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maximotts · 2 years

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𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠 • 𝑤. 𝑚𝑎𝑥𝑖𝑚𝑜𝑓𝑓 & 𝑛. 𝑟𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑓𝑓

a/n: I don't have anything to say about this except uh.. I love this massive beast of a fic and I hope y'all love it too. Thanks to all of you who were patient and understanding about me having to step away from posting this AU publicly, this is for y'all 💖

warnings: This is an 18+ AU, minors DNI; smut, oh so much smut; strap-on use (r receiving); oral; spanking; degradation; a bit of humiliation for the funsies; mommy/daddy kink; face sitting; overstim; pet names; top!Natasha; switch!Wanda; soft aftercare and feelings at the end

words: 6.6K

summary: Private Hire AU; it was finally time for you to get your reward... if the sight of your bosses fucking don't kill you first

private hire au. || main masterlist.

Natasha hadn’t really waited for a response, directing you both to their shared master bedroom with a firm but gentle tug on your arms. You’d followed silently, your head too full to focus on whatever conversation the two women a few feet ahead of you were having. Natasha had clicked the heavy bedroom door closed behind you, a singular crook of her finger taking you away from where you hovered by the wall. “There’s nothing to be scared of sweetheart, no one here is going to harm you.” The sincerity in the redhead’s eyes was so intense you nearly looked away, but still, you trusted her.

Turns out Natasha didn’t think Wanda needed much kindness.

You didn’t remember how exactly Natasha had stripped Wanda of her clothes, but it didn’t matter. All of that was easy to forget when the brunette was riding the silicone toy strapped to her wife’s bare hips so perfectly. She braced herself with her hands on Natasha’s shoulders and selfishly, you hated how it blocked the full view of Wanda’s breasts as she rocked back and forth. “Fuck, right there—”

The noises she made confirmed how close she was; something about Natasha exercising her cruelty in the bedroom never failed to drive Wanda to near insanity. Maybe because only Natasha would ever wield such power over her; she could safely let go and be at the redhead’s mercy without fear that she’d use that same power to undermine her either in their marriage or with others. Natasha was her safe space.

You wanted to be that for Wanda too; not control, but please her so well she had no choice but to lose her composure. Imagining yourself in Natasha’s place was too impactful of a thought, leaving you squirming where you sat kneeled away from them on the large bed.

Natasha caught it, eyebrow quirking as she saw your eyes glued to where the toy disappeared and reappeared between Wanda’s legs. She wondered if you knew how obvious you were being; if Wanda’s eyes weren’t screwed shut, she would’ve wanted to remember the longing look on your face forever. Still, Natasha would happily let you have what you earned after you’d been so agreeable with her the other day. Unlike her wife, she believed in instant gratification… for herself.

“You gonna cum, baby?” Her hand rested on Wanda’s hip, guiding her along while she nodded frantically. She was so pretty like this, it was a struggle not to give Wanda what she wanted, but Natasha was still getting started. It was too early to let her finish; there’d be plenty of time for that later. “Not until you make me first.”

Wanda’s whines were pitiful as Natasha pulled her away, clearly resisting, twisting and turning out of her wife’s strong grip. Just once she wished Natasha would just… give in, but when she set her mind to something, she was unshakeable. Still, all she wanted was one tiny orgasm, “No, Tasha, please-”

“Ah ah, that’s not my name, is it?” You watched as Natasha barely flinched, manhandling Wanda to kneel between her thighs, effortlessly maneuvering her harness out of the way to free space where she pushed Wanda’s head. As much as this was for Wanda, Natasha felt she’d earned the right to be self-serving for a moment. Wanda still needed to make up for missing her dinner. What better way than with her desperate wife going down on her?

Wanda bit her tongue and fought the urge to roll her eyes, holding back only to stay in Natasha’s good graces. She needed to cum tonight; she was painfully close already, her cunt clenching around nothing again as a bitter reminder. Natasha was always so full of herself; Wanda hated how attracted she was to it. “Sorry, daddy..”

She barely managed to get it out before Natasha was shoving her face to meet swollen, pink lips.

Natasha’s head fell back against the headboard with a dull thud, her hand tight in Wanda’s hair as she devoured her with a confident skill only longtime lovers had. Once again you wished you could switch places with Natasha, having cum so many times to the fantasy of Wanda rewarding you for your good work with her head buried between your legs. “Fuck, Wanda.. just like that…”

The praise had Wanda rubbing her thighs together for friction, an act that Natasha couldn’t let slide. Fun as it was to watch Wanda try to get herself off, it was about time she gave you a task. “Come closer, dove. I need you to hold mommy’s legs apart.”

Embarrassingly you scrambled at the chance to touch, holding one of Wanda’s calves firmly. Theoretically it gave you something to do with your hands, but quickly you realized just how torturous it was. The new angle let you see Wanda spread open, bent over in a way that meant her sex was on full view— you needed to taste her more than anything in the world. She was visibly wet, thighs slick with evidence of her own need; Wanda was so so close, but you didn’t have permission.

You let out a whine of your own, arousal clouding your brain. Wanda was too busy to acknowledge you, but Natasha never missed a thing. “What’s the matter, wish she was doing this to you?” Her tone was clearly mocking, even when distracted by Wanda pushing her tongue past her entrance slowly and steadily.

Given the situation you found yourself in, it was understandable you’d want to participate, but you still flushed at the thought of admitting it, “Y-Yes, I do…” Natasha chuckled, low and breathy, holding Wanda’s head still to fuck her face freely. She was enjoying herself way too much, the sheer authority Natasha wielded over the both of you threatening to make her fall apart even faster. Letting Wanda have a pet really was the best decision they’d ever made.

“She is extremely good with her mouth,” The redhead let Wanda pull away just enough to take in air, shuddering as her hot breath hit her wet skin. She was back in an instant though, sucking and licking at Natasha’s clit with slow, languid strokes, taking the bud past her lips because she knew that was her wife’s favorite. Blunt nails scratched at the base of Wanda’s skull, a sensitive spot that left Wanda moaning into Natasha softly. As dominating as Nat was, she was still powerless to her wife. She was gorgeous and brilliant and oh so pretty to look at, wide, pleading eyes and all.

Wanda worked at her until thick thighs clamped around her head, temporarily muffling any noises that weren’t her tongue messily sliding through Natasha’s wet sex. She forgot about her own need long enough to carry Natasha through her orgasm, nudging her nose against her sensitive bud until the grip loosened and she was free to sit back on her own arms. “See, you can behave when you want to.”

There was a mental note made that, despite her defiance, Wanda’s praise kink ran deep because every word Natasha uttered had Wanda visibly soaking even after going untouched; the urge to just lean in that one short distance and clean up where she was dripping. “Mommy…” You only realized you’d pleaded for her aloud when the older woman was laughing again and Wanda pushed her hips back towards you in invitation. She almost made you give in, but Natasha’s warning look kept you still with a pout.

“I prefer you so much more when you’re a good girl for me.” Natasha went back to what she was saying, running her fingers through Wanda’s long hair. She was so sweet when she was agreeable; they just had so much more fun, “Instead of mumbling and grumbling like a bitch because I played with your toy a little while you were gone.”

That must’ve been Wanda’s last straw because she bit her wife’s thigh, hard. There was no way it didn’t hurt, you winced just having witnessed it, but Natasha’d had way worse. They were known to get painfully rough with one another, but Natasha yanked Wanda up until their faces inches apart with such ferocity that you audibly gasped. “You think that’s funny?”

The brunette must not have been expecting such a strong reaction either, begging for something as soon as she opened her mouth. Through her rambling words, you were sure you heard an ‘I’m sorry,’ but Natasha’s face remained hard, no mercy to be found. Wanda was farther from you now, but on all fours she was still visible; in your single mindedness, you ignored Natasha’s berating to instead watch Wanda’s trembling thighs and what lay between.

“You say sorry, bat those pretty eyelashes, and I always go easy on you.” If Natasha was ‘easy’ so far, you were morbidly curious what true punishment entailed. Her hands roamed over Wanda’s naked form until they reached her backside, offering a deceptively gentle pat before grabbing her possessively, “but not today. I think you’ve forgotten what real consequences look like.”

Wanda protested incoherently, shaking her head as if that’d do anything to sway her wife’s new plan of action. “I mean it, I swear. I’m sorry!” She didn’t mean it; needy as she was, Wanda didn’t regret biting Natasha. Even she had limits when you were present, wanting you to still see her having some form of control, but Natasha could care less. And she could see right through Wanda’s empty apology.

“You will be when I’m through with you-” Natasha uttered something in her native Russian, a phrase that left Wanda mewling, but it was nothing compared to the pitiful noises made as her lover delivered a painful slap to her round ass. You wished you picked up on languages better only so you could fully appreciate Wanda’s Sokovian pleas; whatever it was, it didn’t change her treatment one bit.

Wanda only lasted through five swats before she tensed, fingers gripping Natasha’s sides as her thighs shook and you knew she was cumming. You could’ve watched the sight forever; Wanda’s hips stuttering and bucking around nothing so close to you. Frenzied eyes darted to the woman leaning against the headboard, half expecting her to be disappointed in Wanda’s sudden break, but Natasha was highly amused, looking perfectly pleased with herself.

It wasn’t the first time she’d seen Wanda cum that way and she knew how much Wanda hated it— to her, it was empty, unsatisfying, embarrassing. All it did was worsen the need already clawing at her skin. The punishment of a spanking had been a calculated means to an end; Wanda was still so on edge, she wouldn’t be surprised if tears were falling down her red cheeks. She was right where Natasha wanted her. Fake pity written clearly all across her face, she hooked a finger under Wanda’s chin to bring her into a bruising kiss, “What a desperate little slut.”

Wanda’s arms gave out then, falling into Natasha wordlessly while she tried to process the painful stings on her ass amidst her aftershocks. It was silent for a few moments, Natasha knowing enough to allow Wanda time to catch her breath. Games aside, she wouldn’t let her love get so overwhelmed that pleasure turned to true pain. Natasha looked at you then, taking in your fists balled into the sheets and tightly clenched thighs— you’d been so dutifully patient, it was admirable really. She didn’t think she could last as long as you did without simply taking what she wanted from Wanda. “So tense over there… what’s on your mind?”

Had you not been denied so long maybe you would’ve kept quiet, but you had laser focus on Wanda and your need was so obvious, the words could’ve spoken themselves. If speaking up could even slightly get you closer to what you want, you’d talk forever. “I wanna kiss her pussy, daddy.”

“I know you do, dove.” Natasha beckoned you closer and in your eagerness, you let her position you as she pleased, head laid on the pillow a small bit away from where she sat against the headboard. You relaxed as much as you could, the bed impossibly soft against your rigid body, waiting anxiously for your next instruction. “You’ve been so good, helping me with this one’s surprise, letting me invade your bed the past two nights… you’re long overdue for a reward.” As she spoke, Natasha moved Wanda like she was hoisting a box, quick and efficient in depositing her atop you, one leg on either side of your head.

She was close enough now you could feel the heat radiating off of her and you licked your lips, staring up at Wanda with wide eyes that were teary with desire. She was big on you using your words, but she gave you a pass this time, just once when your eyes were glued to her cunt and practically drooling with need. “Go on, baby. Make mommy cum..”

You were on her the second you could reach, devouring her with a vigor even you didn’t know you had. She was just as sweet as you’d imagined, hot and sinfully wet. Wanda was still sensitive from her unplanned orgasm and your eagerness was quickly bringing her to another, but she didn’t want to cum again so soon. Not when she’d already done so humiliatingly easily a few moments prior, but it was proving way too hard to continue to hold back. “Fuck, your mouth feels so good..”

You hummed as her hands found your hair, raking her fingers through it until she had a good hold on your head. She rocked herself methodically, zero trace of shyness as she moaned each time you dragged your tongue through her sex. Wanda knew what she wanted you, unlike Natasha, weren’t in any position to tell her no. When you flattened the smooth muscle, Wanda’s grip faltered, the rough surface of your tongue against her clit leaving her shuddering.

“O-Oh… stay right there, stay still for me, sweetheart-” Hard as she tried to hold back, Wanda’s hips betrayed her, she was cumming again with a sigh and you let her freely have her way with your mouth even as she tugged hard at your hair.

When you started to slow, wanting to draw out the experience you’d waited so long for, Natasha shook her head and placed a steadying hand on Wanda’s hip. “Ah ah, your job’s not done that quickly, not yet.” Assuming Natasha was simply conveying what Wanda couldn’t as she caught her breath, you were quick to bury your face back into her cunt, the deep groan from above relaxing the last of your nerves.

Wanda’s movements were getting out of sync, clearly ready to succumb and, helpful as you were, wrapped your arms around Wanda’s thighs to pull her down. “Wait-”

“Put your hands on the headboard.” It was probably the most demanding thing you’d ever said to her, but your brain was stuck on one goal and that was tasting Wanda as long as she’d let you. Shockingly, she complied with your demand, even settling her hips so you could lap at her to your heart’s content, but she was whining, wiggling to get a moment away from your tongue that refused to let up.

“What’s wrong, honey? I thought you wanted this.” Natasha was at the perfect angle to antagonize Wanda, forcing the brunette’s head towards her with a strong grip on her chin. Wanda hated that Natasha wouldn’t just keep her mouth shut. She wasn’t ashamed of her thoughts, not at all, but it was a whole other thing entirely to let you hear what she’d confessed privately to Natasha. “All those times you’ve mumbled about our precious little dove, watching her practically beg to fuck you just to say no and fantasize about it more?”

It was hard to make out what Wanda was saying, her sentences cut apart with small noises as soft as she was, but the ‘yes’ you heard confirmed that your boss thought about you as much as you did her. Unfortunately the conversation alone was enough to bring you close to soaking your underwear. Natasha tried to take pity on you, removing the last garment you wore, but she’d barely brushed you before Wanda slapped her wife’s hand away.

“Don’t.” You only had a chance to be upset for a minute before Wanda pushed down on your shoulders, putting your mouth back to work. Reminded of her earlier anger, you whined against her folds, eyes searching for hers to persuade Wanda’s unshakeable will. “None of that, you’d better not start, you little slut.”

You whimpered a sorry that she must’ve heard because Wanda was smoothing your hair back gently with a whispered ‘you’re okay, little one,’ reassuring you enough that you knew you weren’t in any trouble. She never wanted to scare you again how she had earlier; you were too delicate for that. You nuzzled the inside of her thigh with your cheek, letting her know you were okay before she held the hard wood in front of her again… just in time for you to slide your tongue inside her tight entrance.

But Natasha wasn’t deterred by the same warnings you were; if Wanda still felt bold enough to be a brat, they were all far from done. “You’re so selfish, you know, not even letting your wife touch your toys until you have. If she weren’t so obsessed with you, she might’ve gone off to date someone else by now.” Wanda visibly bristled— she knew you never would, but Natasha being right made her want to roll her eyes for a completely different reason.

