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xxxdreamscapexxx · 9 months

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Unspoken desires

Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Word count: 7.8k

Summary: Some things are hard to say out loud. Some desires are just too great to be left buried and sometimes the best way to express them is to write them down, hoping that you’ll be able to get them out of your mind. And that’s what you do. You write. Until one night your girlfriend finds you in your study and it sparks a curiosity inside her. What will happen when she finds your little secret?

Warning: NSFW, 18+, lesbian relationship, oral, fingering, magic use, magical restraints, R being gagged, finger sucking, strap on sex, oral to a strap, a bit of an oral fixation? Mommy!Kink, top!Wanda, Bottom!Reader Masterlist with all my works. Part 2: I love taming you 18+

Wanda woke up in the middle of the night, startled by your absence. She had tried to drape her hand over you in her sleep, only for it to land on empty space, where your body should have been, the sheets devoid of your warmth, which told her you had been up for a while. It pulled her out of her drowsiness and she blinked a few times, her eyes scanning the dark room for you, but she already knew she was alone. She sighed, pushing herself up to a sitting position. She hoped that you were in the bathroom and she waited a few minutes, but no sound actually came from anywhere and she found herself worried, her feet blindly searching for her slippers, before she walked out of your shared bedroom. She peaked in the direction of the bathroom just in case, but the door was slightly ajar and the space dark and empty, just as she suspected it will be and she descended the stairs with deliberate slowness, refusing to work herself into a panic. You love her. You’re happy with her. You wouldn’t just leave her in the middle of the night without a word. There would be a rational explanation for all of this. With a steadying breath she used her powers to scan your home for your presence and she quickly found it. Your energy signature showed you were in the study, which, thinking more clearly, now that she was calmer, Wanda should have guessed. Your heart was beating calmly, your mind active, but not loud, so Wanda approached the room in that same deliberate slowness she forced in her step. The room glowed in soft yellow light that spilled from the doorway and she saw you on your favourite office chair behind your marble desk, head bowed over a notebook as you wrote something. The moment she pushed the door, it creaked and you suddenly snapped your head up in surprise, your eyes landing on your girlfriend and you forced yourself to smile at her as she walked closer. “What are you doing up, honey?” You asked, leaving the fountain pen you were holding. “I should ask you the same thing.” Your girlfriend countered, getting even closer to you, now almost in front of your desk, her eyes landing on your stylish handwriting, but unable to make out the words you had written. You looked down at your notebook, at the pretty way your hand had written each word, which tortured your mind and you paused for a moment, wondering how to explain what it said. But there was just so much to say that you honestly had no idea where to start and your mind scrambled for a way to explain, thinking it would be best to just give it to her and let her read for herself, but she spoke before you could. “Are they overworking you at the office again?” She asked with concern, her green eyes softening as they studied you. “You shouldn’t stay up so long, love.” She added, stepping even closer and an impulse inside you made you stand from your spot to meet her. “You should have told me you needed to finish something. I would have given you some space after dinner.” Wanda assured and you circled the desk. “You shouldn’t hide like that from me.” She chastised you a little. She hated that you sneaked out of bed for such a thing. Your heart hammered in your chest at her words, at how close she came to finding your little secret, at the horrible prospect of lying to her. You never wanted to lie to Wanda. But you could never find the strength in you to say the things you so easily wrote. “I’m sorry, Wanda.” You spoke, your voice rough, the secret choking you inside. “Come to bed, baby.” She hugged you, pulling you close to her chest, her nimble fingers running through your hair soothingly. She pulled you out of the study, turning off the lights and guiding you back to the bedroom, where she tucked you in, nestling behind you and circling her arms around you. She held you close, providing much needed warmth and comfort, soon falling asleep with the knowledge that you were exactly where you should be. In her loving embrace. * * * The next day started as it often did in your household, with coffee and breakfast and a pleasant conversation. The two of you made plans for after work, discussed the groceries, cleaned up the table together, took a shower together, your hands hardly leaving the other’s body as you kissed. With your back pressed against the tiles, Wanda made quick work of unravelling you, her long fingers buried deep inside you. You did the same, mirroring her, so you’d come together, treasuring the way her forehead was pressed against yours, low, pleasured moans filling the small space. Getting ready, you left the house together, eager for the moment when you’d come back. But the day was stretched long for you, your calendar packed with meetings, your lunch forgotten next to you on the desk and you just knew you’d be home late that day. Wanda had a much calmer schedule and walked into your shared home in the early afternoon. She texted you, checking in, but decided not to pressure you to come home, remembering how late she’d found you working. With no other things to do, she thought to read a book and she entered the study as the space reminded her so much of you and she breathed in the smell of books. She already knew where to find that book you recently finished and claimed was amazing, but before she could get it, her eyes landed on your desk and the beautiful notebook on top of it. It was the Paperblanks hardcover journal dedicated to Edgar Allan Poe that she got you as a gift. The one she saw you writing in last night. Had you forgotten it? Wouldn’t you need it for work? Curious, she went over to the desk, stopping herself from picking it up, the open pages mocking her. She knew it was wrong to look through your things, that it was a complete betrayal of your trust, a violation of your privacy. But if it was work, why would you mind her seeing it? And if it wasn’t? What could keep you up so late? What could make you sneak out of bed in the middle of the night? What could be haunting you so much? She stood there, frozen for a few moments longer, her mind racing with possibilities and her chest tightening with insecurity and fear that she might be losing you. Her precious girl. Her everything. The unknown was killing her. Her own thoughts tearing her up inside as she thought of all the things that could have went wrong. Was she too possessive? Too jealous perhaps? Did she hold on too tight? Or had you fallen into the arms of another? Is that why you’d be staying late tonight? To be with some clueless bitch you’d met at the office? Would you let her kiss you, the way only Wanda had the right to? Let her touch you… Wanda shook her head. No, you would never do such a thing. She knew you. You were loyal. Shy and sweet and so utterly hers. You’d never betray Wanda in such a way. She was being irrational again, too fearful of loss. She was letting her fear dictate her actions, she could tell and she pushed back the invasive thoughts as they swirled around in her head, replacing them with the very real memories she had with you. The memory of last night, when you lay your head in her lap as the two of you watched TV, a content smile on your face as she stroked your hair gently. The image of your body splayed underneath her on the bed upstairs, back arching as she made you cum for the third time that night, her face buried between your legs. The feeling of pure bliss as she herself fell off the edge just minutes later, your cute face hiding in the crook of her neck, because you were so shy of all her praises as she told you how well you were pleasing her. Even this morning… Your pussy twitched and pulsated around her fingers, desperate for her. Wanda took care of you often and well. From the first time she was allowed the privilege, she made sure to keep you satisfied, so she did her best to calm herself down, but the more she thought about it, the more the scene from last night disturbed her. The initial shock on your face, the way your hands trembled at the sight of her, the way the blood drained from your face when she asked you why you’re up… You were hiding something. She saw it clearly now. You left your chair, so you’d stop her from getting closer to the desk, to stop her from seeing the things you had written. You never said it was work. She just assumed. But as those thoughts crossed her mind, she could no longer assume and she made a conscious decision, sitting on the comfy office chair and pulling herself closer to the desk, her eyes running over the pages in front of her. It was a confession of sorts, but not the type she expected. There was no betrayal, no scheme behind it, no reason for jealousy. As she read through the opened page, she realized it was the ending of a story. The words were so clearly yours, she could hear your voice as she read them, but they weren’t enough for her to understand the concept or the plot. The knowledge instantly calmed her nerves and with a sigh Wanda flipped over to the first page and read the title you had chosen. “Unspoken desires” was written in your signature calligraphy style, the letters twisting beautifully and she took the notebook, relaxing her back against the leather of the chair. The words stuck to her like honey, sweet as they spread over her mind and painted the most sinful pictures. They spoke of things you wanted, but were too shy to say. The things you craved so badly you couldn’t sleep at night. The dreams that bled into your conscious mind and filled you with need. And God, it was hot! Fuck, they were filling her with liquid desire as she read through them, page after page, until her underwear was so soaked with arousal that she was ready to take care of it right there and then, the thought of sneaking her hand into her pants and making herself cum to your fantasies so unbearably tempting. It was so good, that it would be almost like having you. But she wanted you. She wanted to make you clean up the mess you made of her. She wanted to give you exactly what you needed from her. Finishing the last page, Wanda sighed, her legs crossed and squeezing together. Your words still swirled in her mind and she looked at the clock. It was still early, you wouldn’t be home for a few more hours and she had to fight yet another urge to take care of the ache you caused between her legs and she quickly got up, choosing to busy herself with preparations for the moment you’d come home, groaning at the uncomfortable way her underwear stuck to her. Busy with dinner and some preparations she wanted to make, Wanda managed to pass the time without allowing her will to give way to her urges. She even had the time to take a nice, relaxing shower and she welcomed you into your home with a smile. She wasn’t angry at you. She knew you were timid, knew it was harder for you to speak about your desires and she wasn’t going to let you think that she’d be anything other than supportive and understanding, so Wanda took you in her warm embrace and had dinner with you, letting you unwind after your long day. She watched you eat with a quiet admiration, your beauty leaving her awestruck and, thinking on it, she could see you in the setting of those fantasies, all pretty and submissive. Wanting you relaxed, Wanda helped you into the shower next, letting you wash away the troubles of the day, while she put away the food and she settled into your shared bedroom, waiting for you to come out. You were truly spectacular with your towel wrapped around your body and a smaller one in your hands, drying your hair. So naturally seductive and you didn’t even know it. She traced your elegant shoulders and collarbones with her eyes, saw the outline of your breasts under the towel, your exposed legs still covered in little droplets of water… How can you not know what you were doing to her? But that was ok, Wanda was going to show you. She was going to make all your dreams come true. She’d give you everything you fantasized about and so much more. Unable to wait anymore, she got off the bed, approaching you and circling her arms around you. She watched with amazement the way you smiled at the gesture, putting away the smaller towel and resting your arms on her shoulders. “You’re so beautiful.” Wanda purred, pulling you closer until your body was flush against hers. “I’m going to get you all wet.” You giggled in response, trying to pull away, but she held you tightly. “You already have.” Your girlfriend smirked, innuendo laced with her words and making you blush. “I guess I should take care of it then.” You suggested, reaching to help her take off her shirt, but she wouldn’t let you. Wanda spun you around, walking you backwords until the backs of your legs hit the bed and she smirked as she held you at the tipping point of falling. Her right hand settled firmly between your shoulder blades, while the other reached between your bodies, taking the towel and pulling it off your body with a smug expression and unneeded flair, exposing your beauty to her hungry eyes. “That’s not what you’ll be doing.” She explained, letting the words sink in, before she lowered you on the bed, crawling over you slowly and helping you up, until you settled over the pillows. “You won’t be doing anything tonight without my permission.” She added, her eyes drinking you in. She could see it now. That spark in your eyes at her words, the faint pink on your cheeks at the thought and the way your legs squeezed together, betraying you. Fuck, she should have known. “I know your little secret.” She whispered next, studying you and instantly seeing the realization on your face. You hurried to defend yourself, to tell her that it was just a story, a fantasy, that she didn’t need to do any of what she had read, but she spoke first. “You should have told me earlier, little kitten. I’ve treated you so softly, so gently… Holding back, so I could spare my precious girl…” She trailed off, her hand caressing your cheek, feeling the warmth of it against her palm. For a brief moment she imagined slapping you, just so she would know what it felt like, but held back, deciding to leave it for another time. “I should have known you’d love to submit to me. I should have known that you’d be perfect.” “You don’t have to…” You stuttered out, looking up at her. “Have to?” She almost laughed, her smile turning predatory. “Oh, baby, I’ve been wanting to have you at my mercy since the day I met you.” And before you could utter a single word, she wrapped her lips around one of your nipples, playfully teasing it with her teeth, before she soothed it with her tongue. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?” She smiled wickedly, before doing the same to your other breast. She used a little more force this time. Adding a little sting to her ministrations, before she sucked on your sensitive flesh, all the while drinking in the little moans and whimpers that left your lips. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful!” She muttered as she climbed up your body, one of her hands slowly wrapping around your throat as she settled above you. “You’re just perfect.” She practically growled against you, putting the slightest pressure on your windpipe and watching you fight the urge to squirm in her hold. “Oh, and so responsive. Is that all it takes, baby? I wonder what you’ll do when I leave you truly breathless.” She mused, squeezing a little harder, but still allowing you to breathe. To your shame, your body responded before you could, your legs trying to close on their own, so you’d feel some relief from the arousal that was starting to build within you, only to be stopped by invisible bonds, the red tendrils of her magic wrapping around you and holding you in place. Your thighs, your ankles, your wrists, all tied up and spread wide, leaving you open to her hungry gaze. “Oh, no, baby… Mommy’s been waiting for you all afternoon with no relief… Trust me when I say, you won’t be getting any either. Not unless I decide you’ve earned it.” She promised with a sultry tone, leaning down to kiss you, her title making a shaver pass through your body. You loved it when she would refer to herself like that. Her lips stole the last of your breath and her hand easily tightened around your throat as she devoured you, watching your eyes glaze over and start to tear up at the strange sensation. Your brain screamed for you to fight back, to push her away, to reclaim your breath again, but you didn’t, forcing yourself to remain still in her hold and let her do as she pleased… As you begged… Because you have. In your story you had asked for this and now that you were getting it, it was making arousal pool between your thighs and drip onto the sheets. And just when you thought that you couldn’t take anymore, she let you go. “Breathe, baby. You’re ok. My pretty girl is ok, isn’t she?” “Yes, Mommy, I’m ok.” You rasped, trying to take in steady breaths and Wanda’s smile widened. “Good. Such a good girl.” She praised softly as she removed a strand of hair from your face. “God, you’re so pretty!” She mused as she looked down at you with hungry eyes. “I can’t wait to ravage this gorgeous body of yours. I’m going to ruin you.” She promised, her eyes glowing a faint red at the words. “You want that, don’t you?” She received a happy nod from you, too shy to speak up and it brought to memory a flashback of your story, giving her a wicked idea. “Open up for me.” She demanded, running her thumb over your lips and wasting no time in slipping it inside your mouth. She kept the pressure light and gentle, allowing you to tease her with your tongue, pulling her in as far as her finger could go. Your eyelids fluttered closed at the action and Wanda allowed herself to enjoy the moment with you a bit longer, her pussy throbbing with need at the feeling of your skilled mouth. God, she loved your mouth and she was craving you so badly that this simple action was driving her wild. “Time to let go, baby girl.” She whispered softly, pulling out her digit from your mouth and smiling gently at you when you whined at the absence you now felt. “I have something else for you.” She whispered, like she has a secret to tell you. “Something I wanted to try for a while now.” She added, speaking mostly to herself. “Something I think you’ll like very much.” Wanda stood from the bed, hurrying to get rid of her clothes, before sauntering her way to the drawer full of toys. It was her special collection, toys she used far more sporadically, some of which you hadn’t even been curious enough to see yet. Something you now regretted, because if you had, perhaps you’d feel far more inclined to tell her your fantasies. When she found what she was looking for, smiling fondly, she turned to you, purposefully keeping the object behind her back, so you wouldn’t see it as she walked towards you. “You know you have such a pretty mouth.” She mused, getting closer. “And it’s always so eager to take anything I offer.” She added with a sultry tone. “You just love to eat my pussy, don’t you? Love to have my fingers or my cock in there… Well, I have something else I want to put in there.” She said with delight, climbing on the bed and on top of you in one smooth motion, before she showed you the toy she had retrieved, almost making you gasp when you saw it. When she first started walking towards you, the glimpses of leather straps helped you guess that she’d end up gagging you and you were more than happy to let her. You’ve wanted to try for such a long time. What you didn’t expect however was the fact that she would pull out a lockable dildo shaped gag. The silicone toy was smooth and unlike other versions you had seen, this one had no attachment at the back. She was going to stuff your mouth full simply for her amusement and the sight of it made you gasp, despite the fact that it was actually quite small and clearly designed to be used comfortably and you shifted under her as a fresh wave of desire washed through you. “Oh, I knew you’d love it.” She admired you with pride in her eyes. “Let’s put that where it belongs, shall we baby?” She offered, taking the leather straps in her hold and waiting for you to open your mouth, so she could adjust the toy and lock it around your neck. “There. That’s perfect. And if you need to tell Mommy something, just think about it, ok? I’ll hear you.” She reassured you softly, wanting you to know that you were safe in her hands. You could feel the small object fit snugly in your mouth, feeling nice and heavy against your tongue, without causing any discomfort for you, letting you relax almost instantly. You could run your tongue under it freely, which proved far more arousing than you ever suspected and you repeated the action, while Wanda watched you from above. “How does that feel, honey?” She asked a little cockily, adjusting