been directed more at you than at Hitch.

“I don’t know, you tell me. I don’t have much to work with, woman. You have barely provided me with any information. I literally have no context at all, other than he has a massive dick, and, apparently, knows how to use it.” You snorted, mostly out of courtesy to your friend. It was the type of laugh brains automatically play for the sake of avoiding awkwardness, when they are busy processing something else. “I can only tell you what I think based on what I see now, in front of me, sparkling in your eyes, seeping through that huge ass smile you’re wearing.” She gestured with her hand and tried to mirror your expression, as if to make you understand what she was seeing. “What I see escaping through the gaps left by the words you are purposely omitting from your sentences. The parts that, for whatever reason, you are not telling me.” You made a pained expression, starting to feel slightly under fire. “And based on all the aforementioned, I think it’s safe to say my friend is deep into her boss’ shit. Just as deep as he has been burying himself into her all these nights.”

You rolled your eyes. “It has only happened once.”

“All the more telling! It means it only took one taste of his dick to fall in love with him.”

“I didn’t even do that. It was not like… that, you know. I told you he was very sweet.” One thing was to think about it, but to reminisce out loud about him and all the things he had made you feel that night, came with a whole different set of sensations. You were sure your stomach would burst anytime now, simultaneously freeing all the butterflies along with all your secrets. The ones you seemed to be keeping, even from yourself.

Hitch sighed and glanced at the ceiling for the hundredth time that afternoon. It looked as if the more you spoke, the more you proved her point. “Sweet, gentle, warm… Woman, in my experience, when you start talking about a man and his dick like that, you’re already far gone.”

“Am I?” You tried to read yourself, but in doing so, discovered that there was a reason our eyes could see virtually anything but our own face. Before this conversation, it was attraction. You had never questioned the label you had attached to the feelings you had for the commander. But now, now the question was poking at you, and there was something that made you feel uncomfortable and uneasy about changing such label. It was the kind of anxiety you imagined would be felt when walking close to the edge of something, so close to falling, not knowing how high the fall would be, or how long it would last.

You heard a sigh coming out of your mouth. “Hitch. I honestly don’t know. What am I even expecting? Doing? What’s going to happen now?”

“Hey, hey, hey.” She lowered her head so she could be eye level with you, because yours was now staring down at your own lap, admitting some sort of defeat. “It’s okay if you don’t know what you’re feeling. Heck, it’s okay if you love him, as well, there’s no fault in that. He’s not married. Loving him is not punishable by law. And it’s not a mistake either.” She placed a reassuring hand on your knee. “You can’t control any of that shit anyway. It all just happens. Inside, you know. And, as for what’s going to happen? You just keep riding him like a stallion, and sucking him like a good old popsicle.”

You snorted, either your friend’s words or her warm, supportive hand lightening some of the tightness trapped inside your chest. “I haven’t done any of that yet.”

“Oh, I bet you must be counting down the days to go back to work then, unlike the rest of us who are not having heated, toe-curling desk sex with our boss.”

That’s what you thought you would spend the winter holidays doing: happily reminiscing about such heated toe-curling sex until you were able to have it again. But you should have known better than expecting that from your busy, overthinking mind. As you lied in your childhood bed that night, hours after Hitch had left, you tried to think about the commander, and whether he had enjoyed the little present you had prepared for him.

“I left something for you downstairs. It’s sweet and tangy. Can you guess what it is? Make sure to eat it while it’s still fresh. Happy holidays, Commander.” You remember smiling as you placed the small piece of paper beside the game of chess that have been left unfinished the previous night. You remember smiling as you tiptoed out of his room, stealing one last glance at his sleeping figure, before picking up your clothes and closing the door behind you.

But those warm memories must have frozen under the snowy winter night you were staring into, because instead, you found yourself reminiscing about the conversation from earlier. Did you love him? You decided you didn’t want to answer that now. You didn’t want to think about that now. Instead, you wanted to think about him. So you tried again.

What was he doing now? Probably sitting at his desk, working under the candle light. Had he eaten dinner? Probably not. It was so in character for him to skip it, to completely forget about it. If it wasn’t for you bringing it to his office, he would starve. Hitch would say you were acting like his wife. And for a moment you smiled at the thought. For a moment, until you felt a sudden sting in your chest.

So the Commander had been in love before. In love with Commander Nile’s wife. Even though it had probably been years since then, and you had no right to feel uncomfortable about his ex-lovers, you couldn’t help whatever emotions were trapped inside you from uncomfortably poking at your chest, demanding to be let out.

You couldn’t help your chest from stinging at the thought of him letting his hand get held by someone else’s, and his mind get filled with someone else’s smile, and his bed infused with someone else’s scent, and his heart cherished by someone else’s… love. You turned to the other side, and buried your face in your pillow, as if the cotton fibers could provide the oxygen your lungs needed. Did he get close to love with her? If so, how close? Did he miss her? How close had they been? How intimate had they gotten? Did he recall moments he spent with her? Did he sometimes write about them in those journals? In the journals, were there entries dedicated to her, to his feelings for her? Did he sometimes wonder what could’ve been? How badly had he hurt when she chose his friend instead? Was he still hurting?

You hated to be this type of person. But you couldn’t help it. It was all you knew. You pulled the covers all the way up to your chin, feeling colder than the back side of the pillow your face was still buried into. You wanted to fall asleep, either that or to go back to a point in time where this information was unknown to you. But there was something in the air. Something bitter and sour. And it was finding its way inside your lungs. Filling every inch of your body.

Why did you feel as if you had lost a race? As if you had come in second in a competition, a very important one. You didn’t want to know about all the women who had passed through his life, you didn’t want to because thinking about them made you ask a certain question you wanted to avoid answering: Were you also just passing through?

next chapter

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jkoningen · 2 years

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Thamuz

Blurb [Zeldris, Ten Commandments x OC!]

I thought this was one of the funny/upsetting moments of the story I'm writing. Enjoy!

“Listen you dumb blonde fuckface, put down my child and leave.” She just giggled before placing down Thamuz, his crying was still aloud.

“I’ll be back for my son.” With that, she disappeared. My heart sank, but soon dropped the sword and made my way to Thamuz, picking him up and cooing in his ear. I heard some clatter on the outside of the room, turning to see Monspeet and Derieri.

“Gelda's gone.” I muttered, holding Thamuz close. Monspeet and Derieri sighed before calling out to the guards to search for the vampire. I didn’t know what to do. What she said ran through my mind like crazy. What was she on about?

#seven deadly sins #ten commandments #zeldris #meliodas #gelda #short story #fanfiction #funny #zeldris x reader #jksquad

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soaps-mohawk · 5 months

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 1 - The Introduction

Summary: Captain Price has been fighting the requests to add an omega to his team until those requests become commands. You find yourself traveling half a world away to join a pack of highly trained soldiers to balance out their dynamic. Not all of them are quite so happy about your arrival, but you're a good omega who does as you're told.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, brief moments of panic on the reader's side, scenting, military inaccuracies, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Author's Note: I couldn't help it and I've found myself falling into the Call of Duty brainrot once again so here I am to bless you with some poly 141 a/b/o goodness. It's just part 1, I promise things will get better as the story goes along.

MASTERLIST | Next ->

“I don’t like this.”

“Believe me, John, I know. But the higher ups are putting a lot of pressure on us with this initiative and I’ve pushed back as much as I can. They’re convinced it will be good for morale and team dynamics.”

He wants to protest, but he’s been protesting this idea for three months. “What more can you tell me about her?”

“Not much that isn’t already in her file.” Her tone is not lost on him. She can, but that’s not a conversation to be held over the phone. “She’s quiet and polite, a bit jumpy but she relaxes once she gets to know you. Remember, I picked her out myself.”

That doesn’t make him feel any better.

He flips through the file again after he hangs up with Laswell. He almost has it memorized by now, having looked through time and time again since the letter was dropped on his desk three months ago.

He stares at the photo, the headshot taken by the institute in her file. She’s cute, as most omegas are. American, but she had grown up on military bases. At least this world wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to her. He grimaces as he looks over her DOB below the photo. She’s young, younger than he would have liked, but at least she was old enough to drink.

He sighs through his nose as he flips through her records. She’s been in the institute for nearly ten years, likely sent as soon as she presented. He flips through page after page of test results, notes from her instructors, personality and temperament analysis, essays and essays worth of information written on her and also by her. He didn’t care so much about what her instructors thought, he was more interested in her.

“Christ.” He breathes as he pauses on the page with her statistics, rubbing his eyes. The file has everything in it, down to heat tracking and her early signs it was starting.

As if he doesn’t have enough to worry about, now he’s going to have an omega under his care.

He hasn’t considered taking an omega in well over a decade. Back when he had been young and reckless, he had once considered starting his own pack, but then his career in the military began to take off and he let that dream go. It became too dangerous, and he had seen many times what happened to omegas who were left behind during deployments for too long.

His team didn’t need an omega. He had briefly considered it in the beginning as they adjusted to the new dynamics, but he knew it was too dangerous and their schedules were far too unpredictable for the sort of stability omegas needed. He had fought time and time again against the push to add an omega to the team. They had settled into their roles easily, and operated perfectly fine with the missing dynamic.

Then the Omega Initiative was born and he found himself with no grounds to refuse anymore. Task Force 141 was getting an omega whether they wanted one or not.

He can’t help the tickle in the back of his mind that something else might be going on. He flips back to the first page, staring at the omega’s photo. They’d be here in a week. She’d be flying with Laswell to London where she’d be given a few days to adjust before they’d fly in here and she’ll be left with her new pack.

Price closes the file, leaning back in his chair. He has a lot to do in the next week.

You stare down at the files laid out on the table. Four of them, hardly more than a single page each, most of which was blacked out. They’re all older than you, their birth years at least visible to you. Most of the things on the file you don’t understand, and you weren't even sure how tall they were since you can’t convert meters to feet in your head.

You’re tired and on edge, nervous about tomorrow when you'd meet your new pack. You sit back in your seat, letting out a long breath.

“I know.” Station Chief Laswell, Kate as you had been told to call her, takes the seat across from you. “You’re going to have to get used to hearing the word classified. What they tell you about themselves is, of course, up to them, but the things they do, the places they go, even with your security clearance as high as it is, that will all still be-”

“Classified?” You finish for her.

Kate smiles. “Exactly. It’s mostly for your safety. The less you know...”

The less there is to make you a target.

You’d been given that speech before you left D.C. You’d been given a lot of briefings, as Kate had called them, since you had been pulled into the director’s office at The Institute and told to pack your bag. You remembered Kate and the interview you had done a few days prior. It hadn’t been any different than the other interviews you’d done before, except that you were chosen this time.

What had come after was three months of intense briefings and training, for what, you hadn’t really known at the time. They had told you little, at least until last week when Kate pulled you into her office and told you what was happening and why it was happening and where you were going.

“You don’t have anything to worry about, though.” Kate continues, something you’ve been told over and over again during your briefings. “They’re all good men. John and I know each other well. I wouldn’t have picked you if I didn’t think you could handle them.”

You continue to stare at the files. Two alphas, two betas. It wasn’t an unusual pack, evenly balanced, except for the missing omega. If the situation were different they may have elected to have two omegas to keep the even balance. This wasn’t a normal situation, though. This was a military pack, special forces at that. It wasn’t unusual for packs to form on bases, especially those stationed together for long periods of time. Alphas and betas united together with one purpose, one collective goal.

That was why so many alphas were drawn to the military.

That, and the excuse for violence.

Omegas weren’t allowed to enlist, omegas weren’t allowed to hold many jobs at all. It was usually only in special circumstances, and even then, they were more likely to be assigned into a pack than be allowed to work and care for themselves. In a lot of ways you were lucky. You wouldn’t have to fight to find a pack, fight to find a match, fight for one of the few decent alphas left in the world. Your road had been chosen for you as soon as you presented.

In a lot of ways, though, things were worse for you.

“How do you feel?” Kate asks, looking you over. You’ve grown to like the beta Station Chief in the weeks you’ve spent together.

“Tired.” You run a hand across your face.

“The time difference will do that to you.” Kate says, giving you a sympathetic look. “Not to mention everything else.” Kate stands, stacking the files and pushing them to the center of the table. “I have a couple more errands to run, so get some rest. I’ll pick us up some dinner on the way back.”

You look nervous.

He can’t blame you. He’d felt a bit of a nervous twist to his stomach this morning as he’d finished ensuring everything was in place. He doesn’t often get nervous anymore, years and years of experience giving him the ability to expect anything and react accordingly.

This is different, though. This isn’t a soldier he’s greeting, this is an omega.

His omega.

As Pack Alpha he had more of a claim to you than anyone else. It was his mark you’d wear, his scent that everyone would notice first. It was his duty to protect you, to ensure you have everything you need. You’re not another member of his team, you’re not even a soldier. You’re just a poor civilian that’s been thrust into this world of danger and secrecy.

“Captain Price.” Laswell greets him, shaking his hand.

He greets her back, but he can’t help his gaze as it flickers to the omega. You’re small, as expected of an omega. Your sweatshirt hides most of your curves, but your jeans hug your full thighs. Most omegas are small and soft, designed to be held and healthy enough to bear children when cared for correctly.

He doesn’t even want to think about that.

Laswell introduces you, your feet shuffling a bit as you step forward toward him. Coming from an institute, you likely hadn’t had much contact with alphas before now. You try to stand taller, look braver as you stand before him, but he can smell the tangy edge of anxiety surrounding your scent.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” You say, shaking his hand. It’s small and warm in his, your skin soft and slightly clammy.

“The pleasure is mine.” He says, releasing your hand.

You let it drop to your side, pulling your sleeve down over your fingers. You shift on your feet, your body language betraying your nervousness. Hunched shoulders, fingers tugging your sleeves over your hands, shifting your weight foot to foot as if you might take off running at a moment’s notice. Your eyes dart across the airfield taking in the movement around them. You’re on edge, alert, and likely a little overwhelmed.

“I’ll show you around and let you get settled.” He says, his eyes shifting to Laswell. “You and I have some things to discuss.”

You follow behind him with Laswell as he leads you towards the building that served as the 141’s home base. He points out different places you might find yourself visiting. The gym, the rec area, the mess hall, and finally their barracks. He leads you down the hallway where their rooms were located, pointing out each door before he gets to yours, sandwiched between his own and Gaz’s, with Soap and Ghost on the other side.

He opens the door, letting you enter. He stays in the doorway, letting you explore the small space. Your bags had been brought in, the faint hint of the beta Corporal that had brought them in still lingering in the air. There’s four shirts folded neatly on the desk, one from each of them that they’d slept in for the last couple days to give you a chance to get used to their scents.

“The lads are still running a simulation, but they’ll be done within the hour.” He says, drawing your gaze from the bed. “We’ll let you get settled in and I’ll come get you when they’re ready.”

“Thank you, sir.” You say.

Laswell steps in as he steps away for a moment, letting the two of you say your goodbyes. You’d likely see Laswell again, and soon, but he knows after three months you’ll have bonded with her just a bit.

Price leads Laswell to his office after she leaves your room, his ears picking up the sound of the lock clicking into place as they walk away. He’d left it on for a reason, wanting to give you the ability to feel safe and secure as you adjusted, even though you had nothing to worry about.

“So.” Price says as he sits behind his desk, reclining back in his seat. “What can you really tell me about her?”

Laswell gives him a knowing look. “The CIA has had their eyes on her for years now. The Omega Initiative as it is now, isn’t how it started. They were going to train omegas as agents, and she was one of the first names on that list. They had FIOT put a hold on her file once she came of age.”

Federal Institute of Omega Training. The name was stamped on the front of your file. It was the highest rated institute in America, the place where most omegas born to politicians, government workers, and some military went.

“They had agents go in and pretend to be interested parties just to make it seem like there was interest in her.” Laswell continues. “But, you know omegas aren’t cut out for this kind of work, so they changed the Initiative. She was still at the top of the list, but there were some...hesitations as to where to place her.”

“What sort of hesitations?” He asks.

“You saw those scores, John. She’s a good omega. Those purebred instincts are strong, and that makes her an easy target.”

Most omegas born from an alpha/omega pairing were good at listening to their instincts. That was why they carried such a high standing, even among omegas. But, being so closely intune with their instincts made them more sensitive, more vulnerable. They were more likely to give in to an alpha, if the alpha knew how to play them right.

Laswell pulls a file from her bag, sliding it across his desk to him. “She’d get walked all over in a larger pack, and the last thing she needs is to get hurt by an overbearing alpha.” There’s something hidden in Laswell’s words, his mind filing that away for later. “I need someone I can trust with her. She’s smart, learns fast. She needs a challenge, but also someone that won’t take advantage of her.”

“It sounds like you’ve grown rather fond of her.” He says, flipping open the first page of the file. It’s the CIA’s data on her, everything they’d done in the last three months to prepare her for her life as a Special Operations pack omega.

“Like I said, I’m the one that picked her for your team.” Laswell leans forward against his desk. “She knows what she’s in for. She was well prepared for this kind of life. She’ll let you mark her, no questions asked because that’s what she’s been told to do. She’s obedient, John, almost to a fault.”

“That could be dangerous.” Price says.

“Yes, it could.” Laswell says. “I’m leaving her in your capable hands. She has my number, and so do you.”

Price walks her back to the airfield, his head reeling a bit as he replays their conversation over and over. The hidden messages in Laswell’s words aren’t lost on him, and his gut feeling that something else was going on had been correct.

“Take care of her, John.” Laswell says. “I’m putting a lot of trust in you.”

He hasn’t failed her yet.

Your body is tingling. You’re not sure if it’s nerves or something else. You haven’t been around an alpha since the day of your presentation, when you had been pulled from your home and taken to the institute. You had nearly wanted to keel over when you came face to face with Captain Price. Your alpha. He’s a commanding presence, the tickling at the back of your neck still not quite gone even though the door is shut and locked.

The bed is comfortable, not any worse than what you slept on in the institute. There’s extra pillows and blankets stacked at the end, likely for your nest when you finally settled enough to make one. The door to the private bathroom is cracked open, facing the end of the bed. There’s four shirts on the desk next under the window next to the bathroom door, and your bags are sitting in front of the dresser and closet situated on the opposite wall from the bed.

You push yourself to stand, ignoring the way your legs wobble as you stare down at the four shirts on the desk. They’re all olive green, folded neatly in the exact same way. You wouldn’t have known any different, except for the scents gently wafting from them, and the names on the tags.

Price. You pick up the one that will be the most familiar, bringing it to your nose. Tobacco smoke, aftershave, something sharp like whiskey. All things you had scented on him in your short time together. Underneath you catch a whiff of his natural scent. Something woody, fresh. A tingle crawls up your spine, prickling in the back of your neck again. You drop the shirt on the desk, taking a step back to breathe in the unscented air for a moment.

You’re breathing heavily as you go for the shirt next to Price’s. Garrick. You press the shirt against your nose, inhaling. Aftershave, different from Price’s. Some kind of lotion. Coconut oil maybe? You can’t pick up more than the base scent of beta, the soothing almondy scent.

You take another deep inhale of it, letting the beta scent ease you before you let it drop to the desk beside Price’s. You grab the one next to it, looking at the tag. MacTavish. You lift it to your face, scenting another aftershave. There’s something citrusy mixed in as well, slightly watered down compared to the scent of the aftershave. Again, you can’t pick up more than the scent of beta, letting it ease the tickling on the back of your neck again before you let it drop back on the desk.

One more to go.

You pick up the last shirt. Ghost. The faceless one. You bring the shirt to your nose, wincing slightly at the sharp tang of gunpowder and metal, smoke and a lingering aftershave. You try to smell deeper, but your nose burns with scent blocker spray. You let out a huff, dropping it back onto the desk.

This Ghost was dedicated to his anonymity.

He’s going to be a problem.

You sink back onto the bed, eyeing the shirts. Your senses have heightened, picking up the scents wafting off of them, mixing in the air. You pick up the sound of boots approaching, three pairs of feet making their way down the hall. You can hear them talking and laughing as they approach. There’s a pause outside your door and you hold your breath, sitting as still as possible.

Of course they can smell you. You had sprayed yourself down with scent blockers before you left the hotel, but it had likely worn off by now. Even with the blocker, the scent of unmated omega wasn’t hidden easily. The entire base had probably caught a whiff of your scent by now. Caramel, vanilla, strawberries with the undertone of pure omega that made alphas go insane.

“Coming, Si?”

Your lungs burn as you hold your breath, and for a moment you’re afraid your heartbeat might be audible from how hard it’s pounding. Steps recede from your door and you don’t breathe until they’ve disappeared.

You decide to unpack to keep your mind busy as you wait. You don’t have much, mostly clothes from the institute and toiletries. You don’t even have a photo of your family, that part of your life behind you. You put your clothes away, venturing into the small bathroom to put away your toiletries. There’s towels already inside, along with a few things like shampoo and soap. They’re all scentless, like the things you had brought from the institute.

Nothing that could dampen your natural scent.

You almost don’t hear the knock on the door, lost in your own thoughts. You take a steadying breath, hand hesitating over the lock. What if it wasn’t Price? What if it wasn’t anyone from your new pack?

“Just me.” Price’s voice comes through the door.

Of course he would notice your hesitation. He’s a trained soldier, he’s always going to be aware of his surroundings. You unlock the door, opening it slowly.

Price greets you with a small smile, your nose picking up the scent of his aftershave and the lingering scent of tobacco smoke now that you’re attune to it. “They’re ready, if you are.” He says.

You nod. “Yeah, I guess.” It wasn’t like you had much of a choice to say no.

You slip out the door, closing it behind you. You’d ditched your sweatshirt, wearing a scoop-necked shirt to give them easy access for the scenting. Price leads you down the hallway, back towards his office. You’re not quite sure what to expect, the nervous twisting in your stomach coming back.

“I thought we’d do it in a meeting room.” Price says, likely picking up on the change in your scent. “Somewhere neutral.”

It’s smart, it’ll keep you from getting too overwhelmed by other scents or sounds. The last thing you need to do is panic and send them all into a spiral. Talk about a first impression.

Price pauses outside a door, looking down at you. His gaze is kind, almost sympathetic as you take a deep breath. “Ready?”

Not really, but you wouldn’t dare say that. You have to do this, and the sooner you got the awkward part over with, the easier things will get. You nod, hands tugging nervously at the bottom of your shirt. “Yes, sir.”

Price opens the door, stepping in first. You’re glad for the few moments you’re hidden behind him as the scents in the room slam into you. Alpha and two betas, scents you recognize from their shirts. They stand as Price enters, and for a moment you want to stay hidden behind the alpha but you know you have to be brave. You were made for this. The words drilled into your brain over and over again at the institute flash through your brain. You have one job in life and this is it.

You can hold power over them.