If you hadn’t been fucking her just right with your tongue, maybe she could have. As it was, her eyes fell shut and Natasha’s supportive hands were the only reason her head didn’t completely fall back. “Oh.. d-don’t stop that..” You wouldn’t dream of it, not when Wanda was dripping onto your chin and she let you guide her into the perfect shared tempo.

“There you go, keep fucking her like that and she’ll come apart for you in no time. She just loves being taken care of. Isn’t that right, dear?” Wanda nodded without realizing, knuckles white on the headboard as she focused on the tip of your nose brushing over her sensitive bud. She was close again and this time Wanda was going to warn you, but then you were curling your tongue and she was clenching around it, her third orgasm of the night leaving stars in her vision.

You hadn’t stopped yet though, cleaning her up even as your jaw tired. Greediness kept your arms around her thighs, waiting until the moment you’d gotten your fill of her to let her go. So far, you haven't even come close. “Sensitive…”

Natasha cut in quicker than you could loosen your grip. “Don’t stop, dove, you can keep going.” You obeyed the redhead’s command, licking at Wanda’s swollen center even as her legs clenched around your head.

Wanda was well on her way to shaking, jerking wildly as you held her tighter than you ever had to before. It wouldn’t be the first time she cracked a headboard, but she liked this one enough that she wanted to keep it intact. “Stop, stop! Malyshka, I can’t-”

“She can. Keep going on and see what happens.” You were inclined to believe Natasha; as much as she loved to push buttons, she would never put her wife in a truly unwanted position especially when she was too powerless to truly get herself out. For your part, the sight of Wanda convulsing above you was too good of a view to pass up, taking mischievous pleasure in the way she jumped each time you pinched her clit between your teeth just the slightest bit. “You wanted to cum? Well now you’re going to give me one more.”

Her cries weren’t new to you. You’d heard them many a night after you’d come home from the bar and if you ever spotted them, it was always attached to Natasha pushing Wanda’s limits until she broke. Frequently it was all you could think about when you had moments to yourself, brain filled with the fantasy and now that it was right in front of you, there was no way you couldn’t make it a reality, even if it was just this once. “No, it’s too much! I can’t.. I’m gonna-”

“You will.” Natasha was so sure of it, you knew you had to make Wanda fall over that edge she was fighting against just one more time. You hadn’t thought your face could be more soaked than it already was, but Wanda proved you wrong. This time she came with a sharp gasp, tensing around your head until all Wanda took over each of your senses. All you could smell, see, taste was the brunette and you never wanted to leave. She’d made a mess of your mouth and chin, surely dripping past your cheeks and onto the pillows by now, but none of it bothered you and absentmindedly you wondered if this feeling right now was better than any orgasm.

“I told you, she’s always got something up her sleeve.” Vaguely you were aware of Natasha pulling Wanda away from you, mostly by the lack of warmth around your head, but you laid still, perfectly content. Natasha hovered above you, a wide grin plastered across her face. “You did so well, dove...” She leant in close for a kiss, something you thought a sweet gesture until she was licking over your lips. At first you parted them and she indulged you, dominating the kiss as she nipped along the shape of your mouth.

After a while Natasha pulled away, her tongue drawing a line up your throat as a lonely whine erupted from it. You’d just been so consumed, it hurt to be left alone and you needed her back, even if she was only a few inches apart. “Tash…” The nickname slipped out before you could stop it, but Natasha didn’t correct you; maybe she was too aroused to care this time.

“Hush, baby, you’re alright.” She kissed you again, the two of you sharing the lingering taste of Wanda and moaning into each other. “I think it’s safe to say you made her happy enough to finally give you what you want.”

Natasha hoisted you up to your knees, taking in your current state of disarray in mock concern. “Oh you poor thing, so tense…” Her hand slipped between your thighs, dragging two skilled fingers through your folds where you were positively dripping. It took almost no time for you to whimper and beg for more attention, hips jerking wildly for anything you could find. The two other women found it painfully enticing, the deep hunger to finally fully claim you as theirs rising. “Wands, can you take care of her yet? Or can I keep her occupied for you first?”

The brunette shot up at her proposal, eyes still a tad hazy, but determined. “Get your own if you want someone first, sweetheart.” Wanda had to stretch to grab at her nightstand, standing on shaky legs only long enough to secure the harness you’d waited to see for so long. You were drooling, you were sure; the sight of the thick toy both intimidating and leaving you feeling more empty than you’d ever felt before.

“That’s what I have you for.” Natasha mocked, pecking her wife’s cheeks once she’d settled back onto the mattress. Meanwhile, you were practically leaping into Wanda’s arms, wrapping yourself around her just to cling to anything at all. Wanda let Natasha’s comment go in favor of shushing you, hands rubbing over your back while you frantically pushed your face into the crook of her neck. She knew what you needed, even without your muffled whining and as you pressed your pelvis against her strap at just the right angle to let your neglected clit have the most enticing friction, Wanda was more than excited to give you everything you wanted and more.

“Calm down, I’m right here. Mommy’s got you..” You let up just enough to plead with her, eyes wide with need; when she testingly pressed the tip against your entrance, it took everything in you to wait and not just sit on it instantly. “Now?”

You nodded wildly, completely sure of yourself at that moment. “Yes, god please.. I need you so bad!” Wanda hummed as she pushed you down onto her strap, fueled by you saying you needed her specifically. If only you knew she needed you just as much, thriving off just how dependent you were on her. Natasha came behind you to hold your hips, thankfully just in time because without her, you’d have gone fully limp. The simple feeling of being full of Wanda, finally sitting in her lap where you were stretched and ready for her… you were trying so hard not to cum on the spot. “Move.. please..”

In the future, Wanda would make sure to coerce you to ride her, but tonight, you were beyond gone; there was no way you’d have the focus to do so. She started slow, judging how well you’d adjusted to the toy, but the pace wore on you both and it only took a minute or two before she was fucking into you steadily. “Don’t worry, dove. I’ll take care of you, you don’t have to do anything.”

You nodded as best you could, trying so hard not to cry out too soon even as Natasha moved your hips in time with Wanda’s thrusts. There was no way you could’ve kept up without the other woman’s help, Wanda’s now fast motions forcing any thoughts that weren’t on the burning stretch between your legs far, far away. If you died right here, you wouldn’t notice, way too caught up in the women sandwiching you to be bothered with anything else. “M-Mommy.. feels good…”

It felt way more than just good, both Wanda and Natasha could tell you were almost completely blissed out in just a few minutes of their focus turned to you. Maybe if you could spare a moment to process your situation, it’d be embarrassing how close you were so quickly. Try as you might, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You’d waited too long to mind anymore.

“Is mommy fucking you real good, baby?” Natasha’s lips were right at your ear, her grip tight on your sides as she kept you in place, “Is it everything your needy little pussy dreamed of?” She could only assume you were agreeing with her, your noises as incoherent as they were loud. One look at Wanda and she could tell her wife was oh so pleased with herself, the payoff from denying all three of you clearly oh so worth it for her. Natasha was the one known for control, but Wanda was nowhere near lacking. Hers came in subtle ways such as this, waiting until you were obsessed, hopelessly dependent, and far too deep to realize she was always the one getting her way.

Wanda stroked your cheek slowly, gently, trying to coax you into taking a few deep breaths. She doubted you realized you were mumbling against her skin, begging almost silently; it was so cute, Wanda nearly wished she was filming you. No matter, there was always next time. “No one even had to prep you.. You were just so ready for us, weren’t you?” She watched your head fall back as she shifted her angle, hitting that perfect spot and making you give up any hope of keeping your orgasm at bay.

A strong hand pulled your chin down until Wanda was in view once more. She was saying something about wanting to watch you, but you couldn’t respond, your entire body fixated on finally reaching the high you’d dreamt of for so long. “...need to cum.. please-”

Both women chuckled at your babbling, faintly registering Natasha’s lips on your shoulder as Wanda cracked a smile, “This is your reward, baby doll. You can cum whenever you’d like, go on, you earned it.”

“Thank you mommy…!” It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds before you were cumming, cunt clenching hard on Wanda’s strap while she fucked you through such blinding ecstasy, you were sure your bones had gone soft. There wasn’t a moment you’d been left alone, either Wanda or Natasha’s hands somewhere on your body, keeping you grounded even as you felt completely untethered. You wished you could thank them for their attentiveness, but your jaw was helplessly slack.

What finally brought you back was Wanda carefully lifting you from her lap, your still tingling legs trying and failing to keep you locked down. She was unfazed by your protests, shushing you like she would a child, “Shh, don’t make a fuss, you’ve been so good. You’re going to let Natty have a turn with you.” As soon as Wanda finished speaking, you shut up, immediately ready to be filled again. You hadn’t stopped thinking about the bulge you’d felt under Natasha’s pants two nights prior, or how amazing it would feel taking you apart.

The second the tip of her strap nudged your entrance, you tried to sink down on it, but Natasha held you firm, preferring to lead you down on it herself. Even then it didn’t take long, your first orgasm from Wanda leaving you open and easy to use. “You took it all so quickly… gonna let me fuck you now, sweetheart?” You were nodding before she could finish, pushing your hips back into her in desperation, already craving another orgasm from the redhead behind you. Her hand snaked around your front, spread fingers pushing into your lower belly despite your whines, “Can you feel me filling you up, dove? Pressing into your sweet tummy?”

“Mhmm.. ‘love it..” And truly, you did. Something about the near painful fullness between your legs was addicting and you never wanted to let it go. But then Natasha drew back, leaving you shockingly empty just long enough for her to shove herself back in. Unlike Wanda, Natasha’s pace was instantly brutal, rendering you speechless each time she bottomed out in your stretched cunt, “Daddy… t-that’s hard-”

You couldn’t see Natasha, only hear her fake pity, mocking your pleas while her teeth scraped down the back of your neck. She wasn’t apologetic in the slightest; you wanted her to fuck you, this is what it was like. “Aww, did someone think I’d be gentle like my wife? Don’t be so fragile, you can take it.”

Strained arms tightened around Wanda’s neck, leaning on her completely as your panting turned heavy. “Natalia, be careful, don’t hurt her.” Natasha rolled her eyes, not once even thinking of letting up. Wanda always treated you like such a precious porcelain doll, but cherished as you may be, Natasha knew you weren’t unhappy.

Not when you were soaking her strap so much she could slide you up and down like it was nothing. “She can take it, Wanda. She loves it.. Isn’t that right, little one, daddy’s tough girl.” You moaned out against Wanda’s collarbone, bracing yourself for the next wave of pleasure you were just out of reach from. Wanda pulled your head back for a kiss just as you began to cry out, the brunette swallowing your sinful noises as your hips stuttered and shook atop Natasha’s thighs. There was no way the sheets beneath you weren’t ruined, evidence of your orgasm smeared over both you and Nat.

You took a breath, tried to at least, but Natasha’s thrusts never let up, keeping you on the edge of something equal parts intoxicating and overwhelming just like the woman herself. “Can’t.. no more..” But this time it was Wanda who spoke up, pressing quick kisses over your flushed nose and cheeks while her hand slid between the two of you.

“Just do one more. For the both of us, please, baby?” You wanted to cry, you were going to, tears filling your eyes as two fingers rubbed over your swollen bud. It was all too much and not enough; you needed both of them to let you fall just once more— if only you could stay coherent long enough to reach it. You felt like your whole body was spasming, every touch Wanda or Natasha gave almost stinging your skin, but you didn’t want it to end. Not ever.

Natasha came to a slow stop, working you down as steadily as she’d brought you up. You were thankful for it really, much too used to being left alone once you’d finished; this was infinitely nicer. When she backed up to ease you out, Wanda took over and encouraged you to rest your exhausted body atop hers which you did readily. “You did amazing, such a good job… How do you feel?”

Speaking would still be too much, your throat tight from your long night. Instead you snuggled into Wanda, hoping your happy hums against her chest would be enough to soothe any concerns she may have. If her gentle coddling was any indication, she understood. “Good girl. You just lay here and if you need anything, let me know however you can. Do you understand?”

You nodded your agreement, finding Wanda’s hand to give it a weak squeeze as she settled against the headboard to allow you both to stretch your legs. Natasha was the one to pull a blanket over the two of you before sliding in next to her wife. With a lazy peek upwards, you saw Natasha whisper something indiscernible into Wanda’s ear and after a minute to process, the brunette nodded. She let Natasha smooth her hair down; an action so intimate, there was no way Wanda would’ve allowed it in her earlier state.

The last thing you remember was Natasha’s hand behind your head, lips warm and sweet against your temple. It would be so easy to get used to this. “Get some rest, we’ll be right here.” Natasha wasn’t really a talker, not unless something needed to be said. Consequently, her reassuring words felt even more comforting and as soon as her hand joined Wanda’s on your back, drawing slow patterns while she watched over you, your heart melted right along with your muscles.

“Do you feel better or will we have to continue to suffer with snippy Wanda?” Natasha wound her free arm around Wanda, pulling her in until her head rested against her bare shoulder. Wanda only gave a grunt of disapproval, focusing on your sleeping form draped over her. She wasn’t in the mood for any more of Natasha’s antics tonight— truly she was fed up for a good while.

Natasha could sense it, both from Wanda’s silence and her stiffness. It was Wanda who introduced Natasha to the idea of a post-sex cuddle; not that she was particularly good at it, but it was what she wanted. The first time she’d fallen into Natasha was awkward, made more so by the lack of reciprocation, but she’d hung on anyways even as her partner stayed stiff as a board. Now the older woman knew Wanda like the back of her hand and if she was still the rigid one, Natasha wasn’t fully off the hook yet. “I’m sorry for provoking you.”

“And?” Wanda’s voice was firm, unwavering.

“I’m a stubborn idiot.” Finally she was granted eye contact, only to be given an expectant look of pursed lips and a quirked eyebrow. Still, Natasha could see tiredness in Wanda’s eyes, how she fought off sleep just to prove her point with her wife. The only thing Wanda hated more than Natasha’s annoying plots were letting her think she’d gotten away with them. And she was the one admitting stubbornness.

“And?” Natasha had half a mind to just give up and try again tomorrow. She wanted to sleep next to Wanda too much to fall back into that now.

She sighed, throwing her head back dramatically, “And I shouldn’t have played with your favorite little teddy bear just to piss you off.” When she righted herself, Wanda was smiling. She was poorly holding back a laugh, face half muffled in your hair as she tried and failed to hide. Natasha bit the inside of her cheek the moment she realized Wanda wanted to see how far she could push her apology. She’d fallen for it enough times over the years, anyone would think Natasha could see right through it— they underestimated how much she would do to see her happy again. “Are we done now, can we sleep?”