your hair gently and helping you settle against the pillows. “Good?” She asked with so much fake pity in her voice it was melting you. “Well don’t have too much fun with it. Mommy will have something bigger for you in just a while.” She promised teasingly. “But for now, I just want to play with your pretty pussy. I bet it’s all soaked by now.” To confirm her words, she sneaked a hand between your bodies, her fingers finding your wet folds instantly. And your poor pussy was so slick, so desperate for her already, she almost gave in to her desire to just slip in. You were clearly ready for it. But she only teased your clit with the tip of a single finger, loving the way your hips canted up to meet her touch. “Oh, look at that! You’re dripping, baby.” She exclaimed, feigning surprise. “Well, let me take care of that for you.” She suggested with a happy smile, quickly moving to lie between your legs, so she can see the mess you made, feeling pride swell in her chest at the knowledge that she was the one who did this to you. “I have just one little rule for you tonight. You can handle that, right baby? One thing?” She asked, watching you nod enthusiastically above her, your eyes meeting hers expectantly. “No cumming.” She said firmly, watching your eyes go wide in shock and fear. “Not without Mommy’s permission.” She added smugly and a little more lightly, but waited for you to show her you understand, before her attention returned to your needy pussy. Despite your obvious arousal and desperation, Wanda was more than happy to take her time, licking slow stripes over your wet pussy, cleaning you of your arousal in gentle strokes and making you grow even more impatient for her touch, but eventually, she gave in. Her skilled mouth and tongue working you up, drawing circles around your clit that drove you crazy, dipping inside your opening with slow precision, teasing you into releasing muffled moans around the gag. “You’re such a good girl.” Wanda praised, detaching herself from you just long enough to speak. “Do you want Mommy’s fingers inside you too, honey?” She asked sweetly, already knowing the answer. You wanted everything. She entered you slowly, just as soon as you had given her a happy nod, your thoughts a litany of “Yes, please, yes, need you inside.”, making a proud smile appear on her face. You were so tight, your walls pulsing around her fingers and begging her to just fuck you already. And Wanda could never refuse such an invitation. The combination of her tongue and fingers was divine, the delicious stretch pushing you even closer to the edge. You were going to fall apart soon and she knew it. Your thoughts were getting scrambled and distant and your muscles tightened in expectation of that blissful moment, your hips canting up and grinding against her face even more, helping her hit your perfect spot every time. God, it was right there, you just needed her to flick her tongue one more time… And then it was gone. Her mouth retracting and her fingers slowing down to an almost complete stop as she looked at you expectantly. The near-orgasm made your insides burn with need and you moaned pitifully around your gag, your cheeks hollowing out and your tongue running over it to soothe yourself as you waited for the edge to pass. “You’re disappointing Mommy, honey.” She said in a low voice. “I gave you one rule. Just one. And you were about to break it.” She said, tilting her head to the side and giving you a glare. “Let’s try that again… If you don’t want to get punished, you’ll remember to ask permission this time.” She stated with a little edge of a threat in her voice, before she lowered herself and wrapped her lips around your clit again. The second build up felt even better than the first. Your nerve-endings alight with sensations that felt even more intensified, now that you had been so close to your release. With how good it felt, you were so eager to please Wanda, to show her how good you can be, so she could grant you this pleasure. You would be her best girl, you vowed, your muscles tightening up again as you got closer. God, how could she be so good at this? She was driving you crazy and you were seconds away from letting go. “Please, Mommy I’m so close!” You spoke in your head, your thoughts loud and frantic as you squirmed under her, back arching as you could almost taste your orgasm. “Please, let me cum!” “Oh, I know.” Wanda said softly, a menacing smile spreading over her face as she pulled away at the last second. “But you don’t want to come. Isn’t it what it said in your cute little story? You don’t want me to let you come.” She reminded, her head tilting as she watched your body writhe with need. “Hold me there, just at the edge. Make me beg. And when I do, deny me again.” She quoted as her fingers stroked your clit softly. Each touch made your pussy twitch, but you didn’t dare to let out a single sound, didn’t dare protest. Wanda was right. It is what you had asked for, what you fantasized about when wrote that story. “Tell me, baby…” Her voice pulled you out of your thoughts. “Have you touched yourself to such thoughts?” She asked as she continued her soft ministrations. “Have you been lying in our bed, thinking of all the things you want me to do to you, touching what’s mine?” Her question pulled a soft whine from you, your voice caught in your throat, the toy behind the gag both soothing you and amplifying your need. You had. When she needed to be away, when the thought of her filled your mind with images so sinful and delicious, you let your hands roam and, in those moments, you allowed yourself to imagine the things you wanted, but could never find the courage to ask of her. Her expectant eyes never left yours, her hand defiantly retracting from your clit as she waited for your answer, even though she knew it already. And when you tried to form some kind of coherent thought, but no words would arrange in the right order, you settled for nodding, a shudder passing through you when you saw the twisted smile that formed on her lips. Satisfied with your response, at least for now, her fingers returned, two of them entering you slowly, while she used her thumb to stroke your clit. She aimed them perfectly and you knew instantly that she’d build another orgasm within you. You also knew she’ll never let you have it, but it didn’t matter. Closing your eyes, you let yourself enjoy the way she got you there, the wonderful feeling building and expanding, coursing though every part of you, until all you could feel was pleasure and you were on the edge once more. “Mommy…” You tried to warn her, but you didn’t have to. She already knew, her fingers retracting slowly and leaving you empty and desperate. Crawling over you, Wanda’s face twisted and she grabbed your neck. “Never touch what’s mine again.” She snarled at you, her eyes turning a faint red, before they returned to the darkened green you’d grown to love. “Do you understand?” She asked more firmly. You nodded again, your eyes attentive, but this time it wasn’t enough for Wanda. She needed to hear you. “I need you to speak to me, baby girl.” She explained, her hand slipping off your neck and moving behind you, so she could unclasp the straps that held the gag inside your mouth. “You have a way with words. That little story of yours had me dripping. Yet, you’re always so shy…” She mused, pulling the toy out of your mouth, studying you and letting your jaw rest after keeping it open for so long. “Don’t worry, baby. Mommy will teach you. But right now, I need you to understand that the pretty little pussy between your legs is mine. All the pleasure you want, anything your heart desires, I will give you gladly, honey.” She said, her passion and devotion for you shining clearly in her gaze. “But it’s mine to give. Mine to draw out of you. Mine to build, mine to ruin if I feel like it. You’re mine to kiss, to touch, to fuck, to edge… Mine to use and to pleasure. Is that clear?” She asked in a growl. “Yes, Mommy.” You rasped, swallowing the lump in your throat and trying to ignore the wave of arousal that passed through you. “Learned your lesson, huh?” She asked condescendingly. “Let’s find out.” She challenged, moving down your body and between your legs again. This time she was unforgiving, her fingers entering you swiftly and curling deliciously against your spot, while her tongue drove you wild with every stroke. She was going to ruin you and you were happy to oblige her, your moans falling freely from your lips this time. “Mommy, you feel so good.” You panted, your voice getting more high-pitched and pleading as you got closer. “Love it when you fuck me!” You exclaimed as she continued her ministrations. “Fuck, please don’t stop! Never stop!” You babbled happily, squirming in your restraints. You were close. So close. Your whole body shaking from the anticipation. “Mommy! Please, can I cum? Please! Please let me cum!” You begged as you reached your peak, ready to fall off of it. “Not just yet, sweetheart.” She rasped, pulling away from you as you writhed. You wanted to cum so badly. You needed it. And you tried to close your legs to add some pressure on your needy pussy, but her bonds held you tightly. She had retracted completely, letting you squirm and fight on the bed, as you fought the disappointment of yet another denied orgasm, while she grabbed a harness and attached a nicely sized dildo to it, her magic swirling around the toy and her fingers stroking it, until she could feel every small movement of her hand. “Mommy, please…” She heard you beg, your pleading voice capturing her attention and she immediately climbed on the bed again, positioning herself between your legs. As much as she enjoyed this whole game, she was getting too impatient, her own body screaming for attention and she knew she wouldn’t last a second longer, without sheathing herself inside your tight little pussy. “What’s the matter, baby girl? Can’t handle Mommy’s teasing?” She asked, her voice dripping with fake pity that just didn’t match her expression. “But you’re the one who asked for this… You wanted to get edged. Isn’t that right?” “I want you more.” You pleaded at her, hands pulling at the restraints that held you down. “You want me or you want to cum?” She asked sternly. “Because I think, that you’re just a needy little girl and all you want is to cum.” She accused, as she played with the slick between your legs, teasing your opening with a single finger. “I want you Mommy, please!” You begged once more and she smirked. “Is that right, honey?” She practically mocked. “Let’s see about that, shall we?” She suggested with a dark glint in her eyes. “Let’s play a little game, you and I.” She started off, holding her cock and starting to rub the head against your wet folds. “I’ll let you have my cock and I’ll fuck you nice and good, just the way you want. If Mommy cums first, you get to choose your reward. If you cum first… Well, then you were lying to Mommy. And you know I’ll have to punish you for that. I mean… What kind of Mommy would I be if I didn’t teach you to be better.” Before you could agree, before you could even utter a word, Wanda was already spreading you open, her cock pushing against your opening and entering you smoothly. “Ugh, you feel so good!” She grunted, barely holding back from slamming her hips into you. “Oh, if only you knew what you do to me, baby!” Wanda worked her strap inside you slowly, letting you take her inch by inch, until she had filled you up entirely, her hips stopping as she pressed herself against you, leaning down, so she could hover over you and gave you a moment to adjust to her, your little moans like music to her ears. “How does that feel, my darling, hm?” She asked softly, kissing the tip of your nose sweetly and watching you blink your eyes open for her. “So good.” You smiled, all cute and your cheeks pink. “You’re so deep inside me. Stretching me out so much. I love it.” You admitted, wishing you could wrap your arms around her. “Yeah? You want me to fuck you now, sweetness?” “Yes, please, Mommy, fuck me.” You pleaded. “I could never refuse you, baby girl.” Wanda admits, leaning down to kiss you softly, before her hips started to move. She pulled out of you slowly, before she pushed back inside, letting you get used to the feeling of her cock as she filled you up. It was heaven. You felt so good, so tight around her, so desperate for her already. You were perfect. And she wanted to ravage you. She picked up her pace gradually, holding herself up on her arms, so she could look at your pleasured face. With your eyes tightly shut and your lips slightly open, your pretty sounds spilling from them every time she hit that spot you loved, you were absolutely gorgeous. The most beautiful girl in the world and all hers. It was impossible for her to not get lost in you. The more she thrusted her hips, the more she knew that. Burying her face in your neck, leaving sloppy, open-mouthed kisses there, she let herself be overtaken by you. You smell, your taste, the softness of your skin, the wet sounds of your pussy taking her so well, your gorgeous body writhing for her and so responsive to everything she did. Pure heaven. As she moved lower, her head bending down to take one of your nipples into her mouth, she knew she wouldn’t last long. Knew she would cum inside you and fill you up with everything she had. But you were closer. Edged so much and half-way there before she even began, you didn’t stand a chance. You both knew it. As soon as she started to suck on your nipple, you were doomed. “Mommy! Please! Please, can I cum? I can’t stop it…” You cried, trying to warn her, to stop her, but she kept going. She fucked you through your orgasm with a smile, letting you ride it out as it overtook your senses and it was glorious. It felt like it went on and on as she kept thrusting inside you, her soft words of encouragement and praise barely heard. You felt like you were flying and weightless as the pleasurable waves coursed through you, until you couldn’t take anymore. Wanda gave you a few overstimulating thrusts, her own body feeling so close to release and she contemplated continuing on this course, punishing you with another orgasm, while she chased her own, but she decided against it. Pulling away from you was almost impossible and it took all her will, but she pulled out with a shaky hand and she stroked herself in an attempt to relieve the pressure that was building inside her. “On the floor and on your knees.” She demanded, a wave of her hand releasing you from her magical bonds and she watched you stare at her with big, confused eyes for a moment, before you realized what had happened and scurried to obey her. “I couldn’t stop it, Mommy…” You tried to plead your case, but she shushed you quickly, getting up and standing tall above you with her cock in her hands. “No excuses baby.” She silenced you quickly. “Didn’t I tell you there’d be consequences? And you still came before me… Not to mention without my permission.” She stated while she stroked herself suggestively. “Now it’s time to punish you. Open up for me.” She demanded. For a moment, while she stood above you, stroking her cock, still covered with your juices, you wandered what made her think this would be a punishment. You loved having her in your mouth. Her cock, or her pussy, it didn’t matter. You enjoyed it equally and you happily opened your mouth in anticipation, your tongue sticking out while you looked up at her. Looking down, Wanda remembered a passage of your story, a line that captured her from the first moment she read it. “Use me. What am I if not yours? Your plaything, your toy, forever craving you.” God, it was beautiful. “Oh, I love you on your knees. You’re so pretty, sweetheart.” She praised softly, reaching down, cupping your face and her thumb stroking your cheekbone, before she moved it lower, sticking it in your mouth and admiring the way you sucked it. Even more aroused, she didn’t take long to pull it out, replacing it with her cock instead and throwing her head back in pure bliss. “You’re such a good little toy. So good with your mouth.” She gasped as you took her deeper, working half her length in your mouth, before it reached the back of your throat. You tried to use your hand to stroke the rest of her shaft with your hand, wanting to please her as much as you could, but she pushed it away unceremoniously, giving you a warning look. “No, no, dear, no hands. Mommy wants your mouth right now.” She demanded, taking the strands of your hair that had fallen around your face and gathering them in the back of your neck, making a ponytail and using it to guide you. “And look at me when you suck my cock. I want to look in those pretty eyes. I want to see the tears gather there as you struggle to take all of me.” You tried to oblige her, opening up as much as you could and working her length, each time taking a little more. Your eyes stung with tears, just as she had said, your throat constricting and making you gag every time she went deeper, but you couldn’t deny how hot it was, or how much it turned you on to be used like this, your legs squeezing together. “Oh, don’t you dare!” Wanda snarled, taking the strap away from you and bending down, until she was eye level with you. “You keep those legs open.’’ She ordered, satisfied that you scurried to do as you’re told. “I don’t care how much that pussy drips. Let it.” She practically spat, before she rose to her full height again and guided her cock to your mouth. You took it in without protest, your hands clasping behind your back, without being told, all the while Wanda guided you into sucking her off. And she was close. She had been close for a while now and she knew she’ll need just a little bit more, before she would tumble off the edge. “All the way down, baby, you can do it.” She spoke through laboured breaths, putting pressure on the back of your neck. She knew you were trying to do the same, take all of her down your throat and her chest swelled with pride as she helped you, her hips thrusting against you erratically as she chased her high. In a few more thrusts she’d be there, she knew it, her control slipping from her grasp as she reached her edge, her hand holding the back of your neck tightly as she pressed herself against you one last time, before she pulled out completely. Her right hand held you by the hair, keeping you in place, while her left stroked her cock. You opened your mouth, ready to catch every drop of her delicious cum, but she held you tightly by the hair, preventing you from moving, while she shot her load on your chest instead, paining your breasts in streaks of white as she rode out her orgasm, her moans filling the room, along with your soft whines of disappointment. When she calmed down and finally released you from her grasp, she looked down at you, still on your knees, looking up at her with your big, pleading eyes as you contemplated being left without her treat and she couldn’t help but admire you. A sentiment that was short-lived, as you once again gave her a begging look. “Oh, did you think I’ll let you have my cum?” She asked with sweetness that didn’t match her devilish smirk. “It was a punishment after all.” She reminded. You only pouted in response, knowing better than to say something that will only get you in more trouble and she smiled, stepping closer to you once again and taking hold of her strap. She made you open your mouth, sticking out your tongue, just as you were told and she let the tip of her cock-head glide over your tongue, leaving a single drop there. “There you go. That’s all the cum you get to taste tonight.” She smirked, watching you swallow it like a good girl and fixing her with your eyes again. “But… Mommy, please!” You begged so earnestly, so eager to have her it was making Wanda melt, despite the fact that she didn’t like to admit that you could so easily disarm her. She looked down at you, still on your knees, her eyes zeroing in on your pussy - dripping and on display, your legs still spread wide, just as she instructed, despite your obvious need for much more than you had received and she couldn’t help but soften a little. “Hm…” She pretended to think about it, a plan already forming in her mind. “Please, Mommy, I’ll be so good!” You pleaded again, your big eyes imploring her. Fuck, you were so hot like that! She could feel herself get worked up again, getting wet again, just from watching you. “Well… Maybe there is a way for you to earn a reward…” She suggested, starting to get the harness off of her and dropping it next to you on the floor. “Come here, honey.” She sat at the edge of the bed and beckoned you closer. “Do a good job and make Mommy cum and maybe I’ll let you lick me clean.” She told you with a wicked smirk. “Maybe, if I’m satisfied, I’ll even let you have an orgasm of your own…” Before you could say anything, she had pulled your hand towards her dripping opening, guiding you to enter her. She moaned, her eyes closing in delight at the feeling and allowing herself to get lost in it. As you moved in and out of her, her pulsing walls sending a fresh wave of arousal through you and your mouth already watering at the prospect of tasting her, you knew that forgetting your notebook was the best thing that ever happened to you. ____________________________________________________ As always, I’d love to know what you guys think. If you liked this story and you want more, you can find the second part of this fic here: I love taming you, or visit the Masterlist with all my works. Happy reading!