The words from the book your bunkmate had smuggled in flash through your mind. “The Powerful Omega”, it had been titled. Authored by a progressive omega, it talked all about how powerful omegas could be, even those forced into traditional roles. You can get them all wrapped around your finger if you wanted to.

You steady your nerves, clenching your hands into fists at your sides and step out from behind Price. Your skin prickles as three sets of eyes are set on you. Price is speaking but you’re not really listening as you take them in. You recognize the two betas from their files.

Gaz, you pick up Price doing introductions, has kind eyes. He’s tall for a beta, almost the same height as Price. He waves to you, offering you a small smile.

Soap is the shortest of the four, more what you would expect from a beta. “Good to meet ya, lass.” He greets you, giving you a charming smile. He’s going to push your boundaries, you can tell.

You’re beginning to see the dynamics already.

“And Ghost.” Price says, your eyes finally moving to the place you’ve been avoiding since you walked in.

All hulking muscle, Ghost seems to take up the entire room. Your heart flutters nervously as you meet his dark gaze, his face hidden by a balaclava with a skull painted on the front. His presence is oppressive, tickling the back of your neck. You’re not sure if you want to run or submit to him, every inch of him screaming alpha.

Price’s hand on your back nearly makes you jump, your gaze finally drawing away from Ghost and back to him. “Come on, take a seat. Tell us about yourself.”

Price sits at the head of the table, Ghost, Soap and Gaz to his left. You take the seat on the right, staring at the other three members of your pack. You jump into your spiel, things that they already knew if they’d read your file. There’s not much else to tell, since everything about you was in that file. That was its purpose, to make you look as appealing as possible to potential alphas and packs.

“What about your family?” Soap asks, the sharp scent of your nervous energy spiking for a moment. “Do you still talk to them?”

You shake your head. “Not for a few years. Institutes don’t really encourage keeping ties with previous packs, but I know there were a few omegas that did. It was hard to keep track of where my family was.”

“Your father was a Marine, correct?” Price, even though they already know the answer.

You nod. “Yes, sir.”

“You lived on base?” He asks.

You nod again. “Yes, sir. We moved a lot, but we lived in pack housing on every base. We were a family pack, and I was number four of eight by the time I presented.”

“When did you get sent to the Institute?” He asks, almost regretting answering it.

It’s a sore subject, he can tell by the change in your face and the slight souring of your scent. “The day after I presented.” You say.

The tension in the room is palpable, Soap and Gaz’s eyes widening in shock as Ghost's shoulders tense just slightly. Price stares at you with a sympathetic look in his eyes. He knew it was likely shortly after, but that soon? Most would wait until the presentation had finished at least, and usually there was some downtime when it came to getting into an institute as well.

“My father was a traditionalist alpha.” You say, something they also knew by your status. It was printed all over your file, squeezed in every place it could be as a reminder of your worth to whomever was reading it. “It was because we were already on base that they got to me so fast.” You explain. “It was my dad’s status in the Marines that got me into FIOT.”

“What was it like, in the institute?” Gaz asks, wanting to change the subject a bit, if only to ease the sourness in your scent.

You huff out a laugh, the corner of your lips lifting in a smile. “Not unlike the military, I think. We had strict schedules we stuck to every day. Everything was dictated for us, what we wore, what we learned, what we did with our free time and how often we got it. Even what we ate was chosen for us. We always had to be ready to be tested at any time, and we were always being observed.”

“Your test scores were high.” Price remarks.

You shrug. “I’m a perfect omega, or so my instructors always said. It comes easily to me. I don’t really have to think much about it.”

“Did you really kneel for two hours straight?” Gaz asks.

You huff out a laugh. “Yeah. There was one day...it was a couple years ago. I don’t know what caused it but there was something in the air. We were all on edge and worked up. The director got tired of us and made us all kneel in the mess hall during our two hour afternoon break. No cushions, no pillows. Just all forty of us, kneeling on the marble floor for two hours. Not everyone could do it. Quite a few got too fidgety, couldn’t handle the pain. Three even passed out.”

“How did you manage it?” Gaz asks.

Price wasn’t a fan of using instinctual habits as punishment. It left a bad taste in his mouth, and he can only imagine what else you could say they forced you to do with such nonchalance.

“To be honest, I don’t remember most of it. I just let my mind go somewhere else and before I knew it the time was up.” You shrug.

“We won’t make you kneel for two hours.” Price says. “And definitely not without a pillow.”

You smile softly. “Thank you, sir.”

Price watches you, the way your eyes dart around the room again, the sour edge of your scent gone, but the tang of anxiety remains. You’ve relaxed some, though, your shoulders are not quite so tense and you’ve stopped picking at your nails.

Ghost has remained silent the entire time you’ve spoken, eyes glued on you. You’ve tried not to look at him, finding your words get stuck in your throat whenever you meet his gaze.

He’s going to be a problem.

“There’s some rules we need to go over before anything else.” Price says. “You have freedom to roam this building as you please, but one of us will escort you if you need to go elsewhere at least until you’ve been marked. There’s other alphas on this base and I don’t want them getting any ideas.”

You knew well enough omegas frequented the barracks on bases often. You don’t want to be mistaken as one. Even with their scents on you, you know that won’t stop some. You’re not even sure a mark will stop them either.

“I want full transparency. If something happens you come to me, or you call Kate if we’re gone. If you need anything too, the same order stands.” You’re beginning to detect the edge to his voice, The Captain slipping through his more casual demeanor. “We have some downtime to adjust for now, but sometimes we may leave for weeks at a time. It will be rough, I won’t lie to you, but Kate pulled some strings and there’s an Omega Specialist that’s been brought in for you. You’ll meet her later, I’m sure she wants to do a full workup.”

You’ve met many Omega Specialists in your time. The beta medical professionals that go through specialized training so they can assist and treat omegas better than regular doctors and medics. Most of them go through a residency at Institutes, studying and practicing on young omegas. The thought of having at least someone who might understand you on a deeper level is comforting.

“I’m starving, let’s get the scenting over with.” Soap nearly whines, rubbing his stomach.

His words strike a chord of nervous energy in you again. You had been prepared many times for the scenting. You’d seen instructional videos and done mock practices with your fellow omegas. Yet you feel like it’s not going to be enough. These were real alphas and betas, your pack. What if you don’t like the way they smell?

What if they don’t like the way you smell?

“If you’re alright with it?” Price says, looking at you.

You’re taken aback by the offer for consent. You weren’t expecting it, as this was something you have to do. What would happen if you said no? Would they respect your boundaries? The fact you had been asked at all is shocking to you. You won’t say no, because you’ll have to do it eventually, and at least this way you’ll be walking around smelling like them. If nothing else, it might make this transition a bit easier.

“Yeah.” You nod, swallowing down your nerves. “I’m okay with it.”

All five of you stand from the table, your stomach churning with nervous energy. You try to clear your head, try to calm yourself so you don’t stink them out with your anxiety. You need your scent to be clear, to be as tantalizing as possible.

“Don’t look so worried, lass.” Soap says as they gather around you. “We won’t bite.” He winks at you playfully.

Your cheeks warm as Price steps up to you. He is right, that would come later. Likely during your first heat when Price would give you his mark and claim you as his. It wasn’t unusual for packs with multiple alphas to let more than one claim an omega, but judging from what you’ve seen of Ghost, you’re not sure that’s going to happen.

He had a right to claim you too, but from the look of it, he was the least excited about your joining their pack.

You tense as Price’s hands settle on your waist, lifting you up so you’re seated on the edge of the table, putting you closer to being eye-to-eye with them. They’re all so big, the natural consequence of genetics and their jobs.

“Ready?”

You turn to look up at Price, close enough you can see the freckles on his nose and the grey in his blue eyes. You nod, pressing your hands into the table as you bare your neck for him. Your heart is fluttering in your chest as he leans in closer, pressing his face against your neck. His beard tickles your skin as he rubs his face against your scent gland, warm breaths fanning against your skin.

He pulls away just slightly, baring his own neck to you. You press forward, gripping the edge of the table as you press your face against his throat. You catch the scents you had picked up on his shirt in your room, the surface level scents that were environmental. You close your eyes, inhaling deeper. Woody. Pine? Spruce? It reminds you of a candle your mother used to burn. There’s another scent, the one that lingers. Petrichor, you think, rubbing your face against his scent gland.

His hand on your side pulls you back from your scent-induced haze, and you force yourself back from him. You take deep breaths of the sterile air in the meeting room, picking up his scent more clearly now as it mixes with the others.

“Good girl.” He says, squeezing your side gently. Something flutters in your stomach at his praise, some deep primal part of your brain preening at the thought of making your alpha proud. “Ghost.” He says, stepping back from you.

You’re snapped back into reality as the hulking alpha steps up towards you, moving almost silently. You try to keep yourself calm as he stalks towards you, his sharp gaze burning into yours.

He’s testing you.

You won’t satisfy him, holding his gaze as he reaches you, his thighs pressing against your knees. One hand comes to rest next to your hip on the table, his body leaning in towards you. You’re enveloped by the black fabric of his sweatshirt as his other hand reaches up to tug his balaclava up. Stubble tickles your skin as he presses his face against your throat, breathing in deeply. He lets out a quiet sound as he scents you, almost akin to a growl.

He shifts his weight, pressing his uncovered scent gland against your face. You close your eyes, inhaling deeply. Gunpowder and metal stings your nose again, along with the scent of his body wash. You press deeper into his throat, seeking out his natural scent. Something deep and musky washes over you, like suede or leather. There’s something fresh in there too, almost like eucalyptus. You press your face closer, inhaling it deeply. Your head spins, and you’re sure your knees would have given out if you hadn’t been sitting.

Something rumbles in Ghost's chest as you scent him in a daze. While all alphas’ scents carried a natural musk, Ghosts seems to shoot directly to some deep part of your brain even Price’s scent hadn’t reached.

You let out a quiet whine as he’s pulled from you, his mask back in place by the time you pry your eyes open. Ghost is leaning back against the wall, eyes back to their icy stare as he watches you. Your head is still spinning as someone steps up next to you, taking Ghost’s place.

“How ya doing?” Gaz asks, eyes assessing you. “Hanging in there?”

You nod, taking a couple deep breaths to try and clear your head.

“You’re halfway there.” He says, leaning in closer. “Got through the hard part.”

His breath fans your neck as he leans in, the familiar scent of beta flooding your senses. He was likely doing it on purpose, trying to calm you after the intensity of being scented by two alphas. You breathe in the almondy scent, relaxing into him as he scents you. Your hands raise, gripping his shoulders as he presses his neck close to your face. You seek out the source of the calming scent, pressing your nose into his scent gland.

You’re drawn from the room and to the time your family took a trip to the beach when your father was stationed in North Carolina. Salty sea air, briney and clean, and something else, something soft. Like the clean linen scented spray your mother used on the laundry. You’re clinging to him, his arms around you as you relax into his scent. The tingling energy that had begun to build up at the proximity to the alphas fades as you melt into the calming energy of the beta in front of you.

“Easy.” He says, his hand on the back of your head as he pulls you away from him. You take a deep breath, trying to clear your head. “Still with us?” He asks, meeting your gaze.

“Yeah.” You say, sounding breathless. You knew scenting could be intense, but you hadn’t expected it to feel quite like this.

“Almost done, hen.” Soap says, taking Gaz’s place in front of you. “Lucky there’s only four of us.”

He’s right, you think as you bear your throat for him. You’re not sure you could have handled it had there been more of them. You already feel like you’re floating, enveloped in so many scents you’re not sure what to do. That tingling has begun at the back of your neck as Soap scents you, your eyes meeting Ghost’s. The look in them has changed, his body poised like he’s ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

Soap pulls back, blocking your view of him as he bears his throat to you. You press your face into his neck, pushing past the scents you knew, and that beta scent, looking for him.

You inhale deeply, the scent of warm spices invading your nose. It smells like the holidays, cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger enveloping you. You can almost taste the apple pie, see the gingerbread houses. You cling to his shirt, holding him against you as you rub your face against his throat.

You’re trembling just slightly as Soap withdraws from your hold. It’s subtle, but to them, highly aware soldiers, it’s likely clear as day. Your skin is buzzing, like the fluorescent lights above you. You can hear it now, the buzz of electricity. Your pupils are blown, the room suddenly clearer and sharper.

“There she is.” The low grumble of Price’s voice begins to pull you from your heightened state, your eyes turning to him as his hand cups your cheek.

You press into the rough palm of his hand, eyes picking up the grey in his beard and hair as he stands in front of you. He’s older than you, they’re all older than you. Older than you, bigger than you, stronger than you. A small tickle of fear begins to itch in the back of your mind, drawing you from your daze.

You’re vulnerable, entirely vulnerable and incapable of defending yourself against them. Forgetting second genders, they’re all much stronger than you, not to mention trained fighters. You’d be fucked if they decided to try anything, if they wanted to do anything. You’d be entirely helpless against them.

They could if they wanted to.

It would be well within their rights. Even though you had just met, even though you bore no claiming mark, there was nothing stopping them. You couldn’t stop them, and no one would help you.

“You hungry, pup?”

Price’s voice cuts through your fearful daze. There’s a slight furrow to his brow, likely picking up the sharp edge seeping into your scent. Omega fear and distress was the one defense nature gave to your kind, aside from the omega itself. It’s a putrid scent meant to ward off alphas and betas. You’ve heard it described as smelling like sulfur, burning coals, gasoline, melting plastic, and sometimes even the ozonic scent that accompanied alphas in a true rage. It was a warning, but it doesn't always work.

Pup. Price called you Pup.

You haven’t been called “pup” since you were a pup. It’s a commonly used nickname for any status. You remember your father calling your older brothers pup, even after they presented. It could be derogatory, but it’s more commonly used affectionately. He’s trying to ease your discomfort, the fear welling up inside you.

The door is open, the fresh air of the hallway watering down the heavy mix of scents that had become trapped in the room. Soap and Gaz have already stepped out, Ghosts hulking figure blocking the doorway for a moment as he follows them, leaving you alone with Price for a moment.

“Alright?” Price asks as your gaze meets his again.

You nod, still leaning into his touch. “Yeah, ‘s a lot.”

“I know.” His thumb strokes your cheek, a knowing glint in his eyes. He leans in closer, lowering his voice. “Don’t tell him I told you this, but Soap nearly passed out when we scented him.”

You cover your mouth to stifle your giggle. It wasn’t unusual for scentings to become so intense that the receiver passes out. You’re sure if there had been more than four in your new pack you would have passed out.

“Come on.” He says, wrapping an arm around your waist to lift you off the table and onto unsteady legs. He doesn’t even grunt with the effort, moving you easily. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s not entirely one of fear.

His hand is warm on your back as he leads you out of the room, the clean air in the hallway clearing your head further. Most bases have circulating air systems, constantly filtering out scents to keep things as neutral as possible. They’re less effective in smaller areas though, especially after scents were intentionally projected. Most military members wore scent blockers, at least while performing their duties. You remember your father coming home at the end of the day with the dull burn of scent blocker still on his clothes.

Your head is still spinning a bit as you follow them out of the barracks and towards the mess hall. They seem to almost walk in a formation, though you suppose with years of having it drilled in your head, it’s almost second nature. You’re sandwiched between Soap and Gaz in the middle, Price in front and Ghost bringing up the rear.

The other personnel on the base give your group a wide berth, and even in the mess you can feel the glances, but none of the stares linger. Price guides you next to him as you get your food, adding things to your tray for you. That tickling feeling starts again at the back of your neck as he makes your plate, your omega preening happily at the knowledge of what he’s doing.

He’s proving his ability as a provider.

In more primordial times he might have gone out and hunted for food to bring back to you to prove his capabilities. Even in more modern times, he might have hunted as some alphas still did, or he would have gone to the store to keep the fridge stocked full of food. Alphas are good at adapting to their surroundings and situations. He’s proving his capabilities in the way he can.

You’re also silently grateful to not have to think too hard about the choices in front of you. Even after a week, British food is still a bit unfamiliar to you. It’s not entirely indiscernible, though, and you’re sure you could pick out things that sounded good if you had to. At this moment, though, with your head still reeling a bit and the unsettling energy of a new place filled with unknown alphas and betas, you’re happy to let Price do it for you.

He carries your tray and his to a table, sitting you next to him. Gaz takes your other side, Soap and Ghost sitting across from you. The choices in their seating arrangement don’t feel quite so random to you, and you quickly realize the arrangement is similar to the room setup in the barracks.

A beta for each alpha, you think. Gaz and Price. Soap and Ghost.

Then there’s you, stuck somewhere in the middle of them. Somehow you’ll fit between them, squeezing into their perfect dynamic. Omegas are supposed to help balance packs, but as you sit with the four members of your new pack, you can’t help but feel like you’re only going to make things more difficult.

I'm willing to put together a taglist if people are interested...

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #141 x reader #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #cod x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #a/b/o

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fantasylandloser · 11 months

Text

marriage pact

summary: besties that plan to get married

warnings: smut, mdni, dry humping, idrk what else I should put here so message me and lmk, steve's happy trail, slutty steve, big dick steve

pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

A/n: This started off as one thing then it manifested into something else, and this is 4k words of idk and there MIGHT be a part 2

update here is part 2

****

Steve loved your slumber parties that had carried over from your childhood. Initially the two of you would binge watch movies, while his parents were who knows where. Up until you were about twelve he slept in the bed with you until one day your parents decided that he couldn’t do that anymore and gave him his own room for when he stayed over.

Your family was well off due to your father being in business with his and it was probably no big deal for them, but Steve appreciated it nevertheless. He felt so loved in your home, so he made it his second. He was there at least three nights a week, until the two of you got into highschool and his dad wanted him to get serious about basketball. Then it was late night practices and meeting up with girls. He still came around at least once a week for dinners, but usually he was busy.

You were surprised when he didn’t go away for college. Even more so when he decided to get his own job and start at the community college in Hawkins instead of living off his parents. Eventually he was back to being at your house all the time, until one day your mom randomly asked him to move in, suggesting that he was there all the time anyway. Which he agreed to with speed. So, now your slumber parties were more frequent, and more fun now that you were adults and your mom took away the rule that Steve couldn’t stay in your room.

Now your slumber parties included the two of you gossiping for hours on end about who was pregnant, talking through movies, and newly you doing Steve’s skincare. At first he tried to pretend that he didn’t like it, until one day you decided you didn’t feel like it and he begged you to do it anyway.

“Close your eyes.” You say from your position on his stomach, your thighs fitting snug on each side of him. One of his hands resting on each one. You didn’t need to be sitting on him of course, but Steve claimed it would be easier on your back if he were laying down (which was not true) but you went along with it because it was Steve.

“So bossy.” He murmurs but closes his eyes nonetheless, his fingers messing with the hem of your shorts. You hum in acknowledgement not really able to focus on the task at hand.

“Is this new?” Steve asks, referring to the cool goopy substance that you were putting on his face.

“Yeah, I’m testing it on you before I put it on my face.” You say jokingly. But not really, considering that's what you were actually doing.

The snort Steve lets out brings a smile to your face. “Well, I’ve been your test dummy since we were kids so I’m not surprised.”

“Glad that you finally accepted the dynamic of this friendship. Now stop talking.” He huffs at the command but still listens anyway, a small smile resting on his face,that you could never ask him to wipe away. Your brain short circuits a bit when he pulls his hand back to the center of your thigh, his thumb continuously rubbing over the smooth skin. You couldn’t help but wonder when that got added to the dynamic of your friendship.

“Now sit with that for ten minutes.” You could see him getting ready to protest so you quickly added, “and be still!” You know he’s gonna bitch about it when you go to take the mask off. He hates sitting still more than anything but he could deal for ten minutes.

When he feels the pressure from your body weight pressing into his stomach start to lighten, his hands finding your waist even with his eyes closed.

“Steve.” You huff, knowing he’s not going to let you move until he can, but it’s not like you actually put up a fight. Not like you actually wanted to be away from his warmth. So you stayed simply sitting on him for ten minutes. Watching him, thinking about how he was still so pretty even with the mask on his face.

When it was time for you to take it off. You almost didn’t want to, but you did , pleased to see that the product left him glowing.

Steve finally opened his eyes after almost falling asleep when he heard you sigh sweetly. “All done?” He asks hoping that you weren’t even though he’d been laying there for about thirty minutes.

“Yep.” You say until you remember the little gift you picked up for him at the store. “Wait one more thing.” Steve lets you get off him this time, a little hesitant but you don’t point it out.

When you come back with what looked like a broken whisk, Steve was a little reluctant. “I think this is where my test dummy days end.” You roll your eyes at his dramatics sliding back to your spot on his stomach.

“You’ll like it.” You tell him. Despite the growing anticipation about whatever the device was, Steve is quick to accept you and it into his space, his hands on your hips to steady you as you sit down.

“I doubt- fuckkk.” Steve moans raggedly, cutting himself off and surprising you, making you stop your movements with the hair massager. You catch your composure quickly though, continuing to massage his scalp.

“So dramatic.” You try to tease, to lighten the heavy feeling in the pit of your stomach. You knew Steve had a thing for getting his hair pulled. He hooked up with half the girls in your class, so his likes and dislikes tended to get around and made for some pretty interesting lunch room conversations.

You didn’t realize a scalp massage would elicit the same reaction. You also didn’t realize that his reaction would have an effect on you. His whole body seemed to glitch. HIs eyes are barely able to stay open and the grip on your hips tightening.

Once his initial dramatics calmed down, he began letting out soft appreciative sighs. His grip on you fades to soft circles on your thighs.

“I’m gonna marry you.” He tells you, with his eyes closed. You knew he meant it. He told you that he wanted to marry you one day in high school. He’d been drunk but he let you all the way in on his plan to make a life with you, one day when you’re both ready.

He told you how he thought about building a house for you, and having your last name be harrington and how he wanted to have a bunch of kids with you. You thought he’d been joking teasing him about it the next day, but he simply smiled at you with a blush forming on his cheeks telling you that he meant it.

Ever since then, every couple of months he’d say it again. Like he was reminding you, or really asking you to wait for him. Which you did. Neither of you had made much of a move or anything and sometimes one of you would date someone else, but in the back of your mind you would always remember that you were marrying Steve and that’s just the way it was.

“Mhmm.” You hum, simply acknowledging like usual. To your surprise Steve's eyes open and he zeroes in on your face.

“I’m serious.” He’d never done this before, made more room for conversation about it. He seemed like he wanted more than gentle acknowledgment.

“I know.” You say, pretending to busy yourself as you set the massager to the side, just to get away from the intense way he’s looking at you. When he sits up on the headboard you know he means business. You never guessed now would be the time you finally actually talked about it.

“Do you really?” He asks. Steve didn’t know if you knew how serious he was.