“Mmm.. I suppose so. I forgive you.” The last part was a yawn, Wanda sinking down into Natasha’s embrace and closing her eyes. She shifted just enough to lay both you and her on your sides, sandwiching you between her and Natasha. For a moment as you wiggled, she was scared she’d woken you, but you only burrowed deeper, easily enjoying her chest as a pillow. “Sweet little thing.”

“I’ll order us breakfast tomorrow. Something tells me it’s going to be a late morning.” Natasha made sure you and Wanda were nicely settled before relaxing into plush pillows, exhaling a deep, content breath as her body unwound. She let her own eyes close now, fully ready for a much needed sleep back in her own bed.

“You’re not going to run off to get back at me, are you?” The question was so small, so insecure compared to just a minute ago. Angry as they might be with one another, they’d never lied. If it was something Natasha was thinking of, she’d tell her. Wanda didn’t know if she should be scared of the answer. Natasha hadn’t left like that in years and when she did, it was a mistake; they’d been so young and spitefulness kept her away for a week. It hurt Wanda much more than she’d ever expected and now it was a fear she had to still every time her error reared its ugly head.

“That’s abandonment, silly girl.” Natasha stretched over you, just enough to reach Wanda for a long kiss. One that was way overdue. “I never want to leave you, Wanda. My home is here with you.” Her thumb swiped under Wanda’s eyes, wiping away the anxious tears that pooled before she could stop them. Wanda was prone to these bouts of sensitivity after she exploded, the quiet aftermath of her thunderous storm. “I love you more than anything.”

“I love you too,” Wanda’s smile was sleepy but genuine, just barely hanging on to consciousness. She snuggled against your back, your warm body lulling her further and further away. The weight of you combined with Natasha’s strong arm under her head was an intoxicating level of comfort and safety. She’d have to talk to you tomorrow about sleeping with them more often. “Now let me sleep.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, immediately regretting how she flopped back to the mattress as you groaned. She swore she used to hate cuddling, but now with you and Wanda both happily snuggling against each other and her, she knew she’d be getting it twice as much now; she didn’t mind it. “Fine, get some rest, sleepyheads.”

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x f!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wandanat x reader #wandanat x female reader #wandanat x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #wandanat fic #wanda maximoff fic #natasha romanoff fic #wanda maximoff smut #natasha romanoff smut #maximotts #private hire au #motts writes.

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butch-boything · 2 months

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im having trouble finding straight leg jeans that make me feel butch. Mostly bc my hips are wider than my thighs and waist and so many jeans accentuate that and if they don’t then the waist is too big (and even with a belt it’s noticeably too big). Do you have recs for good butch jeans?

levi’s are ALWAYS my go-to. although i’d argue that a solid top can also help that for you - sometimes your shirt can play into how wide your hips looks as well, oddly enough. a good boxy t-shirt can work wonders. for specific recs, i’d look into transmasculine spaces - they tend to have a real good grasp on this stuff.

although, do remember that there is absolutely nothing less butch about having wide hips. when i think of some of my favorite butches, almost all of them have wider hips. i think there’s something really beautiful about it - im not sure how to articulate it though.

butch is also your spirit, the way you carry yourself, the way you treat other people… you are butch enough!!

just remember - heavy are the hips that wield the strap.

#asks #butch

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leothetraveler · 1 year

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So I watched a video of someone actually looking at the origins you choose from in Elden Ring and how they come with vague, yet rich backstories...and I may have used this to give my character an arc relating to my diminishing use of blood procs. ENJOY!

Have we been led astray?

All my life, I have lived by the teaching of my elders. Of my ancestors.

But since I was called to the lands between, since I became a candidate for Elden Lord, I have learned more than any elder.

We were taught to bleed our opponents. No one was certain why. Most agreed that it delayed one’s reanimation, Aided their return to the roots, or something similar…but what if we were deceived?

I have met two groups that call my lesson into question. First, the outcasted heretics who worship flame. I have learned their spellcraft, the means by which they summon thorns. And with them, the origins of the spells. When those amongst their number lost their vision, they gained a new kind of sight, beholding a bloody star that they also worship. I have reason to believe this claim, having shamefully aided a blind maiden see a cursed flame in a similar manner…to an unfortunate end.

The other is the Dynasty of Blood. A name that could easily reflect my homeland. Led by a fell omen, this cult worships a goddess of blood and wounds. The Formless Mother. The lake of blood I saw while infiltrating their accused stronghold dwarfed the blood shed on the battlefields of my homeland. I thought I was accustomed to the sight of blood, but this…this gave me pause.

…I now stand upon Kyojin no sancho, The Mountaintops of the Giants. To enter the Erdtree, I must burn the thorns blocking my path with the Flame of Ruin. My allegiance to Order caused me pause when I first learned this…but now?

Now I am not certain. Since coming to this land, I have acquired many weapons and learned many techniques. Each showed me more of the world and gave me insight into its nature. But the one thing that made me question my homelands teachings is the blade now strapped at my hip, and the one laying in the snow before me. Two distinct weapons. One, from my homeland and following the philosophy of bloodletting to its most extreme, lies in the snow as I have felled it’s master in honorable combat. The other, on my hip, is native to this land.

An unorthodox katana forged with the gravel stones left by the dragons. Its enchantment calls down freezing lightning to coat its blade. I have grown found of this katana, like the many others I wield. But it stands out from the rest. With one exception, every other katana I have found follows the practices of the land of reeds. Every blade forged to bleed opponents; the one exception coated with poison along a jagged edge. But this blade does neither.

I had been taught to soak the ground with my enemies blood, that killing is inherently bloody and I should not fear that. But this blade draws blood only in the strike. Only allowing clean kills instead of victory through draining one’s essence. I find honor in this method.

While I will never fully abandon my home, I am samurai no longer. I have left the armor of my people for heavy plate for more protection. I have taken up a blade that doesn’t bleed as my weapon of choice. And what little bleed I commit, it done through heretical spellcraft.

I must choose my own way forward from now on. As a candidate for lordship, I must learn to act the part. I alone will decide the correct course of action.

Just as dynasties rise and fall, a new age must replace this one. To that end, I shall delay claiming the forge’s fire. I have learned of a sanctuary not far from these lands, and a maiden I met earlier in my journey implored I take her spirit there, as she could not go herself. I am honor bound to complete this task. In the time it takes to complete this task, I hope to finalize my decision on how to proceed. Once the Erdtree burns, there will be no turning back.

Blood upon the ground.

Another soldier fallen.

In death, knowing peace.

#elden ring #soulsborne #mountaintops of the giants #oc story #oc game character #tw: blood #dragonscale blade #rivers of blood #rivers of cheese #I looked at the wiki builds page after this #the build names are amazing #story #shitty haiku #elden #ring

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thecameronchronicles · 2 years

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The Debt~Part Five

TW: Edging, smut, language, and sexual themes throughout. I do not own any of the characters but ask that you do not publish this fanfiction without my permission on any other platform. Please and thank you.

Summary: You wake up the morning after your bachelorette party beside a familiar torso and a pair of missing panties, your bedfellow all too willing to torment you for what you can’t seem to remember…

Words: 3500

The Debt: Part Five

This was actually the first and only event in the slew of wedding preparations that you didn’t absolutely detest; your bachelorette party. But it wasn’t for the perverted excitement of phallus shaped everything that your friends seemed to harbor, but for the freedom of one night without Rafe, Ward, or the circumstances that held onto you like a vice. You could drink without your fiance’s critique to ‘pace yourself’ and even sway your hips without the judgemental eye of your mother expecting you to exhibit more demure behavior. It was a night in which you could truly release your inhibitions and tension-something you found necessary due to the last few weeks.

But flash forward just shy of twenty-four hours later as the hot pink sash you had wrapped around your torso the night before was now a mere decoration on the chair welcomed first by your gaze meeting with the harsh daylight. The pounding in your head acting as a result of drinking to excess, that you hadn’t felt since six months prior on the morning of your twenty-first birthday as you had sore off alcohol in abundance, left you making that empty promise once again as you pulled yourself upwards to begin your day. But as you attempted to ground your steps, the weight of your head feeling impossibly heavy as your hands came to smooth the unruly hair, the sudden shift of a motion at your back left you to view a familiar set of broad shoulders marked with the evidence of your nails drawing red lines along his sun kissed skin.

At that same instant that you deduced the identity of your bedfellow to have been none other than your fiance, you realized your own dismantled attire; a bra whose right strap was set under your arm and the absence of panties that left you with the understanding that you had given in to him. But the details of your temporary amnesia made you question if you were more disappointed that it had happened or that you couldn’t remember that it had. You wouldn’t be allowed a moment’s analysis, however, as the bitter twist within your stomach informed you of the coming bile.

Managing to catch the contents of your last meal in the nick of time, you used the back of your hand to wipe the clammy sweat collecting at your brow. Pulling back to rest against the wall directly across from the toilet, your peripheral vision made note of Rafe standing proudly within the frame of the door; seemingly indifferent to your vomit or current state of dishevelment-almost humored by it. And you hated everything about him in this moment. The way he stood with such arrogance in knowing he had ‘gotten’ you, wielding the memories in which you were deprived-but the one detail you loathed the most had been how badly you wanted an encore of what you couldn’t remember as he was mouthwatering in only his boxers and the seductive lines of his waist pulling your gaze even lower.

“What-what are you doing here?” You inquired, hoping there would be some alternative explanation to the evidence laid before you. But he only seemed to be amused by your question, raising his arms across his chest. He was a jackass to be sure, but you couldn’t deny how handsome he was beneath that dry sarcasm and dominating audacity.

“You need some coffee…” Before you could object, he was set into the direction of the small kitchenette within the hotel room, as you managed to climb to your feet and follow him until finding solace on the bar stool-having collected a blanket around you to keep from remaining exposed to him.

“What…uh…exactly happened?” He turned, playing the role of a dramatic thespian by drawing a hand to his chest as if your words caused him pain, only to smirk to showcase his playful nature.

“I’m insulted…Was I not that memorable for you? I mean YOU were…after all the things you said….” His eyes suddenly darkened. “The things you did…” He sucked in his cheeks, eyes lowering, furthering your torment as you narrowed your own eyes into a glare.

“I mean…I’m surprised you can even walk…” Your stomach twisted into knots to the supposed actions that he held in strong recollection.

“Do you always have to be an ass?” You charged, frustrated and losing whatever patience you had beneath each throb of your rising blood pressure and therefore aching temples.

“Maybe we should start with what you DO remember…” He seemed compassionate to this, but wearing a continued smile of harboring some sense of power.

“You can’t just tell me?” He leaned forward on his elbows to your question, sliding you a steaming cup of coffee, widening his grin, as if the offer to assist in jogging your memory was enough to keep the scowl you were already giving him, at bay.

“Where’s the fun in that?” You rolled your eyes as he pulled his own mug beyond his lips. “So?” You wracked your brain for the last memory, finding that cloud of missing time beyond irritating before your mind came to a clear recollection.

“Getting ready…” You came to the memory of standing before the bathroom mirror, that pink sash set across your torso as a gift from your bridal party, before turning to face them. With the collection of half a dozen girls all dressed in similar glitter eyeshadow and ‘bride tribe’ tattoos on their cheeks, you would stand out for the ‘bride-to-be’ crown set atop your curled locks. But as you were led to the car, the coming relief of a night without the masculine energy of the ’Cameron men’, the younger of the two would summon for you to remain.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, yeah?” Rafe inquired, his eyes taking in your ensemble; half aroused and half amused.

“That doesn’t leave a lot I can’t do…” You teased, offering a wink and rising just enough to brush your lips past his, without making actual contact.

“I mean it.” He warned just as you crossed the threshold of the house and joined your friends in the lavish car assigned to you for the night.

“And then?” He questioned in modern time, as you stalled, uncertain to which bar you arrived at first, before remembering how your maid of honor produced a to-do list of requests that had to be completed by midnight for the full ‘bachelorette experience’.

“Get a guy to sign your boob, get a guy to give you a condom, drink the dirtiest sounding cocktail at every bar-” The list went on as you felt your phone buzz softly at your side, altering your attention to a text from your betrothed.

“Behave yourself, sweetheart.” Your breath hitched for a moment as you could imagine his voice speaking those words in a sweltering exhale against your ear. And yet, the chills on your skin did not cause the sinister smirk to fade over your expression as you had already prepared a response in your mind before your fingers were even able to tap the screen.

“It’s no fun if I do…Besides, you seem to like me better when I don’t.”. The moment the message was sent and read, your phone was collected by your friend.

“No phone’s-too much to do!” She pulled your focus elsewhere as you basked in how he must be coming undone at your flirtatious teasing now turned into radio silence.

The blur of bar hopping the night before began to fix itself into more of a mosaic of memories as you recalled the items on the list being knocked off one-by-one. But of the more sultry tasks, you couldn’t bring yourself to act on them; at least not without imagining Rafe on the receiving end. Specific tasks included; ‘let someone take a body shot off of you’, ‘grind on someone for an entire song’, and ‘convince a guy to give you a pair of his boxers’-all tasks you watched your friends complete with success, all while you couldn’t do so without longing for Rafe instead. It was infuriating.

This is what made you take your first shot; the way he managed to occupy your thoughts out of pure desperation of a touch you already knew to be pleasurable-but one that only tormented you as he seemed to be in control of your orgasms. You decided on Tequila because you knew it would affect you rather quickly, continuing shot-after-shot until you became brazen enough to finish the tasks remaining on that list.

“Everything else is foggy…” You exhaled to him with a breath of frustration, all while he watched you in continued amusement.

“You texted me…” He offered a clue to your mental block as your eyes came into a narrow of pensive silence before he slipped his phone from the counter for you to witness what you had sent him. In the first seconds of reading the cringe-worthy texts, you remembered stealing your phone from your friend’s purse as even Jose Quervo couldn’t keep your mind off of him for too long.

“It isn’t nice to tease, you know?”, “Are you behaving?”, “I don’t like waiting…”, “I’m getting impatient..!” All missed messages made you glow with fulfillment in believing this rebellion against offering a response had left you somehow victorious.

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Enough to want some attention…”

“You have mine…”

“No thanks…” You wrote back, reading the text that next morning, rather impressed how he managed to decipher your drunk texts full of grammatical errors and spelling mistakes.

“You need to stop drinking. You might do something you’ll regret…Something I’ll make you regret…”

“Promises, promises…”

“I mean it-nobody touches what’s mine.”

“I’m not yours. I’ll prove it.” Annoyed at how you knew these words weren’t true as you were consumed by him mind, body, and soul, the ability to refrain from his advances wearing thin, you decided on something reckless and dangerous for your target on the other edge of the bar. Striking up a pleasant conversation, you pulled out all of the stops to gain his temporary interest, long enough to take a picture with him before sending it to Rafe for ‘proof’.