#writing #lesbian #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #Scarlet Witch #top!wanda #bottom!reader #Mommy!Wanda #mommy kink

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orionremastered · 3 months

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Anon here! I just saw that your requests are open for Batfam? If you’re still taking requests can you do a regency era Damian Wayne x reader. If you don’t want to do Damian I wouldn’t mind any of the batboys!

xxx

I am always taking requests (they're for my sanity) except for the next three days because I'm on a plane, busy, or sleeping :/

(for this fic, they are Bruce's biological kids) (not completely historically accurate. like at all. but i tried)

Masterlist

Jason Todd x (probably fem due to the law back then unless you want to dream that being gay was allowed in 1817 (some sources also state that lesbianism was never illegal, but I don't know for sure. Just found it interesting))!Reader

Regency Era AU

The poor man is being swarmed by potential— and in all honesty, very desirable— women and their family members who are desperate to introduce the most suitable option for his wife from their family line. Constantly ignoring beginnings of phrases such as "this is the honourable—" and "perhaps you would like to be introduced to my lovely daughter—", and with each one his jaw ticked.

You hide your smile behind your fan, gazing at him from across the ballroom. It is the marriage season and your childhood friend clearly hated it. But that was expected of him as the second son of Bruce Wayne, Duke of York and member of the royal family. Especially since the duke's eldest, Marquess Richard, had recently married a young woman, Marchioness Barbara.

Locking eyes with the green you have known for so long, you tap the top of your open fan. I wish to talk to you.

With abundant relief, he shoos off one particularly frustrating Earl and almost rushes to be by your side. "Thank you," he says sincerely, a smile stretching his face.

"Why do you not wish to talk to them?" you inquire, Jason's smile dropping subsequently. "They are fine young women, after all."

"They're boring," he sighs, "I do not wish to be married to someone who's personality is dull."

"They're not dull," you chide, and he raises a brow. "They are just taught to be agreeable and respectful, my Lord."

"If I asked them about my theory of a novel I am reading, they would simply say, 'Well if you think so, it must be true' and not..."

"Something like I'd say?"

"Exactly."

You suspect it's a common theme with the Waynes; they're seemingly more inclined to look for a spouse that challenges their opinions and joins them in their love of science— the recently wedded Wayne couple bonded over their love of physics, in fact. A quality like that in a women was usually seen as undesirable.

When you were younger and your father made you visit the Waynes, you learned about sciences that your father would've frowned upon; even the daughters, though there were only two, enjoyed the conversations like you did. With Jason and the youngest son, Damian, you would have lengthy conversations about the novels you were reading altogether; these conversations happened so often that their father was tired of having three copies of every novel he owned.

"I have an idea," Jason says, straightening to his full height beside you— tall enough for you to need to tilt your head up if you wanted to look him in the eyes (you always did— something that beautiful was designed to be looked at). "What if you and I get married?"

"You can't be serious."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

You consider him for a moment— you really do— and see no sign of a lie or joke behind his offer. And now that you think about it, it wouldn't be terrible. It was better than your father marrying you off to some old man you didn't know.

Or weren't attracted to.

"Usually there's a dance or two before the proposal," you point out almost teasingly, "And then courtship. For at least a few months. Don't forget, a man should dance with multiple women before deciding who he wishes to wed—"

"Fine," he sighs, rolling his eyes. Yet a small grin remains on his face. "Would you like to dance, then?"

"Hmm, let me think—"

Jason pointedly fake-yawns while playfully glaring your way.

"I would appreciate a dance, yes." And with that, he leads you to the centre of the ballroom, passing his father who watches the two of you with confusion as you begin to dance.

"Are they—"

"Relax, dear," his wife Selina interrupts while lightly leaning against him, also watching the two of you dance, a smile on both of your faces as you whisper quiet yet teasing words to each other. "Don't tell me you couldn't see it before?"

Her husband's silence answers for him.

#batfamily #batfam #batfamily x reader #jason todd x reader

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saccharineomens · 2 months

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i've been poking at this too long to care how visually appealing it is anymore. My headcanons for the main characters' sexualities, based on canon information! (has no bearing on ships.) Canon speculation below the cut.

marcille (bi): fascinated by romance and loves romance. we only see her show explicit interest in a male (fictional character (General Halleus from the book series she loves)), but i don't think she's fully straight.

falin (aro? ace? lesbian? genderqueer?): falin's only interest in relationships in canon is 'she considered accepting shuro's proposal because she was afraid nobody else would want her, but felt it'd be unfair to him because she had no feelings for him'. i consider whether she's aroace or a lesbian or maybe bi/pan, and she also seems like she might have some genderqueer feelings, based on some of her discomfort with her body and wearing certain types of femme clothing. (Also the fact that she‘s part male dragon.) Since she ends the story going on a journey for herself, it feels like she'll finally get the chance to figure out what she wants.

laios (pan, demi): he hasn't shown explicit interest in men, but similar to marcille, i don't feel he's fully straight. He’s aesthetically attracted to monsters, at the very least, so gender probably doesn’t factor in for him. romance/sex just don’t seem to be much of a high priority to him in general, but he did think his ex-fiance was cute and didn't seem uncomfortable with the idea of marriage (just seemed unhappy with being trapped in his hometown), so i feel like demisexuality fits him well.

About his succubus: He was very noticeably not stopped in his tracks by it like Chilchuck and Marcille, but that could possibly be because it just….looked exactly like Marcille, not an obvious fantasy. He started blushing and stammering heavily when it turned into a monster, which like….this boy is definitely a furry/monsterfucker, if anything, but that doesn’t speak on his attraction to actual humans.

I think it speaks for something that the succubi are able to literally read minds and craft the perfect fantasy for their specific target. And for Laios, it wasn’t just “his friend Marcille”. It was a version of his friend Marcille that wasn’t grossed out by monsters, didn’t think he was weird for wanting to be one, and was able to turn Laios into one. It was a Marcille who understood him at his deepest level that made him become a blushing, stammering mess to rival Chilchuck. Which is why I think he’s Demi, and needs a strong emotional connection with someone before he finds them attractive.

kabru (pan): his special interest is people, and he's bold enough with his sexuality to kiss rin despite not being in a relationship with her. so being pan/bi feels appropriate.

chilchuck (bi): he has a wife, and they were childhood friends, so he's definitely allo. but his comments and behavior towards senshi makes me suspect he might be bi, and just never considered the possibility due to being in a committed relationship.

senshi (gay, ace): this is 90% off of vibes. he keeps to himself in the dungeon and doesn't seem to have any need for social company, he's a complete hermit. Being ace makes sense to me, but so would him just having a low social drive. His succubus was 'a woman he hadn't seen since he was a child', but his journal implies it wasn't a romantic/sexual attraction.

namari (bi/lesbian): she is at the very least attracted to women, given her behavior with kiki, but she does make a point to say that kaka is also attractive to her, and her friends at the bar tease her about Kaka being her “new” boyfriend (implying previous boyfriends).

shuro: the token straight (in love with falin, asked her to marry him). i love you shuro <3 (but i can also see him being into men. there's no evidence to the contrary)

izutsumi: aroace. literally no question. her succubus is her mother.

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cranberryjuice-posts · 3 months

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Busy being yours to fall for somone new

—

GO READ PART ONE NOW‼️‼️‼️‼️

P t 1 here

Pairings - Abby Anderson x fem! Veterinarian reader

AN: I lowkey this reminds me some of Evelyn Hugo’s apology to ciela lmao 😭 (it’s not plagiarized just inspired)

Synopsis- abby can’t live without you (that’s some downbad lesbians shit)

“I don’t have sex with friends”

That’s all that ran through Abby’s mind for the next 4 months.. winter was starting to come to an end, Abby would be lying if she didn’t say she struggled some— that is trying to get over you. The cold bed, the empty apartment when manny was gone, the avoidment in your voice when she talked to you.. everything that she missed loved and more about you, that’s what she struggled to get over.

——

There were the times when you just ignored her -

Abby had walked towards the animal kennels with Alice in tow. The happy dog ran ahead of her and jumped onto your back as you were closing the pasture gates.

You smiled and bent down. “Hey sweetie” you spoke in a baby voice while scratching behind the dogs ear. Abby smiled down at you, she wanted to say something but was to worried about ruining things.

She watched as you stood up and pointed at the clipboard before turning and leaving calling Alice to follow you. Abby rubbed her eyes and sighed, she knew she fucked up but shit did you really have to act like she didn’t even exist.

——

Then the time she was caught by her friends-

“Right and I was thinking what if we watched legally blonde” Nora smiled and held up the CD. The group was currently inside Abby and mannys apartment having yet again another movie night. Yeah Nora and Owen were arguing over which movie but once again abby didn’t care. Hell she didn’t even realize when the group went quiet.

“Abs..” Nora spoke and put a hand on her knee.

“Huh?” She snapped back into the conversation.

“Legally blonde or The hot chick” Nora raised an eyebrow guestering her head towards the tv.

Manny shook his head and leaned into the conversation. “She upset over her breakup” a shared look of confused passed over the group.

“The hell Are You Talking About” Owen asked.

“Manny there is no break up—“ she started but was ultimately innerupted.

“We all could tell Abby” Mel looked over. “What ever was between you and Y/n sure as hell wasnt platonic I mean every-time we saw you two it was like we caught you two about to devour one another” Nora agreed along side manny but Owen remained confused and fustrated as he didn’t understand what they were talking about.

“Also it’s pretty weird that you and her haven’t actually hung out together along like before and rarely in together in the group since you laughed at Mona saying you two were together”

Abby groaned and covered her face with her hand. “Was it that obvious”

Mel shook her head. “Not really, I mean we noticed because were your friends but everyone else wouldn’t of suspected”

She remained quiet and sighed before dragging her hand down her face, her eyes becoming glassy something not common for the solider.

“Let’s Just Watch whatever dumbass movie Owen chose” she wiped her eyes and put her guard up once again.

——

Then lastly.. the time she dreamed about you-

Abby laid in her bed silently dreaming, the only noise being the grinding of her teeth. In her dream you were sitting in her waist.

“Abs what are you doing” you smiled as Abby started to let her hands go under your shirt and press against your stomach.

“Nothin~” she cooed and continued to tease you. Abby looked up at you with that same look she always gave that you knew you couldn’t resist.

“Stop looking at me like that” you laughed, you wore one of Abby’s shirts that while tight on her large on you. You playfully grabbed her chin and tilted your head.

“I have no idea what your talking about” Abby teased and let her hands wander before resting them on your hips. You leaned forward as if to kiss her but the kiss never met before Abby woke up in a cold sweat.

She felt some tears run down her face when she laid back and closed her eyes in defeat. Abby opened her eyes and looked up at the cieling. She reached over and touched the spot on the small mattress you had claimed as your own trying to find some sort of comfort but it was hopeless.

She knew she had no other choice than to go running back to you.

—

At the same time you laid in your empty bed you were messing with a dog tag necklace Abby had given you, the tag had her solider ID in the WLF engraved onto it. You chuckled remembering the time you had tried to give it back but Abby made you keep it since she had another.. you closed your eyes wanting to forget while trying so hard to not cry. You were the one who broke each-other up so Why the hell were you so hurt.

You knew you weren’t over her, I mean you were wearing her shirt as a nightgown still. Deep in thought, it was soon innerupted with a hard nock at your door. You raised an eyebrow at who would be here at 2am.

The door opened and you saw Abby standing in all her glory. Hair down, sweatpants and her sports bra with her muscles on full display.. a combo that use to and still does make you go weak.

“What” You yawned trying to act un-phased seeing her.

“Please can we talk—“

“Go back to your place Abigail” You stopped her and gave her a dirty look. You tried to shut your door but once again abby stopped you, you swore you hated and loved how strong she was. She walked in the apartment and closed the door.