“Yeah.. we’re getting married.” You tell him, fidgeting with one of his hands in your, absently looking at his nails instead of him. “You’re gonna build me a two story house, two streets away from my moms. In that field we used to play in. And we’re gonna have six babies and I will not let you help me name any of them because I already have a list.” You catch a quick glimpse of his face. “I remember.” You tell him.

You expect him to let it go now that you’ve rehashed the entire plan he layed out for you years ago. You don’t remember when you got so attached to the idea. Or when you started contributing your own dreams to the plan but it had grown for you and speaking it out loud you realized how badly you needed it to happen.

“You have a list?” Steve’s chest was warm as it dawned on him that you wanted a future with him the same way he did with you.

Your face warmed, embarrassed thinking that he would tease you. “Yes. They’re all non negotiable.”

“Can I see it?” He asks, his voice soft. “Please, honey.” Honey. This is no longer best friend Steve. This is future husband Steve, making his first ever appearance.

When you shake your head with a shy smile, Steve can’t help but smile back.”Why not?” He asks you in that same soft voice that had you feeling gooey on the inside.

“Stop using that voice.” You whisper, feeling flushed. Steve couldn’t help but chuckle. He’d never known you to be shy, but here you were being all bossy while hiding your face in his neck.

“You’re so perfect.” He’s teasing you, trying to see how embarrassed you’ll get. He also means every bit. “Prettiest girl in the world.”

“You’re bein’ weird.” You tell him unsure what to do with yourself with all these changes being made so quickly.

“It was weird not telling you how beautiful you are everyday.” You don’t expect him to keep listing. “So sweet, too.” He adds. “Always taking care of me and never letting me praise you for it. I can’t wait to take care of you.” The implications of that do not go over your head. “Bet you’ll be such a good little wife.”

Steve expects you to make some little quip or try to play off how embarrassed you feel. He’s expecting you to descelate how quickly he’s moving. But instead your voice whispers “I hope so.” You’re right in his ear too, so he knows he isn’t mistaken and he knows that this is the last night you’ll ever consider yourself just friends.

*****

Steve should have kissed you last night. He can’t help but think about that over and over, as he realizes he didn’t seal the deal. He should have done something to prove to you how serious he was.

But it was too late because he didn’t kiss you and the morning had been decidedly awkward when you realized you didn’t know what any of that meant for your immediate friendship. Because initially the plan had been to wait. Was the wait over? Did you want it to be over? You spent the majority of your day trying not to think about it. Steve however wouldn’t shut up about it. Sadly for Robin she had to be on the receiving end of this conversation.

“Robin, this is serious. What if I fucked everything up? What if she thinks I’m leading her on?” Steve runs a hand through his hair, seemingly deep in thought.

“I doubt that. I mean you’re planning on marrying her- which I take offense to not knowing about this little pact or whatever,” she adds. “But that’s like the total opposite of leading on.” She tries to reassure wanting to really get Steve to shut up about it.

“No you don’t get it-” Steve starts again, only to be interrupted.

“Ughhhh!! How can I not get it if this is your sixth time going over it? Steve, I get it! You’re overthinking this when it’s really simple.” Robin gestures. “You love her and you want to get married and blah blah blah, but before you guys get married how about you try to, I don’t know actually date?” She says sarcastically. “Unless you were just going to propose after a thousand years of sleepovers and dating other people.” She adds.

And although it was unnecessarily sassy, Steve realized that Robin might have a point. “So I should ask her out?” He tries to clarify much to Robin’s dismay. Luckily for her the door opening saved her from another round of easily answered questions. And even more lucky for her it was you and not an actual customer.

“Hey what are you-” Steve was cut off by you taking his hand and dragging him to where you knew the break room was after bringing him lunch on multiple occasions. You had tried and failed to not think about this whole situation.

The one thing that had been bothering you the most is how long it was taking. You realized it was because you let Steve call the shots, and you quickly remembered why you never let Steve call the shots. Steve took too long to make decisions and well you knew what you wanted. So you had always been the leader in your friendship, deciding what movies you’d watch, what games you’d play, the parties you would go to. Everything really. You could do that here too, you realized.

When you close the door behind you Steve is looking at you expectantly. He’s half thinking that you’re gonna cuss him out, so he doesn’t expect it when you grab him by his shirt to kiss him. You’re all over him for about five seconds. Your scent. Your taste. Your skin. Your hair. Then you’re gone. Patting his shirt back in place, shakily. You’re nervous. Steve realizes.

“Okay that was all-” Steve’s pulling you back to him before you can run off. Letting his lips capture yours just the way he’d dreamed of. Feeling you relax into him as he cradles your face.

“So sweet.” He murmurs against your lips. He finds it amusing how the words send you back into your shyness from last night. The way you went from determined to timid and unable to even look at him properly. Steve was curious about this side of you. You were never this easily flustered.

“When did you get so shy?” He asks and you know he’s taunting you. He’s still holding you close to him, his fingers messing with the ends of your hair as he tries to find any reason to keep touching you.

“M’not.” You oppose half-heartedly. He lets out a gentle sound of acknowledgment, obviously ignoring you, and knowing he would press all those buttons later. Privately.

“You’re so beautiful.” You think he’s still teasing you and you hate that it's working when you feel your face heat up and you’re hiding it in his chest. Steve really means it though, it was the first thought that came to his head when he saw you walking through the door. Your hair free and your face without makeup. A skirt that your mom would deem a few inches too short and a shirt that he’s seen a million times because you love it so much.

Gathering your courage, you finally look at him. His kiss swollen lips are the first thing that grabs your attention the second is the way he’s looking at you. Like he’s waiting on you to call the next shot.

“Will Robin be okay, if we go to your car?” The next few moments are a blur because now he’s the one dragging you out of the breakroom, pausing only long enough for Steve to beg Robin to cover for him. Which she agreed to with a poorly concealed smirk on her face.

You were expecting Steve to open the back door and usher you inside. Instead he opens the driver side and pats his lap expectantly, after moving his seat all the way back. When you hesitate he’s grabbing you by your thighs and maneuvering you to where he wants you. “What if someone sees us?” You ask, knowing how fast information like this whipped around town.

“Nobody parks on this side, honey.” Steve tells you those big puppy dog eyes staring into you. And because he’s Steve, and he’s calling you honey, and you trust him more than anyone you know, you believe him.

“Okay.” Is all you say before your lips are back on Steve’s. It was a sweet kiss really, and Steve tried to let you control it for a while, until you were trying to back away from him again. With his experienced lips working over yours, you’re so consumed you barely realize the way you’re grinding yourself over his lap. Well not until his hands are on your ass, pushing your skirt up and controlling your once sloppy movement.

“There you go, sweetheart.” He says breathlessly, when he finally comes up for air. His lips find purchase against your neck. He kisses his way up the slope of it, relishing in the sound of your little gasps, until one particular spot sends a shudder down your spine. He sucks that spot.

Absent-mindedly, your hands find their way off his shoulders and into his hair, barely thinking about it twice before you rake your nails across his scalp softly. The soft hum he lets out gives you indication that you should continue. Your hands stay in his hair for a bit, and you’re too nervous to actually pull it, but it does get you thinking about the other places on his body he has hair. Namely his happy trail. It sat perfectly right in between his abs and you usually had to avoid looking for your own sake.

You’re yanking his shirt out of his jeans before you give it much more thought. And even though you’re too busy humping Steve to get a good look, feeling it against your bare hands has you whimpering.

“Stevie-” You’re cut off by your own moan as your clit catches perfectly against Steve’s zipper. It doesn’t get past Steve that you sound so fucked out. Your tone bordering on a whine, clearly frustrated.

“Look at you.” Steve coos. “Doin’ such a good job for me, sweet girl.” Pressing a light kiss to your lips. Steve couldn’t help watching you chase your own pleasure, shivering at his praise.. Your eyes pinched shut, but your hands are all over him like you know every part of his body.

“Can you open your eyes for me?” He asks with his hands pushing your hair out your face. When you do, he admires how dazed you look. How you probably barely remember your own name. “There she is.” Steve knew he was about two seconds from coming in his pants. He was also aware of the fact that once you were done with him he’d have to go back inside to finish working his shift.

“Stevie” You start again, “M’so close. Feels so good.” You tell him, your movements becoming frantic causing your boobs to sway deliciously. You don’t register your top being pulled down, until you feel Steve licking at your nipple.

A hungry groan rising from the back of his throat. “Perfect fucking tits.” His hands leave your ass, leaving the pace to you. He pinches your right nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it to test your reaction. When you lurch into him. Humping him harder than before, he knows he’s a goner. But you are first. Your orgasm hits you so fast, it surprises you with tears springing to your eyes at the intensity.

Steve’s a close second behind you, leaving the two of you panting and trying to catch your breath. As soon as Steve recovers he’s tending to you, pulling your top back in place, trying to see how you felt.

He can’t help but admire that after that you went right back to your embarrassed state, obviously self conscious. “You’re perfect.” He tells you again, pressing another light kiss to your lips. When you grin at him, his heart beats fast and he can’t help but be happy at the line the two of you just crossed.

“You too.” You say, your head is still a bit fuzzy as you check the damage. You’re about to launch into an apology about the obvious wet spot on Steve jeans but he beats you to it. “Stop worrying.” He’d been watching the spot form as time went on and kept willing it to get bigger. Liked that you were making a mess all over him and yourself too.

“You have to go back to work.” You state, guiltily.

“I have an extra pair of pants in the backseat, sweetheart. We’re all good.” You’re relieved for a number of reasons, climbing off him into the passenger seat. You don’t know what you were expecting but you realized it wasn’t him yanking his pants off, revealing his now cum stained gray boxers. And you certainly weren’t expecting him to drag the boxers off as well, which revealed his huge fucking dick. The tip is now sloppy and slightly red, and you can tell it isn’t as hard as it was.

“Oh fuck.” You say barely recognizing your own voice. Only to repeat yourself when he uses his sullied boxers to wipe the rest of the cum off, watching it twitch from the stimulation.

“He doesn’t like to be stared at, ya know.” Steve teases you, reaching back for his jeans.

Your eyes keep flickering back to his face and back to his dick, and you know there’s no way he’s been carrying that around for the entirety of your friendship and you simply had no idea.

“Steve.” You say dumbfounded. No words available to express your shock, as he pulled his pants on to cover himself.

“No more ‘Stevie’?” He asks, mocking you. The smile on his face tells you he’s just messing with you but you can’t help your cheeks going up in flames.

“You’re the worst.” You huff, but you’re still smiling despite your embarrassment.

“Mhm.” He’s reaching over the console to kiss you again, this time sweet and chaste.

“Don’t worry, I’ll stretch you open for me, before I fuck you, sweetheart.” You gasp feeling his hand on the band of your underwear.

“Lift up for me.” You do, allowing him to pull the drenched fabric off of you, you hide your face in your hands when he lifts it to his face to sniff. You were quickly coming to the realization that your best friend was dirtier than you ever realized, even with all the gossip that got back to you.

You feel yourself manage to flush even further when he murmurs to himself “sweetest fucking girl” he stuffing them in his pocket in the next second, then reaching back over for you when his phone lights up.

Robin’s name lighting up the screen. He huffs a little as he reads the text and you know she’s getting snappy.

“Come on, let's go before Robin kills you.” There’s no use in asking for your underwear back so you just pull your skirt down as far as it will go before stepping out the car, trying to ignore the slickness of your thighs. After Steve walks you to your car, he presses a kiss to your forehead, stating that you’ll talk later.

When he walks back into Family Video he looks disheveled, a completely new pair of pants, his shirt no longer tucked and wrinkled, but Robin is relieved to know that she won’t have to answer anymore stupid questions from him.So she leaves him be for the moment, but he definitely owes her big time.

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington #smut #fantasylandloserfic

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saintobio · 3 months

Text

LONG LIVE THE VILLAINESS !

amidst the tale of sweetest love and bitterest revenge, the fallen empress is cast back ten years into the past to correct her sins and avoid eternal damnation, even at the price of betraying her once husband, the very cause of her downfall.

♱ pairings. gojo satoru, fem!reader

♱ genre. enemies-to-lovers, period piece, medieval au

♱ tags. ooc, regression, crown prince!gojo, noble lady!reader, politics, classism, clan wars, religion (catholicism), misogyny, violence, war, rebellion, suggestive, smut, gore, double life, explicit language, more to be added

♱ notes. this fic draws heavy inspirations from the webnovel ‘sister, i am the queen in this life’ and manhwa of the same name. it’s basically a fanfic of that series bc i am obsessed with it :’D

♱ status. on-going (slow updates)

♱ SECOND TIMELINE TO AS YOU LIKE IT ♱

PROLOGUE.

ACT I. THE LADY

ACT II. THE CROWN PRINCE

ACT III. THE KNIGHT

ACT IV. THE STAR CROSSED LOVERS

ACT V. THE BLESSED

ACT VI. THE SIN

ACT VII. THE REVELATION

ACT VIII. THE ENEMY

ACT IX. THE LOVER

ACT X. THE EMPRESS

EPILOGUE.

PROLOGUE

Like plunging beneath the surface of water and then, abruptly, breaking through to the air above—your body jolted as if awakening in a new world altogether. You drew in a long breath, your eyes fluttering open to reveal the ceiling, both familiar yet unfamiliar in its greeting. Swiftly, you surveyed your surroundings, noting with growing recognition the confines of your old room within the De Roma estate. The estate!

You were not in the palace of Caelum, but in the estate of House De Roma. A surge of realization flooded through you as you dashed towards the nearest mirror, confronting your reflection with wide, startled eyes.

No... could it be... that you have returned to your body, ten years prior?!

In the mirror, the reflection staring back at you was not that of the notorious wife of the tyrant Emperor Satoru, but of a 20-year-old maiden, the eldest daughter of Duke de Roma, with fuller cheeks and a more youthful appearance. You could not shake the feeling of disbelief, wondering if this was all just a dream, so you reached out to touch your arms and felt the flesh beneath your fingers, trying to convince yourself that this was an unexpected reality.

Oh, you were back. You found yourself returned to your former self, a decade younger, but now armed with the knowledge of your past life's actions and their consequences. Alongside this newfound understanding, the gift of clairvoyance had also been bestowed upon you.

And for what? Why had the heavens above returned you to your body? Was it for revenge, a second chance, or perhaps punishment?

Suddenly, a loud, deafening sound pierced your ears, and a blinding white light enveloped your vision. Your body became as still as a statue, and it felt as though your soul was transported to a fourth dimension where divine intervention seemed a lot more plausible to exist.

As your soul hovered in the liminal space between life and death, you found yourself standing before a figure cloaked in billowing robes, her presence commanding and her gaze piercing. This figure was Fortuna, the ancient Caelan goddess of fortune and fate, her visage austere and unforgiving.

“Are you aware of the sins that stain your soul?”

“Have you felt the weight of your transgressions, the consequences of your actions that have wrought suffering upon your people and brought ruin to your empire?”

Her voice echoed through the realm with the divine judgment that weighed upon your conscience, while her gaze penetrated to the core of your being and demanded honesty and accountability in the face of your past misdeeds.

“Will you atone for your sins?”

“Will you seize this opportunity for redemption, or will you squander it in self-pity and remorse?”

As you stood in the presence of the ancient goddess, grappling with the heaviness of your sins and the daunting task ahead, a brilliant light had all of a sudden illuminated the space around you. From the heart of this radiant glow emerged the figure of Archangel Raphael, his presence heralded by a chorus of angelical voices and the stirring of celestial winds.

Clad in robes that seemed to shimmer with the intensity of celestial light, Archangel Raphael's presence commanded attention, his wings unfurled behind him in a display of resolute authority. If Goddess Fortuna was intimidating, the archangel was fearsome all the more. His gaze, intense and penetrating, swept over you with a gravity that left no room for evasion or deceit.

“Empress of Caelum,” he spoke, his tone firm and unyielding, and his voice carrying a billion years of heavenly existence, “You stand accused of grievous sins, crimes that have shaken the very foundations of your empire and brought suffering upon your people.”

There was no trace of softness in Archangel Raphael's demeanor, no room for mercy in the face of wrongdoing. His presence was a testament to the uncompromising nature of divine justice, his strictness a reflection of the solemn duty entrusted to him as an Archangel of the Almighty. This, no doubt, was the face of a true and formidable executor of justice.

And you, the subject, had angered the divine beings that guarded the Caelan Empire, so much so that God himself sent the goddess of the land and one of his archangels to mitigate your rightful punishment.

“By the decree of the Almighty, you are granted a second chance to amend your sins and redeem your soul. You shall return to the mortal realm, to live your life anew and correct the sins that have stained your soul.”

“Should you fail to rectify your past transgressions, should you stray from the path of righteousness and succumb once more to the temptations of darkness, know that the consequences shall be severe and eternal.”

“For those who squander the gift of divine mercy shall be cast into the deepest depths of hell, where they shall endure a punishment of unending torment and suffering.”

In the presence of Archangel Raphael and Goddess Fortuna’s equally stern gazes, you were keenly aware of the magnitude of your transgressions and the severity of the judgment that awaited you. But even as you trembled beneath the weight of their scrutiny, you knew that their presence also offered you the opportunity for redemption, with your only task to prove yourself worthy of divine mercy.

Indeed, it was by your very hands that hundreds and thousands of Christian souls shed their blood. Innocent lives, both young and old, were cruelly taken at your command. The citizens of Caelum who fell sick from the spread of the plague. The esteemed Caelan advisors of your husband’s primogenitors, skinned alive and speared in pikes by the Tiber River. The wrongly accused maid who suffered the indignity of serving your husband, paraded unclothed through the streets and subjected to the brutality of the pear of anguish. The gallant and dignified knight, tortured mentally and physically in the atrocious dungeon. Now, you find yourself thrust back into the horrors of your former life ten years hence. A life of a noble lady who ought not to be blinded by her destructive love for the empire’s crown prince.

Yet, could you truly navigate this life without ascending to the position as his empress?

As you tried to commune with the divine beings afore you, a haze in your vision transported you away from the heavenly space, realizing that you were already drawn back into the reality of your chamber, inhabiting the youthful frame of a twenty-year-old daughter of a duke. You found yourself too astonished to move, too shaken to speak, and too afraid to take any action in this new lease of life blessed upon you. At that very moment, your state of reverie was disrupted at the arrival of your maid, who entered your chamber in a humble servant garb.

Milena. The maid whose life was cut short by your hand in your past existence due to petty thievery. “My lady,” she spoke with a hint of respect and urgency, unaware of the ill-fate you had given her in your past life, “A visitor has arrived at the gates and requests an audience with you. Shall I show them in?”

Too soon? Need it truly be so soon to engage with the people from your past life immediately after awakening to your old, yet younger body? Gazing upon your maid through the mirror, you asked, “Who is that intruder you speak of?”

She bowed her head, her stance shifting into one of apologetic deference. The way she firmly stood by your door was a message to you that the intruder was not someone you could easily reject the presence of.

“The visitor is His Highness, Crown Prince Satoru.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

#series: lltv #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk royal au #slow updates bc sy is prio #i will not write this in archaic english anymore ITS HARD AF #but i had to put this out there so i can remind myself to write it *sobs*#might just write this on the side

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solbaby7 · 3 months

Note

If ur still taking requests can i ask for azriel x reader. Where reader and Az are newish friends. One day Elain asks reader for help on how to please a man (I imagine elain always on her back 🤷‍♀️). Reader asks elain if its to show Az and elain just blushes sweetly saying "maybe". Reader being a girls girl shows elain how to be ontop and how to do other favors like if they were besties. ( idk if uve seen game of thrones but a girl shows khalessi how to ride khal drogo. The girl straight up straddles her with clothes on of course, And shows her. I have it in my head that while reader straddles elain Az walks in and is like 😮😮). Readers a bit jealous cuz she has a mini crush on azriel but doesnt show it. She sees elain with some hickies and what not and she decides she cant be around Az anymore (hurts too much blah idk lol). Az is like wtf! Turns out that Elain was asking for sexy help for lucien!!! Doesnt have to be detailed smutty at all, whatever ur comfortable with is cool with me. Oh btw i so so loved that possessive toxic azriel fic u posted the other day. 🫠🫠🫠 🥵🥵🥵

I love love love love love this idea! So happy you requested it🤍💗

—

Teach Me

azriel x reader

[ part 2 ]

“Well—can you help me with that?” A furious blush fans across Elain’s cheeks, eyes wide and hands fumbling at her sides. Dainty fingers dig into the intricate lace detailing of her dress, nails raking over the pattern in attempts to calm the racing of her heart.

“You want to know how to please a male,” You repeat gently, slightly shocked after she’d timidly slipped into your bedroom with flushed cheeks and sweaty palms. It took Elain ten whole minutes to reign in her rambling until she’d finally blurted it out. “Anyone in particular?” She doesn’t meet your eye, shifting her weight from foot to foot and your stomach rolls at the turn your mind takes. Elain had been spending a lot of time around Azriel; afternoons spent tending to the garden and evenings were blocked off to trail behind as she baked some new sweet treat. “Az, maybe?”

“Maybe,” Elain mutters softly, subtly taking in the contents of your room. The pictures propped against your side table and the endless jars and creams stacked neatly on your vanity. “Can you please teach me?”

Pushing side your curiosity, you offer an encouraging smile, patting at the spot beside you on the bed. “Come here.” The first step is hesitant and so is the one that follows but Elain still finds herself following the gentle command and complying even further when you urge her to lie back. You can feel her thighs shake when you swing a leg over to straddle them but the trembling subsides when you adjust her hair and straighten out her dress. “Sex is like a dance.”

Immediately, she’s hooked, hanging onto every word as if you were the Mother herself coming down for a personal visit. Briefly, Elain’s gaze flicks to the door, shoulders relaxing when noting its shut and locked; curtains drawn and the fireplace crackled with life. The smell of you is everywhere. Something light yet memorable, soft and elegant, classic and slightly sweet—soothing in every way. “A dance?”

“It starts off slow,” You begin, a sliver of your abdomen exposed in your Night Court attire. A breathable onyx top that seemed to wrap around your chest like a bandage, blending into a lighter material that was slightly see-through. “Lingering glances from across the room, the heat of feeling his eyes watching you long after you’ve looked away.” Her confusion is palpable in her furrowed brows and slight pout. “Love always begins in the eyes—I’ve heard of women who’ve finished males with nothing more than their gaze alone.”

“Finished?” Your brow raises, a teasing smirk accompanying it and the implication alone has Elain’s cheeks rosy once more. “Oh, gods. I don’t think I’m capable of anything like that.”

Your fingers trace along the length of her bare arms, holding her hands and guiding them to the sides of her head as you hover, voice low. “You are a woman. You’re capable of anything.”

Elain swallows thickly, taking in the words as if it were the first time she truly wanted to believe them. “What if he doesn’t like it? Like me or the fact that I’m not very experienced.”