“Yours? I don’t think so. Maybe I’ll be his for tonight…Maybe longer…”

In seconds, your phone illuminated once more, but you ignored it, already imagining the misogynistic response awaiting you. And yet now, the morning after, you would read the responses you left unread.

“The only one you’ll misbehave with is ME, understand?!” “Dammit,-” He wrote your name in all caps, a series of following messages demanding a response, bringing his anger through each correspondence until they silenced.

“So how did I end up HERE?” To this question, he grinned widely, almost sporting a cheshire smile.

“Well…when you didn’t write back…I went down and got you…” You suddenly remembered a string of events that returned to you like flashes of lightning. The nameless guy you had wrapped around you, swaying to some muffled version of a recent radio hit, was pulled from you in a violent force, knocked to the ground, and bloodied in seconds. Rafe expressed his intent to keep you from ‘making any more trouble’ to your bridal party, who were too drunk to care or question him, before taking you back to his truck.

“Is THIS what I have to look forward to being married to you?” You charged at him as he pulled the car into the recess of a driveway before pulling you with little care into the bridal suite rented specifically for this night, before tossing you onto the couch.

“You represent the ‘Cameron’ name, now…You can’t act like that-” But something inside of you brought your care for his words to a place of nonexistence. Instead of feeling the heat of the threat behind his words, you focused on the pooling heat between your thighs. Days, weeks, and even months of reserved passion keeping you behaved, pulled for you to act out…

“Like this?” You challenged, allowing your fingers to descend the lines of your legs until they disappeared between your thighs, his eyes following every inching decline of your touch as you expelled a simple moan that affected him just as you had hoped. For a moment, he licked his lips in the imagery you offered him, continuing to pleasure yourself in soft circles quickening at the thoughts allowed in your mind. HIS hands. HIS touch. HIM…

“I don’t want to think about you…” You confessed across the small space that now seemed suddenly too vast between the two of you. You allowed your head to rest in the recess of the couch behind you, rising on the balls of your toes while remaining seated, as a twinge of pleasure teased your wet core as you lifted your free hand to your breast, kneading the soft skin beneath your touch, moaning in abrupt gasps and satisfied groans.

“But I want YOU to think about me…” You continued, your lips pulling open to a stretched oval as you acted as if he simply wasn’t observing you with the silent awe that he was. “Oh God-” At the desperation of your religious plea, you suddenly felt your wrist captured by him as he pulled you to your feet and into the bedroom. A wide smile crept across your face as you imagined the months of tension finally offering some sense of payoff.

“Get your ass in bed.” He ordered, carrying his heavy palm to your cheek as you turned to face him, a large smile developing on your face, as your fingers teased his shirt.

“Think of all the ways you could have me, Rafe…” You teased, speaking these words in nearly a whine as he tensed beneath your touch, endorsing you to descend your fingers even further.

“Not drunk.” His words made you step back for a moment in surprise.

“YOU’RE turning me DOWN?!”

“I haven’t put up with your smart little comments just to have you not remember the methods in which I finally used to shut you up…” As he spoke, you could feel a sourness rise from your abdomen, travel higher up, and tease the expulsion eventually prompted in your attempt to conceal it; covering you both in your sickness. Your hand came immediately over your mouth in regret, as he let out an exhale before sitting you on the edge of the bed.

“Here…” He offered you a shirt from your bag set disorganized on the floor beside the bed, as you turned away from him before feeling the urge arrive once again. In his attempt to try and assist you, you fought him, not wanting to feel him touch you unless it was to relieve your tensions. Because of this, you would scar his back-leaving the evidence you would witness the next day.

“You stayed in the bathroom for about two hours, throwing up everything you ate in the last two days before I took you to bed…” He explained, all humor now drained from his face as he placed his now empty mug in the sink, and moved to the direction of the living room.

“You shouldn’t drink like that. Especially if you can’t handle it…”

“How else am I supposed to handle all of ‘this’?” You inquired aloud before thinking of the weight of your words, hoping it would be enough for him to forget the events of the night before.

“Maybe NOT throwing yourself at other guys when you’re engaged would be a start-”

“Please! I’m just property-”

“Yeah. But you’re MY property-” You glared at his clarification, shaking your head in disbelief.

“You don’t agree? I guess I’d be surprised if you did-maybe even disappointed.” To this, your arms crossed over your chest.

“All you do is play games…give empty promises…you like the chase but never the commitment…” He cocked his jaw, allowing a moment’s rest with his elbows on idle at his knees, before rising to tower you.

“If this is about last night…I want you to remember when I’d fuck you-” But to your scoff, his expression twisted in temporary confusion.

“I’m starting to think you’re defective…” You berated. “After all, you’ve had chance after chance to make good on your empty threats…but that’s all they are…” You took a step closer to him. “Empty…” You casted a wicked smile of victory before pushing him one inch closer to the madness rising behind his eyes.

“I guess it’s not a loss…as it is only a ‘little’ disappointment-” Your eyes shifted to the bulge forming behind the fabric of his boxers, tenting at your teasing words. “And I do mean ‘little’-” In your attempt to leave the room with the final word, a grip to your hair suddenly brought you to sit on the couch, where he pinned you into the corner-all sense of reservation absent from his face.

“The only reason I haven’t fucked you quiet is because that was the ONE stipulation my dad had me make-no sex before marriage-just in case…” His eyes motioned to your stomach to hint at a pregnancy as you scowled at the idea.

“But there are other things I can make you do…Get on your knees.” Your brows shot up as he retracted just far enough for you to make out the details of him undressing before you, teasing his Adonis belt so close to your eager lips, parting in anticipation to his taste-his width-him.

“I’ve been wanting to shut you up with my cock the second you told me off on our first date.” He now altered from one thought to another. “Little disappointment-” He scoffed. “I’ll show you, ‘little’…” His grip returned to your hair, pulling you to the edge of the couch as his second hand lowered his boxers until he was suddenly naked before you. Even though you had felt him within your palm before, he was somehow more intimidating before you now, your doe eyes looking up to him with uncertainty of his impressive erection.

“Nuh uh…You want to act like a slut for a stranger like that asshole last night? You’re going to be a whore for me…” He teased your mouth with the tip of his leaking head, endorsing your lips to part as whatever came over you when you were in his presence had done so tenfold. That desire to prove yourself, to bring him to his edge and have him dependent on the release only you could give…

Your hand wrapped around the base of his impressive anatomy, stroking the remainder of what you could not press beyond your throat, twisting as he would grunt to your experience. But he would allow only a moment of adjustment before suddenly taking command and forcing you to take the extent of his length, making you desperate for breath as he taunted you from above.

“Look at you…choking on my ‘little’ cock…My ‘little cock’ making you tear up, huh?” You struggled to respond in any format, but were able to dig your nails into his skin in response, as he would only push you further, leaving you gasping when offering a break.

“You’re gonna be a good girl and make me come…right? Show me how sorry you are-choke me…” He lowered to you just enough to maintain eye contact, basking in the way tears now stained your cheeks from his length, as you nodded, hoping your acquiescence would act as a reward for the very near future. And so, you returned to him, tongue running the length of his shaft before he would comand control once again, fucking himself into your throat.

“Fuck!” He grunted through clenched teeth, eyes becoming heavy to the rush of pleasure allowed by your mix of eagerness and acceptance to his depraved thoughts allowed into reality by your consent.

“You’re only ever going to be on your knees for me, you understand?! You’re taking me so fucking good! UGH!” He groaned through his order, tightening his grip on your hair as you focused on his pleasure in opposition to a response. Feeling this painful pull, you would bob your head as he released an agreeable chuckle.

Your name left his lips in a mix of curses and groans as he bucked harder into you, allowing you to breathe in the most inopportune of times that left the thrill of near asphyxia making you almost dizzy against him until his hand suddenly drove your heaving focus to him.

“Swallow.” He commanded as he bucked the final thrusts into you, the ribbons of his release cascading down your throat in spurts as you took in a deep breath following the completion of his orders. And yet, that grip he held would remain in your hair, taking your eyes to him.

“There are only two weeks until we’re out of excuses…Especially now since I know how beautiful you look with my cock making your eyes water…” He lowered close to you, taking in the gloriousness of your breathlessness caused by his arousal.

“I’m never letting you go now…” And you realized as scary of a reality these words may be…you never wanted him to, as even in the abandonment of another moment left unsatisfied as his release brought your own sex sopping in anticipation, you were exhilerated for what was next…

Part 6 Coming soon! Be Sure to let me know what you think. Let me know if you want to be put on the taglist! <3

Taglist: @hopebaker

#rafe cameron #outerbanks #outer banks #outer banks smut #rafe cameron smut #netflix #rafecameron #obxsmut #obxfanfiction #obx fanfiction #drew starkey

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therinde-dreams · 2 years

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How big IS Bichen, really? Bonus: Baxia

tl;dr Bichen is LUDICROUSLY huge, probably something to the tune of 5.5kg/12lb and towards the upper end of 1.6m/5′3 to 1.83m/6′0 - taller than MXY!WWX. Baxia would be something to the tune of 79cm/31″, but could plausibly be larger.

So Bichen is explicitly stated to:

1) Be carried on LWJ’s back (Novel, Chapter 14)

2) Be too heavy for non-cultivators to wield (Novel, Chapter 7)

On sword weight, generally:

Importantly: it is too heavy for a non-cultivator to wield, not pick up.

Because wield vs pick up are two very different definitions. I can pick up a 1.4kg/3.1lb German messer sword with no problem. Can I wield that thing? Not one-handed like it was meant to be, with my scrawny arms.

The upper end of usable weight for a regular human sword or polearm is around the 4.5kg/10lb mark, and I am pretty sure that's really only wield-able by someone who's already in decent shape, trained, and using it with both hands.

It doesn't sound like much, but imagine swinging that much weight from one end of a 6ft/1.83m long barbell - since most of these weapons were 6ft /1.83m or longer - repeatedly, with enough agility and speed to not die in combat. Or better still - holding it above your head for a couple of minutes in a ready/guarding position.

Heavier swords and polearms did exist - for ceremonial purposes. They're deliberately designed to be ungodly huge and impressive, not for practical, combat use.

A sword that's too heavy for a non-cultivator to wield could just be something that's like, 5.5kg/12lb. Too heavy for them to pick up would be... look I'm scrawny as hell, I’m not athletic and I have joint problems, but using both hands, I can pick up at least 16kg/35lb no problem, probably north of that if I tried.

For a sword to be heavier than what an active non-cultivator can even pick up, so we’re talking north of 20kg/44lb, it would have to be made of depleted uranium along with whatever xianxia magic is going on with the sword. But too heavy for a non-cultivator to wield is entirely reasonable.

On cultivator swords:

I figure most cultivators would wield swords that are at the larger end of sensible to begin with, a little longer and heavier than they should be for the double-edged jian they’re shown using (extra cutting/penetration power in their favour! And they have the strength to negate the extra weight making it less agile and more tiring!). Say, 80cm/31″ and 0.9kg/2lb, for the average cultivator.

This would be well within “strap it to your hip and call it a day” length - and frankly strapping it to your back is not a great idea unless you absolutely cannot find a better way to carry that kind of size and you’re sure you don’t need it quickly, because there’s - not really a good way to unsheathe it as quickly if you do. Frankly I don’t think this was really done historically unless you were like, transporting gear, and didn’t expect to be attacked at that moment - even the famous giant-ass Zwëihanders weren’t back-strapped into battle situations.

On Bichen specifically:

Now consider how big a sword it has to be that LWJ, 1.88m/6′2 tree, goes “... nope, I can’t possibly hip-strap this” and straps it to his back.

Supposedly, irl jian got up to 1.6m/5'3, though this wasn’t very common. The average height of a Chinese man born in 1810 - the earliest date with data - is 1.66m/5'5, and this stayed pretty consistent for a long time, which means the 1.6m/5'3 jian was most likely constructed with a roughly 1.66m/5'5 wielder in mind.

So according to the historical record, LWJ could wield a 1.6m/5′3 sword and be within the bounds of what was done historically.

Or, if he got it when he was at or nearing adult height, our boi could decide to leverage his probable future height and strength into wielding an obnoxiously huge sword for maximum possible reach and stopping power.

Bluntly - Bichen could easily be 1.83m/6′0 and still make complete sense from a historical perspective - an exceptionally large sword made for an exceptionally tall and physically powerful individual.

And from a weight perspective? Let’s compare a hypothetical 1.83m/6′0, 5.5kg/12lb double-edged jian to a cousin, size-wise:

The Zwëihander, which ranged from between 1.4m-1.8m/4′7-5′11, and something to the tune of 2.5kg-4kg/5.5lb-8.8lb. Bichen would actually be heavier than its hypothetical German counterpart, which is saying something, because at those lengths the Zwëihanders have MASSIVE crossguards and are often intended to be half-sworded - you grabbed the blade about halfway up to better control the point and say, drive it into a joint in the armour.

I would compare it to the odachi, but 1) that’s a single-edged blade, and I don’t know enough to say if the weight will differ 2) I cannot find any solid info for how much a 1.8m long odachi would weigh. Claymores - yep, ditto. I can’t dig up info quickly enough.

tl;dr Bichen is probably 1.83m/6′0 and north of 5.5kg/12lb - it’s taller than MXY!WWX and weighs more than a small dog. No wonder he has to back-strap it.

Now, remember that incense burner scene? Yeah, now remember that Bichen is quite likely as tall as WWX is.

---

Bonus: Baxia!

On a side note, the art of Baxia in the MDZS official artbook looks like it's based off the 大刀 da dao, lit. Big Saber. Yes, very creative naming. The da dao is also surprisingly short, going off the specimen in the British Imperial War Museum which is a grand total of 79cm/31″, but given that these are 1) cultivators 2) NMJ 'actual ox' rather than relatively short interwar-period Chinese (when this originated), just like... add 15cm/6″ or something to the length I guess if you want.

#mdzs #cql #godc #gdc #mo dao zu shi #chen qing ling #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #the grandmaster of diabolism #grandmaster of demonic arts #lwj #lan wangji #lan zhan #bichen #hanguang jun #the untamed #nie mingjue #nmj #baxia #meta

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penig · 2 years

Text

1 week into 4-week stint of wearing podiatry boot, Cons and Pros:

Cons:

1. Hot

2. Heavy. Strains hips and lower back.

3. The (curved in a rocking chair arc) footpiece is as long as the tread on the front stairs is deep, longer than the tread depth on the back stairs; therefore, must set foot sideways on tread of front stairs and cannot safely negotiate back stairs at all, so that every trip to and from the kitchen involves circumnavigating the house twice.

4. Items 2 and 3 distort my balance so that even though gravity is currently behaving itself I lack confidence when walking, and gravity may go out for me at any time. If I get into one of those states in which my body insists that “down” is at a 45 degree angle to my visual perception of it - well, I’d just better not get into one, do you hear me, internal gyroscope?