Abby grabbed your arms and got down on her knees. Your eyes widened and you looked around embarrassed. “I. Love. You.” She sternly spoke. “Please.. let me love you right this time like I know I can” she begged and pressed your hands to her forehead. You were quiet. “I don’t care what anyone else has to say.. I don’t give a shit if the entire WLF hates me just as long as you are with me”

“You Need to go Abby I’m serious” you tried to pull your hands away. But Abby persisted she looked up.

“I know I know but please—“

“It’s late.. I’m tired.. it’s 2am and I really don’t wanna deal with your bullshit”

You turned your face away trying to show some kind of strength, You pulled your hands away and stepped back looking down waiting for Abby to leave.

She didn’t leave however.. Abby stood up and walked to you cupping your face, she rested her head against yours and after some silence she spoke. “I will never stop loving you..” that was all she said before leaving the apartment.

A week passed-

You found yourself hanging out at a watering hole in a QZ near by. Some soliders had decided to have a bond-fire, you of-course managed to be dragged by your friends.

You had your hair pulled back and you wore a simple black bikini. You knew you were hot and you also knew there were a few men’s eyes on you.

You had also seen Abby slightly, her gaze transfixed onto you. Part of you wanted to go up to her but the other part told you not to, starting shit up with her would only end up in you hurt again.

—

You walked out the water with Leah following you. You laughed with the girl enjoying spending time with your friend when you felt a harsh smack on your ass.

“Hey there cutie” John a cocky solider stood behind you grinning sadisticly. You cringed at seeing him.

“What the fuck dude” Leah scoffed and tried to move you towards her but John grabbed your arm and pulled you into him.

“John let me go” you complained trying to push him away.

“Nah sweetheart I’m happy with you right here” he grinned and leaned his head down. You tilted your head back still uncomfortable.

“We got a problem” Abby stood at The shore with her strong arms crossed. You admired her simple yet attractive outfit of a black wife beater and dark green cargo pants.

“Nah Anderson we’re just fine you can go” John spoke defensively, still holding onto you right. A few people started to crowd around wondering what would happen.

“Oh yeah?” Abby spoke sarcastically walking more towards the water til she was closer to John and you. “Cause it fucking seems your forcing my girlfriend to feel your hard on”

John rolled his eyes. “You’ve gotta be kidding” he grinned but his smile fell and his grip on you tightened. “Are you talking about that dumbass rumor Mona said some months back about you two fucking around- that was true” he scoffed.. You pushed him away and stumbled back into Abby.

She protectively wrapped an arm around your waist. “Yeah is that an issue” she started her stance getting more aggravated.

“I mean shit Abby.. i knew you looked like a fag but never expected you to actually be one” he scoffed with a sarcastic smile. “Besides we both know all Y/n needs is a man.. and I mean a real man not sone woman who thinks she tough just because she’s got some muscles”

“Really? Why don’t you come over here then and i can show you how much of a man I really am” Abby’s stance got more defensive all while her tone remained eerily calm. Some guys grabbed john and yelled at him pulling him away from Abby, they were stupid but not stupid enough to not know that someone would get hurt and it certainly wouldn’t be the woman they described as an ox.

Once they and the crowd that started to build left Abby grabbed your face- her entire demeanor changed. “Are You ok.. what else did he do did he—“

“No no” you shook your head and started to softly breath once again. You gently placed your hands ontop of hers which still had your face in her grasp and looked up at her. “Girlfriend?” You asked with a confused chuckle. “I thought.. I thought you didn’t want anyone else to know about you being…”

Abby blushed and nodded. “Y/n i told you i don’t care what anyone else thinks anymore, I want to love you proudly and openly.. I wasn’t lying that night i showed up to your place, I would give up everything for you” you pondered for a moment still deciding what to do before grabbing her face and kissing her softly yet passionately pouring all your emotion into it.

“I actually hate you” you chuckled and smiled at her gently while she grabbed your hips.

“Yeah I know” she grinned and kissed your forehead with a sigh of relief, You two were gonna be ok.. and you knew that, deep down you always knew that

Hope you enjoyed thank you for all the love on pt 1 😭💗💗💗💗

@4rt3m1ss @redwlf843 @macaroni676 @azxulaa

#Spotify #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson #abby tlou #abby the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #tlou #lesbian #wlw #fantiction

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dogiperson · 14 days

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Hello! Big fan of your art pieces. Read your latest comic about the origin of cannibal Lady Lamb and I must say, though I do not endorse literal cannibalism, much less of one's kin, that brother of hers fully deserved it, 100%. Though I do have questions as well, if you don't mind me asking.

In that comic, Lamb seemed to have been a sacrifice of a cult of some kind, which is why she got that scarring mark on her neck. When did that happen when she was a kid, and how come she didn't die at their hands? How did she escape? Was it kept hush hush?

What is Lamb's public front of business, and why the surprise when she started wearing black instead of white?

Did the police ever managed to trace the brother's death to her? What got her hunting down the rest of her siblings? Did she get her parents too, or did they die before it happened? Why did her brother got so ... interested in her like that?

May your month be kinder to you than it was before, drink plenty of water, and rest plenty.

Oh, hi! That's a lot of questions!

This is good, because I'm crazy about my AUs!

I condemn cannibalism, what is in my Au is not a call to action or some kind of fetish, it is an allegory and an interesting concept for me.

"Eat the rich" but literally. It's all just fiction, don't take it too seriously

Okay, let's move on to the questions!

How did she not die after the sacrifice? Oh, um, she kinda did... But the ritual was successful.

And because of this she was bought by the man who became her adoptive father

He collected such children out of interest, that's why there are 13 of them

Everyone was surprised that she came in black dress because that's the color you wear to funerals lol

Her brother disappeared without any reason why he could leave on his own, she was the last one to see him and she who used to wear only white now comes dressed in black. And of course with fur on her shoulders. It looks very strange you know...

Since then she hasn't worn anything other than black btw

What got her hunting down the rest of her siblings?

After her father died (old rich bitch) his will stated that his property would only transfer if there was only one child left in the family... So let the fun begin, since they are not exactly siblings, and even didnt growing up together they had no familial relationship, just a bunch of lambs who want each other dead. They all tried to kill each other.

Did the police ever managed to trace the brother's death to her?

Of course! it's obvious I mean

Lamb is the main and only suspect in the murder... The problem is that until death is proven, her brother is considered missing and not dead, so... Because there is no body, there is no murder.

Why did her brother got so ... interested in her like that?

Want some nasty details? He was married and Lamb wasn't even 18 and she's a lesbian.

That's all! Thank you very much for being interested in my Au, I hope I was able to answer all your questions thoroughly!

#narilamb yuri

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tofuxtea · 26 days

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𝟏:𝟏𝟗 𝐚𝐦 | 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — jack delroy x fem!reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — nsfw, p in v sex, reader helps jack ‘relax’, slight coercion/convincing, unprotected sex, on a counter/table ? LMAO, rough sex lowk, cant think of any other tags, except its not proofread!

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 — this takes place right before the halloween special lol, def might be ooc jack but idgaf!! this took me two days to write i lowkey forgot how to write smut ?? discovered i was a lesbian and forgot how het sex worked my bad yall! anyways enjoy cuz i have yet to see a fic about this man.

the studio was buzzing with excitement when you arrived. crew members blew by you from every direction, barking orders and carrying pieces of halloween decorations that would be strewn around the night owls’ set within the next hour. tonight was the halloween special that was expected to bring jack’s show to the top, and he’d said he wanted you there to see it.

you’d only been there a couple of times — jack advising against you visiting him too often in case people started suspecting things about your relationship.

it was his first since madeleine had passed a year ago, and he wasn’t quite ready to go public yet. especially if it meant it would hurt any chances of the show not beating johnny carson’s tonight show.

afterwards would be your time, he promised you.

you hugged your coat closer to your body as you tried to navigate the set yourself, skimming over the panels beside every door until a familiar face came into view. you sighed, instinctively grinning when you spotted leo fiske, the show’s producer.

his stress-lined face shifted the moment he saw you, greeting you with a kiss on the cheek and a brief hug. “how are ya, sweetheart?”

behind his sunglasses, he looked you up and down and hummed softly. you flashed him a tight grin and pulled your coat shut. he was charming, sure, but sometimes he was more direct than you liked. something told you that he knew about you and jack, and probably threatened the latter with it, but if he did he hid it well.

“i’m alright,” you kept the atmosphere light with a laugh, “where’s jack?”

the mention of his name made the man roll his eyes and scoff. “jackass has been locked up in his dressing room for the past half hour.” you pouted, realizing how much pressure he must be feeling. “end of the hallway to the right. i’ll slide you a fifty if you can untwist his panties, alright?” leo joked, gently patting your shoulder before brushing past you. you watched him go for a second, watching him beckon a female crew member over for something.

you hurried down the hallway to the door leo had directed you to, relieved when you saw jack’s name next to the door. knocking gently, you waited for him to call you in. “jack?” you called out when he didn’t reply.

boldly, you cracked open the door and stuck your head inside, finding jack sitting at his makeup vanity while an artist stood poised at his side, patting powder onto his forehead.

she startled when she heard your entrance, and flashed you a curt smile before returning to jack. he noticed you only when the woman had paused for too long and gestured you inside.

“give us a moment, will you?” he murmured to the makeup artist, who nodded and left the room.

you waited until the door was shut and her footsteps had gone quiet before sliding your arms around jack’s shoulders from behind. “how’re things going?” you asked with a coy grin, pecking him on the cheek.

he groaned when he saw a faint mark from your lipstick and realized he’d have to get another touch up later. “as great as they could be.” he replied rather bitterly, making your smile falter slightly. you gave him a curious look in the mirror, and that was his breaking point. his head lulled into his palm, paying no mind to how his fingers ruffled his gelled hair. “i swear to god, fiske thinks i can’t fuckin’ do it. he doesn’t think i can pull it off tonight.”

you hovered beside him for a second, unsure of how to console him. “what do you mean? tonight’s been all the talk for a week now, it’s gonna do great, baby.” you tried to reassure him, gently shaking him by his shoulders in his seat.

this seemed to ease his nerves just a little and he sighed, sliding a hand up to grab your hand. he found your eyes in the mirror and smiled for the first time that night, then looked down at your outfit.

you’d picked his favorite red dress, pairing it with the little devil-horn headband tucked away in your purse. it was shorter than you liked it to be, often having to tug the glittery fabric back down the curve of your hips, but jack loved when you wore it. tonight was a special occasion, so you figured he’d appreciate it.

“i just don’t know what i’m gonna do. what if he’s right?” jack continued to ramble. “you know, he keeps tellin’ me christou’s gig isn’t gonna gain enough traction to get us up. gus was tellin’ me that he’s called an act in last minute and he hasn’t run it by me yet — i swear to god, if it’s that jackass carmichael—” he huffed and stopped when he realized he was getting too worked up.

he hadn’t realized you had peeled yourself off of him and was tossing your coat onto the couch beside him. “hand me a smoke, won’t ya sweetheart?” he pointed loosely to your purse, knowing you were carrying some.

you two smoked the same brand, so he often stole yours. you didn’t mind.

you handed him a cigarette and he leaned in for a light. he sunk back into his chair as he blew out a puff of smoke, the tension steadily chipping away.

“baby, you need to relax, alright?” you cooed softly, stealing a quick drag of his cigarette. “you’re gonna do great. you always do.” your lithe fingers gently rubbed at his shoulders, smiling as his eyes fluttered shut and he melted under your hands.

“c’mere.” he grabbed your wrist and tugged you around his chair, steadying you with his hands on your hips before him. his eyes raked down your body and he sucked in a sharp breath. “relax, huh?” jack’s voice was low now, deeper. it made your breath hitch in your throat.

“jack, i…” your eyes flickered over to the unlocked door and you took a step back. your ass bumped into the edge of his vanity. a startled cry escaped you. “you’re on soon.” you whispered with an uneasy grin. although, he wasn’t live for another hour or so.

as much as your stomach fluttered at the look in his eyes, you feared the embarrassment if someone were to walk in on you two. especially if you weren’t public yet.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” jack groaned, chasing you out of his seat. his hands caged you in against the vanity, one reaching out to smash his cigarette out into the ashtray beside you, and his body pushed against yours. he practically forced you on top of the counter, a few bottles and trinkets toppling over in your little scramble. jack took the chance to nudge his knee in between your legs, humming with satisfaction at the small whine you tried and failed to keep inside.

you ducked your head shyly, but he moved with you, coaxing you into looking up. when he had you, he could tell there was no going back. your lips parted as you glanced down at his.

“that’s it.” he whispered with a gentle smirk before he kissed you. you sighed into it, feeling his urgency as his tongue slipped past your teeth. your fingers wrapped tightly around his biceps, your legs threatening to give out underneath you.

they instinctively parted when you felt the tip of jack’s finger trail up the top of your thigh. your skin dimpled with goosebumps and you shivered. he had such a feathery touch until he reached the hem of your dress, stealing a quick glance at how it bunched up at the fat of your hips and revealed your red panties.

then his hand dipped in between your thighs, his fingers prodding at your clothed cunt. you whined, a little too loudly, and jack flashed you a warning look.

“can you be quiet for me, sweetheart?” he whispered. you hardly had the mind to nod, let alone comprehend what he was saying. your mind was fucking spinning trying to get a grip, and it didn’t help that jack’s middle finger was lazily circling your clit over your panties. “what’s that?” he taunted, chin lowering with expectancy.

“mhm, yes, yes i can,” you eagerly nodded, words stringing together in a barely coherent murmur.

“good girl.” jack groaned. he slipped his hand into the waistband of your panties, a smirk dancing on his lips when he felt how wet you were. “you wanted this, huh?”

you hadn’t entirely realized that he was talking to you, too busy working your hips against his heavy fingers. your body felt like it was on fire. you desperately pleaded for him to hurry up, for both of your sakes.

he looked down at your clumsy fingers as they tried to unbuckle his belt, but it was like it was welded around his waist. frenzied whimpers filled the room until jack finally helped you, almost taking pity on your incoherency. while he worked at the zipper on his trousers, you quickly slid your panties down your hips and around at least one foot. the thin lace dangled from the toe of your heel when jack captured you in another fervent kiss.

you feel the tip of his cock catch just below your clit and your breath caught in your throat. one of his hands slid to the small of your back, pulling you to the very edge of the counter. your legs widened for him, waiting.

he granted you relief, easing himself into your tight cunt. he groaned into your neck, stilling so he didn’t cum on the spot. “god, you’re so fuckin’ tight.” his voice shook.

he went until his hips were flush with yours, watching how your face contorted with pure ecstasy. your lips parted in a high cry and your eyes squeezed shut, and your head lulled back. jack stole the opportunity to latch onto your neck, adorning your skin with kisses and licks. you pulled him closer with your arms around his neck.

“shit, jack,” your fingers raked through his hair, neither of you caring about how pissed hair and makeup were going to be with him. long, dark strands fell over his forehead and tickled your skin. “jack.”

he loved how his name sounded in your mouth. how he always managed to get you like this, though for some reason it was quicker than usual that your face flushed and your eyelids drooped with arousal. it stirs something deep in his stomach and he slams into you, setting an unrelenting pace. he didn’t care that it rocked the vanity mirror back into the wall with a hollow thud.

your thighs hug his waist and your ankles meet behind him, silently pleading for more. “greedy little girl, aren’t you?” he whispers with half a grin. he draws a strained cry from you with each deep thrust, your cunt clenching in fluttering pulses around him.