“They don’t care about if you have experience or not. They simply desire what they’ve never had.” She hangs onto every word, analyzing the way you guide her through the motions of what she’d do. Talking her through the scenarios on how she’d touch; when to kiss and gently tug at hair. Eventually the blushing becomes less frequent, Elain’s eyes fluttering closed as she visualized it, working through the new feelings that brewed at the thought of being able to use such teachings.

“And they like that? Us on top?”

“If you like it then they’ll love it.” You rest her hands at your waist, demonstrating the sensual rocking of hips going back and forth. “Fae males are not like the human men you were accustomed to—all sweet and gentle. Fae’s fuck. They take control,” You’re still above her, watching as her thoughts race a mile a minute, thick lashes fluttering before she moves in a flurry. Quickly the position is changed and while it’s a little sloppy, Elain was obviously paying attention as she hooks her leg over your thighs the same way you had hers. “Good job—exactly like that.”

She lets out a laugh, seemingly surprised in her own actions but the thrill of it all is evident across ethereal features. “My heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest.”

“Breathe through it and always remember that no matter how highly you think of him in your mind, no matter how highly others think of him—in that room, he belongs to you. There for you to do as you please and if you’re ever uncomfortable you can always say no. You can always stop no matter how far you’ve gotten.”

Elain nods in understanding, dainty fingers barely gripping at your wrists. “Thank you for this. I don’t know what I’d do if—just, thank you.”

She lingers a tad longer, following every instruction you give and just as you’re about to correct her, your door creaks open. A familiar voice calls out your name, shadows slinking across the wallpaper but they freeze once they take you in—sprawled out against the bed with Elain straddling you, hands pinned by your head.

“We were just—“ Elain scrambles off of you, cheek and chest a furious red as her mouth opens and closes; unable to come up with a reasonable explanation before she’s sliding past Azriel and rushing down the hallway.

“Most people knock.”

But Az wasn’t most people. You’d been friends for years and long since had he forgone the formality of knocking before entering. He hasn’t moved an inch, still donning his fighting leathers and surely he must’ve just rushed in from flying because his hair was a fucking mess. Inky strands lay messily atop his head, flopping over his forehead and teasing the thick of his brows. “What was that?” A finger points in the direction Elain had just disappeared off too and you’re unable to explain why such anger swells in your gut—all too aware of the fact that another female would be using your moves on him.

Seducing him in a manor that belonged to you but would never actually be you.

“Just wait a little, I’m sure it’ll make sense soon.” Confusion sweeps over the angles of his face at the vagueness of your words, skewing the corners of his mouth and you have to physically tear your eyes away before you did something stupid. Like, kiss him. You suck in a sharp breath, a hand curling around the doorknob. “You should get to bed, Az. It’s late.”

You can’t bear to see the look on his face when you close the door on him but it was for the best. It was one thing crushing on him while knowing he wanted another. But it was more complicated now, teaching the object of all his desires exactly what to do to him—how to please him and draw out the sounds you’d been dreaming about for decades.

You flop down on your bed, nose scrunching at the lingering smell of Elain on your pillows.

Sleep doesn’t grace you with her presence that night, instead offering a series of scenarios of what could be happening a few hallways down.

Elain’s back two days later, a goofy grin spread across her cheeks and a line of hickeys branding the side of her neck in a way that makes your stomach turn. It takes everything in you to hide the jealously, to smooth over the embarrassment of ever possibly thinking that Azriel would go for you when he had a blushing Archeron hanging off his arm. “I take it that it went well.”

“More than well,” Elain confessed, dressed in a pale shade of green with ivy’s laced into the thin sleeves. “It was perfect—everything was perfect thanks to you.” She continues on, divulging naughty details and devastating descriptions of Azriel’s fingers grazing at bare skin, the tickle of his hair against her cheek, the warmth radiating from his body when the nights chill became too much. “I’d always heard whispers about the males of Autumn but you guys really weren’t joking,” Your head tilts to the side at that certain detail, brow quirking and your spoon halts its swirling about the teacup. “Fire really does run through their veins.”

“Autumn males?” Your hair flicks behind your shoulder with the wild way you turn to face her, arms crossed loosely over your chest. “You were with Lucien last night?”

Elain nods with a knowing smile growing at the corner of full lips, the tulle of her dress shifting obnoxiously when she takes a seat on your bed.

“I guess I just assumed you’d be with Azriel.”

“Not quite my type,” She replies wistfully, gaze far away as if she were reminiscing on the night before and the male involved. “He’s yours though,” It’s not a question but a statement, thrown out there as if it were a known fact amongst others and you were the last to be let in. “—you like him.”

The teacup pressed to your lips muffles the words but Elain still understands perfectly clear. “”He’s my friend.”

“Friends don’t really look at friends the way he looks at you.” You swallow audibly, attempting to hide your interest and yet it’s the quick flick of your eyes that gives you away. “It’s exactly as you said the other night,” Elain raises from the bed, a gentle hand trailing up your arm the same way you’d done to her. “Love always begins in the eyes. Just look at him—really look at him and see what’s right in front of you.”

Your hands tremble in your lap and for the first time in a very long while, it was you that felt like the blushing virgin searching for answers and not knowing where to look. “I don’t think I’m capable of handling what I might find.”

“You are a woman,” Elain softly answers. “You’re capable of anything.”

#acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x you #azriel #acotar azriel #azriel x you #azriel fluff #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar smut #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #az smut #azriel smut #elain archeron #acotar

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mariasont · 1 month

Text

Office Sleepover 3 - A.H

a/n: yeehaw this took me way longer than i thought but here she be

i feel like im so ass at writing smut so just bear with me yall

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

part one here! part two here!

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: in which reader gets put on a hit-list and has to stay in the office (kind of based off when penelope got put on a hit-list by the dirty dozen)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, hungover reader, unwanted attention from some rando, awk as fuck reader, fingering, dirty talk, doing the dirty in the office, definitely illegal, definitely probably caught on cameras

wc: 4.2k

Everything hurt--your stomach churned, your head throbbed, and your eyes burned. You squeezed them shut, feeling your body tense against the stiff fabric of the pull-out couch. Fists curled tightly, you gradually let your eyelids part, casting a slow, sweeping glance around the room, trying to piece together what the hell happened.

Pain hammered around the inside of your head. You desperately needed a hefty dose of Advil--ten at least. As though your mind had materialized them, you rolled over to discover a bottle and a glass of water on the nightstand. You assumed you had JJ to thank, though the certainty of that was as fuzzy as your thoughts. Each effort to reconstruct last night's events was a stab to your already excruciating migraine.

You had all your clothes on, that was a plus considering your notorious history with wine and stripping. Stripping. Your hand slapped over your mouth, a floodgate of recollections bursting through--calling Hotch in a wine-induced haze, flashing your tits, asking him to stay.

You were in full-blown panic mode, the sudden urge to throw up clawing at your throat. The bed was empty, save for yourself, but you vividly remember Hotch laying down with you. This only left two possibilities: he left after you fell asleep or it had been a figment of your imagination. You were desperately hoping it was the latter.

But clearly, the universe had its own plan, because there he was, leaning against the door frame, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a paper bag that, by the smell of it, contained greasy food.

With a throat like sandpaper and sweaty palms, you met your boss's gaze. "Hotch," you croaked, pausing to swallow. "Um, good morning--or is it? My sleep schedule's always off after drinking. It feels bright in here, right? It's also kinda hot, is the AC working?"

You impulsively rose from the bed, a decision you instantly regretted as the room seemed to spin around you in protest.

"Sit down," he commanded, a firmness in his voice that brooked no opposition, and you promptly sat your ass back down, watching him with an expectant look.

You attempted to read his face, but it was a blank slate, making you that much more nervous. He must hate you, you figured, because you certainly hated yourself. Your boss had seen your nipples. A wave of heat washed over you, and you clenched your eyes shut, as if that could make this situation disappear.

"Here," he said, handing you the coffee and the bag, then gesturing to the Advil on the counter. "Take that, and I know you might not feel like eating, but it's necessary. The food and coffee will stabilize your blood sugar levels."

"Right, yeah, course," you nod, accepting the items with shaky hands, holding the cup with a grip that's a little too firm. "Listen, sir, I'm really sorry about last night. I promise I don't usually drink that much. I don't even know how I got that drunk, and I know I acted completely inappropriate towards you. If you need to file a complaint, I understand. Again, I'm just so sorry..."

You wanted to cry, but you held it back, knowing it would only make this whole situation worse. You deliberately avoided his eyes, focusing on anything but him while you absentmindedly toyed with the breakfast sandwich in your hands.

After a moment, he releases a soft sigh, the mattress sinking slightly as he settled beside you, his knee gently knocking yours.

"I'm aware this week's been tough on you. It's, uh, clear you weren't thinking straight, and I'm not about to make a formal issue out of a slip-up."

Your head dipped, as you tried to fend off the rising warmth in your face. "I don't think I can ever look you in the eyes again."

"That feels dramatic," he pointed out, a chuckle in his voice that made you glance his way. "Trust me, it's already forgotten."

That was a lie. He may have lacked Reid's eidetic abilities, but there was no possible, imaginative way that he would forget the image of you topless--it was imprinted in his memory. In fact, it had become the sole focus of his thoughts ever since. He silently thanked the gods that it was a Saturday, and he didn't have any pressing work issues.

"Somehow, that's not very comforting," you replied, a suppressed giggle breaking through as you met his gaze. "So, did you, um, end up staying over?"

Your cheeks glowed with a soft pink, hands unconsciously smoothing over your thighs--a nervous habit of yours he had quickly taken notice of. It emerged involuntarily when you faced tough cases, or when your computer took too long to start up, or even when the elevator made an unexpected noise.

"I did," he admitted, "You shouldn't have been alone."

Your whole body felt like it was on fire, and you were weirdly frustrated that you couldn't recall being the same bed as him, being able to feel his body against yours. You bet he was warm, and soft, and large against you.

"Thank you."

His phone went off. "Hotchner."

Your eyes followed his movements, noting the firm nods, watching as he stood, his expression hardening, jaw tightening, and hand coming to rest on his chin as he faced away from you.

The phone call was brief, and he quickly turned his attention back to you. "We've got a case."

And it was quite the case--three male victims, all in their forties. Each crime scene was close to Quantico, about twenty minutes, sparing the team any extensive travel. Though, after last night, you don't think you would have minded if they had been halfway across the country.

You were really banking on Hotch's ability to keep things professional, knowing full well that if Morgan caught wind of this, you'd be better off dead.

The team was huddled around the briefing table, absorbing Garcia's detailed rundown of the killings--they were violent to say the least--with heads bashed in and over twenty stab wounds per victim. Whoever was doing this was angry.

Hotch eventually split everyone up into tasks—Spencer and Morgan to the crime scenes, JJ and Emily interviewing the families, and Rossi was tasked with convening with the local police force. So, you know who that left at the office? You, Hotch, and Penelope. What a great group.

You avoided both of them, a pattern that had become all too familiar you had realized. Hunched over your desk, you were engrossed in sending Spencer images of your latest research on the town. True to form, he responded--Can you just fax that over to the police station?--because god forbid, he has to read it from his phone.

So, there you were, barely resisting the urge to slam your head into the fax machine. You wouldn't consider yourself technology impaired, but to say you were on friendly terms would be overstating it.

"Need help?"

"Oh, yes, please—," you began, but your voice trailed off as you noticed one of the guys from forensics hovering just a tad too close for comfort.

"They're always a bit stubborn," he noted, barely giving you space to breathe before his shoulder nudged against yours as he fiddled with the device, "just a slight...there we go."

The machine sprang into action, prompting you to step back and acknowledge his help with a nod. "Oh, thanks."

"Not a problem," he assured, stepping closer in the process, his fingers lightly brushing your thigh as he pointed out the correct button. "You see, it's all about timing," he added, his voice low and unnecessarily close, "these things can be so fussy, right?"

A subtle nod was your only response, hoping he'd take the hint that you weren't in the mood for small talk. The hangover clung stubbornly, and the whiff of his breath was a cruel taunt against the fragile peace you were maintaining over your stomach.

"So, do you find this kind of tech stuff challenging?" he asked, a little too casually. The question hung awkwardly in the air. You sought to put some distance between you, yet he matched your every move, keeping the space closed. "I mean, I'm pretty good with my hands, not just with machines honestly."

Ew.

You mustered a smile, though you were sure it was more of a grimace. The room felt smaller, the walls inching closer. "I usually manage," you responded, the strain evident in your voice.

He leaned closer, if that was possible, it was like the concept of personal space was foreign to him. "Maybe I can show you a few tricks, help you manage a little better?"

His words were light, but his proximity was anything but, almost suffocating.

Just as you were firmly about to tell him to shove it, a sharp voice beat you to it--probably for the best.

"That won't be necessary."

The forensics guy, whose name you still hadn't gotten, straightened, his smile faltering under the weight of Hotch's piercing, don't fuck with me, stare. A look usually saved for unsubs and incompetent officers, but now it singled out this man.

The same look remained on the poor guy as he directed his words to you, "why don't you join me? We need to go over some case details."

It really wasn't a question.

The man backed up instantly, mumbling something under his breath about just trying to help, but Hotch's glare followed him until he was well out of earshot.

Surprisingly, a similar sharpness was aimed at you as soon as he opened his mouth. "I'd appreciate it if you chose to flirt on your own time, not the Bureau's."

His words landed with the sting of an unexpected slap. You blinked, taken aback. "What? I wasn't--,"

But he didn't allow you time to finish. Instead, he pushed a water bottle in your hands, his eyes scrutinizing your face with such an intensity that you wished the floor would swallow you whole. "Drink. You look pale."

"Gee, thanks," you grumbled, under your breath, more to yourself than him, as he wheeled around and headed briskly for the briefing room.

Your steps lagged slightly behind him, your forehead lined with a thoughtful frown. What was that about? The way he acted--the tightness that had formed around his mouth and the harshness in his words, it was so unlike him, well, at least for it to be directed at you.

The rest of the day unfolded just as you thought it would upon waking--like shit. Hotch kept his distance, his exchanges with you brief and to the point. Every time you tried to grab his attention, hoping to clarify things (why you felt the need you weren't sure), he was already looking else, focused on literally anything but you.

It was painfully evident that he was avoiding any personal conversation with you, a realization that bit deeper than anticipated.

The office slowly emptied, the case binding you and Hotch to the briefing room, the only sounds being the faint gentle tapping of your pen and the occasional snap of your hair tie.

It was late when you finally spoke. "Hotch, this says the victim had fibers under his nails that don't match anything from the suspect's home."

Hotch's gaze snapped up to yours. "Are you saying you think the forensics team missed that?"

You met his eyes squarely, cocking your head to the side at the tone of his voice. "I'm not saying anything. I'm just pointing something out."

He bridged the space between you, his jaw set in a firm line. You could feel the warmth spreading across your cheeks as the distance dwindled.

"I'm just saying I don't want you jumping to conclusions based on underdeveloped theories."

You met his eyes with a glare, your teeth grinding together in the process. "Underdeveloped? Is that how you see my contributions now?"

The space between you had now vanished, your heart racing, finger almost poking into his chest as you spoke.

Hotch settled back against the wall, arms folded across his chest, giving you a pointed look. "I didn't say that," he replied, his voice level, markedly different from your agitated one. "We just can't afford to investigate every insignificant detail."

"Every insignificant detail?" you scoffed, "these are leads, Hotch."

His shoulders lift in an indifferent shrug that made you want to wrap your hands around his throat, and not in the good way. "Maybe. However, we need to be sure before we pursue it."

Drawing in a controlled breath, you fought to stay calm, but he was making it very hard. The sensation was all too reminiscent of college, contending with the overconfident frat boys just to voice your thoughts. That comparison may have been a tad extreme--Hotch was far from being like those insufferable boys, but he was certainly pushing your limits right now.

"I am sure. Why aren't you listening."

"I am listening," he said, but his voice was distant. "I just... I just don't want to get sidetracked, that's all."

"Sidetracked? By what, exactly?"

"I'm just not sure you're all here right now."

You felt your cheeks warming with a tinge of shame, but you pushed back, fists clenched at your sides. "I'm here, Hotch. I'm focused."

"Because last night—,"

"Last night was a mistake, okay? I got it. I already apologized for that. But I'm not irresponsible, my focus is on this case."

A lengthy pause followed, his expression unreadable. "You're certain about that?"

"Yes, I'm certain," you snapped, moving towards him again. "And for the record, JJ said you were okay with us having a few drinks."

"I was," he admitted. "But I didn't think—,"

You didn't let him finish. "What, that I'd get wasted? That I'd do something stupid? I'm sorry I'm not perfect."

"Well, yeah."

"Screw you, Hotch."

You knew that was a mistake the minute his nostrils flared, his chest now a pressing force against yours.

Then, without warning, his lips crashed into yours. A muffled oomph of surprise left you, your hands hanging motionless at first, only to quickly melt, grasping at his jacket, pulling him into you.

It wasn't a gentle kiss, nor was it kind, but it was magic, exceeding anything you could have imagined, setting every fiber of you on fire. His lips pressed against yours with an intensity that drew out a breathy sigh, arousal tingling through you, and your passion rose to meet his, equally hungry, equally desperate.

Your fantasies had never done him justice--kissing him was intoxicating, and now you could feel yourself getting lost in the sensation, realizing it was everything you never dared to hope for.

Drawing back just enough, his hands drew you closer, pressing against the dip of your back, his breath fusing with yours in a dizzying blend, making the air seem scarce.

Against the soft pressure of his lips, you murmured, "I wasn't flirting."

There's a pause as his eyes locked on yours, searching, questioning. Then, his hand settled at the side of your neck. "You better not have been."

Any witty comeback you had dissipated as his lips crashed against yours again, more urgently this time, his hands tracing every contour of your clothed body with an insatiable curiosity.

His grip tightened around your waist, effortlessly lifting you onto the briefing table's cold surface with a resounding thud, his palms then cradling your thighs. Documents and files fluttered beneath you, hopefully they weren't too important. His eyes, dark pools of brown, were meticulously scanning your face.

"You," he breathes out, his voice a low rumble laced with something you couldn't quite place, "have consumed my thoughts since the moment I discovered you on my couch." He inches closer, his breath scorching your cheek as his fingers waltzed a pattern up your thighs. "Do you understand that feeling? The intense frustration?"

You were rendered motionless, frozen in place, scared to even twitch and risk this all being a very realistic wet dream. This was Hotch, your boss, the man defined by his lack of outward emotion. To think that you--of all people--could have an effect on him was an overwhelming concept. The room seemed to tilt on its axis as he gently guided your legs apart, positioning himself between them.

"Y-Yeah, I know," you uttered unevenly, your thoughts scattering as your hands tentatively reached for his collar.

"So, you know what it's like, huh?"

Your nod was subtle, a flustered smile briefly lighting up your expressions.

"And?" he prompts, while his fingers explore the shape of your thighs, squeezing gently.

You squirm under his gaze, the intensity of it making your heart race inside your chest.

"And... it's annoying," you confess, puffing out a breath, trying sound annoyed, but the delicate blush dusting your nose gave you away, you were sure.

"Annoying?" Hotch repeats, his hand tenderly angling your face upward, his smile laced with a taunt. "Is that all?"

You rolled your eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "It's distracting," your voice was softer now, desire pooling in your belly as you grasp just how compromising of a position you were in.

"Distracting," he tsked, echoing you once again as he nodded solemnly, pulling your hips into his. Your mouth parted in an 'o' of surprise, your gaze lifting to meet his. "Have I been the subject of your thoughts, then?"

Your head dipped in a nod, your fingers brushing against his firm chest, a soft blush coloring your cheeks. "Maybe a little, in a totally platonic boss-employee type of way."

"Oh yeah?"

You caught your lip between your teeth, considering your next words very carefully. "Well, maybe more than a little, and maybe more than just a boss."

"Oh, wow," his breath was a warm hover over your lips, hanging in the space between you. You ached for the tase of him again, rich with dark expresso and spiced cinnamon. It was a lovely combination. "Sounds serious."

You released a hushed giggle, a light note floating between you as your foreheads met. "It's not like I can help it."

"And why is that?"

"Because," you paused, wetting your lips in anticipation, "you're infuriatingly unforgettable, that's why."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You would."

He was kissing you again. This time a little softer, unhurried, and the whole reason for your argument faded into nothingness. Although if insubordination led to this sweet consequence, it might just become a habit.

His lips traced a path down your throat, prompting your head to tilt back, baring the expanse of your skin to his exploration. Your legs wrapped around his waist, drawing him impossibly close. The world seemed distant, the sensation dreamlike, buoyed by the soft lull of a lust-induced haze.

Reason gave way to impulse; your hands lost in the softness of his hair, your back arching to his hands grasping at your ass, your clothed pussy grinding against his erection.

His hands hesitated, hovering as he reached for your top, his eyes holding yours. "Is this okay?"

You nodded, more eagerly than necessary, but that still wasn't good enough for him.

"I need a verbal yes or no."

Desperation clung to you, a needy sigh escaping you as you squirmed into his touch, his hands halting your restless movements. "Yes, please, Hotch."

"You were so eager to call me Aaron last night. Say it again."

"Aaron, please, I need you to touch me," your voice rang out, imbued with such sweetness making his length constrict against the fabric of his slacks.

His fingers deftly navigated to the hem of your shirt, sliding it over your head with a fluid motion. Your bra was next, its clasp yielding effortlessly to his touch, your tits releasing with a gentle bounce, and he fought back a groan as his large hands enveloped them.

"Every bit as perfect as I remembered," he said, his fingers skillfully pulling and twisting at the nubs as you brought you forehead to meet his, a breathy gasp tumbling from your lips at the contact.

You arched your back into his heads as he let out a soft chuckle, loving the way your body reacting to him. Your eyes held a glazed-over look, lips parted ever so slightly, and you looked up at him expectantly in way that could surely kill him.

His hands moved slowly down your sides before brushing the sensitive skin under your waist band. You swallowed a gasp, moving your hips into his again, rolling yourself against his stiff erection.

His palms pressed against your hips. "Slow down. Let me take my time with you, yeah?"

You were at his discretion; he could ask you to jump into oncoming traffic right now and you'd probably say yes.

A nod was all you could manage as you fought the urge to move, every muscle tensed, waiting for him to make the first move, but god was it hard. You couldn't really believe this was happening, until the solid press of his thumb against your clit brought the moment into sharp focus.

"Aaron, god," you gasped, your hands tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. Your teeth found your bottom lip harshly, trying not to show him just how easily you could come apart right now.

"Is that good, honey?"

Honey. You could practically feel the arousal dripping your thighs as you nodded eagerly.

The pad of his thumb glided between your folds, gathering the slickness to continue his assault against your swollen clit. You buried your face deeper into his suit jacket, attempting to stifle the embarrassing sounds that you couldn't seem to contain.