4b. When going off-balance, it is generally better to step sideways in the direction you perceive yourself falling, providing a broader and more stable stance without disturbing the steady foot, than it is to rely on grabbing things, but Items 2 and 3 make this procedure problematic, both in terms of effectiveness and my ability to perform it in time; the weight plays holy hell with the reflexes I’ve trained myself into. Therefore, I need one hand for the railing when going up and down stairs, which means I can only carry one item up or down stairs at a time. Also, I’m not wielding a broom like this! The cat hair will just have to accumulate on the stairs. Maybe next week I’ll get spry enough on flat surfaces I can sweep the level floors.

5. The cats hate the thing. It’s loud and stompy and scary and seems to be eating Mommy.

6. Though theoretically I can take it on and off as needed, it’s a sufficient hassle to get in and out of that realistically I’m wearing it all day until I take it off to soak the foot and shower, unless I have reason to think I’ll be able to lie down or recline undisturbed with the foot in an acceptable position for at least an hour. (See, cats, above. Three of them.) Also, that if I strap myself into it sleepily in response to the Boss Cat’s insistence that it’s breakfast time before getting dressed, I’m not getting into anything that has to be pulled up that day. Good thing I have dresses.

7. Bulky. This is related to but distinct from 1, 2, and 4, as I take up about a third again as much space as I normally do, sitting still, and more than that, walking. Many normally comfortable spaces are now cramped.

Pros:

1. I am no longer in excruciating pain every time I take a step and often when I don’t. I haven’t needed to take the superultramega pain pill for about three days now and haven’t cried with pain once since I saw the doctor.

2. Forces good computer posture on me. Normally I start out with good computer posture and the next time I notice my body one foot is curled under me and I’m slouched to the side. That’s even on the ergonomic keyboard.

This demonstrates the weakness of lists of pros and cons, because Pro 1 outweighs all 7 points of Cons. The primary cause of the absence of pain is the injection the doctor gave me to break up the heel spur, but I know the boot is helping because I can feel the strain on the area any time I blow off strapping it back on after the shower and make the trek to the bedroom barefoot. So despite everything I’ll be in it for at least three more weeks.

Fortunately, my husband is currently mobile and working from home so he can do a lot of the stair work for me. He really can’t cook anything more complicated than eggs, though, in the same way that I can’t manipulate systems, and I’m not letting his immunocompromised ass clean litterboxes, so two downstairs treks for me is really the minimum I have to deal with. Like my interior gyroscope, his legs need to behave themselves while I’ve got this, or we’ll be in a state. He fills a multi-gallon picnic thermos with ice for me a couple of times a day so I can maintain my need to guzzle cold water, and we’re using the top of the laundry hamper by the stairs as a staging area for things that need to be taken downstairs. This, again, inconveniences the cats, who are accustomed to having that for a lounging area. They are being very pointedly patient at us when not running away from the boot.

#personal #griping #non-sims #don't expect much from me till after mid-September #but I'll be fine

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feralthoughtdump · 3 years

Text

Lover, Be Good To Me

CW: This is just smut, strap on, Loki sucking a strap, pegging, slight d/s dynamics, swearing, a little bit of praise kink, use of ‘mistress’, use of ‘puppy’, sub! Loki, maybe soft dom! reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Despite the soft fur rug, Loki’s knees ache against the floor. He feels his clasped palms become sweaty, but none of that bothers him because he knows what’s about to happen.

“Such a pretty sight to see.” She purrs. “So obedient too.”

He shifts on his knees while her fingers trace the line of his back, her light tough feeling like a tickle.

With his back straight and eager eyes, he can feel his cock harden at the praise.

His mouth water as she steps out of her skirt, revealing the large strap on.

Despite his royal standing and his power, she wields dominance over him. He worships her. Every curve and dip of her body. Every scar and mark on her skin. His power means nothing when she’s around.

As he bites his lip, he watches her wrap the leash around her wrist and tug.

“You know what to do.”

Loki crawls towards her, willing to obey every beck and call she gives him.

When he reaches her, he presses his cheek against her thigh, smiling against her warm skin.

“Such a sweet little puppy.” She runs her hands through his hair, scratching his scalp with her nails. “Don’t you agree?”

The gentleness of her voice stirs the arousal inside of him. He loves it. The way she praises him, the way she cares for him.

He looks up at her with doe eyes and nods.

“Yes, Mistress.” He says.

Submitting to her was always a treat, regardless of how rough she can be.

He whines when she tugs the leash a bit harder, the chain clinking against the metal tag on his collar.

Despite her gentleness, she finds this all kind of amusing. The prince of Asgard, a trickster god, on his knees, giving himself to her, a mere mortal. All of his arrogance, his air of superiority, washed away to reveal his submissive nature.

She traces his Cupid’s bow with her fingers and he pokes his tongue out to playfully lick them.

“You want my fingers darling?”

He nods his head, already heavy-lidded.

“Ask nicely.”

He tilts his head up to meet her eyes.

“Please, Mistress. Can you put your fingers in my mouth?”

Her smile is gentle when she slips a finger past his lips.

His eyes shut as he swirls his tongue around her digit.

A needy whine passes through his lips when she pulls her hand away but he quickly quiets down when he feels her pointer and middle finger press down on his tongue.

She hums.

“You like having something to suck on, sweetheart? Like having your mouth filled?”

He moans around her fingers, all needy and desperate.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

A pout crosses his face when he finds his mouth once again, empty.

“Oh, don’t cry, puppy.” She caresses his face with a cool hand. “I’ll give you something much better to suck on.”

He noses at the silicone cock and she chuckles.

“You know what to do. Open up.” She demands.

She shoves the strap past his lips and he obediently sucks on it, slicking it up with his saliva.

A groan passes her lips.

“Fuck, puppy, you really want it, don’t you?”

He closes his eyes and obediently sucks on it, an occasional gag echoing through the room.

She pushes her hips forward, forcing the strap to the back of his throat

He pulls away with a gasp, spit dripping down his swollen lips.

She slaps the strap against his cheek.

“Come on, put it back in.” She orders.

He wraps his lips around it once more, bobbing his head, eyes screwing shut. It was toeing the line of being a bit too big for his mouth, but he doesn’t object.

“Eyes up here, Mistress wants to see that pretty face.”

He blinks his watery eyes open, tears starting to stream down his face.

She lets go of the leash to gently wipe his tears away.

“Oh love,” She murmurs. “You’re such a pretty crier, you know that?”

Her hands still his head and she thrusts into his mouth. He chokes and grabs at her thighs but he quickly clasps them back in his lap at a loud “hands off.”

“Get it wet.” She barks. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

She thrusts her hips against his face at a brutal pace, the sounds of gagging and choking filling the room.

“You look so pretty choking on my cock.” She murmurs, “so, so pretty.”

He hums in bliss and sucks harder, ignoring his struggle to breathe.

She pulls at his hair, pulling him off of the strap.

“Now,” she gives the leash a downward tug. “Bend over. Mistress wants to fuck your pretty ass.”

As he settles on his hands and knees, she pulls the leash forward.

“No, like this.” He yelps when his face is pressed against the cool marble. “Much better.”

Loki bites his lip in anticipation when she traces her fingers down his back.

A cry leaves his lips when she slowly presses a wet finger in his hole.

“Hush.” She grabs his hip, nails digging into his skin. “You’re so tight, I have to open you up first.”

It hurts in the best way, the stretch increasing the ache within him.

This goes on for what feels like forever. He realizes that she’s using this as an opportunity to tease him. Get him as desperate as possible.

Loki hates to admit it, but it’s working. He could probably cum right this moment, but he’s aware of what will happen.

The bruises on his ass and thighs only recently just faded. He shivers at the memory.

A second finger pushes inside of him and he gasps.

He wails in both pain and pleasure when she scissors her fingers, opening him up.

“Oh, puppy,” she coos, “how are you supposed to take my cock if you can barely handle two of my fingers?”

“I can take it.” He whines. “I-“

His words are cut off with a sob when she lands a hard smack on his ass.

“Did I ask you to speak?” She retorts. “You were so good earlier, but if you want to misbehave, I could just shove a toy in your ass and refuse to touch you. Would you like that, darling?”

He viciously shakes his head, the thought of losing her touch was painful. He’d rather get ruthlessly spanked.

“No! I’m sorry! I’ll be good, I promise!”

Her gentle voice returns.

“‘Mmm. I know you can be a good boy. Just relax, I’ll take such good care of you.”

He tries not to clench around her fingers, but when she presses against his prostate, he can’t help it.

“Come on, relax. It’ll feel a lot better.”

He takes a deep breath and tries his best to release the tension in his body.

“Ooh, much better.” She hums. “Does that feel nice?”

He takes shallow breaths and nods.

“Yes.”

“Good. Very good.”

He feels her fingers slip out of him, only to be replaced with something much larger nudging at his hole.

Loki whimpers when she slowly pushes her strap in. Despite preparing him with her fingers, the stretch still hurt. He hisses and curls his fingers into fists.

“Oh puppy,” she coos, rubbing his hip. “Does that hurt?”

He nods his head

“Yes, mistress.”

“But does it feel good?”

He gasps when she pushes in deeper.

“So good.” He cries. “It feels so good.”

“So cute.” She sneers. “Falling apart on my cock.” Her hand tightens on the leash to give her more leverage. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to sit on that golden throne of yours for days.”

Her hips thrust forward, pushing the rest of her strap into him.

Loki yelps and a tear slides down his cheek.

“Fuck.” He whines. “Feels- feels so good.”

“Mm. I bet I can make you feel better.”

One of her hands slides around his thigh and a finger traces up the length of his cock.

Loki throws his head back with a groan. The sensation of being stretched around her strap as well as her playfully teasing his cock overwhelms him.

She pulls at the leash with a rough hand and his back is flushed to her chest.

A hand grips his chin to turn his face to her and he’s met with her mouth pressing against his.

The angle at which she’s fucking him pushes the strap deeper, making him whine and sob into her mouth.

“Such a good boy.” She gasps. “Taking my cock so well.”

He’s borderline out of breath, the only sounds being gaspy breaths and whimpers.

“Are you a good boy?” She growls into his ear. When she doesn’t receive a response, she lands a loud slap on his ass. “Answer me!”

“Yes!” He sobs. “I’m a good boy! I’m your good boy.”

Her thrusts into him quicken and she squeezes her hand tighter around his cock.

“Then be a good boy and cum. Cum all over my hand.”

“I-” He pants, “I can cum?”

She wraps her arm around his hips and pulls him down on her cock, the tip pressing against his prostate.

“Aww, even when you’re falling apart, you’re still so good for me.” She licks a stripe up his neck. “Of course you can cum.”

He squirms as she pumps her hand, slick with spit and precum, up and down his cock. The pressure building inside of him was becoming far too much as he tumbles over the edge, sobbing as hot spurts of cum cover her hand and his stomach.

He rolls onto his back, careful not to get his cum on the floor. She holds herself up with her arms, panting and sweating from the physical exertion.

After a minute, she removes the harness and crawls over to him. He whines, overly sensitive when she licks off the cum from his stomach.

She gently cradles his face in her hands and shushes him.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” She coos. “I’m right here.”

He relaxes into her touch and lets her rub her thumb across his tear-stained cheek.

“You were so good for me.” She murmurs. “You took me so well. Such a good boy.”

She frowns at the sight of his knees. Tenderly, she grazes her fingers over the bruises about to form.

“I think I’ll need to get you a cushion. Don’t want you hurting more than you have to.”

He tiredly whines and tugs her towards him.

“It’s okay. I like it.”

His grip on her tightens when she tries to get up.

“Love, I need to get you some water.” She nuzzles into his neck. “You had a long night.”

“I don’t want you to go.” He whimpers. “Please don’t go.”

She sighs and cradles his head against her chest.

“I won’t, I’ll stay with you.”

Her gentle hands card through his hair, slowing his rapidly beating heart. As his breath slows, she calmly unbuckles the collar around his neck and tosses it aside.

“I’ll just clean you up in the morning.” She murmurs, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “Get some rest, darling.”

She doesn’t sleep until he relaxes into her body, warm breath tickling her skin. Her fingers card through his sweaty hair, the locks feeling soft in her hands. Slowly, she lets her eyes close, sleep overtaking her tired body.

#loki #loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki x reader smut #sub!loki #sub!loki x reader #loki fanfic

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thesightstoshowyou · 4 years

Text

Thomas Hewitt x F Reader (NSFW)

Summary: Hoyt issues an ultimatum and Thomas is the perfect gentleman.