“fuck,” he hissed, knowing he wasn’t going to last much longer. he knows you wouldn’t either. your cries were growing louder and louder and more frequent. the mirror kept tapping against the wall and things kept rolling off of the counter and onto the floor. tears gathered in your eyes, painting your eyelashes each time your eyes squeezed shut. though each time you did, jack would remind you to look at him. he gently shushed you at first, then used his mouth when you weren’t listening.

your back arched into his chest as you came with a cry of his name, jack murmuring into your ear, “good girl, that’s it.” your body seemed to melt in his arms, going near slack as you came down from the high he was fucking you through.

it was only a few more thrusts until he came, barely managing to pull out before painting the insides of your thighs. he knew you would be pissed that it got on your dress once you realized, but he didn’t care.

after a minute of blissful silence, jack checked his watch. “shit, fiske’s probably lookin’ for me.” he rolled his eyes as he buckled his belt, praying to god that his beige pants were relatively stain-free.

if push came to shove, he’d tell him that he spilled his drink in his lap. he gave you room to get to your feet, watching with quiet pride as your knees wobbled pretty noticeably.

you tugged your dress down your hips, absently searching for a tissue box. a smile crossed your lips when you looked up and you lifted yourself onto your tip-toes to press a kiss to his lips.

“knock ‘em dead, baby.”

lowkey surrounded this smut based on the “secret relationship” trope and the last line. lowkey ass and rushed but enjoy!

#late night with the devil jack delroy #late night with jack delroy #late night with the devil #lnwtd #david dastmalchian #jack delroy smut #jack delroy #smut #horror smut #horror

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sparkles-and-trash · 6 days

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dabi & shouto bonding + dabihawks, fluff

It's almost noon when Touya comes shuffling into the living room he shared with his boyfriend, PJ pants hanging low on his hips, no shirt in sight.

"Well, good mo-, no wait, good midday to me, handsome," Keigo quipped with a grin and Touya rolled his eyes.

Yeah, yeah, I'm a lazy bum, I know I know," Touya replied with a yawn and a stretch.

"We can't all just call home office and lunge around in sweats all day and call it work, yanno," he added and Keigo laughed.

"So staying up until 3 am gaming with Spinner and Tenko counts as work, now?" the hero asked with a sly smirk, and Touya sighed.

"I need a shirt for this conversation, and either their all in the wash or you stole some again, and I think we all know which one is true."

Keigo raised his eyebrows at that.

"I haven't taken any more than you've given me, I swear!" he said with hands raised in surrender, and Touya sighed dramatically.

"Well, what am I supposed to wear then?"

Listen, Touya loves Keigo.

Everything about him, actually.

Except for the fact that, ever since the war ended and the hero was allowed to develop his own style, that style turned out to be a mix between cottage core lesbian and confused grandpa.

Actually Touya didn't mind it when the clothes were on Keigo, he actually kinda loved it.

But while Keigo looked ridiculously hot in Touya's band shirts and big hoodies, Touya didn't quite have that same luxury.

So, there he sat, in a crowded coffee shop, a busy afternoon, out in public, with his white hair, scarred skin, piercings, tattoos, ripped black skinny jeans and... a very eclectically colored cardigan Touya suspected Keigo had dug out of a thrift store that should have been closed decades ago.

Yeah, fuck his life.

Just as the former villain pulled the bucket hat he had also borrowed from his boyfriend further down on his head in a vain attempt to hide he noticed the person he was here to meet come in trough the door.

"Shouto," Touya said out loud, raiding his hand to grab his brothers attention.

His dork of a younger brother smiled, as brightly as he ever did, and moved over to Touya quickly.

"Nii-san!" The young hero greeted and Touya huffed.

"Yeah yeah, sit down ya dork, I ordered you your..."

Touya's voice trailed off as Shouto took off his jacket.

"Todoroki Shouto, are you wearing my fucking shirt?!"

Shouto looked up at him with a hint of surprise on his face as he looked down on himself , before he nodded.

"Yes, it appears that I am," he said simply before happily taking a sip of his bubble tea.

Touya just stared at him.

"Why?" he finally asked as Shouto didn't elaborate.

Shouto took his time enjoying his tea before he answered.

"It's like a hand-over, it's normal for brothers to do, you know?" he replied with a shrug.

Touya blinked a few times trying to catch up.

"A hand... over?" he finally asked, trying his best to wrap his head around this.

He decided this was a bucket hat off situation, and just as he placed the hat down, Shouto picked ip back up and put in on his head.

"Like this, see?" the young hero said as if that answered all the questions.

Touya just stared back and Shouto sighed.

"Iida said he used to get his older brothers stuff all the time, Nii-san, I really think you're making too much out of this."

Oh.

Oh, god.

This poor, clueless, sweet bastard.

"You're talking about hand-me-downs, aren't you?" Touya finally asked, and Shouto nodded.

"Yes, that was the phrase."

Touya bit his lip, trying to figure out how to go about this without being too mean.

Look at him, all reformed and shit.

"Look Sho, I get that we have a lot of catching up to do, but if you want my stuff as hand-me-downs or whatever it'd be great if you asked first, okay?" Touya explained.

Shouto hummed.

"I must have misunderstood the tradition then, I apologize."

Touya huffed.

"It's okay, kid," he said with a small smile, and Shouto smiled back, before his gaze fell to the cardigan Touya was wearing and his brown furrowed.

"You can keep that one, though," Shouto said seriously, and Touya couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"Yeah, I don't judge ya there, kid," he replied with a grin.

Before they parted ways a few hours later Touya quickly snapped a picture of Shouto in the bucket hat to send to Keigo with a warning that he'd probably never seen that hat again.

It was handed down now, after all.

#dabihawks #dabi #shouto todoroki #todosibs #todoroki siblings #todofam #hawks #keigo takami #touya todoroki #touya and shouto #shouto and touya #todoroki family #todoroki sibs #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha

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steviewashere · 5 months

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Let Me Make You Soup, Let Me Show You That I Care

(also on ao3)

wc: 4,149, Steddie Tags: Post Vecna, Post Canon, Post Season 4, Sick Steve Harrington, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Vomiting (Though Not Extreme, For I am Emetophobic), Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Steve's Sucky ass Parents

(Also, I hope y'all don't mind me cross-posting some of my favorite one shots that I've put up on ao3. Figured I could push them to a bigger audience, especially those who don't use ao3).

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Steve gets sick often. Small colds, allergies, the dreaded flu. Maybe it doesn't help him that he's had so many concussions and injuries on top of that too. Left with debilitating migraines and aching sides and muscles that become overexerted too fast.

Safe to say, his immune system is now a pile of steaming dog shit.

He's become good at attempting to "take care" of himself. With his parents being absent nearly all the time, much of the recovery process and gentle care was left to Steve. His hands don't have the same soft and slim quality as his mother's did, though. Even if she doesn't make the effort to shove his hair from his sweaty forehead or massage vapor-rub onto his chest or squeeze his shoulders as he dry-heaves into the toilet. He can miss that.

It's also safe to say that Steve Harrington, best babysitter and lesbian protector, is absolutely terrible at asking for help. His idea is, Got myself into this mess, I can get myself out. His other idea is, I don't want to burden anybody; I've been that too many times.

He suspects that's why his parents aren't there now to tuck him into bed and check his temperature and read him a bedtime story. Even though, now, he's a nineteen year old "man." More like a bruised child trapped inside the buff body of an even more injured adult, left to his own devices and decisions.

Steve is miserable today. Woke up with a knocking headache, an itch at the bottom of his throat, tingly fingers, shivering limbs, and the need to massage his abdomen to elicit the vomit to come up sooner.

It's barely nine in the morning. Just cracked his eyes open. Which, are heavy with crust and too much sleep, yet not enough.

It's barely nine in the morning and all Steve wants to do is lay stiff on his mattress, a trusty tried and true trashcan on the floor, curtains closed, a heavy duvet draped over his legs, and the A/C set to sixty-eight degrees. That's what he does. Doesn't have the appetite for breakfast or water or Tylenol. He doesn't have the energy to lay on a towel on the bathroom floor, body curled around the base of the toilet bowl. And, he doesn't have the confidence to plead with somebody over the phone to "Take care of me, just this once and I'll repay you."

He's done that before to Tommy. The bastard never showed and Steve sobbed so hard at the thought of being left alone, that he hurled right onto the beige carpet of his bedroom. That's why the desk is stuffed into the corner. To cover what he couldn't even take care of.

Steve has decided to lay in bed today. Has already used the trashcan. Kicked off the duvet then whined then brought it back to his sweat drenched t-shirt hem, then said fuck this and ripped the shirt off his body.

The silk sheets against his rapidly heating body feels nice. Like laying on the kitchen floor, Steve surmises. And that makes him think of soup.

A hot bowl of chicken noodle soup. Something he's made himself countless times before. A recipe that his mom never perfected. It's just Campbell's, the instructions are on the label, yet it was never made correctly.

She'd do that. When her motherly instincts were at an all-time high. That had to be when he was probably five? Six? His mom would make a bowl of soup so warm and soothing that she would have to warn him about touching the ceramic. She would bring him a glass of orange juice and say, ever soft and comforting, "It'll help you. Mommy promises."

The juice would sting his throat and he would cough so hard she would start to worry about doing the Heimlich maneuver.

That's what his mother's "sick care" turned into. A glass of orange juice that only hurt, never helped, just made him think about swallowing glass.

Soup turned into a heat-until-lukewarm situation. Juice wasn't bought for him. His parents elected to buy "fancy juice" instead. Another descriptor for Mommy's self-healing alcohol problem, Steve began to substitute. He remembers the last time she ever made him anything or gave a shit about his weakened body.

Steve was eleven years old.

He eventually learned where to buy the Campbell's stuff. From Mevald's. Now he keeps a hefty supply in the back of his family's pantry. Ready for a day like this.

A day where at eleven, before noon, Steve has a sudden mouth watering appetite for measly chicken noodle soup.

He hefts his body into an upright position, feet planted onto the carpet, fingers white-knuckling the edge of the mattress, a quick glance thrown at the trashcan, and a heavy breath burrowed into the stale air. Right before he scoots to stand, he hears the telltale sound of Eddie knocking on his front door. A simple three pattern.

The rapping startles Steve slightly. He forgot that Eddie was supposed to come over. I'll have to send him away, he thinks solemnly.

"Coming!" Steve croaks to the bathroom floor. With whatever strength the knocking has given him, he tucks the trashcan under his right arm, creeps to the top of the stairs, and ever so carefully floats down them.

The can is set off to the side before he opens the door.

In the glow of the daylight, energized and cheery, is Eddie Munson. Wrapped in a leather jacket, hair tied up into a bun, jeans replaced with jorts, and a grin the size of the moon.

"Hey Stevie," he drawls as his lithe frame leans against the doorjamb.

"Hey man, listen..." Steve begins before being interrupted.

"Whoa, what's going on with you?" Eddie shoves into the house. His grin is set into a small frown and his eyes are glazed with concern instead of the excited energy equal to a golden retriever. "Did you get enough sleep last night? You could've called me if you had a nightmare."

That's something him and Eddie do. When one has a god awful nightmare about floating bodies and squelching flesh and sterile hospital walls, they call each other. Sometimes to just hear that the other is alive. Other times for a trip to one another's house. The phone calls could be Eddie recapping a campaign storyline or Steve bemoaning over a wretched, hag of an old woman that demanded a refund on an R rated movie her grandson finagled her into renting. Or just breathing. Steve's fond of the soft puffs of air that signal Eddie finally relaxed enough to go back to sleep.

"No, weirdly enough I slept way longer than I was supposed to. I'm just sick today. But, I'm fine. Or at least I will be, got a good grasp on this. Y'know, trashcan, soft bed, canned soup. Was actually coming down here to send you back home," Steve rushes out. He's out of breath and feels lightheaded. The headache has turned into a pulsating mess and his stomach churns violently. Before he can warn Eddie again to go out the front door and leave him be, Steve finds himself hunched over his trashcan at the bottom of the stairs, trembling with the force of his grip. One hand on the edge of said bin. The other, wrapping tendrils of hair around his fingers and pulling with enough force to surely rip out some of his luxurious hair. Which, really, is a sweaty disgusting mop today.

He feels the hand in his hair loosen. A smaller, slightly cold hand replacing it. But this time, the fingers work carefully to sweep back any loose strands. Another hand joins the mix. This one squeezes at his right shoulder.

Eddie is behind him, whispering and shushing, "You're alright. I got you, let it out." His cold skin feels amazing over Steve's damp forehead. And equally, his touches are soothing.

Steve coughs once, twice, spits the same amount, and then leans against Eddie with a heavy sigh. "Thanks," he mutters. He shutters at being oddly exposed. Now that he's realized his torso is bare and he probably looks as awful as he feels and now all of his guts are in a bin in front of him.

The bin gets shoved over to the left and Steve starts to get up from the hardwood floor. Eddie lifts him up and leans him against his side. "How about this? I'll make you something mild, get some water into you, and divvy up a couple Tylenol tablets. Your skin is hot and not in the sexy way," he chuckles.

They make their way to the living room. Steve is deposited onto the couch with a cushion shoved behind his back and the can placed appropriately at his feet, within arm's reach. Eddie adjusts his hair again, this time with the tie from his own hair, and leaves to the kitchen.

Steve is dazed. Hot all over. Itchy in some places. Runny nose, aching stomach, watering eyes, and throat so itchy he wants to dig his fingernails into the skin on his neck. This predicament almost makes him embarrassed, more ashamed than anything. He gets his ass handed to him annually and has to have people take care of him during the concussions, until he's given the okay to go home and grovel in silence. And he puts himself in situations he can't get himself out of. He's tired of it, he realizes. Feels the need to apologize to Eddie, make him cookies or something, promise to never make him do anything like this ever again.

When said man comes back into the room with three extra-strength Tylenol in his palm and a cold glass of tap water, Steve wants to cry. It's not until Eddie is setting everything down to pet at his hair and shush him again doe he notice, he is crying.

"Sorry," Steve's voice rasps. He takes a gasping breath before choking out another nasty, wet sob.

"Nothing to be sorry for. It's what your body has to do," Eddie coos.

"No, I'm sorry you have to take care of me," he breathes. That's tally number two for decisions Steve is making today. Some miserable, lonely, somewhat pathetic decisions.

Then, Eddie pulls back. His eyes are the size of saucers. And that small frown from earlier has turned into a deep-set, terribly worrying downturn. "You don't have to apologize for that. Not at all. You need help, I'm here for you. It's what we do, okay?" he murmurs. Steve cries some more at that. Choking on his tears, practically. Enough for Eddie to say, "Hey, breathe with me. I don't want you to make yourself sick again."

So they sit for a few minutes. Breathing. Steve keeps his eyes on Eddie's mouth, watching him count. And Eddie stares at his eyes. Trying to piece together all the little details about this version of Steve. The one not picking fights and towering over unlucky underclassmen and spitting venom instead of backing away when he's supposed to. This Steve that looks like a small, terrified, lonely little boy. Who feels the need to apologize for being a human being. Somebody that makes sure everybody is better off and happy and swooned over before taking an assessment of his own body, the injuries stitched into his side, and the possibility that someone also wants to make sure he's doing alright.