A whine of protest filled the space between you as his hand slipped away from your pants. His eyes bore into you as he gathered the strands at the back of your neck, guiding your gaze to yours.

"None of that. Let me hear you gorgeous."

"Aaron, please, I need your fingers inside me, please."

You were painfully aware of how ridiculous you sounded, knew that if anyone else was in the office right now, you'd be so screwed, fired probably, but as his fingers dipped into your cunt those concerns dissolved quickly.

"Since you asked so nicely."

He was torturing you--his pace aggravatingly slow, working in and out of you as you tried to fight the overwhelming desire to slam your legs shut. It was so much, yet not enough. You ground yourself against his hands as his other hand clamped around your back, keeping you from falling back.

"That's it, baby, fuck yourself on my fingers."

His eyes were dark, pupils dilated, his chest rising and falling in a way that only seemed to spur you on, doing exactly as he ordered. His words felt foreign in your ears, before today you could never imagine him talking like this, so vulgarly.

"Aaron, I-I need—," you paused, your eyes falling to his pants, more specifically the hardened cock inside them.

"Yeah? Is that what you want?"

"Yes, fuck, please," you gasped as his fingers hit that one spot just right. Your head lolled back as you clutched at his collar, his arm behind you keeping you in place.

"Watch your mouth," he said, and for some reason that was enough to send you right over that never ending ledge, your stomach coiling, heat spreading under your skin, every part of you ached.

"Oh—, Aaron, I-I'm—," you were a blubbering mess, rocking without mercy against his fingers, his thumb brushing against your nub in a way that made you feel like you had met your maker.

"That's it, baby, go ahead."

That was enough for you, your walls clenching around his fingers, back arching into him and you swore for a minute you could see stars. He helped you ride out your high.

You were wholeheartedly convinced; this was heaven. You had died and gone to heaven and the first one to greet you was Hotch, his hands tracing soothing patterns on your bare skin in an attempt to bring you back down to Earth.

Just as you were about to reach for his pants, determined to feel him inside of you, his phone went off. Of fucking course. He shot you an apologetic look, the sound a wake-up call, pulling you both from the lust-fueled moment.

He moved back with a couple steps, offering nods and muted words to whoever was calling at 12 am. You were suddenly extremely aware of your appearance--topless and on the briefing table for crying out loud.

You attempted to stand, your legs betraying you with a wobble that had him instantly clasping your arm firmly, his attention flickering from the phone to the tremors in your stance. You gave him a small in return as if to say I'm fine.

You reached across the table, grabbing your shirt from its discarded state, not bothering with the bra as you dressed quickly. He cleared his throat, causing you to turn, just in time to see his phone disappear into his pocket.

"That was the Stafford police chief, there was another murder," he explained.

"Oh, right, okay, um..." you started, your brain racing into overdrive as you instinctively moved towards the door. "I just need to..."

Your movement was too quick, a dizzying spin that resulted in you tumbling into Hotch's solid frame. His reflexes were immediate, hands clasping onto you once again, preventing you from landing straight into him.

"Whoa, hey, are you okay?" he asked, brows knitting in a frown, "take a second."

"Yeah, um, yeah, I'm good," you managed to get out, even as heat suffused your face. "Just need to get changed, uh, can't imagine either of us want to the team to find me like this."

"Right."

He was still frowning, and you wanted nothing more than to kiss away the harsh lines of his forehead, but you were sure he wouldn't appreciate the gesture.

You made a beeline for your office, the door's thud barely registering over pulsating rush in your ears. God, you were so screwed.

taglist: @chronicallybubbly @aremuslupinsimp @sky2nd @thisisdaisytrying @ryswritingrecord

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem reader #hotch #hotchner #ssa hotchner #aaron hotchner x bau reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fluff #Spotify

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smileysuh · 1 month

Text

nerd TEASER

🌙 starring. Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. Look up at me for a moment, gorgeous,” Wonwoo commands, and you do as you’re told. He meets your gaze, his skin flushed from your mouth suctioning on his cock. “Just need to get your eyes right for your character,” he explains, threading his fingers through your hair and aiding you up and down on his throbbing length. “Such pretty eyes. You look so good staring up at me with your mouth stuffed full, baby.”

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, use of dragon knotted dildo toy, use of vibrator, multiple reader orgasms, blow job, dirty talk, slight power play/humiliation, clit sucking, overstimulation, pussy stretching, reader rides the toy then Wonwoo uses the toy to make her cum again, talking reader through it, mutual masturbation, Wonwoo strokes himself off to the reader using her toys, etc… I pet names: (hers) baby. (Wonwoo’s) puppy

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 3.9k

🍭 aus. Established relationship au, gamer!Wonwoo, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I know this is on the shorter side, it’s pwp, but I’ve been reading shorter things lately, and I’ve been insanely busy, so I figured a short and sweet fic couldn’t hurt after last month's near 20k meanie fic :)

“I guess I didn’t really have the energy to take care of you last night,” Wonwoo admits, leaning forward to press his lips to the spot above your navel.

You let go of his hand in favour of threading your fingers through his curls, his hair teasing your sensitive skin as he presses kisses up toward your rib cage. He cups the back of your thighs, tugging you closer.

Wonwoo reaches your breasts, his tongue darting out to lick at the underside of your boob, eyes gazing up at you.

“How about a compromise?” he suggests, breath hot on your sensitive skin.

“A compromise?” Your words come out shaky as he takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking on it gently.

He hums against the sensitive bud, one hand lifting to massage your ass. Then, he pulls away from your breast, looking up at you with a grin. “I just wanna finish your character first.”

You let out a deep sigh, shaking your head at Wonwoo. You step away from him, but he grabs at your hand. “Kiss,” he instructs, and you begrudgingly lean down to press a chaste peck to his lips. His fingers thread through your hair, cupping the back of your skull to keep your mouth on his for a few moments longer, then he releases you.

“Should only take five or ten minutes,” he tells you. “And I need you here to model.”

“One second,” you groan, heading to your closet.

If he doesn’t want to fuck you right away, if he wants to prioritize his video game, that’s just fine. You can start without him.

READ IT NOW

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taglist is limited, to ensure a tag please reply, reblog with a comment, or reblog, those who do one of those three options will be prioritized when it comes to posting day

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#wonwoo #wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo #jeon wonwoo smut #svt #svt smut #seventeen #seventeen smut #wonwoo x reader #gamer wonwoo #gamer wonwoo smut

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romanoffsbish · 3 months

Text

The Understudy

Wanda Maximoff x F!R

“Natasha x F!R”

Natasha Romanoff x Maria Hill

Warnings: Jealousy | Yandere—Attempted Murder (if you squint) | Mutual Pinning (Simping)

Natasha was a charismatic woman—sure, yet you found yourself enraptured by her gorgeous understudy—Wanda. | WC: 6,945

Request: “anything about jealous top!wanda and just having her way with fem reader sounds good to me” | College AU

I am so sorry it took so long @wandagcre 😩

18+ | Minors DNI

Wanda let a harsh breath leave her as she glared up to see as Natasha circled you like a hawk and if not for the sake of her credibility around campus with the faculty she wouldn't have let the other woman grip you by the hips and pull you in. The both of you wore wide grins as Natasha's nose nudged yours, pushing your face to the side as she gently cupped your cheeks, Wanda was rather close to combusting at the intended next move.

——

“Cut!"

The moment your professor called out the command you separated from your cast mate with a softer smile. Yet Wanda's jealousy didn't simmer, relief far away when the redhead still kept your attention on her.

Natasha pulled you back in, but only for a friendly hug.

"I just wanted to say, thanks for trusting me Y/N/N."

"It's easy to do," you giggled and squeezed her tight, then you parted ways and went to collect your bags.

There was a tension in the air as you prepared to leave that you didn't quite understand, so you sought it out. After glancing around the room for a moment you saw the source—Wanda Maximoff, Natasha's understudy with her eyes angrily cast upon the Russian's face.

She's also the unobtainable woman of your dreams, or so you deemed as you'd yet to approach her with more than a bit of shop talk. Normally the brunette would carry the interaction and nine times out of ten it was perfectly pleasant. However, Wanda always seemed standoffish when you weren't alone, which made you think that maybe she didn't want people to see you two as anything more than potential on stage partners.

Oh what a fool you were, because as you hurriedly waltzed out of the auditorium you avoided her stare that had shifted over to you—a longing glance that lingered long after the large oak doors shut behind you.

——

A week had come and gone, the show was not far off and it was coming together nicely. You and Natasha practiced your lines religiously and kept the bond between you both strong for the sake of chemistry and your overall grade as this show would be your final. In return, a beautiful friendship had been forged and you were more than grateful for the expanded circle.

All that stood in your way was the darn kiss, your heart not only yearned for another, but Natasha's had one which only seemed to make you more nervous.

You'd recently met her girlfriend, Maria Hill, when you went to their dorm to go over the script two weeks ago.

It was a bit intimidating, but when she offered you a chocolate chip cookie and help on your homework you knew she was the perfect partner for your new friend.

Natasha dreamed of making it big, and to do that she'd need a partner who understood that intimate scenes were just a part of the job, not a slight against her.

The woman even gave you her blessing last night with a warm smile, "I trust you." That alone had eased most tension you had left for the show; you were ready.

—

Today was the play's opening day, the set pieces were complete and the scenes ran to perfection. Besides the kiss, the both of you only ever got close to sharing a passionate lip-lock for the sake of show business. It was however not too necessary until today to share it.

When you walked onto stage you skipped over to the redhead who was casually reading out of a textbook.

"Hey Tasha," you greeted, the redhead peered up as she mindlessly closed the book to see your smile. It was adorable how nervous you were honestly, the kiss was only a blip in the play—lasting less than ten seconds.

This is a PG-13 university production after all.

"Hey honey," she greeted, tone sweet as can be in an attempt to ease your tense shoulders and it worked.

For the most part anyways. "A-are you ready?"

Natasha smiled, "I am," then sighed, "but, are you?"

You nodded unconvincingly and she stood to her feet so that she could approach you, her hand cupped your cheek as she stared into your eyes. "Follow my lead."

A nervous smile was all you offered the woman who moved in even closer, her warm breath on your cheek felt rather comforting. "We don't even have to kiss, all we have to do is make the audience believe it happens."

"I don't want to disappoint people," you muttered with a nervous conviction and the redhead chuckled softly. "No one will leave knowing, I'm an amazing actress."

You giggled and Natasha beamed knowing that she'd at least calmed a bit of your nerves. To the both of you it was obvious that her touch was meant to make you ease into the concept of the intimacy, but to onlookers it would almost present as an act of personal affection.

The redhead waited for you to make a move, but it was not something you had time for as you quickly realized that the prop above your heads was teetering in the air.

Wanda had been stood behind the red draped curtain fuming, her hand reflexively wrapped around the string that suspended the hefty prop above Nat's head. There was no conscious intent when she yanked down, it was purely reflexive as she watched you two practice.

It was all you could do to yank the woman out of the line of impact before the piece shattered on the stage.

"Holy shit Nat," you squealed, "that was a close call!"

"Yeah," the redhead hardly acknowledged you, eyes too focused in on the blur of familiar black and red hues weaving between the curtains. "Are you okay Nat?"

No, she most definitely was not, but she'd pretend.

The redhead internally rolled her eyes, but pressed on as if the freak accident wasn't premeditated. To your face at least, because not even ten minutes later—after she convinced you all was well did she go find the perp.

"Maximoff," she growled as she found the woman in her usual spot, "I am not an oblivious idiot like Y/N."

Natasha cringed at her own words, it wasn't right to diss you but to be fair, she just nearly lost her head.

"I haven't a clue what you are going on about," she chirped bitterly, not even remotely covering her big feelings. "How unkind you are to poor Y/N though."

"Y/N and I have a fine working relationship," she immediately set the woman straight, "She's a sweet person and if you stopped being so broody maybe you could be the one she hangs out with after practices."

"I'm just the understudy," she reminded Natasha, who rolled her eyes in frustration at her petty behavior.

"You need to let it go Wanda," she groaned, "I am the theater major, you are only taking this for an elective."

Wanda stood and whisper shouted, "I want it more!"

"No," Natasha corrected as she stepped to her, a clear sign she wasn't afraid of the brunette with the raging anger problems. "You want Y/N more, which is 100% by the way because all she is to me is a friend!"

"I see the way you look at her," Wanda sneered.

"That's because it is my job, Wanda," Natasha scoffed in genuine offense before adding, "I have Maria."

Wanda glared inquisitively, "Who the hell is Maria?"

"My girlfriend since freshman year of high school."

"Oh."

Natasha chuckled agitatedly, "Yeah, so if you could refrain from trying to kill me again I'd appreciate it very much. I've planned to live a long life with her."

"I," Wanda was honestly stunned into silence. "It was an accident—but originally, I wasn't really sorry."

"At least you're honest," Natasha chuckled amusedly. "Don't confuse this moment Maximoff," the redhead continued, "I might not be a threat but you know as well as I do that Y/N is a catch—don't drag your feet."

"I know, but I can't talk to her about anything other than this stupid class," Wanda admitted in lieu of her masked pride faltering. "She's just so pretty, and soft, it's like I lose the ability to form thoughts around her."

"Pretty things are meant to be taken and cherished," the Russian teased, smile fond as she remembered what it's like to fall in love for the first time; Natasha wanted that for you too. "Trust me Wanda, Y/N is easy to talk to and I hypothesize she would be thrilled if you did, maybe try your luck tonight at the after party."

Natasha playfully acted out taking a shot as she winked at the up until now, sapphic disaster, then she swiftly left the room to let her ponder. When she returned to the stage she found you yelling at the stagehands. She shook her head in amusement then made her way over to save the poor students from your misguided wrath...

—

When you calmed down you found yourself hidden away in your dressing room staring at your reflection. There was this unspoken tension in the air once again and it made you feel queasy. It was hard for you to tell if it was first night jitters or something else entirely.

Deep down you knew it was an unwarranted sadness, one that you associated with the fact that the course would be over after this weekends line up of shows and you'd yet to find the courage to truly speak to Wanda.

"Hey, did you understand the acting prompt," and "That was a weird film to show a class full of women," were not effective ways to speak with your crush.

You knew that, but every time you built up the courage to ask her if she wanted to hang out you remembered the way she looked at you whenever you were around others. A loud sigh left you at the painful reminder that nearly made you miss the faint knock at your door.

"Come in," you meekly called out as you stood up to face whomever it was. Wanda quietly closed your door and walked into the room with a forced confidence.

"Oh, hey Wanda," you chuckled nervously, "Is Nat ok?"

You weren't sure why you asked that in greeting, but it's also not rocket science since she's her understudy. The question wasn't meant to offend either but it did as Wanda considered the possibility that she didn't have a chance with you, but then you gave her a soft smile and she remembered why she was here in the first place.

"She's fine," she politely replied, then she took a step closer and wordlessly returned your smile. You tilted your head slightly and she understood. "I just wanted to come by and wish you luck, though we both know you aren't going to need it. You're a rockstar onstage."

Wanda found amusement in the way your eyes avoided looking into her own momentarily. Once you finally found the courage to look into hers your smile had softened, which had the same effect on her heart.

"Th-thanks Wanda," you stuttered and so she got the confirmation that Natasha basically gave her earlier without exactly saying it. You liked her just the same, something she caught as your eyes fell to her lips, it was brief but obvious enough to fill her with glee.

The woman giggled and leaned forward to place a seemingly friendly kiss, to you, on your cheek. "Break a leg out there sweetheart, I'll see you later at the party."

As soon as she left the room you fell back into your chair with a wide grin and giggled, a hand on the cheek where you could still feel a damp warmth from her lips.

The nerves in your body had all but vanished, so when you were called to the stage an hour later you strutted onto the platform with confidence and it showed in the way you acted every scene to perfection. Even the kiss.

Natasha and you shared a sweet kiss, one that you let her lead as she had the natural acting chops. It was honestly terrible since all you could imagine as her lips moved against yours was what Wanda's would be like.

Your friend's lips tasted like cherry chapstick with faint hints of nicotine that you planned to admonish her for later on after the show. There was perceivable heat to it but the truth was it was void of any genuine passion.

When the two of you parted there was a sweet smile on your lips to mirror the sentiment of your characters, and it only grew wider when you saw Wanda watching. There was something special about the way she looked at you, with a tight smile but a warmth still remained.

For the first time this whole semester you felt hopeful.

—

At the party you were the focus of everyone's attention, loud cheers and genuine accolades met you at every corner in partner with Natasha's. The redhead took it all with a wide smile and thanks, but you however did not have the courage to be so proud. Your friend did her best to take the attention, seeing you look so shy.

When the chance to break away presented itself you took it, heading to the kitchen where you found an array of substances. Just as you reached out for a packed joint you felt a large, soft hand on yours.

"Oh," you chuckled awkwardly, "you can have it."

"We could share," a raspy voice proposed, her hand fell to your hip without request and you slightly stiffened. "You were amazing tonight Y/N, so let's celebrate."

The woman's words made you feel unhappily queasy. "I-I, um," you began to stutter, unsure how to tell this stranger that you wanted to celebrate with another.

"My room is upstairs," she cluelessly teased, as if your stance alone wasn't uncomfortable. "Move on Santos."

Wanda internally beamed when she saw you turn to her with a beyond grateful gaze, the shift breaking you free from the strangers hold and subconsciously closer to her. The horny blonde however wasn't open to being cockblocked so she turned as well and moved closer until their chests brushed. "Last I checked I don't take orders from you, Maxipad, so how about you move on."

Wanda's head tilted dangerously and you felt a flutter of joy in your chest, as well as desire between your legs. The woman caught sight of your thighs clamping and smirked triumphantly, "How about we ask Y/N?"

Your eyes widened, but your lips obediently opened as Wanda seemed to not shy away from you in public.

"What's your name?" The blonde deflated, "Raya."

"It's nice to meet you Raya," you lied with a friendly smile, "But I promised to meet Wanda at the party."

"Well, you heard her," Wanda boasted, her hand reached out and took the blunt from your fingers and smugly handed it over to the blonde in obvious pity.

The moment Raya departed you felt a ringed hand in yours, and you latched on eagerly, letting her guide you through the crowd and up the stairs to an empty room.

As if the universe deemed your dreams worth reality you felt her hands grip your hips and lips catch yours. Wanda decided since talking wasn't her strong suit that she'd start by giving into her urges first. The moment was nothing but carnal, her bare knee slid between your thighs and pressed against your core.

With elegance in her every movement she guided you over to the bed and pressed into you deeper, your thinly veiled pussy rubbed against her skin and you mewled so harshly your swollen lips had to separate.

"Wan-," the redhead shushed you with a gentle peck of her lips that reassured your nervous heart. Alongside her eyes that were full of a warmth that told you this wasn't going to be a once off itch to scratch. "Mommy needs you to stop thinking detka, let me help you."

Amusement tickled in Wanda's throat at the pliant nod you gave, adoration in her heart as your eyes glazed over and body melted further into the mattress. The glare in her eyes reminded you to speak, "please."

The permission left your lips in a breathless whine and so the redheads hands slid beneath your dress that she apparently already bunched at your hips, the cold of her fingers as they tauntingly trailed over your skin made you gasp. "I've been waiting for you to say it," she interrupted your moment of shock with words that brought an adorable pout to your lips. Wanda chuckled as she watched the curiosity fade beneath the surface of your lust as her thumbs brushed over your nipples.

It was embarrassing the way she reduced you into a wordless mess, her knee a contributing factor until she abruptly pulled it away. Viridescent eyes that were reminiscent of obsidian stones, in their active state of lust, stared down at you with a warning not to whine. Wanda beamed at your understanding and rewarded you with her lips back on yours for a fleeting moment.

A sloppy kiss to your jaw, hands roaming over your body, a goddess straddling your waist in a skirt that was much too short for her intentions for tonight to have been anything but what it already was; sinful.

You were somehow expected to remain cognizant, it was a ludicrous notion, so you didn't, all you could do was move just as she asked of you until you were moaning beneath her as her core brushed over yours.

The motion was repeated, a shiver ran down your spine at the sound of her pleasure that loudly followed up yours, it was a sound you never wanted to lose. Her movements picked up, a bare pussy against a covered one and you wanted to scream at the unfair advantage she had over you as her moans overshadowed yours.

Wanda admired your innate understanding to not touch without permission, the way you kept your fidgeting hands at the top of the mattress made her decide to reward you with even more stimulation. Especially since it was mostly her feeling pleasure as she'd yet to remove an article of clothing from you. So in a blur of erratic movements you found yourself in a more exposed state, cold air brushed over your sweaty body as your dress was haphazardly tossed aside. "Oh," Wanda hummed, "so much prettier than I dreamed."

Dreamed. The erratic beating of your heart against your ribcage actually lessened as you heard her admit to having thought about you like this before, her words from before began to make sense now too. Suddenly you were closer to the edge, a bright smile adorned your face fleetingly as you felt the delicious coiling of pleasure in your abdomen. Only to be made better as Wanda's plump lips wrapped around your nipple.

A loud cry left you when the fabric of your panties delicately stimulated your clit, "mommy please." The honorific left your lips easily, it clearly wasn't a trained response to her prior claim to it, but a natural reaction. Wanda bit into the plush flesh of your breast, arousal clear as you felt it seeping into your drenched panties.

Wanda rasped, "Wanna cum with mommy?" The smirk she wore went unnoticed by you, with the crossed eyes and agape mouth that muttered out a strangled, 'yes' as she peered up from your heaving chest. If she was possessive before it wasn't noticeable to you, but all the little moments—like the glares she sent Nat's way, now made sense as she spoke. "Tell me who you belong to," she requested this with a bite to her tone that matched the darkness in her eyes. Her teeth scraped up from the sensitive skin between your breasts to your throat.

There was no hesitation in you to reply, "mommy."

Wanda sped up her hips and started to suck harshly on nearly every inch of skin she could, intent obvious as she set out to prove your words correct. "Let go detka," she purred before her teeth sunk into your shoulder, her determined hips stuttered, the both of you writhed in tandem and the brunette pressed into you harder.

While you gasped for air the Sokovian smiled, her own breathing labored but not nearly as bad as yours. A sense of accomplishment washed over her, remaining for a sweet moment before she craved more of you. You blearily whimpered at the insinuation of her lips as they moved down your tense body, harsh love bites and soft kisses left behind—usually one after the other.

Her ministrations more than enough to have you squirming in anticipation for what you hoped was coming next. Wanda's lips pressed to your hips, then upturned cockily as they impatiently bucked of their own volition, her teeth once again scraped over your soft skin, this time over your pelvis before they had a hold of your panties so she could slowly pull them off.