Warnings: Dubcon, “fuck or die,” blood, gore, swearing, fingering, creampie, manipulative reader

~~~

The surface beneath you is cold and hard, like steel left to sit in a dark room. This is the first thing you notice when you wake. Next comes stronger sensation: Pounding headache, sweat sliding down your face, your chest, aching muscles, burning knees. Then comes sound. You hear talking, but it sounds as though your ears are stuffed with cotton or the speaker is three rooms over.

Your fingers twitch. You can move them, at least. That’s a start.

“And I can see why! Look at those legs!”

The volume turns on all at once and you flinch. It’s a man speaking. He’s close, and loud. A heavy thwack follows his words.

“I woulda kept a pretty thing like that too. Can’t blame ya for that, Tommy.” The man’s tone is condescending. He sounds as if he is speaking to a child. You don’t even know who he is but you already dislike him.

Your forehead head feels wet and sticky. Sweat? No, its thicker than that.

“Tell you what, Tommy. I’m feelin’ generous today, what with this bountiful harvest. I’ll let ya’ have a go at her, huh?”

You swallow thickly. Is he talking about…you? Sloshing water, another noisy thwack. Blood pumps furiously in your ears.

“You ever did that to a girl, Tommy? Huh?” Laughter. Thwack, THWACK.

You’re beginning to feel pity for this ‘Tommy.’ It takes monumental effort to crack your eyes open. For a second, you panic. Your vision is halved. You can’t see out of your left eye. Then, you wipe your face across the back of your hand, clearing your eye of the blood caked into your eyelashes. That explains the sticky feeling. What happened?

“Oh, look-y there! Here’s yer chance!”

Your head feeling as though it weighs a thousand pounds, you lift it and glance around. The room spins. You snap your eyes closed once more, waiting for everything to right itself. When you open them again, it takes a moment for everything to come into focus.

You’re in a poorly lit room, like a cellar. The dirt floor is flooded, a few inches of murky water covering most of the floor. Seated on a rickety wooden table directly in front of you is an ancient sewing machine. Along the cracked and chipped walls are dusty shelves filled with dingy bottles. The whole room smells musty, air thick with humidity and something rancid, like old meat. Glancing down, you find yourself on a rusty metal table stained with—

Movement pulls your attention to a man standing near your feet, hands on his hips. He is dressed like a sheriff and he’s leering at you. Something is tugging at the back of your mind, a memory, something urgent. It’s about the sheriff, but try as you might, you can’t bring it to the surface.

“What’dya think of that, girlie? Wanna give ol’ Tommy a try?” You flinch away when the sheriff squeezes your calf. There’s red splattered across the front of his uniform. You hope it’s paint but instinct tells you its not.

“Where am I?” Your words are slurred, your dry tongue thick in your mouth.

“Bonked yer noggin real good, didn’t I?” The sheriff says with a harsh laugh. You focus on his face, on his dark eyes and his cruel lips pulled back in a sneer over yellowed teeth.

Another noisy thwack makes you crane your neck to look behind you. Instantly, you wish you hadn’t. There’s another man there, his back to you. Tommy. His shoulder length hair is dark and his shirt, wet with sweat, clings to his broad shoulders. He’s huge, menacing even when he’s not looking at you. He’s hacking away at a mangled body, suspended in the air by chains and missing several limbs.

Chainsaw. Screaming. Shredded flesh. SMACK goes the shotgun butt to your head.

Memory returns like a punch in the gut and you suck in air through your teeth. You recoil, clawing at the edge of the table to pull yourself away from the monster behind you. These murderers, these animals killed…oh god, your friends…oh god, Annie….

The scream is out of your throat before you register it’s coming. You shriek and cry, scrambling across the table toward the stairs behind you, but you’ve forgotten about the sheriff. One of his hands finds your hair, the other gripping your jaw roughly to hold you in place.

You writhe in his grip, but freeze when Tommy finally turns around. He wears a leather mask over the bottom half of his face. His eyes are hidden under his brow, too hard to see in the poorly lit room. You whimper, sweaty hair sticking to your tear streaked cheeks, heart hammering against your ribs.

“Honeymoon’s over, huh?” Another mean laugh and the sheriff wiggles your head playfully back and forth, “Who’ll it be, Tommy? You or me?”

You sob, the real reason you were kept alive now out in the open. Panic rises and you grasp his wrists, attempting to wrench yourself free. The sheriff grunts, squeezing your jaw painfully in retaliation.

“Ya’ like that, honey? Wanna give Sheriff Hoyt a taste?” His breath reeks of stale chewing tobacco when he breaths out across your face.

The loud clang from across the room startles you both. Tommy has set his cleaver down hard on a nearby table. He’s facing away from you again, his shoulders rising and falling in heavy breaths.

“Weh-hell, Thomas Brown Hewitt! If I didn’t know any better, I’d say yer jealous!”

You blink. Panic subsides, replaced by rational thought. The gears in your head whirl at top speed. Maybe this isn’t the end for you, not just yet. A plan drops into place.

If Hoyt—if that’s really his name—gets his way, he will fuck you, kill you, and that will be that. But Thomas…. You bet that mask he’s wearing is hiding something, maybe a deformity, maybe something else. You’ll also guess not many people have been kind to him throughout his life. People are cruel and if you don’t look normal, most are quick to point it out. Perhaps, if you can win Thomas over, you’ll have a chance at survival. Who would dare challenge a chainsaw-wielding behemoth?

It’s a gamble, sure, but it’s a gamble you must make.

“Alright boy, alright.” Hoyt relents, releasing your head and standing up straight. “I’ll give ya’ twenty minutes. If she’s still dressed by the time I get back, I’m putting my foot down.” He laughs, long and loud as he turns and stomps up the stairs. You’re glad to see him go, but now you’re alone with Thomas.

He still isn’t looking at you. He hasn’t spoken a word this entire time either. Maybe he can’t. You might just have to do the talking for him.

You close your eyes and inhale slowly, steeling yourself. You push down the revulsion and fear and grief, shoving them deep in your heart to be revisited later. You must be calm. This is your only option.

“Um, Tommy?” You try, keeping your voice as level as you can. You swallow to lend moisture to your dry throat. “Is…is it okay if I call you Tommy?” Thomas half turns, glancing at you over his shoulder and giving a curt nod. You scoot to the edge of the table and let your legs dangle over the side, hiking your dress up as discreetly as you can.

“Um. The…the sheriff…Hoyt…. He didn’t really give us much time. Um, if it’s…I mean, I know I’m not—not in charge here, but…if it was up to me, I would…I, um, would want it to be y-you.” You glance up at him under your eyelashes, dipping your shoulder so the strap of your dress slips down your arm.

Thomas turns further toward you, staring. You wish you could see his eyes through the gloom or know what he’s thinking. Did you guess wrong? Is he going to pick up that cleaver and bury it in your skull for your trouble? Desperately, you will your racing heart to be calm.

Finally, he looks away. Reaching behind him, he unties his gore-soaked apron, lifting it over his head and draping it on a shelf. He begins to move toward you but pauses, turning quickly and plunging his hands into a bucket of water near the corpse dangling from the ceiling like a macabre marionette. Hastily, he scrubs his palms and fingernails. Seemingly satisfied, he wipes them on a dirty rag before turning back to you.

Cautiously he approaches, like you’ll spook and run if he moves too quickly. He might be right. When he’s close enough for you to reach out and touch him, he stops, hands moving to his pockets, then behind him, then in front of him again. He’s nervous. He’s never done this before, you realize. That thought is almost a relief. Almost.

You meet his gaze. His eyes are dark blue, deep and expressive. You can see his hesitance in his eyes and his body language, in the way he’s almost half turned away, as though he might run instead.

You bite your lip and reach for his hand. Your trembling fingers close around his and you pull him closer. He lets you tow him, helplessly, until he’s standing between your legs. This close, you can smell him; sweat, coppery like blood, and something pine scented, like cleaner or cheap soap.

You place his palm on your bare knee. Christ, his hands are enormous, palms and fingertips calloused and rough against your sweaty skin. You’re sure he could crush your knee like a soda can with just one firm grasp.

He doesn’t move, simply staring at the hand on your leg like he can’t believe this is happening. A twinge of annoyance burns under the fear. You don’t have time for this. Hoyt could come back at any minute.

You reach under your dress, hooking your fingers in your panties before dragging them down your legs. Thomas jerks his hand away like your skin has burned him, awkwardly clasping and unclasping his fingers as you set the garment on the table next to you. Again, you reach for his hand, pulling him back, scooting closer to him until you can feel the heat from his body between your spread legs.

This time, you guide his palm up the expanse of your thigh, under your dress. He sucks in a breath when you press his fingers to your cunt. You meet his gaze again and find him searching your face. He’s looking for something, maybe fear, or disgust, something….

“It’s—it’s okay, Tommy,” you whisper, voice quivering, “Touch me, please.”

He does, slowly, gingerly. His thick fingers explore the skin at the apex of your thighs, then trace between your lips, learning you. You’re sure it’s unintentional when he teases your opening before moving higher. You can’t stop the shaky gasp that slips from your trembling lips when he brushes against your clit.

Thomas, ever observant, does it again, then applies more pressure, circling the calloused pad of his thumb around the sensitive bud. Your eyelids flutter and, unbidden, your hips buck into his hand. All the while Thomas stares, hardly blinking, watching for your reactions.

Heat curls through your gut, surprising you, at Tommy’s ministrations. He keeps a steady, maddening pace that soon has slick leaking from your neglected cunt. Half-whimpers climb up out of your throat, barely contained behind your teeth.

Thomas eases up and you’re almost disappointed, but then his fingers slip down your slit to find your soaked entrance once more. Testing, searching, he pushes a finger past your folds, slipping into you. Another gasp tumbles from your mouth. Just his finger, thick as it is, is almost enough.

You grasp his forearm, urging him to move his hand. He catches on quickly and soon he’s pumping his finger in and out of you. Pleasure blooms through your core and you grind your hips down into his hand.

“Tommy, can—can you use another finger, please, I need—

You choke on a moan when he wastes no time in obliging, slipping another finger in next to the first. This is ridiculous, you think deliriously. You’re not sure you’ve ever been this wet before. You can feel it dripping down your thighs to pool under your ass and into Tommy’s palm.

The coil of lust within you tightens and you realize with shock that you’re going to cum. This huge, deranged murderer is going to make you cum on his fingers. And you’re not going to help him.

You rock your hips once, twice and then stars explode behind your eyes, knees clamping shut around his arm. Thomas groans above you, his other hand wrapping around the back of your neck, keeping you seated on his fingers when you try to pull away.

Are you sure he hasn’t done this before?

You pant and shudder, finally peeling your eyes open to meet Thomas’ heated gaze. His own chest heaves, the hand on your neck shaking. You swallow, intimidated by him all over again. You think he might bore a hole through your head with his gaze alone. Does he look at all his victims like this?

You shake your head, ridding yourself of your tumultuous thoughts. You have no idea how much time you have left. Hurry, you must hurry.

Thomas must be thinking the same thing because he gently pulls his fingers from your heat. They drip, little droplets splashing into the water covering his boots. He releases your neck to adjust himself and your eyes fall to the sizeable bulge in his pants.

It’s your turn to watch his face as you reach out and unbuckle his belt. Slowly, you pop the button, slide the zipper. He releases a shaky exhale when you run your thumb along the long length of the overheated cock hiding behind his briefs.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper when you free him from his underwear. Of course, his cock is huge just like the rest of him; girthy, long, one massive vein running along the underside. You’re unsure if you can handle him.

Thomas frowns at your words, but you’re quick to reassure him, “I’m sorry, I’m just…you’re, uh, really big so I was just, um….” Your words trail off into nervous laughter, “Will you go slow?” you plead, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Thomas nods earnestly, reaching out as if he is going to cup your face. He pauses, fingers inches from your cheek, and the hand withdraws, settling nervously next to your hip. You take another deep breath. No time, no time.

You scoot forward, spreading your thighs wide to accommodate his hips. You grip him, hard and hot under your palm, and guide him to your slick entrance. Thomas tenses when you hook your leg around his hip, using it to ease him toward you.

Sweat beads along your forehead as he inches forward, taking the lead once you release him and lean back on your palms to brace yourself. Thomas grips your hips with shaking hands, pulling you forward, stuffing you full with his cock.

The uncomfortable stretch is there, certainly, quivering muscles straining around Tommy’s generous girth, but your slickness eases the passage and you feel warm pleasure winning out over pain. Before long, he’s fully seated within you, his haggard breaths washing over your sweaty forehead.

Thomas moves and you gasp, one hand flying to grip the front of his shirt. The drag of his cock along your overstuffed walls is unreal. You sigh, biting your lip in a futile attempt to keep the embarrassing sounds safely in your mouth.

A strained groan leaves Tommy and he jerks his hips forward, wrenching a surprised mewl from your own mouth. That noise, or the way you clench around him must destroy his resolve. The grip on your hips turns bruising and Thomas begins pounding into you with enthusiasm.

All you can do is clap a hand over your mouth, your other hand white knuckled and braced against the table. Each harsh thrust sends a jolt of pleasure up through your gut, causing you to lose control of your words.

“Please, please, pleasepleaseplease,” you chant, not even sure what you’re begging for, your mind hazy with desire. You can barely hear yourself over the noisy slap of skin against skin, the wet squelch of your battered cunt, and the creaking of the rusty table under you.

Thomas trembles, his thighs tensing under yours. He grunts and you can tell from the sound that he’s gritting his teeth. He’s trying not to cum. How he’s lasted this long is beyond you, but he isn’t going to have to wait much longer.

That tight coil has returned, burning hot pleasure zinging up your back and racing across your skin. Thomas moves one hand up your hip to dig his fingers into your waist. He’s so strong, so ruthless in the way he pulls you onto his cock. He could break your spine with little effort.

The coil snaps and you cry out, your body tensing and arching. You grip Thomas’ shoulders for dear life, pleasure pulsing through you in powerful waves as tears spill down your cheeks. At the same moment, Thomas buries his cock as deep as he can, groaning and rutting against you as he fills you up. It sits warm in your belly before trickling down your ass to make an even bigger mess of the table beneath you.

You pant together as though you’ve both just finished a marathon. You glance up to find Thomas studying you again, searching your eyes and face. This time, he does cup your cheek, rough thumb stroking your flushed skin. The action is so unexpectedly tender your breath hitches. The way he’s looking at you—

The door at the top of the stairs bangs open and you nearly leap out of your skin. Thomas jerks away from you to quickly button up his slacks. You reach for your underwear but don’t have a chance to put them on before Thomas scoops you into his arms, cradling you protectively against his broad chest.

“Well, well, well, what have you lovebirds been up to?”

You don’t hear Hoyt’s antagonizing question. You don’t hear anything but the blood pumping in your ears and your own ragged breathing. The way Thomas is holding you, gripping your flesh like his life depends on it, your cunt dripping with his cum, you know.

You know he’s never going to let you go.

#thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #the texas chainsaw massacre #the texas chainsaw massacre the beginning #texas chainsaw massacre #tcm #tcm the beginning #reader insert #n sfw #thomas brown hewitt #thomas brown hewitt x reader #gore #blood #manipulative reader #dubcon #my writing

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jaskicr · 4 years

Text

sequel to the clothes swap featuring buffskier i wrote for this ask:

for buffskier, for some reason jaskier has to wear geralt’s armour (this is like @spielzeugkaiser’s art) and geralt realises that his armour fits jaskier extremely well. and also jaskier can lift his (rather heavy) sword and can also fight with it