God, who is Steve Harrington, Eddie questions to himself.

Once the tears have subsided and breathing has been placed under control, Steve feels exhausted. Eddie seems to notice because he suggests, "Why don't you lay down for a while? Maybe snooze some while I make soup?"

Steve nods with slight hesitancy. "Can I—" he stutters, "Can I lay down in my room?" To Eddie, this is the quietest he's ever heard his friend. And that doesn't sit right with him. A man—bulky and toned, loud and sassy, bark with no bite—now sitting with his shoulders slumped, skin blotched in various shades of pink and red, breathing ragged, and looking at Eddie with terribly timid eyes. He's just a little boy, some part of Eddie whispers.

"Yeah man. 'Course you can. How 'bout you get yourself to bed, I'll follow behind with your can, give you your medicine, and leave the door open just in case you need something?" The nod Eddie gets back is so energetic, it's as if Steve wasn't sick to begin with. That part of him that's been whispering and wondering is now aching. All he wanted was to be looked after.

Where are your parents, Eddie wants to ask aloud. Who was here to take care of you, Eddie wants to dig.

In mere moments, Steve is tucked back into bed. The curtains are drawn to be almost completely closed. His door is left unlocked and gaping. There are soft snuffles drifting through the house. And Eddie finds himself in front of the Harrington's fancy electric stove.

Before he came back downstairs to cook, Steve whispered something about there being Campbell's in the pantry. "If you want to heat it up on the stove, that's what my mama did when I was really little. It's what I do now."

Eddie glances at the cans and makes a decision for Steve, He deserves better than a piss poor attempt. Homemade it is.

When he was little, Wayne used to make soup on sick days. Still does. During the recovery time when Eddie's sides were still sore with stitches and itchy with stretch, Wayne would bring him a bowl of soup and a tall glass of orange juice on a little tray. He makes a mean bowl of tomato. "Something my mamaw taught me and now I can show you," he had told Eddie.

As much of a bare wasteland as Steve's kitchen is—What does he eat, Eddie wonders—he manages to find all the ingredients necessary. After a couple cupboards are ripped open and some miscellaneous drawers sifted through, he finds himself stirring a simmering metal pot of something he hopes Steve can keep down.

Eddie wants to chastise Steve for even thinking about being sick alone. What a misery sentence. Was probably going to call Robin and say something about, "You don't need to worry. It's not bad. I'll just be out of work for a couple days." Then he would've trekked back upstairs, slow like molasses, and locked the door behind him. Would've laid in bed shivering and crying and barfing. Probably would have passed out by the time he was finally hungry.

Steve even apologized earlier for being taken care of. As if he was a burden. Made himself smaller and tighter and quieter, that's for sure. So Eddie won't do any form of chastising. That'd only make him disappear on himself more.

As the soup is being dished up with plain toast and a cup is being filled with pulpy orange juice, Eddie hears Steve startle awake upstairs. Goes from snoring almost as loud as Wayne in the winter to dry heaving, hard.

Eddie sets the made tray down onto the counter. He makes his way back to the front door and chucks his shoes to the side and hangs up his jacket. Then, tumbles upstairs just as Steve is breathing raspy again.

One. Two. Three knocks on the open bedroom door. And in the blink of an eye, Eddie is over at Steve's side. He's crying again. Nothing like the nauseous sobs from earlier, but sniffles and silent watery blinks.

Steve's hair is pushed back again. "What's goin' on Stevie? What happened?"

"N-nothing," he spits frantically into the air. Like a kid trying to hide a lollipop behind their back. A teenager caught with a lit cigarette in hand. The family dog with a sneaker in it's mouth being told to drop it.

"Okay. Okay, I won't push. But I brought you some soup and orange juice. It's not the best because there's so much pulp in it, but it'll do for now. Oh, and—" Eddie sings. He digs around in his jorts pockets for a small container. As he brandishes it just in Steve's line of sight, he says, "Found some vapor-rub in the medicine cabinet downstairs. Now it is a few months out of date, but that just means more will need to be appl—honey, what's goin' on?" he questions softly.

Steve's sniffles have turned into thin-lipped, eyes glazed and bloodshot, muffled sobs. He has a streak of snot dripping down on his upper lip and his chest keeps stuttering. Eventually, he chokes out, "You brought the soup to me."

And what a statement.

The sentence slaps Eddie across the face, causing his head to rear back. It confuses him, that's what it does. Obviously I brought him soup, what the fuck, he asks himself incredulously.

"Wha—of course. That's what you do when somebody is sick. You help 'em out, bring soup or crackers or whatever and make sure they're better," Eddie supplies as he wipes away the sweat and snot with his banana. There's a brief moment where the only sound is Steve crying. The room is dim and he seems more comfortable than when the door was initially answered.

Eddie thinks back to the apologizing. The making himself smaller and quieter. His hesitancy about wanting to sleep in his own bed. How his mom used to make soup. And the statement, "Got a good grasp on this." Pieces start to click, sirens sound off, door number three has opened and behind it is a shiny new car.

A horrifying realization. The easy solution to Eddie's childlike curiosity over where Steve's parents are. And that in itself makes him want to hurl into the trashcan or pull full force at his hair or sob.

His parents aren't here and haven't been in a long while, Eddie accuses.

"Oh, Stevie." He pets again at his drenched hair. "I'm not going anywhere, alright? You don't have to worry about that with me. Let me do what I need to do, but I'll be right here if you need anything."

"Okay," Steve whispers.

Within just a couple minutes, Eddie has Steve propped back up on a mountain of pillows. Some from the hall closet, the stale bedroom of his parents, and the ones from his own bed. He's changed the bag in the can with a call of, "It's alright, no big deal," after Steve's cry that Eddie didn't need to do that. A bedside lamp has been turned on. An ice cold wet rag has been situated over his neck. There's a thick layer of vapor-rub in his chest hair.

Then came the aforementioned lunch. It smells divine. As if God himself started a soup kitchen in the Harrington's desolate house. What's even better is that it's definitely not chicken noodle.

"I don't remember there being any cans of tomato in the pantry," Steve notes.

"Oh, well. I thought you deserved better than that crap. Made something Wayne usually serves up. Family recipe," he sings again.

"Oh," Steve breathes. His eyes feel wet again, but he fights every part of him that says to cry. He's done enough of that. "Y'know, you didn't have to," he says quietly.

Eddie makes the wounded sound of a shot dog. He finishes setting up the tray on the stiff mattress. Then, situates himself to sit on Steve's left, rubbing down his bare back. "I wanted to. That's all that matters. Now eat up before it gets cold."

And he does just that. The bowl is hot to the touch. Its contents still fresh from being boiled. Even the gulps of orange juice don't burn as bad as when he was little. Steve feels five years old again. He's anticipating the late afternoon lunch from his mom where she'll show him vapor-rub and a spoonful of Pepto-Bismol. In the living room, she's going to lay down, with him on top, and they'll watch reruns of his favorite cartoons. The curtains are closed and she hums lullabies as he drifts off to sleep.

Eddie rubs his back and hums songs and kisses his forehead gently. Which, Steve hasn't been given that amount of affection in a long while. And he honestly doesn't mind.

There's something that's been sitting between the two of them, a thing the size of a ten pound medicine ball. A word shaped like love and comfort. The space where Eddie shares stories about Uncle Wayne and his hibernation snoring when the temperatures drop and how he acquired every single mug on their wall. And in response, Steve listens and drips a couple droplets of how his mom would read Goodnight Moon and kiss him on his cheek or on summer days where they'd splash each other in the shallow depth of the pool. Before it became a graveyard. Or the loosely sketched outline of a mom and her child. His dad wasn't as close, but he'd play catch when Steve was still learning about baseball or share facts about his car that intrigued little eight year old Steve in a way no sport has ever done before. How he acquired the bowling pin from the one time his parents took him out for his birthday. The car painting being something his dad did in his spare time, not bought from some general store in the next town over.

Even in his sick state, Steve thinks about pecking Eddie on the lips. Wonders how smooth they are. If he uses chapstick. What flavor it could be. His mind supplies days in the future where they make soup for each other and shout about how excellent Hellfire was or Lucas' basketball game had been. Mornings shaped by soft snores and gentle touches and steaming cups of coffee. Nights wrapped around each other, cooing sweet nothings when the nightmares become bloody again, and sex that's slow and drawn out. Or the quiet moments where Steve needs a shoulder to cry on. And open arms so that Eddie is encased in comfort, even after everything.

At his final spoonful and dip of toasted crust, Steve whispers, "I love you." As treacherous as his mouth has been in the past, this final decision isn't as daunting as the rest from earlier today. Some part of Steve knew that it would come to a head and the words would spill from his lips like the soup on his chin.

Eddie hums beside him. He kisses Steve one. Two. Three times on the forehead. Then he sets the tray aside with all the empty dishes and the vapor-rub with three finger divots. He strips down to his boxers and a simple t-shirt. And he tucks Steve in as he scoots on top of the duvet to hold him.

"I love you, too," he responds. "And I'll be here when you get up. So get some rest and the next time you're awake, I'll go get some new orange juice and more ingredients for tomato soup and a container of unexpired Vick's."

Steve drifts off to sleep with his body curled around Eddie's side.

In the morning, the curtains are open and soft sunlight streaks in the bedroom. Eddie has left the house to do a quick grocery run, leaving behind a note of "Just lay back and relax. I brought the phone upstairs if you want to keep yourself entertained."

He calls Robin to muse aloud how excellent Eddie is. Their dance around each other now concluded over a simple bowl of soup. How nice it is to finally get the care he wish he had when his mom started to go away. Him kissing a guy before she could kiss a girl and her shriek off, "The next time I see you, I'm gonna give you the nastiest, biggest wet willy this world has ever seen. Trust in it, Steve Harrington."

The threat isn't an empty one, but it makes Steve chuckle anyway. Even though he still feels that encroaching violent twist of his stomach and a cough that could send him flat on his ass.

And when the phone call ends and Eddie is back inside with soup being made on the stove? Steve feels like maybe it's alright to rely on his true family when the time comes. He makes a promise to himself too that he'll learn how to make the best goddamned chicken noodle soup this world has ever tasted. All so that he can dote over Eddie the same. Make sure that he really knows just how much Steve loves him.

"I love you," Eddie breaths into his tussled hair later on the couch, where they're watching cartoons.

"Love you, too," Steve slurs as his body becomes heavier with sleep.

#stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #post canon #post season 4 #angst and hurt/comfort #sick steve harrington #sick fic

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yourlocaldisneyvillain · 2 months

Text

wip whenever ♥

thank you @allaganexarch for the tag!!! i exit the Void(TM) to shove my horny larissa content at the general public :)))

if anyone's interested in my jane murdstone dominatrix fic and would like to read about larissa weems getting caned, i guess this wip is for you!

tagging: @dianneking @notinmyvocab @the-frankenman-writes + whoever wants to do this consider yourself tagged!

“Are you ashamed of yourself, Miss Weems?” she asks as she walks around the desk. Larissa keeps stealing glances at her as she walks, unsure and shaking with the thrill of it all.

Jane stands in front of her. “Well?” she asks again, coldly. “Do answer me.”

Larissa closes her eyes, swallows, then opens them again. “Yes,” she utters softly, staring in front of herself.

Jane sighs and tuts. She puts one finger under Larissa’s chin, urging her to tilt her head and look at her. “Miss Weems,” she starts, almost gentle now. “I’m aware girls your age are wont to… experiment. However, the school simply cannot encourage such inappropriate behaviour. You ought to know better.”

Larissa’s voice is but a whisper. “Yes, Miss.”

“You were always such a well behaved pupil. I must say, I’m very disappointed in you.”

Tears well up in Larissa’s big, blue eyes. She nods. “Yes, Miss.”

“I can tell you’re very remorseful about it – but you’ll still have to receive a punishment. It is a grave offence, after all. That will be seven strokes of the cane.”

“Yes, Miss,” she says, unable to hide the thrill in her voice, despite the tears. Jane fights the urge to snicker at her – she shouldn’t do that just yet. There will be time for it.

“But before I give out the punishment, I want you to tell me what compelled you to even think of doing something like that. Have you seen it somewhere?”

Larissa swallows thickly. “I saw… I have a…a magazine,” she stutters. “And we saw… pictures of… women… doing things. And we wanted… We wanted to try them.”

Jane makes a sound of fake surprise. “A magazine! And however did you come in possession of such an inappropriate item?”

“I bought it,” whispers Larissa, turning her gaze to the floor.

“That is how you spend your parents’ money? My, my, Miss Weems. I never suspected you’d be such a dirty girl.”

“I’m sorry, Miss,” she mumbles, her face red with shame, but her eyes glaze over at what Jane just called her.

“You should be sorry, alright. Honestly, who’d think such dirty thoughts could live in such a seemingly nice, polite girl’s head. I do worry about you, Miss Weems. I’m afraid I’ll have to change your punishment to match the severity of your misdemeanours. I want to make sure the idea of buying lesbian pornography never crosses your mind again.”

“Yes, Miss,” Larissa says, voice breathy and pupils dilated, her cheeks still red.

“That will be two weeks in detention, and no off-campus weekend this month,” says Jane matter-of-factly. “And I’m upping it to twenty strokes. Ten for the act, ten for possession of pornography.”

“Twenty?” exclaims Larissa. “But Miss–”

“There will be no arguing, Miss Weems,” she interrupts her sternly. “Skirt up. Bend over the desk.”

Larissa takes a step forward and slowly bends over the desk, lifting her skirt up, then leaning forward on her elbows. Jane can’t help but feel a pang of excitement when she sees her pale, round arse. She imagines how lovely it’ll look with red stripes all across it, how it’ll jiggle when the cane hits. She wonders if she should make Larissa remove the lovely, teal, lacy knickers she’s wearing.

She decides she should.

“What’s that?” she asks harshly.

“What, Miss?” asks Larissa, with her arse in the air, worry lacing her voice.

“Those aren’t regulation knickers.”

Larissa’s breath hitches. “No, Miss.”

“Remove them. It’ll be a bare bottom caning. Not that that flimsy thing would provide much of a barrier anyway.”

Larissa quickly pulls her underwear down, eager to please.

“I want them fully off, not just out of the way. I’ll be confiscating those. A respectable girl has no business wearing such a thing.”

Larissa obediently slides the knickers down her long legs, and steps out of them. She leaves them on the floor and returns to her previous position on the desk. Jane bends down and takes them, inspecting them.

“There’s a wet spot,” she says. “What am I supposed to make of that, hm?”

Larissa doesn’t respond.

“Do you find your punishment arousing, Miss Weems?”

Larissa shakes her head, gazing down into the desk.. “No, Miss.”

“Well, what is it then?”

“I don’t know, Miss.”

Jane scoffs and crumbles the knickers in her fist. “Of course you don’t. I didn’t know you were such a perverted girl. I do hope you’re ashamed of yourself.” She pauses. “Well, I can assure you you won’t enjoy the cane in the slightest. I hope it’ll make you reflect on your actions.”

“Yes, Miss.”

There is complete silence in the room as Jane goes to fetch the cane. She makes a show of it, walking slowly and deliberately, heels clacking with each step. She circles around the desk, lays out the soaked knickers on it, then walks over to the shelf, from which she takes a long cane with a curved handle – old school style, as she knows Larissa will appreciate the attention to detail. She turns around, and catches Larissa quickly bow her head down again – she’s clearly been staring at her as she walked.