Wanda was about half way down your legs before she just couldn't hold herself back anymore, the smell of you was far too enticing, so she stopped abruptly and rushed upwards with her tongue out. A lewd moan left your lips as she hummed in satisfaction, tongue vicious as it continued to lick at your sensitive, swollen pussy.

For a brief second you could only feel the warmth of her breath as she pulled away just to really breathe you in, her nose affectionately nuzzled against your clit as she inhaled and kissed your sloppy folds that tingled with need. "Oh my," she chuckled, "you're too divine."

Wanda was impossibly lost in you, initially she was going to tease you further, but then she couldn't stop. Her tongue was a beast as it lavished your intimacy just to prolong the taste of your essence on her buds. The way your slick settled against her plumped upper lip was a comforting promise that you'd linger on her face in the morning. Wanda felt like a fucking pervert with the way her mind ran wild with depraved things that would surely require a deeper conversation first.

If you'd let her, she would devour you whole, much like she was doing now. You felt like she'd split you open, her thumbs dug into the soft flesh of your ass cheeks to spread your pussy just a little bit wider and a hum of appreciation followed as you dripped down her chin.

There was no stop to her madness until you broke the silent rule, allowing your hand to drop down and slip between the messy strands of her hair. It was instinct, and so it wasn't admonished right away, the woman actually loved the way that you both pushed her away and pulled her even closer when she pulled your clit between her lips as two fingers entered you and curled.

The sound of you spilling out and onto some random persons sheets caught your attention just as it did hers. Wanda marveled at the sight of your aromatic arousal that coated her fingers, palm, and dripped from her wrist, meanwhile you were shyly covering your face.

Wanda chuckled, "look at mommy detka, it's okay," her fingers gently tugged at your wrists and you peered up to find her slick, grinning face hovering above yours. "These are my sheets," the brunette added, then she chuckled as your eyes widened comically, you didn't know how she knew but you didn't care much as you had other things on your mind, like the sex you desperately wanted more of and, "you're in a sorority?"

The woman took no offense to the question, the bias of pink wearing, former cheerleading stars being the only ones to join the rush life was common. Most of the girls in the sisterhood she claimed didn't exactly look like Wanda, with her dark makeup, edgy clothes and lower arm sleeve tats, she couldn't really question the shock.

The conversation however was boring, the reason why being that her mom wanted her daughter to follow in her Delta footsteps and so the brunette did, because her parents sacrificed a lot to come here as teens. It was the least she could do, and even less interesting for her to reminisce over so she simply brushed by it as her fingers distracted you by collecting your slick.

"Such a loud, pretty thing you are," she teased as you gasped, her lithe fingers having swirled over your clit before they lifted to her already glistening lips, "I bet I'll have you moaning even louder, like a bitch in heat, with my cock pounding into your tight, needy hole."

Wanda admired the lust fueled darkness that swirled in your otherwise soft eyes. "Would you want that?"

"Of course," you blurted without shame, a smile of reassurance offered that led her right off of the bed.

When the brunette returned from her closet she was surprised to see you sat up, patiently waiting and keeping an eye out for her return. No words were spoken as you saw her skirt fall, eyes completely focused in on her glistening pussy that dripped slick down her gorgeous, muscular thighs. A chuckle pulled you from your thoughts, you slowly lifted your gaze and eyed your almost screen partner with a pout.

"If you're good," she began as she made her way to the foot of the bed, making a show as her voice dropped and her body slowly crawled toward you, "I'll let you get a taste." Wanda adored the way your eyes lit up, but she couldn't help but to tease you as her body pressed into yours. "Well, unless I fuck you too dumb."

"I w-want to," you admitted shyly, "to t-taste you."

"I know," she didn't spare you the embarrassment whatsoever as her thumb brushed over your chin, spreading the drool that was drying. "It's on your face."

The wink that followed made you tremble beneath her in a perfect display of desperation, just as she wanted. A devious smirk followed the pop of her thumb as she released it from her mouth; ironically your mouth ran dry. Wanda was about to ruin you in the best ways.

However, everything had happened so quickly up to now that she felt the urge to slowdown, in need of clarity, "Is this what you want? If I fill you with my cock that means you're mine now Y/N. Mine to fuck, cherish and if you'll let me, to fully fall in love with."

Unbridled lust still coursed through both of your veins, it was clear you wanted her to get moving by the way your hips twitched, but the soft tremble of your lip softened her into kissing you gently to ease the stress. Wanda saw the questions in your mind, and she'd answer them all, but for now she'd fuck them quiet.

Wanda had bought this strap just for you, actually. It was crimson red like her signature lipstick, thick like you'd never seen, and had a cum reservoir that she knew you'd love even if she'd never had the chance to ask you beforehand. The brunette could tell just by looking at you that you'd be a slut for a good filling.

"So," she prompted once she decided to spare your lungs from the fire burning inside. You nodded your head aggressively, words hard but doable when she pursed her lips; waiting. "Please, fuck me mommy."

"Gladly," she purred, rubbing the length of her strap against your slit to collect arousal as she peered into your eyes with a determined, possessive expression. Your hands reflexively curled and you felt emboldened the longer you held her gaze with an attempt to match the intensity of her, but you were once again nervous.

"C-can I touch?" Wanda nodded, offering you an encouraging smile as you timidly reached out to feel her up over her shirt, the tips of your fingers brushed over exposed skin and you appreciated how soft it was. Then you grew confident, fingers fisted at the collar of her shirt and tugged. "mommy, please take it off."

"I see even when impatient that my girl has manners," she chuckled softly at the sight of your beaming eyes, then she tossed her shirt across the room and leaned down to passionately press her lips to yours. Her body firmly pressed into yours, the brunette swallowed your mewl as her strap slipped into your hole just to parrot you as your once timid hands firmly groped her chest.

Once she got a grip of her thoughts she chuckled softly, sending a shiver through you as her lips had begun to trail down your jaw. "You like mommy's tits, hm?"

"I love them," you admitted with pure, genuine intent, hands continuing to knead at the flesh to distract yourself from the burning pain as she harshly worked to mark your skin in a slow, determined fashion. Then you continued softly, "I love everything about you," and she melted into the moment more, the teasing she had planned for you came to a stop as she filled you.

Wanda's hands slid beneath your arched back and pulled your front flush to hers, keeping your body as close to hers as she could while shallowly thrusting into your slippery cunt between your ragged breaths. Her lips gently brushed over the skin beneath your ear and she felt the way your body trembled, and reveled in the way you moaned so breathily when she sucked.

"You took me in so well," she purred, aware as your spine began to curve downward that the pleasure had simmered some, so she settled you back down and let her strap naturally slide from your cunt, leaving only the tip as she gazed into your needy eyes. Then her hips snapped and she grunted, "just like I thought."

No reply fell from your lips, at least not in the form of words as she'd set a ruthless pace that only left space for you to moan mindlessly as she harshly rutted her hips into yours. Waves of pleasure rolled through your body, ending with your eyes as a harsh thumb swirled against your clit, her other hand gripped your hip even harder as your bodies sinfully moved in tandem. The chemistry was palpable in the air that reeked of sex and stale smoke that seeped beneath the dorm door.

Which only made it that much harder to breathe as you gasped so pitifully for air, the sensation overwhelmed you into a place of pleasurable uncertainty. The strap was a completely new experience for you, every toy you'd ever used was sleek but this one was outlined in thick, hyperrealistic veins that dug into your walls.

"Oh," a particularly harsh thrust and you were back to arching your back, and crying out, "feels so good." Your sweaty front briefly brushed against hers before your back returned to the mattress where its sole role was to move against the sheets as Wanda rutted harshly.

"You close honey?" Wanda knew already, she could feel the resistance as your walls squeezed around the toy, and even attempted to push it back out. What she truly wanted was to see where you were at mentally. You nodded weakly, mind too foggy to reply and she felt elated by your state. "Mommy is too, cum with me."

The rapid addition of her calloused thumb against your unhooded clit threw you over the edge alongside the brunette who had the gruff hilt to thank for hers. To watch your eyes grow hazier as they crossed once you got lost in pleasure stimulated her own climax too. Just hearing you moan had her teetering on the edge; Wanda was certain she didn't even need the friction...

Wanda began to lay gentle kisses to your warm skin as her thrusts continued, this time so slow you could feel every ridge dragging and subsequently shivered. You whimpered, "no more," hands weak, albeit firm as they pressed into the brunette who chuckled softly, "come on detka, you can do it, just one more for mommy."

"One," you warily agreed, and the brunette beamed, she paused her hips just to sprinkle some kisses onto your face in thanks. Her heart warmed as you giggled and her lips shifted closer to yours, eyes locked now that she was hovering directly. You both felt as your walls trembled around her strap, she smirked as your eyes closed in an attempt to calm your mind down.

"Open," she commanded and you reluctantly did, lips naturally pouting as you were forced to look into her intense eyes full of a love you saw already existed well before you two gave into this steadily building tension. It was a bit disconcerting but in a self-deprecating way, not in a grab your belongings and flee the state kind.

It was surely curious, but truthfully it was too hard to process much of anything with how her hips shallowly moved, they picked up the pace ever so slightly but Wanda wanted this orgasm to be more intimate, she wanted to foster in you the connection she's found.

Her intense gaze never wavered, and you never closed your eyes—maintaining the connection even if it felt like you were going to combust under it. Wanda's lips were parted in a half smirk as she took note of every little change in your reaction to the slowed down pace.

Before, you were moaning unabashedly and now you were panting and whimpering. The fingers that just left crescent marks in her shoulders and drew angry lines down her back now gripped onto the sheets for dear life because this pleasure was simply unlike before. Something about the connection blooming right before your very eyes was exhilarating; it was comforting.

"Mommy," you whined and stared up intently, eyes brimming with tears as you felt overwhelmed by it all.

"Yes, love?"

"C-can I?" Wanda nodded, accompanied by a sweet smile that crinkled the skin of her nose and eyes, it was genuine, intimate, and the reason why you squirted.

Well, that and the surprise of being filled as Wanda had squeezed the cum pump without any warning.

Wanda felt the same need you just satisfied burning deep within her as your body contorted and a shriek of unnerving pleasure left your lips. Rutting into you didn’t provide the same pleasure it did beforehand now that your walls were slick but too tight to fight against.

In a craze she pulled out and tossed the strap away, her thighs corralled yours and tensed as two of her fingers worked her over fast. You gazed up just in time to see her face wash over with pleasure, there was a look of betrayal on your face that amused the brunette. Her fingers left her core and slipped passed your lips before you could protest that your job was stolen from you.

“I said you could taste, just not how,” she reminded you, and you didn’t even feel a need to protest. Far too busy sucking her fingers clean and feeling the spark of a forming addiction—you needed to taste the source.

However, you were too tired tonight and Wanda saw that as she gazed down into your glistening eyes. It was better that way too as Wanda’s cunt continued to drip.

"Twice," Wanda teased as your slick too dripped down her legs, “you are filthy; squirting on mommy’s bed.”

“‘M sorry,” you mumbled but she wasn’t sure you even knew what you were saying as your eyelids fluttered.

While you slipped in and out of sleep Wanda began to get a bath set up for you both, in one of the only en-suite’s this house has—perks of the house mom being your real mom’s best friend. Your soft snores amused her as they traveled through the crack in the door, into a steamy room decorated with rose petals and flames.

Truthfully, beneath the deceiving layers of grunge she wore with a resting scowl was a woman who genuinely believed in the sappy love stories that Hollywood sells. Wanda wasn’t a one trick pony, she heavily negated the societal need to keep interests separate. In public she kept her image intimidating, unintentionally she did it with you too, but now she’s ready for you to see all of her and with that you deserved her sappy humanity.

Wanda returned to the room once she deemed the tub was ready for you both, but she paused—allowing more steam to fill the space you’d soon occupy, just so she could admire your nude form beneath the moonlight. A smile bloomed as she caught sight of the marks she left behind, some too deep and noticeable for you to hide.

The woman felt prideful as she approached, but her resolve softened the closer she got as you looked so peaceful surrounded by her stained, mussed bedsheets. Currently, all she truly wanted was to hold you close.

You woke up with the gentle jolt of your body, made as Wanda lifted you up and into her chest, not forgoing a kiss to your temple that made you melt into her. A whine of protest followed seconds later as she placed you right onto the cooled toilet. In contrast, your body naturally reacted as it too sought relief, filling the toilet with the remnants of your passionate night together.

Wanda had slipped away again, but you were too tired to note her initial absence. When she returned, fresh pajamas in hand, you whined angrily. It was adorable, the way you reached for her and glared, as if she’d abandoned you, your intimidation tactic failed.

Wanda softly spoke, “Are you ready to bathe love?”

You shook your head and frowned, a bit embarrassed to ask for help but fortunately Wanda was in tune with you as she reached for the toilet paper and wiped. It was quick and she got you into the warm tub before you could overthink the moment. Successfully too as you melted into her front as the warmth soothed your aching muscles and fogged your mind up with peace.

There was no rush to her movements as she cleaned the both of you—if either of you had plans tomorrow it was fair to assume them canceled now. Wanda wasn’t ready to part ways and she knew you would likely be in the same state—if not more so after tonight’s drop.

Once the water began to chill, effectively making you shiver, she got you awake and out of the tub quickly. Wanda adored the way you clung to her, only parting when she persisted so she could get you two dressed.

“Brush your teeth,” she gently commanded, then with you distracted she returned to her room to place the freshly laundered sheets onto her mattress. Then she slid into a harness that made your eyes widen as you rushed out of the bathroom to find her. The muddled space you were in faded as you were unsure of her intentions, you even took a conscious step back once she began to approach but you quickly met the wall.

“Don’t be afraid,” she teased you—with the wide eyes and hesitant smile. “I was gonna ask, do you think it would be okay if mommy slept with her cock in you?”

Wanda’s arm was quick to wrap around your waist, holding you up as your knees proved useless, you felt her nose nudge into your jaw as her lips left warm kisses over the marks you’d yet to see on your neck. Even with as sensitive as you knew your pussy to be you gave in without any fight at all as you pleaded.

With a gentle hand Wanda slid the strap against your pussy until enough lubrication had manifested. Then she settled onto her mattress before guiding you over and slowly inserting herself back into you until there was no space left to fill. You pressed your lips to hers desperately, looking for a bit of comfort as you adjusted. A slow, passionate lip lock ensued until you felt the pain subside and the exhaustion return.

The Sokovian eased onto her back, gentle as she pulled your body down with hers to keep you comfortable. A blanket soon covered you both and you smiled as you tiredly remembered the night’s events—her intense eye contact that should’ve terrified you but it truly didn’t.

"I can't wait to fall in love with you," you admitted against her chest in your state of post-sex delirium and it brought a smile to the perceivably tough woman. It was too early, Wanda knew that, but the brunette had loved you for ages and now she is patiently waiting for you to return the sentiment. "ya uzhe lyublyu tebya."

(I already love you)

————

Bonus:

"Oh no," Natasha mumbled to her girlfriend, eyes catching sight of the random blonde that corralled you against the table. "Poor girl, she's not going to survive."

Maria humored her girlfriend by gazing up just in time to see a fuming Wanda storming over to you both.

"Which one?" Natasha chuckled and pecked her lovers lips, "both—but one will for sure be more pleasurable."

"You're a menace." Natasha smirked, "Oh, I know..."

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff angst #wanda maximoff au #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x maria hill #blackhill #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda x reader #wanda x fem!reader

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zyafics · 18 days

Text

play fake | part ten

masterlist

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

summary when rafe cameron needs to secure a girlfriend in order for his father to see him as a stable man, he enlists the help of a bartender who wants nothing to do with him.

content series, 18+, eventual smut, angst, jealousy, fake dating trope, ward cameron being a bad father, rafe and sarah rivalry — reader type hyper-independent, people pleaser, smart mouth, stands on business, mysterious past — rafe's characterization insecure, possessive + jealous person, asshole, mood swings

"You're starting to piss me off, Top."

Rafe's agitated. For the past couple hours, he's been in a back-and-forth with his father, talking about the prospects and future of Cameron Development. He hasn't heard anything bad about him, which is an improvement from their last meeting, but he hasn't heard anything good either. It's as if the moment Sarah came back to the picture, Ward Cameron forfeits all care regarding his eldest son.

He needs a break. But he hasn't been able to contact you. After Topper sent him a vaguely-urgent text to come over, Rafe arrives at the Thornton estate with better expectations.

"Me?" Topper gestures to himself, appalled by the declaration. "I'm trying to be a good friend here and help you out."

"By what? Lying?" Rafe snaps, getting a minor migraine due to the music blasting from the inside of the house. This, in combination to the smell of weed and alcohol wafting through the air, isn't helping his journey towards sobriety. "Was this some pathetic attempt to get me to your party?"

"I wasn't lying, I swear to you, man, I saw—"

His words were cut short by a powerful thump. It causes everyone in the room to turn and when Rafe follows, instead of discovering the source, he finds you.

His brows immediately draw together as he takes you in. Disbelief crowning his features. The look on your face is pure panic, as if you didn't expect to see him here. He wants to ask for the reason, the words on the tip of his tongue, but when his eyes finally drop to find a man's hand wrapped around your wrist—it finally registers that you are with someone.

What the fuck are you doing?

Rafe doesn't say anything at first. With a clear mind, he's taking everything in and processing. For once in his life, he doesn't jump to wild assumptions and stew in his own jealousy. He has you to thank for that.

Because Rafe trusts you. He doesn't believe this could be some romantic fluke you're trying to get with. It can't be. With a tilt of his head, almost indiscernible to the rest of the public, he seeks inquiry from you. Your lips part but no words came through.

The Kook beside you—who he recognizes as Garrison from the Island Club—pulls you towards the sitting lounge on the back porch, furnished with wicker sofas and chairs, and settles down at one of the unoccupied seats. You land on the soft cushion with a thud, facing forward, intentionally avoiding his gaze.

Rafe scoffs.

He steps away from his conversation with Topper, not needing to acknowledge the smug look on his best friend's face, before rounding the furniture to stand in front of your date.

"Move." Rafe commands, his voice low and rough, but held enough authority to make the Kook lift his head.

"There's a spot right there," Garrison points to the opposite chair, but Rafe doesn't entertain the suggestion.

"I didn't ask. I said move."

"No." Garrison grumbles stubbornly, leaning back against the backrest and placing a hand over your exposed thigh, a product of your short work attire. Rafe notices your muscles stiffening under the Kook's touch but you don't push him away as he expected you to.

His expression sharp, his anger rising. "If you don't fucking move—"

"Rafe." You murmur, grabbing his hand. He peels his eyes off of Garrison and settles on you, taking in your pleading features, your gentle expression. You're silently asking him to not make a scene, to not do something stupid, and normally, he wouldn't obey. But something about your acknowledgement calms him. "Just take the seat."

With his lips pressed together in a thin line, Rafe reluctantly listens and takes the chair adjacent to yours.

You relax, slightly, but Rafe can tell you're still on the edge. Your leg bounces incessantly against the hardwood floor of the patio deck and you refuse to look at him. Rafe, for the life of him, can't understand why.

But he settles that it's something else. You being here, without notifying him, is something else. It has to be. That's the only thing that makes sense and is keeping him rooted in his seat right now.

"Rafe," Kelce calls out, causing his head to reluctantly turn to his other friend. He holds a beer bottle in his hand and uses it to point at you. "Isn't that your girl?"

Rafe turns back, watching the way your breath hitches in your throat, eyes squeeze shut as if you were just caught. You swallow hard, but you don't answer.

So, he'll do it for you.

"Yeah—"

"It's complicated." You interrupt, meeting Kelce's gaze, but your words firmer than they've been the entire night. This causes Rafe's chest to constrict, him watching your profile and seeing the absolute look on your face. "We're just... trying not to put a label on it."

His jaw tightens, hands drawn into white-knuckled fists. The rest of the Kooks around the patio catch wind of this tension and Kelce lets out a low, depreciating whistle. "Yikes, man."

Now, Rafe doesn't know what to think anymore.

You turn back to Garrison, keeping your voice quiet, but there's an urgency behind your words. "What are we doing here again?"

Garrison abandons his hand on your thigh to throw a lazy arm around the backrest of your seat. "Heard they were gonna smoke," he explains with a flash of a smirk, aimed and targeted at Rafe. "I figure we could take a hit."

You instantly still. "Oh, I don't—"

"You haven't drank anything all night and you don't smoke either? Tell me you know how to have some fun, sweetheart." He teases, the volume of his voice louder than the intended audience. This catches a couple of nosy Kooks to spare a glance in your direction, judgment passing through their expressions, and you go rigid.

Rafe's three seconds away from grabbing your hand and pulling you away from Garrison, but something in him says to remain seated.

"I just haven't had it in a while." You assure with a nervous laugh, leaning forward to put some distance between you and the Kook.

But he doesn't catch the signal. Garrison grins and leans over—too fucking close—to whisper in your ear. Loud enough for Rafe to hear. "Don't worry, I'll help you."

Rafe figures this is some dick-measuring contest between him and Garrison; that, after his order to the Kook, it bruised his ego and he's now getting back at Rafe by talking to his girl. By reminding him that you are with him, and not Rafe.

Normally, there's no woman that made him care enough about that type of bullshit, but with you, he fucking does.

Topper and the others settle down around the lounge and start passing around the blunt. They each take a hit and spread it around counterclockwise.

Despite the reluctance, you square your shoulders in preparation to participate. Your eyes follow the lit joint with precision, waiting, anxiously trying to pull your nerves together. When Rafe's nearby neighbor hands him the blunt, he puts it to his lips and inhales a sharp breath. Holding in.

Since you're next, you meet his gaze and extend out your hand.

But it didn't go as planned.

Rafe takes the opportunity to catch your wrist and pulls you close, sliding his hand up your cheek before capturing your lips on his. He expects to be met with resistance—especially with your little date sitting next to you—but you simply melt into his touch. He takes it as a cue to exhale, and the smoke enters into your system.

Taking a step further, Rafe grab your hips, hauling you onto his lap, away from the handsy Kook that has no fucking business touching what his. All of this done in one swift motion, without breaking the kiss.

Complicated.

He fucking hates that word.

When you finally pull away, you choke up with a cough, gasping for fresh air. Rafe doesn't bother to offer you the blunt, handing it off to the next person, while you try to recover against the sleeve of his shirt.

"Really?" You say quietly, feeling his hand rested firmly against your waist. He tips his head back, meeting your gaze, and a satisfied expression settles over his face.

"You shouldn't have been with him in the first place."

"All of this for a pretend act?"

He hates that you're referring to the relationship as fake. That it still means so little to you. He doesn't let it show that it ticks him off.

"At least someone will get the message."

You don't respond, especially when he's pointedly accusing you of something you can't deny. Rafe's expression is inquisitive, waiting for you to fill in the missing gaps, on why the fuck you're with Garrison at all, but you say nothing. Own up to nothing. You simply turn away, unable to meet his confrontation.