As Geralt follows Jaskier back to the village, he hangs back, and if he’s doing it for the glorious view in front of him, that’s no one’s business but his.

Those tight leather trousers really bring out Jaskier’s considerable assets, hugging Jaskier’s thighs and ass and highlighting every flex of muscle as he walks. Clearly, walking beside Roach for hours every day has done wonders for Jaskier’s legs, and Geralt stares, unable to tear his eyes away, gulping as he takes in the strength of those thighs, wondering how hard they would be able to squeeze -

Suddenly, the thighs stop moving, and Jaskier’s amused voice reaches his ears. “Geralt, are you alright? You seem rather… preoccupied.”

Geralt jerks his gaze upwards to meet Jaskier’s twinkling blue eyes. “Uh?”

Then he realises that his mouth is hanging wide open, possibly about to drool, and he quickly snaps it shut, looking away. He really needs a dip into a river later. Preferably a very cold river.

“You good?” Jaskier asks, turning around and stepping towards him, and for a moment, Geralt mourns the loss of that wonderful view of his behind, until he’s faced with Jaskier’s chest, made broader by the bulk of Geralt’s armour.

“Hm. Yes. Um.” Geralt struggles valiantly to keep his eyes on Jaskier’s face. “Let’s. Keep going?”

“If you’re sure.” Jaskier's lips are tilted in a smirk, unfairly red lips that Geralt wants to punch. With his mouth. Fuck, what is he thinking? “Do you want to walk next to me, or do you want to follow, ah, behind?”

Geralt grunts. Jaskier has totally picked up on his not-so-subtle staring, and Geralt speeds up to walk next to Jaskier, determined not to get caught out again, and Jaskier huffs a low laugh that sends pleasant shivers up Geralt’s spine. He resolutely ignores the warmth radiating from Jaskier’s bulk as they walk side by side, Jaskier silent for once as they trace their steps back to the village.

Without the distraction of Jaskier’s chatter, Geralt’s mind wanders once again. He recalls Jaskier cutting down the nekkers with expert ease, wielding Geralt’s sword like it’s an extension of himself, swinging the sword through the air with a savage grin on his face. Gods, Jaskier’s strength and unexpected skill with a sword - Geralt used to think that Jaskier was a bumbling bard who relied wholly on Geralt to protect him, who had little strength to speak of, but the past few hours had proved him so utterly wrong.

And he has never been more glad to be wrong. Jaskier’s strength and competence with a sword is an absolutely delightful revelation.

When they reach the village, Jaskier’s stance changes, his shoulders going back and his head tilting upwards, his face schooling into a stoic mask as he falls back into the part of a witcher, and it shouldn’t be as hot as Geralt finds it. Geralt follows him as he stalks into the tavern - no, he struts, hips swaying just so, bringing Geralt’s attention, once again, to his shapely ass. He struts like he wants to conquer the world, like he’s challenging anyone to stand up to him, projecting an aura of danger that Geralt is inexplicably attracted to.

He looks away, cheeks burning. Yes, he’s only just realised that Jaskier has a rather - fine physique, but that doesn’t give Geralt the right to - to ogle him. Jaskier has always been attractive, and Geralt has always admired him - objectively, of course - and there’s no reason that this new development should fluster Geralt as much as it does.

Not that he’s flustered. He has more composure than that. He’s simply shocked, that’s all. All these years of travelling with Jaskier and he hadn’t noticed - he’s simply ashamed of his own lack of observational skills, nothing more.

His denial sounds flimsy even to himself.

Once Jaskier has collected the payment, they fetch Roach and head out of the village, a silent consensus between them to travel a good distance from it before they change back, during which Geralt tries to contain his thoughts and wrestle them back into appropriate best friend territory.

Because Jaskier is his best friend, and he definitely doesn’t look at Geralt like that, and Geralt shouldn’t be looking at Jaskier like that.

“We’re far enough,” Geralt grunts, pulling Roach to a halt. They’ve travelled a fair distance from the village, far enough that no one should be following them, and they’re obscured by the trees if anyone does pass by. “We should. Change.”

He dismounts Roach and finds himself face to face with Jaskier, who’s standing right in front of him, arms crossed, and Geralt may be a witcher, but even his immense self control can’t stop him from sneaking a glance at the way Jaskier’s crossed arms emphasise the thickness of his biceps, pushing his chest up.

“You know, Geralt,” Jaskier begins, eyes trailing over Geralt’s face before dipping lower, and when he continues, his voice is raspy. “I couldn’t help but notice you looking at me… quite a lot today.”

Jaskier’s gaze burns through Geralt’s body, lighting him up, and he looks away. “Hm.”

“Oh, don’t hm me, my dear bard.” A gloved finger presses against Geralt’s cheek, forcing his face back to look straight at Jaskier. “Did you think I didn’t notice? You weren’t exactly subtle.”

There’s laughter in his voice, and something else too, something that Geralt has heard Jaskier use before, but never directed at him. He swallows audibly, and Jaskier’s gaze drops to his throat for a second before flicking back up, blue eyes bright and piercing.

“I -” Geralt’s voice is hoarse, and he clears his throat. “I wasn’t.”

“Oh, you totally were,” Jaskier murmurs with a slow grin. He takes a step closer to Geralt, the movement slow and deliberate. “If I’d known wearing your armour would get you to look at me like this, I would’ve suggested swapping clothes long ago.”

“Like… like what?” Geralt’s heart pounds loudly in his ears, and Jaskier is too close and not close enough.

“Like you want to eat me alive,” Jaskier murmurs, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, and Geralt stares. “Like you want to take your armour off me, piece by piece.”

Geralt’s mouth opens and closes, but only a faint, strangled noise comes out, and Jaskier’s face breaks into a pleased grin.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he purrs, and then he’s pressed against Geralt, all that bulk and muscle fitted under Geralt’s black armour, all that warmth right there. “Do go ahead.”

Geralt is frozen, his mind barely processing Jaskier’s invitation, and when he doesn’t move, Jaskier sighs fondly and cups his cheek with a gloved hand.

“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong,” he murmurs, searching Geralt’s eyes. When Geralt lets out something akin to a strangled whine, Jaskier’s proximity turning his brain to mush and making his head spin, Jaskier chuckles and leans in.

The kiss starts slow and tender, Jaskier’s lips slightly chapped as he presses his mouth to Geralt’s. Then Geralt’s brain catches up to what’s happening, realising that Jaskier is kissing him, that Jaskier is pressed against him and cupping his face with gentle hands, and Geralt deepens the kiss, placing his hands on that broad chest.

When Jaskier pulls away, breathing quick and shallow, his eyes are dark, his lips swollen. “You like seeing me in your armour, huh?”

Geralt more than likes it. Maybe he should just let Jaskier wear his clothes all the time, which would make their travels far more interesting, and far more torturous on Geralt’s end.

“I like you,” he blurts out, and flushes at the too-honest words.

Jaskier’s eyes widen, and Geralt is about to retract his statement when Jaskier beams, delight spreading across his face, and he leans in again, pressing a soft kiss to the edge of Geralt’s mouth. “I like you too, sweetheart,” he whispers, breath hot against Geralt’s skin, and Geralt shudders. “I like you a lot.”

“Mmf.” His face is burning. “You - uh. I. You look good.” Apparently, Geralt’s brain has lost its filter, but when Jaskier’s gaze turns smouldering, he can’t really complain.

“Good, huh? Care to tell me more?”

“You look good in my clothes.” Geralt’s mouth is running, his thoughts spilling from his lips in an uncontrollable flood, unable to hold back his words under Jaskier’s heated gaze. “I like how my clothes fit you, I like how you fight -”

Jaskier crowds him back until his back hits a tree, trapping him between the tree and the solid bulk of Jaskier’s body, and then Jaskier is pressing him against the tree trunk and Geralt is gasping into the fierce, passionate kiss.

He lets his hands roam around Jaskier’s body, mapping the breadth of his chest and shoulders, relishing in the feeling of leather under his fingertips, and Jaskier presses impossibly closer, one hand bracing himself against the tree and the other dropping to rest on Geralt’s waist, sending a brand of heat through his body.

But it’s not enough, and Geralt finds himself tugging at the straps of his armour, desperate to get it off Jaskier, desperate to see, and Jaskier breaks the kiss with a raspy laugh.

“Eager, aren’t we?”

Geralt only tugs more insistently, throwing a piece of the armour off to the side. There’s something enticing about taking his armour off piece by piece when it’s on Jaskier, and his hands shake slightly as he undoes the straps. Jaskier starts nosing at his neck, and he almost goes pliant, but his determination to see Jaskier bare in front of him keeps his hands from dropping, and finally, the last piece of armour falls away, and Geralt drinks in the magnificent sight.

Jaskier’s shoulders are wonderfully broad, and Geralt skates his hands over warm skin, marvelling at the strength in them. He slips his hands down, tangling his fingers in the dark hair that decorates Jaskier’s chest, hair that Geralt has only seen glimpses of through unbuttoned shirts, hair that Geralt now tugs at appreciatively.

“Mm, like what you see?” Jaskier rumbles lowly, and Geralt doesn’t answer, showing his appreciation by pulling Jaskier into another kiss as he wraps his arms around Jaskier, hands roaming his large, muscled back.

Suddenly, Jaskier’s hands are underneath his thighs and Geralt is being lifted, his back still pressed against the tree, and he yelps, wrapping his legs instinctively around Jaskier’s waist, arms gripping tighter around Jaskier’s neck as his body lights up in arousal.

Holy fuck.

“What -”

Jaskier swallows his exclamation, and Geralt whimpers. He’s never been lifted before, certainly not with such ease, and there’s barely any strain in Jaskier’s breathing as he continues holding Geralt up, never breaking the kiss.

Gods, Jaskier is strong, and it’s utterly thrilling.

Geralt lets his gaze trail downwards, appreciating the way Jaskier’s thick biceps bulge and flex as he bears Geralt’s weight easily, and he gives in to the urge to palm at Jaskier’s arms, trusting Jaskier not to drop him as he lets one hand fall from its grip around Jaskier to squeeze one strong bicep, enjoying the feeling of the muscles underneath his palm.

“My darling witcher,” Jaskier murmurs against Geralt’s lips. “As much as I like where this is going, perhaps we should move somewhere more comfortable.”

A rush of heat floods Geralt’s body, and he meets Jaskier’s eyes, fixed on him with something like hunger, and Geralt inhales sharply.

He can’t wait to be devoured.

#geraskier #jaskier #geralt #buffskier #mine*

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andypantsx3 · 4 years

Text

in cinders | 1 | considerations

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 24,362 words / 9 chapters

summary: You’re just trying to fairy godmother your best friend into a happily ever after. If only the prince would stop hanging around and cooperate.

tags: cinderella AU, prince!Shouto, romance, misunderstandings, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

It was the deep of winter when the castle exploded into preparations. Prince Shouto would have twenty-one winters at the end of the season, and word throughout the servants’ halls was that the king sought him a princess. The castle was overflowing with the appropriate requisitions for a winter masquerade; fanciful game, yards of brightly-colored silks, and all manner of gifts pouring into the palace halls like water burbling from a spring.

You liked looking at the gifts as they piled up the hallways, petting the wild furs and soft silks with a covetous appreciation. Best of all were the books, stacked up in the corridors until they towered in tall, unsteady cliffs. You liked running your fingers over their freshly-inked covers, enjoying the rustle of the pages and the crackling peel of the spines as they opened. You wondered if the prince would ever have time to read all these, wondered what knowledge could be gleaned from their soft pages.

Not that you would find out, seeing as you couldn’t read.

There was, of course, no need for a kitchen girl to know her letters. Your duties included much more enthralling pursuits, like cleaning vegetables and scouring pots, and the very engaging task of fetching hot water for tea and washing. It wasn’t as if the mop and bucket would ask you to recite your alphabet.

The work did come with its benefits, however. You spent a fair amount of time smuggling pastries into your skirts to be delivered later to all your palace favorites; Hagakure in the laundry room, and Ashido in the cramped workrooms of the seamstresses’ offices which were always spilling with bright fabrics and delicate threads. You occasionally snuck a sweet cake into the hands of Denki Kaminari as he patrolled the courtyards, brimming with good cheer.

The major benefit of your work, however, was that it left plenty of time for gossip with your best friend Ochako.

Which is what you were doing the morning where it all started.

“Can you imagine?” Ochako asked, bouncing a little and accidentally slopping water over the sides of her bucket. “What it must be like to go to a ball!”

You side-eyed her. You didn’t have to imagine, considering you had been wrangled into carrying plates at the last mid-winter ball. Balls were, in your opinion, just an excuse for nobility to get drunk and behave badly. Last time, you’d nearly run yourself dry spitting in every goblet you ferried to Duke Shishikura’s table after overhearing his remarks on the shape of another serving girl’s backside.

Still, you hated to discourage her.

“It sounds great, Ochako,” you said, hoisting your own water bucket against your hip and spinning to return to the castle, “it must be a lot of fun.”

She scrambled after you. “All those handsome men and pretty dresses!” she said, “I’d wear a pink one, floofy like Lady Yaoyorozu does. With little pink ribbons on it.”

You could picture her, the rosy hue of her dress matching her always pink cheeks, spinning circles in a ballroom.

“And dancing!” she exclaimed, catching you up and bumping her shoulder against yours. “I wish I knew how to dance. Those girls always look so elegant when they twirl like that. How do they know where to put their feet?”

She continued as the two of you passed into the shadow of the castle courtyard, ducking into a small door to the servants’ halls, “And the food! We work all month preparing for the feast, it would be so nice to eat some of it!”

Now that you could get behind. Weeks out, provisions had already begun to arrive and you’d caught yourself mooning over the sweet nuts and berries, the colorful spices imported from the border kingdoms. You’d have to be more careful with how much food you pilfered this time around, as plenty of servants were sure to be doing the same.

“I’d bet it’s amazing,” you conceded. “I would eat a thousand platefuls and spend the whole evening by the refreshments.”

Ochako laughed. “You wouldn’t dance?”

The two of you turned into the large, drafty passageway that led into the main kitchens.

“I’d leave that to you,” you said, grinning. “You’d be the most beautiful girl at the ball, in your pink fluffy skirts. Your dance card would be full within minutes.”

A snort, echoing in the open passage, startled you. You whirled, finding Kamiko Ito behind you.

“Maybe if she was the only woman under sixty in attendance,” Kamiko quipped.

You glowered. Though she looked just like an angel with her glossy hair, big eyes, and full mouth, Kamiko was bad news. She was a chambermaid, one level above you in the servants’ hierarchy, and she never failed to make you feel it. She wielded her station like a sharpened sword, needling at you--though mostly Ochako--simply for the pleasure of seeing someone bleed.

“Fuck off, Kamiko,” you growled, moving to block Ochako from her view.

“Feeling brave today, are we, Y/N?” she hissed. “I would hate for the housekeeper to find out you’ve been running your mouth again.”

You grit your teeth. The last time the housekeeper had caught you swearing at Kamiko, you’d been lashed three times and given a week of extra duties, swilling the floors with lye long after the other servants had gone to bed and scraping the ashes out of the kitchen fireplaces. You’d spent the better part of the week with soot staining your cheeks and layering in your hair - too tired to even wash up before falling straight asleep the moment you made it back to your bed.

“Leave Ochako alone,” you groused, hating the way your voice forced itself into a more medial tone. You’d only just gotten all the soot out of your pillowcase and blanket.

Kamiko smirked. “Or what, cinders?”

Fortunately, you were saved from responding by the sound of heavy glass breaking in the kitchens beyond. You wheeled around, taking Ochako by the arm and dragging her into the kitchens.

“Y-your highness!” The cook’s normally deep voice was reaching a squeaky register you’d never heard him hit before. Rikido Sato was normally placid and calm, only ruffled when a dessert didn’t turn out the way he’d wanted. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Over Rikido’s burly shoulder, you could see the tall, lean form of Prince Shouto Todoroki, looking entirely out of place in the chaos of the palace kitchens. Beside him, his tousle-haired attendant Izuku Midoriya glanced around brightly, as though cataloguing every detail before him.