She caresses the cane as she walks back to Larissa. “I could see you staring at my backside, Miss Weems. Shameful, really. I hope to cane those sick thoughts out of your head for good. Maybe I should do more than twenty strikes.”

“I’m sorry, Miss.”

Jane stands behind Larissa, caressing the cane, playing with it in her hands. She looks at Larissa’s cunt, bare and swollen, peeking between her buttocks as she leans forward. She enjoys the visual a lot. She briefly wonders if she could interest Larissa in pussy canings, and makes a mental note of it. She thinks Larissa would enjoy it – but she’ll save that for a different scene.

“Perhaps I should cane you all afternoon. How many sick thoughts must go through your head each day, I wonder. Do you stare at other girls in gym class? Clearly you go out of your way to corrupt your friends with sick ideas you got from looking at your lesbian magazines. What else do you do?”

She pauses, trying to think of how else to taunt her. “You know, I ought to call your parents. Wouldn't that be shameful? For everyone to know you sit in your dorm room at night, rubbing your soaked knickers to lesbian pornography?”

Larissa whimpers. Jane smiles. She seems to have hit a spot.

“Depraved girl,” she tuts, and then, in one swift and expert move, she strikes her with the cane. Larissa yelps in surprise and pain. Before Larissa can recover, she strikes her another time. This time, Larissa only inhales sharply. Jane isn’t being very forceful, for Larissa isn’t warmed up yet – but even a light strike is enough to make her arse sting quite a bit.

She lazily drags the cane along her stinging buttocks, letting her sweat in anticipation. She lightly taps, and Larissa flinches. Jane laughs at her, and Larissa whimpers.

“That’s only two, Miss Weems. I want to make this last. You need time to reflect on your actions,” she says and strikes her quite a bit harder before she finishes the sentence. Larissa makes a strained sound and flinches. She’s breathing heavily and pressing her thighs firmly together.

“Three,” says Jane nonchalantly.

Silence, only filled with the sound of Larissa’s shaky breaths. She squirms, anticipating the next strike. Jane lets her stew.

After a minute or so, she strikes her again, hard. Larissa cries out and her muscles convulse, but she doesn’t move.

“You’re taking it so well – one would think you were caned before,” says Jane with amusement in her voice. “Did your parents spank you a lot as a child?”

“Yes, Miss,” Larissa breathes out.

“And what for? Were you often a naughty girl?”

“I don’t know, Miss. I often didn’t understand why they did it.”

“Well, that won’t do,” says Jane, dragging the cane over the two red stripes on her buttocks. Larissa sucks in a breath. “In order for the punishment to be effective, the offender must know what they did so they can correct the behaviour. Repeat it to me, Miss Weems; why are you being spanked?”

“Because I… I was caught–”

Jane strikes her again and Larissa yelps. “No, no, Miss Weems. You aren’t being punished because you got caught. You’re being punished because you did something you shouldn’t have done. Try again,” she says and strikes her another time. Larissa whimpers.

“I… I’m being punished because I kissed another girl, and I… we… we touched each other… inappropriately.”

“That’s it,” says Jane and strikes her hard. Larissa flinches and squeaks. “That’s six. What else have you done? You did earn twenty strikes, after all.”

“I… I bought p–” she tries saying it and fails.

“Come on,” Jane taunts her. “If you could look at it you can say it.”

Larissa takes a deep breath. Jane strikes her. She yelps. “I bought pornography,” she spits quickly and breathlessly, as if the whole sentence was one word. “With my parents’ money.”

“You did, you dirty girl.” Jane’s voice is flat and void of emotion as she says it, almost disinterested, for she knows that makes Larissa wild – how impersonal Jane can get. She strikes her one more time, harder than any of the previous strikes. Larissa lets out an embarrassing squeak.

“Eight,” she says, and decides to make a longer pause before nine. She lazily drags the tip of the cane along Larissa’s long legs, starting above the ankles and going up. When she reaches the sweet spot where her thighs meet her buttocks, she – seemingly accidentally, but very much on purpose – lightly grazes the cane over her soaked cunt. Larissa whimpers and shudders.

Jane finds it truly fascinating how wet a bit of humiliation and a few strikes of the cane can make her. She’s literally dripping down her thighs.

“Oh my,” she fakes a gasp. “What’s that?”

She lightly taps at her cunt, and Larissa whines.

“Tsk, tsk, Miss Weems,” she tuts, “The situation appears to be graver than I imagined. I don’t think your punishment is working. In fact, I think you’re enjoying it. Am I right?”

Larissa shakes her head. “No, Miss.”

“You get another five strikes for lying.”

“Yes, Miss. Sorry, Miss,” Larissa whimpers into the desk, head buried in her elbows.

“It’s pathetic how depraved and sick you are, getting off to your Headmistress caning you. Perhaps I’ve been too gentle with you. Perhaps a more forceful caning will teach you a lesson.”

“Yes, Miss,” says Larissa breathlessly. “Forgive me, Miss.”

“You disgust me,” sneers Jane and swings the cane forcefully, hitting hard over the already glaring red stripes, making Larissa convulse and cry out. She strikes again, and then again, with the same amount of force, and Larissa cries out each time.

She strikes her four more times.

“Fifteen,” she says coldly. “I can’t believe you, Miss Weems. I thought you were a good, respectable girl. Your nice and wealthy parents sent you to a prestigious private school – and this is how you repay them? By being a perverted freak? By being found by a prefect with your head between another girl’s legs? By getting aroused by your punishment?”

Larissa presses her thighs together more firmly. “I’m really sorry, Miss. I’ve been so bad,” she whispers.

“I wonder, is it the punishment that arouses you… or is it the fact that I’m the one giving it to you? I saw you look at me, Miss Weems. It’s quite pathetic how attracted you are to a woman old enough to be your mother.”

Larissa whines and rubs her thighs together. “I’m sorry, Miss.”

Jane strikes her – hard – and Larissa keens.

“I’m afraid sorry won’t cut it, Miss Weems. You deserve a caning after which you won’t be able to sit for weeks,” she says and strikes her again, and again and again, starting to get into a rhythm. Larissa twitches and whines pathetically with each strike, squirming and squeezing her thighs together. Her cunt is clenching along with her arsecheeks. Jane keeps striking her, and doesn’t stop when she reaches twenty-five strikes.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she announces flatly as she keeps caning her. “It’ll be however many strikes I see fit for you.”

“Yes, Miss,” Larissa all but moans. She keeps squirming and twitching, but doesn’t move in a significant enough manner for Jane to reprimand her for it.

Jane, however, notices the way she shudders, then relaxes, moaning quite a bit louder than before and pressing her forehead into the desk somewhere around number thirty-five.

Jane scoffs incredulously. She knew Larissa needed little to come, but this was new even for her.

“Did you just come from this?” she asks, trying her best to hide the amusement in her voice.

Larissa whimpers pathetically into the desk.

Jane strikes her. “I asked you something, Miss Weems,” she says sternly.

Larissa nods into the desk, hiding her face between her elbows.

“I want words, girl.”

“Y-yes, Miss. I’m sorry, Miss,” she whispers barely audibly.

Jane laughs. “You’re truly incorrigible. I’ve never had such a depraved girl bent over my desk. It seems like no matter what I do, you enjoy it. I could kick you in the face with my shoe and you’d thank me.”

“Yes, Miss. Sorry, Miss,” Larissa sobs.

“In any case, I don’t think you’re learning a lesson. Perhaps the punishment didn’t go on for long enough. Or perhaps I’ve been too gentle.”

“Please, Miss, I– ah!” Larissa cries out when Jane strikes her quite hard just where her buttocks meet her thighs.

“Do you lie in bed at night in your dorm room with your hand between your legs, thinking about your Headmistress? Have you imagined being caned like this for your own sick pleasure? Perhaps all of this has been a ploy to get yourself in this position?”

“No, Miss, please, please, ah! I’ll do better, I’m sorry!”

“You’re a disgrace. I’ll give you such a whipping you won’t even think about coming again. Dirty little dyke.”

Larissa whines at the insult. “Yes, Miss.”

“Say it. Say you’re a perverted dyke that rubs her pussy thinking about her Headmistress caning her.”

“I-I’m a perverted dyke that – ah! – rubs my p-pussy… ah! Thinking about my Headmistress caning me.”

“That’s right. And what are you sorry for?”

“I’m sorry for being a dirty girl, Miss. I’m sorry my pussy gets wet when you cane me – ugh, fuck!” she cries out after a particularly well-aimed, hard strike.

“Language, Miss Weems, or I’ll wash your dirty mouth with soap.”

“Yes, Miss! Ah! I’m sorry, Miss!”

Jane keeps striking her, relentlessly and without pause. She can tell when Larissa enters a blissful state of being. Her eyes are closed and she’s no longer able to utter coherent words. A soft cry escapes her every time her muscles convulse when the cane touches her skin, a barely perceptive smile on her face. Jane admires the neat, angry red marks across her buttocks as gradually slows down her rhythm, decreasing the intensity of her swings, bringing Larissa down from her high. Soon, she is only lightly snapping the cane against her skin, dragging it along her buttocks, lightly tapping, until she eventually stops completely.

Larissa’s eyes are still closed and she is breathing heavily. Jane lets her have a moment of silence. Eventually, Larissa opens her eyes and lifts her head a bit higher up, but she’s still supporting herself on the desk.

“I still feel floaty,” she breathes out.

#larissa weems #i will produce my own garbage and also consume it #gwendoline christie #larissa weems smut #netflix wednesday #jane murdstone #wednesday 2022 #the personal history of david copperfield #nsft #wip #tag game #larissa weems fanfic #larissa weems fanfiction #wednesday netflix #wednesday fanfic #crossover #keep in mind this is a Rough Draft #and i did not in fact edit it

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lordcatwich · 3 months

Text

Fintro post!! (please excuse the pun)

HELLO!!! My name is Finn! Or Finny! Or Benji! Or tentatively Phillip! I'm a genderfluid, queer teenage writer! I am also (gasp) NEURODIVERGENT!!! I have diagnosed ADHD and am suspecting that a few other things are bouncing around in my head (mainly autism, which the following statement doesn't apply to I have done research) BUT I HAVE TOO MANY THINGS ON MY PLATE TO RESEARCH THEM!!

FACT TIME!

I go by they/he most of the time! I also use neopronouns if you wanna use neos for me :D

I LOVE INDIE MUSIC AND ROCK MUSIC (LEMON DEMON, WILL WOOD, AND BEAR GHOST ARE MY FAVORITE BANDS) (I ALSO FUCKING LOVE CCCC I KNOW CCCC ISN'T A BAND BUT GODDAMN)

I have absolutely no motivation for schoolwork

Currently learning swedish!

Online stuff I love: TADC, Monkey Wrench, Doobus Goobus animations, @littlebookworm69 's theories about Finley (one of my characters), The Mind Electric by Chonny Jash, The Monument Mythos, Wendigoon

I love yo-yos. I play with them in class. In my house. In the yard. The street. The driveway. Standing over someone's bed at night (/j).

Digital Artist and writer!

WIP SECTION!!

I have SO many WIPs you wouldn't BELIEVE

But I only have two main ones. HERE WE GO

Axerim!!

Two people who've practically been best friends since birth find themselves in the clutches of evil, evil people. This story is about the trauma that happens, mainly. But oh, how amazing it is.

Setting- Medieval Fantasy

MCs- Kirix (They/Them, 18) and Barlow (They/Them, 18)

Finleylore!!

@evil-lordcatwich 's traumatic backstory, featuring crazy companies and a rat. A child prodigy decides to persue villainy as a career- what could possibly go wrong?

Setting- Alternate timeline 2029

MCs- Doctor Finley Rose (He/Him/They, 14-21)

Side WIPs

Carlylore- A cyborg cat burglar tries to find her creators/parents before her brain stops working

Arthurquest- Local Eccentric Scientist Meets God, says it's 'Cute'. Silly lil man tries to drive humanity insane

Academia Mermaids- Lesbian Aunts and their nephews try to escape a space zoo, or at least crack its secrets! truly a very gay WIP

If you wanna get to know me or send me asks and stuff FEEL FREE I LOVE GETTING TO KNOW ONLINE PEOPLEEEEE

seeya sooooon :3

#writeblr intro #intro #Spotify

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granulesofsand · 5 months

Note

If this ask is too upsetting then you can leave it alone for a while. Bodily we are an adult. We do not want to intrude in the space of RAMCOA survivors but this has been on our mind for a few months. TWS: Sexual, physical and emotional abuse, BDSM, lots of kinks. We've been abused by two different people in our life, both were minors around our age at the time. The first one was coercive for sure but we don't think he had any sort of complex plan. He would hit and insult us in front of friends, and flashed us a few times when we were alone. Second abuser was our ex, had more access to us due to us dating. They didn't know we have DID and we didn't know at the time either. This is where we suspect possible programming happened; even though they weren't aware of our condition there was a lot of focus on control and different roles. Even before we were officially together they "introduced" us to a lot of BDSM concepts, mainly through writing smut with us. When we started dating, they started actually acting on those concepts though. Almost always they were the "dom/top" while we were the "sub/bottom". Some of us tried to fight back and were punished while others gave in entirely. Which led to us developing a lot of alters dedicated to specific sexual "tasks", so many that I believe we've just barely scratched the surface on member count. The list of stuff they made us do (aside from "traditional" lesbian sex) included breath play, pet play, impact play, and watersports. Just to maintain some privacy I won't say how long this went on for, but we were both (older) minor teens and it lasted long enough to be a clearly established pattern. The persecutors will randomly re-enact trauma, both inwardly and outwardly. Even if we try to resist at first there is NO way out of it. The reenactments will happen and we just have to weather the storm. tldr; Abusive ex used BDSM as a means on control, questioning if we were programmed or mind controlled somehow.

Thanks. -🐊

Bare-Bones Programming

Always important to say that we are not experts on your experience, and the information we provide is ultimately for your decision.

🗝️🏷️ RAMCOA, SA, programming and deprogramming

Programming has two basic requirements:

The perpetrator(s) intend to control you

By creating self-states or conditioning self-states to cues

The second situation you described sounds like it aligns pretty neatly with that. It’s not as extensive as what a group or a practiced programmer might produce, but there are bits of advice aimed towards survivors that might help you.

Members who have ‘jobs’ or ‘tasks’ or similar are a fair indication of Mind Control, and it might serve to ask who assigned them this task, even if you already have an inkling. Their responses will determine whether they feel the obligation to the perp or themselves.

What to Do

The first step towards decreasing reenactment is guidelines. Establish for every member a set of standards, most negotiable and some required. Maybe y’all agree to clean up your own messes (negotiated and with exceptions) and understand that no member engages sexually before discussion (required).

This sets a clear precedent for what is expected and what members agree to when they interact with one another and the world. Sometimes it’s a matter of not knowing, and with practice the issue is no longer. It’s not likely everything is solved like this, but better to start early.

Next is demonstrating healthy interactions. Many collectives prefer to start outside, to gain experience they don’t already have. A friend is a good goal, someone y’all trust or a few people certain members confide in.

If it’s not too big a trigger, look into consensual BDSM. Start with reading, maybe novels or SFW explanatory websites to avoid too much resemblance to trauma.