Rafe squeezes your hips. "Sweetheart," he says with a firm warning, and despite the word coming off as a caution, you soften at the nickname. The usage spoken by its rightful owner.

You can't believe you're swooning over his possession, but you blame it on the haziness from the kiss, or the marijuana entering your body after years of discontinued use. However, deep down, you know it's something else.

That maybe it's his word and he owns you completely.

"Can we talk later?" You mumble into his shoulders, eyes fluttering closed for a brief second. "I'm getting dizzy."

Rafe scoffs, seeing this as a blatant attempt at avoiding the question, but you bury your face into the crook of his neck, almost as if you're seeking refuge in him. He couldn't force you to speak after that.

For the next hour, you remained seated on his lap. You once tried to move off but his grip around your waist was too firm to displace and you didn't bother to attempt again. It made Rafe proud. Like whatever drew you to Garrison in the first place has ceased to exist and you returned rightfully back in his arms.

This beam of pride wasn't helped by the fact that Garrison's been glaring at Rafe. But he had no strength nor power to do anything about it. Rafe scoffs. Fucking pussy.

In the middle of the smoke session, Rafe receives a call. He pulls out his phone from his pocket to see it's from his father. With a short glance in your direction, Rafe pulls you off his lap and you claim his seat while he steps out for a moment to take it.

When he returns, you’re gone.

"Where is she?" Rafe snaps at Topper, expecting one person to have seen you leave, but his best friend was preoccupied with a girl on his arm. When Rafe calls out to him again, with a sharper tone, the blond's gaze shifts to your empty seat, and shock overrides his features.

"Fuck, man, I–I don't know," Topper stammers apologetically, but it doesn't subdue the anger rising within Rafe. His fists bundled at his side, his teeth grinding against each other. It can't be a coincidence that Garrison also happens to be missing as well.

Rafe's pissed at his best friend for not being aware, especially when Topper brought him here in the first place. But he couldn't think about that right now. He had to find you.

"You're fucking useless," Rafe growls, before descending into the crowded house. The music is louder, pinching at his nerves, and the thongs of people aren't helping him narrow down his search. But he's a head taller than most and, with a quick scan of the crowd, he knew you wouldn't be here.

Where the fuck could you be?

He looks through the rooms instead, starting at the first floor. Each time he came across a vacant space, he grew more frustrated and upset. His knuckles ache from how hard he's been clenching down, and his adrenaline is spiking. He was going to lose it if he doesn't find you soon.

Because he has ideas, and he doesn't want to think of any of them.

When Rafe ascends to the second floor, it's much quieter. Emptier. Like you couldn't possibly be here. But when he kick-opens the third door, that's where he discovers you in a bedroom with the Kook, his back sprawled out over the mattress.

You're a few feet away from Garrison, ready to abandon him, when you flinch at the sudden sound of a door slamming into the wall. You freeze. Turning, with all the colors drained from your face, you expect to be caught—perhaps by a friend of the Kook or even the cops—only to find Rafe.

You don't know if that's any better.

Before you could even blink, Rafe grabs your wrist and pulls you behind him, forcing a larger distance between you and the drunken Kook knocked out on the king-sized bed.

"Leave," Rafe demands, his tone eerily calm, like the sound of a volcano bubbling before it erupts.

Garrison winces, pressing the heel of his hand into the side of his temple as he drags himself into a sitting position. "God, could you just give me a minute—"

"Leave before I fucking kill you."

The Kook, even with the copious amount of alcohol and weed in his system, wasn't stupid enough to ignore the threat. He knew Rafe’s reputation. Scrambling to his feet, he rushes out of the door.

The air in the room stills, as if all the oxygen was sucked out and all that's left is you and Rafe. His grip around your wrist hasn't loosen, firm and tight—afraid you'll leave again—and when his gaze pulls away from the door and settles onto your face, you hold your breath.

"What are you doing?"

Panic rises as a bile in your throat, constricting your airflow. You can't explain to him what you just did; how shameful you feel because of it. Instead, you deflect.

"What are you doing?" You say, trying to project a stronger voice, to make it sound normal. To pretend everything's fine when it's falling apart. "You said you were done with parties."

He can't believe you're doing this right now.

"I am," he snaps, his breathing ragged as he takes you in. See if you did anything, if there's any signs, but he finds nothing. "Top called me because he saw you at his party and you never show up to these types of things. So, let me ask you again. What are you doing?"

You don't answer.

Rafe exhales sharply, exasperation floods his features while his paranoid runs free. He knew he was going to crush your hand if he held on, so he released you, taking a step back to control himself.

"You wanna hear what I think?" Rafe prompts, his voice low and drawn-out as he begins pacing back and forth, "I think you thought I wasn't gonna be here so it would be the perfect opportunity for you to fuck some other Kook."

That's exactly what you're afraid of.

You wrap your arms around yourself, hiding. "No."

"And you thought I wouldn't find out but you forgot this is my best friend's house."

Your heart pounds in your chest, your breathing rapid, as your voice grows smaller. "That's not true."

He doesn't listen, his volume escalating in anger.

"And you're talking about all this breakup shit because you're ready to jump on the next fucking dick that can get you what you want."

You shake your head frantically, wanting desperately for him to believe you, but you had nothing to give. Nothing to shelter him and soothe his insecurities.

All you had was your heart.

But you tried. "No, that's not it—"

"Then where the fuck is your necklace?"

You stumble back, the last delivery was so sharp and vicious, it's as if he struck you.

Rafe's heaving, chest caving into itself. His eyes never strays from your face as he continues to pace across the room, waiting, expecting, wanting anything you can say to calm his spiraling state of mind.

You can't.

You know what this looks like. You know exactly what this looks like. This is why you didn't want Rafe to be here. Because, on top of what seems to be Rafe Cameron's Pogue girlfriend cheating on him with another Kook—you knew it would hurt him if he saw it himself.

But you had to.

You peer up at him with a heavy gaze, and Rafe interprets it as guilt. "I know what it looks like—"

He can't fucking believe this.

He can't stand here and listen to your excuses.

Rafe crosses the room to grab your face, with such abruptness, you flinch and drop the watch. It lands on the ground with a muffled thump and all of Rafe's concerns lowers when he follows the inconspicuous sound, finding the expensive timepiece on the ground beside your feet.

His conclusion draws slowly. "Are you... stealing?"

You don't answer, with widened eyes, you pull back from Rafe's grip and take a step back with a heavy breath. You glance down at the abandoned watch and you're about to recover it—but Rafe is too fast.

He picks it up with litheness and extends it far above your head. Impossible for you to reach.

His eyes on you but they soften considerably once he realizes you weren't cheating. You were being a thief.

His command is simple and resolute. "Talk to me."

Your breath is shaky. "It's fine."

"It's fine?" He repeats, disbelief dripping from his tone. "You just stole a eight-thousand dollars watch and you're telling me it's fine?"

He can't know. He simply can't.

Rafe sees the hesitation in your expression, your lack of response, and he can't believe it. After all the things the two of you have been through, he thought he had earned enough of your trust for you to explain why. Why you're stealing. Why you didn't tell him you needed money. Why it always has to come to this fucking point where he has to confront you and pry the measliest piece of information out of you.

You don't trust him.

And it rips at his chest.

Rafe scoffs, shaking his head. Disappointment and regret all colliding at once. "You know what, sweetheart? For someone who demands me to talk to them all the fucking time, you sure are a hypocrite for not doing the same."

Your eyes soften. You don't attempt to contest his statement because he's right. He's absolutely right and it stings because you do trust him and you do need him—you just don't let him in.

It's worse.

"You're right." You start deliberately, feeling tears well up in your eyes but refusing to let them fall. You inhale a sharp breath, steadying your voice. "I am a hypocrite."

Rafe didn't expect you to agree so easily. It almost sounds like defeat. He doesn't know which direction this conversation is heading, but he knows he doesn't like it. He recognizes that immediately.

With his guards up, he watches you.

"I..." You stammer to find the words, your emotions overwhelming you. But you don't cry. You can't. "It's not fair to you."

Everything in his head is raising alarm bells. Something about your words makes him panic. The way your voice quavers at the delivery, the fact you're looking to the floor. You don't even seem to care about the watch anymore.

Rafe says your name.

"I think we—"

"Don't fucking say it."

"—I think we might need a break."

"No." Rafe refuses, shaking his head as his arm lowers to his side.

"Rafe, listen, I—"

"I heard what you said," he snaps, his voice raw, and you hear his own emotions lodged thickly in his throat. "I don't accept it. I don't agree. I don't..." He's stumbling to find his own words. To find his own meaning.

I don't want to lose you.

You sigh, dejected. "Rafe."

"No." He turns back to you. His blue eyes are sharp but glossy, as if he's on his own verge of tears. "All you have to do is tell me why and we can move past this. I can understand. I swear."

He's desperate. He's begging you; because if you're leaving him just for this, just because he discovers this, he'd rather you have fucked the Kook than put him in this misery. At least with that he can be angry.

But all he feels is pain.

"Just talk to me."

You exhale deeply, simply shaking your head. "I can't. It's my problem."

"Make it my problem, then."

For some reason, there's a bloom of hope. That maybe he wants you more than what he's told you. So, you try. You try this one time.

"Why, Rafe?" You ask softly. "Why do you care so much?"

Rafe looks at you, searching your face, and while he wants nothing more than to hold you in his arms, he can't seem to put down his pride. The idea of being vulnerable. You've done nothing but demonstrate to him that he means very little to you, that you barely let him in, and if he says it first, it means he'll get rejected first.

He can't handle that.

So he takes the easy route.

"Because we're fucking."

Your heart breaks even more.

You swallow hard. You promise yourself you wouldn't be the one seeking it out first, especially in this relationship, but you try again. You try one last time. "Is that all?"

He can't look at you when he answers. "Yeah."

You press your lips together, nodding to his confirmation. You got what you asked for: the same fear you're afraid to discover. You're going to take his words at face value because what else is there to do?

"That's what I thought."

It's too painful. To continue to stay in this room with him, after he made his feelings known. After you recognize how absolutely fucked you are regarding your own. You need to leave.

You don't say anything else as you move past him, taking the watch from his loosened grip on the way out. You stop at the doorway, staring at his broad back, hoping, silently pleading, he would turn around and change his mind and confess his feelings right there, but he doesn't.

Because he's Rafe Cameron.

And he simply doesn't have any for you.

You exit out of the door and close it behind you, needing that extra barrier of space. When you descend down the grand staircase, you hear a muffled fuck! so loud, it shakes the entire mansion.

But you don't look back.

You just leave.

—

Once you park in the driveway, you stay in the car for the next few minutes. You just needed some time to yourself. To readjust. To figure things out.

You honestly don't know how you made it home. Your mind was on full auto-pilot the moment you stepped out of the Thornton estate, and you can't remember driving down the narrowed roads, stopping at the traffic lights. You're just here.

You know your next step should be to go inside and get some rest. You need it to wake up early tomorrow and go to a local pawn shop to trade the timepiece for cash. Even as you're dealing with the emotional fallout of you and Rafe's argument, you didn't have the time to delve into the specifics of your heart.

You need to remain focused. To stay on track. Remind yourself that you've successfully stolen a watch from a Kook—whom you don't even know the name of—and prayed all the shots you fed him would be enough for him to forget. To wake up tomorrow with black-outed memories.

This is supposed to be a victory.

Why does it feel like a hollow one?

Your fingers clutch the stolen watch in your hands. Your nails scraping across the gold-plated case, the recognition of the brand behind the thick glass. Rafe's right. This alone could afford to pay off a payment to Aaron and he would leave you alone.

You exit from your beatdown car and make the short walk to the porch. The lights inside the house were off, probably because it's so late and your sisters are off to bed.

When you stop in front of your front door, all the hair on your neck stands. Something feels off. You take a step back, hearing the familiar creak in the floorboard of your wooden porch you always avoid. That calms you down for a second. That perhaps you're overthinking it because of the fight.

You pull the keys out of your bag, and you're about to slip it through the lock, when you realize something.

The door is cracked open.

It's a small gap, almost undetectable by a passing glance, but it was enough to disengage the locks and grant full access to your house.

Your heart starts to race once you realize something is wrong and your intuition was correct. You replace the keys inside your bag, your shoulders squared and your stance on defense, before you shove the door open.

And what it reveals is a complete mess.

Furniture is flipped all over the place, broken glass scattered across the carpeted floor. The bookshelves attached to the walls have been ripped off, their decors and old books thrown all around. The screen on the TV has been kicked in, cushions have been ripped apart with fluff all over the ground, and the kitchen cabinet doors have been torn off their hinges with shattered plates.

All you hear is the sound of your rapid breathing while you take in your surroundings, blood coursing through your eardrums. It's all on you.

Before you hear a muffled wailing.

Realization dawns on you.

Your sisters.

You drop everything and run to the source, approaching their bedroom and nearly tripping over your discarded belongings in the middle of the narrowed hallway. Once you reach the room, you kick-open the door.

There you find Amara, standing in the middle of her equally-destroyed room, in absolute tears.

But Leilani is nowhere in sight.

Your panic skyrockets.

"Where's Leila?" You ask your weeping sister, her fragile voice hitched with heavy hiccups and incoherent mumbles. "Where's your sister?"

You sink to your knees in front of her, cradling her soft cheeks, shaking as you brush away her tears. "Please, Mara. Talk to me. Where's Leila? What happened?"

She offers nothing more than the frantic shake of her head. Words unable to spill from her mouth. She can't talk. She can't even stop crying. She just experienced something traumatic and you're over here drilling her for answers.

No, this is your responsibility to bear.

Knowing you won't learn anything, you rise to your feet and rush out the bedroom door, screaming out your sister's name. "Leila! Leilani! Where are you?!"

No answer. The only sound is the low hums of the broken air conditioner, and you go into your room to search. You find a similar mess: drawers pulled out, clothes all over the floor, the mattress on your bed flipped over, but nothing of the twelve-year-old girl.

Your heart is pounding viciously against your heart, so hard, you think it's going to burst. Your hands are growing clammy. Your breathing unstable.

But you can't think about that.

You check in the bathroom, the closet, any places she could be hiding and coming out completely empty. It's almost as if she disappeared.

What the fuck do you do?

It doesn't take a genius to know this is Aaron's doing. His warning. That it's nearing the end of the third day and you still haven't gotten him his money. This is him trying to scare you.

And it's working.

You can't help but think of the worst possible scenarios. Leilani is the most like you. She's growing into her own person but she mimics most of your behavior. She's cautious, and full of wonder, but she talks back without turns and she has this bleeding sense of justice you never want her to lose.

But you're afraid that same attitude you love about her is what got her into trouble. That Aaron might've caught her smart mouth and taken her as retribution.

You can't help but descend down this spiraling theory. Your breathing grows ragged and shallow, like the air is sucked from your lungs, and you swallow hard—but something hard is lodged at your throat.

You can't breathe.

You can't fucking breathe.

You run out to the living room, holding onto the walls as crutches and you fall to your knees in front of your bag, searching for your phone. Tears pricking your eyes, blurring your vision, and your fingers tremble as they attempt to type the passcode. You got it wrong twice before being granted access.

What do you do now?

Your first instinct is to call your parents, to dial up the memorized digits of your mother's and seek their help. But you can't.

Because they're dead.

You're heaving with this daunting reality that you have no one. That you can't help no one. And it's absolutely shattering.

Your heart is hurting; throbbing against the side of your skull. You hear Amara's constant sobs between the walls, echoing through the empty house, and your heart is clutched with this indescribable pain from missing Leilani—like you had a limb ripped off your body.

You can't help her. You can't even help Amara.

You can't help anyone.

"Fuck," you swear under your breath, brushing away the blurring tears in your eyes. Exhaustion bleeds through you but you’re still trying to figure this out. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

You think you're going to lose it. You're going to breakdown right then and there, in the middle of your disgusting living room, cradling your phone, wishing you still had your parents. It's a rock bottom you didn't expect to have.

But then, you hear the familiar sound of a creaky floorboard.

And you raise your head.

Just to see Leilani with Rafe.

"Leila?" You breathe out, immediately standing on your wobbly knees as you rush to your little sister and cradle her face in your hands, trying to find something tangible to hold onto, before letting out the largest sigh of relief.

She's okay.

Other than a small cut on her forehead, she looks to be in perfect health. She's here, in your hands, alive, and not taken hostage. That's honestly all you could have asked for.

But something in her expression boosts an edge of concern. Not for herself, but for you. You hate the look in her eyes, as if the roles were reversed and she had to be taking care of you.

You refuse to crack. You have to remain strong. For them.

Pulling back, you finally turn to acknowledge Rafe. He stands beside your sister, silently observing this entire interaction, saying nothing, offering nothing.

You don't know how they ended up together, or why, but you were glad she was safe. That she was with him.

And honestly, you're glad he's here.

You don't say anything, staring up to him with this timid, hopeless look, and his heart fucking shatters. He's never seen you like this before, so vulnerable, so scared, so afraid of yourself. It's like he's meeting a version of you he didn't know existed.

And it absolutely kills him.

"Baby..." Rafe says with such tenderness, with such care, as if you didn't have the worst fight of your life an hour prior. As if you didn't have your own heart broken by the same man. For some reason, this offer of gentleness is the very proof that you've been broken.

So you break.

And fall right into his arms.

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hopelesslygaysstuff · 7 days

Text

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: you use numbing gel on wanda, and she punishes you for it with some gel of her own.

content warnings: smut, fingering, numbing gel, sensitivity gel, overstimulation, subspace

word count: 5.7k+

masterlist

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

Retaliation

Silence.

You were so sick of the fucking silence.

Honestly, you loved your girlfriend. She was the best part of your life, the most important person to you and the one you knew you’d marry… but her work days were long. And you were so fucking bored. The silence that filled the large house you shared was only temporarily broken by your music, blasting from your speaker as you worked. Or the sound of the TV, loud enough to be heard from the kitchen as you meal prepped.

But eventually, the speaker would die. Or you’d get bored of whatever show you were watching. Then, the silence would creep in, reminding you of the emptiness that crowded you. Then, you’d start to think about your girlfriend.

God. She was the best thing that had ever happened to you.

You’d met her almost a year ago. You’d been bored in a bar, your friend dragging you along to some fancy work party of hers. She was off talking to some important people or something, and your social battery had died a long time ago.

Someone had gently touched your shoulder, and you’d turned around in surprise. Your eyes met sparkling green ones, taking in high cheekbones and soft auburn hair, and you’d fallen in love immediately.

Wanda Maximoff was perfect in every way. Doting, attentive, communicating with you every day. She was soft and commanding, her touch gentle yet firm. She was the light of your life, the only person you fully trusted in every aspect. She was absolutely the best girlfriend in the whole world.

She was also your dominant, so when she ordered you to do something, you listened.

That week, she had just so happened to order you not to touch yourself while she was at work. It was only Thursday, and you were slowly losing your mind. You’d finished all your chores, including some extra work around the house just to keep yourself busy, but it wasn’t enough.

So here you were, four in the afternoon, laying on your stomach on the bed. Scrolling through your phone, finding nothing interesting enough to hold your attention.

“Fuck.”

Sighing, you threw your phone down, dropping your face onto the comforter. You felt like throwing a tantrum, or breaking her rules and sending Wanda a video or picture of you masturbating. She would be pissed, but maybe she would punish you with overstimulation. At least then you’d actually have some relief from the ever-present ache between your legs.

Your phone pinged, an email coming through. That got your attention, and you immediately perked up as you quickly snatched your phone up. Unlocking it, you smiled widely at the notification.

‘Your order has been delivered.’

Leaping up, and almost tripping over yourself, you made your way downstairs. Your footsteps dully thudded on the carpet as you raced towards the front door, and you swore under your breath when your shoulder caught on a door frame. Shaking it off, you continued towards the entrance of your home, stopping yourself with your hands on the door before unlocking it. As you caught your breath, you peeked through the curtain, gripping the door handle as you ensured the delivery driver was making their way back to their truck.

Wanda had drilled a rule about deliveries into your head.

‘Don’t open the door until the driver is gone. It’s not safe for submissives to open the door when a stranger is nearby.’

A door slammed shut, and you jolted out of your thoughts. Watching closely, you smiled as the delivery truck drove away, slowly counting to ten in your head. As soon as you reached ten, you unlocked the door with trembling fingers, your heart racing as you caught sight of the small package resting innocently on the doorstep.

Scooping it up, you quickly closed the door, locking it behind you. Checking the time, you noted that you still had around 45 minutes before your girlfriend would be home.

Perfect.

That was just enough time for you to hide your new package next to the other toys Wanda kept in the playroom. It also gave you the chance to hide the packaging in the outside garbage. Wanda would never find it, since it was part of your chores to take the trash out.

Mentally patting yourself on the back, you raced to hide your package.

This was going to be a fun night.

—

If Wanda had noticed your badly concealed excitement, she didn’t acknowledge it beyond a simple raised eyebrow.

You were practically vibrating, your eyes shining as you took her coat and kissed her gently. Her hands lingered around your waist, fingers skirting over the silky material of your skirt, dipping slightly below the waistband as she smirked.

Wanda was touchy. That was always a good sign.

You eagerly took in the sight of her, your imagination not quite good enough to conjure up the magnificent beauty in front of you that you got to call your girlfriend. Honestly, between her perfectly sculpted eyebrows and her long fingers currently curled around your waist, it was hard to not melt into a puddle of goo whenever she was around.

Her clothes were still pristine even after a long workday, not a single wrinkle in her dress shirt or blazer. You wondered how she managed that, or how her hair was still as soft and curled as it was when she left this morning.

“Baby?”

“Oh, sorry. Did you say something?” You shake your head, clearing it as you look up from your pasta.

Wanda’s green eyes sparkle with amusement. She takes a bite, her lips wrapping around her fork. She maintains eye contact as your grip goes slack around your own utensil, eyes watching her glossy lips as she drinks from her wine glass.

“I asked if you had a good day, sweetheart.”

“Oh- I… well, yes.” you manage, clearing your throat as your sentence dies.

Another raised eyebrow, and an expectant look. Those lips are on the rim of her wine glass again. You want to touch them, to feel them against your skin as she nibbles and sucks her way towards your lips.

God, you want her tongue too. You want to feel it dragging across your stomach, making its way to your chest and swirling it around your nipples. Her plump lips wrapping fully around them as she sucks, her eyes dilated and needy. Your neck, damp from the warmth of her mouth as her tongue drags up, your head thrown back from the sensation against your most sensitive spot.

“Sweetheart,” Wanda’s voice is hard, her hand gripping your thigh under the table. “Focus when Mommy is talking to you.”

You wince, feeling her nails digging into your skin.