At Rikido’s feet, the shattered remains of a pitcher littered the floor.

You set your bucket down and moved to get a broom, going to your knees in front of Rikido to swipe the shards into a dust pan.

“My apologies for startling you,” the prince spoke in a deep, even tone. Even from your angle at Rikido’s feet, you could see how much more handsome he’d become since the last time you’d spotted him.

Having spent most of your life in service at the castle, you’d seen plenty of the young prince. Most of your sightings had been during his gangly teen years, when he’d spent the majority of his time out in the courtyards, learning the swords and the bow from the guardsmen. He'd trained hard for someone who - it was rumored - could bring down an entire fortress with the deadly combination of fire and ice magic that roiled within him. It was clear now that he’d grown plenty in the years since, his form broad-shouldered and strapped with lean muscle, hinting at the promise of power. The only admission to the boy he’d been before was that distinctive mop of red and white hair, his piercing heterochromatic eyes, and the scar that circled his left eye like one half of a masquerade mask.

“I came to make a request for the ball,” Prince Shouto continued, “for those cold noodles you served at the summer festival. You, ah--you don’t usually make them in the wintertime, so I thought…”

He trailed off, looking uncomfortable. He’d probably never had to ask for anything in his life before.

Rikido swept into a hasty bow, almost knocking straight into you as you climbed to your feet. “Anything, your highness! We will be sure to serve cold soba at the feast!”

The prince’s gaze flicked over you as you stumbled back behind Rikido, dustpan clutched in your hands. Beyond him, Midoriya seemed caught on something behind your left shoulder, mouth agape a little. You glanced quickly behind you, finding Ochako, eyes fixed resolutely to the kitchen floors, pink deepening her already rosy cheeks.

“Thank you,” the prince said, slowly. “You must be quite busy already. I shall take my leave.”

He leaned forward, executing a bow, though not nearly as deep the one Rikido still held. With that, he turned and swept from the room, his green haired valet hobbling alongside him to keep up.

Even after his exit, a ringing silence muffled the kitchens. It was likely that many of the servants here had never even seen their prince before, as royalty rarely made their way into the cramped passages and drafty rooms of the servants’ quarters. Even you could admit that Prince Shouto must be overwhelming to look at for the first time if one had not had the experience of seeing him as an awkward teen.

His very presence was latent with quiet command, and he was so very handsome.

“My god, he is so very handsome,” Ochako squeaked from behind you.

You turned to her. Her cheeks were still flush with pink and her water bucket was loose in her arms like she’d almost forgotten it was there.

Rikido finally swept out of his bow to look at her, and you laughed.

“He’s something, alright.”

Ochako blushed even deeper. “His eyes! And that hair - so ruffled. I wonder if it’s as soft as it looks.”

You thought back to the prince. His hair had seemed orderly enough to you, maybe a little windswept from the cold, but to each their own, you guessed.

Before you could respond, Kamiko swanned her way into the kitchens, bumping Ochako as she passed. “Not that you’ll ever find out, kitchen wench.”

She strode off, button nose pointed in the air, so much like the ladies whose rooms she cleaned. You felt an irritation rise within you as you watched her retreating figure. Where did a mere servant even get such a high and mighty attitude?

Ochako let out a heavy sigh. “I suppose she’s right. What business would I even have with him? He’s so far above me.”

Your notorious temper flared a little hotter at that. Kamiko was a toad. Ochako was sweet and kind, and deserved anything she wanted, whether it was a pink fluffy dress and an evening at the ball, or her soft-haired fantasy prince. You had no doubt that given an opportunity to speak with her, Prince Shouto would fall all over himself for her pink-cheeked charm. Any man would be lucky to be spared a moment of her time.

You gave her a considering look as you picked up your water bucket, and she stared back nervously. There might be a way to get her her evening at the ball. If you played your cards right, there might even be a way to get her her prince.

In your mind, a plan began to form.

You were going to teach Kamiko a lesson, even if you had to bathe in cinders to get there.

#fanfic #todoroki shouto #todoroki x reader #bnha #todoroki shouto x reader #boku no hero academia #bnha x reader

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oberon-miranda-titania · 3 years

Text

glearts is a GAME

dm'd by @tomahawkbunny; characters belong (in order of appearance) to @compelledduel, @runcibleshaw, @magnaz888, @realoatmeal, and myself uwu

id'd under the cut

[Five pen drawings in a simple linear style.

The first one is a young woman doing a ballet pose. She has an aquiline nose, heavy brows, and dark curly hair in a bun, and she is wearing a leotard and pointe shoes. Behind her is a large winged figure wielding a flaming longsword that mostly obscures their face. They have a buzzcut and are wearing a ballet tutu as if for a performance and tall combat boots. the figures are both surrounded by small flames.

The second one is a young woman standing with hands on hips. She is muscular, with a button nose and light-colored afro hair cropped on top and shaved on the sides, and is wearing workout gear and holding a pair of boxing gloves. Behind her facing away is a large figure in a magical girl costume wielding an enormous hammer with a heart on it. She has two very long pigtails topped with heart-shaped jewels. The figures are both surrounded by sparkles and abstract shapes.

The third one is a young man looking down at a book in his hands. He has rectangular glasses and short, messy hair, and is wearing a shirt and tie, blazer, jeans, and sneakers. Behind him is a large figure floating as if underwater, shooting a beam of energy from their raised hand. They have shaggy hair and are wearing heavy boots, cargo pants with straps, a long trench coat or duster, and a creepy death face mask. The figures are both surrounded by bubbles and abstract shapes.

The fourth one is a young woman cupping a small potted plant in her hands. She has freckles, rounded brows, and long wavy-curly hair loose with teddy bear ear buns on top, and she is wearing ripped overalls and Birkenstocks. Behind her is a large figure turned 3/4s away, raising their hands and looking up to a small ball of light. She has elven pointed ears, long flowing hair embellished with plants, a diaphanous cloak, and vines wrapped around her arms. The figures are both surrounded by vines.

The fifth one is a young man standing with his hands tucked behind his head. He is muscular, with slicked-back dark hair, notched brows, and stubble, and he is wearing a cutoff tank top with the number 42, jogger sweatpants, and slides. Behind him facing away is a large figure with its head down and hands bound behind its back. It’s very muscular, with reflective skin, and flame-like hair; it appears to be collared and handcuffed, and is partially obscured as if by a computer glitch. The figures are both surrounded by static and tiny lightning bolts.]

#rpg #pbta #rpg characters #superheroes #character design #pen and ink #ink sketching #kestrel made me post them

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the-wolf-who-kissed-the-moon · 3 years

Text

• Randvi x female reader 💋

• Warning: explicit sexual content.

a sapphire for your heart, part VIII.

A pair of lips so soft and full of passion caressed your throat like the blade of a dagger, smooth and equally dangerous; yet you’ve never felt more exhilarated to be consumed. Your body naturally arched into your captor's overwhelming heat, shamelessly seeking more. Every drop of reason left your mind, dissipating into the ether like mist. It no longer mattered what they would think or say, or do; in that moment you only existed for Randvi, and she, for you.

With legs tangled and hips swaying back and forth, the forbidden flame of sapphic desire quickly grew between the two of you. Her breath was steaming against your skin as she drew her parted lips along your soft jaw, and then down the lithe hill of your windpipe. You shivered as she kissed you there.

“Randvi…”

You implored.

She sighed with deep satisfaction as she pressed her body down against yours to feel you better. Her jaw fell open and she latched her mouth to your pulse, spoiling you with languid kisses; and then, stinging pain shot through your body like a furious bolt of lighting. You stilled as you felt sharp teeth gently penetrating the delicate layers of your skin. Randvi’s bite was silent and feral, pinning you down by your throat like a wolf would its prey; and oh, what a willing prey you were…Too inebriated by her unhinged passion, all you could muster was a breathless moan as you felt her large palms free your wrists and slowly inch towards your chest.

You took her in your arms then, clutching her shoulder blades in sweet anticipation. Though her bite had softened, you were stiff from head to toe, trembling at the divine feeling of her palm cupping your breast. Those roughened fingers were miraculously skilled, effortlessly giving you pleasure even over the coarse fabric of your tunic; squeezing, gripping, slow-massaging your tender mounds as you naturally danced into the flowing motion of her hand.

The sizzling pain around your throat lessened when Randvi relaxed her jaw and drew the velvety flat of her tongue over raw teeth marks and beautiful bruises. Her love was embedded into your skin.

As she slowly drew away, you felt her body shift against yours with every sensual movement of her sturdy legs and plentiful hips. You were completely mesmerized as her charms begun to unfold; her sultry gaze darkened and her voice was but a hushed murmur, dripping with arousal.

“I want to touch you… more…”

You shivered. Heat pooled between your legs, sizzling and spreading along your limbs like wild fire. Quickly, you unclipped the brooch holding her shawl and furs together, letting them fall off her broad shoulders. Disheveled tresses caressed your flushed cheek as Randvi leaned closer to kiss your parched lips, generously penetrating your mouth with deep strokes of her sensual tongue. The taste of her mouth was invigorating, like fresh spring peppered with burning flames. You moved your tongue against hers slowly, until your mouths were wildly ravishing one another.

“mmh…”

“..aah…”

Soft cries resounded in your secret little meadow, followed swiftly by the rustling of clothes coming undone. Randvi’s hands were at your hips, gently pinching the hem of your tunic as you raised your arms above your head and allowed her to strip you. The absence of warm fabric made you suddenly feel cold; a feeling which quickly melted under your beautiful Viking’s heated mouth. She left a wet trail of languid kisses down your chest whilst she enjoyed the smooth plains of your hips and stomach with her palms. Warrior hands that wielded heavy axes were now so tender and soft, giving love; each tap of her rough fingertips along your waist making you twist in delight beneath her. You found leverage in her shoulders once more as you gripped and pulled her tunic up, revealing magnificent back muscles to the moon's peeking gaze.

Sizzling tremors rushed through your body, burning even hotter down below. Randvi’s mouth still lingered on your chest, enjoying your soft breasts with open-mouthed kisses as she pushed your mounds together in between her large hands, rubbing them slowly. You breathlessly whispered her name whilst exploring the well-defined dunes and valleys of her sturdy arms, worshiping every inch of her beautiful body. She was indeed a fearsome woman, with deep scars marking her youthful flesh, reminders of battles she’d won. With a sudden movement, Randvi sat up and helped herself out of her tunic, revealing her magnificent chest in the soft glow of the early morning.

You were in awe.

You’ve pictured her nude in your dirty little dreams, yet to see her in the flesh, in all of her strong, muscular, womanly glory left you gasping for sweet air. You pushed yourself up to embrace her and indulge in the taste of her flowery skin. Her breasts were incredibly soft, plush mounds of heaven, overflowing in the palm of your hand. And oh, how beautifully she moaned as you left little love bites here and there across her chest.

The cold grass tickled your bare skin as Randvi slowly laid you back onto the ground. You took a moment to simply gaze into one another’s eyes, so full of lust and unspoken promises. She hovered over you, propped onto a strong arm to keep herself elevated as she explored your body with the delicate tips of her fingers. Your eyes were hazy with arousal, silently imploring, aching for rougher, bolder, more intimate touches.

“Lower…”

You moaned. Mischief flooded Randvi’s gaze as she leaned closer to murmur against the shell of your ear. You embraced her firmly, ravenous for her aggressive passion; yet her touch was slow and meticulous, her thumb endlessly circling your sensitive nipple until it was almost raw.

“Lower?...”

She teased and you bit the inside of your cheek. Gods, how could she torture you like this? Her words only aroused you further, and you instinctively pushed your hips up against hers, alluding to what you terribly needed. Merciless fingertips traveled back and forth across your stomach, only barely trespassing the edge of your trousers. A soft breath left your kiss-swollen lips, an invitation for her to take your mouth again; and she did.

You dived into the deeply satisfying feeling of her godly body, at times sweetly caressing the back of her neck, only to savagely grip her shoulders and sink your nails into her lean flesh. She pressed her chest down onto yours as she hooked her fingers into your belt and twisted the buckle until it broke. You pulled free from her sweet lips, breathing heavily when she pinched the buttons of your trousers apart.

Oh, that long awaited moment...

The warmth of her palm enveloped your sensitive vulva, making you tremble with each inch of forbidden skin her knowing fingers explored. You slowly begun to lose control, moans spilling free from your parted lips, for she knew precisely how to feed the flames of your desire. Her hand moved back and forth easily, albeit constricted by the tightness of your trousers. Skilled fingers delicately parted your damp folds, caressing in between them with come hither motions from your burning core up to your swollen rose bud. With each stroke she’d dive a little deeper in between your folds, and then linger a little longer on your aroused clit, teasing you around the edges with just enough pressure to keep you suspended in that torturous moment of not quite enough.

Her passionate mouth caressed your shoulder, pursing to slowly kiss the length of your delicate collarbones. It burned so good. You clutched her beautiful braid and pulled the leather strap from it, freeing auburn locks. She was breathtaking with her rust-gold tresses touching her handsome cheeks and flowing over her bare shoulders. Sensually, you massaged the tight muscles on either side of her graceful spine, until your firm grip found her hips. She stopped you for a moment –

Confused, you sought her gaze, yet you were relieved to still find passion burning deep within those blue gems.

“Take my weapons and put them aside… but careful… not to hurt yourself.. “

She murmured against the apple of your cheek as she shifted her hips lightly, unwilling to take her hand out of your pants. With trembling fingers, you pulled a heavy axe from her belt, trying your hardest to push it as far away as possible. Then, you removed a dagger from the strap on her left thigh and two smaller axes from the back of her belt, finally freeing your way to touch her more. The act of stripping her off her battle weapons was oddly intimate, as if she put her trust into your hands completely. Without restraints, you groped the back of her thighs and squeezed her closer, groping and fondling her plump bottom.

Touch-starved, Randvi swayed into your hands sensually, more than thrilled to feel your palms beneath her lower layers. You indulged in feeling up her womanly shapes, greedily spreading your fingers to loosen the hem of her pants and ease that intrusive fabric down her curvy hips. Her thighs were firm like mountains, yet soft at the surface like sweet rose petals; a leverage for you to hold on as you moved against her stroking fingers.

Pleasure came in deep waves, nearly pushing you over the limits of physical bliss; but then she stopped and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to silence a pitiful cry of frustration. What a devil, you thought, and yet you couldn’t help but adore her.

“Shh…”

She cooed, sweetly. Her palm pressed down on your heated vulva, holding you very still in spite of your hips softly struggling for friction. You felt the tip of her perfect nose nudge your cheek, and so you turned your head to meet her gaze; ardor burned deep within those precious azure eyes. Plush lips ghosted over yours, only teasing you with a kiss, as if you weren’t struggling for mercy already. You obediently forced your hips still, allowing her complete control of your whole being.

There was a hint of a smirk at the corner of her beautiful mouth as she drew closer. You closed your eyes, shivering in sweet anticipation of another kiss and the touch of her smooth fingers inching towards your pulsing core.

- To be continued…

*part IX.

#randvi x reader #randvi fanfiction #randvi #randvi valhalla #lesbian love #lesbian fanfic #sapphic love

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