Not every collective feels secure enough with each other to do this, but consider having two members with matching preferences to try a safer encounter. One member could also practice on their own if that’s preferable, or with a predetermined safe outside person.

Experiencing more non-abusive (or less abusive, but file that away until you’ve failed with other methods) BDSM— and plain sexuality— provides more data to work off of in the future. A truly healthy scenario may take time, but even lots of breaks and slow-going is better than remaining where you are.

None of these are required, but sexual reenactment is not fun. You could always start with something like sharing (or not sharing) food or belongings to get in some basis of consent without including relationships or sex.

With that or as an alternative, work on shame and disgust. Shame is what you feel for yourself, disgust is what you feel towards another. This could look like positive affirmations, telling or writing down stories you haven’t yet, getting to know members without judgement.

I don’t remember who said it, but there’s a phrase: “Hating having others doesn’t have to mean hating the others”. Not every collective has the phobia of other members, but it is well-documented and a necessity to overcome for teamwork.

Later

There are methods of working through memories and integrating them, maybe to remove barriers between members or fuse them. It helps take steam out of flashbacks and urges, putting a memory together.

It takes trust, though, and a willingness to work with and support other members. Once you make progress with those, you can decide together how to proceed.

You can find resources on the Legion System’s TikTok LinkTree, no account required to get there on a web browser.

Some are pushy for fusion or integration, and there is a theme of brokenness. We found Safe Passage to Healing and Becoming Yourself helpful. They do have good information, but take breaks and skip what you have to.

I hope that helped, even if it was maybe one paragraph of the question you actually asked.

#ramcoa #tw ramcoa #tw cocsa #tw sa #ramcoa programming #did osdd #osddid #adaptive system

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see-arcane · 2 years

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Clarimonde, the Parisian Party Vampire You Never Read About

Quick, without touching Google, what gothic vampire tale came before Dracula, had a first-person narrator, involved a romantic/sensual undertone between the vampire and the victim, and some knowledgeable older man who revealed the nature of said vampire?

Did you guess Sheridan le Fanu’s, “Carmilla?” You’re close! The lesbian vampire escapade did predate (and surely influence) Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Carmilla went around nibbling her girlfriends in 1872 while the Count started his bloody spree in 1897. But before both of them we had the French short story, “La Morte Amoureuse,” (The Dead Woman in Love) by Théophile Gautier, translated into English alternately as, “Clarimonde,” “The Dead Leman,” or simply, “The Vampire.” But our girl Clarimonde often doesn’t get her Ye Olde Classic Bloodsucker badge as she’s owed, because her English translation only came out in 1908. But her original publication year was a dusty old 1836.

So. Who is Clarimonde? Clarimonde is, in essence, the most fun way to die and/or join the undead you could ask for in any era. Without giving everything away, she and her story, as narrated by the now-elderly priest she once seduced, are one of the most startlingly religion-risqué pieces of work ever dared in the 19th century. Hell, it would push some buttons today.

The gist for Clarimonde’s character is that she’s a beautiful prince’s consort with her own gifted castle to throw lavish bacchanals in. Her traits reveal she’s seemingly psychic, possibly Fae, and a combo of vampire and succubus. She sets her sights on the priest, Romuald, when he’s a handsome and earnest young man just about to undertake his final rites and become an official priest. Their eyes lock, minds connect, and bam, instant fairy tale Love at First Sight. Romuald doesn’t shy away from describing his adoration of her beauty, but also his pining for the potential of genuine romance with a soulmate; the fulfilling life and family he’s just now realizing he’s throwing away for the priesthood.

This undercurrent of bitterness, doubt, and disappointment with the austere nature of a clergyman’s life follows him from that moment onward. Even the old abbé who suspects what foul female evil is afoot can’t soothe him by saying, ‘hey, just pray about it.’ In fact, in all the old abbé’s appearances, Gautier/the Narrator Priest manages to sneak in a lot of stealthy “Young Goodman Brown”-esque hypocrisy. Like when the old abbé scoffs and sneers about Clarimonde’s latest bawdy party and all that went on in it…

(What were you doing at Clarimonde’s revelry, sir? Or are you just parroting bullshit you don’t actually know about??)

The love story between Clarimonde and Romuald is split between the priest’s increasingly exhausted daylit hours, while his dreaming self (if it is just a dream?) seems to run away to live with Clarimonde where they indulge in all the joys and heady vices they feel like, but each other most of all. It’s all as raunchy in its detail as was allowed at the time, but made more so for the fact that Romuald—who is, again, a priest—revels in the memory. Any shame is vaporous if it’s there at all. And then, blood comes into it.

Clarimonde (in the dream) takes to pricking him with a needle so she may keep herself alive on less than a thimble of blood. Romuald declares he would have given her all his veins if she’d asked. Clarimonde likely knows so. But no. Just a drop.

I’ll leave the exact details of the climax murky. But the last lines…

I returned to my presbytery, and the noble Lord Romuald, the lover of Clarimonde, separated himself from the poor priest with whom he had kept such strange company so long. But once only, the following night, I saw Clarimonde. She said to me, as she had said the first time at the portals of the church: ‘Unhappy man! Unhappy man! What hast thou done? Wherefore have hearkened to that imbecile priest? Wert thou not happy? And what harm had I ever done thee that thou shouldst violate my poor tomb, and lay bare the miseries of my nothingness? All communication between our souls and our bodies is henceforth forever broken. Adieu! Thou wilt yet regret me!’ She vanished in air as smoke, and I never saw her more.

Alas! she spoke truly indeed. I have regretted her more than once, and I regret her still. My soul’s peace has been very dearly bought. The love of God was not too much to replace such a love as hers. And this, brother, is the story of my youth. Never gaze upon a woman, and walk abroad only with eyes ever fixed upon the ground; for however chaste and watchful one may be, the error of a single moment is enough to make one lose eternity.

From. A. Priest.

A priest, so old and grey and—we can almost hear—choking with a young man’s mourning tears over the loss of a woman who in any other context would be painted as a vile Lilith archetype, a sexy-evil demoness embodying the temptation of the Devil (a ploy the old abbé uses, of course). Romuald only let the ‘separation’ happen for the sake of clarity in the end—his brain was being sawed in half by the waking VS sleeping worlds he lived in. That and lack of coherent thought are likely all that allowed [REDACTED] to happen, and that with him utterly miserable once the work was done.

It all plays out less like a horror story and more like a romantic tragedy wrapped in commentary so cutting against the stringent dogma of the Church you’d think it was a modern-day subversion of an older story. But no. Gautier churned this thing out, again, in 1836. “La Morte Amoureuse,”/ “Clarimonde” is free to read on Project Gutenberg and I sincerely recommend giving it a look if you want a taste of one of the earliest depictions of vampires (or any monster) as something other than the 110% Evil Demonic Threat Here to Sully Your Virtuous Soul with Impure Goings-On, and something almost Guillermo del Toroish in the daringly loving greys it plays with.

tl;dr: Clarimonde deserves more love and her own turn in the classic vampire spotlight. In the meantime, she’ll go on partying into the night and breaking hearts.

#tagging this as #dracula daily #because everybody's in a mood for some classic vampire lit to chew on while Dracula snacks his way through the Demeter #please go read about my girl Clarimonde #she deserves more love #she's one of the only raucous and unabashedly fun babes in classic literature who really gets away with being herself #even post-dramatic breakup #if only because the narrative paints her as flawed--but explicitly Not Evil #just not the norm and with only a vampire's method of engaging in a relationship with a mortal paramour #anyway #Clarimonde #La Morte Amoureuse #vampire #horror #love #dracula #carmilla #theophile gautier #literature

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theweirderstuffblogdontlook · 1 year

Photo

A short one shot fic about Bob’s disguise as Barbra.

Check it out under the readmore.

Alright, moment of truth. Time to see if all the practice and costume tweaking would pay off.

While the possession amulets were extremely handy for going out in public without anyone getting suspicious.

Since when Bob hid inside her, he was totally hidden from the world. And when she was hidden in Bob, so long as no one saw them switch, their association with each other would be similarly hidden.

It had been getting increasingly clear that this "only one of them existing at a time" thing was not without its own inconveniences.

In particular, feeding into Bobs cabin fever.

Cabin fever makes him want to go out more.

And going out more means more cannibal serial killing.

She doesn't have access to drugs or jail bars to hold him. Her capacity to protect people from him is painfully limited.

So she's been trying to get creative with the damage control.

So came the idea for Barbra.

And the disguise has been made, and the acting has been practiced. The backstory, hopefully memorized.

Now all that was left was a test run.

They parked the truck in front of a small, nowhere sort of bar. Place where there shouldn't be many people, generally a bit more rough and tumble group without super easy targets, and especially no kids that could get caught in the crossfire.

Though her mind and nerves were still buzzing with everything that could go wrong.

"Alright, tell me again the number one rule of this whole scheme."

Bob rolled his eyes from under his sunglasses, but was more amused at her stressing out than annoyed.

"Don't try huntin or hurtin people while playin Barbra."

"Right. If you act suspicious as Barbra, it puts both of us at risk, because people can use me to track down the house to catch us unawares. Then we're either in prison or on the run with no money. Or possibly dead if someone tracks us down who doesn't care to take you in alive."

They start walking towards the bar as she continues.

"So remember, you're Barbra Freeman, a butch lesbian truck driver, but you got in a car accident awhile ago, and had been recovering for a few months. You're wearing sunglasses even while indoors cus the accident left you with a light sensitivity. Just, smalltalk, and not being suspicious."

"Sugarcube, I spent years playin innocent with nobody suspecting a thing. I know how to play nice."

"Yeah and that was awhile ago and you're clearly years out of practice, because in all the time I've known you, you've just been a deeply weird and unsettling person.

Also you're in public in costume Barb, Use the Barbra voice, don't break character."

Already she was losing confidence in Bob's ability to follow the plan. Though Bob, if anything, seemed overconfident. He switches up his tone to a more feminine sounding one, snaking an arm over her shoulders and teasing.

"Right, I'm supposed to be your hot piece of arm candy today. Well, I wouldn't want to deprive ya of a bit of extra time alone with your girlfriend."

She had liked how he hadn't had any problem with disguising himself as a woman. After all it'd be a pretty big insult to write off your whole gender as something gross and embarrassing. Though him being a bit too into it is something her asexual antisocial ass doesn't really know what to do with.

Least beyond getting embarrassed by it. Which in turn gets a chuckle out of Bob.

They head in, and Bob confidently goes to take a seat at the bar, while she takes a moment to nervously scope the place out. There were a few people, not too crowded, not to empty. And they don't seem to be turning many heads.

Before going and taking a seat next to him.

Where Bob puts his arm back around her to mumbles in her ear.

"Loosen up honeymuffin, or you'll be the one making us look suspicious."

Yeah, he's right. They're supposed to at least be friends. Even in a relationship in order to explain away if Bob gets too affectionate.

She tries taking a deep breath and calming down.

Just order something nonalcoholic and chill for awhile. Try to make some small talk.

Despite how terrible she is at small talk in general.

Though Bob was already well aware of her not being the chatty sort. So he takes more the lead for talking with the bartender, and with her.

Though really that more ends up with him teasing her while she tries not to look too embarrassed.

At least Bob could do a pretty convincing imitation of a tough middle aged southern woman though.

Still a relatively deep voice, but not so overt that it couldn't be passed off as "Barbra" having just being a big woman who used to smoke.

She had the feeling he'd gotten some first hand experience learning a number of nuances, and was probably doing an impression of female relatives or family friends or something from his past.

Probably from where he'd gotten his own accent, but she didn't like to pry.

And if she did, now wouldn't be the time for it.

Her head was still on a swivel, despite her attempts to keep it casual. It was hard not to be paranoid. Too many things that could go wrong. Bob was keeping up a conversation with the bartender, so might be a good time to stretch her legs a bit.

"I'll be right back, don't get too crazy without me Barb."

"Heh, you got it darlin."

She went to the back, and thankfully the women's bathroom was empty, so she took a moment to try and calm her nerves and catch her breath.

It's one thing to be around Bob, worrying what he might do. But it was another to put on a cheerful facade on top of that, instead of being her usual irritable self.

She really didn't want to go back out there, and her mood is only worsened as she mentally scolds herself for her hesitancy.

It's unpleasant, but this is the better of her options. The longer she can keep Bob busy the less time he'll have for killing.

Come on.

Get back out there.

You have to supervise the serial killer. This is your idea he's going along with.

Just gotta have him keep his word. Shouldn't be that hard.

And even if it is, no amount of discomfort is worth an innocent persons life.

Suck it up.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror and tried smiling. It didn't last long before her face quickly sunk

"Uggh, this is what I get for not putting any effort in with those customer service jobs when I had the chance."

Maybe she can still keep attention away from Bob and not clue people in that she's basically a hostage, while still acting like a miserable unpleasant person who'd rather eat gravel than chit-chat about the weather or the news or some shit.

She leaves the bathroom.

“!!!!” Shit!! Someone's gone to sit with Bob! Looks like some kind of biker guy, on the big and tall side, kinda weathered looking. The kind of guy who could probably take care of himself. Her panic spikes nonetheless.

Ok, calm down, he's out in public, he's gonna talk to some people. It's expected. Doesn't mean the worst is gonna happen yet.

Sure he can always just overpower her if he decides to change his mind and not go along with the plan. But that hasn't happened yet.

She goes to sit down at the bar, on the other side of Bob, not interrupting his conversation with the biker guy. Just quietly listening. Supervising.

And…. Dang this dude really is just outright flirting with Bob. Guy must be into large women.

And Bobs rolling with it. Just liking the attention and teasing the biker guy back.

Well, it's better than Bob getting offended, and he's having fun with it, so this is probably fine so long as it doesn't go anywhere.

And she expects that this is a pretty solid bit of evidence that the Barbra disguise is working. So guess the experiment is a success. They could probably be seen in more crowded locations without people recognizing Bob.

Get him out wasting time doing random stuff so he's too busy to stalk victims.

Uggh, this means she'll have to get out of the house more to do random stuff too and - HOLY SHIT BIKER GUY JUST ASKED BOB OUT.

She'll have to mourn the loss of her weird hermit life later, because NO WAY IS SHE LETTING BOB TAKE THIS GUY TO NO SECONDARY LOCATION!!!!

Shit! How the heck is she supposed to play this off??? Uuuuuuuggghhhh this is gonna be so embarrassing.

She puts on a pissed off face and threatens.

"Excuse me pal, that's my girlfriend you're hitting on, and believe fucking me, this…"

She gestures up and down at Bob.

"This lady right here is a lot more than you're prepared to deal with. Come on Barbra."

She grabs Bob by the hand and starts tugging him towards the door, to which Bob smiles and lets himself be led out, while the biker guy just looks kinda flabbergasted at what just happened as they quickly leave the bar.

She walks for a moment, heading towards the truck, still holding onto Bobs hand.

Before Bob interrupts her anxious mood, saying in his normal voice, though with an additional low suggestive tone layered on, rather than his Barbra affect.

"Yuh know, I think I like you gettin jealous over me for a change."

Her face goes red. And she lets go of Bobs hand.

"Shut up Barb, it's not jealousy and you know it. I just didn’t want you hurting that man."

Bob grabs her hand again to pull her into a hug.

"Fightin over me for other reasons ain't half bad either."

#bob velseb #spooky month #inner demon #Possession #yandere

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