“I’m sorry Mommy,” you trail off, casting your gaze back onto your plate. Eye contact made you nervous, and Wanda’s green eyes had a way of reducing you to a stuttering mess.

“Don’t mumble.”

Wanda’s fingers squeezed once more - a reminder to behave - before they disappeared. Her fork clinked against her plate, and you smiled as she ate. You knew that she loved this dish, and when she was happy and relaxed, she normally allowed you a bit more freedom in the bedroom.

That’s all you need. A little bit of leniency.

—

Your body is on fire. Wanda’s hands run over your waist, over your chest, and up the sides of your neck. Her fingers leave trails of scorching fire across your skin, your core throbbing with need. Her lips slide smoothly against yours, her tongue gently swiping over them as she presses you against the wall. Her body is fully against yours, her hips pressing into you as she grinds her hips against yours. It is almost enough to make you break.

‘Focus.’

Gasping for air, you gently press against Wanda’s sternum. She pulls back, her lips swollen and red, eyes dilated as they search yours. Her fingers twitch, still gliding across your skin as she kneads your body beneath her palms.

Shuddering, you slow your breathing, reminding yourself of your mission for the night.

“Wanna try something,” your words come out breathy, and not at all commanding like you were hoping.

Wanda’s eyes bounce between yours, her hands stilling around your waist.

“What did you have in mind, baby?”

“Can I show you?” Your eyes light up, hands eagerly touching Wanda’s face. Your fingers trace her cheekbones, running over her jaw as she thinks. “Please?” You add, letting the word drop into a whimper at the end.

Even Wanda can’t resist that.

You look so desperate, your eyes pleading as you gently guide her towards the desk. Pulling out the chair, you usher her into it, kissing her deeply as her hands attempt to pull you onto her lap. You resist, tucking her hair behind her ear as she furrows her brows.

“Just let me try this, Mommy. I promise it’ll be fun.”

Wanda’s green eyes are dark, the warm light from the lamp casting shadows over her sharp features. Her hands fall to her lap, head turned towards you as you reach into the desk drawer, having prepared your supplies earlier in the day. She can’t help but smile, one hand reaching up to cup your cheek as you determinedly grab the items you’d stored.

Turning your wide eyes towards her, you take in your girlfriend.

She’s relaxed, her fingers gently caressing your face while her other hand is loosely gripping your waist. Her eyes remain sharp, assessing everything around her. They linger around your arms, her head tilting as she attempts to see what you’re holding behind your back.

You cluck your tongue at her, gulping at the raised eyebrow she sends back.

“Close your eyes,” you try to sound commanding, but you see the faint smirk Wanda wears as she slowly closes her eyes. “Please,” you add quickly, not wanting to face unnecessary punishment later for your lack of manners.

Wanda lets out a quick huff of laughter, her hands squeezing your waist.

With one hand, you reach towards her hand, bringing it in front of you and squeezing her wrist briefly to silently tell her to keep it there. You do the same to the other, watching her face carefully.

Those perfect eyebrows furrow slightly, her eyelids fluttering as she fights the urge to open them.

You act quickly, securing a cuff around one wrist as her eyes fly open. You grip her other arm tightly as you strap the second cuff around her other wrist. Pulling slightly, you test the strength of the restraints, the soft, thick leather comfortable around her wrists.

“Darling,” Wanda begins, and you smile nervously at her. “Think very carefully about what you’re doing.”

You lean in, pecking her on the lips gently. “I know what I’m doing, I promise.”

Pushing gently, you move her wrists behind her back. Wanda is completely still beneath you, her body rigid as she allows you to maneuver her to your will. Her eyes are locked on your face, and you avoid any eye contact, knowing your confidence will shatter the second you meet those knowing green eyes.

With a click, you secure her cuffs. You’ve effectively restrained her, and you pull back as she tests the strength of the cuffs.

Wanda’s brow furrows even more when she can’t escape from her restraints, her muscles flexing as she attempts to pull herself loose. You can tell she’s seconds away from ordering you to release her.

“Baby, I need you to let me-”

You slap a hand over her mouth, your eyes widening. If Wanda gave you a command, you would cave immediately. You couldn’t let that happen.

“Let me take care of you, okay?” Your voice was pleading. You could hear the whine at the end of the sentence, but couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Wanda’s eyebrows raised, and you quickly removed your hand.

“Alright,” she began, adjusting her weight until she was seated more comfortably. You tried not to salivate at the effortless display of power. God, she was strong. “Remember, pup. I’m in charge.”

Nodding quickly, you place a quick kiss on Wanda’s lips. You almost forget yourself, lingering as her lips press gently against yours, her tongue quickly swiping over yours. You could kiss her for hours, soft moans escaping you as Wanda effortlessly slides her plump, soft lips against yours.

The chair scrapes against the floor as you stand. Your hands are gentle, eyes questioning as you unbutton her pants.

Wanda nods, and you smile brightly. Pulling her pants down quickly, you let your fingers linger on her thighs, feeling her muscles tense and twitch beneath you. God, you could already smell her arousal. You slowly peel her damp underwear from her, watching the shiny juices coat her pussy as you remove the offending garment.

Drinking in the sight of her, your pupils dilate. Wanda can hear your soft pants as you resist the urge to taste her, your fingers shaking slightly as you dig into her thighs. She rolls her hips, just slightly, and you seemingly snap out of your daze, snapping your head up and standing.

The abrupt action has Wanda’s eyes narrowing, her posture tense as you walk towards the dresser.

Opening the bottom drawer, you pull out a black tube.

Wanda relaxes, recognizing the discreet packaging as sensitivity gel. She takes in your stance, your fingers excitedly opening the tube as you put on a black latex glove. Smiling, Wanda remembers your aversion to any type of liquids, gels, or creams on your hands. She’s never even seen you use lotion on your palms, instead, you would rub the back of your hands together whenever your knuckles grew dry.

Shaking herself from her thoughts, Wanda watches you squeeze out some gel, smearing it on your fingertips. Her eyes lock on yours, watching the way your brows tighten and furrow in concentration, your eyes glancing up at hers every so often.

Your fingers prod gently at her, and Wanda has to hold back a moan as she feels the cool gel against her warm, swollen pussy. She can hear her ragged breaths, her fingers clenching as she tries not to rut against your hand.

A wide smile spreads across your face, and Wanda has the good sense to let some suspicion cross her mind. She tilts her head and watches your eyes widen at the action.

But then, your fingers are circling her clit, smearing the gel all over it, and a moan escapes her treacherous throat.

“Baby,” Wanda begins, feeling warmth gather in her abdomen.

Two fingers thrust into her, and Wanda forgets how to speak. Your eyes are sparkling as you look at her. There’s something behind your eyes, something Wanda can’t quite focus on. She can’t discern what the unreadable look you're giving her means and blinks in an attempt to focus. You curl your fingers, and she throws her head back in pleasure, forgetting about it in an instant.

The sudden roughness of your fingers pulling out of her draws a soft whimper from her throat.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” Your voice is soft, and Wanda narrows her eyes at you as she attempts to get her breathing back under control. The fingers that were buried in her a few moments ago now rub her clit, your eyes watching her face carefully.

Something isn’t right.

Wanda rolls her hips again. She can feel the pressure of your fingers against her and hear the sounds of her arousal as you work her clit… but there’s only a faint prickling sensation. It feels almost cold - as if that entire area has fallen asleep.

Last Wanda had checked, there was only one way to make that happen.

“Darling,” Wanda growls, her eyes dark. “I need you to be very honest with me.”

You gulp, your fingers still moving. Wanda’s hips are still, her attention focused solely on you. Her body isn’t responding to your touch anymore, and you slowly withdraw your hand as you take off your glove.

The tension in the room feels like a bowstring drawn too tight, Wanda’s eyes on you sucking the very air from your lungs as she works her jaw. You hear the sound of leather rubbing against skin and know that she’s attempting to escape from her cuffs. The danger in her expression makes you want to grovel and beg for forgiveness almost as much as it turns you on.

“That gel,” Wanda watches your eyes widen as she speaks, a guilty look appearing on your face. “Was it numbing gel?”

Her voice is low and quiet, but you hear every word. You can hear your frantic breaths as you search your head for an excuse, an answer, anything really. Anything but the truth.

Looking up, you meet her eyes.

They search yours, her head tilted slightly as her gaze unrelentingly locks with yours. The air crackles with anticipation, heavy with the weight of your unspoken words. With each passing moment feeling like an eternity, you search for the right words. They’re on the tip of your tongue, just waiting to be spoken, but trapped under the weight of Wanda’s gaze.

She’s waiting, her eyes demanding acknowledgment of her question, yet also challenging you to disobey her. It’s a deliciously delicate balance between mercy and dominance, and you feel yourself crack under its weight.

“Yes, Mommy.”

Wanda’s eyes turn stormy and you watch her chest heave as she attempts to calm herself down. Her hips twitch, and you can tell she’s fighting the urge to roll them. It wouldn’t matter if she did, you’ve ensured that everything is completely numb. She won’t be feeling any sensation for a few hours.

Standing, you feel a surge of power. You’re looking down at her, meeting her frustrated gaze as her arms flex. She keeps trying to pull her hands free, her feet planted on the ground in an attempt to gain some leverage. Wanda’s lips are partially open, glistening as she breathes quickly, her green eyes slightly watery as her frustration builds. Catching sight of her spread legs, you watch in awe as her arousal smears over her inner thighs and down onto the chair.

God, she looks so pathetic.

You move to sit on her lap, acutely aware of her eyes following your every movement. Feeling your legs spread as you do, you smile when her eyes flit down towards your chest. You’d left too many buttons undone, and you arch your back slightly as you hear Wanda make a low noise in the back of her throat.

“Don’t tease.” Wanda’s voice is tight, sounding like she’s holding back a storm. Her words are clipped, each syllable heavy with warning.

Smiling, you lean in. Your mouth brushes her cheek as one of your hands moves to grip the back of the chair, the other sliding in between your bodies, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Whatever Wanda was going to say in response is swallowed by a gasp as you crash your lips against hers. You can tell that she wants to be upset and deny you any pleasure to punish you for misbehaving. But then her tongue moves smoothly against yours and you swallow her soft moan, and you know that you’ve won.

Moving blindly, your fingers find Wanda’s warm, slippery pussy. Two fingers slide in easily, curling as you begin to slowly pump in and out of her.

Wanda doesn’t react.

You smile into the kiss, maneuvering your thumb to rub harshly over her protruding clit. Normally, Wanda would jerk and gasp slightly when you stimulated her sensitive bundle of nerves, but not tonight.

That gel was working almost a little too well.

Teeth bite harshly into your lower lip, and you suddenly find yourself struggling to think properly. Wanda is unforgiving, sucking your lip into her mouth as you moan, your fingers faltering against her.

Wanda might not be able to feel anything, but her pussy knows that it’s being stimulated. You can feel her juices soaking your fingers, running onto your hand and down your wrist as you thrust into her. It’s intoxicating, and you feel your own underwear dampen significantly as you grind yourself onto her lap.

“Fuck,” You whisper, feeling Wanda’s small smile against your lips.

You’re focused, the sensation of her slick pussy clenching around your fingers holding all of your attention. The sound of leather and skin barely registers in your mind, your senses overwhelmed by the smell of Wanda’s vanilla perfume and the feeling of her lips fervently moving against yours.

God, you think you could last in this moment for an eternity and never be unhappy.

A hand wraps around your throat.

Eyes flying open, you barely register the victorious look on Wanda’s face before she’s lifting you off her lap and throwing you onto the bed. The leather cuffs dangle from one of her wrists, her other slightly red from her efforts to escape. There’s a thunderous look in her eyes, and you find yourself slowly backing up on the bed as she advances.

“You can’t run now, baby.” Wanda’s voice is low and there’s a small smirk on her face.

She keeps advancing, her head tilting.

You freeze in place, watching as she makes her way towards you. Her deft fingers quickly undo the cuffs from her wrist, her grip strong as she grabs your arm.

Swinging a leg over your hips, Wanda straddles you. Her thighs clench around you, and her hands grip your wrists tightly. You don’t fight it, your body refusing to relax as you watch Wanda with wide eyes. Her fingers make quick work of the cuffs, tightening them around your wrists and attaching them to the headboard as you squirm slightly.

“Did you really think you could get away with it?” Wanda asks, her eyes boring into yours.

A flush makes its way onto your face, your nerves on fire. Adrenaline floods your system, the thrill of being caught racing through you. You quickly shake your head, eyes widening when Wanda erupts in soft laughter.

“Stupid pet,” She mutters, removing herself from you as you watch with wide eyes, feeling your core grow warm at the degrading words. “You should know that Mommy always wins in the end.”

Your jaw works as you try to formulate a response. You can’t think of anything, a foggy haze coming over your mind as you watch Wanda.

Soft footsteps reach your ears as you watch your girlfriend quickly make her way toward the closet. She disappears, and you hear her rummaging through the drawers. You throw your head back, breathing deeply as you control your nerves.

You were so fucked. God, what were you thinking?

Pulling against your cuffs, which Wanda had secured to your wrists extremely tight, you rethought your decisions. The numbing cream had been a great purchase, truly. But actually using it on Wanda?

Worst possible decision.

The doorway darkens, and you feel your mouth go dry when you see Wanda’s silhouette. Your eyes drag down over her body, the curve of her nude waist and hips sending you further into an arousal-driven state of mind. You wouldn’t be surprised if you were drooling for her, your hips rolling slightly as you catch a glimpse of the thick, scarlet strapon now tied around her hips.

Her fingers wrap around a familiar-looking tube, the design eerily similar to the numbing cream you had purchased. Looking closer, however, there were numerous differences. The end of the tube was wider, and the dark pigment of the packaging was more matte than the numbing cream.

You feel the color leave your face. Your legs close of their own accord, a spark of fear traveling down your spine.

Wanda smirks.

Reaching out, your girlfriend quickly grasps your ankles, pulling your legs apart roughly. There’s a warning look in her eyes, and your brief struggle against her ceases immediately. The last thing you wanted to do was make her even more frustrated than she already was, although, judging by the look on her face, you were failing.

“Don’t test me,” Wanda’s voice is tight, a sign of her growing ire. “You’ve already earned a big fucking punishment.”

A low moan sounds out.

Your eyes widen at the sound as it escapes your treacherous throat, along with Wanda’s. A smile slowly begins to form on her face, one of her hands slowly moving towards the apex of your thighs.

“You must really like the idea of being punished, is that it baby?” Wanda asks, her voice soft. Her fingers are anything but gentle, swooping through your slick arousal as she harshly flicks your protruding clit. “Do you get off on the thought of me being mean to you?”

Wanda’s other hand drops the bottle of gel onto the comforter, her fingers grasping your jaw tightly when you attempt to hang your head.

“Nuh-uh,” She clicks her tongue, forcing you to look at her. “Dumb sluts don’t get to hide after they tease Mommy. Answer the question, honey.”

A strangled whimper claws its way out from your chest, a shaky exhale accompanying it as you nod your head to the best of your ability. Wanda’s grip on your jaw doesn’t falter, but she feels your attempt, her eyes darkening.

“You really are a masochist,” Wanda mutters, releasing her tight hold on you. “I love it.”

Your eyes light up, relief cascading through you at her words. Then, you remember the compromising position you’re in and the situation you’ve created. Your elation fades, eyes watching every movement Wanda makes.

Nimble fingers quickly open the bottle, the minimalist logo of Wanda’s favorite brand of sensitivity gel flashing in your vision before she squirts a generous amount on her fingers. The lid closes with a click, and the bottle is thrown somewhere onto the bed.

“Now this,” Wanda begins, smearing the gel messily over your pussy. “This gel is purely for my entertainment. You and I both know that you’re already desperate and needy enough that my touch alone could send you over the edge at any moment.”

Two of her fingers rub the gel onto your clit, the rough stimulation causing your legs to jerk. Wanda pauses, looking up at you. Her eyes are dark, the green of her irises barely a sliver around her dilated pupils. Her face is set, a dangerous, almost predatory look taking over her features.

“Stay still.”

Immediately, you feel your body comply. Your muscles feel as though they’re made of stone, your breaths shallow from the effort it takes to not squirm as Wanda mixes the sensitivity gel with your juices.

You feel a tingling sensation start, the barest brush of air against your bulbous clit sending electric pleasure straight to your core. Your pussy feels both enlarged and sore, the need to cum overtaking you in an instant.

The ache. Oh, god. The fucking ache between your legs. It consumes you, every errant thought in your brain evaporating as you find yourself unable to focus on anything but the throbbing heat at your core.

Wanda looks up, hearing your rough breathing, her eyes widening in pleasure at the sight of your heaving chest. You look absolutely wrecked, your cheeks flushed as sweat drips down your temple. Your eyes are wide and unfocused, your pupils expanded so severely they look like endless black pits of ink.

“You look pathetic.”

Biting your lip tightly, you suppress the wanton moan that threatens to erupt at Wanda’s words.

She doesn’t seem to notice, moving onto her knees between your spread legs and wrapping her hand around her strapon. A mixture of your arousal and the gel glistens on her fingers, and you feel yourself throb as you watch her lewdly stroke herself.

Teasingly, and agonizingly slowly, Wanda lines the tip of her strap against your clit. She presses in slightly, the barest hint of pleasure sending your head reeling. You feel like you’re going slightly insane, the need for stimulation forcing a stream of words from your lips.

“Please, Wanda. I’m so sorry, I’ll never trick you like that again. I promise. I need you so bad, Mommy. I’ll be the perfect little toy for you, just please fuck me. Fuck me with your big strap, you can go whatever pace you want I just… I fucking need it. Please.” You end your begging with a whine, your words breathless. You don’t care. “I’ll do anything.”

In one smooth motion, Wanda buries her strap inside you.

“Mommy's going to fuck you until she can feel pleasure again,” Wanda says harshly, grabbing your throat and squeezing lightly in warning when you squirm. You try to protest, your nerves feeling as though they’ve been lit on fire as you shake beneath her. Wanda doesn't let you.

“No baby, shut the fuck up and take it, I've got to punish the brat out of my good little girl."

Then, she’s finally moving. It feels like absolute heaven, her strap dragging roughly against your walls as you clench around her. Wanda adjusts her hips, the tip of the toy hitting your G-spot with each thrust, and you blink stars from your vision.

Any functional part of your brain has completely abandoned you. Your chest bounces with each rough slap of Wanda’s hips against you, the strap disappearing and reappearing quickly as it’s coated with your juices.

The scent of your arousal fills the room, the air heavy as you suck in desperate breaths between frantic moans. Your body feels like a live wire, muscles taut as your legs spread wider.

Wanda grips your ankles firmly, her strength surprising you. She moves, pressing your legs against your chest as her strap fucks deeper into you. With how hard and fast she’s fucking you, you’re impressed with her stamina and ability to maneuver you into position.

Pleasure and pain morph into one, endless sensation. Every nerve pulsates with need, a symphony of conflicting sensations as Wanda relentlessly, almost ruthlessly fucks into you. Her eyes pierce yours, holding your gaze captive as she works you closer and closer to nirvana.

The very fabric of your reality seems to shift and bend, every sensation smothered with a surreal hue of an indistinguishable mixture of pleasure and pain. Your mind feels fractured, floating in a fuzzy embrace even as Wanda’s sharp thrusts splinter your mindscape. The thrum of your frantic heartbeat reverberates throughout your body, matching the throbbing of your clit as Wanda’s pelvis presses against it with each harsh movement.

Your orgasm creeps up on you, feeling every bit like a death march.

In the back of your mind, you know that Wanda won’t take mercy on you. She won’t stop using you until she’s completely satisfied, until… What had she said? Oh, that’s right. Until she could feel sensation again.

If you were correctly remembering the description and online reviews of the gel you’d bought, Wanda wouldn’t be feeling anything for a couple of hours.

A particularly harsh thrust has your thoughts halting instantly. Your mind focuses, the need to cum overtaking your senses as you feel every inch of Wanda’s strap buried inside you. Your swollen pussy clamps down around her, your clit throbbing with need as she relentlessly fucks into you.

The sounds of your soaked pussy reverberate around the bedroom, spurring Wanda on. She can feel your sticky arousal smearing over her thighs as she steadily plunges the strap inside your greedy pussy.

Watching her strap disappear into your tight, eager heat only serves to motivate Wanda. A surge of motivation surges through her veins. Her thrusts have a renewed energy, her movements almost frantic as she fucks into you with abandon. Throwing her head back, she loses herself in an intoxicating surge of power, one hand wrapping around your throat.

You feel your back arch, pussy spasming against your will. Wanda’s fingers tighten, just barely, but it's enough to send your frazzled body over the edge.

Every synapse in your body fires, your senses overwhelmed by the cascading waves of pleasure as they sweep through your limbs forcefully. Your body trembles, Wanda’s strong hands pinning you down as you attempt to escape from the violent aftershocks of your orgasm. Her fingers skirt down your sides, gripping your hips and leaving trails of electricity in their wake.

“Oh, god. Its-” You stutter, feeling Wanda’s hands press your hips full into the mattress, immobilizing you. “Too much, Mommy.”

The words sound slurred, Wanda’s green eyes trapping your attention. You want to float away, your mind wrapping itself with vanilla-scented cotton as your ears ring.

A coiling feeling, spreading throughout your core. Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes, your mind barely tethered to your body.

“Let go, sweetheart.” Wanda’s gentle voice washes over you.

The unbearable tension in your abdomen tightens, spreading blazing tendrils of fire throughout your being. Your tears escape fully, sliding down your cheeks as you register Wanda’s smile, the intensity of her gaze sending you over the edge again.

You’re barely retaining your grasp on reality, your mind firmly in subspace as a vanilla-tinged fuzziness encapsulates your thoughts.

“Fuck,” Wanda mumbles, looking down.

Following her gaze, your eyebrows rise as you watch her glistening strap slip out of you. Strings of fluid web between the toy and your overheated pussy, and you belatedly realize that it's your cum.

Damn.

Wanda moves, bottoming out as her strap easily slides into you.

Black dots dance around the corners of your vision, another orgasm washing over you as liquid-hot pleasure flows through your veins. You barely register Wanda’s soft voice, your eyes rolling towards the ceiling as you feel her pull you closer with each thrust of her hips.

The pleasure is unrelenting and strong. It ebbs over you like an endless tide, threatening to smother your mind. With each pulse of pure ecstasy, you feel your consciousness teetering on the edge of oblivion, the thin line between reality and euphoria dimming into nothingness.

Green eyes capture your attention, Wanda’s face appearing fuzzy around the edges as your senses are finally overwhelmed. You feel your body and mind succumb to the intoxicating bliss washing over you as Wanda continues to use your overworked body.

A final, shuddering breath and you slip into the welcoming embrace of unconsciousness, your mind firmly wrapped in thick layers of vanilla-tinged pleasure.

---

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